Humility

There is a very strange thing about national slavery. It is inevitable that you will come across Sergeant Majors, and you will meet many and will probably work with at least one of them. There are all sorts of Sergeant Majors, but they can more or less be squeezed, even despite the massive thoracic bulge some of them work hard to maintain, into two categories. On one hand, you have the really lazy ones who barely capable of an ounce of leadership, are lazy and are as inflexible as the points of view of a fossilised fundamentalist on the possibility of the Big Band Theory. On the other hand you have the fatherly types, patient yet stern, they understand what you’re going through and are more than willing to pull their weight when necessary. The following story involves a Brigade Sergeant Major and he falls in the latter category.

It was my last field exercise, and it had already been quite an experience, especially for an office boy logistician. For one, it was my first time experiencing rain during a field exercise, first time freeing a pangolin that had become entangled in a camouflage net, first time camouflaging, rather redundantly, a rather large command post and meeting a one-star in person and the first time I collided with a dump-truck and lost. Well I met a few that day and even more higher-ups, but it’s irrelevant. The most striking event was sweating side by side the Sergeant Major as we tore down camp on the last night of the exercise.

We had returned to base camp earlier than the rest of the group who were still packing up at another area. ‘We’ being the Brigade Sergeant Major, the Regimental Quartermaster, the Logistics Warrant Officer, myself and a two of my men. We sat down for a few cups of stale coffee, and relax after completing most of the exercise, and after a while it was somehow silently decided that camp would be torn down. The next time I knew, I was standing next to Sergeant Major dismantling tents and keeping the folding benches and tables. We joined him wordlessly, without command or invitation.

It was the kind of situation where for some odd reason, you wanted to help out voluntarily, and if you knew the many terms of endearment we have for conscription, to help out voluntarily is rather alien. Of course there was the incentive of returning to camp earlier than planned, enjoying a nice shower and being clean for the first time in 3 days. There was no bossing around or ordering, just three warrant officers and three bottom feeders tearing down the camp for the simple reason of giving the returning storemen a break.

You see, the Sergeant Major is a former special forces operator, a trained Navy Seal, complete with a master level in all the airbourne badges and probably many other skills as well, just that his uniform didn’t have space to put all of them. Furthermore, he was the second highest ranking soldier in the entire brigade, as there wasn’t a 2IC to the brigade Commanding Officer. So you can imagine, he was no small fish and he certainly didn’t have to do a grunt’s work.

I know this doesn’t sound very spectacular or out of this world, or contain any form of heroics at all (all soldiering stories should contain a part where someone dies, just for the effect), except when I rescued the poor pangolin from almost certain death, but I was very impressed. That was a show of true leadership.

Being a leader is not about simply standing around telling people to do things while watching them perform your orders, it is about inspiring others to get in and do the same work with you. To do the former is to rule with fear, and more oft than not, you will end up losing your humanity. It gets the work done, but in the process, you lose more than you will ever gain. Instead, should you approach your duty with a little humility, you will go a long way. Certainly, you will need to maintain some distance between you and your inferiors, and many other things, and with most things, a fine balance must be struck. However, you can always have humility.

Humility is what reminds you who is really working for whom. As the superior, it is easy to be awash with power, having so many souls under your command, at your mercy. Yet, this could not be so far from the truth-- which is that leaders don’t just have inferiors under them, but they are actually working for their inferiors. There is that responsibility and obligation to provide proper direction and guidance to the inferiors in any aspect of work, as well as to continually shovel coal into their engine to keep their fires burning. It is paramount to remember that while leaders are very important to any project, group or assembly of people, their importance is solely dependent on there being a project, group or assembly of people. Leaders serve their people.

Furthermore, it would be somewhat coincidental to note that earlier aforementioned category of Sergeant Majors, the ones who are lazy and inflexible are usually the ones trapped in a rank, slowly mining their way to the top, whereas the latter are the ones who usually soar. To throw out a mere theory, it may simply be in their humility. With humility, there is recognition of that one is no as large as their egos present themselves, and also the recognition that one does not know everything. It is with this knowledge that allows one to learn, and to learn is a most important skill. No one can have full knowledge of everything, even the most experienced Sergeant Major cannot possible possess all prerequisite information to run a camp ideally. It is, and this is somewhat more prevalent in the service, often a case of trial and error. With humility you can learn from error, and you are willing to take feedback and steps to improve, and improve you will.

This is what I saw in Sergeant Major as he untied canvas from superstructure, and it is a clear reminder of the scope of the role that I play in life. Leadership is more than just a position or a title, but a very large responsibility and a call to serve. Sooner or later, everyone is called to be a leader, whether in an official manner or just as the head of the household, what are you doing to be a good leader?

The Black Widower

Eight legged freak, bottom dwelling creepy crawlie,
along the forest floor it goes, casting nets,
invisible threads, twines of silky deceitful webs,
between branches. Hovers at the middle,
appears deceitfully suspended in mid-air.

The cunning creature moves in heartless rapture
to the fly upon its wiley string, slowly, slowly,
twisting the miscreant to its every whim, closer, closer
great fangs of venom rear, dripping, dripping,
not to kill but paralyse and petrify with fear.

Tangled fly, food for another day.

All around its nest the beetle bugs go play,
in its home of decomposing dreams,
eight dead eyes peer up at the faraway sky
watching majestic eagles soar
and hardworking honey bees fly to new heights.

Down here, amongst the muck, mud and grime,
it crawls on its belly, each twisted mangled leg paws
through the garbage. It will look
for a new home, a new hole, dark and dire,
for new prey to drink precious life's fire.

Unsatisfied,
the black widower, crawls back into the black abyss.

Constant.

Today, I spent most of the afternoon calling admissions officers in the various UK universities. A chore that I was supposed to do on Monday, unfortunately it was put off due to unforeseen circumstances involving daylight savings and a dictator’s abdication. The entire experience as B, who helped call one university, put it, is entirely intimidating. There is a certain fear that grips the heart, knowing with every ring the knowledge that a sliver of hope is all you may receive and rejection is ultimately the default option.

For the uninformed, I am chasing my dream of becoming a doctor. It is a dream that I’ve had since I was a kid. Unfortunately, I was never offered the straight and narrow path was cast far off the beaten track to navigate through thorny thicket deep. At every junction, I watch the rest fly fast overhead on speeding clouds, while I wade through marsh and scale mountain. Essentially retained twice, I floundered at the ‘A’ Levels too, where I should have scored straight As, I clinched a mere ABCAA. For those who know me, I am far more capable.

I can’t think of any other reason except suffering from Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Mine isn’t the run of the mill barely clinical ADHD, it is full blown, severe; I would climb a tree if given the chance. And I’ve never hated myself for having it so much in my entire life.

To think that just for a few base pairs on a chromosome somewhere in my DNA, I might have avoided this entire debacle. I cannot rationalize it any other way. It is solely the fault of ADHD that I am stuck in my predicament.

The education system of Singapore, for all its failures is fair enough upon those who work hard. In fact, which system of education, in any country in the world, makes considerations for the minority of the population? None, however, what is constant is that if you work hard and you have an ounce of intelligence, you will do well.

Was it the environment? My peers? Teachers? No, certainly not. I had good teachers for the most part. My peers were never study buddies. And my environment was of my choosing. It seems that I worked so hard only to have run into a ditch.

Quæritur: What do you do when your genes screw you over? It is essentially getting shot in the foot before the race of life begins.

Life is never constant with ADHD. There is a need to discover, to seek adventure, to feel the adrenaline pumping through the veins, to be challenged. Certainly, life, to the outsider is never boring. However, to us, life is a dangerous journey through the most murky mist amidst the smoke and mirrors. If there is to be anything that can be said to be constant, it is that I never know where I’m headed.

A Drink.

Cynical yearnings, a near ill-gotten dream enervates
strongly with almonds in my goblet.
oh what sweet slumber shall soon come.

In each small sip I take, bitting back bitterness,
of temporal gestures and uneventful memories,
to have grown so old and yet fraught with

naught but regrets, the least of which lessens
with every small sip. My eyelids become burdens.
just maybe, maybe...

A bullet and a method of delivery,
is a simple efficacious manner,
devoid of grace and benefits, so I sip, I sip.

To hope to sleep, and in that sleep, of the dreams to come.

One day I'll sing this to you, because I really mean it.

My funny Valentine
Sweet comic Valentine
You make me smile with my heart

Your looks are laughable
Unphotographable
Yet you're my fav'rite work of art

Is your figure less than Greek
Is your mouth a little weak
When you open it to speak
Are you smart?

Don't change a hair for me
Not if you care for me
Stay little Valentine
Stay!
Each day is valentine's day

Is your figure less than Greek
Is your mouth a little weak
When you open it to speak
Are you smart?

Don't change a hair for me
Not if you care for me
Stay little Valentine
Stay, oh stay!
Each day is valentine's day

Beauty

Love Undefiled has a very nice video link today. The video, titled ‘Killing Us Softly 3’, a talk by Jean Kilbourne on the presentation of women in the media and advertisements. While albeit a bit long at 35 minutes, she does provides very poignant and witty insights into the dehumanization and objectification of women in various media. Do give it a watch here.

Ms Kilbourne puts into words something which I have realized for a long time. As a photographer of many years, particularly one specializing in portraits, I have, over the years, more than noticed the trend that she points out. It is particularly more difficult to get my female friends to partake in a picture than the guys who would be racing to be the first to jump in front of the lens. It would appear that the professionalism associated with the big, black and bulky SLR that I used seemed to deter them greatly. They didn’t feel that they looked good enough to be in a professional photo. Pity, they looked good enough to me.

To me, and I daresay that I do not hold the same views as the majority of my sex, the most beautiful portraits I’ve ever seen were never the ones used for advertising, or the ones shot in a studio. No, I’ve actually always hated those photos. They’ve always appeared artificial, overly sexualized, immature and completely lacking in any meaning or intelligence. They’re lifeless. To be completely honest, and at the risk of my manhood (shhhhh!), I don’t particularly find the models extremely attractive or beautiful at all. If anything, they look fake. I’ve never bothered with Victoria’s secret catalogues or whatever it is my friends or bunkmates were into, and I’ve only ever bought one copy of fhm, to support a friend who modeled for a minor article, and save for that article (poorly written too, I might add), remains unread at the bottom of a box in a cupboard somewhere. I’m just strange that way.

The most beautiful portraits that I have ever seen feature everyday people of any age going about their lives, in everyday settings. They capture the true character of a person, who they are really are in that split second that the shutter opens. They are usually sans make-up or purposely posed in any manner. They celebrate life for everything it is. In every happy or sad moment, in times of anger, or calm, in reflection or grief, that is where life is captured. While this is possible in a studio, the best I’ve seen are always captured outside of the artificially created scene, in natural light, with the living world as a backdrop. Truly, they are a celebration of life.

I’ve always felt that it is possible to take a beautiful picture of anyone; no matter how they look or what age they are or even if they have a huge mole on their nose. Naturally, I also prefer that they are without make up. I guess you could say I like to capture people as God desired me to see them, which requires looking a bit deeper than the epidermis. It requires you to see the child of God. After all, we know that God is love, and love is beautiful. Since God creates with love, what he creates can only be beautiful.

Beauty, my dear friends, is out there in the world, it’s in the faces of everyone, beyond their skin. It’s their identity, their personality, who they are that makes them beautiful. And, it’s up to you to stop and have a look around you. The ageing lady, pushing her ancient wheelchair bound husband around the playground, the young children laughing and creating their own new worlds in the park, the family going out for dinner or the young couple enjoying a quiet walk along the pier. The beauty is all there, if you want to see it or not. And, when you see that beauty, you’ll get a glimpse of God.

So remember kids, especially the girls, you are beautiful!

'Since love grows within you, so beauty grows. For love is the beauty of the soul.' St Augustine

Dreams.

Today I had the privilege to have a look inside the mind of a dear friend. It was, admittedly, an ill begotten privilege to venture so deep inside his mind. I feel horrible that I partook in it. The venture itself was unexpected, but I saw his deepest dream.

The contents of the dream are neither relevant to this short essay, nor do I have the right or desire to share it. Safe to say, the ambition, whilst possible and plausible in the current situation, was far from ideal. To have attained it in this manner would have been a mockery of his ideal in the first place. Safe to say, he has never ventured into it.

To summarize, it is possible to attain his ideal, but he will sacrifice may other important things along the way to achieve, so many that, in his fervently practical nature, it is unrealistic.

I feel deeply sad for him that he cannot pursue this dream. It is a very noble career. It made realize that in pursuit of my own dream, that of practicing medicine, that I am blessed to continue to have the opportunity to realize it, even if the sacrifices are difficult. I guess the choice I shall have to make is the one he faced, to be content here for he is very blessed, or to risk all for that one dream. In mine too, I shall face the same dilemma.

For me, to carry on this road shall mean great sacrifices. I shall go have to go away, leaving my family behind. That pains me greatly. I may not be the perfect son, far from it, but my parents have always been as perfect as they could to raise a child that does not conform to anything in any textbook anywhere except clinical ones. I may just as well put aside my dream of one day having a family. I am getting old, and I know that I will get sucked in completely to that world of medical academia.

However, I cannot and will not begin to compare the risks of our dreams. For him much more is at stake, for him, much more could have been lost. He is a very valiant man. In comparison, my task amounts to nothing. I admire him for his courage, not just in his dream, but in his ability to turn away from it, even though deep down it hurts so much, even if he would never mention it. It is a hurt that will be always there.

The matriarch of the Kennedy Family, Rose Kennedy once said, 'It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.'

This will be in his dreams forever. He is obsessed.

So am I. Time and time again, my path to medical school has been strewn with insurmountable obstacles and more often than not, the path is shrouded in much smoke and mirrors. One of the most important things to have in applying for medical school are grades, I had the worst luck of having the combination of being both severely ADHD and to be stuck in the utilitarian competitive machine of the Singaporean Educational system. It is honestly by the grace of God that I have managed to venture so far inside the system and still come away with curiosity and the deep desire to learn. I still am, however, uncertain of the future. It is unnerving.

I cannot give this up though. It may not seem like the wisest decision, far better careers, far more financially stable, for better job security (all with better working hours). I won't be able to live with myself for not seeing this through until the very end. I do honestly wonder if it is he who has made the right choice.

At the very least, should I be forced off the path permanently, and stuffed into a cubical someone doing a menial job I don't care very much about(I cannot even fathom what that will be!), I shall have benefited greatly from the process. I have to admit that my journey thus far, in all it's curves and bends, has taught me far more than I would have learned had I been allowed to take the more linear path. I would have probably been miserable. The most important thing that I have learnt is to trust God more.

It is the most unnerving thing of all. Especially for a schemer like me. I need to know, if this what I'm doing, I need to be thinking three, four, five steps ahead. Yet, often, especially in this journey, I cannot see beyond my nose. God is clearly in the driver's seat. I just hope as I sit down next to him, I shall have the courage to open my eyes and be ready to alight where he so desires.

This is often an issue that ends up being discussed in our 'sharing' sessions during RCIY. Where is God leading me? Is this really what he wants me to do? To be honest, the truth is I do not know, and I am sure that no one knows. It is easy to apply human rationalization to every point in my journey to say that God is truly pushing me in this direction. He's given me the necessary skill sets, he's changed me in ways I'd never imagine. However, there are just too many variables to be sure. I cannot find comfort in that.

I guess that I am just stubborn. Then again I don't know.

I also realize that this post has digressed pretty far from the faint idea of where I originally intended. Like this post, I don't know exactly where I'm going now. I can only pray that it is the right way. That's all anyone can pretty much do. Pray. I shall chase this dream until otherwise.

I wish I could tell you. I know I shouldn't. I guess I won't. One day maybe.

What if I told you I'd never give up? That I'd never back down? That, no matter how many times you push me down, no matter how many times I fall, no matter many times I get floored, I will never drop my sword, I will never let go of my shield?

I will get up and go at you again and again and again. I won't be bothered by the pain and the torture of every breath. I will get up. I will push on. I will fight on.

I can't stop. Not now, not after so long. No, I can't. I know I'm stubborn. That's the nature of the Taurus. This is the dragon burning within me. I just can't settle for anything less than this. I don't care how many times you push me off the mountain, and how my hands are bleeding and my knees are scraped and how my muscles burn with ever step I take, and how much soot has covered my face, I will get up and I will charge again. And again. And again. AND AGAIN, UNTIL I REACH YOUR SUMMIT, UNTIL I STAND ABOVE YOUR PEAK, UNTIL I HOLD YOU IN ALL YOUR VIGOUROUS TENACITY.

I AM A FIGHTER. I AM A SOLDIER. AND I CANNOT STOP. THAT IS WHO I AM. I DO NOT KNOW DEFEAT.

And, I'm coming for you.

My thoughts...

The Little Things Give You Away
Linkin Park

Water grey
Through the windows, up the stairs

Chilling rain
Like an ocean everywhere

[Chorus]
Don't want to reach for me do you
I mean nothing to you
The little things give you away

And now there will be no mistaking
The levees are breaking

All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you

And six feet under water
I
Do
[End Chorus]

Hope decays
Generations disappear

Washed away
As a nation simply stares

[Chorus]
Don't want to reach for me do you
I mean nothing to you
The little things give you away

But there will be no mistaking
The levees are breaking

All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you

And six feet under water
I
Do

All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you

And six feet under ground now
I
Now I do
[End Chorus]

[Brad's Guitar Solo]

Little things give you away
Little things give you away
Little things give you away
Little things give you away
Little things give you away

(Little things give you away)

All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you

(Little things give you away)

All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you

(Little things give you away)

All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you

(Little things give you away)

All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you

(Little things give you away)

All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you

(Little things give you away)

All you've ever wanted
Was someone to truly look up to you

(Little things give you away)

Wish you would stop treating me like the bloody plague. It's expected I suppose, but completely unnecessary. I hate you.

Medicine is indeed a bed of roses, I expect to lie down in her, tantalized by her soft lush petals, seduced by her sweet luxurious smells, perforated, pieced and ensnared by her sharp, sharp thorns.

Balloons

Balloons

We're all balloons, filled full with helium, tied tight with string.
Floating up high with the clouds in the sky,
flying freely with the cumulonimbus and avoiding
the pointy tips of skyscrapers.
Companions of the stars and the moon,
gossipers with the Sun.
                                         We think we know it all.
At least we probably do.
Age cannot catch us, she is too slow,
and invincible we float on,
so full of hot air,
                            and dreams.

And then one by one, my friends start falling
one by one, falling out of heaven,
their strings entangled in tiny knots, weighing
them down. They spin and dance and stall,
then plummet.
                          First Juliet, then George, then Wilson and Greg,
Peter fell, Scott fell, then Annie and Ted.

One by one, until you and I were all that were left,
but there many a cloud between us
and you drifted down south,
the wind blew you away,
tied to a string of books, scales and a stethoscope.

Then one by one, 'til I'm the only one alone up there,
but I didn't care.
                             I'm still free
though now old with less air,
to roam about the Earth, being blown, being blown
so aimlessly. Spectator to the passings and joinings,
to the mortarboards and gowns and the exchange of rings.
But, I don't care,
I'm not tied down. I am free.
The world is my cage,
                                      and I shall float around
her aimlessly.

Aftermath

Aftermath

It's been a while since that wistful day,
when the planes flew high overhead
And dropped off that message on fifty-five A.
The playground still stands shellshocked and quite dead.

For two days all stood still, all calm and neat,
the virus slept well in Spring's warm blanket,
incubating, spawnin a great toxic treat,
and in Summer's heat, she did spring quite free,

a startling neurological agent,
invading, invading heart, soul and brain.
Work distracted from the pain. The surgeon
could not operate. Metastasising,

spreading, attacking poor amygdala.
Someday, I'll recover from this trauma...

Stuck

Stuck

It would appear that I'm stuck in quagmire deep,
I've run this marathon before, thrice actually,
they all began so differently, at
different places, with different
routes and at different paces.
Yet, across the same marsh they passed. I thought
it quite shallow.
                           Not so I fear,
and now I'm stuck in the muck right here.

And I wonder what I was chasing? To run
so quick and blind, landing in such thicket deep,
or was I running away from something
like the sun? Rays of thought invading ev'ry
nook and cranny. It seemed so weird when
the sun lit up the world and darkened
my thoughts.
                       Lot was wise to run away,
should I flee this destruction or stay?

Standing there in mire slowly cooking,
I guess I'll turn around and face whatever's coming,
And maybe that will drown out the swarm's buzzing.

Connexions

A week ago, I attended the first Rite of Christian Initation for Youth (RCIY) camp for the year. It is a first camp that the enquirers, the ones enquiring about the Catholic faith attend, and it is a fun camp with light talks and many games to play, a sort of welcome and bonding session. As per usual, with every camp, everyone has to put up an ‘affirmation envelope’ wherein you write little things to other campers to affirm them and encourage them along. One of the befrienders sent me this:

Dear David,
Thank you for taking the time to come down for all the RCIY meetings and camps, you really have a way of relating to [enquirers/new people] that no one else does, and I could definitely learn some of that.
[…]
God Bless,
B

As a read the note after camp, I was stunned by the words ‘have a way of relating to them that no one else does.’ I guess I was caught a bit by surprise. I surely do not deserve this praise. Of all the things David is, I don’t think connecting with people even rhymes with any of the attributes. If it were, the previous entry wouldn’t have been composed. I just saw a need during the camp and fulfilled it just as I had been trained in many previous camps.

During a camp, there will always be people who are caught on the fringe, hanging by themselves, mostly in groups of two or three. During my time in confirmation camps, the cause was usually not being from the same school as the dominant group, ie SJI, CHIJ, or SJII. During RCIY camp, it’s usually the enquirers because they are new and don’t quite know anyone there, even after the few first sessions, they still don’t know anyone. The befrienders (RCIY graduates and confirmed Catholics) and other facilitators have already been there a year and are pretty much a close group, so usually the quieter enquirers still feel a bit awkward joining in their conversations and antics.

So, here are people who’d like to be part of a group, all it simply takes is providing the group and making a connexion. It isn’t really anything special really. All it takes is the right questions, and a charitable ear and keeping fingers crossed that you can make a connexion. All you need is to treat people with basic human dignity, then, the first step is always to start the talk. Anyone can do that!

Furthermore, if they’d only known what had transpired in the past few weeks, I highly doubt they would agree about this relating to people business. I made a promise to treat everyone I meet with that basic human dignity but I think I have constantly failed at doing it.

A few weeks ago, I was sentence…given a week long duty. This is the sort of duty where you essentially stay in your bunk all day doing nothing and waiting for an activation that will never come by enemies that don’t exist. As you can imagine ADHD-addled me was as bored as bats in a tree awaiting for nightfall to party. Not to mention being thrown to such a duty. (For those of you playing the home game, ADHD and boredom don’t mix AT ALL. Think napalm and water.) So there I was, being depressed and antisocial and completely not intending to make any new friends at all. I just wanted to stay low and go home. Pancake breakfast and the Tridentine at the end of the week were the only things getting me through.

Unfortunately, God didn’t intend for me to alone the entire week, I had a roommate. I remember when I found out that he was not a driver, but a transport supervisor like me, I felt instantly warmer towards him. I was stunned for a moment after that, I couldn’t believe that I am really such an arrogant bastard. In the first place I didn’t want to share the room with anyone, and I most certainly feel like making conversations with drivers. I couldn’t believe that I had stereotyped them as being unworthy or incapable of conversation. I know that with my establishment there is a necessity of keeping some distance from them, for they are after all my men, but this seemed almost ridiculous. I admit that often, we are on completely different wavelengths, but the essentials are still the same. Everyone has passions, hobbies, plans for the weekend, a family, friends. Was I really too thick, too high and mighty, too stuck up to have conversations with them? I guess this is something that I shall have to settle, because these are the people that I shall be dealing with day in and day out and they are good people, however this is for another day.

It turns out my roommie was a happy clappy tamil Pentecostal. From day two onwards, he insisted on speaking to me in falsetto, claiming it was his normal speaking voice. He chose the week to begin his foray into guitar and I spent the week listening to him play only down strummed chord progressions and singing Christians songs in tamil. By day three, I had almost as many screws loose as he did, I had had a dream about having a webcam conversation with one of my quadriceps muscles. It was sipping tea from a teacup with it’s pinky out and enquiring about my wellbeing. It was a very very surreal week.

That said I came prepared for the week, I had brought several nonfiction (big mistake) books to camp to read, he on the other hand, was clearly socially awkward, and had nothing to do, he was probably as bored as I was. Me being me, and well trained, I did make conversation with him, but it soon became quite apparent that I wouldn’t be able to establish a connexion with him. He on the other hand, somehow managed to do so, though I suspect it was a matter of transference. Loneliness does that to you, desire for company transferred upon the nearest possible thing. It’s probably why I endured four days of falsetto (he didn’t do this to anyone else). And this is where I truly could have been better! He is a really nice guy, with a good heart. He insisted on treating me to dinner despite being a poorer financial situation.

It was weird talking to him, it was mostly him trying to make the conversation and me replying as curtly as a I could. I could have clearly showed him a much greater amount of charity. I could have shown him more love. I felt really bad on the last night, when he kept asking me to talk to him, but I just had nothing to say to him. He even requested to meet up sometime in the future. I don’t know if I have it in me to acquiesce to his request. That said, I don’t think anyone in the army has actually given him that much of a listening ear before. If S reads this, we may have only known each other for a week, but I’m sorry for being such a lousy friend.

It makes me wonder, what exactly is this special way of relating to people is? I can’t relate to my men, I know what they’re going through, I know what they’re interested in, I know the common topics, but I just can’t connect with them at all. Let’s not even talk about about my colleagues because work is easily a common topic of conversation. Normal people, from my tier of society, the educated ones, I have nothing in common. Small talk? I am horrible at initiating it, I much prefer listening to people. I hope that I will find some way in which I can relate to people.

Clearly, I have much to work on, as a person, as a friend. Communication is so vital in my desired vocation. And I fervently pray that one day I shall live up to that affirmation letter.

I need to talk to you.

Starry night, disquiet'd skies,
Hearts beating, walking towards the other,
While silence on the cold street lies.
A midnight meeting.

Little notes echo and fly,
(Disturbing the chaos of my mind),
From the little music box,
(Deflecting the silence in my mind.)

Nervous looks, uneasy smiles
Hiding hidden frowns.
An inkling.

Look in to her eyes,
Mutter mumbled words,
The wordsmith's brush is dry.

'I like you.'

And it's over. Silence pursues.
The quest now lost, yet some peace found.
Retreat to a safe place, mend the wounds.

I shall miss you.

Bee

Bee

The warm airless morning brought you out.
Tottering around the foliage,
Carrying out your worker duties,
Little bee, little bee,
Buzz, buzz, buzzing out and about,
And all around me,
So busy, landing on my green sleeve.
What do you hope to find Little Miss Bee?
I am no tree,
I am not full of sweet nectar,
Nor have I any flowers to
Attract thee.

Music Box

Music Box

Emptiness, herein lies,
Despondent heart, withers away.
Little notes tinkle and fly,
a music box somewhere plays.

Little stone ballerina
Round and round she goes,
beating heart, stony Estella,
ever silent, she already knows.

In her little box she stays,
Hidden from cruel world,
dancing like little bees play
save for the notes, unreachable.

Somewhat failed attempts at poetry.

Notes about Oli II

Sweet, sweet Oli, where have you been? Hidden
away for many a month out of sight.
Reunited, I can again hold you tight,
Caressing your evil black curves, laden
with your sweet scent, feeling your black innards,
fingers in your orifice, squ'shing out light.
Inserting darkness, so so very tight.
You are pregnant with death, he shall hasten.

Taking my breath away, teasing your button,
squeezing gently, sends you screaming. you bite,
exploding. the night crackles with your might.
this birth shall fell your enemies, then
our affair is ov'r. o wicked demoness
'til again we meet, fade to nothingness.

New Year's Eve

A picture taken on a quiet night.
Long exposure a few friends and a pier,
darkened silhouettes,
sunbursts of night.
New year's eve.
Friends forever, auld lang syne,
a few beers and hugs
and forget me nots,
as time sprinkles sand.
A few years --
A photo in a frame.

Conscript.

A year in green.
A year more, still unseen.
Sit in the lot,
Where live the four wheeled monsters,
for me to guard and command
endlessly.
Whats the point?

The patron(izing) act.

A conversation with a young fifteen year old friend of mine from St Ignatius Church sparked an interesting epiphany.

I asked her what her friends would say if she asked them 'Do you think God is always with you?"

She responded, 'People in my cat class will probably give the expected answer which is 'yes, always with me'.'

That just blew my mind.

Even if it was just the expected answer, it was the right one and the truth at that. Think about it, these young kids, even if they doubt, deep down they know that is the truth, that God is real and is always with them. That requires faith bestowed from on high. They got the basics right.

Now, these kids are going to be confirmed in four or so months from now, and I think we will all be in agreement that they need to continue to learn more about God and strengthen their relationship with the almighty. In fact they should be learning more advanced theology, they should be introduced to deep symbolism and meanings behind the liturgy, they should be taught to develop good prayer habits, have a solid understanding of mortality; that death could happen at any time and how to prepare for it, they should be introduced to history of the church and taught basic apologetics. After all, they already have the basics.

Wouldn’t their annual confirmation preparation camp this June be a wonderful time to touch on all these topics and introduce them to retreats?

Wrong. You see, according to one Facilitator, our young fifteen year old teenagers need to ‘learn to be real with themselves, and real with God. Because in our world today, and particularly in our local context, our youth don't feel. They're taught to pursue excellence, prove themselves worthy of recognition, etc that so many find it difficult to even answer the question, "How are you feeling right now?"’

No… say it isn’t so! These fifteen year olds, who lead normal lives, have normal relationships with people, are emotionally healthy and able to make friends and have desires to pursue excellence, to put their God given talents to good use, are not ‘real with themselves’. No, no they’re clearly faking everything. Oh, and the last eight years of catechism and fifteen years of going for Mass and praying? Completely useless.

Well that certainly explains the theme of the camp, the ‘iGod’. Never mind the unintended screaming heretical blasphemy, we need to sell God to these kids in the form of a suitable pocket sized appliance that can be turned on and off at will and named after a well established toy, God clearly isn’t hip enough for these kids. So, we’re going to have to re-teach them everything as well, and in very simple, dilute terms. After all, these kids are only from low end schools like CHIJ and SJI and RGS, and have to understand such simple concepts as calculus and the Marshal plan, and use tiny words like ‘ terminal velocity’, ‘meiotic cell division’ and ‘alliteration’. They can’t possibly be expected to be able to learn more about God like a grown-up and use big words like ‘consubstantial’ and ‘mortal sin’, or understand any teachings of the fathers and get to know God through reflections in silence and prayer.

No, no no. They clearly need more noise in their lives, and therapy to get in touch with their feelings about God, we’ll call it prelest. Better start warming up the guitar, after all these are faithless moronic teenagers. Well, according to some people.

Dr. House: [explaining why he became a doctor] When I was 14, my father was stationed in Japan. I went rock climbing with this kid from school. He fell and got injured, and I had to bring him to the hospital. We came in through the wrong entrance, and passed this guy in the hall. He was a janitor. My friend came down with an infection, and the doctors didn't know what to do. So they brought in the janitor. He was a doctor. And a Buraku - one of Japan's untouchables. His ancestors had been slaughterers, gravediggers. And this guy knew that he wasn't accepted by the staff, didn't even try. He didn't dress well. He didn't pretend to be one of them. People around that place didn't think he had anything they wanted, except when they needed him - because he was right, which meant that nothing else mattered. And they had to listen to him.

Using your real Heart to find God

I have noticed that feelings seem to have taken over the church. I attended a retreat once and where at the beginning, the facilitator immediately invited us to reflect during the retreat with not our head knowledge, but our ‘heart knowledge’, for we often forget that we are emotional beings as well. He then went on to cite the Gospel of Matthew on the story of the road to Emmaus, where the two disciples, after meeting Christ related that ‘their hearts burned’ when he talked to them. It was a very disquieting moment.

Now, the Heart is very important to us in our journey to find God, without it, we would get nowhere. The Heart according to St. Paul is the instrument of Faith through the Holy Spirit. The Spirit dowels in the Heart. (Rom.5:5), an idea carried on by the Church Fathers. It guides our emotions and our rationality but is separate, it is the real us and is feed by the Spirit mystically through the liturgy. This is the understanding of Heart through the Sacred Traditions.

It is this Heart that the disciples felt burn so fervently after their encounter with Christ.

However, there is another understanding of Heart, the current contemporary definition. It takes Heart to be a synonym for feelings and emotions. This is the definition that I felt the facilitators seem to understand and were applying to the biblical passage. Through this definition, we would understand that the disciples felt a ‘spiritual high’ after their encounter.

Before I carry on, I think it would be prudent to define what I mean by emotions here. They are the fickle feelings that we feel upon reaction to the environment and atmosphere we are in. They are changeable, malleable, subjective and easily manipulated. Directors, playwrights and authors are excellent manipulators of feelings. Through the use of words, lighting, music and many other devices, they successful elicit certain emotions from you. Feelings are also temporary and fleeting, they can be there one moment and gone then next, and hence cannot always be authenticated.

With that in mind, the idea of a ‘spiritual high’ is a very dangerous one. We cannot authenticate it to truly be from God. Worse still, these fickle feelings are always so ooey gooey, we come away feeling good like at the end of a chick flick. An example of the way we, in these times, have come to regard these feelings as normal is through our contemporary idea of romantic love, what Father Z calls ‘luv’. It is seen in Hollywood movies to be all the mushy gestures, gifts, dinners and kisses that culminate in sex. It only shows the good things, but it is not love. True love goes beyond the emotions that we feel at the present. It is the conscious choice that we continuously make, in good and in bad times, and it is this choice that helps us to endure the sufferings of the bad times. We don’t just break off things because the luv seems to have died down. Similarly, after a bout of getting ooey gooey spiritually high, what happens when things return to normal, or worse, we fall into a state of depression, does that mean God is not present in our lives?
No. Obviously, that is not true. We KNOW that God is omnipresent and is always around us, and we know that he is beyond our physical realm, so it is NOT necessary to feel him.

The worst case is that these feelings can be used as a conduit for the devil to speak to us. Fr Seraphim Rose writes about them as a form of spiritual deception ‘which offers to its victims not great visions but just exalted "religious feelings." This occurs, as Bishop Ignatius has written, "when the heart desires and strives for the enjoyment of holy and divine feelings while it is still completely unfit for them. Everyone who does not have a contrite spirit, who recognizes any kind of merit or worth in himself, who does not hold unwaveringly the teaching of the Orthodox Church but on some tradition or other has thought out his own arbitrary judgment or has followed a non-Orthodox teaching - is in this state of deception."’ Hence, to approach our reflections with our feelings as our compass could possibly lead to very damning consequences.

There is a cure. The Fathers always taught to approach these things with Intellect. Compared with fickle feelings, which draws on the environment and things present, our intellect draws upon logic, reason and rationality, therefore it is objective, and has the ability to separate itself from distractions such as the environment. Hence, it is infinitely far more constant then feelings. The intellect has a good many uses in our life, it prevents us from misinterpreting scripture for it requires us to put each passage into context. It allows us to question and seek answers where necessary, it moves us deeper into the meanings of the Traditions and the faith. It fosters a more profound appreciation, something which shallow feelings cannot dive into.

To illustrate this, let us return to example of when someone is feeling a great spiritual low. Now in the state of depression, it may appear that God has forsaken us, or is not real, or any other similar thoughts. So then it would not be important to go to church, after all, why bother if God is not real? That is how someone using his feelings to think will consider these things. However, with intellect, we know that God is real, he is everywhere, including here now with us, and that he is beyond this physical realm, so we cannot feel him. We also know that he is unchangeable and his love and mercy is infinite. So we can conclude that he will not abandon us, he is real and therefore even if we don’t feel him, he is there. A good reason to keep going to church.

However, that said, there is another level of emotions that we require. Earlier, I wrote that the Heart guides both the intellect and the emotions. The ‘emotions’ that I wrote about were not the fickle feelings, but the greater more profound convictions, and passions that we have about our beliefs. These emotions are of utmost importance, for without them, we would not be able to hold steadfast in our faith, and to devote our lives fervently to God. However, these emotions don’t spring from anywhere, they first require solid understanding and knowledge to stand on. The Intellect provides this foundation, because we know, therefore we believe.

These emotions are not ooey gooey gush ones, but solid firm commitments to what we hold dear. These emotions are the ones we CHOOSE to have, and not merely the whims of the situation. They are put across and expressed not through how we feel, but the words we think and say and the actions that we do. They drive us to follow the teachings of Christ.

Thus, the emotions stand upon the foundation of the intellect, and both are guided by the Heart, the seat of Faith. When their hearts burned, the disciples felt not a feeling of being high, but the great conviction and passion that the Spirit brings, and then they knew it to be true. We too can attain this burning, but it is as Father Rose says, we need to approach it with a contrite heart, knowing full well that we are unworthy and to know and believe in the teachings of the Church. Faith isn’t blind.

If you are wise, then know that you have been created for the glory of God and your own eternal salvation. This is your goal; this is the centre of your life; this is the treasure of your heart.
-St. Robert Bellarmine

"I say to myself, I will not mention Him/I will speak in His name no more/But then it becomes like fire burning in my heart/imprisoned in my bones/I grow weary holding it in/I cannot endure it."
-Jeremiah 20:9

Not with a doubting but with a certain knowledge, O Lord, do I love You. You have pierced my heart with Your Word, and from that moment I have loved You. Moreover, behold, both heaven and earth and all things that are in them cry out to me on every side that I should love You.
-St. Augustine

Nothing is more practical than finding God, that is, than falling in love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the mornings, what you will do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.
-Fr. Pedro Arrupe, SJ, 28th Superior General (1965-83) of the Society of Jesus

Love is an act of the will.
-CCC 1766

So when your heart is distressed and agitated, put the cross into its centre to keep it steady.
-William Barclay

This is not meant for anyone in particular.

the cruel month of april continues to rain heavy blows upon the dented chevy that was. the dead lilacs are still asleep, and have no desire to awaken.

Month of endless vicissitudes. month of endless woe. blow after blow after blow.

and so the poor tin soldier marches on with his tall hat and his musket gun, trudges through the heavy snow and the arpeggios. walk right by the damaged hansom, the faulty trailer and the rabbit poking far out about the group. His heavy golden pocket watch tick tocking with the heavy hail that followed.

Everyday, the poor man walks on, up a far away hill, to a grassy knoll and sits on a chair in the middle of nowhere and waits. everyday again and again, as the clock ticks, waiting for the surface to scratching, whilst scratching that itch. all in green, how much more conspicuously need he be. and always a little bee would come to visit, yellow on black, or black on yellow, buzzing. bzzz bzzz bzzz up and down in half dance flying.

such a little busy bee exploring all the trees, landing on the one not-tree. oh tiny creature, flirting around, teasing as it lands on the follicles of the forearm, touching and tickling the skin. stinger gently shelved for the moment. busy busy bee, always reading... busy busy bee, beneath the sickle moon tonight; who shines like a little eye in the night, smiling, tired beneath the cloudy eyebags, slowly covering in sleep.

go away melisferra, you are not wanted here. go way busy thing. i do not want to be bothered in this cruel warm evening. the tanks are patrolling.

broken relations that held the ship sailing in the north east now come crashing down. Murphy's law at play, murphy at work all day, existentially nonexisting. sitting in his chair... his hand widens at first, and knocks away the chess pieces. checkmate, the king is dead. All hail, the fisher king.

and the murderer is walked away to hang by the noose.

Dead Rose

Dead Rose (2007)

Dead Rose

You are
A rose ungiven.
It seems so wasted, just withering there.
A failed existence: unappreciated, unfulfilled
unreached potential.
you poor rose, never held, never smelt,
never clutched to the bosom of a loved one given.
A life of wonder, your dying world.

And I sit here to ponder.
What could have been if I had bothered
A try, Walked to her, and muttered a few
Helloes and goodbyes,
And watch her shyly smile as i give to her,
You.
To her cheeks, would a red as deep as your's appear,
And smiles we would have shared.
But I didn't.

Only an 'if' remains,
it runs through our minds and never fades;
I see her face staring in the distance,
and I wonder,
Silence echoes in my ear, eroding the music of love
played here,
And I sit, and watch as you wither,
Watch each red petal blacken and fall
amid the dying screams of rock and roll riffs
and mauls,
I feel as you do,
So silently,
Withering away at the 'if'.

Raining at night

Try to capture the rain in my palm.
Little rivulets prick the skin,
Rolling off.

Slides to the ground,
Uncatchable
As the thunder resounds.

A sharp streak of light divides the sky,
Radiates the deep backdrop,
Villifies the moonscape for all who lie

Beneath the droplets, the celestial tears,
Catching rain, dripping wet.
Here in this dark night sky

O love and luck be lost and found

O love and luck be lost and found
Upon this merry bank. She keeps
A chance recording of those sounds,
And that is all the river seems to speak.

And what are we but lost out here,
When we search through thicket deep
To find that one we hold most dear,
And To watch for one night, the other fast asleep.

The sweet bats sing out the night sky,
And the moon shines on all under her eye
Illuminates those about to make that tie
With faithful bonds, that men shall not unbind.

And the choirs celestially sing
Gratias et Gloria tibi, rex caelestis
Echoed through the earth in its lunar tinge,
This celebration, this union that it is.

And so the years did go by,
With much joy and laughter it brought,
And their love doth multiply,
And then two became five in the twinkl'ng of an eye.

And merry did they all go on,
Until Chronos had had enough,
And into the ground they were torn,
Yet still went on he with that hearty laugh.

And soon he too withered and decayed,
And soon it was time for the petals
To fall and the rose to be put away.
Into the fall slowly and silently did he lay.

Haiti Relief Bake Sale

We organized a Bake Sale three weeks ago to raise funds for the victims of the recent Haitian earthquake victims. It was amazing. We had aimed to raise $10,000 (I secretly thought we could make $15k), and even then, there were many skeptical people, even amongst the planning committee members. Even I fell under the spell of skepticism at one point during the planning and doubted we could even hitting the $10k goal. Everything was almost a week behind schedule, including getting approval and finding donations of baked goods. It was a very stressful and chaotic time. Budgeting had not been done. We needed one more oven. There were not enough volunteers to bake and man the stall. The announcement for the sale went out one week before the actual event, I was thrown outfield on that same week, and donations of goods hadn’t even come in. Yet, God always provides. On our first day of sales, my mother asked me how much we had raised and when asked to guess the amount, she said $50.

So many small miracles happened. We received a generous donation that covered the cost of all the ingredients for the brownies and cupcakes we were going to bake. The re-opening of the canteen; which was supposed to be during that weekend, was postponed, thus eliminating competition. I managed to find a power socket while outfield and could charge my cell phone (my phone battery lasts about 10hrs with use) and thus managed to at least coordinate some of things happening, and not die of boredom. On Thursday and Friday, donations poured in, someone even donated 20 chicken pies and 20 banana pound cakes. We had so many donations by Saturday, I was worried that we wouldn’t be able to sell everything. I managed to convince enough people to help with the selling, and it turned out I didn’t need so many bakers, the kitchens were full with just 3 people already.

However, that wasn’t enough to raise my faith. The donations that poured in raised moral, and yet still the worry lingered. I pressed on though, stubbornly telling all the skeptics that we would raise $10k, even though my heart questioned. I wondered whether we would raise $5k and at least sell all our goods.

That weekend, God truly thought this doubting Thomas a lesson in faith.

I am still amazed and awed in an Augustinian way of how God still shows mercy on me despite all my shortcomings and doubts which make me continually turn away from the Creator, He that made all things. You are truly merciful Lord.

When my mother asked me on the first night, how much we had made, my reply was $3,217. Three thousand and two hundred dollars all from one mass! A far cry from the meager $50 that she proposed. The donation boxes were filled with blue and orange notes. Almost all of the bake goods were sold out. All my brownies had been sold! That was when I realized the power of He who can do all. I knew then that we would hit the $10k, even the $15k.

However, God was not done with me yet. The final amount that we raised over that weekend was $17,850.54. Nearly double that we had predicted and it had far surpassed my expectations. It had far surpassed anyone’s expectations. I was told later that bake sales like this were lucky if they raised even $1500. It truly shows what God can do with a little faith.

Gloria in excelsis Deo. Gratias agimus propter magnum gloriam tuam. It was truly you who ensured that more than enough money would be raised to rebuild the fallen city Lord.

A big thank you for all those involved in the sale, especially to my planning committee, the Youth Rockers Bible Study, Generation Christ and the Young Adults Ministry, my mother, Vivian Liu, Aunty Kathy, Beatrice Ng, Uncle Kenneth, Aunty Gin, the lovely children of the Primary 6 Catechism class and their teacher Uncle Mark, Marie Lee, Michelle and Marie Thio, Aunty Nancy, Aunty Margeret, Aunty Jacqui and Aunty Pauline, Frances Tang, Coco Tree, Simply Bread and all those I have not mentioned. The biggest (well second biggest) thank you is to you, the parishioners. You were responsible for this success. Through your prayers and kind generosity, you have helped to rebuild Haiti.

‘For men,’ he told them, ‘this is impossible; for God, everything is possible’ – Matt 19:26

PS: Since then, we have received a few cheques and the loving substantial donation of a most generous Secondary Four student with a big heart, and it is with this that we now have raised over $18,000 for the Haitians.

Regret.

Someone once told me that 'the biggest failure in life is to regret.'

Regret is the feeling that rubs salt the already open wounds of failure and tears open the healed wounds of the past. It calls to mind all of the past in harsh retrospection. All the questions that are drawn from it dwell on the ever elusive 'what-if' pondering a future that can never exist.

It is a feeling everyone wants to avoid simply because it is a feeling that teaches. It teaches you in the hardest way ever -- through pain. It can bring everything into perspective, and yet swallow you whole. The harder the life, the greater the multitude of regrets. Clearly, everyone tries to avoid it. People and their desire to live life with no regrets, to never look back and go about life free. They are a blind to their futures, living only for whatever situation presents itself before them and dealing with it in a superficial way. On the other hand, people consumed with regrets cannot see beyond their past and can neither make proper decisions.

Yet, we need regret, as we need all failures and for the same purpose that we need all failures. That is to learn. You cannot learn from success, human nature prevents it. Logically, a success in a certain situation will call the organism to repeat the actions when presented with a similar situation, thus conquering it all the same. Yet, humans, we are proud, and our successes we take for granted. And the more we succeed, the more proud we grow, the more lax we become in our processes, which will ultimately result in failure. On the other hand, failure teaches us what not to do in the future. It makes us analysis, reflect and consider the possible places we erred and so that we may end up fixing them. And when we do that, we are learning. Then we will succeed.

Likewise, regret is a failure that teaches, it reminds us of the learning.

Of course, the entire point of this intellectualization is to run away from the fact that I am deeply in regret all of my past. I'm having difficulty now applying for university because I was essentially a prick to my teachers in school. Irresponsibility and a callow attitude are but kind words to describe the way I behaved towards my teachers. Now no one wants to write me a testimonial, and with that lost are my dreams of applying to the UK.

Of course, I don't feel regret merely because I will not be studying in the Uk, that is small part. Upon retrospection of the way I acted in school, playing truant, coming late, being tardy in submissions, if they occured at all, giving attitude to some of my teachers. I feel horrible, because I didn't treat them with respect, my life didn't reflect the values I hold dear. I'm really sorry. I wished I'd had been a better student. Just thinking about all the good I could have done hurts.

I failed. I failed myself, I failed my teachers, most of all, I failed God. Thankfully, I learnt a lesson from all this. Harsh it may be, hopefully I'll it's fruits in the future. Hopefully, some good will come out of my wickednes.

"Since God is the highest good, He would not allow any evil to exist in His works, unless His omnipotence and goodness were such as to bring good even out of evil." - St. Augustine

Valentine

On the topic of this cursed Fourteenth, my favourite poem that commemorates it.

Valentine
Carol Ann Duffy

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

10 Emo songs for this year's fourteenth.

ah that time of the year again. And following great procrastination from your's truly, I have been tardy in updating again. Fear no longer, and update will appear shortly. As a little bridge between the next update and now, I offer you this list of top ten songs for the this year's Fourteenth. Not in any order.


1. I've Got A Crush - Frank Sinatra
2. When You Say You Love Me - Josh Groban
3. All I Ask Of You - The Phantom Of The Opera
4. She Will Be Loved - Maroon 5
5. Moment - Aiden
6. Dear God - Avenged Sevenfold
7. A Whole New World - Aladdin
8. Love Story - Andy Williams
9. You And Me - Lifehouse
10. L-O-V-E - Nat King Cole

For the more lucky people, sing too and celebrate!

Communication

I just watched the movie ‘Avatar’ and I realized how much technology has made a mess of the lines of communication. Don’t ask me how a bad two dimensional movie with largely unresolved superficial themes and negative plot developments, caricatures and almost zero substantial character development and nothing to link the story progressions leads to the idea of communication. It’s the ADHD addled brain. In the last ten years alone, the advent of cell phones and instant messaging has completely reformed the ways in which we separate ourselves from proper communication. They have become added layers to shield the communicants from that crucial humanness of a connection.

It used to be that you could pick up a phone when you were in bored disposition or looking for a conversation and you would most likely find one on the other end of the line. And that was just that. Now, phone calls either become professional or intimate. Professionally, all forms of communication are for the sake of getting work done, however on the other side in the realm of personal calls, they have become intimate things. If it’s between chums it’s alright, between a person of the opposite sex, she automatically assumes you have some ulterior motive. Whatever happened to just being friends?

Last time, you could just ring up the person strictly for a conversation and no one would go away assuming anything. It was just talking, like at a social gathering. Nowadays to get to that stage requires first spending much time talking over text messages. Text talking as you might call it. It’s horribly removed from humanity. The texts are just words that you read, secondary to the speech itself. 65% of all human communication is non-verbal, which leaves you the remaining 35%. If you applied those statistics to sight, you would be considered legally blind! Furthermore if you have ever examined a live speech vs text you will notice the great disparity in the amount of words used. A person talking has so much more tools at his disposal; he has tone, timing, rhythm, emphasis, onomatopoeia, emotion, and cadence. For him to indicate on a basal level say how much he abhorred a particular restaurant with great malice, he could probably just say ‘I hate this place!’ with much emotion and aggression, in a spiteful tone. As you can see, for me to explain how he might say those few words requires many more words than actually saying it. If he reproduced this over text verbatim, it wouldn’t really put the message across would it? The reader might probably pass it off as a passing comment.

Yet today, we are continually drawn to the allure of blindness. I think it is because we find safety in blindness, in the delayed responses. It is pitiful to think that spontaneous conversation and communication, what we were born with the ability to do, is so difficult that we prefer to hide behind a screen. The time it takes to reply and the time that passes between each reply can easily turn a fruitful ten minute conservation into a forty minute text conversation complete with misinterpretations. It is a small consolation for the attention we desire, not to mention it completely mutilates our normal conversational patterns. How many times have we waited by the phone for a reply that we could have gotten ten minutes ago with a phone call or added ‘haha’ to a text in order that it not be misinterpreted as a serious matter, or to indicate a teasing statement in order not to insult the receiving party? The use of ‘lol’ means I may find this amusing, but doesn’t actually mean the person is laughing… smileys fail to adequately convey the many degrees of expression we have. In fact if you cannot convey the emotions you are feeling through your vocabulary and sentence structure you may be required to return to school for English lessons. However that said, sometimes the reader too fails to interpret it, or curses such long text messages drawn out to highlight specifically the feelings of the sender.

Somehow, I am also curious as to why we desire to avoid the human voice, the sound is melodious to the ear (bearing that it doesn’t come from those we detest), the laughter, the joy, the tones of emotion add to life. So why do we avoid it? We crave these sounds, the desire for bonds and company. We built tribes and societies so we wouldn’t be alone yet in the concrete jungle we have inadvertently isolated ourselves more from the world than ever with the use of fiber-optic cables, routers and servers. What does mean for us in the future? We are people who hastily disconnecting ourselves internally as we connect externally. It’s quite a curious ironic thing isn’t it? If you have any explanations do email me.

And maybe if you want to talk to someone today, don’t text them. Pick up the phone, and indulge in their voice.

To be held accountable.

I need to get fit this year and to do that I really need to be accountable for my actions. So my 4 readers, no...3... COME BACK!!! well anyway my dear readers, I hope you don't mind if I post my progress here. I realized this today as I was completing my fitness at the gym, or I will have nothing to check myself.

Anyway this will probably come once a week.

Weight:113kg
2.4: 14:46 (OMG I have not been so slow since the start of BMT)
Bench: 90
Squat:
Deadlift:
Shouldpress:
100m:
pullups:

Some Goals for 2010

This should have been up earlier, but it was difficult to sit down and type during the course. I was too busy attempting to maximise whatever little time bestowed upon me. Anyway 2009 for me was a pretty uneventful one, so I am hoping to making this year very eventful. I think my ORD might be adding to the motivation, anyway here goes.

This year I intend to:

Get reallly fit.
by 31st july
1. Drop to my ideal weight(95kg)
2. run 2.4 under 10 minutes
3. get back to a 14s 100m sprint
4. bench 120, squat 180, dl 160, 70 sp
5. hit 15 pullups

by 101210
1. lose my tummy
2. play for the 2nd grade.
3. have adv. diving

financially
1. be more frugal
2. save more than 2k.

academic
GET INTO MED SCHOOl

music
1. learn piano or violin
2. improve my pitching/ear
3. improve my sight singing
4. sing with SDG more

spiritual
1. expose at least 5 young people to the Tridentine Rite
2. learn more apologetics
3. continue to discover God (most impt)
4. pray more...

I also hope that I will get a chance to spend more time with my family, my 'old' family and my newly met most lovely cousins!

Get my driving license.

Hopefully when I review this at the end of the year I will be able to cross out most of these.

saturday morning amusement.

some random person added me on msn this morning. Attempting to figure out aforementioned contact's identity resulted in the following:

」david. says:
hi
who're you?
Hyo says:
Hey cutie, glad you msged me I was getting borredd...lol
」david. says:
again, with much more reservation, who are you?
Hyo says:
what r u up to?
」david. says:
pondering the existentiality of my unknown contact.
Hyo says:
oh yea?I'm feelin kinda horny right now lol
」david. says:
how wonderful for you.
Hyo says:
im just doing a cam chat right now, u wanna come chat with me on there?
」david. says:
no...
Hyo says:
cool, yea its pretty fun, it can get pretty hot in there sometimes! so many wild people. lemme get the info k

*BLOCK AND DELETE

WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT...

I don't know whether to be more disturbed at the advanced state of spam technology or the fact that it took me 4 replies to figure out I was talking to a bot -.- Maybe I am too nice...or too paranoid. RAWR!

Leadership.

'Leadership is a relationship.' -Kouzer and Posner

At the end of October, I started driving course. There were four of us transport supervisors, and hence we were asked to be the ICs of the group by the course commander. The two official ICs were the higher ranked, and the two of us were to help them. It was no easy task.

You must understand something about drivers to appreciate the situation we were in. To quote my friend Bowen, 'they're a really interesting bunch of people, who will be all over the place until someone with rank tries to boss them around, then they get together and gang up on that person.' It is already difficult for someone with rank to get them to complete their tasks, which were by no means difficult: falling in at the appropriate time to account for the strength, can you imagine the mountain awaiting the poor soul who had no rank trying to achieve this? That poor soul was me.

I am lucky to blessed with some leadership qualities, I carry presence, I can wield influence and I am decisive. However that does not win over everyone. Most of the my coursemates were reasonable and would listen, however there were always the GTs and the bengs to ruin the party. They're naturally loud, outspoken and don't like to be pushed around or to receive instructions from those they have no respect for. I was in trouble from the first week.

To but it bluntly, I would be giving out the routine orders for the evening and one joker would shout out 'yes private!' to everything I said, this was followed by a chorus of laughter. National Slaves are a rowdy bunch, however this doesn't bowl for me, it was a clear sign of disrespect and contempt. It was this same joker, F, that would cause me much grief for many a very long time.

F was an interesting character, he was short, loud and had natural leadership abilities and probably a Napolean's complex, but he hated being told what to do. The other two got this sort of treatment as well, though to a lesser extent than me. The last IC didn't get much because he kept a low profile and is rather quiet. Disadvantages of being tall and big. Of course F wasn't the only one. There were other's too who had grown up in similar environs and taught to question authority.

It didn't help that I was enveloped in my pride and didn't want to have anything to do with them. Thankfully, God turned that around and I got to know my coursemates better and became friends with many of them. Moreover there were two of my coursemates who were getting bullied and very badly due to their seemingly lower intelligence. I actually think one of them was an undiagnosed autistic. I was definitely off to a bad start.

However, I am thankful that God worked his ways through me and for helping me to uphold my values, placing their welfare first and being inclusive. I hope I achieved what he wanted of me...at least somewhat. I didn't realize it at that time, particularly because I was living the moment and busy steering people away from bullying the two poor sods. Slowly bit by bit, through listening to them, to rowdy and raucous trouble-making ones, I managed to connect with them in someway. I don't know how I did it, and I can only attribute it to God's grace and mercy upon poor me. I will never be best friends with them and never connect with them on an intellectual level, but their stories about their lives and their aspirations touched me. One of them, S, who is a gangster with a good heart, has a pregnant girlfriend who he was going to marry and he was signing on. Several more had aspirations to further their studies, which I am very glad to hear. Education is something I hold very dear.

I suppose they saw that I was doing my job properly. I was fair, while making sure they were taking care of. Maybe because they got to know me better. I don't know exactly, but it was like magic, as the weeks went by slowly and steadily, they became less rowdy during the routine orders and much more manageable. I was pleasantly surprised when some of these rowdy people defended me when they were forced to fall in again outside the cook house one morning due to the inefficaciousness of the duty officer. The IC is the fall guy for which all anger is projected upon in times when inefficiency causes excessive waiting and frustration.

Slowly but surely, they all fell into place until there was only F left. I think that was the most miraculous conversion. It was amazing that it happened and I still cannot fathom why. The very week that it occured, he insolently told the other quiet IC, 'Why should I listen to him? He's only a private like me.'

'But he's going to be a sergeant. You should give him some respect'

'No. At least corporal I can understand. But he's just a private, why should I respect him?'

I pretended to ignore them, but the words stung me deeply inside. I may not have made either command school, but I went through the supervisor course, I went outfield, I had to endure the idiocy of warrants for 2 months, I suffered. Yet, here was this fellow, straight out of BMT. I had gone through everything he did and more. It had to have counted for something. I resolved to ignore him for the rest of course.

Clearly, I wasn't ready for what would happen two days later. I've spent some time actually thinking about were the change was, but this is the only small morsel that makes sense. We were both walking to the adjacent building for our parking practice together. He, having just moved into the tonner stage, and me waiting for my test. I only recall asking him how the course was going and gave him a little advice on parking. But that day he was most well behaved! And the changes continued, from then on he helped me rope in his gang during roll call and he's never stopped encouraging me to pass my driving test or being friendly. It's a most wonderful change from the hyper little kid.

If that really is the turning point, and this is me being uncharacteristically unscientific, it just goes to show the power of connecting. A simple thing such as taking an interest in other people's lives can change their impression of you so much. I think the entire time that I had as IC of this group has more than reinforced that with me. A simple question and some sincere genuine concern and an impartial listening ear can really brighten up people's lives. It's really God's grace that I've been blessed with the ability to connect with people at least on a basal level, even if I might not be able to go deeper(which I'm working on!), it's more than enough.

Ironically, half way into the course, I met with someone whom I was supposed to collaborate with on the leadership project for church for lunch. This project ultimately crashed due to the meeting and I haven't resolved any of the issues yet(please pray for me!). During the meeting, he laid down some ground rules about our working relationship, it amused me that he noted that he talked to some people and they told him I would be difficult to work with and that I had poor people skills. I don't doubt that in the past this may have been true, but I was pretty disgruntled. Amusingly, a week later, F become my friend.

Where Got Time?

'Where got time?'

It's a phrase often uttered during driving course, and always by people who have already completed or passed a certain stage in their course and always to taunt people who have yet to pass that stage.

I certainly heard it a lot. At the two key stages of the course, I was stuck for a while as I watched everyone else go on without me. In fact it took me eight attempts to pass my driving test. I cannot fathom why except to postulate that ADHD played a major role in carelessness during the test. It was like a replay of the years in school. I had to watch as my peers took off and left and went ahead without me. I watched as all the engineers slowly went back, I watched all my supervisor friends finish and return to the Advance Alley, I watched my coursemates go too. It was a very trying period for me.

Failure is not something tolerated well by this society, it doesn't believe that failure can only encourage learning. You learn the most from your mistakes and failures, no matter how painful, then you ever will from success. Seeing a fire and feeling it's extreme heat upon your fingers is the difference between true understanding and a false one. The pain that shoots through the burnt area and throbs for a week reminds you never to attempt to hold the fire again. However, Failures can also be enjoyable ones, a father who gently corrects his son's attempt to join the wrong pieces of a model plane together will do two things: 1. show his son that learning is fun and 2. build a stronger bond between them. It is of course a balance.

However, failure in this course is akin to getting caught for a petty crime. Failures are ridiculed by peers, pitied by others and a made to do corrective training. I can remember that by the time I failed my seventh attempt I was practically willing to give up. And did I have to a lot to give up. I had one last attempt before I would be re-vocated and loss my promotion with a pay rise and most importantly my pride.

Most of the trainees who go through this course are not very educated people, and here I was the A level student. As much as I am ashamed to admit, I was being rather elitist about the whole thing, at least in my head. I was inclusive and made friends with them, but I despised them for passing first and I despised myself even more for being more capable and not able to pass on my first go.

It's almost a mirror to my education. I felt that I was smarter than my classmates, and the same cycle repeated itself. It was worse though because in school I completely didn't attempt to connect with them at all as I did with my coursemates. To think, had I been the person I am now three years ago, I would probably have had a lot more friends. That said, I was and still am a rather socially awkward person. It is really embarrassing what a big ego and pride can do to you.

The whole experience has been humbling. I wonder if God had a plan for me in this coure. I wouldn't have passed without his help, and I realized that. I wouldn't be able to get anywhere with his grace. He's also made me put my money where my mouth is regarding my ideology of inclusion rather than exclusion. I have made quite a few friends here in the course. In fact, the entire group practically never stopped encouraging me to pass and I am wholly grateful for this! I also think I learned more about leadership during this course than I ever would in OCS. Most importantly, I learned more about humility.

I truly understand the frustrations of the drivers who take a longer time to pass. The short duration between tests sometimes as short as two days. The lack of time for emotional and psychological recovered. The demoralisation of being left behind. The frustration and the stigmatism of being branded a lousy driver despite having clocked the most mileage. Only the good instructors and the testers know who's safer.

This pass is not my own, and you will never ever hear me utter 'Where got time?'

Speeeeeeech

I wrote a speech for my Grandparents on their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Wrote in an hour, so it turned out a bit long because I didn't have time to time it. :/

Having only known Grandpa and Grandma for a very small portion of their married life, there isn’t much that I could really say. Though I must say that this small portion spans my entire life, and that at every step of the way, from diapers to boots and camouflage, they have always been present and never held back their love, encouragement and advice. All of us grandchildren have much to thank them for, after all we wouldn’t be the upstanding young citizens that we are today or have achieved our educational level without their help. We owe them a great deal, so I would like to thank them for a few things.

Firstly, Grandpa, Grandma, thank you so much for teaching us. All of will forever remember the huge effort and time that you put in to make sure that we pass our examinations and tests reasonably well. In fact, the four older ones would agree with me, that we owe it all to you for getting all of us in to good secondary schools.

Grandma, we all remember the hours that we spent sitting at the table, piled with Chinese textbooks and assessment books, inside your room, as Grandma attempted to teach us Chinese. Xuo yi, wo men ke yi jiang hua yi yi tian tian. That was a very trying period for all us, with Grandma desperately trying to keep our attention and drill in the ting xie for the week and, of course, us, desperately trying to get away, that was until she locked the latched in the upper right hand corner of the door, preventing any opportunities to escape. When we didn’t behave, we would meet the feather duster. Think Ip Man with the feather duster. Though, Grandma could probably beat him one on one. We were all lucky of course, that Grandma wasn’t as strict with us as she when Mummy, Aunty Cc and Aunty Ba were children. Despite her strictness, as Aunty Alice always says, “Your grandmother has a heart of gold”, when we behaved ourselves, we would be rewarded with trips to NTUC for a treat, chocolates and with money.. I’m pretty sure that the whole thing probably took a few years from Grandma, but she still did it. Thank you very much Grandma, the four of us passed our PSLE Chinese sufficiently well because you. Though, we would like to say sorry for ultimately failing and dropping the subject for CLB before the end of secondary school.

While Grandma toiled to teach us Chinese, Grandpa had a bit more success with our English. Without him, I don’t think any of us would have been able to master the language with competency that we have. He took the time to patiently sit down and teach us everything about grammar, from past tense, to future continuous perfect. We know our adverbs from our verbs and nouns from our pronouns. Grandpa is probably also responsible for our interest in literature. Whether we realize it our not, the four older ones are all avid readers, two of us actually took literature at A levels. I remember he would always animatedly read us stories and sometimes changed the plots a little to tease us, this usually occurred him coming into the story and stealing the limelight from the protagonist, much to our naïve horror.

So there is no doubt, that they are the contractors who hammered in the pillars of our academic foundation. This isn’t the only thing they did. They also taught us many things about generousity, love and devotion through their excellent example. Grandma prayed the rosary everyday, and everytime we stayed over at their house because our parents were overseas, she never allowed us once to forget to say our morning and night prayers. In the afternoons, Grandpa would always make us cups of milo and garlic bread from homemade garlic butter that grandma had painstakingly prepared. They also made sure we had enough money, giving us vitamin M when they came over for dinners or what not. We couldn’t do anything but reluctantly accept.

This generosity extended beyond the family as well. Any lucky chap who happened to have the opportunity to enter that small cosy apartment was always greeted with great hospitality. When there were guests, they would always be seated at the sofa with a glass of orange squash or beer and be happily contented with good conversation. It’s no surprise that despite the painful memories of studying, we still love to go to visit our grandparents when the opportunity arises.

Most importantly, they gave us their time. They never failed to ferry us to and fro from school, to dental appointments, ballet classes, bowling practice, rugby practice or send us home. When we got older, they were and still are always willing to provide us with transportation whenever we called, without any questions asked, and never reluctantly provided. Grandpa and Grandma also never failed to give us advice, provide a listening ear and encouragement as well interesting stories from their childhood and opinions about the current state of politics.

They continue to teach us about love. In this day and age where the news is fraught with stories of increasing divorce rates and you hear of marriages not lasting for more than five years, Grandpa and Grandma have managed to do ten times better, they have been married for 50 years. Not only that, they have been through a war, raised three daughters and four rowdy raucous grandchildren and are still raising another four more! Such a feat would not be possible without love. It mustn’t have been easy either, mixed marriages were frowned upon in those days, yet you managed to pull through. We can only hope that when our time comes, we will be blessed with such longevity too. Grandma, Grandpa, you truly have followed Christ’s example throughout your lives, and continue to lead us to his light in your example.

Thank you Grandma and Grandpa for the love and care that you gave to us, and for making us who we are today. I pray that you continue to have many years to come and outlive us all!

Confessions of an Anti-Choice Fanatic.

Dear friends,

I want to share this pro-life article with you. It's written by ethicist and theologian Dr Matthew Flanagan. in it he logically confronts the arguments put across by the pro-choice pro-abortionists with some rather interesting viewpoints. It is a rather entertaining read.

http://www.mandm.org.nz/2010/01/contra-mundum-confessions-of-an-anti-choice-fanatic.html
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