The Kite Song Girl

Two years ago, I was blessed to intern for Dr Gerald Koh, Asst/Professor of then Department of Occupational and Family Medicine(since renamed dept. of epidemiology). The job provided me with renewed inspiration to pursue medicine, as well as new role model and inspiration in the Prof about what a Doctor should be. However, that is a story for another day, what is more significant is that his set of a chain of very interesting events. I interned for the Prof during the month of December, so he was nice enough to give me a book called Kite Song. It was written by a then second year medical Student named Tan Wai Jia who was a missionary raising money for an orphanage in Nepal. It was an inspirational story about a little girl and her kite, unfortunately I have since embarrassingly misplaced the book so I cannot properly recall the plot. I won't because I don't want to embarrass myself further, but it had very cute pictures.

Two years later, I was having lit tuition with Ben at the National Library, we were in the middle of discussing one of my failed attempts to conjure up a GP essay(I was unskilled then, however I have since resolved that deficit) when an old man suddenly appeared and commented on my copy of Great Expectations strewn upon the table. He was delighted that some of the young were still taking delight in the joys of literary classics. He introduced himself as Hideo Asano, he was a homeless wondering author and poet who travelled the world writing stories and poems, living on generosity and sleeping in airports. Naturally, that was the end of our literature lesson and we offered him a seat. He is an interesting man, a japanese who speaks very fluent English and distances himself from his cultural heritage for their lack of individuality due to their constricting systems. We talked about mostly about philosophy and literature and then we parted ways. I went home that night, and I googled him in hopes of checking his authencity and out of curiousity(how often does one get accosted by a homeless wandering philosopher?) and that is when I stumbled upon her blog.

It turns out that Wai Jia had also met Hideo a year before and had blogged about it in her, blog. Her posts greatly intrigued me, they deal with the struggles she faces in life, balancing God, mission, school and many other things, unlike the bland uninspired blogs of most young people, and she overcomes them in a most inspirational way. Naturally, I was also delighted to discover that there are other people out there who blog long essays like me and so I have followed her since then. (You should too, I never fail to be taken in by her entries.)

Flash forward to 2009, I had fortunate opportunity to acquire some money without prior work. I found $50 on the floor of the loading bay at camp one morning, and living with a bunch of crooks, I realized that I wouldn't be able to return it to the rightful owner, so I decided that I would donate it. A week later, after Mass, I was caught with my grandparents in the middle of the large downpour, I offered to run to the car and get umbrellas, I am the impatient sort and didn't really want to wait until the rain stopped. So I ran them, got soaked and retrieved the two umbrellas from the car and returned. I gave on to grandpa to bring grandma to shelter and I used to other to help ferry the other poor stranded souls from the porch to the other building. In reward, my grandmother gave me(or forced into my hand) $50, which I knew I couldn't keep for myself, so I decided to donate this as well. And as fate would have it, Wai Jia had recently blogged about Alisha, a deaf nepalese girl who needed a cochlear implant and whom Wai Jia had taken out the mountain of a task to raise funds for. I also thought I would help her financially with Zhou Yeh Yeh, a basker who she is very close to and whose medical bills she pays, as she was broke and I felt she deserved a break. This, I decided would be where I would place the money that was entrusted to me.

I did and was delightfully surprised when asked me if I'd like to meet for a repast. And so begins my story for the evening. This is the longest introduction I have ever written, and pardon me for my verbiage, I just didn't see any way I could fully explain the story. And so now the story actually begins.

Its a very special experience to meet some inspirational up close and personal, it's very different from reading their works. They have an effect on you whether you know it or not. The meal took place a few weeks ago, and as I said, it was an experience. How often does someone agree to meet stranger for a meal? I must say I was rather nervous and excited. All those questions were flooding my mind, what sort of person is she really? What does she look like? What does she talk like? Luckily, I wasn't the only person with those thoughts. She admitted later to having the impression that I was a tall skinny(I wish)nerdy weird kid with purple shoes right out of one those civics and moral education textbook that they have since removed from the primary school syllabus. We met and and exchanged greetings and a handshake and proceeded to look for dinner, finally settling on the food court at Funan mall owing to a mutual lack of funds and no desire to eat junk food.

As I said earlier, inspirational people have an effect on you, as we walked to Funan, she stopped to make conversation with two people selling tissue paper outside the MRT station's exit. They were members of St. Andrew's Cathedral. She inquired about another one, an Uncle Andrew, whom I would meet later. I remember being very awed by how easily she did it. These are the people that thousands of businessmen and corporate women walk past everyday, men and women leaders in their fields, yet how many of them would have the courage to stop and do what she does? Of course you could say they would brush it off as beneath them, but in truth it's out of their comfort zone. I would know, I'm amongst those people who have yet to step out of that zone.

Its interesting how a small act can really brighten these people's lives. The money is a necessity but its the kindness that lifts them. I could see they were quite happy to talk to her. I wonder how many people talk to them? And she tries to do this with every one of them she meets. You can see why I was quite taken aback. I guess that it's something that I would like to work on. Its a duty as a Christian to help the rest of God's children. I can talk on about pro-life, but how pro-life would I be if I allowed these people to starve on the street, when a small donation would help them?

And it wasn't just her generosity and kindness that amazed me, she had the ability to see God's hand working in her life, I, being the blind fool, honestly wouldn't have seen any of the connections that she brought up. She said that it was God that allowed us to meet, that he had 'taken [my] good deed and multiplied it into another'. It reminded me of the parable of the Talents. If you use what talents God has given you, he will multiply even them more. That is what happened to the first two servants. Alas, there is a third servant, who buried his single talent in the ground, and when the master returned, the servant was punished for wasting the talent when he could have at least put in the bank for interest. All my life, I have and I think many of us as well have been caught up with identifying with the third servant. Afraid that we are not living up to standards, wasting our God given talents. We have inadvertently fallen into a trap, and in doing so have ended selfishly burying our talents into the ground to be friends with worms. In identifying with the third servant and in our desire to avoid the master's castigation, we have become him. I think it also extends to not giving the master appropriate credit. After all, the talents were from him. This is what happened to me here, I was blind to his hand, and because of them I couldn't give him the praise that is his. I guess even if you invest the talents and make returns, it doesn't help if you bury them in the ground and do not return them to the master.

Maybe, I'm rambling a bit. Synapses firing in their disconnected ADHD way again. I'm not sure, but I was really touched that night, because I had also been praying for a while, to see God in my life more, and I was granted that. Thank you Wai Jia, I can now see God working in my life more evidently now and thank you for the lessons you continue to teach people.

A Quiet Christmas.

A year ago, I was conscripted into slavery abroad the machine known as... well you know what is. It still sounds like a local militia than an all powerful army, no matter how you attempt to glorify it. A year ago, I was robbed of my Christmas. I spent the entire advent in camp, amidst secularity and the inefficiency of the whole system, I couldn't adequately prepare for the great Feast of the Nativity, and I must say that I suffered a poor spiritual Christmas. All this probably added to low morale I felt throughout all of basic training. Most of all, I didn't have enough time to be with the people I cared for. I felt really lonely.

One year on, and despite being in a more retarded and inefficiently run course than basic training, I have since recovered from my depression and I have had a most enjoyable year. This time I made the resolve to prepare spiritually for advent, though I didn't really achieve what I set out to, it is a marked improvement from last year. Also, the week of medical leave following the excision of Bob, my uvula, from my throat helped things greatly.

To be honest, I didn't receive many gifts this year and I didn't receive anything material that I went 'wow' about. I was given a few CDs, a polo, a lovely pair of shoes and a shoe bag. I can't actually recall a time in my life where people actually got me something that made me jump for joy in appreciation. That probably means, people don't know me well enough to shop for me. Which is okay, I am admittedly a difficult child to profile. Though, I am long past the childhood stage of desiring to be given lots of material things during Christmas, gifts, or the idea of gift giving is very important to me.

You see, gifts are a very important thing in society. They are form a recognition. You give someone a gift in order to recognize their significance in your life. Society plays this up to a much larger formal extent, award ceremonies are held and recognition in the form awards are given to individuals in front of the whole society. So, gifts are our little ways of remembering the ones near and dear to us. Which is why the choice of the gift is always important, and should always be thoughtfully chosen and carefully selected for the needs or wants of the recipient. Hence, knowing the recipient is important. The better you know the recipient, the better you should be able to chose a gift for the person. Hence, I feel it is really sad when gift giving becomes a routine chore, for example at Christmas time. We have lists of people that we need to buy gifts for, and not want to buy or make gifts for. In our haste to clear the list, along with the mindless secular shopping that goes on along with this season, we end up just buying things thoughtlessly. Do not get me wrong, I am not being ingrateful, I am very thankful for the gifts I have received, particularly that I am remembered at all, however this is the standard at which I hold gift giving, and yes it is a strain to think of people carefully, but I feel it makes the gift all that more special, it makes the relationship all that more special.

There is another thing I realized about gifts, they don't always need be material. If you count the non-material gifts that I've received this Christmas, then I am very richly blessed. And yes, I do count these gifts. Particularly, the gift of your time.

As I said, I don't receive many 'official' gifts during Christmas, I don't have that many close enough friends. Also, my friends are all the non-working type, so I don't expect much, though I do expect myself to remember these people, even if it taxes me financially. So due to the course this year, I was temporally in deficit and I completely had forgotten about Christmas shopping until the eve of Christmas, but I realized that I had traded more gifts than I had any other Christmas this year. I had the probably one of the most valuable ones. That of time. Every moment that I was out, I spent it with friends and family as much as possible. I think that was the best gift to receive, those moments can never disappear now, because I will remember the fun that we had, the dialogue that went on, the catching up and the laughter, oh and the zombies. I think that was the one thing during Advent that I fulfilled, I spent time with friends and family, building stronger bonds. I met new ones too.

This year was quiet, possibly because of slavery, possibly because I had no parties to attend. Though it was rather quiet itself on Christmas day, the days that afore that and that followed were filled with activities.

I had already met up with Gerald, my ex-boss, who is one of the most inspirational doctors out there. I had a made a new friend, a very blessed and inspirational girl named Wai Jia, who raises lots of money to help orphans in Nepal and is in fourth year of medical school, I can't really decide which she does in her spare time. Jonathan was brought back from the airport, and the zombies once again feared us. I caught Sherlock Holmes with the aforementioned best friend and Marie, Michelle and Justin. It is wonderful to have such a lovely extended family. I caught Mr Holmes again(because it is so good, you must go watch NOW) with the other extend family of RCIY. Alone with a great RCIY dinner. We celebrated my brother and sister's birthdays. Snuck in a much needed latin lesson. I caught the Bowen in between his extras. Christmas dinner and lunch with the two sides of the family. The list is endless, well not really, however I am beginning to sound like a teenage schoolgirl which is quite appalling. I have so much to thank God for this Christmas. I would also like to thank the aforementioned for the most precious gift of time which you have most graciously provided me with.

You can never have enough laughter. Thank you.

Felix dies nativitatis Iesus Christi
Christus natus est! Glorificate eum!

For the earlier

I apologize for the bad writing in the previous post. I actually wrote the article while in camp and upon rewriting it on the computer, I realised the great error with that decision. Please pardon all the grammatical errors and the dreadful sentence structure of the first few paragraphs. Clearly laziness is the root of all this and I will try my best to avoid penning essays in camp again.

Lessons.

Three weeks ago, bible study was cancelled and we were asked to help out with a selling things to raise funds for Kenyan children. The whole things was arranged by Aunty P and Aunty J, but Aunty J was hospitalised and so Aunty V took over and hence the Youth rockers were asked to help. Well, we were only plural because two of us turned up.

Anyway, I don't know what is about me that moved me to burn the entire morning to sell unsuspecting parishioners Kenyan beads and overpriced bars of Hershey's. To be truthful, poverty is not really high on my list of things to champion. This, I am quite ashamed to admit. Poverty is probably the easiest social issue for anyone to take up and do something about. I don't need to quote GP and stats for anyone to figure that out. In fact, the poor are always under our noses! When was the last time you stopped to buy tissue paper from the beggar at the MRT station or along the underpass or while walking down the street?

Chances are, it's been a while. I only know two people who do it personally, and neither are myself, though I am hoping that will change. The point is, I wouldn't be the person organising this sort of charity event. So why was I there along? I guess God wanted to make use of my charm for raising funds and to teach me something as well. I think I really learned something that day.

1. I am amazed at the generosity of St. Ignatians, I really didn't expect them to donate more than was necessary for a bar of overpriced Hershey's for their children, yet they surprised me in more ways than one. One lady pushed a wad of fifties into collection box, while many others gave a fifty and refused the change(the bars were $5). It was amazing. What was more amazing were the children. Aunty V gave them little bookmarks with charming face of Mtoto, a five year old boy and little inscription that $2 could feed Mtoto for 4 lunches. They ran back to their parents and either brought back lunch money for Mtoto or their parents to provide lunch money for him. I felt that they sincerely wanted to help provide food for Mtoto, because I hadn't told them about the chocolate yet, and I was quite pleased to see their elated expressions when presented with a bar, granted Mummy allowed it. Positive reinforcement working at its best, altruism provides good feelings. Now they'll probably keep at it and hopefully when they're older they'll understand the profoundness of their little acts of human kindness.

That wasn't the most amazing part, it was when some of the children(btw they were all in primary school) took out their own wallets and gave their own money. I felt so bad, because as an NSF, and as a student before that and student to be, I know what it's like to barely have enough money to last a week or month and yet here these primary school children were using their very precious pocket money to buy Mtoto and other Kenyans food. I was hoping they would ask their parents for money or something and it is these feelings that I commented in passing to Aunty only to surprisingly receive a censuring. She said, 'We mustn't stop the little ones from receiving graces in heaven. When they donate, they will go hungry in school for a day and they will learn something about poverty. They will understand the plight of the poor.'

I was rather taken aback. Two things rang like alarm bells in my head, the first was the verse 'let the little ones come to me.'. In my desire not to inconvenience the little ones, I had inadvertently almost repeated the apostles' good intention. I was denying them from getting closer to Christ. I was also denying them indulgences. Of course, I changed my course of mind completely, and following this epiphany, went about directly asking and hoping the children would make sacrifices of themselves. Children are wonderful things aren't they?

The second thing I realized was that I was denying them a valuable lesson about sacrifice(if Mummy and Daddy didn't intervene to help them). Like Aunty V mentioned, going hungry for a day would allow them to learn the feelings of Kenyans, of all the poor and those in poverty, who go through malnourished days wondering when their next real meal would be. Often times, it isn't even a proper meal. In some small way, they would soon have a spot for the poor in their hearts, thus prompting them, I hope, to repeat the altruism again.

2. The second thing I learned was something interesting Aunty P said to me, 'So you want to be a doctor? That's very good my dear. I shall pray for you to become a doctor. No. I shall pray that it is WITHIN God's plan that you become a doctor.'

It got me thinking, I've thought about it before, and as always when some statement such as this does, cause you to review the thread of thought. It is a rather dream-breaking thought for anyone who has a dream that he has yet to materialise:

What if God doesn't want me to be a doctor?

It is a rather depressing thought for me, because I sincerely do not believe that I will be as contented or challenged doing anything else. And to all who think I have a one track mind, I have toyed with other career ideas, but none don't fit as well, none balance my great love for science and logical reasoning with the curiousity of the creature called Man, and my desire to heal his ailments. Yet what if that isn't what God wanted me to do. If I resisted, could I still make it to medical school? Would I never make it? Would I be happy? Will I ever make it since I've been sidetracked so long and the road is still dark and winding? What am I supposed to do. A million other queries brush aside any logical answer that quells the previous few.

All I know is that God has a plan for us, and I have made the choice to place my life in his hands, so I hope that what I desire is part of his plan. I also know that he only gives me a cross that is light enough for me to carry without my back breaking, so that I will learn lessons and skills in order to carry out his will. I guess that is in essence what Aunty P's words meant, that I will do the best I can and leave the rest up to God, and if it doesn't work, to move on and find my true purpose. I just hope I won't ever have to give up this dream.

"And we walk back hand in hand, through the wintry streets to your flat, led by the full moon herself. We came to your door and you open it, letting us in. In the ideal world, I would kiss you there on your doorstep and you would kiss me back and we would consumate the night in a violent ardent passion. Unfortunately, we are chained here in this real world. As I close the door and take both your hands in mine, we can only stare into each other's eyes as we stand there hand in hand. We can only imagine the ideality for a moment until our thoughts are shattered by the heavy fetters of good Christian morals and the dark murky quadmire of the unknown. I kiss you sweetly on the forehead. And then a silent adieu as I watch you repair to your apartment and I to the couch. The fallen seraph of the abyss curses his loss , amidst the painful mourns of the victory dirge."

"What happens then?"
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld

Parables

The parable of the talents. Essentially, three servants were granted charge of varying amounts of talents, that was a form of currency in those days, and with their various talents, they each invested them in a certain way. The first two invested them and made great returns and the were praised by the master and given more to be responsible over. The last invested foolishly in the ground, and was chastised greatly for not even earning interest over the money in a bank Summarily put, God gives everyone gifts and to not use them or recognise them is a bad thing, and if we use them he will give us more. So in a way, overachievers are the first two servants, and the rest of us are the last fellow.

I always thought that I was one of the first two servant type people, but then when I think about it now I realize I've always been the last. I've led a very fortunate life thus far, and it has been filled with all sorts of experiences. Unfortunately I also have a lot of regrets. Who doesn't? I guess its also unfortunate that my logical analysing brain cannot keep its self-reflections from speculating upon what life would have been if I had made different choices.

Let me explain: right now I have some really big regrets. I regret not taking up rugby when I was nine and had the opportunity pass under my face, I regret not exposing myself to more music when I was younger and from persevering with my piano, I regret not taking a more proactive role in school.

For the first one, I only took up rugby in jc at the age of 18. 5 years after most local players pick it up, 12 years after most international players first touched an odd shaped ball. Had I taken up the sport early, I would have loved it and I would probably be playing a position that I could really put my logician's brain to rather than pushing the scrum. I would have had more than a decade's experience in the game now and I would be enjoying my rugby on a whole new level. I could have done many many things and have become many other things. Similarly I regret not taking sports seriously when I was young and now I am repaying that choice. I'm fat and slow. Retrospectively I know myself and I know I would have worked hard for it. I had the genes for it that I know. I grew tall and muscular without much effort. ADHD provided the energy and impulsivity to do crazy things.

For the second, I dropped out of music while i was practicing for grade 3 or 4. I was ten. A great pity that I led a stupid impulse drop what would become a giantic part of my life. As with most ecentric famous people that I know, I cannot survive without music. It is both solace and inspiration. How I wished during my major exams that when I needed a break from the practicing I could have just plopped down on the bench and played one or two Chopin's nocturnes or Beethoven's sonatas. I also recently realized I probably have sound -> colour synaesthesia. It just dawns on me that if I had kept music a bit longer I would have liked it, and I would practiced even harder and exposed myself to a lot more. Again I could be enjoying on a whole new level. Now I am merely learning basics and probably will not be able to ascend very far. Again, I had the opportunity, both sides of my family are musical.

And finally the third. I am a natural leader. I don't know if its being the first born, or just the lingering hunter's genes desire for excitement in the workplace by taking on more responsibility. Whatever the case may be, I command presence, people listen when I talk and most of the time they are willing to follow. During my recent adolescence, I was the one who usually organized the outings when I wanted to go out with my friends, I enjoyed that role. Its a pity that I ignored when it came to serious things like school. I could have made a difference instead of being just one herring in the sea of other white and blue herrings. I always had an opinion and many ideas to go along with that I know I would have, I could have, I didn't.

In each three cases, the element of choice is clearly present, as well the potentiality. Clearly a case of burying talents. However, God is a merciful master and thankfully will not as of yet like the last servant in the story through me out into darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth. Well that or I haven't squandered all my remaing talents yet. Also I think, that well I may missed out on opportunities to be the best that I can, there is still a long way to go in my life, a lot more opportunities for me to use my talents. In rugby, I just won't be the center, I'll be the rampaging prop that gives centers some terror, and one way day, with enough determination, I will play La Campanella, and I will do some good in som community with my leadership skills.

It is for this that I can say I am thankful for. I had the opportunity to realize that I do have some talents buried, and I still have to time; in accord with them metaphor; to invest these wisely and hope that more will be given to me. I'm sad though that many people still remain as the last servant is. I know so many people who if they just tried would probably be able to do something they've never even dreamed off. I wonder what it takes to lead a regretless life... I pray that God will help me.

vicissitudal year

I need to stop getting injured. I've been injured so many times in a year before. I think its the bloody army. I've managed to mangle my other ankle. It was perfect timing really, about thiry minutes into training. I spent the rest of the time on the sidelines wishing my ankle would stop hurting so I could abuse the rest of my unfit body.

Well, the good side is that I got some substantial recovery time from the doctor, the down side is that I also got some real substantial recovery time from my ankle. Gotta wait another six weeks for it to heal, hopefully in time for season. The whole thing ballooned up this morning when i woke up and tried to walk out of bed. I wonder if it would've hurt less if there wasn't 110kg balancing on it.

I'm also rather curious about the young physicians here. It amazing how they will address you in such a saccharine patronizing tone, its as though they're trying to give you caries and at the same time dispense pharmaceuticals. Either that or they believe that every patient they see is, regardless of their age (and oh so many of them looked so senior that it might be their last visit), below the age of ten, and therefore have to be talked to like spawnlings with a slight falsetto. Its fascinating how children, or at least smart children hate to be talked to in that way in the first place. Quaint place the clinic is.

I need to get back in the game! I hate my ankles.

Lousy Brother.

I am a rather lousy brother. I admit. I have no patience or tact or
any ability to act like a parent. I constantly push you away when you
want to spend time with me and I want to be alone with myself; which
is all I am usually, alone and complaining about it. You're alone too,
you have no one to play with or spend time with, being the smallest
critter in a house of locked doors. Everyone is busy attending to
their own selfish desires. So much for having a large family. I spend
so much time grieving being alone in a large family, desiring to have
someone to talk to and intellectualize with because everyone is busy
re-cooperating from the long work day, logged into cyberspace,
studying or never at home and then there's you. Sure, you're young,
and we won't be able to talk, but you still want to play, and be a
part of our lives even though we push you away because you're not our
age, you're not old enough or mature enough. Truth be told, we're the
fools, the immature ones, because we complain of having nothing to do.

I made you cry today because I wanted to play the video game alone,
because I wanted to practice the game alone, so I could get better, so
I could beat other people, its just not fun playing with you because
you provide no challenge, you don't understand the game, you're just
button mashing. They're all excuses. Horrible rationalities coming
from one who claims to be rational, and not rationalize. The truth is:
I wanted to be alone, to wallow in my lonely state, in self pity,
reminding myself that I'm penniless and alone at home because I'm
antisocial and don't have friends who'll ask me out.Yet you wanted to
play with me. Be it partially out of boredom, you still wanted my
society. Clearly something is wrong with me.

In the end I let you play, but with much reluctance, I purposely let
you win because I wanted you to play the computer and lose. You were
actually pretty good until the difficult stage came. I should have
encouraged you but I didn't, I set there in silence, waiting for you
to give up and go away, but you didn't. Now I feel guilty. I should, I
am guilty, I am such a lousy brother. I am so extremely selfish, you
have no one and I turned you away. We could have both had fun, but I
let you down. You're tenacious, you didn't even give up despite losing
four times in a row, you finally went away when your controller
disconnected and I didn't help you to fix it. You thought I did
something. I guess I did. I did a most selfish act, I kept quiet until
you got the message. We could have both had fun. Guess it just takes
one act of selfishness to ruin many people's day.

I am a hypocrite. I talk a lot about inclusivity, about extending that
arm to the ones desolate and ostracised, but here I am, turning my
back on you. I guess adults are all idiots, all selfish, all strange
people. It takes a child to make us understand how wayward we are. It
hurts me more that now the time to apologize is over, and even if I
do, you won't understand the apology, but you've already forgiven me.

Child, I'm very sorry.

Pain for pleasure.

My hands burn with every pull, i can feel my fingers pull and ligaments stretch, the calluses on my palms squeeze and pain surges through my hands as my chin ascends above the bar. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. One set done. Five to go. Then down on my hands again, chest to the floor, one through twenty-five. Four to go.

Pain. And it goes on the next day; day in, day out. All this for the field, for bodies crashing into one another hard, driving all day long. The burning in my lungs as I sprint from one point to another, my abs aching, all for that next hit. And then again after that. Live for it all day long, living for the man on your left and your right, in the same colours and shield.

Problem. Can't be on the field, can't be next to your mate, without the training, the boring painful taxing training. The late nights, lose the life, hit the gym, hit the track. Get faster, stronger, quicker. All I can think about now. The pain's for pleasure.

Setback -- can't train, I'm injured, a broken foot, three more weeks of hell as my muscles become mush, all I have left are these few things. To pull and push. Most painful. I just want to get through it. Get back. Get back, those are that which occupy all my thoughts.


Pain
Three Day's Grace

Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

You're sick of feeling numb
You're not the only one
I'll take you by the hand
And I'll show you a world that you can understand
This life is filled with hurt
When happiness doesn't work
Trust me and take my hand
When the lights go out you will understand

Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

Anger and agony
Are better than misery
Trust me I've got a plan
When the lights go off you will understand

Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing
Rather feel pain

I know (I know I know I know I know)
That you're wounded
You know (You know you know you know you know)
That I'm here to save you
You know (You know you know you know you know)
I'm always here for you
I know (I know I know I know I know)
That you'll thank me later

Pain, without love
Pain, can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Rather feel pain than nothing at all
Rather feel pain

I will not drink so much ever again.

Bacon sarnie is a hangover cure! oh what joyous news has been brought. tasty! if i could have a bacon sarnie everytime i got drunk, i would get drunk more often.

of course the more annoying part about getting that far drunk is that i would have consumed many glasses of ethanol which would have many undesirable negative effects on such a perfectly tuned homeostatic system. my least favorite being dehydration. i hate waking up feeling like i need to drink a river to quench my thirst. it took me half a day to finally equalize my damn system.

i swear if i ever become a doctor, i'm going to buy that hook thing and stock up on IV fluids and catheters. then everytime i get drunk, i'll come home and attempt to to hook myself up to the IV (hopefully the high would've past and i'll be dying from the hangover so i don't miss the vein), thus ensuring proper electrolytic balance and continuous hydration. of course i won't be able to drink as much as often then or my colleagues are gonna think i'm some kinda crackhead. oh joy. i gotta make sure i don't bring the equipment down to the club either. i'm quite sure the bouncers aren't gonna let me back in, if i'm pulling my iv along with me.

Thanks for the night fellas, though you'll probably never read this, i hope we can do it again soon. I wish I had taken more photos, but i'm not that narcisstic.

where did it all go? my optimism seems to have left off in a hurry. i've lost track of the road and i don't know where to go. hope should guide me, but i can't see hope. what am i supposed to live for if hope is all gone?

Exercise.

This began as a writing exercise; an opportunity to flex those creative muscles associated with graphia, the ones i stored away in an old shoebox under the bed to get all mouldy with cobbwebbs since the end of the a level cataclysm. I have since dugged them up and surgerically rettached them to my already skewered mental state and hoped that everyone would work like riding a bike.

Thats two weeks ago.
Unfortunately, no, it didn't work and i caught cerebral meningitis, but that's another story. So here I am, attempting to proceed with a writing exercise to remember how to the ride my bicycle down the lane of esssAy.

I've been through this dark demented path many times before, with the creeky twigs and crunchy leaves under foot at all time, shrouded in the shadow of the magnificient leafless branches whos sinister fingers protrude outward in a the apparent desire to snare you as you clumber past. The forest floor is apparently teeming with life, colourlife at that, however colours have become dull and grey, having never seen the sun for decades ever since the threes grew tall and leafless. the sole available light is a tiny stream that seems to direct to ward a part of the forest. follow it and find the light, and there is your goal. follow it and lose the light, and there belies no hope. quite a nasty trip it is, don't you a agree? could use a touring agency and some souvenior sales. quick come buy your decapitated cats! demented seal plushies! true rememants of the werewolve's pendent for sale! witches hat's and white lab coats and a stetoscope.SALE! SALE! Business will indeed improve. i clearly derogated. nevertheless, the point i was trying to point across and parley with the opposite point is that i need to practice my writing. so here it is.

MAJOR DISCLAIMER. Author is writing under the influence of sleeping pills, johnny walk, the coca cola company and funeral for a friend.

Deja Vu. This originally began as a writing exercise to de rust my skills for sats. And so it shall be done, however i most sincerely regret the choice of topic. You see, I've been keeping company with Ghosts lately, many ghosts, they're all in my head and they all come creeping out in the dead of night when i am truely alone, in a resting position.I am plagued by memories of the things past, of people past, of opportunities past. fantasies about time turning, time adjustment, alteration soley to affect the future, fantasies that come out at night and seem so real. the ifs and what could'ves plague me tonight. then the worst ghost comes, the smallest one, dressed in a small white cloth wrapped around the pale transcient child's body, when he walks the ground trembles reverently. he turns to you and looks at you with his white blond tussles, and crytal clear blue eyes, as you look right through him. he brings the greatest pain, for he is PRESENT and within in can lie only truths. the ones we deny and thus consequently, his other ghostly relatives haunt us. and these ghosts, these voices talk to me in my attempts at rest, work and play. most often, they arrive during rest when the mind can be made to fully focus on a sole single subject of their choice.

In the past weeks, that chosen topic has always been life. Mine in particular. Allow me to introduce my self.
Born, 17th May on wednesdsay, of the 88th year of the 20th century.
Blood type : o+
185cm
220lbs
Named David by his parents, and Yung by his family.
I am David Yung,
3rd generation Reluctant Singaporean Citizen
4th generation ACSIAN.
enrolled in the finest institutes of learning. AC, AC, ACJC.
Attention-Deficiet/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD Combined type),servere
Suspected Asperger's Syndrome
has fallen three times into clinical depression.
High intellect with talented analytical skills.
line art artist.
obsession with medical science.

Archievements:
none.

AGE.....21.
Subject is regarded as a legal adult under Singaporean Law.

I am an Adult. Already, finally reached the forbidden age of twenty-one. An adult. I have spent twenty-one long years of painful existence on this planet learning and learning. Yet, for all the time I have spent here, i have done nothing, achieved nothing. I am wondering what purpose do i have for being born here on this hot humid sweaty island? I have fallen being my peers in their academic pursuits, most theirs are coerced upon them by other's, yet they are pursuing academic half-heartedly, while i rott away in a glass cage waiting for a university to claim me as their own.For me, I have chosen my desired path, and I have dreams and aspirations to do good, yet time and timee again, I am foiled in my plan. Sitting here watching them walk off with their new ownners to go home to a loving dinner, while i feel the cold glass on my skin. Fate is fair is she not?

I do not have any commercialble talents. I don't do party tricks, I never cared about, was what i obsessed about. When i obsessed about something, i learnt everything i could about it.when i obsessed about something, and had enough time to obsess about it, i became good at it.when i cared about something, it grew. concepts came easily, the practice too, albeit later on. though that didn't matter to the examiners. we can't make an exam just for one person after all. my obsessions are my only talents. my mind holds much knowledge over a variety of subjects, and the ability to synthesis new elemeents from their basis nature. But this talent is useless. It makes you socially awkward. no one wnats the friend who can see things they can'. its like having the friend who can see dead grandma.

I am unfit and overweight, and too tall for this society, but those are minor details. I've also never achieved any of the Goals I've set out to accomplish. My life is surrounded by failure. my failure to find community. my failure to reach university. my recent failure to get into ocs and to have a meaningful job for 2 years. my failure to upset the labels plastered on my be society. my failure to find contentment. failure to change life. It does seem that every adventure i am entailed, results only in unadulterated failure.i have failed love and i have failed life.

I can't think of any good that i have done in this life. It is a hopeless one and i wish God would end it sooner.

I've been asked to celebrate a "milestone", i can't understand or comprehend what this milestone will be. i see no reason to celebrate. David Yung, 21, a no one.

stream

Welcome to life. This sad mandatory plane of existence which anything a woman-born must endure. And yes, caesarians do count as woman born, you did gestate there for a several months didn't you? Its a sordid, depressing plane of existence and if you don't think so, you're probably in denial.

But that's okay.

You see looking at my downward spiral, I will inevitably end up with no friends in 10 to 20 years.

But that's okay too.

I just don't care anymore.
-End stream of consciousness.-

SOS God.

life out of control.

The Funeral Portrait
Opeth

You wait by the window
Morning's breath on the sill
Idle hands given another try
So you wait and you savour the moment
Outside the canvas turned white
Ruby eyes in the fog
Rain washing clean all the sins
A liquid gown that covers all
Your loathe turns endless
Opened mirage soothes your sense
Locked on the pinnacle
The best secret within
Like a derelict child
Heart burning for a stranger
Ascending to the meek
Flock round the liars in awe
Caked in the soil beneath
Fear me when we meet
Turn away in admiration
My firm grip round the nucleus of joy
Enough of this
You will leave me now
You will see it now
Perish at my hands
Close to you
Tangled up in hair
Fresh stigma look
Shall I take you with me
And it is cold
Ruby eyes in the fog
It is me
And you are just like them all
Stained by the names of fathers
I'm greeting my downward fall
Leaving the throes to others

Doors.

Good morning sunshine!
I am sorry to disappoint, I am still alive, most unfortunately, but well: c'est la vie.
I promise I will have an interesting note up on this spot soon!
However briefly,
Life hasn't been too good to me this year, thus far. I've encountered no end of vicissitudes upon the major things in life. Its been rather depressing. Maybe I should do the American thing and start poppin' prozacs like m&ms
I pray that God will open a door for me.

Waiting

its amazing how the wait can be so long and ardous when you wait for important people to return messages. Instant messages especially show the increasing impatience of humans as the twenty first century beings. This is something that i just realized as i am currently waiting for someone special to return a message. Its highly likely that someone special is watching gg or attending to art or some other distraction and has clearly misplaced her phone, or at worst case ignoring me, either way i am rather anxious and annoyed. I'm sitting here wondering with great anxiety if she'll ever reply and I wonder if she knows how I feel. That doesn't matter, though incidentally, my grandmother just texted me back after i sent her message two hours ago. This made me realized, that I should have expected a reply, but the two hour wait didn't really matter to me. Ah the impatience of the heart. Its not too bad in the twenty first century, human impatience has made messages arrive instantly, however i do wonder how they endured such endearing pain in the nineteenth century, when people special could be away for months and whereby the only medium of communication was letter writing. They had instant messaging that time too, it was called the telegraph. So much for fast and efficient. I, we could take a leaf out of the nineteenth century in terms of patience with matters of people special.

To you.

Hey you,

Something happened to me last night that made me realize how weak I am. I am broken boy, in so many aspects of my life, yet somehow each day God gives me the strength to drudge through life. I've done so many things that people thought I could never do. I've pushed myself beyond my limits time and time again. However, there is one thing I could never do. I couldn't be my full self infront of you. And it pains me that I can't tell you how special you are to me. How lucky you are. How lovely your smile is. How pretty your eyes are. How much I think about you.

I wish I could find that strength.

song to you. wherever ever you are.

Goo Goo Dolls.
Dizzy

You're cynical and beautiful
You always make a scene
You're monochrome delirious
You're nothing that you seem
I'm drownin in your vanity
Your laugh is a disease
You're dirty and you're sweet
You know you're everything to me

Oh, everything you are
Falls from the sky like a star
Everything you are
Whatever ever you are

I wanna kill at the machine
That made you piss away you dreams
Tear down your defenses
Till there's nothing there but me
You're angry when you're beautiful
Your love is such a tease
I'm drowning in your Dizzy noise
I wanna feel you scream

Oh, everything you are
Falls from the sky like a star
Everything you are
Whatever ever you are

Oh, everything you are
Falls from the sky like a star
Everything you are
Whatever ever you are

Everything you are
Whatever ever you are
Whatever ever you are
Whatever ever you are