the last night

It's 2.23am.

It's the third night of the wake.

It's the last night of the wake.

It's the second wake of the year.

It's the second wake in two months.

Once again, I am back at where I was two months ago. I remember exactly two months ago, at the exact same place, Richard's wake was just done and over with. We went up to the apartment flat, my auntie went to rest in the room, my sister gave her a little massage, we talked about life in the living room, on the way home believing that she was going to go soon, but not believing it would be in this year or the next, deciding we should spend more time with each other.

Exactly two months later, I receive a phone call. “你的姨妈走了。”

I called my cousin.

"Hey... is it... is it.. uh..."

"Yes. Yes she's gone."

I packed up my macdonald's lunch, went to the bus stop, got picked up by my pastor and arrived at the hospital, entered the room, my heart broke. All three of us, two pastors and myself, couldn't find a word to break repeated the chant in the room: “老婆。。老婆。。”

My tears came before my words. Or rather, they came in place of words.

After about 5 minutes of silence, sobs and hands being on shoulders, my uncle stopped, and gives us the story:

The date is 13th March 2011. It was a Sunday. As on most Sundays, the couple went to church, sang some worship songs, listened to the pastor preach, mingled with various members, all cheerful and believing that the world is a wonderful place.

They went for lunch, just as they would usually do on Sundays after church, and then retires to their apartment. She says she was feeling tired. She goes to rest in the room.

After a while, she calls out to him from the room. "Something's came out of my mouth," she says. He takes a look. Blood was coming out of her mouth. Shocked, he went to dial for an ambulance, and then comes back to carry her and wipes the blood with towel.

It kept coming. Kept coming. One towel after another was soaked in the red essence of life that was ebbing out of her frail body. He held her, held her, held her, until she passed out. He tells her, “老婆，不要睡啊。。”

She never woke up. He didn't know if she was just unconscious or... or... and he didn't know what to do. So he just held her, hoping, praying.

The ambulance arrived, and took the vital signs, and they announce... they...

"I'm sorry..."

At the wake, except for a few reckless ones, words are chosen carefully, as if they were mines laid out across the battlefield. The common ones are, 'it's good to move on', 'she's in a better place', 'God is with her', 'she can be with Richard now', 'there's not more suffering for her'.

Others remain silent.

Words are difficult, words do not suffice, words... are all we have for now.

We were ten. And now we are eight.

meow, meow meow

The cat.

The cat has been visiting rather often lately. For the past few nights, he would appear at my gate and mew, and my parents would inform me of his arrival (because I am holed up in my room doing my work whenever I am at home in the night). Then I would prepare food for the cat and set up a nice little supper snack outside my door.

Tonight he came again. As usual, I was in my room and I heard a very soft mew from the outside, and my mum's announcement that he is here once again. I wanted to play with him for a bit, so I opened the gate and let him in.

He walked right in, as if he had been into the house a thousand other times in the past. He walked around, looking here and there, searching all the gaps and corners in the house. He walked and stopped sometimes, turning his head left and right, tilting his head down and lifting it up again. He was looking for something. Looking for what?

He searched the living room, he searched my sister's room, he searched my room, and then not being able to find whatever he was looking for, he went back to the living room, sat down and started mewing for about 5 seconds.

Then my sister made a comment, that he's here to look for his friend. And oh yes, he had a friend. And his friend was staying here in this house, right before we moved in. But now, his friend is in Canada with the family that has moved out and migrated. The cat was not informed. His friend could not tell him. They have been separated and they do not even know why.

That's why the cat came in, as he usually did in the past, looking for his friend for a little late night chat, but could not find him, and instead found this new group of people who are following him around the house. Cats have no concept of travel, or home. They just believe in the simple pleasures of meeting each other every night and catching up with each other.

Convinced that his friend is no longer around in the apartment but not knowing why, he just sat the gate and stare into space. I wonder what was going in his mind as he just sat there and stare. He must have been expecting to see his friend, came to the place but only to find a different apartment at the same location, with no friend in sight.

He must have felt disappointed, or even betrayed, because his friend left without a word. Just as how so many humans have came and patted him on the head, cuddled with him, played with him and just as he felt that he really liked them, they left him. He will follow them but they will only find means to leave him behind. He has always been left behind.

A sense of sadness washed over me as these thoughts worked through my head. I wanted to keep him in the house but was not allowed to by the Empress Dowager. So I prepared a nice midnight snack for him, brought him out of the house and left him there to eat. But you can always come back, always come back and ask for me and I will come and talk with you, give you your snack and play with you.

I will. I will.

and death.

I wish that when I wake up in the morning, I will realise it is but a nightmare.

Still, my girlfriend is most amazing for the support she has given me.

emergency money

Overheard while I was on my way to lunch this afternoon:

"Mommy, I spent my $12 emergency money today... On sponge books..."

I do not know what "sponge books" is supposed to mean, it's probably something that has to do with school since his class just ended, and I could have heard wrongly because I wasn't paying much attention to this primary school child who is probably less than 10 years old, but I felt something in me that was special.

Here is a kid, talking into his mobile phone (a mobile phone at such a young age! I only had a pager!) and telling his mum that he has spent an amount of money that is reserved for emergency purposes only.

And I resolved in my heart that I am going to raise my kid this way, to teach him/her the importance of having budget, the importance of having monies stored away for emergency.

a very late new year post

The new year has come and gone, and as my friends have said during our mini-countdown party involving sukiyaki, barley, streetfighter IV, fireworks off in the distant Malaysia, and new year resolutions, "there will never be a new year but an old one."

So it probably doesn't matter whether this post is late by a day or late by 7 days. But still, I decided that something written in this manner and nature would be more appropriate to be given the title of "First Blog Post of 2011."

Personally, I felt that 2010 has been a really good year. It's been a year of challenges, surprises, and finally closing with rest. It's a good feeling, to feel that the year has ended, and that nothing too major, or urgent, or bad has been brought over to the next. It feels as if I can start the new year as new. Alright, it's just a feeling. Of course I am still having studies to be worried about, amidst other things, well.

A look back on the year:

School

2010 marked the promotion from Year 1 to Year 2. The jump in difficulty was really quite significant. Where I thought Year 1 Sem 2 was pretty tough, Year 2 Sem 1 only proved to be so much tougher. Still, I thank God for pulling me through, and I am only glad that the semester is over (even if that means I have another one to look forward to). Thank God for wonderful group mates during the first half of the year, people whom I have befriended and can really depend on for the rest of my time in SCI. Group work in 2nd half wasn't that great, but I still thank God that we have had our moments of superb inspirations and creativity, which until now I am still quite proud of. Overall, school in 2010 had been fun, and I hope it will still be in 2011.

CCA

2010 kicked off with the Singapore Canoe Marathon (which will also kick off 2011 on 9th Jan as well). Didn't exactly do very well, but considering that I had barely any experience and it being my first competition, I comfort myself by saying that at least I was in the middle rankings. Had a few more competitions - MR500, Round Ubin Kayak Race. The year closed with the Round Ubin Kayak Race 2010, which I felt we did really well. Got 5th, and the team overall won the Seniors Champion. And that was a good closing, in my opinion. 2011 - same competitions, but I hope we will do so much better. To start it off, again, Singapore Canoe Marathon, and I will be doing 31km this time. God bless me.

Church

Hasn't been the greatest of years in church, for a number of reasons. I joined the YCG Ministry in March, and until today, I felt that it's been both a good thing and a bad thing. The good thing is that I have so much more opportunities to serve God, to be active in the planning phase, and to help out people who matters to me. It's much more than that, but I should probably keep it short. The bad thing - it's draining my fire. Sometimes, I get so disillusioned by the number of things I need to do that I lose sight of what really mattered at first. The number of events really took a toll on me, and sometimes I would just ask myself in the middle of the night, "just what on earth am I doing all these for?" There are other things, but I'll leave it at that. Still, it's been good to see the YCG moving on to a different level of things under new leadership, and I have so much more to learn for this year.

Singapore Youth Olympic Games

Volunteered my time to help out during the games, and served in the position of Marshals Supervisor. Well, I have to say that it wasn't easy, because it requires me to lead other volunteers, whom I don't even know well. To wake up at 4.30am (just like in the army days) in order to reach NTU by 5am, planning the roster for the day and making sure everyone's welfare is taken care of. And then to attend the ops meeting, and then to walk about to ensure that everything is in order. And before you know it, it's lunch and then it's home time. It's been fun. Ops meeting really opened up my eyes to how complicated and difficult it is to organise an event such as the YOG. And I also got to meet so many other people from so many other countries, an opportunity which I don't think will come very often. Still, the uniform changing thing, ugh, don't remind me.

Part Time Jobs

Took up part time jobs, like really part time jobs, for the first time since I left the military. Tried the telemarketing line, but had a really bad experience. Didn't like it at all, simply because it was really boring. Calling numbers after numbers and getting rejected again and again simply wasn't a good feeling. Besides, I hated telemarketers myself. Moved on to work as an assistant chef, and that proved to be a much more rewarding experience. Not only did I learn very relevant kitchen skills and cooking experience, I also made friends whom I really enjoyed working with. On top of that, I was able to eat free food. :P In 2011, however, I think I am not going back to the kitchen, or at least not Coffee Club, because the people I worked with has left. And I am looking forward more to internships, either at SPH, or with the government service.

House Moving

Moved twice this year. First to Taman Jurong, which was a really bad experience, and then back to a different part of Yew Tee. The new house is pretty nice, and though I still miss the old one, I have found that I am starting to love this place over the past month. New furniture always feels good, and my room is so much neater now with refreshing colours. I thank God and all my friends, and especially ST for being with me through the difficult time of house moving, and hope that the next time I move, it will be a much more pleasant experience than this one.

The Year In General

In sum, the year has been a pretty good year. At the top of the list - girlfriend. But I shall not elaborate much on this public blog. And then there was Taiwan, which reminds me that I should probably write out a travel journal or post on the trip, since this blog recorded nothing concerning Taiwan, which has been a really fantastic and memorable trip for me. I wanna go travelling in 2011 again! And which also reminds me, that I haven't even uploaded the Taiwan photos on Facebook yet. Gosh, I am really fail.

2011

I want 2011 to be an even better year, or at least something of similar quality to 2010. I want to learn new things. First to come would be to learn driving, and after that, to really set my nerves down to pick up my dusty guitar and really learn it, again. I want to improve my relationships with the people around me. I want to repair what has been broken in my family, and love, or at least try to, my parents again. I want to do even better for school, and though unrealistic, I would like to try for First Class Honours. Okay, might not actually achieve it, but nothing wrong with aiming high, in my opinion. And of course, to love everyone around me, to see everyone happy, to make more friends, to read more books and know more things. That it would be a good year.

just another sunday. maybe.

Went to church. Took a bus with girlfriend. Took lunch with friends. Had a little conversation. Went home. Wrote an article. Read a book. Sleep.

I realised I haven't had a Sunday like this in a really long time.

Day 24, Week 3, 2 More Days

It's been 24 days in this place at Taman Jurong, or more specifically, BLK 63 Yung Kuang Road. It sure wasn't the best 24 days I could ask for, really.

I don't have much time to write, as I have got one (one last) essay to complete but I shall write for writing's sake, but also because I want to write while I am still qualified to write about the place while I am still at the place. (even though right now, I am typing this in school, which goes to show that I hate the place so much that I really don't want to even stay in there after my school is done. And really, I've never stayed at the flat for an afternoon from the day we moved in. I simply had to get out.)

At first, I didn't care too much about it. Sure the place was a little out of the way. It was small. The floor was a little dirty and dusty but it got fixed with a little clean up. Only one shower room and one toilet bowl room. Kitchen was damn poorly equipped. I could live with that, I told myself. And I could, really.

But what got on my nerves (and onto my skin) was the bedbugs. Yes, BEDBUGS. It is absolutely irritating, and annoying (I know both words are synonyms but I used them anyway to make my point that IT SUCKS). I didn't know it was bedbugs at first. I thought it was mosquito bites. So I got my mum to buy this mosquito repellent thing for the room. But it didn't work. And I was wondering why the mosquito were still biting me when I have already installed the repellent thing.

Days went by like this, and I kept getting bitten. Then one day my girlfriend asked me if it could be bedbugs, and that was when it struck me: it could be bedbugs. Like OH MY GOD. I went to google "bedbug bites" and wala, it looked exactly the same. I read up more on bedbugs and their bites and realised that everything fitted my circumstance: multiple bites around the same area, huge swell, little blood stains on the bed (like, urgh). I confirmed it was bedbugs.

Went home to tell my parents, and they didn't believe me. I don't know. It's either they didn't believe me, or they didn't bother and couldn't care less since they were not the ones getting bitten anyway. So what did I do. I can't exactly just let those bloodsuckers bite the hell out of me.

I took a can of Baygone, and sprayed around. I hunted down the crevices and cracks where the bedbugs could be hiding and alas, there they were, hiding in these little holes in the wall. I took the can of Baygone and spray right into the hole and watch one, and two bedbugs die in it. I camped at night, spending up to 1 or 2 hours without sleep just looking for those pests, and then spraying them with my can of bug killer or just squashing them with tissue paper.

There was once when I saw one crawling on the bed, and I told my mum, "Look! Bedbug!" and she just squinted her eyes, "Where? I can't see it.".

I pointed right at the where the bedbug was laying motionless, and she was like "where? I can't see it. My eyesight very bad." I took a piece of tissue paper, grabbed the bedbug and put it right in front of her eyes. Ah, THERE she saw it.

After a few days of Baygone treatment, the bedbugs were still having a good time. I decided that it was time for me to move out of the room. I migrated my mattress to the living room, gave the spot where I was sleeping a good Baygone treatment, and slept there. But it was to no avail. There were still bedbug bites when I woke up the next morning.

Another night, I was camping again, looking out for bedbugs. This time, I employed another tactic (albeit a more traditional one): 风油. I sprinkled it around my bed as a sort of area defence, and I just stayed around to observe. I don't know whether it was because of the 风油 but I noticed this bedbug travelling on the wall. I took a tissue paper and crushed it right where it was, and a huge bloodstain was left on the wall. MY BLOOD. The bloody sucker has apparently taken a good meal while I was on my bed doing my work and was about to go home to rest for the night. Not so fast, sucker.

Three nights of 风油 treatment and the bedbug problem still persisted. So it didn't work. Bedbugs were not afraid of 风油, contrary to what a friend of mine suggested. And by some interesting turn of events, another friend of mine noticed the bites on my arms and asked me about it. I told her it was bedbugs and she was like, "oh no! I actually had a YCG member who was also plagued with bedbugs and I bought her these cans of bedbugs spray to eradicate the problem..."

Immediately there was a sparkle in my eyes, I tell you. Bedbug spray, eradicate problem. That was just what I needed right now, I thought to myself. I told her to try and help me obtain one can of the miracle spray to save me from getting sucked dry by the bloodsuckers. So two days later, she got a can. $7.90, and my saviour is in my hands.

I went home, and gave the place a good spraying. No bedbugs appeared, but I wasn't confident that it would work. And if it didn't, I would really have no other options left, since this was THE bedbug spray and my parents wouldn't care to call up the landlord of the place. Next morning, I still got the bites.

But I was at my wits end. So I just sprayed every night before I sleep. Spray and spray and spray and my parents could only complain about how smelly the spray is and they couldn't sleep because I kept spraying the can.

One night, as I was preparing to go to bed, I looked around for bedbugs again. And I saw one, trying to hide under the flooring, but still visible in the open. I took the can, aimed it right at the bug and gave it a good shower of bedbug spray. It struggled a little, and eventually its lifeforce ebbed away. I took a piece of paper with a sticky end, got the bedbug's body to stick on the sticky end, and took a picture with the word "bedbug" pointing to the body. I left the paper near where my parents put their keys so that I can prove to them there were bedbugs.

My mum called up the landlord, and they came to check but couldn't find any bedbugs. The landlord then said she will bring in an "expert" to check, who turns out to be her mother from China anyway, who didn't even turn up in the end and no one bothered to follow up with it. It just irks me how everything was so half-hearted.

But it's alright. In another 2 days time I will be moving to Yew Tee, to a place that is normal where my normal life can happen and where I can have the privacy of my own room and joys of a clean and comfortable environment to sleep in. A place where there are no bedbugs (the whole mattress had to be thrown away because we were afraid there would be an infestation in it). Where I have a table where I can work and study.

And I am glad. I am very glad that I am getting to leave this hellhole. This place that is fit for an episode of "Survivor: Singapore".

But the place isn't that bad anyway, I am contradicting myself here. As in the conditions are really bad, but the softer things aren't so bad. For one, the food centre near the place boasts of very nice egg pancake and roasted meat rice. Apparently, the legendary roasted meat rice stall opens at 11.30am and is all sold out by 1.30pm. If you are lucky, he may open until 2pm.

I have also witnessed a sight that I probably wouldn't have gotten to see elsewhere. One, there were some really poor families who were living there. However, these people were not miserable. There was once when I was waiting for the lift and this family was with me and there was this baby and they were all talking with each other and playing with the baby and suddenly I just felt that the place wasn't that bad afterall and I was really being childish and pampered to keep complaining about it. Maybe they didn't have a bedbug problem, but still, it was their contentment with the simple things of life that struck me.

And to wrap it all up, I would say that it was quite an experience. To stay in this place. Both good and bad. Think of it as when you stay overseas at some rundown place while you are doing OCIP or some volunteer work (I know of the whole overseas volunteer paradox, but I'm leaving that out of here) and then you feel that you appreciate your home so much and you learn about how people from other less-well-to-do areas obtain pleasure from the simple things in life. It's a little like that, really.

A month in Taman Jurong, BLK 63 Yung Kuang Road was all one need for the same experience.

In the lift

The lift door opens.

There were about six of us waiting, and the Indian man in front of the door goes in first. He hesitates, and then walks into the lift.

I'm next, and I immediately find out why he hesitated in entering the lift: there was a puddle of curry in the middle of the lift floor.

I carefully step around it, making sure that my flip-flops does not get stained with the curry.

Next to enter is a family, and they do the same thing, carefully stepping around the curry puddle.

I shuffle to the back of the lift. And because of the puddle, I can't reach the buttons panel.

"Er..." Woman from the family attempts to ask me which floor I live at, but couldn't get the words out.

"Eleven"

"Eleven" She tells the Indian man who is standing closest to the buttons panel.

He presses the button "11" and waits.

The lift door doesn't close. So the woman tells the man to press the "close" button. And he does. Lift door closes.

Up the lift goes, and all of us just stare at the puddle of curry until we reach our floors.

Just a puddle of curry.

I wonder who will clean it up.

If I were a piano player, I'd play it in the goddam closet

"He had a big damn mirror in front of the piano, with this big spotlight on him, so that everybody could watch his face while he played. You couldn't see his fingerswhile he played—just his big old face. Big deal. I'm not too sure what the name of the song was that he was playing when I came in, but whatever it was, he was really stinking it up. He was putting all these dumb, show-offy ripples in the high notes, and a lot of other very tricky stuff that gives me a pain in the ass. You should've heard the crowd, though, when he was finished. You would've puked. They went mad. They were exactly the same morons that laugh like hyenas in the movies at stuff that isn't funny. I swear to God, if I were a piano player or an actor or something and all those dopes thought I was terrific, I'd hate it. I wouldn't even want them to clap for me. People always clap for the wrong things. If I were a piano player, I'd play it in the goddam closet."

- J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Night. Taxi driver. Jokes.

The night is a quiet one. No storm. No lightning. Just the cab driver and I ploughing down the lonely road home at 2am.

The radio plays softly over the stereo but a silent gap still exists between the driver and me. It's the gap that is always there when you take a cab. Two strangers forced to sit together for a good half hour. Usually we just stare at the road.

He was the one who attempted to break this gap first.

"Do you want to hear a joke?"

Sure thing. I didn't mind a joke on the half hour trip home. Besides, it's probably too rude to turn down his very kind offer.

"Which emperor of china is blind?"

The first thing that came to my mind: I've heard this one before. Second thing: should I just give the correct answer? I spent some time thinking this through, while the driver thinks that I am going through a list of Chinese emperors to find who lost his sense of sight.

My reply: "I don't know. Who is it?" I smiled.

"Kang xi hung di. Because he can't see ma."

Both of us laughed.

"Have you heard the one about the falling fruits on the head?"

I shook my head and he shared jokes with me all the way home.

my last night here with you, same old songs, just once more

I am typing this from my home in BLK 686B Choa Chu Kang Crescent #08-232 for the last time. IN another one and a half hours time, that is about 2130HRS, 9th November 2010, I will leave this place. Involuntarily.

Even until now, I find it difficult to accept the fact that we have to move. However, it's not just the moving that I find it hard to swallow. Actually, it is not even about the moving. It is about the fact that no one bothered about what I felt, or what my sister felt. It is about the eagerness to sell the place and not find a new home in time, causing us to have to shift temporarily to an old and lousy (which I haven't seen for myself yet, but my mum admitted to me that it was old and lousy, so) apartment in the remote corner of Taman Jurong, which you could probably guess that it is in Jurong (because, duh) but which you probably have no idea which part of Jurong it is in because it is so god damn remote and ulu and... and... stupid.

And even if it is not the wisdom that my parents have in selling and not buying in time (as Brother Lachman so aptly put it, "wisdom"), it is about the fact that no one cares to make it any better. No one bothers to talk to me about it (because it ends up in quarrels anyway), and no one bothers to pack, and no one bothers to ensure that everything goes smoothly. And now, because of all this, we have to give up our turtles for adoption. Like, WHAT THE FUCK. I am still not convinced that the place can't even hold 2 fish tanks. And that's the only bloody reason they are giving me. "Oh, the place is too small, we can't put the fish tanks." The stupidity, oh the damned pathetic stupidity (or perhaps I should say wisdom).

Okay, EVEN if it is not that. Ultimately, it's the promise. From the moment they mentioned the house selling to me, the images have been playing in my head.

We are walking home from dinner. That was in 2002 I suppose, when we first moved to this place. And I ask, "So how long will we be staying here?"

"Until all of you get married, and move out on your own, of course."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

And we go home together, smiling, as a family, knowing that this is going to be our home.

Because of this promise, I treated this place as my permanent home. I keep stashes of memories, things that remind me of my past, thinking that I don't have to move. I make my room comfortable, and fit everything nicely according to how I like it.

Then this happens. As I pack everything in boxes, as I tear down the things I pasted on the walls, as I remove the different things from the different stashes that I placed them into, AS I THROW THE THINGS THAT SERVE ONLY NOSTALGIA BECAUSE I COULDN'T BRING EVERYTHING OVER, every single item I hold and put into the box or throw reminds me of this promise. And in reminder of this promise, it reminds me, oh how it reminds me, of how the promise is broken. Shattered into a million pieces like sand that just flows out of one's hand. A promise treated as if it has never been spoken of before. A promise of which it's value goes down to naught.

But ultimately, I have to let go. Let it all go. Like the memories that I let go into the rubbish chute, I let it go and I lose a part of myself. Give up the fight and surrender, for it is a meaningless battle. I have fought up till this moment, and defeat is knocking on my door. Another hour! And I will be gone. This place, MY HOME for the past 8 years, no longer my home.

I pray, with all sincerity, that this will go away. This stubbornness, bitterness, this part of me. That I will soon get used to the new place (which I will not be moving into until a month later, anyway). That I will stay strong and happy. That I will be myself again.

The most beautiful

The man said, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

But of course, for her that was something very difficult to believe. Women these days find such things too cliché, too common and too superficial. So she says, “I’m not.”

You see, the problem is this: It really is very difficult for the man to prove otherwise. Because it is very unlikely that his girlfriend is ACTUALLY the Miss Universe, which would then make it very easy to argue that she was INDEED the most beautiful woman in the world, although that might not be true as well.

To say something like, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”, or “beauty is subjective” (they mean the same thing anyway) is really quite cliché, and it actually doesn’t mean anything much either. Because the fact that beauty is subjective makes his statement of “you are the most beautiful in the world” a very subjective statement as well.

But the thing is, when the man said such a thing, he meant it. He didn’t say it just to please his girlfriend or make her happy. He didn’t say it just so he can end the night on a “beautiful” note. He said it because he meant it.

Well, when the man said she was the most beautiful woman in the world, it’s not because she’s the Miss Universe, or that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but because in his eyes, in his world, there really is nobody else.

"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference."

打就是疼， 骂就是爱。

The Chinese has never hit the bull's eye as accurately as this does when it comes to such paradoxes.

Sometimes, I do wonder - why do we do the things we do, say the things we say, not do the things we don't do, not say the things we don't say. I wonder why, oh why oh why is it so difficult to say "I love you" to the person that should have been the easiest to say it to. Why is it that we say the most hurting things, the most stupid things, the most ridiculous and the most outrageous things to the person who is least deserving of such abuse. Why do we always, always, always, hurt the one who love us, and whom we know, deep in our hearts, no matter what we say or do or show or tell others or write or shout or scream or cry, deep in our hearts we know we love. Not just love, but love deeply, treasured.

We contradict ourselves in this most basic of all things - love.

Why? Because we are humans. And not just because we are humans. Because love blinds. Love takes us under her arms, cover us with her shadow, and we are surrounded by the immense feeling of powerful, what you call that, LOVE, all with capital letters, that feeling of immense pleasure and security and protection from all that surrounds us, such that we become immune to anything that is NOT love. To indulge in it, to be filled by it, and then, to drown in it.

Maybe what drives us to love sometimes really isn't love itself. Imagine you are in darkness, and you see a beacon of light; what drives you to the beacon of light wouldn't be the light itself, but rather, the darkness. Or imagine you in the coldest of winter; what drives you to the fire isn't going to be the warmth, but the cold that besiege you. The knowledge and understanding of the might have been and might not have been, the possibilities, the fear. The more we indulge in love, the more we lose sight of what is not love, and the more we lose sight of what is not love, the less we realise that we are in love.

Hatred. What does it mean when we say that we hate somebody? Hatred does not come from nowhere. When someone hates another, he/she does not simply hate the person because the person is hate-able. Or simply because something displeases him/her about the person. When there is hatred, there has to be love. Love that you hope there was something more in the person, that you hope something in the person could change for the better, that you hope that things could just be different.

It takes effort to hate. In fact, it takes more effort to hate than to love. To constantly be displeased about somebody, to be agonised by this hatred, to be distracted and to be caught in between hatred and reconciliation. It doesn't feel good to hate. Why would anybody with a sound mind choose to hate people who are not even related, who he/she does not even care about? Before you can hate somebody, you have to really love that somebody.

So please know that even though I always bicker with you and make things so difficult, I love you. I love you and I hope things, these things these bad and horrible things, will only get better.

Clouds are singing a song, marching along, just like they do.

"In all those years he was the beneficiary of the infinite generosity of women, but he was the victim, too, because their forgiveness made possible the deepest and sweetest corruption of all, namely the idea that he was doing nothing wrong."

- Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses

School has started again for me. I woke up just half an hour before my first lecture (overslept) but arrived on time anyway. (because really, it takes just 10 minutes by the taxi while it takes an hour by the train/bus)

I didn't realise that I never stepped into school since my last paper last semester until I was having lunch in the afternoon. YOG isn't counted since I only went to NIE compound and part of the North Spine during the period.

School food is really cheap compared to what I've been stuffing myself with for the past few months. I must raise my discipline because all the cheap food especially Mr. Bean is tempting me to over-eat.

Church, Competition and Create

Attending "Create" last night made me realise something that has been at the corner of my small mind - competition improves quality, but kills meaning.

Being in the youth ministry, I've seen how competition has played a big part in almost everything that we do. Every time there's an event, we become all secretive about our projects, we poke around to see what others do. Intelligence, counter-intelligence, I've seen enough of this in the military. And then this attitude goes full blast especially when it comes to "Create".

I'm not saying that competition is all that bad. And I'm not saying that I'm totally not competitive either. But when the event becomes a time to outwit each other in terms of talent more than just enjoying a time of performance, something is seriously wrong.

Perhaps it's the introduction of the Inter-Region points, or the sheer number of events that the youths go through, but I realised that the way people from CGs view "Create" and the way people from YCGs view "Create" is vastly different.

For CGs, "Create" is just a time for them to get together and do something creative, something interesting outside of the usual church stuff. For the YCGs, "Create" is really more of a time to prove themselves, to showcase their respective talents to the rest of the congregation. I'm not saying either way is better than another, I'm just saying that the view that YCGs hold is slightly easier to tip over the edge, becoming a competition to find out who's better than who. (if you get what I mean)

And again, I must reiterate that I'm not saying that I'm not competitive here. I'm competitive, or I wouldn't have been in a competitive sports team myself. But when winning becomes a goal bigger than gaining experience, then perhaps we need to reconsider what we are doing this for. (even in canoeing, we still maintain the attitude of "experience over medals". We aim/train to win, but winning is really secondary, because the real reward is the training we put in and the experience we gain)

Personally, I believe that gaining a valuable experience, or learning something new is a greater reward than some vouchers or even gaining the title of "Best X of Create". And that was the main reason why I went out of the way to get myself out of the video team and put myself into the dance team. (okay, Christian Body Worship)

And now we learn that there is a very high possibility of us being last (because, out of point, yes), that doesn't mean that we will sulk our faces and go onto stage to do a mediocre performance. We'll still go up there and dance our best, because really, winning isn't everything.

(and I hope the finger pointing don't start, because we've discussed this issue at length even before we started practices, and we all agreed that we'll do this even if it meant that there was chance of it being out of point.)

Time

If I asked you, what time is it now?
What would you tell me?
23:19?
Wrong.

Because as you tell me it's 23:19, it has already jumped to 23:20.
There is no "now", or "present".
Even as I say "now", it would have been something of the past.
The "present" is nothing more than the future moving, transforming, becoming the past.
Time is fluid, in fact, too fluid for us to even think of measuring.

Because if I were to ask you the same question in London instead of in Singapore, it would have been 16:19 instead.
While we think our world as in the night, another man, in the same world, think his as in the day.
While we sleep, another awakes.
While we rest, another begins to work.
And that is just on our small tiny little planet.
Think of it in terms of the universe, of the galaxy.
If it was 23:19 here in Singapore, what time would it be on Mars?

Because if not for "time", you wouldn't even know what time it was.
If I had stolen away all the clocks and calendars in this world,
if I stopped the Earth from orbiting the Sun,
would time continue to run?
Yes, time would continue to run, but would we still know what time it was?

Because, if I asked you, "what is time?",
what would you say?

I would perhaps tell you,
that time is the most unreal thing in this world,
that has become the most real thing to us.

i'm not listening.

"Hey, do you have a scanner in your room?"

"Yes I do, why?"

"Oh, can you help me scan my IC?"

"Can."

"Ok, coz I need a photocopy of my IC la."

"Oh, you need a photocopy? Then I just photocopy for you la."

"Your scanner can photocopy? Ok, photocopy lo. Thanks."

"Is this for selling the house?"

"Yes... need the photocopy of my IC..."

"I won't do it."

"What?"

"I won't do it. I won't photocopy your IC to sell the house."

"What, don't like that la."

"I'm sorry. If you want to sell the house, go do it on your own. I will have no part in the selling of this house."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

damn it.

And I’m always pretty happy when I’m just kicking back with you

This post should have been published about 2 weeks ago, but it never did make onto the online world because:

1) I was writing halfway and then I stopped.
2) I thought I saved a draft.
3) The draft wasn't saved when I came back to check.
4) I didn't have the time/inspiration to write anything since.

Anyway, It's been 3 weeks since I started working as an Assistant Chef, or Chef Assistant, whatever makes you happy. But technically, this is only my 2nd week at work, because the past week was spent... er, preparing myself to protect my motherland (whatever). My job scope is simple, assist the chef in the kitchen, and sometimes, be the chef in the kitchen. And this includes, cutting the ingredients, preparing the ingredients, cooking the dishes, washing the dishes, cleaning the kitchen, clearing the trash, packing the fridge... amidst other random things like eating sandwiches and steak.

Overall, I like this job. It's really quite an experience, and I'm learning quite a lot. No I don't actually learn how to dish up the "fantastic" dishes because most things are already prepacked, but I did learn many "kitchen skills", and of course, I can differentiate an onion from a garlic from a ginger from an asparagus from a spinach from a broccoli. I can smell what things went bad and what can still be used. I know if something is burnt or if it's undercooked. I can cut almost anything and not make a mess in the kitchen. And most importantly, I discovered how amazing a microwave can be. And to sum it up, it's been a tiring, painful, and fun experience for myself.

It's tiring. Yes it is. Standing in the kitchen and working non-stop for up to 10 hours is seriously no joke. If I'm not washing the dishes, I'll be cutting vegetables. If I'm not cutting vegetables, I'll be packing the ingredients. If I'm not packing the ingredients, I'll be clearing the trash. If I'm not clearing the trash, I'll be cooking. If I'm not cooking, I'll be washing the dishes. Simply put, the work never stops. (and as my colleague told me, if the work stops, there won't be a need for me to work part time)

It's painful. That's just part of the deal I suppose, and it made me realise just how unprepared I was to work in the kitchen even though I had experience cooking at home. First day at work and I cut my thumb while trying to chop some tomatoes. The knife is sharp, VERY SHARP, and it doesn't take much effort to leave a deep cut on my thumb. Technically, the kitchen knife is the chef's best friend and worst enemy. And since then, I've been wielding my knife like a pro. (I'm exaggerating. I just haven't cut myself since) Second day at work and I burnt my fingers. Left quite a few blisters on my fingers. (but as my colleague says (again), every chef has burn scars to show *and then he shows me his*)

It's fun. And I'm just glad it is. Well, I actually find it quite nice that people in the cafe calls me "chef" (even though I know it's probably because they don't know what else to call me because they don't know my name). Kinda feel a little important in the place. Okay, no big deal, I know. I also picked up a whole bunch of "chef lingo", and here's a few just for starters.

a) 打仗 - to fight a war - basically, to "battle" the rush hour, usually lunch hour, madness. It is actually quite mad working during lunch, because the orders just keep coming, and one wrong move could cause the orders to just jam and... well, things can get quite crazy and frustrating. So yes, it's like a war.

b) 清场 - to clear the battlefield - well, after each dish is served and there is a little pause between orders, it is mandatory that the chefs clear whatever is around his workzone, such as ingredients, knife, bowls, whatever. It can get quite messy, and if things are not cleared, it gets messier.

c) 你来戴帽子你来做啦 - you wear the hat and do it yourself, lah - a very common retort to the crew members who keep rushing us for their orders to be ready. Basically, rush hour is frustrating for everybody; the chefs are trying to get everything out, and the crew is trying to get the orders served fast. So when people get rushed, they get irritated. Simple.

In other news: 'Inception' was amazing. And I enjoy it all the more because I've always been someone who have been very interested in dreams, because I dream a lot, and because I love my dreams.

I won't go so much into providing a review, because that would cause this post to have 2 topics (which it already has anyway, but I want to pretend there isn't) and that would be overloading. But I like how they map the dreams so realistically, not realistic in the sense that they are real, but in the sense that this is how I dream. Love things like having dreams within dreams, how you don't know how you end up where you were and you never bother to question it, and the "kick". So true.

One thing though, the dreams were too "real", too logical, to be dreams. Okay, I know it's subjective, but my dreams are damn weird, and they are set in the weirdest places with the weirdest characters. And the things I do are things which are damn weird, and have no logic in them. And here's the best part: I don't find that there is anything wrong in my dreams. In my dreams, weird is logic.

I don't wanna gain the whole world and lose my

Soul. What is a soul?

The event last Friday at Hearts on Fire was quite ambitiously named "I don't wanna gain the whole world but lose my soul", but I never got to find out what a soul is even after the event is over.

I never really got involved in the event this time, other than pumping my brain dry of ideas during a meeting at Somerset 313, which happens to be becoming our favourite meeting location for the Region B think tank. My mind was really on other irrelevant but "soulful" things.

For all my life as a christian, and I have been a christian for a really long time, I have been told that animals, ALL animals, do not have a soul. Only humans, we GREAT humans, have souls. Well, I understand the whole theory behind this, that humans are more superior than animals, created in God's image, therefore it is unthinkable that animals have the only immortal thing that humans possess - souls.

But that is really a difficult theory to accept. I will not go into how it is difficult to assert if we were created in God's image or if God was created in our image (because that is really too darn dangerous), but I will have to say there is nowhere in the bible that ever mentioned the non-existence of souls in animals. All we have are references and interpretations. So it is safe to say that no one actually knows for sure that animals have no souls.

Before I even go on to explain why, I think it is only fair that I define what soul is. Alright, this is no formal definition, but this is just how I define soul and what I will use for this write-up. Basically to me, a soul is really who I am. My character, my emotions, my memories, my identity. It is what defines me as me.

I came to this definition only because I watched the movie "Wall-E". And the last scene showed how Wall-E, though fixed from his damages after saving the plant, lost all his memory and identity and emotions. And on the spot, I'm sure most people would say he had lost his "soul". The body is an empty vessel which does not last, if not for the soul that it contains. As C.S Lewis so aptly put it, "You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body."

And animals, they have character, they have emotions, they have memories, they have identity. I have interacted with many animals (okay, cats) and I know it straight away when I look into their eyes that it isn't just an empty vessel that I was looking into. Animals have souls, and when we go to heaven, we will be seeing animals there as well. Cats, lots of cats for sure. And if you need a bible verse, here you go:

From Isaiah's description of "New Heavens and a New Earth" in Isaiah 65:25, "The wolf and the lamb will feed together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox, but dust will be the serpent’s food. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, says the LORD."

So that's animals in heaven for you.

But maybe animals have "lesser" souls, souls that are inferior to us humans. Well, that is an acceptable theory, considering how God specifically made humans in his image. However, the skeptical me just can't shake off the whole idea of how stubborn and self-centered we are. Don't we just love to put ourselves in the center of everything? But I'm going out of point.

Nevertheless, if there is any one difference between the human soul and the animal soul, it is that the human soul needs saving, and the animal soul doesn't. Jesus came to save the human race only because the human race needed saving, only because the sins are only sins by human standards.

And perhaps, I shall close with this story I got off the internet:

An elderly widow's beloved little dog died after fifteen faithful years. Distraught, she went to her pastor.

"Parson," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks, "the vicar said animals have no souls. My darling little dog Fluffy has died. Does that mean I won’t see her again in heaven?"

"Madam," said the old priest, "God, in his great love and wisdom has created heaven to be a place of perfect happiness. I am sure that if you need your little dog to complete your happiness, you will find her there."

You'd break your neck to keep your chin up.

I have a rather queer habit.

Every time I listen to my iPod, I like to put it on "shuffle", so that the songs I listen to will be random.

However, I would always already have a song/songs in mind that I would like to listen to, and the iPod would usually never play the song/songs I have in my mind. And then, I would keep hitting the "forward" button until this song/songs play.

So, does my iPod really have the freewill to choose for itself what songs to play?

Do we really have the freewill we think we have? Or is it a freedom equivalent to one of a dog on a leash?