I'm in a nostalgic mood today. Reading through old emails brings back such fond memories, memories of being loved and sticking through difficult times. I think one is better able to appreciate the storms one has weathered after the fact: musing on how despite everything, life goes on. It's almost overwhelmingly sobering to see path-dependency in action: how our small actions, repeated everyday; and thoughtless habits, create our whole person. We are what we do and we think. The choices we have made (and NOT made) in the past have decided who our friends are, what kind of things are important to us, and what constitutes our identity.
Right now, I feel so young despite my almost 22 years - my naivete, my desire for all the joys and insights of life right now, right here. But I remind myself that everything that is worthwhile is not easily gained, and the journey is important. Yes. Don't lose sight of the road, while one dreams of castles in the air.
Showing posts with label I feel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I feel. Show all posts
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Push, pull, wind, unwind
[Free write]
There's a tension, a balance in everythingEven this blog! I want to use this space to sort through, untangle my most inner thoughts and feelings, but I am afraid of what my readers will think
And yet, there is a motivation coming from a different part of me that just wants to be known, to be understood.
Tiredness and elation.
Just a drip of caffeine away.
Funny how something that is so simple can change my mood so dramatically
Make me instantly awake, open to possibilities and filled with the energy to take action on them
And yet leaves me feeling tired, drained, out-of-sorts, unable to focus and feeling generally unsatisfied. Centreless, that cuppa just knocked me out of my chalk-drawn circle, smudged the lines as I slid out of it and into the chaotic outside world.
I want to fall into the dark formless dreamless world of sleep, but my cares and concerns and hunger for connection won't let go easily.
I teeter on the edge of chaos, but the light over the edge is just so seductive, and if I step with the beat of my heart it looks like a dance to anyone who's watching...
Monday, January 5, 2009
Spaces
Okay since it is 2.30 in the morning and I cannot go out for a massive shopping spree (don't have the funds for it anyway, nor the appropriately-sized megamall), I shall blog to relieve this emotional diarrhea instead.
Here it goes.
The Spaces Between
There are always spaces between one unit of something and another. Atoms and molecules all the way up to stars and galaxies and solar systems. The space between the best dancers that holds them together and keeps them in perfect, mirrored motion. The space between lovers that asserts its will so strongly that it pulls them apart, leaving each one jarred and jagged.
We fight against this space; mash our bodies, intertwine our minds and emotions, knit our souls together so that there can be wholeness at last. We see the space as unnecessary, an evil force that keeps us from a higher purpose, keeps us alone and frail. Apart. Not a part.
Mother, father, friend, brother, postman, teacher, char koay teow seller. What binds us together beyond a brief moment of eye contact, a transfer of knowledge, physical touch, a joke, even love? Nothing. That is all. That is all that we can share, that we can reach into another's life.
We are, essentially, alone. The spaces have defeated us since we were born. In being an individual, we have lost that community that would otherwise be part of us. Like bees.
The spaces do not always do harm. The repelling forces work to our good as well, keeping us sane, keeping us from leeching into one another. Bringing variety into the world as we each go separate ways, mental and emotional paths that others can emulate but not follow.
Oh, but how lonely it is sometimes, and how much I wish there would be a vacuum to suck up all these spaces. The space in your smile, the averted eyes, the pause before you address me. I wish it could all be sucked up in one magical moment, and things return to what I imagine in my deluded memory it once was.
But that's just wishful thinking, and the spaces float inexorably above and around, twinkling in the still air.
Here it goes.
The Spaces Between
There are always spaces between one unit of something and another. Atoms and molecules all the way up to stars and galaxies and solar systems. The space between the best dancers that holds them together and keeps them in perfect, mirrored motion. The space between lovers that asserts its will so strongly that it pulls them apart, leaving each one jarred and jagged.
We fight against this space; mash our bodies, intertwine our minds and emotions, knit our souls together so that there can be wholeness at last. We see the space as unnecessary, an evil force that keeps us from a higher purpose, keeps us alone and frail. Apart. Not a part.
Mother, father, friend, brother, postman, teacher, char koay teow seller. What binds us together beyond a brief moment of eye contact, a transfer of knowledge, physical touch, a joke, even love? Nothing. That is all. That is all that we can share, that we can reach into another's life.
We are, essentially, alone. The spaces have defeated us since we were born. In being an individual, we have lost that community that would otherwise be part of us. Like bees.
The spaces do not always do harm. The repelling forces work to our good as well, keeping us sane, keeping us from leeching into one another. Bringing variety into the world as we each go separate ways, mental and emotional paths that others can emulate but not follow.
Oh, but how lonely it is sometimes, and how much I wish there would be a vacuum to suck up all these spaces. The space in your smile, the averted eyes, the pause before you address me. I wish it could all be sucked up in one magical moment, and things return to what I imagine in my deluded memory it once was.
But that's just wishful thinking, and the spaces float inexorably above and around, twinkling in the still air.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Long awaited update
Most patient and faithful readers,
I do apologise for going so long without an update. Life intrudes so rudely, disrupting my thoughts and stealing my time so that my well-intentioned plans of blog-updating are cast away on the sea of an endless 'things to do' list. (I am not kidding - in addition to the multiple meetings/classes/activities that I am involved in everyday, I have a to-do list on my computer that never seems to end.)
But enough of that. Really, the last few months (and the last month that I haven't updated you about in particular) have swallowed me whole. I have been through so many mood swings and teetered on the edge of despair so many times that its not even funny. There is much weariness of the body of course, as I certainly do not get as much sleep or rest as I would like (about 9 hours a day would do wonders) but also a certain soul fatigue - is this all there is to the UWC experience? Is that what I am going to remember about my two years here? Will I ever be happy and carefree again?
Melodrama does play a large role in it, but I think its because here we are so isolated from the 'real world' though we know a lot about it collectively. I hardly keep up with the news happening back home and know very little about what's happening around the world. Unless I'm told about something, I don't know it. Thus every small incidence is blown up to a huge event. I find it hard to regain perspective nowadays. There are so many things I want to do with my life now that I really don't have time for all of them. I guess the only way to tell is to give up what is less important, the temporal pleasures and focus on what is really important.
I would love to continue but I'm falling asleep. Till next time.
I do apologise for going so long without an update. Life intrudes so rudely, disrupting my thoughts and stealing my time so that my well-intentioned plans of blog-updating are cast away on the sea of an endless 'things to do' list. (I am not kidding - in addition to the multiple meetings/classes/activities that I am involved in everyday, I have a to-do list on my computer that never seems to end.)
But enough of that. Really, the last few months (and the last month that I haven't updated you about in particular) have swallowed me whole. I have been through so many mood swings and teetered on the edge of despair so many times that its not even funny. There is much weariness of the body of course, as I certainly do not get as much sleep or rest as I would like (about 9 hours a day would do wonders) but also a certain soul fatigue - is this all there is to the UWC experience? Is that what I am going to remember about my two years here? Will I ever be happy and carefree again?
Melodrama does play a large role in it, but I think its because here we are so isolated from the 'real world' though we know a lot about it collectively. I hardly keep up with the news happening back home and know very little about what's happening around the world. Unless I'm told about something, I don't know it. Thus every small incidence is blown up to a huge event. I find it hard to regain perspective nowadays. There are so many things I want to do with my life now that I really don't have time for all of them. I guess the only way to tell is to give up what is less important, the temporal pleasures and focus on what is really important.
I would love to continue but I'm falling asleep. Till next time.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Whose life are you living for?
Have you ever wondered, as you sit in front of the wide-screen television watching your favourite soap opera (martial arts, legal drama, forensic, the ever-popular police force or whichever it may be) what it actually does to your brain and emotions?
We've all had that experience of being deeply affected by a movie. Bambi's mother, Forrest Gump...the emotional effects of a touching film moment can be as real as our own experiences. Except that it's contrived so; to tweak your emotions, to squeeze your heart. Doesn't that feel rather manipulative to you?
I mean, don't we have enough from daily life to deal with already?
Perhaps we don't. The figures on the screen, the actors with their well-rehearsed lines, are everything and do everything that we wish we could. We live voraciously through them: how could she do that? That's so stupid! He's so evil....
A study showed that the number of hospital admissions for paracetamol overdose in Britain increased after a showing of television drama Casualty depicted a man trying to kill himself by swallowing 50 paracetamol tablets. Some patients did admit to the show influencing their choice of drug in attempting suicide. It's scary to think how vulnerable we are, how easily influenced not just by encounters with real people, but with stories dreamt up by Hollywood scriptwriters.
I wonder if we were meant to live like this. Anesthesized to the real world, glued to our tv screens and internet browsers and games, seeking the next exciting thing. Reminds me of the wife (Mildred Montag, SparkNotes informs me) in Fahrenheit 451, glued to the tv and only a shell of a human being.
I am glued to the computer most of my waking hours, but sometimes it does pay to remember that people lived perfectly happy lives before technology or instant entertainment, and in some parts of the world they still do. I want to breathe non air-conditioned air, to close an internet window and open a real one, to laugh with a friend, to play a board game. Sometimes. There are still things that technology cannot give us.
And if that does not make my life primetime TV, so be it. My life and fate and relationships are not in the hands of a talented scriptwriter or the fancy of the audience, but my own. And that is worth it.
We've all had that experience of being deeply affected by a movie. Bambi's mother, Forrest Gump...the emotional effects of a touching film moment can be as real as our own experiences. Except that it's contrived so; to tweak your emotions, to squeeze your heart. Doesn't that feel rather manipulative to you?
I mean, don't we have enough from daily life to deal with already?
Perhaps we don't. The figures on the screen, the actors with their well-rehearsed lines, are everything and do everything that we wish we could. We live voraciously through them: how could she do that? That's so stupid! He's so evil....
A study showed that the number of hospital admissions for paracetamol overdose in Britain increased after a showing of television drama Casualty depicted a man trying to kill himself by swallowing 50 paracetamol tablets. Some patients did admit to the show influencing their choice of drug in attempting suicide. It's scary to think how vulnerable we are, how easily influenced not just by encounters with real people, but with stories dreamt up by Hollywood scriptwriters.
I wonder if we were meant to live like this. Anesthesized to the real world, glued to our tv screens and internet browsers and games, seeking the next exciting thing. Reminds me of the wife (Mildred Montag, SparkNotes informs me) in Fahrenheit 451, glued to the tv and only a shell of a human being.
I am glued to the computer most of my waking hours, but sometimes it does pay to remember that people lived perfectly happy lives before technology or instant entertainment, and in some parts of the world they still do. I want to breathe non air-conditioned air, to close an internet window and open a real one, to laugh with a friend, to play a board game. Sometimes. There are still things that technology cannot give us.
And if that does not make my life primetime TV, so be it. My life and fate and relationships are not in the hands of a talented scriptwriter or the fancy of the audience, but my own. And that is worth it.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Ungratefulness, or something more?
Many days now, I wake up and think about everything that isn't perfect about my life. How I still have so much homework unfinished and only a week of holidays left. How my body's insatiable desire for sleep and my lack of willpower to fight it robs me of so many productive hours each day. How life is unfair; that so many people are smarter, prettier, richer, more pulled-together than I am. It's like the goddess of Fortune gave them more things in the handout line, and I was left scrambling for the leftovers.
And then suddenly it washes over me inexorably with the ring of truth: I am so, so ungrateful.
While I complain and stress out over applying to universities abroad, about how much work it is, how difficult to get in; I completely overlook the fact that I am so, so privileged to have this opportunity. It's like being let out into the garden of Eden and complaining that it's boring because everything is perfect and good. How many people I know would never dream of this - because they were never exposed to it? If I were like one of my primary school friends, without the English-speaking background and the financial ability and the access to reading that widened my horizons - I would want different things. A steady job as a salesperson. A course at a local college. A car. Yet, having access to so much more, I only look to those who have more and bemoan my lack.
I know this thought isn't original, in fact I've read it on a lot of blogs, newspapers, books etc. before - to be thankful for the health, wealth, happiness and all the blessings that we have. And when I read it I agree with the author, that we have so much more than the kids in Africa (I use the generic term on purpose - I know not all kids in Africa are starving, and not all parts of Africa are in a mess). And that we should definitely stop complaining and just enjoy our good fortune. Help the poor and unfortunate in society. Live simply.
However, that wasn't the point I'm aiming for. Having stumbled on this epiphany, what ought I do? Surely there is some moral obligation that comes with all this good fortune. Surely a price to pay. Besides exploiting every advantage in hand, pushing myself to the top of the pile just to make it in the eyes of society. That is too meaningless, when others are fighting everyday; begging, stealing, pimping and doing anything to survive.
The obvious answer - to put myself forward as a bridge reconciling the horrendous gap in our world - be a modern-day Robin Hood, robbing the rich (politely and peacefully) to give to the poor, is too trite to be believable. Our instinct for self-preservation is too great; our selfishness too deeply ingrained in us. While there are some exalted mortals who are truly selfless, I am not yet one of them. Besides, no one acts against our base nature without some stronger motivation that overrides the former's commands - and the call to self-sacrifice is not strong enough yet for me to stop tapping to the beat of our materialistic, self-centred world.
Maybe once in a while I pause and look up, wondering if there is another song - a song to end all songs - one I can dance my whole life away for and not regret a single step. But the pull of the familiar is too strong, and I am lost in the cacophony again.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Treshing it out
The biggest time-waster for young people and adults is definitely the internet.
I sit here planning to take 10 minutes to check my email, listen to a few songs and that's it. Instead, I find myself flipping from blog to blog, shuffling iTunes, checking MSN every few minutes to see if someone's there...and before I know it, my night is gone.
Oh yeah, and sometimes I try to blog but invariably there's nothing in my mind that's worth sharing.
My attention span becomes that of a technologically literate 5 year old. And sometimes it can be relaxing to put your brain cells in "sleep" mode, but it doesn't get much done. Depth is exchanged for enjoyment.
The only time I can really do work on the computer is without music and without internet. And to truly eliminate any distractions, without the games menu either.
But this was not really what I started out to say. What I wanted to talk about what this:
Can we still serve together under Christ if we don't agree with each other?
Those who know me might know what I'm referring to. It truly saddens me when friendships are severed and people become confused and disillusion because of theological disagreements. I know there are certain things that the church stands on and must never compromise on. The question is, which?
I've heard so much already, from people on both sides of the divide and also the fence-sitters. The one thing I'd want to do is to break that fence and bring all the sheep together, for aren't we all under the same shepherd? But that's not right for me to do when I'm new to the argument, so much has happened in the 6 months that I've been away. When everything was developing I was still in Hong Kong living a separate life and thinking that things were all okay, growing in the same direction as when I left. I suppose I should take a lesson from this: we all have our own struggles and everything looks better from a distance (including photos...the fewer the pixels, the better you appear.) Look closer up and you'll see the strain in the smile, the worry lines around the eyes, the dark eye-bags, the tightly-gripped hands.
We sing praises to God proclaiming that He is all we ever need. That we love Him. We give him our lives. We humble ourselves at His feet. But when the music draws to a close and the lights go up and people turn and see each other for the first time, what happens? Does a mask come on then, and we try to act cool and top one another, trading jokes and insults? Look around to see if the "happening people" are around and try to mix with them? Make as much noise as possible and push each other around, huddle in a tight circle sharing celebrity news until the youth leaders holler for quiet...
This is a usual scene at youth meetings. Maybe not all, but many of them. I don't blame the youth. I'm guilty of it too. We are not taught how to behave in church. But is it any better if we act all proper and chaste in the church sanctuary, then leave the church and act like we've never been in it? That's probably worse, and seeing younger youth acting like that should be a challenge to the leaders. Unconsciously, their behaviour mimics yours. By your actions you are showing them what's acceptable and what's not. The new talk is about "mentoring" and I'm all for that. I was never formally mentored by anyone but all the basics of spirituality and Christianity I learned from dedicated kid's pastors in the church and through kids camps, and later on as a teen with another church that adopted me as one of their own.
What matters to teenagers, though, is honesty. Can leaders truly be effective if they are not honest with themselves, with God and with others? This situation in church where the newly-elected leaders want to move forward and expand the youth with different programmes and commitments while not dealing with hurts left behind from disagreements and unresolved differences confuses me. Especially as we're all still in the same boat. Keep praying for unity, but until God touches our hearts to humble ourselves before each other and ask for forgiveness that we've hurt each other by each taking a moral high ground, I don't think that will happen. At some level it doesn't matter that we don't agree on everything. Unless you want to split up, you've got to make up somehow. And when congregations split, differences between leaders confuse and weaken the followers. Or make them more narrow-minded, sometimes.
I love these people, and individually I see that each of them burn with a passion to serve God especially with the youth. It is a conundrum to me why we can't all pull together. Perhaps I oversimplify things because I want to believe it is still mendable, and in doing so I do all parties an injustice. It isn't that simple.
All I know is that when I praise God, it is simple. When I read His word, my heart agrees and is at peace (okay most of the time, unless I go to the Old Testament, but that's another story), and it is simple. When I think of all He's done for me, it is simple.
It is only when I look at the people around me, at the complex messes we tangle ourselves into, at my own doubts and confusions...that I think that it isn't simple. At all.
I sit here planning to take 10 minutes to check my email, listen to a few songs and that's it. Instead, I find myself flipping from blog to blog, shuffling iTunes, checking MSN every few minutes to see if someone's there...and before I know it, my night is gone.
Oh yeah, and sometimes I try to blog but invariably there's nothing in my mind that's worth sharing.
My attention span becomes that of a technologically literate 5 year old. And sometimes it can be relaxing to put your brain cells in "sleep" mode, but it doesn't get much done. Depth is exchanged for enjoyment.
The only time I can really do work on the computer is without music and without internet. And to truly eliminate any distractions, without the games menu either.
But this was not really what I started out to say. What I wanted to talk about what this:
Can we still serve together under Christ if we don't agree with each other?
Those who know me might know what I'm referring to. It truly saddens me when friendships are severed and people become confused and disillusion because of theological disagreements. I know there are certain things that the church stands on and must never compromise on. The question is, which?
I've heard so much already, from people on both sides of the divide and also the fence-sitters. The one thing I'd want to do is to break that fence and bring all the sheep together, for aren't we all under the same shepherd? But that's not right for me to do when I'm new to the argument, so much has happened in the 6 months that I've been away. When everything was developing I was still in Hong Kong living a separate life and thinking that things were all okay, growing in the same direction as when I left. I suppose I should take a lesson from this: we all have our own struggles and everything looks better from a distance (including photos...the fewer the pixels, the better you appear.) Look closer up and you'll see the strain in the smile, the worry lines around the eyes, the dark eye-bags, the tightly-gripped hands.
We sing praises to God proclaiming that He is all we ever need. That we love Him. We give him our lives. We humble ourselves at His feet. But when the music draws to a close and the lights go up and people turn and see each other for the first time, what happens? Does a mask come on then, and we try to act cool and top one another, trading jokes and insults? Look around to see if the "happening people" are around and try to mix with them? Make as much noise as possible and push each other around, huddle in a tight circle sharing celebrity news until the youth leaders holler for quiet...
This is a usual scene at youth meetings. Maybe not all, but many of them. I don't blame the youth. I'm guilty of it too. We are not taught how to behave in church. But is it any better if we act all proper and chaste in the church sanctuary, then leave the church and act like we've never been in it? That's probably worse, and seeing younger youth acting like that should be a challenge to the leaders. Unconsciously, their behaviour mimics yours. By your actions you are showing them what's acceptable and what's not. The new talk is about "mentoring" and I'm all for that. I was never formally mentored by anyone but all the basics of spirituality and Christianity I learned from dedicated kid's pastors in the church and through kids camps, and later on as a teen with another church that adopted me as one of their own.
What matters to teenagers, though, is honesty. Can leaders truly be effective if they are not honest with themselves, with God and with others? This situation in church where the newly-elected leaders want to move forward and expand the youth with different programmes and commitments while not dealing with hurts left behind from disagreements and unresolved differences confuses me. Especially as we're all still in the same boat. Keep praying for unity, but until God touches our hearts to humble ourselves before each other and ask for forgiveness that we've hurt each other by each taking a moral high ground, I don't think that will happen. At some level it doesn't matter that we don't agree on everything. Unless you want to split up, you've got to make up somehow. And when congregations split, differences between leaders confuse and weaken the followers. Or make them more narrow-minded, sometimes.
I love these people, and individually I see that each of them burn with a passion to serve God especially with the youth. It is a conundrum to me why we can't all pull together. Perhaps I oversimplify things because I want to believe it is still mendable, and in doing so I do all parties an injustice. It isn't that simple.
All I know is that when I praise God, it is simple. When I read His word, my heart agrees and is at peace (okay most of the time, unless I go to the Old Testament, but that's another story), and it is simple. When I think of all He's done for me, it is simple.
It is only when I look at the people around me, at the complex messes we tangle ourselves into, at my own doubts and confusions...that I think that it isn't simple. At all.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Inspiring female bloggers and A quasi-creation
When I feel like I'm losing my voice, my personal thoughts or my sanity (or all of the mentioned!) - I blog.
More often than not, I sign in to the user account window and then wonder what to write. Compared to the dazzling, witty, interesting, hilarious, profound, just-plain-kepo-fun of other blogs I visit, mine seems so dull in comparison. Hardly ever any photos. If so, none of the author. Goodness, the author doesn't even reveal herself. How neurotic can one person be?
However! Today, I have found not one, but TWO, great blogs. Ta-daa: Joyce Tagal and Hannah Yeoh. Blogs that inspire me that one day, I may not only be a better writer, but that I might be a better person. And also to have more interesting, worthy thoughts to blog about than what I have now. And both are women and committed Christians. And very much patriotic Malaysians, though educated abroad. (One is still studying in the US). It reminds me that no matter how far in the world I roam, God's calling will always bring me to where he wants me to be, for His purpose. For now, I believe it is Malaysia He is ultimately calling me to.
And because I am feeling extra-creative today, I have a little creation for you guys:
He looked at the aluminium (or was it stainless steel? Don't know, don't care) trays before him bearing heavy loads of fish curry, chicken, steamed egg, boiled vegetables in sauce and other typical Malaysian dishes. Deng was troubled. Today had not been a good day. The boss was upset because a contractor was giving him trouble, and the was lots of tension in the office. The air-conditioner breaking down after dripping water for a week, did not help to improve the general mood. Hot and sweaty, stressed and tense; Deng was relieved when it was finally 12 o' clock and he could shuffle out of the narrow doorway for his lunch break.
"Which one you want?" The middle-aged serving woman standing before him with a metal ladle and a plate of white rice barked. Deng realised he had lost his focus and held up his palm, pretending he had been perusing the choices the whole time. "I want this.....this....and that vegetable." "That's 3.50." He paid and took his plate to the smallest table; only fit for one, two if you were sharing a plate.
He paused to say grace, out of habit. "ThankyouLordforthisfoodblessittoourbody'suseinJesus'nameAmen." Still the plural pronoun, after two years, with Jing and the kids gone? In the back of his mind, he knew that altering it, or dropping the habit completely, would mean that he had given up on them ever coming back and for things to return to the times when they were happy. When he was happy.
Digging into his food took total concentration. Deng was the type who did not like to have conversation over food, which was good considering he had no one to converse with. It required undivided attention to ensure that there was a proportionate mixture of rice, meat and vegetables in each spoonful; so that no one taste was dominant to his taste buds. And of course, to carefully separate the fish bits so that there would be no stray fish bones in his mixture.
Despite this, Deng took no pleasure in eating. It was just a habit, and without it he would not have the energy to work, and gnawing pains or gastric would kick in around 4.30pm. The serving ladies noticed that he always picked the same dishes whenever he came, which was a few times a week. Strapped down in the monotony of their lives, they would speculate about him: that he was a loner who repaired computers and hardware for a living; that he used to be a rich man whose wife had divorced him and left him poor and destitute. The truth was less grand than that, but they were content believing their own concoctions about him, content to let him point out the same dishes again and again, pretending to wait for him to ask when they already knew what he would pick. It wasn't nice to pry, not with a decent guy like that who minds his own business and brings us steady income.
Deng finished his task, the bones and debris were neatly pushed to one side of the plate. He looked around and for a moment someone who was looking closely would have been surprised at the look of desperation in his eyes. It said, "Help! You see this man in a pressed shirt and clean brown pants, but this is not me. I pick the same food to eat everyday, but that's the only choice I make. I did not pick this life, I did not pick this loneliness. And I don't know how to get out. Help me." The expression was gone the next instant.
He got up, and walked back slowly to the office. 12.45 pm. He would be back early. Maybe the boss will be pleased. Then again, he probably wouldn't notice.
Soundtrack: Moby - Natural Blues
More often than not, I sign in to the user account window and then wonder what to write. Compared to the dazzling, witty, interesting, hilarious, profound, just-plain-kepo-fun of other blogs I visit, mine seems so dull in comparison. Hardly ever any photos. If so, none of the author. Goodness, the author doesn't even reveal herself. How neurotic can one person be?
However! Today, I have found not one, but TWO, great blogs. Ta-daa: Joyce Tagal and Hannah Yeoh. Blogs that inspire me that one day, I may not only be a better writer, but that I might be a better person. And also to have more interesting, worthy thoughts to blog about than what I have now. And both are women and committed Christians. And very much patriotic Malaysians, though educated abroad. (One is still studying in the US). It reminds me that no matter how far in the world I roam, God's calling will always bring me to where he wants me to be, for His purpose. For now, I believe it is Malaysia He is ultimately calling me to.
And because I am feeling extra-creative today, I have a little creation for you guys:
He looked at the aluminium (or was it stainless steel? Don't know, don't care) trays before him bearing heavy loads of fish curry, chicken, steamed egg, boiled vegetables in sauce and other typical Malaysian dishes. Deng was troubled. Today had not been a good day. The boss was upset because a contractor was giving him trouble, and the was lots of tension in the office. The air-conditioner breaking down after dripping water for a week, did not help to improve the general mood. Hot and sweaty, stressed and tense; Deng was relieved when it was finally 12 o' clock and he could shuffle out of the narrow doorway for his lunch break.
"Which one you want?" The middle-aged serving woman standing before him with a metal ladle and a plate of white rice barked. Deng realised he had lost his focus and held up his palm, pretending he had been perusing the choices the whole time. "I want this.....this....and that vegetable." "That's 3.50." He paid and took his plate to the smallest table; only fit for one, two if you were sharing a plate.
He paused to say grace, out of habit. "ThankyouLordforthisfoodblessittoourbody'suseinJesus'nameAmen." Still the plural pronoun, after two years, with Jing and the kids gone? In the back of his mind, he knew that altering it, or dropping the habit completely, would mean that he had given up on them ever coming back and for things to return to the times when they were happy. When he was happy.
Digging into his food took total concentration. Deng was the type who did not like to have conversation over food, which was good considering he had no one to converse with. It required undivided attention to ensure that there was a proportionate mixture of rice, meat and vegetables in each spoonful; so that no one taste was dominant to his taste buds. And of course, to carefully separate the fish bits so that there would be no stray fish bones in his mixture.
Despite this, Deng took no pleasure in eating. It was just a habit, and without it he would not have the energy to work, and gnawing pains or gastric would kick in around 4.30pm. The serving ladies noticed that he always picked the same dishes whenever he came, which was a few times a week. Strapped down in the monotony of their lives, they would speculate about him: that he was a loner who repaired computers and hardware for a living; that he used to be a rich man whose wife had divorced him and left him poor and destitute. The truth was less grand than that, but they were content believing their own concoctions about him, content to let him point out the same dishes again and again, pretending to wait for him to ask when they already knew what he would pick. It wasn't nice to pry, not with a decent guy like that who minds his own business and brings us steady income.
Deng finished his task, the bones and debris were neatly pushed to one side of the plate. He looked around and for a moment someone who was looking closely would have been surprised at the look of desperation in his eyes. It said, "Help! You see this man in a pressed shirt and clean brown pants, but this is not me. I pick the same food to eat everyday, but that's the only choice I make. I did not pick this life, I did not pick this loneliness. And I don't know how to get out. Help me." The expression was gone the next instant.
He got up, and walked back slowly to the office. 12.45 pm. He would be back early. Maybe the boss will be pleased. Then again, he probably wouldn't notice.
Soundtrack: Moby - Natural Blues
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
And so it goes
Nearly the end of the year now. School year I mean. Funny how this place can subtly take over your whole life. It is self-sufficient. You have everything you need to survive; food, drinks, sleep, work, friends...
You almost feel like no other place exists for you outside these few square kilometers. I don't even know if we occupy a few square kilometers.
But very soon, in a few days, the gates will be unlocked and you will not be asked to come back before 9pm. Half the people you know know you may never see again in your life. The imprints on your heart and memories in your mind are all you have of them. And then you wish things could go back to what they were, yes, those hectic crazy times. Because life was normal then, all was well in the bubble.
I feel the tension as the college draws its breath in anticipation for the bubble's bursting.
------
A tightrope. Maybe that's one way to describe it. Walking on a tightrope blindfolded. Or parachuting above a canyon. A little bit of uncertainty and a little bit of curiousity and a lot of excitement, visible or otherwise.
And who knows enough to tell you what's truly right? Free from bias, prejudice, personal experience - just the truth, uncompromising and ultimately freeing?
You almost feel like no other place exists for you outside these few square kilometers. I don't even know if we occupy a few square kilometers.
But very soon, in a few days, the gates will be unlocked and you will not be asked to come back before 9pm. Half the people you know know you may never see again in your life. The imprints on your heart and memories in your mind are all you have of them. And then you wish things could go back to what they were, yes, those hectic crazy times. Because life was normal then, all was well in the bubble.
I feel the tension as the college draws its breath in anticipation for the bubble's bursting.
------
A tightrope. Maybe that's one way to describe it. Walking on a tightrope blindfolded. Or parachuting above a canyon. A little bit of uncertainty and a little bit of curiousity and a lot of excitement, visible or otherwise.
And who knows enough to tell you what's truly right? Free from bias, prejudice, personal experience - just the truth, uncompromising and ultimately freeing?
Friday, May 16, 2008
Here In My Home
Serendipity. This is what I found, right after reading Jo's post. (May 5) lamenting that there are no patriotic songs for Malaysians.
I actually like this quite a lot. The song itself is ok, but the music video concept of letting the artistes do whatever comes naturally, and the concept of malaysianartistesforunity.info is cool.
Before we can move forward, we need to know who we are, as a country. Never underestimate the power of public opinion and mass media to change mindsets and send waves of change sweeping the people.
In Uganda, when they realised how big a problem AIDS was in the 1990s (prevalence rate, which is the rate that the disease was found among the total population was 15%), "the government adopted a policy of openness about the disease in efforts to cut it down. President Museveni made AIDS an issue of national importance,and toured the country speaking openly about HIV/AIDS. Civil society responded and many individual people, community groups, religious organisations and NGOs took action. The issue was discussed on radio programme, humourous but factually accurate magazines were written for young people and pop stars sang songs about the infection." (Geofile Online, January 2006-Jane Davies)
The result? "By 2001, HIV prevalence appeared to have decreased to 5%."
Of course I'm not equating Malaysia's social problems with AIDs. But don't you think that the disease of racism, and to a larger extent religious intolerance and corruption, should be considered morally repugnant "diseases" and the decimation of such be made a national priority? You may think I'm talking about utopia here, but I believe that when individuals come together to act, we can make a difference. There have been decades of slow change, some setbacks, in our road toward unity. Still there are powerful forces that threaten to squash us now, most of them coming from those who claim they love this country.
But there's indications that a new phase is here for Malaysia. What with the benchmark victory of Pakatan Rakyat in the general elections, new levels of political and social enthusiasm as well as nation-building patriotism in our young people, change will come. It must.
I'm excited for this country. I'm excited to see what God is going to do here. Christians have a responsibility to the state as well, as God has put us here for a reason and told us to respect the leaders of our nations. Don't get me wrong, we should not be emphasising secular politics in church (goodness knows there's usually enough politics in it already). But the church is not just a religious institution. It is the living, pulsing, fiery and undefeatable family of God on this earth, and we have power. Through God's favour and grace, we have power as the church to impact our country.
Who wants to emigrate now? Our country -Malaysia,; the place where all young, reasonably intelligent and resourceful young people used to be desperate to leave - is where things are going to happen. And we will be there to make it and witness it.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Math minded
Math portfolio.
If you have the patience and the time to waste in order to decipher this, I applaud you.
ImlogfrustratedcosthattangentIsinusdontcosinus
understandpowermyselfirrationalorunreal
whatIdomainwantfunctionorequationevenproof
whatlimitationisergorightsquaredandgraph
acceptable. Imsketchasequenceteenypatternbitseries
sadexponentsthatrulesyouindexallmultiplyleft
dividememeanbehindnumeratorthoughbase
youdifferentiationsaidderivativewedpercentage
growfractionoldpositiveandintegersingledeterminant
together. AmadditionIvectorgoingcalculustoalgebrabe
formulatheellipseslastprobabilityasgeometryalways? Lasttranslationtoreflectiontiestretchmyangleshoes,
matrixlasttrigonometryoutgradientthe
hemispheredoor, radiuslastrectangle
oncalculatetheexpressionshelf.
Lastdiagramtonegativeadmitsemicirclethattriangle
maybenormalthosecoordinaterulescurve
thatarea
Iaxesimposedsumondecimalmyselftablewere
arithmeticjustratiounnecessaryintegralsand
concaverestrictivepyramindandquadratic
I'vecubicwastedcompositesovolumemanyinverse
yearstermalready.
Andchartyouvefrequencyallquartilesrun
boundariesaheadpointsofpercentilesme.
AnddiagramstheVenncomfortdiscreteof
quantitativeholinesscontinuousispictogramsscarce
deviationindeed.
If you have the patience and the time to waste in order to decipher this, I applaud you.
ImlogfrustratedcosthattangentIsinusdontcosinus
understandpowermyselfirrationalorunreal
whatIdomainwantfunctionorequationevenproof
whatlimitationisergorightsquaredandgraph
acceptable. Imsketchasequenceteenypatternbitseries
sadexponentsthatrulesyouindexallmultiplyleft
dividememeanbehindnumeratorthoughbase
youdifferentiationsaidderivativewedpercentage
growfractionoldpositiveandintegersingledeterminant
together. AmadditionIvectorgoingcalculustoalgebrabe
formulatheellipseslastprobabilityasgeometryalways? Lasttranslationtoreflectiontiestretchmyangleshoes,
matrixlasttrigonometryoutgradientthe
hemispheredoor, radiuslastrectangle
oncalculatetheexpressionshelf.
Lastdiagramtonegativeadmitsemicirclethattriangle
maybenormalthosecoordinaterulescurve
thatarea
Iaxesimposedsumondecimalmyselftablewere
arithmeticjustratiounnecessaryintegralsand
concaverestrictivepyramindandquadratic
I'vecubicwastedcompositesovolumemanyinverse
yearstermalready.
Andchartyouvefrequencyallquartilesrun
boundariesaheadpointsofpercentilesme.
AnddiagramstheVenncomfortdiscreteof
quantitativeholinesscontinuousispictogramsscarce
deviationindeed.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Thoughts of a 19 year old
Just sitting at my computer, writing, typing, surfing Facebook while reading news on the US election while trying to study Chemistry for a test the next day. Typical night, except maybe my heart is pounding a little harder than usual due to anticipation...
Just then, I hear a rustling of my (duck-themed) curtains and a DUCK card pokes through. My roommates dash in, wishing me Happy Birthday, giving me the card and a gift. I am surprised and delighted, because it's only 11.50pm and people usually do this after 12. Then, I am blindfolded so that everything is blackness and my roommates lead me outside, to don't know where...
After an interminably long of stumbling up and down staircases, along corridors and the open air, my roommates guiding me by hand, I ask where we are going. Of course, I don't get a straight reply. Someone periodically pokes me and knocks me on the head.
We finally seem to be going somewhere, and as we enter a room I can hear the low whine of an air-conditioner. We're in the common room, I know as much from the numerous birthday parties that we've had here before, all at midnight, of varying numbers and rowdiness.
They shush each other, and suddenly the familiar melody of "Happy Birthday..." begins. Sounds like a lot of people. At the end my blindfold is removed, and I see that there WAS a lot of people. The room was pretty full (unlike in some parties where so few people came, I felt embarrassed for the birthday boy/girl) Much more than what I expected who would care.
So self-conscious, standing there with all these people smiling at me...yet I understood then, what it is to be valued, to be loved and cherished and feeling appreciated by the company. I took time to recognise and thank everyone who came to hug me personally, and heard so many kind words that I probably can't remember. I remember the general sentiments.
There was a beautiful chocolate cake (and tasty too!), a huge homemade card with people's messages in it, some individual cards and presents...I think I was just overwhelmed. I knew people had tests, quizzes the next day; and it was not a weekend. They had so many other things to finish, but they came, even if only to give a hug and a smile and a "Happy Birthday". And my friends went to so much trouble to organise it. Perhaps it's not that grand, that extravagant...but I have only known these people since last September, yet they would do this for my sake? Friendship is a wonderful thing which I will never truly understand, but will always marvel at and try to be good at.
And then there were others, who couldn't be there but sent their wishes, their gifts, even their precious time for a conversation which is a gift in itself (Shiny! Tsuey! Wei who wanted to talk but I was out...sorry) ...because I love talking and listening to friends almost as much as eating and sleeping. Speaking of which, we (me and close friends) went for a dinner tonight at a great Thai restaurant not far from my school, and they wouldn't let me pay.
I realise that I do these friends, these schoolmates injustice if I do not take them at their word. If when they say, "You're such a great friend," I downplay their statement to a conventional phrase, while I take criticisms to heart. There must be balance, and slowly I'm reaching that point of equilibrium, going closer every day. Especially now that I'm 19 years old.
And also I realised once again that there is no end to giving. That through my self-conscious, awkward, sometimes inappropriate manner of showing concern and love for others; people have gained comfort. That my confused ramblings about their problems were perceived as guidance. That my instant noodles which I forgot that I lent them, were still on their minds. What I'm trying to say is, don't despair if you aren't perfect in the way you treat others. So long as you try, people will see your good intentions and they will love you for it. And what I thought I was giving away though I didn't mind it at all; was returned into my hands doubled, wrapped up, with interest.
Maybe we should stop comparing ourselves to others, looking at what they have and we don't, but look around at others. I mean, truly. Instead of glancing enviously at the other table where everyone is laughing uproariously, talking to the quiet person next to you.
And if we saw how much God loves us, so much more than friends or family or lovers or even soulmates...we'd live like we have nothing to lose, only everything to gain. And that is the true reality when we live in step with Him.
Just then, I hear a rustling of my (duck-themed) curtains and a DUCK card pokes through. My roommates dash in, wishing me Happy Birthday, giving me the card and a gift. I am surprised and delighted, because it's only 11.50pm and people usually do this after 12. Then, I am blindfolded so that everything is blackness and my roommates lead me outside, to don't know where...
After an interminably long of stumbling up and down staircases, along corridors and the open air, my roommates guiding me by hand, I ask where we are going. Of course, I don't get a straight reply. Someone periodically pokes me and knocks me on the head.
We finally seem to be going somewhere, and as we enter a room I can hear the low whine of an air-conditioner. We're in the common room, I know as much from the numerous birthday parties that we've had here before, all at midnight, of varying numbers and rowdiness.
They shush each other, and suddenly the familiar melody of "Happy Birthday..." begins. Sounds like a lot of people. At the end my blindfold is removed, and I see that there WAS a lot of people. The room was pretty full (unlike in some parties where so few people came, I felt embarrassed for the birthday boy/girl) Much more than what I expected who would care.
So self-conscious, standing there with all these people smiling at me...yet I understood then, what it is to be valued, to be loved and cherished and feeling appreciated by the company. I took time to recognise and thank everyone who came to hug me personally, and heard so many kind words that I probably can't remember. I remember the general sentiments.
There was a beautiful chocolate cake (and tasty too!), a huge homemade card with people's messages in it, some individual cards and presents...I think I was just overwhelmed. I knew people had tests, quizzes the next day; and it was not a weekend. They had so many other things to finish, but they came, even if only to give a hug and a smile and a "Happy Birthday". And my friends went to so much trouble to organise it. Perhaps it's not that grand, that extravagant...but I have only known these people since last September, yet they would do this for my sake? Friendship is a wonderful thing which I will never truly understand, but will always marvel at and try to be good at.
And then there were others, who couldn't be there but sent their wishes, their gifts, even their precious time for a conversation which is a gift in itself (Shiny! Tsuey! Wei who wanted to talk but I was out...sorry) ...because I love talking and listening to friends almost as much as eating and sleeping. Speaking of which, we (me and close friends) went for a dinner tonight at a great Thai restaurant not far from my school, and they wouldn't let me pay.
I realise that I do these friends, these schoolmates injustice if I do not take them at their word. If when they say, "You're such a great friend," I downplay their statement to a conventional phrase, while I take criticisms to heart. There must be balance, and slowly I'm reaching that point of equilibrium, going closer every day. Especially now that I'm 19 years old.
And also I realised once again that there is no end to giving. That through my self-conscious, awkward, sometimes inappropriate manner of showing concern and love for others; people have gained comfort. That my confused ramblings about their problems were perceived as guidance. That my instant noodles which I forgot that I lent them, were still on their minds. What I'm trying to say is, don't despair if you aren't perfect in the way you treat others. So long as you try, people will see your good intentions and they will love you for it. And what I thought I was giving away though I didn't mind it at all; was returned into my hands doubled, wrapped up, with interest.
Maybe we should stop comparing ourselves to others, looking at what they have and we don't, but look around at others. I mean, truly. Instead of glancing enviously at the other table where everyone is laughing uproariously, talking to the quiet person next to you.
And if we saw how much God loves us, so much more than friends or family or lovers or even soulmates...we'd live like we have nothing to lose, only everything to gain. And that is the true reality when we live in step with Him.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Mumblings + NS Nostalgia
There are days when you feel like you're swimming in soup, and that's still ok, because you know you're going to be dredged up sooner or later and you'll be thrown into a gumbo bowl with spicy enchiladas, and that's when life will get interesting.
I think one of the best pieces of advice that I've been given is that no matter what happens, I'll be ok. Sounds rather bland and not profound at all, but it definitely gives comfort at times when I think my life has made no difference. That people may like me in a vague, dorky way; but forget me if I'm not there. That I'm not truly living the way I should live. That I do only what is required of me and nothing else.
Sometimes, there are so many ideas one has but so few of them actually come to fruition. Right now I believe the answer to that is focus, focus, focus. Tend to the glowing embers of your passion and stoke them up to a fearsome fire, and then narrow it into single flame jet and then....
unleash it.
-----------------------------
And another part, written last Friday (4 April, 2008):
How strange, to have a flashback in the HK airport on a windy, slightly chilly day while waiting for the A22 bus back to Lam Tin MTR station after sending my mum off on a plane back home. One simple song, unheard for months, playing on my MP4 player - "Pencinta Wanita" by Irwansyah and I am transported in my mind's eye to where I was slightly over a year ago...
Hot sun pan-frying us a delicious dark brown. Special of the day:toasted homo sapiens (fine yougn specimens of only 18 years old), stewed in their own sweat and oil. Ewwwww.
Sunging 'Pencinta Wanita' in the bathroom with the cold showers running, laughing in our separate cubicles. Scrubbing clothes on the smooth stone surface next to the giant water tank/tub. The one you weren't allowed to bathe in. The same one that I stepped into and soaked in like a queen on the last day of camp. Reading out loud the notes some of us received from infatuated comrades, declaring everlasting love - and ridiculing them mercilessly, secure in the boy-free zone of our dorm room. Celebrating birthdays with cake and snacks brought from the only convenience shop a.k.a our lifeline operating there. Dressing up in Baju Melayu complete with sampin and performing Dikir Barat.
Food memories alone deserve their own paragraph. Eating mandarin oranges, Chinese New Year's biscuits, fried meehoon and other goodies spread out like a king's banquet on old newspaper in the common area. Baby's moms' irresistable chicken curry, mutton kurma, coconut candy and a host of Deepavali treats. My malay friend's whole family who came on a visiting day and treated me to home-cooked Perak laksa. In the canteen food where there was chilli on EVERYTHING. Even noodles at breakfast. Pimples sprouted on even the clearest faces. Stockpiling and sharing biscuits for a 6 am pre-exercise morning snack.
Beneath the glittering highlights that stand out in my mind, I remember the dull background of daily life. Missing friends, family. Resentful that I was wasting 3 months of my life in a programme I didn't sign up for. Looking forward to weekends when I had my hp back and could call home, my best friends and my sister. Feeling that I didn't belong anywhere. Not with the Cantonese-speaking Chinese, with their casual racism, anti-government sentiments and in-depth knowledge of Oriental celebrities and HK TV dramas (ironic, that the 1 Chinese girl who was unable to appreciate HK drama series' is the one who goes to study there for 2 years). Not with the Perak Malays, although they were really nice people on the whole; or with Kelantanese Malays with their completely different local dialect and for some of them, their kelantanese flirtiness (we speculated that it was because they were usually deprived of interactions with the opposite sex in the conservative PAS-led state). Certainly not with the Tamil-speaking Indian girls, just because they stuck to themselves and I couldn't understand what they were saying.
All these come to mind when I think back on NS. And though I thought I knew about life, NS humbled me. I lived, worked and played with prison's guards' children, doctors' children, teachers' children, farmers' children. People who scored 10As for their SPM result (which was announced the day after we left) and people who scored 3.
And I realised that all my book knowledge, my academic achievements, my English proficiency did not count for all that much. When I couldn't shine my boots even after spending tons of energy and time, it was my dormmates who helped me and realised that my brush was contaminated with too much shoe polish ("Kiwi"). The trick is to have only a little bit or else the boots will look matte. And when I had to dress formally at night, they helped iron the silk baju kurung. And my friends would always adjust my cap for me, because I jsut couldn't get the angle right. Another friend taught me a Kelantanese song. And I will never forget the night when my next-bed mate told me about how the prisoners escaped from the jail and set the building on fire, and her father the prison guard locked their family in the house, huddled together, armed with a parang. They were so along until police reinforcements came. How that was the scariest experience of her life.
I think one of the best pieces of advice that I've been given is that no matter what happens, I'll be ok. Sounds rather bland and not profound at all, but it definitely gives comfort at times when I think my life has made no difference. That people may like me in a vague, dorky way; but forget me if I'm not there. That I'm not truly living the way I should live. That I do only what is required of me and nothing else.
Sometimes, there are so many ideas one has but so few of them actually come to fruition. Right now I believe the answer to that is focus, focus, focus. Tend to the glowing embers of your passion and stoke them up to a fearsome fire, and then narrow it into single flame jet and then....
unleash it.
-----------------------------
And another part, written last Friday (4 April, 2008):
How strange, to have a flashback in the HK airport on a windy, slightly chilly day while waiting for the A22 bus back to Lam Tin MTR station after sending my mum off on a plane back home. One simple song, unheard for months, playing on my MP4 player - "Pencinta Wanita" by Irwansyah and I am transported in my mind's eye to where I was slightly over a year ago...
Hot sun pan-frying us a delicious dark brown. Special of the day:toasted homo sapiens (fine yougn specimens of only 18 years old), stewed in their own sweat and oil. Ewwwww.
Sunging 'Pencinta Wanita' in the bathroom with the cold showers running, laughing in our separate cubicles. Scrubbing clothes on the smooth stone surface next to the giant water tank/tub. The one you weren't allowed to bathe in. The same one that I stepped into and soaked in like a queen on the last day of camp. Reading out loud the notes some of us received from infatuated comrades, declaring everlasting love - and ridiculing them mercilessly, secure in the boy-free zone of our dorm room. Celebrating birthdays with cake and snacks brought from the only convenience shop a.k.a our lifeline operating there. Dressing up in Baju Melayu complete with sampin and performing Dikir Barat.
Food memories alone deserve their own paragraph. Eating mandarin oranges, Chinese New Year's biscuits, fried meehoon and other goodies spread out like a king's banquet on old newspaper in the common area. Baby's moms' irresistable chicken curry, mutton kurma, coconut candy and a host of Deepavali treats. My malay friend's whole family who came on a visiting day and treated me to home-cooked Perak laksa. In the canteen food where there was chilli on EVERYTHING. Even noodles at breakfast. Pimples sprouted on even the clearest faces. Stockpiling and sharing biscuits for a 6 am pre-exercise morning snack.
Beneath the glittering highlights that stand out in my mind, I remember the dull background of daily life. Missing friends, family. Resentful that I was wasting 3 months of my life in a programme I didn't sign up for. Looking forward to weekends when I had my hp back and could call home, my best friends and my sister. Feeling that I didn't belong anywhere. Not with the Cantonese-speaking Chinese, with their casual racism, anti-government sentiments and in-depth knowledge of Oriental celebrities and HK TV dramas (ironic, that the 1 Chinese girl who was unable to appreciate HK drama series' is the one who goes to study there for 2 years). Not with the Perak Malays, although they were really nice people on the whole; or with Kelantanese Malays with their completely different local dialect and for some of them, their kelantanese flirtiness (we speculated that it was because they were usually deprived of interactions with the opposite sex in the conservative PAS-led state). Certainly not with the Tamil-speaking Indian girls, just because they stuck to themselves and I couldn't understand what they were saying.
All these come to mind when I think back on NS. And though I thought I knew about life, NS humbled me. I lived, worked and played with prison's guards' children, doctors' children, teachers' children, farmers' children. People who scored 10As for their SPM result (which was announced the day after we left) and people who scored 3.
And I realised that all my book knowledge, my academic achievements, my English proficiency did not count for all that much. When I couldn't shine my boots even after spending tons of energy and time, it was my dormmates who helped me and realised that my brush was contaminated with too much shoe polish ("Kiwi"). The trick is to have only a little bit or else the boots will look matte. And when I had to dress formally at night, they helped iron the silk baju kurung. And my friends would always adjust my cap for me, because I jsut couldn't get the angle right. Another friend taught me a Kelantanese song. And I will never forget the night when my next-bed mate told me about how the prisoners escaped from the jail and set the building on fire, and her father the prison guard locked their family in the house, huddled together, armed with a parang. They were so along until police reinforcements came. How that was the scariest experience of her life.
I believe this experience, those 3 months, taught me to see people in a different light. To love them despite the differences and sometimes arguments, and to understand where they're coming from. That in the end, barring colour, race, sex, background - we are not so different after all.
I get onto the bus, knowing that without being in Gopeng baking for 3 months, I probably wouldn't be here at all.Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Grateful
There is nothing like
Family
Friends
Laughter
Long-distance phone calls
Chats over cheesecake and coffee
to fill up this deflated float and help it get back in line, bobbing on its way to the sea.
Thank you, everyone. For everything, large or small, that you have given to me. Even for reading this. Your love is never forgotten.
Family
Friends
Laughter
Long-distance phone calls
Chats over cheesecake and coffee
to fill up this deflated float and help it get back in line, bobbing on its way to the sea.
Thank you, everyone. For everything, large or small, that you have given to me. Even for reading this. Your love is never forgotten.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Eden and the Cross
What I miss most about Eden is the feeling of certainty. Everything He made was perfect, everything He did was right. There was no doubt and no fear. We had not learned what those words meant, then.
The moment I bit into the sweet flesh of the forbidden fruit, I knew. I knew with awful certainty that my God was mighty beyond understanding and that I should be afraid of His greatness. I knew then my terrible power, that I could destroy what I had built; I could kill what had suckled at my breast.
And the sweetness of the fruit turned into bitterness on my tongue. It was wrong, all wrong, like eyes where ears should be or three mouths. And where did I learn the meaning of wrong?
I spit out the fruit with as much force as I can muster - it dribbles out of my mouth in a wavery trail of drool. I learn the meaning of weakness.
_________
I do not know my right from wrong, my front from back, truth from lies. The newspapers tell me what to think. The internet tells me who to support for the elections. The magazines tell me what I should be wearing this season. Sunday School tells me that I am unique and that Jesus loves me. Church tells me the times are evil and the world is coming to an end. They do not teach me how to love homosexuals, prostitutes, rapists, murderers without condoning their actions and morals. They cannot explain the difference between "us" and "them". Is the any difference, if all are flawed and all bleed when cut?
The fruit, that damn blasted fruit; that brought all men to their knees, that made us pitifully confused creatures perpetually floating in a mist of confusion and duality. But it wasn't the fruit, was it really? It was our desire. And all that was supposed to bring us closer to His status - our knowledge, our labour, our piety - have failed to bring us peace. Failed to restore Eden.
We stack our accomplishments like building blocks to make a pathway to heaven. They fall, each and every attempt, dangling uselessly like a trail of drool.
_________
And with knees bent, head bowed; my God takes away the fruit that poisons and chains me to desperation and hopelessness. He clothes me in righteousness and He lays upon my back two pieces of wood, fastened together -a cross. He tells me to walk with it, the rest of my days.
I speak from beneath that weight now; exhausted but triumphant, hurt but stubbornly pushing forward, doubting my faith but trusting in what I cannot see. Fully aware of my mortality and my fragility. But even as these cloudy eyes fill with tears, I know that one day they will shine radiantly with joy. And what is broken will be made whole, and this feeble life of mine transformed into something masterful, something beautiful.
The moment I bit into the sweet flesh of the forbidden fruit, I knew. I knew with awful certainty that my God was mighty beyond understanding and that I should be afraid of His greatness. I knew then my terrible power, that I could destroy what I had built; I could kill what had suckled at my breast.
And the sweetness of the fruit turned into bitterness on my tongue. It was wrong, all wrong, like eyes where ears should be or three mouths. And where did I learn the meaning of wrong?
I spit out the fruit with as much force as I can muster - it dribbles out of my mouth in a wavery trail of drool. I learn the meaning of weakness.
_________
I do not know my right from wrong, my front from back, truth from lies. The newspapers tell me what to think. The internet tells me who to support for the elections. The magazines tell me what I should be wearing this season. Sunday School tells me that I am unique and that Jesus loves me. Church tells me the times are evil and the world is coming to an end. They do not teach me how to love homosexuals, prostitutes, rapists, murderers without condoning their actions and morals. They cannot explain the difference between "us" and "them". Is the any difference, if all are flawed and all bleed when cut?
The fruit, that damn blasted fruit; that brought all men to their knees, that made us pitifully confused creatures perpetually floating in a mist of confusion and duality. But it wasn't the fruit, was it really? It was our desire. And all that was supposed to bring us closer to His status - our knowledge, our labour, our piety - have failed to bring us peace. Failed to restore Eden.
We stack our accomplishments like building blocks to make a pathway to heaven. They fall, each and every attempt, dangling uselessly like a trail of drool.
_________
And with knees bent, head bowed; my God takes away the fruit that poisons and chains me to desperation and hopelessness. He clothes me in righteousness and He lays upon my back two pieces of wood, fastened together -a cross. He tells me to walk with it, the rest of my days.
I speak from beneath that weight now; exhausted but triumphant, hurt but stubbornly pushing forward, doubting my faith but trusting in what I cannot see. Fully aware of my mortality and my fragility. But even as these cloudy eyes fill with tears, I know that one day they will shine radiantly with joy. And what is broken will be made whole, and this feeble life of mine transformed into something masterful, something beautiful.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Daft
What happens when you don't know what to feel, because you don't know what is socially acceptable to feel?
Is it ok if I feel down during Christmas dinner, and everyone else is happy?
That didn't exactly happen tonight, but something someone said (or rather, revealed) bit me, and I'm still looking at the wound and thinking, "What next?" Sometimes, there are no words to describe misunderstanding. Misinterpretation. Failure to make yourself understood, failure to be perfect, failure to be a model of what's right but being wrong, all wrong, totally irrevocably wrong.
That dislike, that scorn, the shaking of the head fills me with shame, digs a pit in that cannot be filled, a sucking black hole.
And yet, I ask myself, why? Why do I sometimes, so carelessly, make others feel this way when I know how its like myself? To know, and to have the fact jammed into your face, that you are not perfect (and never will be). That your lack of a firm, stubborn opinion will more often work against you than for you. No one wants a reed, only strong oaks.
And all I am left with are regrets and torn bits of paper and half-smiles and a longing for what could have been.
P/S: Sorry...rather confused and thrown off course at the moment. What if I am everything that is wrong, what if all my reasons are excuses, my answers lies? Can I face myself? I want to go home, I want to run...and I will go home, soon; but the life I lead here will resume once I come back, like taking an old coat off the hanger and wearing it again.
Oh bother. I need counselling. I need someone to tell me what to do. I need to not have a mind of my own, because all my decisions come out all wrong.
Is it ok if I feel down during Christmas dinner, and everyone else is happy?
That didn't exactly happen tonight, but something someone said (or rather, revealed) bit me, and I'm still looking at the wound and thinking, "What next?" Sometimes, there are no words to describe misunderstanding. Misinterpretation. Failure to make yourself understood, failure to be perfect, failure to be a model of what's right but being wrong, all wrong, totally irrevocably wrong.
That dislike, that scorn, the shaking of the head fills me with shame, digs a pit in that cannot be filled, a sucking black hole.
And yet, I ask myself, why? Why do I sometimes, so carelessly, make others feel this way when I know how its like myself? To know, and to have the fact jammed into your face, that you are not perfect (and never will be). That your lack of a firm, stubborn opinion will more often work against you than for you. No one wants a reed, only strong oaks.
And all I am left with are regrets and torn bits of paper and half-smiles and a longing for what could have been.
P/S: Sorry...rather confused and thrown off course at the moment. What if I am everything that is wrong, what if all my reasons are excuses, my answers lies? Can I face myself? I want to go home, I want to run...and I will go home, soon; but the life I lead here will resume once I come back, like taking an old coat off the hanger and wearing it again.
Oh bother. I need counselling. I need someone to tell me what to do. I need to not have a mind of my own, because all my decisions come out all wrong.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Turning back to the Truth
I just realised (while surfing the net and checking emails and reading New York Times online, the things I do every night) that I'm not at all what I want to be.
How many times, just in one day, do I completely flout this command?
"Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing." - 1 Peter 3:9
When I read that verse yesterday night before I went to sleep last night, I did feel a twinge I think but I was almost going to sleep, drowsy; so I didn't think much of it.
Now, when I read it again, it strikes me that its the sort of thing I agree with totally on principle, but never follow.
I'm not trying to lay the blame on others, but in our society (especially adolescent society) there is a tendency to exchange insults and curses in a seemingly casual manner. However, to compliment a person genuinely is considered unusual, sometimes people even doubt your intentions in doing so. Through this kind of environment, I learned to believe that trading insults, striking before being provoked and being sarcastic as long as it's funny is ok.
More and more so I'm seeing that it's not. Perhaps it was still alright back home, when people knew me well and understood my intentions, but I believe that I've become in some ways more prickly than I used to be. Here, I can be two people in one body at the same time: one, TP with the sarcasm and big laugh; or TP with the kind smile and comforting words and helpfulness personified. But sometimes even that can be wrongly interpreted as fake.
I am not being what I want to be, what I want to be remembered for. Why did I come, was it just to learn in more depth the ways of the world and how to play the "game"? If so, then everything is just twisted. I want more than that. I want more than just leadership positions, sevens, friends, intellectual development...although all those play a part. I want to learn how to relate properly to other people. The way we are meant to.
Practising the Bible's truth can sometimes be so hard. It means shutting up my mouth just when I'd want to say something irresistable and speaking up when necessary to build someone up. But hey, this was never called the easy road, only the one which leads to an eternal, unbelievably wonderful reward in the future.
"Come, my children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord. Whoever of you loves life and desires to see many good days, keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking lies. Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it."
-Psalm 34: 11-14
How many times, just in one day, do I completely flout this command?
"Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing." - 1 Peter 3:9
When I read that verse yesterday night before I went to sleep last night, I did feel a twinge I think but I was almost going to sleep, drowsy; so I didn't think much of it.
Now, when I read it again, it strikes me that its the sort of thing I agree with totally on principle, but never follow.
I'm not trying to lay the blame on others, but in our society (especially adolescent society) there is a tendency to exchange insults and curses in a seemingly casual manner. However, to compliment a person genuinely is considered unusual, sometimes people even doubt your intentions in doing so. Through this kind of environment, I learned to believe that trading insults, striking before being provoked and being sarcastic as long as it's funny is ok.
More and more so I'm seeing that it's not. Perhaps it was still alright back home, when people knew me well and understood my intentions, but I believe that I've become in some ways more prickly than I used to be. Here, I can be two people in one body at the same time: one, TP with the sarcasm and big laugh; or TP with the kind smile and comforting words and helpfulness personified. But sometimes even that can be wrongly interpreted as fake.
I am not being what I want to be, what I want to be remembered for. Why did I come, was it just to learn in more depth the ways of the world and how to play the "game"? If so, then everything is just twisted. I want more than that. I want more than just leadership positions, sevens, friends, intellectual development...although all those play a part. I want to learn how to relate properly to other people. The way we are meant to.
Practising the Bible's truth can sometimes be so hard. It means shutting up my mouth just when I'd want to say something irresistable and speaking up when necessary to build someone up. But hey, this was never called the easy road, only the one which leads to an eternal, unbelievably wonderful reward in the future.
"Come, my children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord. Whoever of you loves life and desires to see many good days, keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking lies. Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it."
-Psalm 34: 11-14
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Cacophony
I think I've realised why I can't relax here. I am never at rest.
I wake up to worry and thoughts and lists of things to do and I saddle them on my back to last till the day ends and I drop, worn-out, into the bed again.
I am plagued with the vision of perfection and taunted by the shadow of insecurity and fragile self-esteem. I am surrounded by intelligent people and I can't tune into their channel. I cannot talk like I don't care because I do...more than you can imagine. So I remain silent, all the while bursting inside to talk to the person next to me.
Nothing I write is good enough, I can't solve the sum. I can't do this equation. I'm just not as smart. I admit defeat.
And maybe, in that desperate, weary yet defiant confession: I will find redemption.
I will survive, and tell the tale, and be a wiser, kinder person for it.
Be still my galloping thoughts....I need to sleep now.
I wake up to worry and thoughts and lists of things to do and I saddle them on my back to last till the day ends and I drop, worn-out, into the bed again.
I am plagued with the vision of perfection and taunted by the shadow of insecurity and fragile self-esteem. I am surrounded by intelligent people and I can't tune into their channel. I cannot talk like I don't care because I do...more than you can imagine. So I remain silent, all the while bursting inside to talk to the person next to me.
Nothing I write is good enough, I can't solve the sum. I can't do this equation. I'm just not as smart. I admit defeat.
And maybe, in that desperate, weary yet defiant confession: I will find redemption.
I will survive, and tell the tale, and be a wiser, kinder person for it.
Be still my galloping thoughts....I need to sleep now.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Merdeka Message-A Day Late!
Written 31st August 2007
After reading so many “Young Malaysian” columns in The Star of varying quality, here’s my own say in the matter on the Golden Jubilee of dear Peninsula Malaya (it’s not really Malaysia’s birthday, right?)
“My family…well, we’re an unusual family. I don’t expect you to understand. We’re very different in many ways and we even come from different cultures and backgrounds. We like different types of food and even have different beliefs and traditions. With all this, how can we still live as a family, you ask?”
“It’s a long story that has not really told itself into a neat ending yet. We haven’t been together long enough to really settle into roles that we are comfortable with. At present we’re having an uneasy, fragile truce that They-the Big Men- tell us we can’t talk or ask questions about. They’re afraid that some members might revolt against the status quo and upset the delicate harmony –the yin yang- of our family.”
“Personally, I’m not sure how that works. How strong can our family bonds be if we’re not even willing to iron out problematic issues in a reasonable way? If we aren’t open with our wants and needs, our dreams and hopes for the future; how can we be sure we’re all moving in the same direction together?”
“We’re a nice and loving family from the outside; we like to dress up on special occasions so that other families can admire our diversity and showy monuments and great-tasting food. We hope they won’t look at our perfect picture too closely and see the cracks in our smiles, the ennui in our eyes at hearing the endless empty promises, insensitive comments and grandiose pronouncements of our family’s elected spokespeople.”
“Change things, you say? Well, it isn’t that easy. Sad to say, not everyone’s working for the good of the family. The young and eager who want to often find obstacles in their way, put by those very people who have pledged to uphold the interests of this family. Inefficiency, complacency and corruption in our family is rampant – so much so that some members have disowned us and sought happiness in other families.”
“As a family, we’ve come this far – 50 years we’ve governed ourselves independently and sought a name and place for ourselves amongst greater, stronger powers. So far, I think we’ve done well in material terms. We could do much better, though. We’ve not had much obvious open antagonism erupting into violence for the last 38 years – but is that all we should aspire for? Amidst all our birthday celebrations, this is one of many serious questions we should ponder and decide on together.”
“What does Malaysia – my homeland- mean to me, you ask? Just as I have been saying all along! It’s my family; the bonds that tie are hard to break. And if you believe, as I do, that we are born where we are, who we are for a reason – then, you will know that each one of us is meant to make a difference in our own little corner of the world.”
“Happy birthday to you, Malaysia! All I can give you now is a prayer that this family will keep growing in the right direction and carefully, painstakingly correct the deep-rooted mistakes that we have made along the way. My other prayer is that, if God wills, I may be a part of those who have the same vision to change that far-off dream into concrete reality.”
After reading so many “Young Malaysian” columns in The Star of varying quality, here’s my own say in the matter on the Golden Jubilee of dear Peninsula Malaya (it’s not really Malaysia’s birthday, right?)
“My family…well, we’re an unusual family. I don’t expect you to understand. We’re very different in many ways and we even come from different cultures and backgrounds. We like different types of food and even have different beliefs and traditions. With all this, how can we still live as a family, you ask?”
“It’s a long story that has not really told itself into a neat ending yet. We haven’t been together long enough to really settle into roles that we are comfortable with. At present we’re having an uneasy, fragile truce that They-the Big Men- tell us we can’t talk or ask questions about. They’re afraid that some members might revolt against the status quo and upset the delicate harmony –the yin yang- of our family.”
“Personally, I’m not sure how that works. How strong can our family bonds be if we’re not even willing to iron out problematic issues in a reasonable way? If we aren’t open with our wants and needs, our dreams and hopes for the future; how can we be sure we’re all moving in the same direction together?”
“We’re a nice and loving family from the outside; we like to dress up on special occasions so that other families can admire our diversity and showy monuments and great-tasting food. We hope they won’t look at our perfect picture too closely and see the cracks in our smiles, the ennui in our eyes at hearing the endless empty promises, insensitive comments and grandiose pronouncements of our family’s elected spokespeople.”
“Change things, you say? Well, it isn’t that easy. Sad to say, not everyone’s working for the good of the family. The young and eager who want to often find obstacles in their way, put by those very people who have pledged to uphold the interests of this family. Inefficiency, complacency and corruption in our family is rampant – so much so that some members have disowned us and sought happiness in other families.”
“As a family, we’ve come this far – 50 years we’ve governed ourselves independently and sought a name and place for ourselves amongst greater, stronger powers. So far, I think we’ve done well in material terms. We could do much better, though. We’ve not had much obvious open antagonism erupting into violence for the last 38 years – but is that all we should aspire for? Amidst all our birthday celebrations, this is one of many serious questions we should ponder and decide on together.”
“What does Malaysia – my homeland- mean to me, you ask? Just as I have been saying all along! It’s my family; the bonds that tie are hard to break. And if you believe, as I do, that we are born where we are, who we are for a reason – then, you will know that each one of us is meant to make a difference in our own little corner of the world.”
“Happy birthday to you, Malaysia! All I can give you now is a prayer that this family will keep growing in the right direction and carefully, painstakingly correct the deep-rooted mistakes that we have made along the way. My other prayer is that, if God wills, I may be a part of those who have the same vision to change that far-off dream into concrete reality.”
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