Wait and Ponder

As of today, I will not be using my arms anymore, not unnecessarily anyways. *sigh* (my friend Crystal is typing this post) I have a few more hours til nightfall, so I can actually drive myself home, bring a book to a friend, umm.., return money to another friend (who actually paid for my wrist splint) and eat my meal without being fed.
I HATE CARPAL TUNNEL SYNDROME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Complaints aside, what is God teaching me through this? Do I actually need more pain in my life? Hmm, maybe I do. First, my right arm was gone, then my left arm decided to follow suit. Great. One of the things about pain and suffering is that the more you get it, the more you get used to it. It's a sick way of being positive but I guess compared to the pain and suffering that Jesus went through, what I have is peanuts (not that I want more...)

So I walked through the bookstore today and the horrible thought struck me, "What if I permanently stay this way? I would be totally dependant on someone else to drive me around, type out my thoughts, open the car door for me... AARRGGHHHHH

*Another sigh* So I read all these books on pain. On suffering. Our humanness. But to go through it is another thing altogether. And it would help if it doesn't hurt that much to hold up a book to read either. Always told God that He had better take me home than to allow me to remain on earth as a vegetable. But I guess I shouldn't be dictating the scene of my martyrdom, huh?

Being incapacitated on both arms, although not entirely, is a new experience and a new kind of imprisonment. Seeing how much I value freedom, this has got to be the lowest of the lowest pit. Ugh. But God has a plan, God has a plan. Maybe this is a time for me to rest. Not just physically, but to really slow down in every area of my life and wait. And ponder.

*Sigh*

Retirement Town?

Maybe. It's a great place to spend an undisturbed quiet weekend, but not terribly thrilling for city slickers used to nocturnal excitement and bright lights. Sleepy town of Bagan Dato, Perak, West Malaysia.

Raw Palm Fruit

Shaggy and husky stuff on the outside

...can be removed to reveal the naked fruit...





...up close.

Pain and Suffering

The thing about being disabled is that beyond the frustration, pain and inconveniences, one learns to adapt. Whether it is a temporary setback or a permanent condition, the adaptation curve of course, largely depends on one's attitude.

My friend's wife suffered a series of minor strokes last week. She had platlet complications as well as diabetes and high blood pressure. We prayed in the face of a very scary situation. She bounced back, and will be discharged from hospital in a couple more days. She lost motor funtion on her left body though, and will have to go through extended periods of physiotherapy.

I have lost the full use of my right arm for close to 3 weeks. First it was frozen, and when it thawed out it hurt when I moved my wrist. Practically lost my ability to grip. People prayed for me too, but my condition seemingly got worse. I figured this was the "forced rest" that my body needed, although my brain keeps psycho-ing it to push the limits just a little bit more.

Adapting to a disablement is never easy, even when it is not serious. Frustration and anger may be initial responses as nerves and tendons gang up on you, especially with looming deadlines and gazillion other things to do. Stressful.

Then acceptance dawns. That one is not immortal after all, that one day (nearer now than before) we all die and what remains is how we have lived - either for ourselves or for God. Then you start to look at people in a different light. You see beauty in places you've never really appreciated them before - in a deformed child, in a badly-burnt victim, in a multiple sclerosis patient. No, you don't just see beauty in them, you identify with them. For a moment, you actually know how it feels to live in an imperfect body.

Does it take pain and suffering to open our eyes? And our hearts? Granted, pain and suffering mean different things to different people, but one thing binds us all in common. We flee from suffering like it is the plague.

It would take longer for my friend's wife to recover than it would for me. For that, I am thankful. But more so for the fact that I've had the chance to partake of this side of humanity that is (understatedly) unpopular and shunned, that many obhor and avoid. And was able do it because Jesus had gone ahead of me.

School's Out!

Two village girls taking a breather from playing. Its the school holidays and their parents are at work. No better time to get into mischief...

Wisdom

As Os Guinness puts it:

As we get older, our reflexes are slower and our powers of retention smaller, and we certainly have no more idea now of what the future may hold. But a large part of wisdom comes from the accumulated experience of knowing what the future will not hold, and that vital wisdom increases as we get older. In other words, comprehension and wisdom improve even as memory falters. Wisdom is a matter of the quality of what we know, not the quantity.
--- (Prophetic Timeliness - A Challenge to the Idol of Relevance)

How comforting.

Seat With A View

Advance booking required for this seat



Grand view but you need to fit in here

And be constantly excited by the sight of raw food

Starting Young

Blissfully innocent and completely curious, this little girl tagged along with her parents while they shopped at the evening market during the fasting month of Ramadhan.

Rising From Mud

Was it worth getting stuck in super-mud (soft, coastal muck that sticks to your feet like cement), feeding 20 mosquitoes on one arm and risk getting camera lens wet in the drizzling rain to shoot a half-ripened pineapple in the middle of a village field?

Yes.

He Cares

Finished studying the book of Ruth this week. Good exegesis, but personally I found it bordering on the stuff romance books are made of... you know, widowed woman who "just so happened" to glean at elibigle bachelor's field, caught his attention, found out he was a kinsman-redeemer (a relative who in ancient Israel was responsible for the welfare of his relatives), hatched a plan to propose and eventually married him. Ahem.

In a nutshell, that's how God providentially cares for his people (in this case Ruth, as a foreigner, didn't even qualify). But He cared nevertheless. Makes me think of how His grace had worked and provided for my life, even at times when I didn't acknowledge or wanted Him to be around.

I do see Him around, though. In many instances in my life. One of them is during dinner. Mealtimes can tell you a lot about a family. I never really had that chance while growing up coz our family stayed apart - I was at the babysitter's, my brother with granny, dad was away for very long periods and my mom worked till late. Oh, we had meals together during festive seasons, and even that felt wierd. Made me long for my companion the tv (or books) instead.

But a strange (and wonderful) thing happened 2 years ago. My brother and his small family moved back with my parents and we started to have meals together, every night. In the beginning it was surreal. Here we are, all grown up and doing things we didn't get to enjoy while we were kids. Of course it was awkward at first, conversations were stilted and uncomfortable, but after two years, this practice slowly crept into our lives and took root.

Now conversation flows freely (most times), and dinnertime has become the most important part of the day where everyone pauses to thank God for His blessings. God is honoured at the dinner table. Guests who eat with us are are often blessed, even as it is our privilege to have them.

What a contrast! In the place of swearing, yelling and violence, we now have peace, kinship and care. Our family is the first amongst both maternal and paternal clans to experience this kind of goodness. My take? God's invisible hand has been working behind the scenes all these while after all...

Breaking Fast

Woke up at 4.30am to eat leftovers from the earlier day's supper, along with some friends. Well, at least it beats having cheeseburgers...

Occupy, occupy

Nothing is so unbearable to a man [sic] as to be completely at rest,
without passions, without business, without diversion, without study.
He then feels his nothingness, his falseness, his insufficiency, his
dependence, his weakness, his emptiness... (Blaise Pascal).

I really think so too, Blaise. How can we, bunch of do-ers as we are, ever reconcile the fact that in our innermost beings we are actually frail, insufficient, dependant and weak? We don't. We just ignore and hide it. By doing things.

My problem is that I am always doing something. Or thinking about doing it. Even in my emptiness, I still devise plans on the next project, next undertaking (worthwhile or not is another matter altogether). Blame it on the Type A syndrome, or high sugar intake, or grandma's super strong influence (she never seemed to stop doing housework - nor any work for that matter).

Hey, I dunno why I am wired this way, ok?

I do know however, that this weekend's photo shoot at the coastal village would be fun. Sure, it's work. But it's paid fun, so that's gotta count for something. In fact, the troops leave in exactly 6 hours. Can hardly wait.

Not Just Music

I watched the Eagles Farewell Tour (I) today with my godbrother. I have not done that since... forever. We used to play in the same band many years ago, he played the drums and lead guitar, Jason the bass, Jim would alternate on drums and the sound console, Bea on the piano, Su Yin on vocals, me on keyboards. We were a close-knitted group, hung out together most of the time, definitely had fun playing together, cared deeply for each other, etc, etc

At one point, I thought my existence depended on the music practices and the tea-drinking sessions that ensued. I hated the actual performance days coz it lacked experimentation and spontaneity. And I hated the fact that there was actually an audience listening and watching every move I made.

I left the band first. Sailed on a ship (amongst other things) and didn't really return till 5 years later. In between, Jim and Bea left too. Inevitably, we are all part of each other's memories. We may have grown apart or even estranged, but there is something in our relationship that just wouldn't die - despite the passage of time, opinions or new faces.

I hadn't asked them yet, but I suspect each of them - in their heart of hearts - harbour this desire to play together again. It was not just the music. It was the bond that was nurtured by hours of insane practices, between sheets of chord charts, fired by the passion to let the music soar. It was the sound of worship.

Yup, we will probably play together again. When the time is right.

Money Wheel

She was waiting for my friend and I. Medium height, hair pulled back in a ponytail, she adjusted her plastic-framed glasses and gave us a broad smile as we both sat down opposite her at the Indian diner.

My friend and I were prepared. Since the meeting was inevitable, we braced ourselves for the onslaught. And just like any hopeful recruiter, she was eager, motivated and dead-set on the belief that her internet business program would pave her way to financial freedom.

Sometime in the middle of the meeting her story disgorged – she still retained her corporate day job while trying to build a business to support her ageing parents and siblings. Her weekdays are spent working long hours and weekends occupied with business meetings. Commendable. I am surprised that after 4 million similar stories she still had my full attention. Actually, it was more of feeling sad for her.

My friend reckoned that it is “the system of this world” that’s the root of all these problems. She was reading Exodus, the part where Aaron and Moses approached the Egyptian pharaoh and asked for a 3-day reprieve for the Israelite slaves to make sacrifices to God. But the request backfired and the pharaoh was like, hey let’s make these lazy Israelites do more work, since they are paying attention to all these lies about sacrifice.

Are people hamsters? Trapped running on a tyrannical money-wheel that screams faster, faster, faster? How much productivity is enough? How much money is enough?

Sigh.

The brainwashing continues…Outdo! Outsell! Outrun! Out-think! Very soon it would be lights out, kiddo. And our lives would have accounted for little more than just having existed to make up the numbers.

Never had contentment been that elusive. Never had it been more needed.

Fatigue

In the past 24 hours, two guys (on separate occassions) whom I had not met in a couple months told me my face had turned green. As much as I appreciated their honesty, I didn't find their observation very flattering. Of course, it was tactless but at least it was the truth. I checked in the mirror. Disturbing. Sure, I had just recovered from a frozen arm and fever, but I hadn't realised my skin had turned to the colour of chrolophyll in the process.

Sheesh... I hate it when I tire easily and feel weak! There are so many things I cannot do (but would still attempt anyways). I felt so groggy today that I almost became a road menace while driving. Ugh. I hate it when my body doesn't obey. Hate, hate... think I need to sleep now. Too tired to think...

Left-handed Momentarily

Aaaargh! Lost use of right arm and now typing with 1 finger on left hand!!! Several possible reasons - Tennis Elbow. Writers' Cramp. Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Stressed nerves clumped at base of neck.

Either way it is not good.

Alistair

I met Alistair Davidson in 1997 when LP and I were visiting the Carlisle Cathedral. In his 50s, portly and good-natured, he was the guide who really kept us entertained and interested in gothic structures and the "rich history of north England's religious past".

It must have been some sort of wild chemistry, coz the three of us hit it off straightaways. Imagine wicked humour, mischevious demeanour and witty sarcasm all lumped into one brewing concoction. No stirring needed.

Anyways, Alistair had a ball of a time (which prob explained why he invited us to his home for Sunday dinner that week). Since LP had gone back to London, the invite was directed at me.

I accepted with glee, being the social animal that I was (and still am). Any kind of social activity was most welcomed in Carlisle, and I was eager to know Alistair and his wife Pat better.

Unfortunately, as the dinner drew nearer, I started to have reservations and doubts. Why had I been so rash to accept? What if they are serial killers who prey on foreigners and proceeded to serve body parts the following meal? Eeek... paranoia working overtime....

The big day arrived. I had to keep to my word. Made my way to their house on the other side of town with a real sense of unease. I just didn't know what to expect.

When Pat opened the door, I thought I was doomed. She reminded me of the photo of the English serial killer I saw while browsing the crime section of the bookstore. It didn't help when their house was dimly lit, stuffy and overheated. I was asked to sit on the sofa, and was offered a drink while we made small talk.

All these while my mind and heart were racing, "calm down... locate the nearest exit, lock your attention there while showing these people how interested you are in their conversation...and don't drink too much... might be spiked..."

Finally dinner was served. It took me a while to get used to mushy peas and really tender roasts, but Pat's Yorkshire puddings were to die for... until today I can still taste it at the tip of my tongue...

We talked a lot that evening, about everything and anything. In fact, I spent almost every Sunday evening with Alistair and Pat for the next 2 years. Alistair retired working at the train station and was an avid modeler. He made all those 'cute toy soldiers' which he would display on his shelves at home. He loved history, and would take me to the much lesser-known parts of northern England and Scotland to show me castles, cathedrals and churches. Of course, I accompanied him on his trainspotting trips as well, though that has never really caught on.

Alistair loved to paint too, oil, watercolours, you name it. I had grown to love this man and his wife, both unassuming, kind and just regular people. We did something every Sunday. In the summer months it would be fishing, visiting the Fells or birdwatching at his huge backyard. One year he wrangled an invitation for me to speak to the children in his grand-daughter's school (they wanted to know more about people from Asia). During winter we would stay heated indoors while talking about anything from the state of world affairs to the price of beans.

During the last few months of my time in England, Alistair's health had taken a turn for the worse. Instead of his usual walking stick, he needed to be put on a wheelchair. Still, he was spirited, and even attended one of my church's services. Later, he would be confined to his wheelchair in his bedroom upstairs. Even so, he would be snarky when I spoke to him over the phone halfway across the world. I realised his strength was failing, even though his spirit wasn't.

During our last few conversations, we talked about life, death and eternal salvation. He assured me we will meet again, if not on earth.

Meanwhile, I miss my friend.

Wed and Dead

Just got the news. Alistair passed away couple hours back, in his home in Carlisle, north England. Don't feel anything yet - prob because the reality hasn't sunk in. I still have his paintings and cards and stuff in my room, his wife Pat had sent them years ago.

Right after Pat's email bringing the sad news, another friend messaged her anticipation at her upcoming wedding. Life goes on, we are hardly masters of our fate.

Not a Pervert Title

Aaaah... read "The First Time I Got Paid For It" at Kinokuniya this afternoon, during a downpour downtown. Mostly 2-pager snippets describing rags-to-riches accounts of (now) famous writers who were scraping-barrel-bottom poor at one point of their lives (but now have their dream Swiss chalets, villa in the country and are just short of heaping more onto their money pile at the expense of the hapless book buyer).

Strange thing is, books as such seem to be very popular, mostly coz they hit a vulnerable spot - a weak link, chink in the armour or what-have-you in their targetted audience (ie, those who walk around with a "In need of recognition... of any kind" sign emblazoned on their foreheads).

Anyways, with nose buried between the pages I read thru' half the book in two hours (had to be extremely good or really bad - go figure...)

Of course the Hollywood bigwigs had their obligatory say, most of them describing how their big break came about. It was pleasant reading, you know, writers reading about other writers, and wishing stuff that happened to them would happen to you too... (actually if they are real writers, probably half the stuff are gross exaggeration anyways...) And it wasn't just about the money either (though that would help). If you are writing for money, you may as well jump into the feng-shui bandwagon and get rich telling people what common sense had been trying to do all these while. While at it, throw in some obligatory seminars, workshops and TV appearances to cash in on the rakings-er-ratings. Perfect.

Anyhow, it was good encouragement to know that even writers like Bocho, Alda, Ephron and Goldberg had suffered the short end of the hustling game at some point... then again, for every Alda, there are probably 376 wannabes still bussing tables trying to edge their scripts onto the studio executives' desks.

One fella they didn't have in there was Akiva Goldsman (he wasn't a 'somebody' during time of print). And who could ever leave Orson Welles out? And live? No matter what stories other writers tell about themselves, nothing beats personal experience, I believe. That way, there's always a ring of authenticity to the story, no matter how many times it has been rehashed.

And yeah, decided to save my money and not contribute to Swiss chalet #3 for some hot writer who already make a ton of money.

Whenever I kick myself senseless over the rubbish I churn out, remind me God, to be thankful for the ability to write in the first place.

Lately unschooled

I often wondered what they teach kids at schools. Today I had a sneak preview. In fact, Joyce, this 8-year-old daughter of a friend, had sneaked up on me and pipped a question about geometry. Which was great, considering I had a consistent record of failing miserably in all manner of mathematics - applied or implied.

Joyce was undeterred.

"Jie-jie, do you know what a vertex is?"

"Do you mean a vortex?" I asked.

"No, no, it's a vertex. Can you tell me where the vertex is?" she opened a textbook that revealed an array of different geometric shapes, their names and descriptions.

"I have never heard of a vertex, are you sure it is part of your lesson?"

"Yes!" she thundered, getting impatient. "How come my teacher knows what it is and you don't??" A hint of exasperation there.

"Tell you what, Joyce," I said, "we'll google it, go to wikipedia and sort the entire thing out in 2 minutes, ok?"

One minute later, two other adults joined in to decipher the wikipedia explanation. "In 3D computer graphics, the a vertex is a point in 3D space with a particular location, usually given in terms of its x, y, and z coordinates. It is one of the fundamental structures in polygonal modelling... etc."

"OK, Joyce," I cooed in my most assuring tone,"don't sweat it. We now only have to find out what a polygonal model is, and then we will know what a vertex is all about! Easy, right?"

"But my teacher knows it and it is very simple! Why can't you explain it to me???? I just need to know where (in relation to the diagram) it is...!"

"Be patient, Joyce, ok, here is the explanation for a polygonal model.... (blah, blah)..."

By this time, all three adults were staring at the computer screen trying to crack the polygonal code. It may as well have been in hieroglyphics.

Joyce meanwhile, has disappeared from the room. (Maybe she finally decided that she wasn't going to waste her youth talking to baloney-spewing bozos, albeit articulate ones.)

When she returned, she opened another textbook which showed in great detail the different shapes, their names, and what each line and edge and corner is called. And there, there was the mighty vertex, in full view and in unmissable, distinct wording.

"Nah," she said, "look at the book. It says the vertex is the pointed tip of a cone or a pyramid (which traditionally points to the sky)." Satisfied, she finished her homework and went her merry little way, leaving us adults in a wake of incredulous shame.

I need an aspirin. Or go back to school.

Aspirin. Less tormenting.

Beauty is in the Heart

A friend asked me to comment on beauty and the media. (He must have thought I was some kind of vocab factory capable of churning out profound quotes at the drop of a hat... hey, I am flattered). But I have to accept my limitations - I ain't no vocab whiz and certainly not in a position to comment on topics of such aesthetic nature with dexterity and wit.

But the thing is, if beauty is measured according to what everyone (including the media) says - from both inside and outside - then why are we still hankering after the external? Why do we desire to look good in order to feel good? Why should the standards of beauty be determined by celebrities whose existence depend on an army of makeup artists and photoshop backroom boys?

An accquaintance who worked at a popular slimming establishment once told me that the expensive slimming programmes actually put the clients in a worse-off situation than before they had walked into the shop. Sure, this is not news... but wait... if this is so, then WHY ARE PEOPLE STILL FLOCKING TO BE FLEECED?

The cosmetics industry makes serious bucks, along with their advertising and mass media compatriots - all to create, sustain, persuade and manipulate this desire (to be beautiful according to stipulated standards) and more importantly, to make this desire attainable.

It's like, if being more beautiful is within your reach, why not grab it with both fists? And throw a few more bottles of botox, some collagen, and a pair of silicone implants into the basket as well. After all, we all deserve to be beautiful and happy. Da de dum...

I guess people (despite the lip service) had forgotten that beauty has more to do with the inside rather than the outside. They'd forgotten that there was a time when beauty was used to describe goodness, truth, integrity, meekness, patience, selflessness. There was a time when character - not looks - made a man.

Why are these qualities a rarity in the media? Why the persuasion towards the external? To satisfy our base desire to covet? To feed envy? If so, we are in D.S., if we aren't already.


God, help me identify real beauty when it comes my way.

Babette's Dream

There are many things I like about the movie Babette's Feast. The colours, the cinematography, set dressing, the story, the emotions attached to it, the characters, aso asf.

But mainly I like it for its depiction of giving.

Everyone gave something in that story. The old father, his two ageing daughters, their maid Babette, the murmuring villagers, the general, etc, etc.

I guess in a world of take, take, take, that's an absurd, awkard and even stupid thing to do. Why give when you can keep? Why be selfless when it's your right to have it all?

But then again, why not?

Babette came from a world of aristrocatic splendour, of French royalty at its hedonistic zenith, to a drab existence of ale-soaked fish in the sleepy fishing village of Jutland where people involved themselves in petty talk about their petty lives.

She subsequently wins a lottery and instead of going back to France to live in her villa and dine on caviar everyday, she returned to Jutland to prepare a feast for her former employers and their bickering villagers - spending all her money to do so.

What on earth possesed her?

Maybe a hint of the answer is found within herself.
Maybe she has grown to love her employers of 14 years - two ageing sisters who, despite their age and own struggles, faifthfully knock on the door of each needy villager to cook, bring food, help and warmth.

Perhaps she had grown tired of the hollow extravagant parties in high society, the stress of keeping up with the Joneses, the futility of staying on top of the social ladder. Maybe.

My favourite interpretation however, is that Babette had a dream. In that dream she saw a place, a city actually, teeming with people. There is something different about this place because the animals roam around, and instead of ending up on the dinner table, these creatures co-exist with humans with ease. (People must have turned into vegetarians). There is a sense of purity and serence calmness about this place... it's uncanny, ethereal yet real.

Babette must have saw this place from afar, a place where:

Love and faithfulness meet together
Righteousness and peace kiss each other
Faifthfulness springs forth from the earth
and righteousness looks down from heaven

Just Another Day

Things done today:

1. Renewed company's registration at the Registrar of Companies
2. Renewed LP's company at the same place
3. Took mom to the bank and clinic and back again
4. Drawn blood for some haemo-test at the lab
5. Emailed my daily portion to adopted father
6. Fetched my niece from kindy

All before noon!!!!!! (Good, good, good...)

Then, for the rest of the day:

7. Get Saturday's schedule sorted out (helping a friend to take some Zimbabweans out for lunch, movie in the evening, etc)
8. Rush to cinema to get tixs
9. Return DVD to another friend (long overdue!)
10.Go to OM office to meet the guys and rant about newsletter

Er - at some point I gotta get down to some reading. Have 4 books in line, begging to be flipped opened. Man, life is good!

Who you are...

One of the moments that really got me while watching "Clear and Present Danger" (probably for the n-th time) is this:

Admiral James Greer (played by James Earl Jones - better remembered for his portrayal of the voice of Darth Vader) lay in the hospital dying. His protege Jack Ryan (Harrison Ford), the Deputy Director of the CIA was struggling on whether to investigate a growing scandal. The admiral's last words to his protege were:

"You took an oath, if you recall, when you first came to work for me. And I don't mean to the National Security Advisor of the United States, I mean to his boss... and I don't mean the President. You gave your word to his boss: you gave your word to the people of the United States. Your word is who you are."

Your word is who you are.

Trapped... with Joy

Joseph of the Bible has always been great bedtime fodder when I was a kid. Sure, his story had everything that would put a Hollywood epic blockbuster to utter shame - extraordinary plot, great characterisations, important historical context, colourful settings and a happily-ever-after ending to boot.

But that was when I was a kid.

Years and countless character studies later, there are still lessons from this psychedelic-wardrobed (well - he did walk around in rainbow-inspired clothes) personality that stuck.

RT Kendall writes:

When God deals with a man in an extraordinary manner, He almost always puts him in through unusual suffering. The essence of that suffering is often the bleakness of the future. (Gulp!) What makes suffering suffering is the complete absence of hope, humanly speaking. (No kidding!) God chastens those He intends to use in an unusual way by bringing them right to the edge of despair (now, that sounds familiar...). This way (here comes the clincher!) they can never question the explanation for their deliverance when it comes.

Of course, he was talking about Joseph being incarcerated without fault of his own. About the suffering that ensues as each count the cost to follow Christ. I think anyone who seriously wants to follow Jesus would arrive here at some point.

Despair in my dictionary is described as rotten, suckky, yuckky, maggoty, phu-thuey, crap, aso asf. But then again, I am describing the reaction associated with the condition. The actual feeling is one of helplessness and despondency. Of being trapped, suffocated, gagged, handcuffed, bound, tied, shackled... you get the picture.

How easy to tell others that all would be well and beautiful when we become Christians! Liars, liars, pants on fire!!!! (Then again, if someone was to have told me the cost involved in following Jesus before I had made the decision, I would have darted off in the other direction at the bat of an eyelid.)

When Joseph was in the dungeon he simply wanted out. But God had far, far more in mind for him than a mere release from prison. Many of us have ambitions that, in their carnality, are way, way short of what God has in mind for us.

Little did Joseph know what he was being prepared for. As with us. Little do we know about the things God has in mind for us.

"Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God has prepared for them who love him" (1 Cor 2:9)

In that case God, please keep the light streaming in to the prison window. Please.

The Face of Faith

What does faith look like?

An exerpt from "Believing God" by RT Kendall, on the chapter describing Abraham: (This was when Abraham has demonstrated great faith turning his back on Ur and pitching tents in Canaan - the Promised Land. But darn, there was a famine in Canaan and here was what Abraham, the great father figure mentioned in all three theistic religions of the world, did to save his skin).

"Once Abraham made the decision to go to Egypt he began projecting. His projection was the vehicle of his unbelief. What is a projection? It is a defence mechanism by which we superimpose our own fears on to our ideas of another's actions."

To make it short, Abraham projected that Pharoah would be attracted to his wife - he was spot on. (Sometimes our fears can be justified).

Then he projected that in order to stay alive he had to tell a lie, that his wife was his sister - he was wrong. (Projections can lead to unbelief).

The slippery slope of self-projection can spiral to sin of unbelief.

Abraham by this time, has degenerated from awe-inspiring greatness to a considerable muddle of mess.

Of course we know the end of the story. Abraham eventually became the great father from whom the Jews and Arabs draw their religious ancestry. He died a great man of faith, according to the Christians, and was awarded quite a bit of Bible publication space.

Despite that, Abraham's sojourn to Egypt was not mentioned in the book of Hebrews, in that famous chapter that dealt with faith. Possibly, Egypt represented the time of his spiritual descent, a time where his human reasoning led to paranoia, and eventually to a dark, sorrowful chapter in his life.

So what keeps me glued to this issue?

(Because I am at a place which I think is the Promised Land. However, I do not know for sure, and on top of that, there is a famine right here. Due to lack of (mostly external) confirmation, I began to doubt the promises. There is of course, the option to move elsewhere without famine, like Abraham did. But to do that would make null and void the very important principle below:)

"It is better to be in the will of God without the external confirmation - even in famine - than to be out of the will of God with all its inevitable sorrow."

I am VERY, VERY glad there is a Bible to slap me outta delusions and keep me in the straight and narrow.

Seventh Commandment

Adultery. Bad news wrapped around illicit acts with deliciously tempting Hollywood frosting. Of course no well-intentioned person ever starts off wanting to commit adultery in the first place, but hey, this is an increasingly confusing and liberal age we live in, and ever so subtly our emotions draw us to the accessibly forbidden, masking it to be absolutely legitimate.

"If it feels good, just do it."

"Do whatever makes you happy."

"Follow your heart."

All around us, culture, society and the media (which shapes the culture anyways) repeatedly pound us with the benefits and pleasures of unbridled sex with anyone we happen to fancy at anytime we feel inclined, omitting the hassles of commitment and obedience to God's word. It's supposed to be cool to have multiple partners, be homosexual or even a bisexual. Yup, let's celebrate our differences (in sexual preferences). After all, the 10 Commandments were only applicable to the people of old and not to our modern-day society. What does the Bible, which was written so long ago, know about the people of the 21st century anyways?

Years ago, when I was making plans to co-habitate, it felt like the perfect solution for a person of my temperament. What is marriage anyways, besides a piece of paper from a poor rainforest tree sawn before its time?

To cut it painlessly short, all those lofty domestic plans came to naught when I met Jesus. Not only, I discovered, that I was supposed to stay sexually pure; I had to work at it too (which means I am responsible for guarding my heart and mind from wandering - a fulltime pre-occupation since I am prone to daydreaming).

So God, help me understand this. How is it that You created men and women and then clamped them with all these restrictions?

Possible things to think about (in order of priority):

1. Partnership
2. Pleasure
3. Pro-creation

I may never understand completely why God only allows sex in the context of a monogamous marriage, but I can see its benefits. I can see how faithfulness is displayed in these relationships, reflecting the character of God. I can see how God's promises are fulfilled in the sphere of a permanent and committed relationship. I can see how God loves enough to want this kind of relationship and work at it.

Question is: Do I love enough to reciprocate?

Hope

Hope is a good thing... perhaps the best of things. And no good thing ever dies...
(Frank Darabont, screenplay of The Shawshank Redemption - 1995)


Several things happened yesterday:
1. I had a discussion with someone about producing a feature film documentary.
2. I met up with my friends from Wycliffe, who have moved on from OM.
3. I also met my senior from The Star, who urged me to return to journalism.

Immediately after #1, my heart soared with possibilities. Ideas were beckoning from the back of my mind... but I was still cautious (didn't want to be hurt / disappointed / disillusioned again).

Then #3 happened. My heart did a little number again, but it was not as high as what happened in #1. My senior (I keep calling her that because she was my "babysitter" whilst I was a rookie reporter doing the court beat) hadn't seen me in 10 years. She's now Asst. News Editor and kept urging me to go back to journalism. Wow... another skip.

By the time #2 occurred, it was already w-a-y into the night. I spent the evening with a friend who worked in the Doulos pantry with me. Back then, we had lots of fun learning the ropes of evangelism (and pantrydom), conquering our fears, struggling to give up our rights and to prefer others. Tough but critical issues. This friend is now overseas with Wycliffe, still undergoing life's struggles but has grown to tackle them as they come. I am so proud of her. She came back with a future husband in tow too... great going!

So what's that got to do with hope?

Plenty.

After three years of not knowing what to do with my life, I was basically on the verge of losing hope. In God's plan, in my confidence, in the future. I thought I was a has-been, despite all the assurance God has said in His word. I began to doubt because God was silent on those matters. I began to think that He has forgotten me. (I tried to be content in that but somehow it oscillates between coming across as something self-manufactured and a rested confidence...) I see my friends, peers, mentors and 'mentees' moving on in ministry, work and basically life in general and I am happy for them. It is a genuine kind of happiness, but joy was elusive.

Back to hope.

I told my friend that I see this period as a testing time for me. God is working on my charatcer and I don't understand what He is doing. (Not that He consults me or lays out the entire blueprint, you know). I am the type who would find it easier to fight the enemy in the battlefield than stay at home. So I reckoned, God is zeroing in on my weakest point (dread of boredoom) and perhaps wrenching out the dregs of carnal flesh so it can be used later. The entire problem is - it's SO DARN HARD to allow that to happen! I don't want to go through this process! I want an instant solution! Aaaargh!

Yet, hope makes things easier. Somehow the sky seems brighter on a starless night, and the world seems larger in a prison room. And hope makes possible what is presently perceived. I can dare to hope again...



Help, Lord Jesus, to catch me at times when hope falters and I despair.

Old Farts Are Farts Too

I turn 35 today. Wow, I never thought I would be this old. I mean, 35 is an age where people get to the boring stage of their lives, they would have changed diapers for a few years, gotten deeply mired in mortgages, debts, watching pointless golf tourneys while eating tv dinners, and probably spent a fortune on whitening & slimming creams, botox, etc, etc.

And me? I am getting tired more easily (though that could be a result of lack of exercise than anything else) and more accommodating. Or maybe I am just too darn lazy to argue anymore.

I remember that a decade ago, at 25, the world was my oyster. A friend then asked, "What are you going to do if you had all the money in the world?" I thought for a while and said, "I would travel, and then give it all away." Ten years down the line, I still don't have all the money in the world, but I am glad I managed to do both, to a certain extent.

The friends I have at 35 are different from the ones I had when I was 25. But the ones who really stuck are the ones I would have for life. Some people are happy just to have one. I am blessed with three. LP, Lizzy and Bea are lifers. I guess they didn'tstand a chance, considering my irresistable charm and magnetism (Ouch! Don't kill me now girls!)

That makes me wonder what I would be like in another decade's time. I really don't know what I would be doing. What do people do at 45 anyways? Get the 7-year-itch? Have grandkids? More botox?

Busy, busy

I am back! Ok, so I didn't leave for that long, but the trip south was a real dead-tiring one... anyways, I'll have to rush off in a couple minutes for two meetings back-to-back (almost) in town and before that I'll have to do up the multimedia stuff too. Then there's bible study which I MUST attend tonight in order to stay in the group (got kicked out once). After that my godma wants to take me out for my birthday treat (it's today, and I am turning into an old fart). After that, if I am still alive to the world, I would like to fall on my bed and be dead instead. Aaaargh... I am soooo tired out!

Dissed

So... I am singing oldies off-tune, off-pitch and off-key with my colleague Crystal coz we are very, very bored. Of all the things I listed previously, what did I get to do? OK, basically #s 1 & 3. The rest? Got held up by these suppliers we oughta release.... grrrrrr!!!!! AND we still can't leave south coz we are delayed by some bozos who can't get the visuals out in time... double grrr!!

Daily List

Things to do today:

1. Dream up a multimedia presentation
2. Collect visuals from the ad agency
3. Finalise materials with client and venue provider for launch
4. Type invoice for scriptwriting
5. Eat lunch (Yay!!! I would l-o-v-e sushi, but then again I am broke...)
6. Prep details for roadshow next week
7. Drive 4-hours south for weekend roadshow
8. Supervise the set-up once arrived south
9. Go to bed! And get up for early swim tomorrow.

Where does God and family fit in???

OK, here we go again.

1. Pray
2. Dream up multimedia presentation
3. Talk to my mom & play with my niece
4. Collect visuals from ad agency... etc, etc..


God, please help me prioritize...

The Will Thing

Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, Aug 17 reading:

(about the rich young ruler)...

"Sell all that you have," undress yourself morally before God of everything that might be a possession until you are a mere conscious human being and then give God that. That is where the battle is fought - in the domain of the will before God. Are you more devoted to your idea of what Jesus wants than to Himself? (etc, etc...)

The human will is a funny thing. I mean, it grabs - no- grips at you and causes you to rationalize everything down to something in favour of your own understanding. It is easy to say, "Your will be done, Lord," but quite another to willingly allow your own will to die. The person who goes to the guillotine willingly may have triumphed over his own flesh, but still possesses a will of steely determination to die for his cause. Ask him to lay down his cause, and he may yet live in his body but would have died in his soul. A mere shadow of the person he used to be.

Yet God says "deny yourselves and follow Me". I am sure He wasn't just talking about how we should treat our bodies.

Season of (Dis)Content

So. I was murmuring about how much I had to put into my work, mostly the energy-sapping long hours and how I found it impossible to hold a thought - much less write - when my brain happened to be so chocked-full with one task after another; and my body taxed to its hilt almost everyday.

I also mentioned about discerning the season of life I happen to be in.

Put those two together and what comes up (besides a premature senior moment due to brain overuse) ... is a sense of extreme tiredness and a realisation that "hey, I oughta be content even when my limbs threathen to fall off with one more activity, and especially more so when I start to entertain the idea of marriage as a free meal ticket..."

I can tell you why anyone who won't work shouldn't eat. I could also rationalise why too much work is detrimental. I could go on and on about the importance of balancing the two... but honestly, I find myself sufficiently deficient in that area, especially now. Perhaps I am too physically tired, perhaps I have grown jaded. Perhaps I have been discouraged too often. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...

A gnawing thought creeps in uninvited, thudding like a drum repertoire frenzy: Give thanks in all situations... contentment with godliness is great gain... be content in lack and in abundance...

Waitaminute. I had not been content. I clung to memories, hoping to relive them to satisfy my own desire for significance, in which the meaning and purpose of my life were tightly entwined. And like an anaemic carrot, they hover around my straying thoughts, slowly casting a shroud of discontent.

I looked back at my past and wonder why my life stopped at 31. Did I pack too much in before that? Is it gonna fizz out now and leave dregs of monotony in its wake? I can't understand it then, and still don't.

But that's probably because I don't see the entire picture. I doubt anyone ever would while we are still trapped in earthbound bodies. One thing keeps me going: Jesus has said, "follow me". I know I have to heed and obey, even when it hurts, or when sacrifices are called for.

What really matters

Didn't get to sleep last night, must have been the tea I had with my adopted parents at dinnertime. Kept turning and tossing on my bed, my mindgoing through the events of the day and the more I think about it, the more I feel I should do something.

Anyways, the day started with me doing the groceries early in the morning. My entire family - mom, brother, sis-in-law, niece - is down with high fever. So that means the responsibility falls on me to run the household for the time being. I stuffed the fridge with enough food for a week (since I will be away for work during the long weekend), and instructed our maid on meals, medication for the sick, cleanliness, etc, etc.

Then I personally inspected each one of them (family members) before going to work. I didn't even have time to run my own errands at the bank.

Oh yeah, my main contention is with the work I am doing. Not the fact that I should work, but the kind of work involved. It just sucks up too much of my time (and energy), and leaves me little precious time (ie, just before I sleep, right after I wake up & stolen toilet moments) to read. It's taking me three days to get halfway through "The Trivialisation of God", which happens to be fairly easy-reading material too.

It didn't help when my adopted father commented that my work "controls me". I know he is right, but to put some perspective in there, I have to consider the season of life God has me in. Some 'divine tweaking' is probably needed in the general area of my commitment. It may have been good enough for me, but God has a higher purpose. I can't claim to know what it is, but I trust Him.

So I am back to the grind.

One thing keeps thumping my thoughts. That one's gifting doesn't necessarily commensurate with one's calling. Paul (of the Bible) is my model. I mean, this guy sat at the feet of Gamaliel, and back in his days, that would be equivalent to two doctorates. And what did Paul end up doing? Sewing tents to survive his nomadic lifestyle. I think of the pastor who works part-time as a gas attendant; my godpa who gave up his job as vice-president of a financial group to attend to the needs of the poor and stricken; my many friends who gave up status, power and prestige to serve others in lowly-esteemed positions.

What is evident is not their sacrifice, but their love.

But, I say to myself, I have done those things too. I have sacrificed, abandoned my life to God; He's done quite a few miraculous things with it and ... what's next? What do I do with a "post-cross-cultural missionary" lifestyle?

I don't think there are easy answers. Simple maybe, but not easy. Sure, gloss it over with the "wait for God's timing", "you are a missionary wherever you are placed" talk and all that comes along with it. But memories don't die. The taste of the goodness of God while living on the edge of faith... sears like a hot branding iron in my soul. And it hurts. It hurts because it has receded into the recesses of memory, to be recalled merely as stories of the past.

However, if faith is a continuim, it has to be able to hold up to the different changes in every stage of life. I dunno how I am faring with the changes, and honestly I don't really care anymore. Have other issues to deal with, like how would I live my life today to maximise it for God's kingdom?


When it's all been said and done
There is just one thing that matters
Did I do my best to live for Truth
Did I life my life for You

When it's all been said and done
All my treasures will mean nothing
Only what I've done for Love's reward
Will stand the test of time

Lord Your mercy is so great
That you see beyond my weakness
And find purest gold in miry clay
Making sinners into saints

I will always sing Your praise
Here on earth and ever after
For You've shown me heaven's my true home
When it's all been said and done
You're my Life when life is gone.

When It's All Said and Done
(Jim Cowan)

Blessed Selfishness... hmmm

My buddy Beatrice tells me that I am living a selfish lifestyle because I am not married. (Huh??) Her reasoning: I am too self-centered to even consider sharing my life with someone, I am too picky and hard to please, and I purposely avoid relationships that has even a hint of commitment, all in order to preserve my footloose, fancy-free lifestyle.

Gee... I really don't need enemies. But on the other hand, there may be a grain of truth somewhere in there. Yup, I love to travel and move around, I don't mind living in a box and backpacking for one half of the year, living off scraps and experiencing sights and sounds of different cultures and places. I also like to be left alone in my own space sometimes (ok, a lot of times) so that I can enjoy my own company, gather thoughts and do some reading. Not too much to ask, right?

I look at Bea. She's married with 1 kid, a fulltime mom and part-time music arranger. She's really happy juggling those three and serving in her church at the same time. Cool.

Thing is, different people have different giftings and calling. Motherhood is probably not mine, no matter how much I love kids. Yeah, I may be selfish and thinking only about myself, but er - who else are singles supposeda be worried about? Isn't that itself is a gift and blessing?

Break from CSI

Saw the season finale of CSI just now, my last encounter with Grissom and gang for a while. Can't believe I had been watching the show for 5 years! (The time has been well spent.) Tarantino wasn't too bad, I expected a whole lot more violence and gore with any outfit under his helmsmanship, but hey, I think he treated the "Grave Danger" episode with sensitivity and tact. The pacing was a slow but steady build-up to accommodate the suspense and claustrophobia to span a 2-hour plot. Think Tarantino really grew up - you don't need overt violence to state a point.

There was one part that was stolen from Silence of the Lambs (which every other director has tried to reproduce ever since) - where Warrick and Catherine furiously dig the earth where they suspect Nick had been buried. Then it cuts to the buried Nick responding to crackling sounds from his plexiglass coffin. The scene cuts back to W & C unearthing a glass coffin... only to find a dead dog in it, while Nick was still in his buried location fighting the cracks in his coffin made by pressure from the ground. Done to death, but it worked here.

Everytime I finish watching a movie or a tv program I particularly like, I ask myself, "Woman, what are you doing languishing here???? Why aren't you writing scripts and producing movies????"

Oh, I dunno...

One Fine Night...

My friend Lizzy was driving me to town one warm, humid night two weeks back, on the pretext of looking for a Korean restaurant, but we both knew that the real reason was to gaze and gawk at the cute guys whom are supposed to be in abundance in that area.

So we happily jumped into her SUV and started our mission, but not before stopping at Dunkin Donuts to get my choco-nut and her strawberry fix. Lizzy is petite, with long, straight flowing hair and is generally quite sweet. She's not great with directions, so I had to steer us.

We reached the destination, the Korean restaurant was there but the cute guys were nowhere to be seen. There were several preppy-looking ones, some leery middle-aged businessmen (yucks!) and one or two foreigners tottering after their happy hour at the bar.

Resigned to failure, we decided to call it a day and go home to watch CSI instead. I suggested a short cut. The route was straightforward - take a shortcut through the clubhouse, drive along a private road, emerge from the other end to a residential area and look for my car which was parked near a playground.

Child's play? Almost.

We did take the shortcut, after being subjected to a road check at the clubhouse where two armed security guards initially refused us entry. After some conversation, we persuaded them to let us pass, which they did. So we entered this long, dark, lonely winding road that wrapped itself around a golf course. There were no other cars on the road, which made it all the more eerie for us.

Then we ran into a roadblock. The entire road was barricaded. We had to either go back the way we came, or take a disused road which forked from the one we were on. Since both of us were reluctant to go back to the long, dark, lonely road from whence we came, I decided to take the forked road. Lizzy nodded in agreement and drove on. Nothing prepared us for what happened next.

Very suddenly, a thick mist covered our vehicle. The thick, swirling fog came from all directions and quickly shrouded the solitary streetlamp right above us. It swept across the shrubs on both sides of the road and started to blur our view. Very soon, our windshield was completely covered in mist and we were forced to slow down. Ten metres and a thousand questions through Lizzy's mind later, she finally asked, "hey, doesn't this remind you of a scene from the Twilight Zone?"

"Da, da, da, da..." I hummed (in reflex) the famous tune from the TV series and turned to look at her. She was quite pale. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tight. Then she did something unexpected.

She stepped on the brakes and said, "Excuse me, I am going to check out this fog." Before I could finish saying "good idea", she had already wound down her car window, poked her head out at the mist and sucked in a great deal of whiff.

The next instant, she yelled and closed the car window as quickly as she could.

"Insecticide!"

The municipal was fumigating the area and sprayed a great deal of insecticide to get rid of the mosquitoes.

Oh well, at least the interior of Lizzy's car was insect-free for a while...

Bricks and Truck

Today I feel like a tonne of bricks fell on my head - one after another. Think it's the second fleet of evil flu virus closing in for attack. So, while I was trying not to sneeze, cough or fall asleep during the business meeting in the morning, my stomach had to start churning out a symphony of sorts... actually it was because I didn't really eat breakfast, which would also explain why my brain had problems getting jumpstarted.

I was pooped when I got back home. Fell on bed and slept and slept. By the time I woke up my head was still heavy but at least I didn't feel like I'd been dragged on a rope behind a truck for 2 miles...

Safe addiction?

I could never understand how people could spend entire days or weekends on shopping. Or worse, window shopping. The mere thought of browsing for hours and hours through endless retail windows, looking for something you don't really need so that you can pay for it with the money you don't have and get into a debt you shouldn't create, is not exactly my idea of a fulfilling life.

Or maybe I am just not sophisticated enough.

My friends are used to the "tattered clothes" I wear (most of which are gifts or hand-me-downs) and most appalled at the way I purportedly treat my appearance with disdain, ie, not combing my hair (but that's because I got a great coiffeured, "maintenance-free" haircut) and not taking care of my face (can I help it if I look 15 years younger without serious renovation?? Yeah, right).

But I am not without faults. I love movies. I spend a lot of money on them, and still don't get enough. Ok, so I have yet to run into debt because of that, but what's there to stop me?... ugh... what a horrible thought! My other Archilles' heel? Books. I consciously tell myself that I should NOT be acquiring more of them and have even resorted to borrowing... but that's not the same. So, I struggle on.

Today, as I made hasty visits to several shopping malls around town, I was struck by the numb countenance of the shoppers. Most of them were going about their businesses with blank, hollow faces - telltale signs of the ravages of mediocrity. Souless, decayed, rotting.

Ugh, is this what consumerism and materialism will do to us? Numb us to a point of no return and tighten the noose with our own hands? Scary.

Perhaps then, we should have shopping rehab facilities. Why not? Since drug rehabilitation centres abound these days, and some even offer top-notch resort facilities in their drug treatment programs.
And lately it seems, students in the USA can even apply for Federal students' financial aid despite a drug conviction. Not to mention solutions for alcohol abuse for those driving under the influence.

With the way things are going, shopping rehabilitation may not too far-fetched an idea after all.

It's Never Easy

You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain… Exodus 20:7

Something somewhere in that half-sentence really made me feel uneasy. In vain… in vain… what does that mean? As my little engine upstairs started whirling out the possibilities, I told myself, “calm down woman, this ain’t the first time you are hearing this message anyways, so don’t get worked up.”

Thing is, the adult MY Chan, insubstantial as she is, is always self-assured, confident, has a devil-may-care attitude and loves fun. The other MY Chan, formless but more authentic, is the obese girl growing up in the uncertain 80s who didn’t know where she was going nor what she should do. In fact, she’s panicking now because she thinks she screwed up again, and don’t know if God’s gonna (at best) be mildly angry with her, or (at worst) strike her into a nicely charbroiled piece of roast.

In any event, she needs to talk to Him.

MY: Er, hi God… gulp… Sir.

God: Hi there, my child. I’ve missed you.

MY: Yeah, I know… I am sorry, it’s my fault. I wasn't spending enough time with You and doing the things I should. In fact, I can’t seem to be able to do anything right.

God: You have already been made right with me through My Son, Jesus.

MY: Yeah, I know, but … I still say and do things that are stupid and inappropriate about a great deal of things, I should have just shut my trap and…

God: Uh-huh…

MY: And today I had this terrible thought. My mind played back the many times I've talked about You flippantly. It has never bothered me that much before. I don't even know why I feel guilty now... but I do. (Eyes lowered to the floor…)

God: What do you want Me to do for you?

MY: I don't want You to do anything for me! (Looks up) I wanted to do something for You, and the more I try, the harder it gets! I especially hate traffic jams because it makes me lose my cool and I start to yell Your Name, as if You had anything to do with it! (Pause) Do You have a cure for this ailment?

God: (Smiles) I do. Are you ready to take it?

MY: I would like to, Sir. But I am afraid of what that would involve...

God: Nothing I haven't paid for.

MY: (Quietly) Which means...?


God then came close to MY, took her in His arms and held her to His chest for a long, long time. She felt the deep scars where the shredded flesh once were. Her hands touched a gaping hole on His side where the sword pierced. And she saw the holes on His hands and feet. Rusty nails. So close now, she heard His heart thudding in even beats and suddenly a cracking sound.

It was breaking for her humanity.



God wrote the Ten Commandments. But He also died on the cross to help me keep them.

Edge of Freedom

Today's going to be my last day of freedom... well, freedom from work anyways. As of this evening, I would have to start working on a script and the weekend will be mainly sweathouse stories since I would have to run around shopping malls in town to suss out the crowds. Ugh... never liked malls to start with.

Well, at least I got two days of holiday this week (only gripe was that I was totally knocked out by drugs), and then another two days spent recovering from the grogginess of the first two. If this is how my life is going to be, I think I would need a holiday from it too. Make that a long vacation.

Well, I'll always have Istanbul.

Flying?

Opened my eyes today and saw the most beautiful sunrise, golden rays streaming right into my bedroom window. At first all I could make out was a big, fuzzy orange ball of light at ten o'clock, but after groping for and putting on my trusty ol' glasses, the full splendour of the magnificent moment came into clear view.

Man, I just love sunrises and sunsets. Marks the beginning and the end and wraps it up as only nature could. The best, b-e-s-t sunset I've ever experienced was when I was on a plane about to land in Lisbon, back in... maybe '98. The entire sky was a tapestry of deep, striking orange flanked by ridges of velvet, magenta, crimson, grey and some colours I can't describe. Can't recall exactly how it looked, but I sure remember how it felt. Suddenly I wasn't in the airplane anymore. In fact, I wasn't anywhere familiar, there was nothing beneath my feet nor around me. No baggages, no weights, no worries, deadlines, appointments. I was just soaring in mid-air, towards that big orange sky, sweeping past the many colours with my arms outstretched, stroking the clouds. I was happy.

So ok, that little brush with happiness probably lasted two minutes (at most) before the plane had to land and I jolted back into reality, fastened my seat-belt, pulled up my seat, got outta the plane, baggage carousel... the works. Back to the drudge and dreary.

Even now, many years later, my thoughts wander back to that moment on the plane where for an instant, time stood frozen and I had, for a second, felt what it was like to be totally free. The greatest of all feelings. The sum of all hopes. And I wonder... is heaven gonna be like that?

Big Bang... not!

Most things oughta start with a bang, like say, the universe (according to some) or maybe something on a simpler scale such as a nice, cozy birthday celebration with a small element of surprise. I am afraid, however, my foray - if you can call it that - to the blogsphere started as anything but loud. As it is, I am now half-drugged from heavy medication, have wobbly knees and aching joints, but still decided, heck, let's just blog before my brain rots. Having your brain dulled by drugs is a tragic thing, I can't even start to describe the despair and helplessness involved. Where the world passes you by in parallel and time is of little consequence. Where dreams and reality mesh to form some kind of wretched limbo. And... when a voice trapped inside you screams to be let out, yet forced to remain in a faceless, blurred, wasted existence. Brrrrgh!

Anyways, after all that, I guess deep down I am just afraid to lose my freedoom, both to think and move. Which brings me to the next subject. Since our lives are governed by one kind of fear or another, it's either to cope or cop (out). Picking the path of least-resistance may sound attractive, but how long is that gonna last? To cope may mean paying a price but finally manipulating your fears to a manageable level. Great mid-term solution (in fact, it might graduate to a secure lifelong plan) but then wouldn't life be structured, calculated, devoid of spontaniety and... sterile?

Me? I choose neither. I would like to imagine myself the swashbuckler without a care in the world, travelling across God's planet and making friends along the way. Yeah sure, I have issues with death, illness, dementia, being wounded, violated and all that comes along with the territory. But I also know that with my current ongoing relationship with Jesus, I have an ally, and the freedom, to stare at these predators at their faces.

So, let them come.


"Small chance of success... certain likelihood of death... what are we waiting for?" --Gimli as reported saying in "The Lord of the Rings - Return of the King".