REAL Men wear Pink shirts and hold hands

recently, the paper and the office has been buzzing with all things related to homosexuality because of a letter we had published that calls for more compassion for homosexuals, that in turn had generated a series of angry and disappointed readers who had written in.

for the next issue, our editor has requested for a photo of two men holding hands. specifically, the shot will focus only on the hands.

sounds like a small and easy task right?

well, it IS.

except that men can be so anal it never ceases to amaze me.

and they all share the same response - "eeee.... no, don't want. men don't hold hands" says Macho-shit Racer and all other men in the office. gimme a break.

i told Hainan Boy that i don't believe i cannot find a man who doesn't mind holding another guy's hands for just this one shot. i wanted to look for Richie but he had gone out for delivery. (Richie turns out to be the ONLY ONE in this office who is ok with it.)

so off we troop downstairs to FLS. two of our co-workers are chatting in their room. perfect. one is young and the other is not old. they are both open-minded people.

or so i thought.

same reactions, i get.

"anyway, holding hands doesn't mean you are a homosexual," the not old guy says.

"yes, so why won't you?" i retort.

they give me many excuses that i don't understand and i reject. no one's asking them to kiss each other for goodness sake!

on the way back to our office, i tell Hainan Boy, "this is like saying men cannot wear pink shirts!"

"YEAH! MEN DON'T WEAR PINK SHIRTS!" he says.

kill me.

for the record, The Apostle wears pink. i know he's got at least two shirts that have pink in them - one's a white and pink striped shirt and the other's a multi-coloured (with lots of pink in it) chequered one. and he is most definitely NOT GAY.

Snow White's Marc wears pink too. and he is definitely not gay too.

in fact, the two of them are very attractive, extremely handsome, very straight, young men who don't make needless macho displays of themselves. simply because they have no need to do that.

they are confident of their sexuality. as seen by their not being bothered to prove anything about it.

so i come back to the office, disturbed and i pick up the phone to call Mr C. i want to sound him out. if he says that it is natural for men to be this averse to holding hands, then i shall rethink my position. after all, i am no man.

Mr C sounds puzzled at first, "But men don't hold hands!" he says.

"i know!" i almost scream. i explain the situation and context of the photograph to him.

"oh... then no problem lah! why not! you can use my hand if you want!" he offers.

i nail him to his offer. it is not a problem. you are only holding hands for a photo to be taken. how can anyone seriously be bothered by that?

(i suspect they fear they may actually be turned on...)

i am satisfied with his response. and damn proud of him!

now, THAT'S a REAL MAN! i'm buying him a pink shirt to reward him.

A Good Night

There were small groups of people huddled in corners, under trees, on patches of grass and sand, each taking a smoke. They had to step out of the pub for their smoke since the new rules demanded that.

I sipped my shaken lime margarita.

My friend gulped down her pint of Stella Artois.

Three young boys’ laughter captured our attention. The people at the tables around us turned to look too, as the boys raced down a stretch of road. This boyish laugh wrinkled their faces and forced them to stop their run when its trail consumed them.

Couples strolling along East Coast beach smiled as they watched this display of youthfulness.

Other groups of people – some cycling, some blading, others merely taking a night walk – all ceased their activities for those brief few seconds.

But inside the pub, the band continued their song in their own playground. As their seductive voices filled the night air, the patrons at the pub started moving their bodies, slowly at first, then more rigorously as the music filled their soul.

I was moving along too, I noticed.

A breeze caressed me as I turned to look up at the stars above. The lapping of the waves just a few metres away was intoxicating. I wanted to sway to the rhythm of the music and the waves combined.

Not tonight, I thought.

Tonight, I was content to sit there, on the wooden deck of the shack, allowing my margarita to sooth and refresh my heightened senses, while indulging them in the sweet, sensual music that surrounded me.

Some nights are just special in its simplicity… or perhaps by just the right combination of magic thrown together – a glass of cocktail, a passionate rendition of a few common songs, and a subtle message carried on the winds of nature, whispering quietly, “This is what life is about.”

Happy 1st Birthday!

empathride is one year old! :D

*beams with pride*

one year ago, i blogged my first entry... had wondered for how long i'd keep this up and was quite certain that i wouldn't manage to continue blogging, that this will fade into oblivion by the next month.

and we are now ONE YEAR OLD!

*happy*

methinks everyone should keep a blog. if only to leave our mark on life. then when we die, our blogs will remain for all eternity since there's no limitations of space in cyberspace.

to infinity and beyond!

*wwwwwwwhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!*

The Sacrament of Reconciliation

i like to know it as "Reconciliation" rather than "Confession". i guess "confession" is an admittance that wrong has been done - yes, accurately so - but "reconciliation" suggests a rekindled love with the one we are confessing to, God himself. "Reconciliation" comes from the language of the heart, and points to an act of being reunited with one we love. isn't that nice?

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A famous convert, John Henry Cardinal Newman, who knew what it was to be deprived of sacramental confession and then who experienced its benefits, once wrote:

"How many are the souls, in distress, anxiety or loneliness, whose one need is to find a being to whom they can pour out their feelings unheard by the world? Tell them out they must; they cannot tell them out to those whom they see every hour. They want to tell them and not to tell them; and they want to tell them out, yet be as if they be not told; they wish to tell them to one who is strong enough to bear them, yet not too strong to despise them; they wish to tell them to one who can at once advise and can sympathise with them; they wish to relieve themselves of a load, to gain a solace, to receive the assurance that there is one who thinks of them, and one to whom in thought they can recur, to whom they can betake themselves, if necessary, from time to time, while they are in world" ("The Present Position of Catholics," pg 351).

And later he added the phrase in a sermon: "Happy all Catholics, if they knew their happiness!"

Buddha and Jesus

Now, one day, a devout Buddhist died and his soul traversed to the gate of Heaven.

There, to his great astonishment, he met Christ and standing behind our Lord was Buddha smiling compassionately at him.

The good Buddhist then asked Buddha why was he – Buddha – there?

Buddha looked at him most lovingly and said, "I told you I can show you the way to Nirvana but you got to help yourself, didn't I?"

Looking over to Jesus, Buddha told the good Buddhist, "He is the judge!"

Buddha continued, "Anyway, well done, you made it too, my friend!"

Then, Jesus said to this good chap, "Welcome, my good and faithful servant...."

"Searching for Bethlehem in the Soul" by Fr. Ronald Rolheiser

these are all belatedly uploaded blog entries. :P

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Sometimes, more positively we get to experience our old innocence and youthful wonder vicariously in the eyes of our own children, in their joyful anticipation and gleeful celebration of Christmas. Their belief in Santa and the wonder in their eyes as they look at the baby Jesus in the crib help us find a certain softness inside again; not at the same place where we once felt things when we were children and still believed in Santa (because that would only bring the painful stab of nostalgia) but at a new place, a place beyond where we defined ourselves as grown-up (because that’s the place where wisdom is born).

That’s also the place where Jesus is born. That’s Bethlehem in the soul.

Midnight Mass 2006

I am seated some distance away from the other shepherds. Somehow, this night feels different. I can hear the other shepherds laughing merrily as they share their life stories. As usual, the stories will revolve around their women, their sheep and their adventures as they walk their sheep daily.

The wind silently brushes past me. The desert sand is aroused and some follow the paths of the wind while the rest look on and wish them well on their voyage before settling back down, waiting for their own winds to carry them far away in search of their destiny.

I think about my past and how my love has stood by me since I was a young shepherd boy with only three sheep to my poor name. I think about my love now – is she awake and thinking of me too? I think of my life to come and I hope, and I want to pray, that it will be a good life filled with peace and love.

Up in the sky, a star seems to brighten and glow more passionately. Perhaps it knows my heart. I still wish to pray and so I do. As I utter my prayers of thanksgiving, I look around at my three brothers. They seem to be settling down for the night.

In the distance, I suddenly see some moving camels and they seem to be heading this way. I rub my eyes. Are there other travellers? If so, are they friends or enemies? One never knows in the desert.

I contemplate alerting my brothers.

As the camels continue to make their way over, and I count five, I realise I can see them more clearly. Why is that so? The entire area seems to be on fire, cast in a glow of warm and white light.

My brothers are awake. Some are gazing curiously at me while the others are watching the approaching camels. All are transfixed.

So am I.

Suddenly, I notice the five camels, and the men riding them, aren’t the only things that are approaching.

The star I had seen earlier was moving towards us too.

At this point, I feel absolutely nothing but awe. I look up at the bright shining star and I am even thinking, how silly my love always says I look when my mouth is gaping open like this right now. I want to watch my brothers for their reactions and to be wary of the strangers approaching but I am unable to take my eyes off the light. If I try, I think I can force my gaze away. But I don’t wish to.

This is the most beautiful light I have ever seen.

Out of the light, all at once, as if it has always been there, a… being appears and in a voice as gentle as silk, soft as what I have always imagined the clouds to be, it says,

"Fear not… I bring you news of great joy, a joy to be shared by the whole word.
Today in the town of David, a saviour has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.
You will know him by the swaddling clothes he wears as he lies in the manger…"

The voice trails off into a whisper that reminds me of love.

The five strangers on the camels climb off and together with my brothers whom I find standing around me, we gaze in wonderment at the angel.

It leads us toward a little shack.

My hand trembles as I push the door open.

A young mother, whose face is wet with tears, is laughing and crying away in joy while an older gentleman, the father, I presume, is beaming with pride. A little baby, yes, wrapped in swaddling clothes looks up at them with the softest look of tenderness I ever saw.

The manger is awashed with the angel’s light. The animals are all awake.

I step forward, removing my coat and offering it to the young mother who accepts it gratefully. She shelters her baby in it. My brothers offer some water which she sips to parch her thirst; some more coats while another brother brings forward some twigs to feed the fire. The five strangers who have arrived at this shack with us, each brings something forward too.

With the little we all have, this holy family is now sheltered and kept warm and safe.

I don’t think any of us know what is happening. But in my heart, as I know in theirs, this is as real as it can ever be. A miracle is unfolding before our eyes. Something of great importance in history is happening.

Suddenly, a flock of angels appear. The heavenly host break into a joyous melody as they sing,

"Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and peace to all mankind on earth."

I don’t know how this story will be retold or if anybody will remember this night.

One Fine Morning

It is one of those mornings. As I awake just that slightly earlier today, I tell myself it is a good opportunity to further another of my New Year’s resolution to be on time, or even, early, for work.

I busy around my room, picking out my clothes and I eventually settle for a multi-coloured striped short-sleeved shirt – with colours of orange, lime green, pale yellow, black, white, khaki, grey and pale blue, a multitude indeed – and my latest pair of favourite white denim pants.

After packing my bag, putting on my makeup and donning my accessories, I am ready to leave. I feel good, thinking that for once, I will really be early.

And then, as Murphy will have it, an old favourite song of mine, "You to Me, are Everything" comes on Class 95. This song always reminds me of my old friend, Benjamin, who sang it to me before and whom, each time I’m with later, always find ourselves hearing the song somewhere or other. I decide, in a few brief seconds, that I am going to dance!

So dance, I do. I skip and move around my room, just slightly at first, my senses still dull in the early morning but as the music kicks in, so do the motions and soon, I find myself wiggling around the corners of my bed, looking stupid but feeling happy and enjoying myself at that hour.

And then, I dash off to work.

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The first person I meet on my way out is the gardener cum cleaner at our estate. He only started work sometime late last year, replacing another auntie. We used to exchange greetings – that auntie and I. But this gentleman doesn’t smile and I hesitate to say hello to him after my first attempt brought little response.

But I try again. These days, he acknowledges my presence when he stops sweeping his leaves even though he is some distance away, whenever I walk past. In return, I offer a brief smile. I hope he takes it the way I intend it to be – a friendly hello.

Today, as I am feeling good, I sense a lighter skip in my step and I feel as if I am half jumping along the cobbled pathway. I wonder what he thinks of each resident of the estate as they walk past him every morning – each with their own preoccupations, each his own step and each with her own intent look.

Does he wonder what they do at work? Try to guess by the way they dress? I am usually dressed casually since my work does not dictate that I don anything formal. But there are many who are dressed in what I call "power suits" or walk with that swagger as they carry their expensive briefcases, laptops and PDAs. Then again, they are usually not the ones who tread on the slippery cobbled paths but head straight to the basement where their Lexuses, Mercedes Benzes or BMWs are safely stowed away.

For the rest of us common folk, I wonder what Gardener-Cleaner-Uncle thinks of. I wonder too, if he wishes he holds an office job like us or if he is secretly happy with being out there in the garden every morning, and being able to slowly enjoy the cool dew in the morning air, watch the dogs and occasional stray cat hopping around at play, and make friends with the older folk in my estate who take their morning walks. Does he appreciate what the rest of us, who rush about in those same hours, fail to notice?

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I rush on.

My next stretch of road I have to cross to get to my first bus stop opens up in front of me and this morning, I take that road with cheer.

It is still a good day.

I have walked past these houses for almost eight years. There is one family inhabited by some rather rude people. I find their entire household, well, screwed up. They like to walk in the middle of the road, children and adults, with no regard for passing cars. I have even seen them kicking the tyres and the sides of the cars parked by the side of the road. I dislike that family immensely. They are rude and uncouth, and they make comments about passing strangers. Someday, I will like to throw a rock at them.

Another house has a golden retriever and a black cat. Their previous retriever just died recently. That dog has been with them for years, since before I moved to my estate. I’ve watched it age and gradually grow from a limping dog to one that cannot move. I knew its days were numbered and that made me sad. He was a sweet dog. One day, it just wasn’t there anymore.

The family was quick to replace it with another retriever. I think I will do the same when my cat dies. The replacement might make the grief of loss easier to bear. In any case, this new retriever gets along very well with the black cat that has taken up residence at this house too. Strange.

At the end of the road, by the last house, an old auntie is watering her potted plants. She is dressed in a very light pale green matching top and pants, the kind that the older generation wears in one set. Her short, curly hair is tinged with many white strands. She is bending low over her plants but looks up as she hears me walking towards her.

I look at her as she looks up at me. I think about what her day must be like. What will she do after this? Maybe she’s prepared a pot of black kopi-o and it is sitting on her dining table waiting for her. Perhaps she’ll enjoy her breakfast by herself, and then proceed on to Serangoon Gardens to catch up with some old friends? There may be a mahjong game lined up for her sometime today, a game I will love to join in.

Does she think about her granddaughter as I walk by? What does she do? Well, I suppose she is merely thinking about how her plants are growing and how pleased she is to be able to water them everyday and to watch them bloom.

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I see my approaching bus even as I reach the bus-stop. As I step on the bus, I renew my New Year’s resolution to smile and acknowledge bus drivers. It is really merely a response on my part. I’ve noticed that the drivers today, especially those on the buses around Serangoon Gardens, tend to do their job with a little more heart. Some of them smile at each commuter while others actually bellow out a "Good Morning!" to us.

So I decided with the dawn of 2007, that I will return that greeting.

It started out well because I was merely returning the smiles that some of the drivers offer. Lately, it hasn’t been going on so well.

Firstly, I found myself smiling at a very angry-looking driver. Someone might have pissed him off earlier and he probably thought I was a cuckoo.

Secondly, some drivers look lecherous and as I smile at them, they look at me funny, probably wondering if I’m sane and possibly believing I’m not. I don’t really want to know what other thoughts passed through their heads.

Yesterday, I half decided to do away with this silly resolution.
But today, I did not.

So we shall see.

It’s amazing how many people I meet in one brief morning. How many lives are intertwined on just one street, I don’t know.

It is equally amazing how I can live eight years in one estate and not know even two families on the street I am on. How many life stories they could have shared with me, I wouldn’t know. I know they have as many stories as we all do. And in some way, I believe we all yearn to share our life stories, even as testament that we have passed this way, in this game of life.

What’s your story?

Excerpt from "The Hidden Chamber" by Neil Gaiman, "Fragile Things - Short Fictions & Wonders"

he wrote this poem in an almost empty house he was staying in. it's actually about ghosts, an "upsettling" poem, both "unsettling" and "upsetting".

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I may be grim, perhaps, but only just as grim
as many man who suffered such affairs. Misfortune,
carelessness or pain, what matters is the loss. You'll see
the heartbreak linger in my eyes, and dream
of making me forget what came before you walked
into the hallway of this house. Bringing a little summer
in your glance, and with your smile.

While you are here, of course, you will hear the ghosts, always
a room away,
and you may wake beside me in the night,
knowing that there's a space without a door,
knowing that there's a place that's locked but isn't there.
Hearing them scuffle, echo, thump and pound.

If you are wise you'll run into the night, fluttering away into
the cold,
wearing perhaps the laciest of shifts. The lane's hard flints
will cut your feet all bloody as you run,
so, if I wished, I could just follow you,
tasting the blood and oceans of your tears. I'll wait instead,
here in my private place, and soon I'll put
a candle
in the window, love, to light your way back home.
The world flutters like insects. I think this is how I shall
remember you,
my head between the white swell of your breasts,
listening to the chambers of your heart.

"The Fairy Reel" by Neil Gaiman, "Fragile Things - Short Fictions & Wonders"

this poem makes no sense at all. but it's fun to read and to read out loud especially, as Mr Gaiman says. it tickles the soul!

enjoy!

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If I were young as once I was, and dreams and death more distant then,
I wouldn't split my soul in two, and keep half in the world of men,
So half of me would stay at home, and strive for Faerie in vain,
While all the while my soul would stroll up narrow path, down crooked lane,
And there would meet a fairy lass and smile and bow with kisses three,
She'd pluck wild eagles from the air and nail me to a lightning tree
And if my heart would run from her or flee from her, be gone from her,
She'd wrap it in a nest of stars and then she'd take it on with her
Until one day she'd tire of it, all bored with it and done with it
She'd leave it by a burning brook, and off brown boys would run with it.
They'd take it and have fun with it and stretch it long and cruel and thin,
They'd slice it into four and then they'd string with it a violin.
And every day and every night they'd play upon my heart a song
So plaintive and so wild and strange that all who heard it danced along
And sang and whirled and sank and trod and skipped and slipped and reeled and rolled
Until, with eyes as bright as coals, they'd crumble into wheels of gold...

But I am young no longer now; for sixty years my heart's been gone
To play its dreadful music there, beyond the valley of the sun.
I watch with envious eyes and mind, the single-souled, who dare not feel
The wind that blows beyond the moon, who do not hear the Fairy Reel.
If you don't hear the Fairy Reel, they will not pause to steal your breath.
When I was young I was a fool. So wrap me up in dreams and death.

"Ultimate Consolation" by Father Ronald Rolheiser

Christ can descend into (any hell) and into every hell that can be created. That's what descent into hell means. There is no hell that Christ cannot penetrate, no locked door he cannot go through.

When this young woman (who committed suicide) woke up on the other side of this life, I am certain that she found Christ standing in the middle of her huddled fear and loneliness breathing out the spirit of community and joy and saying: "Do not be afraid. Peace with you!"

Sometimes you don't have to open the door!

All the Best Things in Life

All the best things in life come packaged in a ribbon of risk. You untie the gift, you asume the risk, and equally, the joy.

Parenthood is like that. Marriage is like that. Friendship is like that.

In order to experience life in the full sense, you expose yourself to a bottomless pit of vulnerability. That is the essence of love.

- Kristin Armstrong


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my dear friends, may you all receive your packages of Life with many ribbons of risks and may you all never keep those gifts shelved away but open them bravely - ripping at those ribbons, stashing them away or keeping them in your privte collection - but tear at them always. may you all fall into many pits, as many as God wills, and as many as will make us all grow.

An owl so white it reminds me of an old sage

i finished this and the sky opened and the rain started to pelt down outside my window. am requesting for comments on this one if you will. thank you.

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It is almost 2am as I find myself, sitting on the toilet bowl, reading Neil Gaiman’s “Fragile Things”. I had come to a chapter titled “October in the Chair”, a tale of a gathering of the twelve months of the year. He wrote this story for a children's book "The Graveyard Book" and dedicated it to Ray Bradbury. It won the 2003 Locus Award for Best Short Story.

In it, the months take turns to tell their stories and the one who sits in the chair tells his story last. The months remind me of Neil’s infamous cast from his Sandman series. One particular month, June, is the exact persona of his creation, Delirium.

It is October’s turn to be in the chair and he has jumped ahead of the rest to tell his story. It is a ghostly tale of a boy who has run away from home and a ghostly boy who made friends with him.

I am mildly spooked and the next thing I know, I am sitting by my laptop at almost 2am, selecting the “Century Gothic” font. How apt, I think, because the name suggests something dark and unlikely while the fatness and roundness of the font proves to be mysterious and in a way, singularly mad and surreal.

Suddenly, I remember an image that has haunted my memory since I was a child. An image I have seen before but which I cannot recollect where from. It is of yellowish-brown brick walls and steps… staircases that are winding and leading up, down, centre, everywhere. They remind me of an old castle I had visited in London, where a certain queen was locked up, insane before being executed. I don’t remember where that is.

There is a man dressed in a white coat, with a long coattail looking at me. He is on one of the winding staircases. He smiles at me. It is neither an evil nor a kindly smile. He wants to beckon me forward with that smile. I don’t have to move. My eyes are already following him and accompanying that, the spirit of my soul.

He moves about this bizarre scene. The staircases head higher and higher, and he climbs up and up… but as he reaches the final step, you see he is really at the bottom. I do not understand.

A white owl flutters past my vision. It is beautiful. So white, almost like an old sage but it is an owl. The man, without taking his eyes off me, holds out an arm and the owl – I thought it had flown past me to the left – flies to it from my right.

I am filled with a confusion so heavy it settles on me and seeps through me; I am suffocating.

The wind outside my window is chilly. I feel a sense of trepidation. Something is happening but I don’t know what. I feel myself being trapped and surrounded in something eerie and frightening, a half-forgotten dream remembered, a nightmare that is taking shape in my mind and in the depths of my inner recesses. I remember it because I was there. And yet, I have never been in that realm. What is this that is happening and why am I recollecting memories that I have never owned?

Suddenly, I realise there is someone behind me. It is watching me as I type, and edging forward, closer to me. Just behind my right shoulder it stands, looking more closely at the screen where my words are appearing.

“I don’t know who it is…” it reads as I type, “I don’t know who it is…”

Outside the wind is blowing colder. I cannot decide if I am frightened. Because, “I don’t know who it is… is behind me.”

The man’s piercing eyes are now locked on me. He is still watching me. Worse, the white owl so white it looks like an old sage is watching me too. I wish I can break free from them. And I realise I have tried to break free from their locked grasp on me since I was a child. Now I remember I have even tried to search for the man and the owl so white it reminds me of an old sage. But nobody I spoke to remember them. Nobody at all, even though I can swear I was not alone when I encountered them.

The yellow-brick walls seem to be closing in on me. And the winding staircases are driving me to the edge of my mind. The man is upside down now. And so is the owl so white it reminds me of an old sage.

What will happen if I fall over? Perhaps I’ll find myself standing beside the man and his owl so white it reminds me of an old sage. And I’ll be watching this person sitting by her table, at almost 2am in the morning, with the chilly winds icily blowing outside, typing away the words that are being whispered to her. I am watching her and I am watching my own reflection behind her, as I edge myself forward, closer to her, just behind her right shoulder I stand, to look more closely at the screen where her words are appearing. I look at myself and myself looks at I. And on, she types, not knowing, not believing, not daring to breathe and understand.

Changi Road

1996

I saw myself die as my godfather drove me along this road one afternoon. It is a long stretch of road. Driving alone takes about five to ten minutes, depending on whether you are speeding or cruising.

I had never seen that road before. It goes all the way along Changi Airport’s runways, where planes run along to take off to and touch down every other minute – what exotic lands they come from or are going to, one can only imagine – to the hangar where many more aeroplanes, exhausted or preparing for their long journeys ahead, are hidden from sight.

I looked up at the sky – its light partially hidden from the tall trees that vie with one another for sunlight, reaching ambitiously to reach the source of their light.

I thought of Sarah, my friend, who had just passed away, a year ago. Where was she, I wondered. Somewhere in heaven, I knew. But where was heaven… nothing else dominated my thoughts like death did in those days. I was constantly filled with a sadness that I could not shake off, carried over from the time I was sixteen, a year ago. I had been unable to reconcile with the idea that young lives like Sarah’s, could be snuffed out so easily.

All at once, I saw myself sitting up, weakly, on a hospital bed. Bright sunlight permeated the hospital room I was in, casting the already white sheets and my white gown in an even purer light. I knew I was dying. My parents were in the room with me and I said my goodbyes to them one by one, leaving them with words of comfort that they could carry with them through the years after I was gone. I didn’t know where I was going to then, but in that moment, I believed whole-heartedly that it would be someplace where there was a God I hadn’t yet known.

Immense peace filled my entire being then. The road ahead was long, I knew, as I saw it stretch out endlessly before me. But to my left, where the planes were coming and going, I saw an expanse of sky for me to fly in. And way above the trees, the light filtering through the tops of their leaves was where the essence of life is. I knew that in my soul.


1998

potato drove along that same stretch of road. I had no idea he had been heading there. When we turned onto Changi Road and I saw the familiar long stretch of road ahead of me, I was delightfully surprised. A thrill shot through me as I felt a stab of nostalgia that combined a painful memory of death and the promise of life.

“Mulder and Scully” was playing on the radio, a cheeky song sung in a mischievous tone. I loved it then. I felt young and alive. Yes, I felt alive. On my road that had led to my death and revived me back to life, I felt alive once more.


2007

Today, KC and I cycle from East Coast Park along Changi Road and back. As I once again see the road stretch out before me, I think about what a long journey it is going to be. Beneath the hot sun and beside the thundering planes, I feel no lethargy at all.

KC and I watch as planes come and go – what exotic lands they come from or are going to, one can only imagine – and I say a little prayer for every one of them that lands and takes off, and wish them well on their long journey ahead.

Just as surely as my journey unfolds before me – some of which I am able to see, others of which are still hidden from my view – I know too, it will take some rough effort on my part to complete but complete it, I will.

So I fly a little with the planes that take off and I imagine my destination I am heading towards.

And as the planes fly past above me, I look up and see the same light filtering through the leaves, the same life that waits far and above. Unreachable at the moment, but there, it waits, surely.

"Blood Diamond" by Edward Zwick

when KC suggested watching "Blood Diamond", me the recluse had no idea which movie it was. i was confused between "Blood Diamond" and "Curse of the Golden Flower" and some other chinese movie. it was too late by the time i found out what the movie was about.

i stopped watching movies that will make me sad since about 10 years ago. i know it's stupid and naive of me and i have missed too many good movies because of this over-sentimentality on my part but it is this over-sentimentality that gave me my dreams when i was a kid and so, it was also this over-sentimentality that made me realise dreams often come with a price that cannot ever be fully paid.

i think too much. so when i can't handle it, i avoid it. typing this now, i see what a wuss i am. *sigh* so... "Blood Diamond".

+++++

it's set in Sierra Leone, Africa in the late 1990s, during a time of civil war when the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) rebels attempted to overthrow the government. to fund their respective war efforts, both government and RUF resort to smuggling diamonds out of Africa to Liberia where they are then legitimately sold for a filthy amount of money.

these diamonds came to be known as "blood diamonds", "conflict diamonds" or "war diamonds" because they come at a heavy price - the blood of millions.

Danny Archer, excellently played by Leonardo DiCaprio, is a White smuggler who works for Colonel Coetzee. his parents were brutally killed when he was nine and he was recruited by Colonel Coetzee during the apartheid days. his character said, regardless of the stories you hear from Western media, the White men and Black men fought side by side. they were one.

Djimon Hounsou plays Solomon Vandy, a fisherman in Sierra Leone who has a loving wife, one young daughter, one baby, and a son Dia who attends school diligently and learns wisely... until the day RUF invades their village, razes it to the ground, and murders the villages mercilessly. Solomon is captured to pan rivers for diamonds while his family escapes. his son, Dia, is later recruited by RUF as a child soldier.

this is horrifying. they basically brainwash the children, tell them their parents are dead, and this is a result of the government's cruelty and then hands them guns and trains them to shoot innocents and to kill. of course, these children are shot with drugs and alcohol and you watch as an innocent child transforms into a cold murderer.

the plot moves on like this: Solomon finds a HUGE diamond which he hides. RUF wants the diamonds and so does Colonel Coetzee. Solomon just wants his family back and will offer the diamond to Archer if he can get his family back. Archer wants the diamond to buy his way out of the God-forsaken country.

along the way, Archer meets Maddy, played by Jennifer Connelly, a journalist who is seeking a story on blood diamonds, to expose the truth to the world. there is mutual attraction but both scoff at each other's ways.

Archer scoffs at Maddy's idealism that writing a story can change an already fucked-up world.
Maddy insists that the world has always been fucked-up anyway "but good is being done everyday. just not by you".

on this quest for the diamond, Archer's bad-boy attitude is slowly chipped away and he is gradually shown to be humane after all, if not for his life's conditioning. at the end of the day, a quest borne from greed melts into a journey of compassion, a barter trade for mutual benefits turns into an outpouring of selfless brotherly love.

"sometimes, i wonder if God can ever forgive us for what we do to one another. but i look around and i realise, God has left this place a long time ago," says Archer to Maddy. and yet, despite the many violent deaths in the country, Africans just don't leave their home. i don't understand it but i've seen this in other movies and read about it in books. what stays with me is how many different characters repeat the same sentiment that once you're a part of Africa, you can never leave it behind.

there is an old saying that attributes African soil's red colour to all the blood that has been shed upon it. i believe it is so. since the dawn of time, the African people have suffered in ways no other peoples have, and for ages no other peoples have.

when all the adventure is over, Solomon ends up in London and as he walks along the street in a daze, he sees in a display window, an exquisite diamond necklace. it is beautiful, i admit. but as he watches in pain, i look at the same piece of jewellery with a sense of surrealism too. how much blood has been shed for that one diamond? how is it possible???

Solomon had asked Archer:

"You're 31 and you have no wife? no children? no home? but you have money? but not enough? and when you find this diamond, you'll have enough money? then you'll get a wife and children?" to which Archer replies, "probably not".

"You confuse me," Solomon says.
"That makes the two of us," admits Archer.

where it is all bling-bling for the world out here, people are losing their loved ones and dying for the stupid rock that they don't even want.

+++++


since 1992 after approval from the UN, the Kimberly Process Certification Scheme (KPCS) has been set in place to certify the origin of diamonds for sale - they are to be free from conflict areas.

of course, policies are discussed in comfortable rooms by men who live somewhat luxurious lives. still, they make a difference, even if it's not free of abuse - yet.

the least we can do now is to check the origin of the diamonds we purchase, if we do. the same slogan applies - if the buying stops, the killing will too.

it's that simple.

X-MEN: when Jean Grey became the Phoenix

even mediocre x-men fans like me would remember the episode of the cartoon when jean grey perished and became the phoenix. that was a sad time in the history of the x-men but it was solidly strong and beautiful.

unlike the movie's rendition where the phoenix was a raging, uncontrollable entity.

but that's quite close to what i've been feeling lately.

it's like i have this mass of energy and BURNING PASSION to release... i don't know where it's from, and i don't know how. cos it isn't as if i'm a bubbling ball of life right now. i still get physically tired. but emotionally and psychologically, i am high. i feel like EXPLODING. i feel like shouting out loud, yelling till my lungs give way (which will happen soon with all the coughing anyway) and laughing and crying and screaming and BURNING.

so today, that image of the uncontrollable jean grey as the phoenix appeared in my mind, that scene from x-men III (?) towards the end of the movie where the power coming from within her was simply eliminating everything. all because she couldn't hold it in anymore and just had to let it out of her.

jean grey has never been a favourite x-men of mine. i like rogue instead. rogue from the comics, not of the movie. the movie one is quite a little girl and still obviously vulnerable. the comic one has inner strength and grace, and these qualities don't hinder her fiery and mischievous nature.

but today, jean grey the phoenix dominates my thoughts. i feel myself growing weaker because i'm spending my energy trying to contain this ... burning desire inside me. but i have to hold it in because otherwise, it'll probably consume me and i'll get lost. i already got a peek of it these last few days and it's already driven me to places i don't want to go.

i'm still trying to understand what i'm feeling but i don't know what it is. i so don't know.

i just know i'm DYING TO LET IT ALL OUT - i want to laugh madly without caring for anyone's opinions... and i want to release the anger that i've suppressed inside. it's probably not real anger as i doubt i have anything to be angry about. but perhaps there's resentment and the anger that comes from having to accept certain things... it makes me want to rebel against the injustice of those situations. maybe that's it? merely wanting to release the anger within? but i'm afraid if i do, i might just fall apart in the face of it. these things can drive you mad because you're giving in to unchecked passions.

i don't know. i only know i envision myself as jean grey the phoenix today. and it helps in a way because i finally have that image in my head i can identify with. it puts things a little bit more into perspective. i know i'm not angry at any one thing or any one situation and my previous bitterness about Catholicism with all its binding principles are merely my frustration at not giving in to these strong feelings.

i reconciled with God today... but i'm still BURNING so intensely inside i don't know what to do. do i quell it? i really don't want to. do i let it out? i'm afraid to. so i guess i'll just go along and let it burn itself out?

help.

KC vs the Apostle

KC and i went out today to ECP. we cycled for 4 hours.

well, in between, we stopped for a coconut and mineral water (he enjoyed the coconut while i looked on wistfully cos i'm not supposed to take that since i'm coughing my ovaries into shock)... then we cycled from ECP all the way to Changi Beach. and only then did we stop for a plate of nasi lemak.

next, we cycled to Changi Hospital, and of course, i just wanted to take a look at it. scary man, and it was bright daylight. i didn't want to go in. i'm ok to be one of the few Singaporeans who don't wish to explore that hospital. where these things are concerned, i don't take chances. you guys know that. :)

then we cycled back from Changi Hospital all the way to ECP. can die. my butt hurts now... and my legs are aching too. i took my drowsy cough medicine cos i left the non-drowsy one in the office :( and i'm afraid i won't be able to wake up for BOW tomorrow!

i don't know why my blog entries nowadays sounds like Blue Caps. dammit.

KC rides a bike. as in, a motorbike.

IT WAS SO THRILLINGLY COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

the first time i ever rode a bike, i was about maybe 3? Godpa used to ride one and being so little, i used to sit in front of him. i'm sure he never went fast though it felt fast then. and after two decades, i finally enjoyed a bike ride. KC was so thoughtful. he went slow initially cos he knew i was nervous. and only after he kept checking in with me did he accelerate more but still, it was slower than his usual speed, according to him.

i had a lovely day today. he was just sweet, attentive and nice. he is awfully quiet, and i suppose that's a result of his family background... whatever it is, i came home feeling happy. he seemed to keep wanting to hang out because i think he's not used to going home early on saturday! haha. but i was really just tired from all the coughing and worried about not being able to wake up for BOW tomorrow. you see, i can't even enjoy a date without thinking about church! *screams*

anyway, i got off his bike and i was beaming. i think. it felt really, really good.

i like KC very much, i don't know in what way. i suspect it might just be as friends. maybe i'm a little interested in him. maybe i do want to get closer. but i'm perfectly alright too if nothing happens. cos i enjoy this - having someone to spend the day with, with no strings attached. this is all i'm after.

now, here's the part i hate myself for.

after the whole day and night... i'm sitting here, happy with a day spent with KC and a dominant thought in my head is, firstly, a retort to the Apostle - "i don't need you!... put up with your shitty timing, constant disappearances..." and then next, "But KC is just not the Apostle..."

man! what the hell is wrong with me! and do i have it bad for the Apostle. *gosh*

*beams*

*I LOVE YOU!!!!!!* no i don't. i know i don't. i know it's not love. and still, it's all i want to scream out when he comes to mind.

dammit.

a return... a little awkwardly...

inadvertently, i found myself talking to God again. :( i am so sorry.

throughout today, i find myself going:

"so how? what do you think?"
"please protect me!"
"God, what say you?"

stuff like that... without even thinking, i'm talking to Him again. what the hell is wrong with me?!! it's like, i threw a tantrum with God and then the next minute, after my energy is spent, i go back to Him... of course, now that i've really, consciously failed Him, it made me a bit awkward to talk to Him.

each time i turn to ask Him something, i feel this shame... and i want to tell Him i'm sorry, it's not that i'm taking Him for granted. or maybe i am, but i didn't mean to be... and now i understand again, how and why once you've consciously turned from God, it's so easy to stay away because it's difficult to come back. what makes me think i deserve His love and forgiveness? what makes me think i can talk to Him now that i want to talk to Him and He has to listen? these are the kinds of nagging voices within me. yes, we talked about voices in the previous entry... so i know where they're from.

i am sorry, God.

my angels

even when i was feeling this way, God still sends His angels to protect me and made sure i didn't wander too far away from Him.

You all are His angels today.

Late last night, Blue Caps called me. just slightly after i had completed my blog entry "not well at all - tonight". the first thing he asked me, in his gentle way, was, "how are you....." i assumed he had read the blog until he said he didn't. but somehow, his presence was comforting and reassured me that someone out there was listening to my heart's cry, even if i didn't want to talk to that someone.

tonight, when he read my entry, he SMSed me and laughingly pronounced himself as "Godsent". to you, if you are reading this, you were indeed, God sent, my angel, last night, just as you have been in this life.

this whole day, i was rambling, ranting and raving online to Kwazy and Fweedarth Vader.

now, my dear friends, if you all know me well, you will know that many times, when something awry comes my way, i am unable to speak about it immediately. my old friends know this and they leave me alone, as requested through the years, no matter how concerned or how much they want to be there. because when i don't understand what it is that troubles me, and i am unable to make sense of it, i can't talk about it. i can only react in whatever negative ways so it's often better that i stay away. it is only until i can rationalise why i feel a certain way that i am able to share. by then, it isn't so important to share anymore as the issues have been resolved but because these friends are worried, i will share with them if they ask.

but this whole day, i was going on and on and on to the two of you and both of you listened patiently as i repeated what i said and wallowed and whined and threw my tantrums. i thank you both. for highlighting to me that i still can live my life the way i want, God would allow that, as well as to gently advise me not to give in to despair for that would mean conceding my defeat. i heard it all and i kept it all inside me. those are good advice and wise words.

this evening, ruby-doo was with me and i exploded with her too. in fact, i wanted to cry but i didn't cos that would just make everything awkward. she listened and tried to help me understand what i feel. the most important thing was that, she listened and she advised me gently also that i CAN take SOME wrong steps, and she reminded me it's not my role to play the perfect disciple for we are definitely all not and probably can never be. my role is simply to try. she reminded me of all this. and i love you, sister.

to the one who doesn't read my blog, Mr C, i thank you also for listening. when you asked me last night if i was psychologically and emotionally well, i brushed it off and said i'm never psychologically and emotionally well. well, that's true. i'm a wreck sometimes! haha. but i really wanted to talk to you. and i did this evening and your gentle insistence that something is wrong with me, that i am spiritually unwell and that this time round, i'm not giving enough credit to Mr Purple Face, the Dark One also touched me because you didn't rush me to get back on track with God. thank you for your prayers.

today, you all have been God's angels to me, in so many ways that you always have been in my life. it is a small hiccup on my journey, so small. but it means so much to me. so this might be nothing much, merely my whining but your little gestures meant the world. and notice i use one word to describe all your promptings - "gentle". you all were, even when i don't deserve it.

i thank you all. and i hope you find the story as inspiring as i did. Godspeed.

"Evil Wants Good to Prevail" by Paulo Coelho, Like the Flowing River

One day, the Persian poet, Rumi que Mo'avia, the first of the Ommiad caliphs, was sleeping in his palace when he was woken up by a strange man.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I am Lucifer," came the reply.
"And what do you want?"
"It is the hour for prayers, and yet you are still asleep."
Mo'avia was amazed. Why was the Prince of Darkness, who seeks out the souls of men of little faith, reminding him to fulfil his religious duties?
"Remember," Lucifer explained, "I was brought up as an angel of light. Despite everything that has happened to me, I cannot forget my origins. A man may travel to Rome or to Jerusalem, but he always carries the values of his own country in his heart. Well, the same thing happens with me. I still love the Creator, who nourished me when I was young and taught me to do good. When I rebelled against Him, it was not because I did not love Him; on the contrary, I loved Him so much that I felt jealous when He created Adam. At that moment, I wanted to defy the Lord, and that was my downfall; nevertheless, I still remember the blessings bestowed on me and hope that, perhaps, by doing good, I can one day return to paradise."
Mo'avia replied: "I can't believe what you're saying. You have been responsible for the destruction of many people on earth."
"Well, you SHOULD believe it," insisted Lucifer. "Only God can build and destroy, because He is all-powerful. When He created man, He also created, as part of life, desire, vengeance, compassion, and fear. So when you look at the evil around you, don't blame me; I merely reflect back the bad things that happen."
Mo'avia was sure that something was wrong, and he began to pray desperately to God to enlighten him. He spent the whole night talking and arguing with Lucifer; but despite the brilliant arguments he heard, he remained unconvinced.
When day was dawning, Lucifer finally gave in and said:

"You're right. When I came yesterday to wake you up so that you would not miss the hour of prayer, my intention was not to bring you closer to the Divine Light. I knew that if you failed to fulfil your obligations, you would feel profoundly sad and, over the next few days, would pray with twice the faith, asking forgiveness for having forgotten the correct ritual. In the eyes of God, each one of those prayers made with love and repentance would be equivalent to two hundred prayers said in an ordinary, automatic way. You would end up more purified and more inspired; God would love you more; and I would be still further from your soul."

Lucifer vanished, and an angel of light took his place:

"Never forget today's lesson," the angel said to Mo'avia. "Sometimes evil comes disguised as an emissary of good, but its real intention is to cause more destruction."

On that day, and the days that followed, Mo'avia prayed with repentance, compassion, and faith. His prayers were heard a thousand times by God.

a slight turn in the road

i rode a little to hell today. not that i felt like i was in hell. rather, i felt like i was queen of my own realm again. the passionate, bitchy me who wants to do what my heart desires. to be fair, my heart often desires to do good things, right things even if i am unable to live up to my own expectations and hopes. nevertheless, what i felt the whole of today is that i want to make these good and right choices because it's MY choice and not because i don't have any other choice because these are what God wants of me. i know i may not sound very lucid here but i know what i'm talking about and for the few of you who read this blog, you might understand the inner workings of my psychotic mind and heart.

basically, it's not the same - choosing to love and live the right way vs feeling compelled to love and live the right way because that's the only way God wants us to.

Mr C said to me this evening that i am underestimating the power of the devil this time. i said i know that. i was slightly hysterical within because i kept trying to explain what i'm feeling without getting the right words to make those who hear me comprehend what i'm saying. point is, i know everything that's right and wrong about what i'm feeling. i'm able to rationalise it and justify what i feel even. i know so clearly that God has not abandoned me but that i just want to defy him and go against him this time. now, I LOVE GOD. i do. it might be empty words coming from someone who's just trying to walk away from Him, well, not that i'm walking away from Him... i just want to explore and experiment with my life my way again, instead of following Him, the very thing that i yearn to do with all my heart and soul. i just couldn't, last night and today.

i believe, there are many ways to live a good life. one can follow God and be faithful throughout and that's an excellent way to really live life. one can also fully experience the joys and pains life has to bring, to reach ecstasy and hit hell-bottom and that's also an excellent way to fully live and appreciate life. perhaps more dangerous, because you can lose yourself along the way but if you persevere and choose to live, you will also be in touch with Life itself. so my struggle is, why can't i take that option instead of bending to "rules and regulations"?

i didn't hear the voice of the Dark One. sometimes, i do. and he usually speaks the words quite clearly in my mind, vocalising my deepest insecurities and darkest fears, those that i might not even be aware i have. but usually, when i hear that voice, i know. in fact, in one of my earlier blog entries, i wrote about how i sometimes discern God's will by talking to the Dark One. because the things the Dark One says is always convincing and with no loopholes. you can take that choice and jump right through it. The Lord however, doesn't always offer these options. His paths are usually fraught with loopholes that you can worm your way out. why? simply because He gives us free will. He doesn't force us to take the option He wants. which is also why, to me, His ways are often not as convincing because He isn't trying to convince us to take that route, but simply to listen to Him and then choose to take the route He knows we need.

but i didn't hear any voices this time. in fact, i was almost mad with joy at one point because i was almost free from the very things i love about God, the very things that i feel tie me down. so i do recognise the Dark One's hand in this because it is all too easy. the difference this time is, there is not much despair. there is wallowing but no serious depression, nor despair. it is almost too easy because it feels like i'm in control. which is what makes me aware of the Dark One's presence because it is not me that's in control since i've surrendered this control to my Lord, even if i wrestle with Him every now and then. and the only reason i can wrestle with Him is because He's my friend and He's never given up on me.

maybe this sounds like fervent words to reunite with God but it isn't. cos all through the day, in the same intensity that i feel like i want to just follow my own will, i know with as much conviction that God is right there with me. it was only whether i wanted to acknowledge His presence.

in any case, i am here right now, at 2.17am, typing this blog because i just read a story from Paulo Coelho's "Like the Flowing River". now, i don't have the habit to read at night. i usually get on the comp to write a little while waiting for my hair to dry.

i will type the story in my next entry.... thank you for your patience, encouragement, listening ears, and tolerance with this little sinner Me.

i still don't know how i will feel when i wake up tomorrow but i know i won't leave my God. because He just reminded me of my baptismal promises. He just reminded me that i CHOSE to answer His call. i wasn't coerced to make that choice. and He just reminded me that He still loves me. in something as simple and accidental as a story i wanted to read this morning but didn't get to it... so it happens that i read it tonight. the very thing i need, the very simplest, littlest thing that He prepared for me at just the right time. i might not have reacted to it the same way if i had read it this morning. but as usual, God doesn't fail me.

Thank You.

not well at all - tonight

tonight, i only had one thought that i never thought i'll have even through the bad times - how i miss those days when God and church wasn't so much a part of my life.

i have this analogy. we were in bintan and we were standing in the sea trying to catch the next big wave for a better surf... that's like looking for the next big break in life, searching for the better things that you envision in your future...

and then one by one, the waves hit you even while the big one you're looking for is approaching. sometimes we lose our footing and we struggle to stand upright in case we miss the big one we're waiting for. it's just like when adversities wash over you, sometimes, you're able to muster all you have to stand firm in the face of it all, but other times you can't pick yourself up.

but you see, even if you keep your sight on that one destination, if you remain in the sea, sooner or later, you'll get worn out and the waves will wash over you and pull you under and cover you. that's how i feel right now.

i know there are alternatives.

you can choose to ride with whatever comes and go back to shore, to basics.
or you can not try to surf and just sit by the beach and enjoy the sight of the magnificent sea...
but is that how we should try to live?
how many parties would i have missed if i had been a good girl, so to speak?
how many heartfelt conversations i would not have participated in if not for alcohol that loosens me up.
how many nights and 'bad' lifestyle, whatever it is, chasing after some stupid dream or simply spending too much money have brought me comforts and joys of its own kind?
how much love would i not have felt if i had not taken the chance... how would i have learnt to love if not for the too many heartbreaks???

i know gospel values are right and just, but when the world plays by its own rules, i find myself on the losing end sometimes. 'losing' in the sense of the world, i know, but when these things are sometimes overwhelming, i can't find the energy to ride the waves.

i know these joys don't last. nothing does but that given by God. but sometimes, i'm just tired and i don't want to pick myself up. i miss my old life because i was allowed to wallow at times and to give in to despair. looking back, yes, those times are never good and it can sink me to such depths but it isn't easy either to keep focusing on God and the positive when i just want to kick and scream and WALLOW. for what? i don't know. i just want to.

depressing, isn't it? i know this will pass. i know i will open my eyes one morning and find the drive to wake up and like what we said tonight, God is waiting. he just wants us to open our hearts to invite him in, and not barge in on his own. i know i can't reach God tonight, simply because i'm not trying. but the problem is, i don't want to try. and i don't know why.

i just never thought i'll miss that old life especially when all my life, i had been searching for God, whether i knew it or not. i always tried to do the right thing, believe in the right thing, maintain a certain hope even when things are bleak and never lose sight of Love and God even when i didn't know who he is. so how is it that tonight, i want to head back to that life where i worked for money, spent for myself, enjoyed the company of men and bitched with women?

i've always thought this but i just thought i'll accept it - that i came to church too early. why couldn't i have enjoyed my life out there, settle down at 30+ and then come to church? i'm still young. i know it's a gift God gave me.... i really, really know that. i just don't want to know it tonight.

At the Edge of the New 2007

the Apostle had SMS-ed me the eve of NYE at 5am asking if i was awake. well, i wasn't. because i had a fever and i had just been crying. where was he at 3am when i needed to talk to someone? perhaps it was a good thing he wasn't around as i would not have known what i was gibbering about.

NYE came and went. we spent it at Collie's house, laughing at our pathetic celebrations but not really caring otherwise cos we had fun too. Snow White and i left early cos both of us were ill.

so then, i find myself, sitting at my void deck, having one last smoke before i head up.

should i SMS the Apostle? i am so tempted to wish him Happy New Year. but i refrain. it's the New Year. i don't want to be pursuing him into the New Year. so i place that thought on hold.

should i SMS my ex-es? i wonder. ok, the thing about me, is i think i place too much importance on the men in my life. but maybe i'm just feeling a little lonely.

i'm going to SMS all three! i decide. potato, Blue Caps and the Apostle. and i'll see who replies me, i laugh.

i finish my smoke, pick up my mobile and SMS a brief Happy New Year and some well wishes to potato only. and i head upstairs.

i am lying in bed not being able to fall asleep when my mobile rings its *knock knock knock* SMS-alert tone at 2.30am. i'm not even thinking who it is as SMS-es have been invading my phone the whole night.

i open the message.

"So you asleep this time?" it's the Apostle!

i say a brief but exceptionally grateful 'Thank You' to God for not letting me SMS him earlier so i can enjoy this surprise that much more.

so we talk and we poke each other and we debate and share and poke each other some more. he teases me and i am embarrassed though i don't think he realises because i match his wit one on one. i don't relent and he has to back down in the end, but somehow that just makes him appear more gallant! he makes assumptions about me and i try to read his mind. he laughs a lot and i try not to let him know i'm grinning like an idiot the whole time.

"wanna watch sunrise?" he asks at 5.30am. DUH, YES!

we decide it's too late to catch sunrise and so we decide on breakfast instead. then we settle on lunch and a movie.

i say goodnight to him and he says good morning to me. he smiles and i continue to grin. for those few hours, i see an 'us' for the first time. as much as i feel for him, and in spite of more intimate and deeper information we've shared and chatted about, i've never seen an 'us' before. but for these three hours, i do.

and he goes back to his own world while i return to mine. i can almost smell him as i close my eyes on this first morning of the new year.

so much for my New Year's resolution: the official one was "To make an effort to sleep early", yes, i can definitely see how 5.30am is considered early... and my unofficial one "To not pursue the Apostle into the New Year".

in record breaking time, i watch as both resolutions go 'poof!'. but boy, is it worth it.

H E L L O O O O O O O 2 0 0 7 !!!!!!!!

Boys To Men - Standing in Between Time

between Christmas and the New Year, i came down with a fever and cold and chills. Doc says i caught a virus.

one Friday night, i played mj with my girls. and as the night passed into early morn, i felt my aching body want to fall apart. the feeling is like the cold was seeping through your bones and chilling you right to the core.

that night, as Lubi sent me home, i started tearing in the car from all the yawning and burning eyes. but along the way, the tears became tears of emotion.

i saw, in my mind's eye, potato sitting before me in his white shirt, one afternoon after he sent me to tuition. we were at the void deck enjoying some smokes. he asked me not to work anymore. i asked, then what should i survive on? bread and fresh air?

"marry me," he said. "marry me and you won't have to work anymore."

i cried hard that Friday night. when i got home, i was mildly delirious or terribly delirious, i don't know. because all i could think about was potato and all i saw in my mind were the many memories we've shared, played out in cruel detail.

i cried and i cried and i cried. i cried so hard i couldn't see anything. the tears were big, fat drops that fell on me and on the sink as i gripped it. i was aching physically, and i was hurting emotionally.

i haven't cried that hard since the day we broke up. the strange thing is, i don't think i cried at all since that day. i told myself, there's no need to cry, God's will has been done and so i should just accept it. and with that, i had somehow or other, intentionally or otherwise, closed up everything and shut it tight within me. i didn't feel anything. not until that night.

so i crawled into bed, still sobbing like a baby... and i think partly because i felt so sick and cold and achy, it just made me more vulnerable. i didn't hold anything back.

it was a good cry.

Counting Down the Last of 2006

i know it's over.

i know.

i can't say i'm relieved or that i feel any regret. 2006 has come and gone. so much has happened, as with every freaking year. time is just flying by these days. they no longer pass by on seconds, minutes and hours but in how many winks your eye makes before the year just whizzes by right before you.

it has been an exceptionally short year, it seems. maybe because i've had more experiences and gone through more varieties of emotions.

one of the comments i've heard repeated many times over the year is, "you've grown a lot." thanks, man.

it seems one has grown when one no longer cries when one is sad and when one accepts certain situations because one recognises that some things are just beyond one's control.

when i look back over a year, i always tend to see more bad things than good - initially. i see with every passing year, that i've grown that bit more vulnerable and feeling more heartbreak than before.

having said that, i remember XJ once asking me, "what's so happy about the new year?"

"something good must have happened this year," i said.

and it's true. with all those heartbreaks and disappointments, letdowns and certain 'failures', something good still comes out of it.

it's usually growth.
getting through the worst moments that paralyses me each year enlightens me that it is possible to find the energy, even if only to crawl, before slowly standing up on my feet again to go through the dark.
not being able to reach God at times that renders me completely helpless teaches me to treasure the moments when i am so near Him i can feel His presence right within me.
and finally, feeling my heart breaking to smithereens every year helps me to realise that no matter how many times over it breaks, there is still enough... always just enough... to help me live and love, again and again and again.

and so, as i look back over 2006, i feel immense gratitude, that though fun times may be more mellowed, that i am still young because i choose to be and i am still able to love, even if it needs more constant reminders.

so goodbye 2006 *waves*. i will never see you again but you will always be there in my dreams and be the foundation my life needs to move forward.

Thank You, wonderful year that has whizzed by.