Lost At Sea

I thought I caught a glimpse of you today,
locked away in the corner of my eye,
that pretty face that used to haunt the bay,
and watch the sunset from her window.

I can't remember when, or where or why.
distracted by the clouds, sand and seabeds.
I thought I heard you heave a sigh or cry,
to ponder at my sudden coming by.

Was it at the park that I saw such weary eyes?
They gleamed despite their tired shine.
Or maybe the back of a room, on a bench
in the park, in the corridor, hospital or church,

I can't decide. Oh Doctor! Doctor!
would you please, if you please,
could you, maybe, cauterise my heart?
Then, I wouldn't think of you so much.

Valentine's Day

I hate this day. Whatever I do, it always reminds me of how old I am, how alone I am, and how alone I will be. Solus sum, semper solus.

This year, I did something that I hopefully won't regret. I got you something. I was looking for catharsis from what happened last year. A small tinge of hope for a change of heart perhaps. All ideas that from practical viewpoint, from a strategical viewpoint are completely ridiculous ideas. Alas, if the heart was only logical.

I hope you enjoy the gift. I hope you like it. It's something fun to do, when you're with someone, just to pass the time and enjoy life. I hope you use it and don't throw it away immediately. I hope you read the letter, after all, that was the whole point of this charade. I hope you don't repel in digust, I hope you don't overreact, I hope you don't avoid me forever. I just wanted you to know perhaps. So I hope you write back, then I can have a peaceful mind and a calm heart.

Perhaps, perhaps, I can move on.

Today, I decided to lie in bed as long as possible. The day wasn't worth my attending. What ever needed to be done could wait until tomorrow. I didn't achieve that though. Some friends banged on my door at a quarter to four. Nice friends.

I shall mope around for a bit. It's difficult to let go, at least for me, I'm so stubborn, I can never let go of anything. I hoard things, that's why my room is cluttered. I have my entire life in boxes in cupboards and on my shelves. A little bit here and a little bit there. I don't need a diary, these things remind me of everything.

Maybe tomorrow I shall go write some poems. :/

I hate this day.

Chingay

I spent the start of my weekend doing something fun. I took part in my first and probably last Chingay Parade. The street parade is an annual affair that celebrates the Chinese new year and involves many floats and performers. If you are a dancer from a fairly decent school, you'd probably have participated in it at least once. I unfortunately, still have two left feet, so I took part in another way, which of course is with my buddies from the 501st Legion of Storm Troopers. The 501st also known as Vader's Fist, is a fan initiated non-profit organisation that does charity work such as visiting children with the Make-A-Wish foundation or helping out with the SPCA's donation drives and the such.

I am Darth Vader for the Singapore Garrison. It is always a thrilling experience to don the armour and put on the helmet of the greatest Sith Lord. Being Vader is probably the only acting that I've got a chance to do since leaving drama in 06 (I am dying to get involved in a production somewhere). I think I make a pretty decent Vader even if I don't get to do the voice. The fans don't notice, they're happy with just getting a quick photo in. heh.

There is something magical about donning the helmet and slipping into the character. I connect so much with Vader's troubled, twisted and dark past. The regal stance and purpose with which he walks. This grasp of anger and power in his trademark gesticulations. The mask adds another level. Walking around as Vader brings about mixed feelings in people, especially the children. Some are completely terrified, some are excited, almost all are mystified.

Being Vader isn't as fun as being the other characters, like the storm troopers. The troopers can be as goofy as they like because that's what they are in the movies. They have no characterisation. Me, on the hand, I have feel the need to remain true to character. There is this respect for him and for the fans that requires me to keep that magic there. I don't get to wave at people or generally be friendly, which is a bit sad, but I do get a deep thrill at evoking people's childhood memories. It makes their day, I bet, in some surrealistic manner.

The parade itself was cool. I generally hate being in parades. Too long and too much logistics. I remember the few parades that I took part in the army. I hated practicing for them, but there was always this sense of pride when they were actually happening. This smartness of the march and of the uniform. The whole looking sharp. I don't know. Chingay was certainly more slack than a military parade, though I wish we had done a bit more fun things, alas. Haha it was still awesome.

This post is probably going around in circles, alas, that is the curse of the ADHD mind. Also it was more of a short reflection and rant anyway. Being Vader is always awesome. Always.

I wrote the poem below for someone special. I hope she happens to cross this space today and reads it.

moon.

The sweet crescent moon

reminds me of your eyes,

upon whose lunar beds

they both lie.

Those clear dark gems so

sharp, they pierce the sky.

Beautiful and round,

deep portals of your soul,

against their pale and flawless

canvas do they glow.

Ever so radiant,

so gentle and so kind,

Eyes belonging to one

who will ne'er be mine.

Nostalgia.

I just cleaned up my room. I haven't cleaned it properly since 2006 I think. (save for intermittent attempts to clear my desk for new things to place on it. This is what it looked like before I started to clear things at about 9pm last night.



Just so we're clear. This is not completely a mess. This is what is known as an organized mess. Read: ORGANIZED. I know exactly where everything is, unless someone rearranged it for me. Don't you just hate when people mess with your mess? Below is a picture of things nearing the halfway point.

It amuses me, that as you clean and rearrange things, everything becomes exceedingly messier. There was a point where I had to make great big lunges to cross from one end of the room to the other. Everything on my table was left there since A levels. That wasn't so hard to store and arrange. It was everything on another shelf and everything under my desk that made keeping and tossing things so difficult. I uncovered things that dated all the way back to 2002 when I first moved into this little apartment, when we moved into the house. And as I was packing my collection of shoeboxes, I found things all the way back to primary school.

It is really difficult to go back a decade and dig through one's life. For me at least. I don't keep a diary, I keep things. I did try once, but it didn't really work out. I'm not one to mark done daily events, I write reflections and if I can drag my lazy arse to do it. Hence, you can see, I have already failed to put in a daily entry into this thing, and when I did, they were mostly one liners. Twitter is more effective for one-liners, and it's transient.

I found all sorts of really weird things as I was sorting things. A collection of chinese essays by ACJC students. I figure most of the contributors are the girls. I found my first O level cert, and my entry proof for the second time that I did Os. Looking back at my, I am quite the academy failure. I don't particularly enjoy that period of time. Mountains to perpetually climb and hurdle to constantly overcome. I'm still out there in blistering winter attempting to scale this peak and I wonder if I'll ever get there. Cold and numb.

The hardest part about cleaning my room is finding all my correspondence across the years. I keep all the letters I've ever received in a shoebox. I also keep all the invitations to weddings, wedding programmes and all the shows I've ever watched, but the letters are by far, the most important to me. Most of them are from the many camps I've facilitated across the years. Some of them from the camps that I attended. All of them are encouraging affirmations or thank you letters. And then I find a few of the real letters I've received and I see the people I drifted away from and I wonder what happened.

Letter writing is a gem, a beautiful art that is dying. I intend to keep writing letters and in flowery language the way they should be written. It's a pity that people only write letters nowadays as formal correspondence or requests, and it's amazing if they actually write. The advent of e-mail and computers and destroyed the art of penmanship and of letter writing. An e-mail can never have the same personal touch that a handwritten letter has. There is a part of the writer's soul in each and every stroke. From the scrawl of a doctor, to the careful neat font of a girl's, it's there. The text you read before you, however, is hard and cold.

I also found all the birthday cards my paternal grandparents have given me across the years. Without fail, I have one every year and I kept as many of them as I could. It was difficult looking at them and seeing the signature 'Love, Yeh Yeh and Mah Mah' become 'Love, Mah Mah'. I felt a deep knot in my throat as I thumbed through them. I really do miss my yeh yeh, and I pray that the lord has mercy on his soul. On a lighter note, I have most of the cards my parents gave me across the years too. It's amusing how they sign off, 'Love, mum and dad' in the most legible print possible, but whatever other writing they have is completely illegible. Sigh...doctors.

Looking back on all this, I've seen the way God has certainly given me many many chances and actually guided me to this point so far. If I didn't re-do Os, I'd have never gotten a science course of my choice in poly, and if I hadn't retained, I'd have never qualified for Medicine anyway...not that I do now. Having the opportunity, or rather being forced to take a more scenic route has allowed me to build up an excellent support system of friends and family and allowed me to deepen my faith and my knowledge of it. I'm still sore that I can't graduate along side my peers or that I'm pretty sure I'll always feel inferior for taking so long, but I don't regret taking this path. I just hope and pray that it really is in his plan for me to do medicine. It is a dream that has been dreamt for more than a decade.

At least, my life is slightly more organized now. See (10 hours later):

PS: that's my collection of textbooks and literature(worthwhile literature. all other rubbish is on another shelf) My biology textbooks are missing though. One is with a friend, and the other one on genetics I seem to have misplaced with someone ):

Yes, that's a VIAGRA pillow under my desk.

Down Down Down
Mumm-Ra

When you won’t dance
our young hearts grieve
A strange light you cast
so come dance with me

If all I have
in ten years from now
are wasted memories
then I won’t be ashamed of what the
Hell were you thinking
standing so tall
I’m not conceding the rise and fall

In every room
I still look for you
I need more time
before I let go
is that such a crime?

I’ll just make sure I look so dead in your eyes
Don’t talk of stars in the sky
Just look down down down
Cos it’s always been this way
Yeah it’s always been this way
Yeah it’s always been this way
Yeah it’s always been this way

Quick rant.

I'm very amused to see the Church featured in the local Sunday Tabloids today, for enforcing dress codes. The cynical bastard in me wishes to loquaciously lament on the fallen times of today, however such is a consequence of embracing the multifaceted ever-changing venomous hydra of modern liberalism. To reach a point whereby the local news scene actually took notice and published an article is a clear sign of the degradation of certain social values and concepts in society today. That and there is nothing newsworthy to report; after all Egypt is having a wonderful era of peace.

I think the biggest concept that the Singaporean Church has lost is the Sense of Sacred. If you are drawing a blank on the term, you are not alone. The idea of Sacredness has been lost in most churches for a very long time, so not many practicing Catholics actually have an idea of what it feels like to step into somewhere sacred. They cannot be blamed of course, who can fault these poor ignorant souls when churches no longer vaguely resemble churches save for the cross on the roof and the crucifix inside? Most churches nowadays look like multipurpose halls or the inside of aircraft hangars. Or when the music inside church seems so similar to the Laneway concert? Or attempts to be and ultimately fails. Let's face it, these musicians are rather talented and professional and they aren't trying to play religious music.

So when you think about it, it isn't really difficult to mentally come to conclusion that, 'Hey! i'm going to an aircraft hangar to listen to some guys who can't play as well as laneway! ALRIGHT! Let's dress appropriately!' Naturally, you are going to get people dressed like they're going to their friend's place for a beer. Yet, as we all know, these same young people...usually young people (most old people have a certain sense of class) will be dressed in suits and dresses for a wedding dinner or dress clothes to go for family dinners at restaurants. Of course, a wedding dinner is at a hotel and dinner in a restaurant call for class. There is an unspoken dress code and a way to carry oneself in these places. So why can't churches expect similar behaviour from people?

After all, more than just appeasing the older relatives and matriarchs and patriarchs of the family clan, and giving face the wedding couple and their family, when you go to Church, you are standing before God himself, and he is there in the eucharist (for noncatholics and those who've forgotten, YES, LITERALLY THERE. LITERALLY.) Most of you wonder dream of visiting the Queen in nothing less then your best clothes possible, so how can you go before the creator of the universe, your creator, dresses so flippantly as though he's just your next door neighbour?

I hope you see my point now. If I had my way, I would bring back 'Sunday's Best' for church. After all, when you love and respect someone, you want to look good when you see them. What more respect can you give your very creator? In fact, dressing well and modestly helps your fellows parishioners to concentrate and prayer better too, rather than be distracted. We're all human after all. In fact, in most examins of conscience, you will find under the 6th commandment, this typical question, 'Have I dressed immodestly? Been the occasion of sin for another?' See you're helping God by dressing well!

I'm very glad that they denied Ms Audrey Seow from receiving communion. Her comments regarding the matter that, 'We are taught that God loves us no matter what we are, so why should the church discriminate against our attire?' suggest that Ms Seow has also forgotten the criteria for communing, that she has to love God too. And to love God means to follow his rules and his will and not our's. Had she been attending a church that looked like a church, I'm certain that she'd have dressed appropriately.

Dress codes are far from the largest issue. If priests just made their churches look like churches again and if they brought back the beauty and elegance of the music and the architecture, they will see a change in dress. After all why should we aim so low? The point of going to church is to strive to new heights and become better people because we love God.

For further reading, I do direct you to an old piece by Msgr Charles Pope on modesty being reverence for the mystery http://blog.adw.org/2010/02/modesty-is-reverence-for-mystery/
and to Fr Longenecker's older entry on what churches should look like
http://gkupsidedown.blogspot.com/2010/01/chust-for-nice.html

Sacraments.

I'm so lucky to have confession!