STANDARD CHARTERED race 02/12/2007
Same distance (the 21), same adrenaline, different thoughts

As part of the race pack, the organizers provided an extra tag for the back for you to write some motivational reason for finishing the distance. Apart from the weird ones like

"<---- that idiot forced me" or " becos I paid good money"

One stood out. It was a coloured picture of a little girl stuck in hospital bed, and the neatly typed out accompanying message, " because our daughter can't, and we can."
I guess that despite all that I've said about having a 'kindness quota' or dark humour, it was one of those things that challenge my cynicisms about life.

So what if you don't meet your timing or that you walked 500 metres of the distance? Or that you had to go batam for honeymoon instead of Paris because of a tight budget? Sometimes it's just that tiny twinge of regret in your heart for buying that pair of shoes at full rate instead of waiting for the sale.
The slogan of this year's event was: "run your own race". My own race would be to just be thankful. And I believe that out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks, and you will bear fruit and bless people.

Talking a bit about the race, the last 2-4 km was a killer! This is when you want to run faster because it's the last lap but can't cos your legs feel like lead, and you can't walk because then you'll just walk forever.
I had been cynical about the cheerleaders and band along the way, but I now take back my words. They were incredible!


albeit misleading, Because in my depleted state, I kept thinking I was nearing the finishing line whenever my ears heard cheering.

BIB/DIV: 29116 / F2529
TIME: 1h:53m:21s (gun) / 1h:51m:3s (net)

RUNninspiration


1. A little discipline in the correct direction creates the sufficient, necessary and intensive stamina to finish the race

2. It's true. the mind and spirit over body- it takes the mature runner to know the difference between an anxious surge of adrenaline, and the time to pick up pace peaceably.

3. When you are tired and have the feeling to stop and turn back, it's then that you become thankful for the heart beat that sustains your every step forward.

4. In a race of time and lengths,
when seeing someone fall, and you ignore, you possibly finish with a faster speed, momentary glory and lingering regret.
Yet the second you spare to stop, you possibly finish with a faster speed, lasting glory and one more friend.

5. Just do (enjoy) it!

6. R & B - It's ok to have Burps, Bumps and broken Breath. You will Recover.

7. There are days that you feel you can leap out of bed for the morning run. And there are more days you can't imagine going the distance. p/s: you are normal.

Something about swimming (IV)
The quality of my world is blue

There must be a reason for this colour. We vary the shape, add an impressive five-prong fountain and maybe a quaint little bridge to swim under; even go to the extent of giving the tiles a different shade. Nevertheless, the color remains.

I once came across a story of a woman who had suffered a miscarriage and lost her husband both in the same year. It was difficult for her to go through the normal procession of grief and loss and she continued to oscillate between the different stages, never finding a resolution. While cruising about numbly in her car one day, she turned into the driveway of the local swimming pool and recalled how she as a child had enjoyed the blue and coolness. With clean, simple movements, one could cut through water. Or anything for that matter. Thus began the weekly trips, then twice weekly. With each stroke, she found herself feeling again. With each lap completed, another lap is planned and when she reaches her quota of laps, it is as though a part of her had left behind a bit of grief.

Even as I am in the blue today, I find it a bit far-fetched. Swimming, like most other activities, work to distract. But after the shower and maybe five hours of endorphin surge, you are like a low-batteryed energiser bunny still thrashing about in your own sea of problems.
My theory is this: swimming laps enable you to continue being in emotional circles. Back and forth, back and forth.

You bring congruence to your entirety. Because by the time you are done with all hundred and ten laps, you get a good night's sleep.

Sometimes When We Touch - Dan Hill

You ask me if I love you
And I choke on my reply
I'd rather hurt you honestly
Than mislead you with a lie
And who am I to judge you
On what you say or do?
I'm only just beginning to see the real you

And sometimes when we touch
The honesty's too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die
Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides

Romance and all its strategy
Leaves me battling with my pride
But through the insecurity
Some tenderness survives
I'm just another writer
Still trapped within my truth
A hesitant prize fighter
Still trapped within my youth

And sometimes when we touch
The honesty's too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die
Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides

At times I'd like to break you
And drive you to your knees
At times I'd like to break through
And hold you endlessly

At times I understand you
And I know how hard you've tried
I've watched while love commands you
And I've watched love pass you by

At times I think we're drifters
Still searching for a friend
A brother or a sister
But then the passion flares again

And sometimes when we touch
The honesty's too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die
Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides

THE MARKET FIRE





It was not very late last night,
A time not seldom that I am there,
Mostly trudging, heels hitting in rhythm
In the jungle,
the mighty jungle,
The lion sleeps tonight.

Entertaining thoughts of void,
and scenes of workplace stealing in;
of the wet ground and uneven ground.
when one day I can drive, I may not walk-
but then again I like to walk.
and when again is D Day lesson planned?

I am reaching the market place
Of closing shops and drinking men

The commentary hits me
The market’s on fire
The market’s on fire
Do come look and see
The market’s on fire
Before I stumble into the murmuring crowd

Is when I look up and
See the luminous orange and
Flickering sparks,
Even smoke looks different
From the dark dark sky;
Yet smell no different
From the night-time air.

The people aren’t in their
Holiday best.
Some brought their dogs
that shifted unimpressed.
Remaining rooted to their spot,
humans shouted through their mobiles.
Some brought their kids
For fire safety education
while others stared at others staring.

The trucks lined up "like toys"
And men guard their uniform authority.
chickens came out on stretchers
the owners wept for their lost
livelihood.

I moved through like a ghost-
Even one won’t find an opening
Through this one.
But with one 'click', and one 'clock'
In the jungle
the mighty jungle
the lion sleeps tonight.

Room 21

“She’s as stubborn as an ox”, he informed me. Shaking his head emphatically, husband folded his arms across the chest. Today, the white polo t-shirt with Burberry's signature collar stretched tightly to accomodate his plumpness, his khakis gripped below the paunch. Wife wore a tailored floral dress that hung on her thin frame. Her indignation seemed to take over her entire being, making her pretty eyes bigger. They flashed with anger at her husband of two months. Her hands flew up, then went to the sides of the chair, and back to her lap.
“ What?! And you? you... you're a silly goose.” This was all she could muster. The passive-aggressives usually become tongue-tied when emotionally charged.

I felt my heart beat faster in the chilly room. It is usually too stuffy or too cold in Room 21. Today the central system was turned up. I looked down surreptitiously at my watch but the effort was not appreciated. The young couple hardly noticed my presence. This session was going no where, not with the intensely deaf head-butting and defensiveness. But just as that thought swept through my mind, a pleasant silence entered.
Finally some signs of exhaustion were beginning to show. They sighed simultaneously, nodded as though affirming to oneself that they had each put in enough evidence against the other, and turned to me.
I arranged my features to look ‘professionally questioning’. Tone: peace-loving and calm; ideas- nil.
“So. I think that it is all very encouraging that you both have taken time off to be here. We hope that this twenty minutes may be of help. Have we agreed on what we want to discuss here and now?”
“I still think that she should listen to me. And…”
“Thank you Robert. We start from here. Prissy, how do you feel about Robert’s thoughts on this?”
Wife beamed as though having gained the approval of the school master to speak.
“I think that not all he says is wrong, about managing household expenses and all that. But I think that he should also respect my opinions too. Afterall…”

This was my last case before the 1pm lunch hour. I locked up room 21, stifled a yawn in front of the waiting queue as I headed back to the office. Feeling grateful as I sunk into the workstation, this “office worker stuck in a routine” glamorized by film-makers and tv producers is making me a quite a star. But my mind goes back to the couple I just saw and a few others. For sure, theirs is not a romantic picture, even if divorce is given high profile in media. People just aren’t trying hard enough to keep it together, or are they? What can little me do in this crazy world? A flood of hopelessness sweeps over me and I hardly taste the tomato. But as quickly as the emotion came, it also trickled away. I quickly finished up the milk, ignored the apple and went to nap.

At 2pm, I walked back to Room 21. There he sat. The third time I see him this month, and each time with a new story of remorse and refreshed expectations of a miracle worker to pick up the pieces left behind by his gambling addiction. These people come with the hope of seeing some cash put squarely in their hands. They leave without getting what they had came for; not even money for a ride home, and a pocketful of nagging. Still, they return. Like this hunched, disheveled fellow here. In the wise words of my supervisor, “they only need for someone to scold them.” At least they know that they aren’t alone.
“Kent.” I addressed him.
He remained slumped, like me as a result of some protein digesting in my stomach.
“ Kent?” I said a bit louder and closer his ear.
Still no answer.
I gave his shoulder a tap and then shook him gently.
His head lolled to the side in an unusual manner. Which was then that I saw.
Red meandered from the nose to join with the white at the mouth, forming a thick pink foamy stream. I felt for pulse.
“Press the side button on the phone.” A voice sounded in my head. This is the button that promises help whenever we feel threat coming from a client. I had felt no threat from this client. Only a pervading coldness. And my own irritating quickened heartbeat. As if pressing the button might take away those feelings. But I did so anyway, and the nursing aides swarmed into the room. In a matter of minutes, they had put Kent onto the stretcher and out of room 21.
Aside from the report I had to write, my duty for this case was over. I was offered a counseling session, that I thought was ironic. Like a person with schizophrenia, the voice of my superior comes again in a haunting manner. “What sets the worker and client apart, is only that one is more fortunate than the other, at that point in time.” The tables have turned on me.

I didn’t think that it'd be the last time that I see Kent. I'm admittedly crazy about tv shows and movies, but I also saw how Kent’s overdose might not have been all that highly toxic and warranted dead by the director. For sure, it may have been an accidental lethal cocktail of what-have-you, but Kent was no substance user. The only drug he possibly knew and could get was panadol ultra. As he told me later on in the medical ward with the pristine counters, freezing air-con and automated sliding doors, popped 70 panadols after perusing a loanshark letter.
“And the nosebleed?” (because one just does not get nosebleed from paracetamols)
“ eh hehe.” His face cracked sheepishly
“Too much wolfberries from the herbal soup. I eat it by the dozen each bite because I love it too much,”

After my visit to him, I returned to room 21 to meet Harriet, a young girl with early onset bi-polar disorder.

THE NEW OLD AND OLD NEW

I went into a cleaning drive yesterday to give my room a face-lift.

Didn't dig out anything worthy for a garage sale because they are either too "my precious" to be sold off or are in too yellowing a condition to pay anyone to take. But beneath the thick 3 inch layer of dust, I found a few interesting things (don't you just love refinding things?). Something like this poem I had written for my Creative Writing 113 unit. Some of you may have taken or are taking this class.
It can't be more true that if you have a passion for something,

Don't study it.

But yes, given that you do learn new skills and take a new perspective on the subject, you also stress majorly. I was clasping and clawing at the empty air for inspiration. Once I even found myself at King's Park watching the birds (which are not my favourite animals) and eventually churning out a fairytale-like poem which was apparently to be commentary on Oscar Wilde's " The Happy Prince"

It has a swallow in it, you see.

So anyway, in another attempt for at inspiration, I 'borrowed' ideas from another unit i was doing at the same time. Reading the poem below, no prizes for guessing what unit it was.

The Australian Tale

What are we
in the Australian tale,
a colourful people in the still sea of white
or a bushman with ruddy cheeks,
a Man's man, vanquishing female right?
Are the sounds we make
sounds of the didgeridoo and clapstick,
or the clear Irish lilt in crystal Christian tones,
or all in confusing harmony?
The pie we eat and 'footie' we play,
can we fit them all in,
in the Australian tale?
I see the kangaroos and koalas crowding
They want the attention too.
Our barren land and bush
speak of familiarity;
Are they backdrop or an object,
In this ambiguous Australian tale?

As the plot evolves and
Characters emerge into being
It is nice to read that
What it is to you
and what it is to me
may be in synch, or then again not really,
What matters is our consciousness and sense
In this grand Australian Tale. (June 2002)

Memories of stressful times.

If you're happy and you know it...
------ run a bit!

SAFRA 1/2 army marathon
Date: Aug 26 2007
Distance: 21 km
Start/end: Marina Bay/esplanade
Timing: 1 hour 57 :16 mins
Ranking: 26 out of 545 for womens open category
Feeling: Just thankful I finished the distance.

So did you, captain. RIP.

TAG= Thanks Ah Germaine.
1.It dawned on me as I noticed myself trying/pretending not to see the tag. Much like the assignments/appointments/training i am meant to do/attend. But once immersed, it's not so bad afterall.

2. I am an irritable creature more of small things than flappable by the big.
Example: a strong wind can come blow off the roof my house and I will be there trying to straighten out the picnic mat beside it.

3. I am afraid of birds, snakes, skinks, barnacles and any animal that looks too complicated in its design.

4i. I am a social worker. I don't clean backsides, sweep floors and work for free. But even if my job scope did include that, i'd be proud of it. In fact, it may even help me explain my role better.

ii. Next year's Singapore Social Workers' Day celebrations will fall on 18th Jan, that which is also my birthday. The real date's the 20th Jan I think.

5. I have a phobia of retching and vomitting so even if I had the most intense stomache upset, i'd rather sit through it than do the above two. I can count with the fingers on one hand the number of times ive actually vomitted in my life.

6. I think the number "7" is overrated, to be honest.

7. I don't like waiting for my food. So if you let me choose between a middle range porridge buffet spread and deluxe french food that requires 2 hours to defrost before cooking into bite- sized things on huge saucers, 'that' being the apetizer before you gotta wait an hour again for them to change your cutlery and bring on the deckcard sized delish pink tasmanian salmon (i thought you said it was french),

I choose the porridge spread thank you very much. And don't scold me for taking the salted egg even though it's the cheapest thing there.

I tag... Abel (my bf), Joshua (kat's bf), grace (tim's gf), Liong Choon Chin (adeline's bf), Hui Hui, Jon Chia and gerard who apparently didn't respond to his previous tag right?

Durian Duran

A piece of me, a piece for them.
A piece of mind taken away.
Sweetly pining,
Flesh indulgence;
Thorny remove-
Or “Crowns”, whichever you say.

“12-step program”, “CBT”
or the higher power
Take me closer
To the reality
You enforce it to be.
The one that mine is contesting with.

All tried and tested,
Loneliness mounted,
Language exhausted
And Time meter put on display.

When past is forgotten
With “crack:” and opening,
The first wraft that fills your air.
The one that begins your hunger.

Satisfaction is subjective
That which you alone might know.
Personally as I see it,
As I recommend it,
Don’t eat durians alone.

I am not a Bluebear! I am a human being. I am a man.

Which movie was this quote from?

Get your own quotes:

ps/ if you are wondering what all the fuzz is about bluebear, he's a character in a book. Entertaining but thick. The book, not the bear. If interested, look for Abel to loan.

I did this test
while waiting patiently to read the book.
This is the next best to actually being at Hogswart being sorted!

Which Hogwarts house will you be sorted into?

First run in my 25 years summarised


Ran in drizzle, mud and bottleneck
Place: Bedok Reservoir
Distance: 10 km
Time: 52.43 mins
Queued 1 hour and more for goodie bag
left the free singlet in locker room toilet

Feeling? exhilarating.

Word quota

Piite woke up in a state of panic. His dream of having reached the word quota was terrifying. Forget ‘mystifying’ or ‘queer’, or ‘the lady in a slinky negligee in cold sweat and distress, evoked by vampires’. I will have you believe that Piite’s nightmare about the word quota is very realistic indeed. But though vivid, it is also the kind of dream that you forget right away. For as soon as Piite realized that it was rightly time to get up, did a double leap off bed and started dressing. He’s had the same dream over three days but day one being Friday, was not a worry over the weekend when Piite doesn’t work. Over his fry-up and coffee, the dream still hardly reared its ugly head, not till Piite finished his trot to the train station, that the fear lurged and made his heart do a double beat. This persisted in rhythm with the automated voice system sounding over the train station. “Please do not leave your bags unattended… if you see any suspicious articles…” Piite thought the voice added,

“Word quota reached.”
… for Stateland station”

He got on the train and drew out his apple notebook. Pitte is a first generation registered train writer. There are the food writers and fashion writers, comic book writers and travel bloggers. Train writers are people who develop their craft and gain inspiration onboard “The Thomas”. They clock their hours as they come on and stop earning as soon as they “log off” and alight at a station. Just as in any ordinary workplace where one’s day may be fruitful or not, a train writer’s inspiration may be a dark tunnel-full one or a passing scene of the Yorkshire country-side. These writers usually have the freedom of where they want to end up physically but for the number of hours you clock on the track, your work has to, naturally, show for it. Being “registered” indicates showing up at the Stateland office at the end of the passage no matter where you stay. Conversely, you are not obligated to any office if unregistered. This liberty of submitting your piece to any department in any part of the world may ironically turn the resume out to be a messy piece of work.

Piite lives at Old York place that is a four hour travel to Stateland. This means that Piite is a rather proficient writer if he has to finish an article by the time he reaches the office everyday for five days of the week. To add to his accreditation, it’s the same scenery he passes everyday of the week. Piite has done all kinds of writing. In fact, he recently received the “pulsating award” for the fifth critique he did on Bram Stoker’s Dracula. The office of Stateland has been thinking of promoting him with an apartment on Fourth Avenue, a two- and- a- half hour journey away from the office. But with great power comes great responsibility. Having been “first generation writer” uncomplainingly for fifteen years without taking leave off work, Piite is long overdue for this kind of power.

To therefore attempt to make recall of the nightmare Pitte just had some six hours ago is not at all a pleasant or kind thing to do. Reaching the word quota (by writers, for writers) has been liken to the below three experiences:
i. The ice-cream seller having stacks of wafer cones left but no more ice-cream.
ii. A whole block of five-room apartments having only one occupant in each.
iii. Possessing a thought at the back of your mind but the word not finding way to the tip of your tongue.

In a nutshell, it suggests all the potential in the world but not being able to utilize it due to a missing one, two or half of an element. Piite was worried. He has not to lose this/these/th element or it would be hell for him. A hell he cannot anticipate to be ten minutes or the next ten years. More than losing a passion, it is a livelihood gone, for as soon as Stateland gets wind of this and advertises for a replacement in “Mobile Times”, the number of trained delinquents (pun not intended) would be queuing up for it.

So “What’s in a dream?” we may rightly ask. The same dream over three days may hint of preoccupation, conjure up pictures that remain in the mind’s eye, but not necessarily becoming a reality. Some experts have said that dreaming of something prophesizes the opposite coming true, and yet others have explained it to be the repressed desire of the individual. So Piite secretly desires to be obsolete? What’s Piite to do? While you can sleep on a problem, you can’t possibly sleep on a bad dream. He feels that this fear is not unwarranted, but these fifteen years have been kind to him and isn’t it always better to err on the cautious side?
With a degree of anxiety in his heart, but also being a writer at heart (Piite never uses the same word twice in a sentence), opened a blank word document. At first and very uncertainly; hesitantly, a word appeared on the screen.


“And”


The thing is, a writer never starts a sentence much less a story with an ‘And’. But grant it that Piite was nervous. He continued.

And fear makes us do interesting things. Dear Merry,

I don’t know if it may be impolite to address you by your first name,
though you’ve always asked me to do so.
And I’ve wanted to- for fifteen years it seems.
That was day one of my job when you addressed the new staff

And then the day of my ‘pulsating’ award.

And although we all may call ourselves writers,
What we lack is courage.
Only when fear strikes us
That we dare inscribe what’s on our hearts

My dear Merry now that my word quota may be reached
May my last words be my best
Only you my boss can now approve
When I say I love only you.

Yours truly,
Piite Blight.

“Word Quota reached, for Stateland station.”
Piite got off at his stop to submit his work.
We wish him the best.

Happy techno-ambivalenc-ing

Anything you wish, Jellyfish.

The many floral printed blouses are what her contemporaries are wearing in this age. Some vibrant, others more staid, but surely they are the same small blooms on the cooling fabric. As she lifts her umbrella from the stand and bids farewell to us, we happen to peer out of the window to see that the weather is perfect. She is going to the shops today to her sell off her remaining pieces of jade. This same jade that is going to be melted down to more modern pieces for modern housewives. But this jaded housewife takes her time with her motions. The slow abandonment takes the flurry of the morning crowd by surprise and the red sea parts for her.

The outing has been a tad too strenuous for her. She rails at me to put the clothes out to sun; to bring the clothes in lest it rains; to stop the rain from falling- Loose soft skin that hangs in unlikely fashion is far removed from the supple and lithe form of our sun-kissed youth. No massage can bring back its tone. But every touch sends warmth coursing down her veins, that tugs the edges of her mouth, like tugging the sun from behind the clouds. We feel impatient at her helplessness, intensified by our own helplessness.

Her intensity of gaze on me is disconcerting but I know that I’m mere form without features. It's like the television she watches. But that volume she can at least regulate. She calls me loudly to find the direction and distance of my voice, only to pick up the hint of my irritation. This is the same heartbeat that bounces from the walls in echo, “Anything you wish, Jellyfish.”

We miss you, rest in peace. 06/03/2006

The Muppets painted the ward Manila (III)- “I hear you.”

The Count was admitted today. According to him, he had lost his hearing abilities after a drinking party. He considers that seeing someone resembling his long-demised great- grand uncle a possible trigger.

“Help me please, I don’t hear the numbers in my head anymore.”

“How would you like us to help you?”

“Well, you can start by not shouting at me”


The doctors looked at each other. There was Dr Grouch, a psychiatrist in training, the psychologist and a clinical audiologist.


The Count stared back at them defensively. “You are confused.” but hastened before anyone else could insert a word,
“No! don’t speak or you will deafen me.”


The occupational therapist was called for. He wrote out neat instructions for The Count.


The next two weeks, The Count was set to the task of counting out pills for his fellow patients. Once in the morning and once in the evening. He also received typed out therapy sessions with the psychologist on coping strategies.


He was discharged soon after but with an outpatient appointment.

Taming of the Shrew

The Magic Pointer

It was one rainy day (‘not too torrential’ he might say.)
when story- teller walked in
to a bookstore.
there by the counter lain
a shiny (say ‘sparkly’) pen.
but lo and behold it was in fact!
a pen built-in
to the extendable metal pointer.
Surely it’s no power laser nib,
Or reaches 10 feet up to meet your tip
But story-teller likes its independency
A kind of pride- non battery powered.
(‘magic!’, that’s his word.)

For magic it did turn
out,
For the moment he went back home
And closed the door behind him so,
The pointer extended to his wife’s (‘the hag’ he called her)
mid-life stress
and showed the dirty fireplace.
It might as well reveal the thin curtains (rags in fact)
And poor old misty, the pregnant cat.
He shook his head as she approached him
“dear”
“ We’ve run out of baked beans”
“it’s not my fault”
“there’s only bread”
“for us both”
Story-teller gazed (like in a daze)
His magic pointer quivered safely
In his warm gloved hand.

He didn’t stay long, for next moment
he turned
And strode right out of home.

He was smug,
the magic pointer did work.
The magic pointer perhaps could do his work!
Story-telling was his forte,
twenty-seven solid years
That is what bought his bread.
But he quivered now,
from cold.
The pointer pointed to where it went
To the vagabond on the street
And the rich man’s stride ('a dollar sir?')
To each he felt dumb disdain
For his lips, too cool to speak.
His hands, too numb, from cold
Dropped the pointer when he tried
To twirl, to spin a yarn.

As it fell the pointer nib turned to face
The face of him.
An immediate dismay befell,
When he realized what great story
He had to tell.
So as people start to gather round,
The man used his shame to entertain.

As soon as he was done,
Story-teller fell and died.
The magic pointer rolled into
the dispersing crowd,
Picked up by a child of nine-
Later as we are to know,
Stabbed his baby sister in the toe.

Not meesing in action

All trail mix and cliché chat

This is probably going to be the second and last time I write in this manner, first time was the introduction to onerottenorange and which turned out, well, to become more a book and play review than anything else. I can’t put a point across without the use of fiction and metaphors, it seems. But hopefully this job transition/ crossroad intersection/midlife crisis gives good reason to talk earnest and make cliché chat.

I’ve just come back from Perth which people know that I always think about and speak with a degree of fondness. The grass IS greener there and softer too. It makes fertile ground for dreams to come true, even if the gulls do S.O.Y. But with this visit, I found that I was happily nonchalant to be emotionally removed from the place. No, it is not a repetition in the former statement. I was happy to be unaffected by my unaffected feelings towards Perth. Not that she no longer attracts or inspires me like my boyfriend still does, but that reliving or trying to relive old experiences is no more a must.

For all you who laugh at me, you pretend that you do not try to relive good O’ times. It is possible that because you don’t succeed in doing that that you return to clichés for comfort.

So as I was saying, I found that the moment I could let go this necessity, I immediately shared more present moments with people- both new and old friends, young and OLD friends. They provided some insights to me which when you pack into a suitcase, looks like a big sack of jolly trail mix.

1. Celebrating small victories. Two years since graduation is not a terribly long time as compared to erm say… 25 years since birth. But it is nonetheless significant enough for many. With our testimonies of struggles undergone and some still present, it has only magnified the need for God in our lives. Some issues remain unresolved. But I know that my God will make us whole in spite of that. Celebrating small victories may then mean returning back to our mustard seed faith that God is good.
2. Not to fear aging. ALL My friends look better with time.
3. Evangelism has got to go on.

Fourth but not very lastly, there is a sense of continuity. It is somewhat like the installment of the Harry Potter book never being the last. Many and I thought coming back to Singapore meant the point of no return (to perth). This may not be so----


If the migration point system does not increase again, thank you very much.

In God we continue to trust.

The Chairman
What a funny thing it was! He got stuck in a chair! Edging his neck deeper and closer between the crack, it was only fine skill he could master.

“just a bit more and I can show mom?”

Nice chair, good chair! Just a bit more. This plastic slit between the back and seat holds up a little too well.

“ouch! This had better be worth it.”

He twisted and turned; manipulated strands of hair. The lights blinked from the television set but the voices of Alice and the Mad-hatter had become a lump of incomprehensible gabble.

Droplets of sweat formed on his forehead and one or two rolled into his eyes.

With the last heave of breath and push, his neck was given satisfying acceptance.
Now, is there anything he can’t do? He grinned like the Cheshire Cat. With his body firmly hid behind the chair and head sticking out, he looked like the elusive animal too. The hall appeared funny from this angle- there was the same television, the sofa set and carpet; his toys scattered with neglect on the floor but they all seemed to be laughing at him. Suddenly he no longer felt in control.

It’s time to show mum. But he didn’t have to call her, for there she was, standing frozen at the doorway, then rushing over in dismay.

Why the dismay?

“alright darling, tilt your head a little, see if we can get you out”

Yeah, that’s simple. I can do that. Nice chair, good chair! This plastic definitely holds up well.

“ouch. Not good.” he wished that mum wouldn’t look so alarmed. It made him feel like crying. His neck is starting to hurt.

Mom has started to cry. She called dad at the office, told him not to be alarmed. As he sat sadly next to her, the chair like a cone collar on a dog, mom made another phone call. Her directions were crystal clear and calm.

The fire department has arrived! Two brave men guarded the red engine while four stout men ran into the apartment armed with an axe and toolbox.

“This is the first time we’ve encountered this.” One of them remarked observantly as he stroke the stubble on his chin.

The work was tedious and long but slowly and surely, one back broke (pity about the chair) and his neck was freed.

The little boy paced a little, shrugged as though trying out a new neck on the skinny shoulders, and grinned, “Great work guys, you certainly learn something new everyday!”

This is for Abel who grew up a precocious child and is now a man-boy with an old soul. Confused? Yeah so am I. Happy 3rd Anniversary.

Creature of Habit
(I wonder about kids these days)

They don’t bring the coloured popsicles
And chalk for the rowdy hopscotch.
But from the corner of my eye when
I see
And notice that you once again
wear the red cardigan,
Such consolation it is that
The same polar bear swims
in his unchanged climate of ice and sea.

Your computer needs to be swopped
“For efficiency”, that’s what
they say.
I tell you that my keypad only wants cleaning.
With a finger-sized feather- duster.
When new running shoes replaces another so quickly,
The miles you run are wildly forgotten.

Some people love Miss Change.
She seduces but doesn’t stay long.
You say you’re not constant but
Don’t be prideful if “habit’s not your thing”,
for change may be your habit,
So there you go, Creature of Habit.

Pretty soon it will be different,
When a now becomes tomorrow-
Will you be sad when you remember?
How your yesterday was filled with
Strange longing for a brand new day

The modern day philosopher has no job-
His children brings no coloured popsicles,
Or chalk for the rowdy hopscotch.
He still runs the miles these days
Amidst the noisy traffic on the brand new highway.
Miss Change beckons as he shakes his head,
But gives in when he knows:
Good things though to remember,
Better things still do come.

A Peaceful settlement.... continued


For a moment so still, it seemed like one at the crossroads considering options. In this case it was two persons, and the event of the scrub brush “to ask or not to ask”. Certainly not so much for Leah as it was for Eve. As the former went away that day to continue on her toilet floors, she wondered about a friendship. In the Rosemary the girls are continually surrounded by people. They smile at the love birds and stare from behind doors at the celebrities. What stories the French or Chinese bring, or the polite nods from Japanese, they embrace interestedly and dream about. But they are selfish with these dreams. Quite unlike other young girls who chirp and twitter long into the night, it’s silent for Eve and Leah. Telling out dreams would simply vaporize them. But while music and morning walks and breakfast cooked encourage dimensional crossings via the mind, the morning walks end, music becomes the cook’s crisp instructions and breakfast is digested.

This night at 9p.m, having prepared rooms 502 and 511 for guests due to arrive the next day and leaving a stalk of primrose on the pillows, Eve paced her own. It was a simply furnished bed-sit with cream-washed walls and no television (because television kills romance). Perhaps the only remarkable items were two framed pieces of painting hung up side by side above the two- seater. One shows the back-view of a young girl tip-toeing looking out of a window but only being able to see some red brick wall. This brick wall continues down into the alleyway where it is home to a family of cats and some dancing brown leaves, which is what the second work of art depicts- that, and the opened window from the upper storey with a small part of a girl’s head in view. Eve liked to imagine from the two paintings. She also liked to rearrange the furniture in the bed-sit. Tonight, she did no such thing. After flipping restlessly through her book, Eve laid it down with a sigh and went to sleep.

There was unrest in The Rosemary the next day. The paperboy had dashed into the motel crying, “Accident! There has been an accident!” It was fatal, it seems. At about spring every year, a pair of siblings makes it to the Rosemary B& B together. In their early 30s, Missy Prindaville is due to be married in August. Adrian is still single. It was a pact between them that for 5 years and without fail, they would take time off from work to spend “family time”. Being orphaned from young, they were affectionate towards each other and like family to the motel staff. Adrian came primarily to ride his horse. Horse was purebred and entered in competitions. But having suffered an ulcer that took 6 months to heal and that later became a keloid in his left buttock, Horse henceforth lost his material worth and the owner let it graze in the orchards. This was until Adrian came along and loved it to its palm-sized flaw. This morning however, Horse did not successfully leap over the trunk in the brook and Adrian went in head- first, breaking his neck instantaneously.

Missy Prindaville wept and mourned at the funeral, said she would be back every spring. But for now she had to return to the city for her wedding. The Rosemary too had to go on as before, for though deeply saddened by the demise of one of their much loved patrons, Adrian was after all only a patron. Eve and Leah were the biggest hit. Eve felt like the little girl in the painting, and death was the red brick wall, certain and hard. This wall obscured all that was beyond and Eve blamed herself for not being able to know more. These feelings had not, however, obscured her observations of the other young girl who had taken to writing music late into the night. Eve hears the humming and scratching sounds of pencil on paper when she crosses the hall to use the toilet. Despite the late nights, the kitchen hand’s work did not suffer. The cooking and eating area was always without grime and now that some cooking jobs were left to her, the fragrance of eggs and bacon seasoned with pepper continued to raft in The Rosemary. But if Leah was once upon a time polite to Eve, she now didn’t see her.

One late January morning, when the autumn leaves had started to gather and part for the fairies’ crossing, the girls once again came to face with each other with a little more than a perfect courtesy. It all happened when Eve stepped past Leah’s room and the latter was not around. The door was ajar and Eve could see that the wind had started to blow the transcripts loose on the table and onto the floor. She quickly ran in to prevent more mischief from being done. Having placed a paperweight on the papers and set the panes firmly down, she turned to leave but jolted when she saw Leah standing at the door frame.
“ Your papers…”
“ yes, thank you. I rushed up here when I realized my carelessness.”
“Alright then. They’re safe.” Eve smiled shyly as she stepped past Leah. Until she realized the tears coming down the girl’s face.
“This is the music playing in my head the days and nights of the wake and funeral. I couldn’t sleep until I got them on paper. But how do you get rid of the sadness?”
“You don’t. But you know, it’s going to be ok. We can go through this together.” And saying that, the taller girl gave the smaller, sobbing one a hug.

Dear Heavenly Father,

Thank You for Your many promises of blessings. I am thankful that You are my refuge and I can run to You when I am in trouble. I am also grateful that You keep me from the traps of the devil. Lord, I do love You, and I ask that You cleanse my heart from any thing that is not like You. Strengthen me to walk worthy before You and my fellow men. Lord, restore the "fear of the Lord" to Your people today. Lord, forgive us when, in certain areas, we have become too casual about the things of God. Instill in us, Your people, a reverential fear of Your Holy Name and Word. I ask this in Jesus' name. Amen.

Prayer from http://www.bible.com/devotional-detail.php?juli=2454210&dtype=Proverbs on Psalms 109, “The fear of the Lord”

Something about swimming (III)
-Creatures of habit-

I swam in different waters today. Where usually I’d inhabit the third lane from extreme right, I took the centre lane. This part I tip-toed to with trepidation, for even the waters felt colder. This is the lane which dissects the blue rectangle block in half and which many avoid for obvious reasons.
Firstly, it’s a mother’s warning that centre lane is where you will most possibly experience some form of danger and difficulty; cramps, breathlessness or sudden inability or forgetfulness to swim. For the life-guards to get to you, they will have to cut through four lanes a- side, most inadvertently being hindered by several bobbers along the way, and all these essential minutes, only having ascertained it not a prank. Of course, normal swimmers in the neighbour lanes will not even try to rescue you since they are not the mandated life-savers.

Secondly, the kind of swimmers there are harder to assess. Just today, I was doing the usual can’t-look-in-front front-crawl when suddenly I felt some strange inhibition. A palm was placed atop my head by an old man swimmer from the opposite direction to stop me proceeding and banging into him. Quite akin to a policeman signaling “no going ahead” (pun not intended), this was his own way of avoiding collision. Thirdly, centre lane is attention-grabbing. I have memories of the campus pool, where lanes are numbered according to the efficiency of the swimmer. Lane one is fastest, lane ten for those opting for aqua-aerobics aka water walking. Lane five is judgment lane because obviously, if you were a lane six swimmer you were below average. Centre lane is viewed with intensity and interest.

Could these, then, be the reasons for snorting in more water, battling bigger waves and experiencing more jerky motions and strength-less kicks? Is it more pieces of queer pieces of band-aids, dark thread, hair and leaves I see on the pool floor?


Or could it be that I am just a creature of habit- third lane from extreme right, and that only?

Something about swimming (II)
-The head-on collision-

So. swimming takes my breath away. It starts from the kick-off, thoughts of life and its ironies; the seventh lap, the ‘what would I be having for dinner’ question… and… with a “BANG!” “ouch!” I cough , sputter and flail my arms. Do I look back to indicate contrition or intense pain or do I swim off? This time I continue on my way hoping the other person won’t recognize my blue swim suit and matching turquoise goggles. Always expected but unexpected; inevitable and yet trained to avoid, is the nature of collision. There is always the question of who’s at fault. And of course most of the time, I won’t think it’s me. It can’t have been. The other person must know that when you do the front-crawl you look down, and then tilt sideways to get air, not up and ahead.

There’s the nicely plump, middle age auntie in her flower power suit who can’t control her breast-stroke direction; the 7-year old kid in his lesson-explaining-pyjamas, and the sleek snobbish swimmer who should’ve known better. But when auntie murmurs “OI!” in a shouting kind of way, the kid looks up at his coach and points to my direction, and the sleek swimmer is triathlete whose timing I’ve apparently ruined, it becomes my responsibility to practice pool safety. No wonder judgment comes from above, when you are not in a position to say who’s wrong. But saying all that, the “sorry” is hard and late. It either comes out in a gurgle or the other has swum away.

When I finally finish the laps and rest at the side, still breathing hard and thinking, I ponder that given the natural nature of collision, the only time you may not bump and knock is when you remain like a frog on a lotus leave. Calm and unruffled; undisturbed because uninvolved. Oh is that so? Because even with me clinging to the wall and my back facing the populous, the arm’s stroke of an in-coming swimmer hits me like electricity.


With that, the lotus leaf overturns and the frog plops back into the water.

Something about swimming

I’m no professional swimmer. The retirees at the community pool possibly surge past me. They wait each morning outside the gates at a quarter past six. I can also relate of at least one avid swimmer who camped out in the toilet overnight to await dawn, so there’s commitment for you. And the involvement of the police. But as I do my first kick off from the wall and take my gulp of air, something about the feel of water, blurry blue lines on the floor; the lap ahead, makes me feel the life of --life.

As a swimmer friend once told me, walking and running come naturally to us since we are trained the moment we can from birth. We stride, sprint and stroll upright until death or unless pre-maturely incapacitated. But in water, it’s an education of a whole new world! We un-breathe or we die; our equilibrium goes awry; the pressure startles us into floating or sinking, and goggles irritate us more than our eye glasses or contact lenses. We don’t even have an operation like “lasik” to remove the ciliary muscles in our human eyes. In fact, my mom often randomly quotes the Chinese proverb that “water is much more feared than mountain.” This is the nature of water that makes the swim a form of conquer.

Comparable to life, we want to do more than survive. We want to succeed in it. Not just drift along where currents bring us, but be able to swim against the tide, or allow its strength to push us forward. We learn the breast-stroke, butterfly, frontcrawl. And when wanting the best of both worlds, we do the backstroke. This morning, I’m doing more frontcrawl than the other styles. There are moments when I forget I am swimming, and think about the day’s commitments, and all the movements become mechanical. But with a distracting splash from the next swimmer, I lose my momentum and begin thrashing about. It takes some effort to regain the poise and rhythm, and discipline to feel the way my body moves.

Something about swimming that makes the shower more refreshing and the gift from a friend, a raspberry bath, more fragrant. Something about swimming that makes the steps to work a little lighter, and the work clothes softer. Something about swimming that makes the diet coke taste more delicious and no less sinful. Something about swimming that makes the team meeting later—


what meeting?

3 to eternity

because you

1. have a face i can wake up to each morning
2. respect people by being punctual
3. are good to my family and try in your way to get to know them.
4. can cook and don't think it's only a woman's job
5. would like me to cook for you.
6. do the housework and don't think it's only a woman's job
7. are appreciative of me when I do tasks you normally don't like to do, but dont expect it of me.
8. enjoy reading
9. recommend good books to me
10.crack jokes that make me laugh out loud
11.are not petty
12.are not afraid to cry
13.are objective
14.remember the things i like
15.will not leave me to my own devices or defences
16.are a family boy and who love your parents and brother, and it shows.
17.forgive me
18.remind me to pray
19.remind me to be grateful
20.are creative
21.make the effort in everything you do
22.are tall. and I like tall guys
23.like both chess and soccer because that way your character has been influenced by these two hobbies.
24.like to eat but are not fussy about your food
25.are a good example of being abstemious
26.are intelligent and discrete
27.are generous with your time, thoughts, person and money
28.have direction and continue to trust in the Lord to make your way straight.
29.write very well. And 'words' happen to be one of my love languages.
30.like to buy things for me and appreciate the things I buy for you.
31.are patient with my moods.
32.are appreciative of my appearance and presentation and reassure me, though it may not be the most important thing.
33.appreciate my piano-playing and encourage me in it
34.work on things I am particular about. (like not eating loudly)
35.are good with kids like your brother, and are like a brother to your friends.
36.are a disciplined person.
37.have parents that brought you up the way they did, for the person you have become to be.
38.and I met in Australia, and have precious moments there that I will keep closely to my heart.
39.are interested in Psychology, and I, social work, because it is a great talking point.
40.make contact with me several times a day to say you love me.
41.make effort in your appearance but are not vain.
42.have life priorities that I would want in my life partner
43.are someone whom i can share my problems and talk about my work with.
44.share with me about your work and knowledge
45.calm me down when I am angry
46.help me verbalise my thoughts when they are a lump of mumble jumble
47.and I have room to grow as a couple in Christ.
48.and I both want to keep dogs.
49.have parents happen to be in the fields that I am in. I believe God has well organised this.
50.and I met in Zion. Not an unlikely place and period. But the best, grace-filled place and period.
51.and I are melancholics
52.are a phlegmatic, and I a sanguine, so that with our differences, we are a nice fit.
53.do not mind taking public transport and walking. Although when tired we wished for a car (which we will get in 54.future for sure), this has made us grateful for the cheap, simple things.
55.were brought up in a middle-class family, like mine. For that, some of our life perspectives are the same.
56.are careful with your money knowing that it's the Lord's resources too.
57.have nice facial features like big eyes, sharp nose, good complexion and well-shaped lips.
58.look for the good in adverse situations
59.hate sin but love the sinner.
60.like to hold my hand and accept hugs
61.like to shop when many guys find it pointless.
62.respect my need for quiet and space.
63.take interest in my friends and knows some of their names
64.and i have mutual friends, and this number is growing.
65.have friends that i like and who like me.
66.like fixing up the christmas tree with me
67.are not fixated on physical beauty and encourage me not to as well.
68.and i can just sit and count the number of people wearing shorts, and enjoy such activity together.
69.are sensitive to my compulsions and fears.
70.and I have walked in storms before. both Literally and figuratively.
71.don't nag me too much
72.are alert even when you are tired. that to me is mental strength and discipline.
73.will rest when you are tired. that to me is discipline.
74.will watch a movie with me and don't mind it when I fall asleep in it.
75.offer to send me home.
76.meet me for lunch at my workplace whenever you can.
77.are pedantic but do not impose your expectations on others.
78.like walking through museums, like me.
79.do not enjoy gore and terror movies, like me.
80.try to mean yes when you say "yes", and no, when you say "no".
81.do not take things too seriously, or at least try not to.
82.have an opinion everytime I ask for one.
83.pronounce your words properly and are not a lazy talker except for the occasional "rapsberries" and " warps"
84.are not lazy.
85.sit through shows like "america's next top model" although you have great disdain for them. because you know I 86.watch them.
87.eat baked beans with me, and bread with peanut butter.
88.have sensible fashion sense.
89.rebuke me when you think I have gotten out of line.
90.do not think that considering nice names for his children next time is a scary activity.
91.are romantic not in the way of a dozen red roses, but more a story writer of a dozen roses.
92.consider me in the decisions that you make
93.help me in my decision making.
94.believe in learning something new everyday!
95.are confident in your strengths
96.know that you are not perfect but take comfort in knowing that you are being perfected each day.
97.are a frank person.
98.constantly return to God to please Him.
99.are nice to your female friends.
100.pursued me in exactly the way that I wanted even though it was out of your comfort zone.
101.strive to be a healthy person by "eating slowly"
102.are adept in your english language
103.are patient with my baby steps to improve and do not expect me to take quantum leaps.
104.have good taste in female bags, shoes and clothes and help me choose things.
105.are thorough in your undertakings, from jotting down schedules to planning activities to the littlest details.
106.have varied tastes in books and movies across genres and times periods.
107.you size people up on first meeting, but also gives them the benefit of doubt.
108.don't fall sick frequently, though you have the most wrenching morning cough and back/knee pains. (pregnant?)
109.do jigsaw puzzles
110.are extremely practical. Even though sometimes I am frustrated with that, I know that it's also a virtue to have.
111.help your mom with gardening, and have bought your own vegetable seeds, though I have yet to see the crops of your labour. We will get our own garden soon.
112. are not mushy and cliche.

113.have taught me what it is to be in a relationship with someone.

Opening 2007's gift