your name a film of tears on my lips

I woke up to memories of you today. I let myself indulge in them for half an hour. Not the daffodil sweetness of the beginning, but tulips, young sunflowers - my arms around you in the lift that last night; "aww, what's this?". Your arms around me so tight, the way your eyes looked so close just before you closed them. The December night we started talking again, my voice struggling to hold together, your every word. The little scrapbook I gave you as we bade goodbye, and your comments on it weeks later. What have you done with it since? How many times has it seen light? In a movie, it would've been thrown away - the pain of a gift and the memories it holds - but I don't believe you'd do that, especially after you said that I shouldn't have made it. You'd be courteous enough to keep it, right? Perhaps I don't even want to know. I don't know why you shut me off so completely. I know you cried, and I want so much to know when you've cried for me. Simply because I've cried more in those few months than I have the rest of my life, and I deserve to know when you shared that pain. I know there's no hope of a future; I don't even want it; it'd be too painful. But I wish you'd tell me your side of the story. What I've always wanted to know. The questions you smell a mile away, those that send you hiding.

This is me.

I present me to you in a basket on the floor. Not a pretty, pristine bundle - unwrap me and you'll find a red and black infested gross mess. The healing power is at work, though, trying to piece me back together. Will you accept all I have to offer, and run a reassuring hand over the shattered glass?

arrows part 2

I stand in the open, surrounded by a ring of both familiar and nameless faces. Innumerable faces. They hold their arrows. A sea of them hits me at once. Here I stand, with all that I stand for. Arrows of fire pierced into my chest like the back of a porcupine.

Then the Lord Jesus Christ, so full of goodness, love and mercy, the Lord who knows every bit of me - my hopes, my dreams, all my weaknesses - the God who created the earth, who knows every inch of ground and every living thing and everything about every person ever lived -

the Lord Jesus Christ, all God and all man, steps into the circle and stands beside me. He pulls the arrows out of my chest and pierces them into his own. The Son of Man standing with me, pushing my arrows into his own body. Bearing my pain.

What sick image is this? I am disgusted at myself. Guilt rises in me. No, God, don't even do that! I can handle it. They're my arrows. Please don't hurt yourself. I'll take care of it! You're God, and I'm just me! Who am I, who am I that you should do that for me? 

This. Is the most amazing video. Heart-wrenching. It's a little slow-moving, but impactful beyond words.

arrows

I've been feeling like waves of fire have been hitting me recently. Waves and waves of debate and fiery questions with regard to my future university, my church and my faith, both directly by my friends and indirectly by posts online. Like arrows, each one deflates my heart a little.

It's not that my stand and beliefs are easily shaken. I know what I believe in; I can talk things out with people. It's just that one of the institutions is going to shape my tertiary education and my path ahead, while the other is the place where I have found God, and where He has moulded and changed my life. I love both tremendously. Although university hasn't even started while I've been in this church for four years, I find my home in both; in both I feel comfortable. I have dedicated myself to being a part of them.

And here I am, listening to what people have to say, telling me why my belief in them is unfounded, not right. Telling me that I need to wake up. Start thinking a little more. Stop being so blind, stop swallowing mouthfuls without chewing first. This thing about the public having a negative perception of my institutions isn't exclusive to these two cases, either. The public's perception of my junior college is improving, but still not the best. Party school. Rich assholes. Ragging incident and toilet saga all over the papers. The media loves us because the public hates us. I didn't have the best impression of the school myself - until school started. ACJC isn't perfect, but I definitely don't regret making it my home. The same applies to my university and my church. I know what I've experienced in each of these places, and I can't see myself anywhere else.

I stand firm in my decisions and beliefs because I have thought things through myself. These questions that people fire. I've gone through them in my head before they talked to me about the issues. I am, after all, a thinker. Choosing to stand by the institutions is a decision I've made after a lot of pondering. That's why I'm standing strong now - my beliefs are founded on something solid, after all that deliberation.

But the fire, the arrows, of course they still hurt. You commit your life to these things, and people continue to shoot those arrows; they don't believe in what you've committed yourself to - what you've decided to call your home, your family - and they choose to attack instead of support.

Stick to those who choose to pray instead. Find those who support, who continue to prove to you what you already know, and who help to protect you against what's unnecessary. You might even want to confront those who hold the arrows. If they're willing to listen, and you're willing to hear out each other's views, go for it. In all things, stay in the atmosphere of love and care. Seek only to build up, and focus on those who seek only to build up too.


This is such a badly-structured post. I'm sorry. It's because this entire post went off-track from the second paragraph. I shall start anew. New post!

Slippery bricks

Four years ago I thought I was flying, but I was flinging myself down a well instead. One day I realised I was in a pit of nothingness. I tried to climb out, but the bricks were too slippery. I grabbed onto what I could, desperate to get out of the wet and cold. I vowed never to let my grip loosen on the bricks as I slowly climbed upward. But then I fell again. And again. And again.

They always say they're sorry, but then they come again. And you can't even put the blame on anyone except yourself. You let them.

Each time you let yourself slip you hate yourself for it. You fall all the way back to the bottom of the well. You hit yourself hard. Your bones don't break but your heart does. The cement at the bottom is hard and unforgiving, and the icy water soaks you through. Slowly, you have to get up again. Make that arduous climb back up, ten metres, fifteen metres - how high will you climb before your next fall? Your heart doesn't even have time to heal.

Lord let that be the last time. I don't want to fall anymore.

Into Your hands / I commit again

Hannah

(a continuation of my previous post)


"The change in my attitude was the result of realizing the implications of belonging to Him. The Son of God died for me! He came to free me from the hopelessness of living for myself. That had to change everything..."
- I Kissed Dating Goodbye (Joshua Harris)

With my baptism, my old self shall no longer be revived. It has died with Christ, and I have been risen again into a life with Him.

So why Hannah? Hannah Karen Ho isn't the most elegant-sounding name - I could be Karen Elizabeth Ho, or Karen Danielle or Karen Esther or Karen Catherine Ho. I considered all these, for various reasons. (I put Hannah before Karen partly because it reflects putting God first in my life - but, I admit, mostly because Hannah Karen Ho sounds better than Karen Hannah Ho.)

Because I was resolving to live the rest of my life for God, I wanted to search for a biblical character whose problems I could identify with, yet who brought herself out of them, so that I'd remember her in my own struggles. My weakness lies in emotional dependence, in the need to feel needed. That hole in our hearts...my heart is torn flesh, raw and yearning. I was searching for a fallen character who was able to hold on to God's promises and strength.

Hannah's story is told in 1 Samuel 1 and 2. Hannah was one of Elkanah's two wives - the one who couldn't bear children. Elkanah's other wife would taunt Hannah for it, such that Hannah would be reduced to tears, unable to eat. One day, she came to the Lord "in deep anguish, crying bitterly". She prayed that if He were to look upon her sorrow and answer her prayer with a son, she would give that son back to the Lord; he would be His for life.

"But I am very discouraged, and i was pouring out my heart to the Lord... I have been praying out of great anguish and sorrow." - 1 Samuel 1:15-16

After doing so, and after receiving Eli's blessings, she "went back...and she was no longer sad" (1:18). Soon after, when she slept with her husband, "the Lord remembered her plea, and...she gave birth to a son" (1:19-20). She called him Samuel (asked of God), because she "asked the Lord for him" (1:20). And when Samuel was three, she brought him to the temple.

"I am the woman who stood here several years ago praying to the Lord. I asked the Lord to give me this boy... Now I am giving him to the Lord, and he will belong to the Lord his whole life." - 1 Samuel 1:26-28

And then comes the beautiful 1 Samuel 2:1-10, Hannah's prayer.

My heart rejoices in the Lord! The Lord has made me strong.
Now I have an answer for my enemies; I rejoice because you rescued me.
No one is holy like the Lord! There is no one besides you; there is no Rock like our God.
...
No one will succeed by strength alone. Those who fight against the Lord will be shattered...
He gives power to his king; he increases the strength of his anointed one.


Those who know me well would understand why I fell in love with Hannah's story. When I read her prayer, I knew this was it.

I sense Hannah had her problems - infertility, inferiority to her husband's other wife - and she seemed sensitive and emotional. Hannah gave herself the space to cry. But she lifted her problems to the Lord, and promised to give her blessing back to Him. Imagine the joy of having a son after so long! Yet she remembered her word and sent him to the temple to live, dedicating his life back to Him. (And she was blessed with five other children later.) And after it all, she rejoiced in God's strength, declaring that no one succeeds by their own power.

I am very sensitive and emotional. I give myself the space to be sad, as anyone who reads my blog can tell. But do I let it end there, sad and lost? Or do I turn them over to the Lord, leave my life in His hands, and promise to follow Him all the days of my life? I am so weak, and my greatest need is inner strength. This is God's greatest potential in my life. There is no greater anchor for my soul, and my aching heart, than God and His unshakeable love and promises.

And when God blesses me with His strength and grace, do I remember Him and my own promises?

Here I declare it: as my old self has died with Jesus and I come to a new life in Christ, I will seek to follow You all the days of my life, as You love me. I am still weak and imperfect, but I will let You take control. My heart will continue to break as I falter, but Your grace will see me through; I will not succeed by my own strength, but by holding on to Your perfect love.

Rebirth

And I will sing forever - Jesus, I love you


Finally got baptised on 30th June, together with four of my cell group mates. I first went to Sunday School when I was four and stopped going after P6. When I stepped into City Harvest in 2008, I realised I had never really been a Christian. Although I had been calling myself one, I was really just praying to the walls; I didn't know anything about the Bible; I never let God be my guide; He was never really in my life. Slowly, I learnt about God, and fell in love with Him. I was really on fire for Him at one point. I'd fast for various things, and read the Bible during recess.

Then I broke up with my ex, and then I became really angry at everything. At one point I remember feeling helplessly trapped. God was everywhere, watching my every move. There was no way I could escape Him. I couldn't even escape in death; in fact, I would have to face Him then. What could I do to get away from this all-dictating, all-powerful God?

Other times I was a Christian who was very critical inside. I kept doubting and questioning. I knew Jesus was real. My cell group mates felt Him at church services, falling under His power, tearing in worship. But what about me? Why couldn't I feel Him? What did I have to do before He'd let me see Him? I remember wishing I could just brainwash myself. Accept everything without question; be a Christian who accepted everything with faith. Faith seemed blind.

But slowly, I began to realise that my questioning heart wasn't meant to separate me from Him. As I questioned, I sought answers. Faith became something grounded in logic. Something strong, not shallow. With every time I questioned and found, my roots grew that bit deeper into the solid earth. I'm glad I didn't fight the questions and force myself to be brainwashed. I'm glad I question. It is then that you find the truth.


Because I'm only being baptised after almost four years of truly being in the faith, it means so much more than repenting and accepting Jesus as my Saviour. With my baptism, I am declaring that I will dedicate my life to following Him. Perhaps that's why I wasn't ready to do it all this while. To me, it was a big declaration. What if I slide back when I'm older? I didn't want to commit myself to something and abandon it; what was the point of it, then?

But I'm ready now. I know there's nothing more I want than to hold on to Him the rest of my days. Even when I feel away from Him, there's no way I can deny His existence and love. Nothing compares to personal experiences, to the way He touches your heart, to the little beautiful miracles and the peace that overwhelms. With His grace, I will strive to make myself His lighthouse, being His representative on Earth. I will falter. I continue to fall, but my weaknesses are God's greatest opportunities, and He can turn the worst things around for His good use.

(This post is too long. Shall divide it into two.)

A disclaimer I should have added a long time ago

Quite a lot of the stuff I write about don't come from my own genuine personal experience. For example, I don't club. I don't see the fun in it at all. I'd rather go somewhere less noisy and have a good chat with my friends. I also have never gotten drunk - after seeing what drunk people can do without remembering, I've vowed never to get to that state. If these people could step out of their bodies and see themselves. No, the next day they pass by the same acquaintance / friend they made out with / cursed / publicly humiliated, and they don't realise anything has changed. I only drink anything alcoholic at social gatherings, and the number of times I've touched alcohol can be counted on one hand. My life is also a lot less interesting (but a lot more happening!) than my blog depicts. Most of my made-up stories are inspired from movies, books, performances, music videos, whatever. Sorry to disappoint. That said, my writing is also raw and genuine, which means I can't write it if I can't genuinely feel it. And my writing speaks my heart, whether or not the situations depicted really happened.

John 11:35

Jesus wept.

the game of keeping your heart out

Two conveyor belts that go in opposite directions are laid next to each other. Girls on one side, boys on the other. It's a game, you see, the game of making it remain what it is. The conveyor belt goes slowly enough for you to get to know someone a bit too well, but too fast for the little rainbow cloud above your heads to form. The key, then, is to enjoy each one you pass on the conveyor belt, with a tease, a wink. Inch closer to the edge of the belt; toe the line, just make sure you don't fall off. The key is in inching as close to the edge of the belt as possible without falling off, without ousting yourself from your spot in the game. The stupidest thing you can do is to hold on to any one person.

So you let your hearts make brief contact and move on, move on. Hurry, now, he needs to leave; number five is waiting. You do not, I repeat, you don't let your heart latch on to anyone. Tear it off if you must, but that leaves the edges raw and hurting for a while.

And this is why you don't play your game of hedonism here, not on me. See, I haven't mastered this game yet. I continue to fall off, even when I've strapped myself onto the belt, and my heart always leaves the game raw.

just enough to see you

one shot and I see you somewhere behind, a hazy image of a man
two shots and I see you looking right at me
three shots and your face so close, your eyes penetrating into my own
four, your face pressed against mine, now, your hand on my waist
five i see myself in the mirror eyeshadow all screwed up, an ugly wreck of a face wet with your tears

At night I pray / That soon your face will fade away

Everytime you make your way into my head again I wonder if you still think of me too. The days I curled up in my bed in the afternoon with tears streaming down my face, the long minutes I stared at my phone, my heart at the bottom of a pit, wondering what you were feeling; I can ignore all those. Even the beauty of the staircase hours, it's easy to dismiss those. But how about the beginning, the very start of it all - the magic of the stage and the airport, sneaking into places at night, you and the way you looked at me. Your stupid laugh. Your quiet smile.

And a little further back, the last chapters of the book; the way you recounted your childhood story, your value pack of Mars bars, the magic of day three when you held on so tight, worried on day three that you might lose me. That smile as you used one hand to drag my chair towards yours and held my hand with the other. You helping me to adjust the collar of my top. Asking me to sing you that song. "You're sweet as heaven". Your quiet, sincere truths. "It's our stop, but I don't want to leave. I wanna stay here", you pulling me into a tighter hug. The love told in sentences without the word, told so simply, all raw. The times you didn't smile.

I'm on my way to emotionally distancing myself from the beauty. Someday I'll be able to look back at all the magic without any feeling of longing or pain. I know it was nothing firmly grounded; nothing but whimsical infatuation, but it was so huge. So huge. All the heartache, all the tears, walking around like a zombie for weeks, empty

At least I know magic now. I know how beautiful things can become. I will continue to wait for a moment as magical, a moment as strong. One less riddled with searing pain, more rooted in something strong.

no, don't say it yet

The first i-love-you is a special one. It must be told at the perfect time, a memorable moment. Perhaps a night when you're walking down the beach, with the water at your feet, as he does a little violin performance just for you. Perhaps one day when you're crying over something and he doesn't know how else to cheer you up. Maybe he'll hold you tight and refuse to let go until you stop crying. You wait for the perfect moment, hold yourself back till then. Don't waste it on an exam day. Don't waste it on yet another lonely night.


Then another typical day comes along, one hot day after school, and you're in the bus with him on the way to the library, just another typical study afternoon. Tired from all the stress. You put your head on his shoulder, and you feel his arm slide around you. You feel his hand cupping your face, tentatively, shyly. He slowly traces your jawline, his fingers on your cheek. Delicate, you feel like a delicate doll surrounded by his warmth. The intensity, the tragedy of love, all in the traces of his fingers.


The bus makes a turn and the glare of the sun hits you. The sun, mighty, life-giving but so alone; it's jealous of you, jealous that you have someone else to share life with. He puts his hand over your eyes, a shade.  Don't let it disturb your rest, now. You feel the heaviness of his palm against your eyelids, the warmth of his promise.


"I love you."

You know me as Karen,

the girl who's always late, who makes all the mistakes, who drops expensive stuff, who's always muddle-headed, who never speaks up. You know me as Karen, a quiet, submissive average girl, who gets people annoyed because she can never seem to speak audibly, who spills the drinks and gets orders wrong. You know me as Karen, the timid girl who says 'sorry' about seven thousand times a day, who says 'sorry' instead of 'excuse me', like I'm apologising that you have to be near me.

But it doesn't matter. This Karen doesn't exist. You don't know Karen. This is only a shadow of a girl. This girl  disappears as soon as she leaves the building, and then I'm Karen again. The real one.

I am Karen, the girl who's always late, who panics over her mistakes, who drops and loses expensive stuff, whose muddle-headedness is a joke - but I am not silent. I am not unopinionated. I have a soul, a passionate, bold flame of a soul. I speak up. I engage. I contribute. I don't sit back and whisper and say 'sorry' seven thousand times. I hold meaningful conversations. I am not timid.

In that building, I am too timid and silent to have a personality. I don't stand out in any way, especially for anything good, but I try. I try hard. I am slow but meticulous, and I am diligent. I don't have a personality there because I am not me. You do not see my contemplations, the issues that engage me; I silence myself.

I am Karen; I am not a colour that blends into the wallpaper. I am not typical. I am not bland. I am not silent. I'm bold, passionate burning bold, and I am a burst of colours - yellow or red or deep blue, depending on which way you hold me. I am anything but the wallpaper.

And all else simply falls away

Karen, God sees the desire of your heart, and it's a wonderful desire...

Oh God, his mouth has just confirmed the very thing, you know it, God, you know - 
you'll do amazing things, we'll do amazing things together - 

Karen, I want you to know that Jesus is proud of you, and every morning when you wake up He's very happy -

Oh God, I'm so sorry, and to think... and I'm so unworthy - 
no, cut it off, cut off the guilt, just delight in the Lord and His love

Don't cover your face when you cry, don't look down, let Him see the face that He has created

Karen, when I was sitting beside you I just sensed in my heart that you might be feeling like you have expectations you need to meet, that you feel inadequate, even for God -

Oh, God, who am I but a baby in Your kingdom; who am I but a servant, undeserving - 

But God has made you in His perfect, wonderful image, and nothing you do can make Him love you less, make Him love you more. And you don't have any expectations to meet, you don't have to feel inadequate.

Thank you, God; you made me just the way I am, and you make my weaknesses my strengths in You.

(People who are emotionally dependent have a lot of love to give away / And they need a lot of love / Karen you're blessed because God has created you with a great heart / I want to believe that God's going to fill your life with lots of meaningful relationships)

And don't let your past affect you; you are a new person in God; God has given you a new name

Oh, God, this is me, I'm so weak, so dependent, I succumb so easily, this is who I am, you know how I cling on, how I stumble so soon, you know what I'm facing this very moment - 
no, cut it off, the past doesn't determine anything, just delight in the strength He has given you

Your strength is made perfect in my weakness Lord




Reminder to self, the desire you have, the wonderful desire that God is delighted with and will come to pass in Him. The things that you know you have to do. The strength that He has given you but also needs to be renewed. Don't succumb. You have the strength. Don't cling on to the self you knew. Don't keep reinforcing the weakness. You aren't weak. You have the strength of the Lord.


(Thank you Daniel & Germaine for being vessels of the Lord; cg 020612)

to the fallen, and the fallen stars

(A response to Eugene)

"they say that many of the stars you now see in the night sky, all their brilliance and beauty, are from stars that have long since died. All that is left is the light it once emitted. When you wish upon a star, you are wishing upon something that is no longer there beyond a strong beam of photons. Your wishes are dead, meaningless, just like these stars."


Then I won't wish on the stars in the night sky. I'll wish on the Moon. I'll wish on the Sun, that still burns bright, that gives life. I'll wish it on my own heart, I'll carve the words on its walls; with each painful heartbeat, I'll keep my wish in mind.

If I wish on the stars and my wish falls back down, dead, I'll wish on something else. I won't give up simply because I can't; wishes are made out of love, of passion, and that's what keeps one alive.

And the stars that we see now, many light years away, they were once alive. They burned with the miracle of life once upon a time. You're right; what we see now is the little legacy they left somewhere in the universe billions of years ago.

I'll be like the stars. Now, I will burn with the passion and life of flaming fire; I'll work at the destiny I am to leave behind. Light years later, when I'm dead and gone, someone somewhere will still see my light. Someone will look at the shadow of my life and think I'm beautiful, and they'll wish on me.

Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight
Someone's thinking of me, and loving me tonight; 
Somewhere out there, someone's saying a prayer
That we'll find one another
In that big somewhere out there

To America.

I've had enough.

Disclaimer: These arguments are my own. They represent my opinions as an individual, and not of Yale-NUS; neither do the views expressed reflect those of YNC.

#1. Singapore does not criminalise homosexuality. That's a weird - and insulting - rumour. The word 'homosexuality' creates an image of gays being imprisoned - it's a law against physical male homosexual acts. And I mean....well, who really checks / cares what you do in the bedroom, anyway?

#2. So a country doesn't do things your way. It doesn't make that country wrong. Each country has its own reasons for setting certain laws. For example, you can be fined / arrested for posting racist comments here. Does that mean we are oppressed and deprived of our right to freedom of speech? No, it's just that freedom comes with responsibility, and every action has its consequences. It just so happens that we are a very multiracial society and we can't afford discord or riots because we are also very small and extremely vulnerable. We have learnt enough about racial discord and its devastating consequences to our vulnerable country to know that racial harmony is something we need to constantly strive to attain, for our own security's sake. We're definitely not living in total harmony, but we're still trying, and we have to try to avoid things that will cause disharmony. And I'm happy with the security of my country. I'm glad we don't really have to worry about riots breaking out or anything. Each country has its own unique characteristics, and therefore its own way of doing things. It might not be the American way of doing it, but it's not wrong. It's a necessary measure the country has to take. Maybe some things should be looked at again. I'm definitely for removing 377A. Give things time. What matters more than the policies is the mindsets of the people. Those must change first. We are definitely not perfect, but generations and attitudes change, and we're on our way to good change.

#3. America is not the top of the world. It may be the gateway to the world in the sense that the U.S. is a good place to go to break into the international arena, and it's the country with the highest GDP, but that doesn't mean it's the top of the world. We all know your President's name and watch your shows (I love The Big Bang Theory) and know your music, but it doesn't make you superior. See, that's the mindset many Americans tend to bring with them when they go to the rest of the world. That they're smarter, they do things better, like they're higher beings, that they're educating the rest of us. Yes, America definitely has power. It doesn't make you superior. No one is superior. We all have a lot to learn form one another. Singapore is a small and often misunderstood dot that sometimes seems to be known for little more than its Michael Fay incident and no-chewing-bubblegum laws and 377A, but I'm proud to have been raised here. I'm proud of the values I have been brought up with and the values that I hold dear. I'm proud of the high standards of education (although our education system is a whole different issue altogether) and our high levels of security. I'm proud of the fact that we lack natural resources, land and labour, yet find ways around our problems. Although I think kids here study way too much, I'm proud of how hard we work. I'm assuming Wikipedia is right when it says we are the world's second-biggest casino gambling market. And we have two casinos. Two. Of course, I'm not proud of the fact that this has to do with gambling, but I'm proud of the fact that we take risks, venture into things - and succeed.

And just fyi, despite the International Baccalaureate program being pretty new here, one school alone (Anglo-Chinese School (Independent)) produced half the world's top scorers - 28 out of the world's 57 45-pointers. And if you want to look at SAT scores, the number of people I know who got below 2050 can be counted on one hand. I'm not kidding. It might be just me, but... I haven't heard of anyone who got below 1900. And my friends consider getting 1900+ "embarrassingly low".

 #4. Speaking of risks, I've been interacting a lot with the bunch of kids who got accepted into Yale-NUS, and I'm pretty amazed at us. We've got our hoard of distinctions, our pre-university scholarships and awards, our slew of co-curricular activity (CCAs, e.g. Choir, Basketball, Arts Council) involvements and achievements, our leadership posts in school. But more than that, we are a bunch that thinks. We wonder. We feel the burden of the country. We pursue knowledge for knowledge's sake - something that the education system here really doesn't end up encouraging. We are bold. We are very creative. And better still, we are a risk-taking bunch. I mean, if we were to play safe, we wouldn't have chosen Yale-NUS. We've all gotten accepted by / have the potential to get into other great universities. The fact that we've chosen this college shows that despite all the heated controversy and despite the other great colleges that we've been accepted into, we're going to give this a shot. We're going to give this a shot because we have the chance to create history.

I guess the whole point of this post is... hello America, welcome to the rest of the world. You have a lot to learn, too.


P.S. And I like using the British spelling.

Life so far

has been pretty full of work and meeting friends when I have the time. My days have been really packed, and it's been tiring but amazing. My legs need a rebirth. Working as a waitress has killed them. I'm such a whiny pig.

I've also made up my mind to be a part of Yale-NUS College. Was a little unsure initially, but the Experience Yale-NUS weekend was amazing. Met a bunch of great people and made awesome friends. At midnight our Taboo game turned into a get-to-know-you-a-little-better session, so the group of about ten or more of us shared about the reasons our parents gave us our names (my parents named me after Karen Carpenter, the one who sang 'Top of the World' and...died of anorexia), the stupidest things we've ever done, etc.

Then suddenly at about two in the morning things started to get more serious.We talked about things like how the reason CIP doesn't work like it should is that we help with the mindset of a giver, someone who's superior in a sense, and it's so essential to treat those we're giving assistance to like an equal, nothing more than a genuine friend. And how alcohol being allowed on campus at Yale but not in NUS reflects how the Western mindset involves giving one the responsibility to make his own choices and learn from his own mistakes, whereas here, we're more likely to step in and protect those whom we feel will make the mistakes, because the risks are too large; they can't afford to make those mistakes now.

How the education system and the mindsets of parents here have caused most of our students to be uninspired, unmotivated to delve deeper into knowledge. Here, we don't inspire curiosity. My friends say I'm lucky not to have taken Chemistry or Biology in junior college because it would have killed my interest in it. I've heard of too many people who've had their passions killed. Music and art students vowing not to pursue a career in those areas. Chemistry students simply hating the subject after two years of madness.

How there are people with valuable work attributes that can't be recognised on paper because of the way our system is structured, and therefore don't catch the eye of potential employers. How our workforce - or student body - or society has become largely uninspired, dispassionate. Dylan was talking about how there hasn't been a real breakthrough in physics for too long, and we realised it was also probably because in the past, you could make a thousand failures before finding success. Now, there's no time for failures, not enough time and money to waste on something that might not turn out right. Stick to the safe route; don't allow too much space for trial and error.

At one point Dylan was quite disturbed by how everyone seemed so passionate and informed about history and politics, and he was just...a scientist who really just wanted to do science. Would he be able to find anyone who shared his interest in Physics? Would he simply be surrounded by people who didn't share his interests, would he be alone?

It was then that we all became really excited about the liberal arts programme. We have a bunch of students, each with different academic interests and abilities, each possibly unable to understand another's field of interest. Like, I love literature and linguistics, and I never understood physics or politics, although I'd love to. Here at Yale-NUS, being made to take classes outside my little area of interest will open me up to so many different things,and I'll also have the friends who have these various interests. Besides taking different modules, we should also teach our friends. Let them into our own world; introduce them to our areas of interest. Unlike online resources which are usually really opaque and don't start from the fundamentals, we'll be able to bring things down to a level that's understandable for our schoolmates, and slowly bring them deeper into the subject. As we teach our friends about our own areas of interests and learn about other subjects from them in return, we'll all grow in our understanding of the world, and with greater enlightenment also comes greater curiosity.

So in short, HOORAY FOR THE LIBERAL ARTS PROGRAMME HERE AT YALE-NUS!!!

The Facebook group has been so alive and amazing too, and getting to know everyone there has been so much fun. I just can't wait for things to start. Yale-NUS is only opening in 2013 so I'll be taking a gap year; I really hope to go overseas with a pal or two, take up driving and maybe resume my piano lessons, hopefully pick up the guitar...and go to bible school! Can't wait.

Growing up is

realising that the Earth does not, in fact, follow a stable orbit. The world does crash sometimes; sometimes it spins too far out of control for you to hold a grip onto things; sometimes it stops completely. And when the world goes off-track ever so often, it takes a while to get it going at the right pace again, lead it back onto the right path. It takes time and effort and you have to find your feet, close your eyes, catch your breath.

Growing up is realising that the heart is not, in fact, the strongest muscle in your body. In fact, it's the weakest. It can tear itself apart at a word, a flashback, at the sight of a face you once knew; it wrings itself dry when you pass by a place that brings back memories, or when you unintentionally revisit old texts and pictures, or when his name appears on your screen. The beating of the heart is subconscious? Nonsense. Each beat is pain pounding at the walls of your lungs, threatening to puncture. It is your brain that is strong, the brain that forces the heart to keep on beating, even if each contraction is a struggle.

Growing up is realising that what people teach you is not what the world teaches you. What you learn from books is not what you know.

Tip for university

Take your heart out of spring. Leave it at home, safely guarded, and take every moment of heaven as nothing more than a fling.

God guard my heart

"A relationship only ends two ways: in marriage or a break-up. So think about which is more likely."

- wise words of Derrick Chin

do you believe in life after love part two

'I can see myself in your eyes,' you said with fascination at staircase number one in the afternoon. 'That's number five,' you said as I kissed your cheek on the thirty-ninth floor at number two. You'd been counting. At number three, your legs hurt but you refused to let me move. Number four was the last time I hugged you before we said goodbye three months later. Three.

'I can see myself in your eyes'. That has a double meaning.


'That's twice today,' you said at the thirty-ninth floor. Was two a bad thing? Was it bad to drown in excess? Did I drown you in excess? Did I drown in excess?

Whenever there isn't much to be done in the restaurant, you come like a flood back into my mind - that's why I like to be kept busy. I dream that you're back and you say the things that I don't want to yet want to yet cannot hear, and I say no, but I'm thinking yes... yes.

What does it mean when the images engulf me and take my heart all over again? Take it again, and I come plunging down, like I had never tried to crawl out of that hole.

Yes, just keep running away like you've been doing all your life. This was never meant to be right; it hurt too much, for the both of us, to be right - although now I only remember the times heaven came down upon us. Maybe running away is the right thing to do. Maybe it's time I started running away too.

do you believe in life after love?

No matter how hard I try, you keep pushing me aside
And I can't break through; There's no talking to you
It's so sad that you're leaving; it takes time to believe it
But after all is said and done, you're gonna be the lonely one

Do you believe in life after love?
I can feel something inside me say
'I really don't think you're strong enough, no'

What am I supposed to do, sit around and wait for you?
Well I can't do that, and there's no turning back
I need time to move on, I need love to feel strong
'Cause I've had time to think it through
And maybe I'm too good for you

Do you believe in life after love
I can feel something inside me say
I really don't think you're strong enough, no

Well I know that I'll get through this, 'cause I know that I am strong
And I don't need you anymore
No, I don't need you anymore

you have to come to a closure before you forget

We all want to create something beautiful. Sometimes we spend all our time and effort making this masterpiece, piecing together the stained glass, carving intricate patterns into the little stone pillars, decorating the walls with gold. You put your life into this artwork. Your flesh begins to fuse with the glass; your blood mixes with the paint; but you're proud of it, because it just shows how much you've given to this work of beauty.

You look at your creation and your heart bursts with overwhelming joy. It's beautiful, indescribably beautiful and you've finally experienced this happiness that lasts an eternity. But slowly you begin to realise that you've been using the wrong materials. All too fast your masterpiece falls apart and the gold beads spill out onto the floor like your tears. It's no longer a work of beauty. It has fallen, fallen; now it's nothing but a mess.

The huge mess on the ground is scattered gold beads and cracked stone walls and shards of glass and your own flesh. What was once beautiful has been reduced to nothing - worse than nothing; a mockery of your wasted effort. The memories of the glorious past are stained with the blood that oozes out from the hole in your heart. Nothing but pain now.

You leave the pile on the floor, try to run away. But every time you turn your head you see that pile of nothingness staring back at you, and the memories engulf you again. Memories of pure beauty and sheer joy, now screaming with the bitter aftertaste of regret. All the time and emotions you invested, all gone to waste, gone to trash.

Forget about this, you tell yourself. You'll never get it back now. Remembering it will only bring you pain. But you can't bear to go near the mess again, so you take the easiest way out - with a broom you hastily sweep the mess into a corner and cover it with a rag. There, now you won't see the mess anymore, and maybe this way you can forget. 

You acquire the skill of careful avoidance. You stay away from the corner. Be careful not to think about it anymore. But no matter how hard you try to make it disappear in your mind, you know it's still there. Weeks pass and the stench in the corner begins to grow. The stench of your rotting flesh that was fused with the glass. It catches hold of your heart once in a while.

Slowly, you begin to realise that there's no way you can truly forget unless you deal with the problem once and for all. Facing the rubble of your disaster is the hardest because you have to confront the painful memories again. You have to take that rag away to uncover the trash in the corner again, look back at your tragedy. You pick up the stone pieces and glass, your own rotting flesh, hold them in your palm. You're so close to them now. You can't help but cry again, remembering the beauty of before, the beauty that only you knew.

All the pieces of shattered glory in the palm of your hand, you carefully place them into a box. You take one good last look at them, relive the memories that still pierce your heart now, tell yourself that you must abandon all memories of this masterpiece, because they will only hold you back. It's time to create new memories. Create a new piece of art.

You take the box out, dump it into the big collection bin, watch as the trash collectors come and take away all the beauty you've ever known.

It's only when you've dared to come face-to-face with the pain and the tragedy again, and truly dealt with the problem, that you can move on. Stop fooling yourself. We all need closure. There's only so long we can continue avoiding. There's only so long we can cling onto the memories of pure beauty. We have to let go. We have to get rid of the pieces that still lie around somewhere in our mind. Come to terms with finality and move on.

Inner strength

It has begun. You know what's wrong; you know what you have to do. Sometimes you have to man up a little, tell yourself you can manage without this addicion. You are bigger than this. Sometimes you have to take a deep breath, admit to it, tell yourself what you already know. Then have the courage to run away. Every time you stumble the monster will tackle you again, but don't give in anymore. You won't let the dementor suck away any more of your soul. You need to run away to heal.

Run, keep the determination strong, you know what you have to do. Sometimes challenges come in an angel's guise. You have to remember your conviction and keep on running. Then take a deep breath and tell yourself you've done a good job.

For You and You alone / Awake my soul

Our alter ego resides in our hearts

Note to self:

Every night you go to bed chastising yourself. Every night you tell yourself this must stop. You know it has to stop. But even as you scold yourself you're still doing it. Your brain tries to knock some sense into your heart but the heart has grown to engulf that reprimanding voice in your head. You have to do something about this.

If you can't put it out, at least try to contain it. Set boundaries of iron, because if you even touch that boundary it will burn you just as badly as the fire within would. Remember the iron walls that will hurt you, a severe warning.

You know what you're made of. You know what you deserve. You're worth the treasures in Heaven, and you will only settle for the gold. There's no point searching for the true treasures that will come your way when the time is right. Don't settle for the base metal by clothing it with the illusion of gold. You're more than aware of what the faraway voice in your head is screaming, so try and let it grow stronger. Allow your heart to give way a little, if only a little. Remember the One who already has your path planned out, who understands and still watches out for you even as you continue to run blindly into walls in this labyrinth. There's only one way out, and only He can show you the way. Stop desperately running into dead ends; you'll only hurt yourself more. You know you will only settle for the gold.

When the only way out is up

It's been a dark, cold winter you've spent curled up in the snow. You've tried to build fires before, and they're beautiful, the alluring warmth, the comforting crackle, a bold display of protection, safety. But every single time you get too close. You love this fire, such a beautiful promise in the dark and the cold. You want to surround yourself in this wall of beauty. You add more logs to feed the flames. Hungry tongues, fiery tongues, licking away the loneliness of the dark sky. More. More. You want to see nothing but the light. Expel the darkness; fiery beauty will reign.

But then you always get burnt. The fire gets too big and the heavenly wall starts to hurt you instead. You try to run from the darkness into the flames but you start screaming. You have to run back out, back into the cold dark snow. The burn marks on your forearms and shins are a reminder of the pain that always comes when you try to get too close to beauty.

Yet right now, it's all you want again. Anything to get rid of this darkness. The muted cold makes you want to scream. You've had enough of the dead night. Anything to bring life back into this forsaken field of black ice. You long for the fire again, the fire that roars with life, cheer, gold tongues of life.

It's not all that easy, though. You're alone now; your blackened fingers have become too weak to rub the stones together; you can't hold an axe anymore. All you can do is sit here, wait for someone to come by with the magic of life.

And he comes along again. Him with the tanned skin and healthy build, the wolf-like eyes and the smile that knows no fear. He comes by in the morning, sees you curled up and whimpering. He feels your icy skin, curls his strong fingers round your blackened ones. Gives you something to eat. He gives you life.

Then when you're strong enough to stand again he takes up your axe and holds your hand and you go off looking for wood. You stand back and watch as he hacks at the tree and the green giant comes falling, rustling rustling, and slowly you gather the firewood and come back out to the open field of snow. It takes all day. By nightfall you have your firewood in a pile and he's rubbing the stones together for that spark. Then a log catches fire. Then the whole lot. He sits and holds you as you watch the gold flames leap up to the sky, proclaiming the triumph of roaring life over the darkness. Gold vivacity. He is the life-bringer to this forsaken field.

The fire ignites in you, too, and you feel your own soul warming up. Now I remember what it feels like to be alive. Alive, alive, and suddenly you're flying in paradise. You scream with the flames, you leap with the dancing tongues. Your own heart bursts with sheer joy. Nothing beats this feeling, when all the joy in your heart just can't be contained and you have to scream it out, and the gold radiates out of you and shines into the world. Sheer joy. You're alive again.

You need more, you need more of this warmth, this joy this life this amazing beauty. You go nearer the arms of love. Nearer, nearer, let the fire embrace you.

And once again, you run out screaming, tears streaming out of your eyes. Suddenly it's too much again. The fire hurts you instead. You fall to the ground, the harsh cold snow. Your clothes are on fire. Isn't this what you wanted, to be surrounded by the flames? But it's only killing you now. You cry and cry as you roll on the snow to put out the flames. You take one last look at the screaming monster and run for your life. No more. No more life, no more beauty. Sometimes you feel like love was never yours to keep, like you were destined for the cold, harsh winter.

Haven't done a real post in ages.

I used to think a five-day break from blogging was bad enough. Now I haven't done a real post in months, and even my last post wasn't that satisfying. Gotta do something about this.

I don't blog about my life much anymore because no one really wants to know that kind of stuff, and it's all on Facebook anyway. So here's a break from the emo shiz.

For the record, since the A Levels I've taught at Crescent for two months with Geraldine and Rachel Louis for the MOE teaching internship, crashed my OG kid Jessica Chen's Orientation Group at Orientation 2012 (I pretended to be a J1 but they found me out!), had lots of fun going out with great friends, applied to about ten thousand universities. I'm relief teaching at AC now - teaching GP, but I told the ELL teachers that I really wanted to help out for ELL, so they've given me some awesome tasks like coming up with a list of slang that we Singaporean youths use today, defining them and classifying them into English / Singlish terms. The army boys are getting out of camp soon and I can't wait to see the Councillors again.

ACJC isn't a two-year journey - it follows you for life, and I love it. Was going to do a post about my two years in AC but it would take too long; maybe I'll get around to doing it when I'm free.

Right now, I'm really grateful to God for continuing to stand by me. People can say all they want about religion, but none of it matters because I know what it's like to feel and know God, and no one can take that away from me. Really grateful for my A Level results; I'm so undeserving. Although I didn't get into Pennsylvania, I'll just trust in what He has in store for me - after all, our definition of success usually isn't in line with His, but why hold on to ours when His is indefinitely greater? I've been accepted into NYU and I'm on the waiting list for Michigan; 4 out of 5 of my UK universities (Edinburgh, Nottingham, Exeter, East Anglia) have accepted me, and I'm just waiting for a reply from Warwick, the one that I've been dreaming about from the start. I do hope they'll find me and my writing worthy of a spot in their creative writing class.

I really wanted to go to the US for their liberal arts programme, but chances of that happening are slim now, I guess. At the same time, I know that the US universities probably only looked at my unworthy SAT scores, CCA records and very average Prelim results (not a single 'A'!), because the A Level scores were probably sent in too late for consideration. And judging by my scores, I wouldn't have expected any of them to take me in. On the other hand, my UK universities took into account my creative writing abilities and A Level results.

East Anglia's Creative Writing Admissions tutor asked the Undergraduate Admissions Officer to contact me to say that he was 'extremely impressed' with my work - and that they rarely contact an applicant about his work, but he wanted me to know how impressed he was with my portfolio. That email was such an uplifter - I had been struck with writer's block for the longest time, and I was beginning to give up hopes of writing in the future, and this email turned everything around. It was 3 in the morning and I couldn't sleep. I was so overcome with elation and gratitude.

The fact that Nottingham and East Anglia looked at my creative writing pieces and found me worthy of a spot in their universities, despite the fact that Nottingham's class size for the course is about 18, is more than enough encouragement for me. They looked at my passion and thought I deserved one of the few spots in their class, and that alone has been such a great reassurance. Now I just hope Warwick feels likewise.

Happy Easter! God has been so amazing to such an unworthy, ordinary person like me, seen all my imperfections and worst sides and rebellions against Him and given me so much regardless. He's given so much for us, and continues to give, and continues to love us even when we don't, so here's to a wonderful God to whom I want more than anything to belong.

My old self has been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. So I live in this earthly body by trusting in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.

- Galatians 2:20

she had a title for this but

she lost it, it slipped through her fingers, the cracks in the floor, together with her magic touch for words. She's lost it. Once the tears were fuel, and the more she cried, the more words would come fluttering out of her head onto the screen and it would be magic. Now the sidewalk tears still come like they did, she still recites paragraphs as if from memory, as if they weren't being conjured only as she was saying them, they flow out like magic still and she imagines them pretty on paper, pretty just like that. Then she comes back to her glass nest again but the magic touch is gone; gold doesn't spill out of her fingertips like it used to. And if the sidewalk tears don't transform into gold dust then they're still just tears; no matter how much you try to use sheer willpower to change them they're still nothing but transparent pain that seeps through your fingers.

And she's so tired of this now, so tired of all the pain having nowhere to run that she's becoming afraid to feel. And that's dangerous for her, because if she's afraid to go near emotion then she can have all the magic inside her and still it will produce nothing. But she's afraid, and you can't blame a girl too tired of the sidewalk tears. Too tired of images in her head as vivid as they were when she used to be able to bring them to life, and now they're just stuck there, tormenting her, a parallel universe to which she can't give light. Now she shies away from fires, cowers at tunnels, runs away from dazzling beauty. Oh she won't go near the birthday candles and the roses. No more colour. No more life. Safety in monotony.

The Chrysalids

"Words exist that can, used by a poet, achieve a dim monochrome of the body's love, but beyond that they fail clumsily."

"'Women like to think they're in love when they want to marry; they feel it's a justification which helps their self-respect... No harm in that; most of them are going to need all the illusions they can keep up, anyway. But a woman who IS in love is a different proposition. She lives in a world where all the old perspectives have altered. She is blinkered, single-purposed, undependable in other matters. She will sacrifice anything, including herself, to one loyalty. For her, that is quite logical; for everyone else it looks not quite sane; socially it is dangerous.'"

I learnt to live half a life

lone

It just sucks when he's typing away on his phone and he tries not to smile because he doesn't want to get you all emo again but it doesn't even matter; he doesn't need to smile because you see the little glint in his eyes that says it all. That little spark is a mere hint of the blazing fire that's burning within, lighting up even the coldest corners of his heart. He tries to contain that blaze within those red walls, but no, the light spills out a little here and there, and it's reflected in his eyes.

You remember how it felt to have your heart set ablaze, too; you remember the electric fiery surge that coursed through every vein and nerve when he kissed you, you remember when the fire was an explosion of dazzling brilliance, or when it was just a candle that radiated silent warmth and love. Now all that's left are the black stone walls of your heart, a few charred logs, cold unlit streetlamps yearning for light. A cold dark street in rainy December.

closure

When he was done with his dinner he moved to the seat beside her. I noticed that they never stopped talking, and it was about things going on in the workplace, in university, bigger issues in society. When she was done they got up and her hand slipped effortlessly into his, instinctively, as the doors opened for them and they stepped out into the night together.

Love isn't just about a secret world. He's your other half; you are each other's strength. He isn't just a refuge from the storm; he's also your umbrella, encouraging you to face the rain and the thunder, with the assurance that he'll always be there to protect you. Love is about a couple becoming one, each providing the other with energy to take on the challenges of the day, walking hand in hand into the world, facing life together, stronger with the support of each other. That's love.

I never felt like you gave me strength. You never let me be your other half; as much as I knew you thought about me and all, my love only went straight into the deep recesses of your heart and stayed there; never helped you break down the walls that kept you from the world. We never gave each other the energy to face life; we only sapped each other's strength. Love isn't just about taking in, it isn't about the couple itself. It's about how what you take in is given out. How the love translates into golden rays that rid your souls of darkness and make the world glow a little brighter.

It was an immature love. I tried, but I knew I could only help you as much as you let me in. We were never really able to be each other's source of strength. You were a secret, one that hurt to hide, that struggled to make itself known in the unexpected tears at assembly, or when a friend told me to smile, or before an exam paper, or when my friends were talking about their guys, and the ball of fire was at the tip of my tongue wishing to be set free. It wouldn't even have hurt to hide if you weren't a problem that my friends always had to come rushing to help me solve. If you had been my healer, things would have been perfectly fine. If you had known all I was waiting for was a good morning or a reassurance that you were thinking of me, if you had known all I wanted was to know how you were feeling. You know, in the couple of days before everything crashed, I was beginning to finally trust.

But you couldn't have been a healer, because you were my only problem.

You weren't my strength.

'only two days more'

'it's two days till you're free, Karen.'

there's no use trying

Forbidden chests remain locked for a reason. The thrill of discovering a wealth of gold and all you've ever wanted gives you a surge of inexplicable joy. You let your need for this joy overcome your common sense and before you know it you're picking at the lock, carefully lifting the heavy lid.

So what if we won't last forever, so what if she's too pretty and smart to be mine for long. I'll do anything just to have her for a few weeks, the boy thinks as he picks the lock, too excited, too excited for that one girl, ignoring God's warning that they were never meant to be.

He finally breaks open the lock, that barrier that has been keeping him from his goal for so long. He looks inside and is overwhelmed by paradise. The treasures sing out to him, beckoning, the mask of heaven concealing their curse. The sweet aroma of indulgence intoxicates him. For weeks, months, he dives into a golden world, one that was never his to be.

But God has his ways, too. What was never meant to be yours will eventually be taken away from you somehow, and when he is finally banished once again from that fantasy land, his soul falls apart. Why, he screams in rage. Why, when everything was so perfect. We were made for each other, I just know it.

But it wasn't perfect. It was missing the one element that makes everything truly perfect: God.

When He locks up a treasure chest, we have to accept that only His way will ever prevail.

in doubt

"The Bible was not written to tell us what God CAN do. The Bible is here to tell us what God WILL do."

- Reinhard Bonnke

Powerful.

a deeper burn mark

This time, she cries not for what could have been, but for the delusion she had been living in all along, fitting you into the oversized tee of the person you were in her mind. She cries for the silences and distances that she had always overlooked, almost too readily forgotten. They come back now. She weeps for all the tears she had shed before, in her bed, on the train, in the classroom, her heart knotted in lovesick turmoil, not realising then that this was never what love should be. She trembles at the realisation that it was never meant to be, the realisation that had always been a tiny little voice somewhere at the back of her mind that spoke up whenever an ominous sign showed itself, like dark warnings out of a storybook, that she laughed at and threw aside. She cries for how she gave her all so willingly, so desperately, all for a glimmer of you. How she abandoned all emotional sanity and let herself be Antoinette, that pathetic string puppet, being tugged swayed flung by your every move, every word, even when you had never intended to touch the doll. She hates herself for the glass heart that she herself willingly let drop, for the shattered pieces that she now trods on every now and then as she attempts to fix the crystal of life back together.

if you're feeling the way i am now

"God is there! See what He will do! It is intriguing to see how He beats the devil, shields you from the tornado, and gets you through when you face a brick wall. Don’t forget – He is there. ‘I am with you.’ Whatever you are, faithless, troubled, or downhearted – He is not. His moods don’t go up and down with your moods. He is constant, and being what He is, He will do what He will do. You will be ashamed afterwards for not looking to Him, for exposing your doubt. He will act for you anyway."

- Reinhard Bonnke

For potential ACJC students

Before I came into ACJC, I didn't really have the best impression of it. I had the idea that it was full of rich snobs. Well the former is a little true - there are some pretty rich people, although you'll find far more in ACSI - but the latter is not. Any apprehension I had about the school vanished on day one. Orientation was a m a z i n g and we continue to uphold our legendary reputation. A lot of J1s from other JCs come to our school for orientation, and when asked why, they reply 'don't you know? AC's orientation is the best!' :') Of course, Orientation's only the beginning, but it's very significant, a great display of our school spirit.

(T'was great being a part of it. Writing the Orientation booklet, being an OGL. YAY COUNCIL.)

Check out the Youtube videos of ACJC Orientation 2011. Morgen's walk-in dance was the bomb. My Orientation 2010/2011 blog posts can be found here.

I experienced a strong school spirit first in Crescent, of warmth, love and family. AC's spirit is of fiery passion, fierce love, unity. It's infectious and loud; it courses through our veins. My advice: during Orientation mass rally sessions where everyone cheers like mad, give it your all, even when you're tired and thirsty and dying.

One thing about AC that stands out is that you take out of this journey whatever you want to gain. During Orientation, be insanely enthusiastic and dare to plunge into adventure and madness, and you'll get the most rewarding experience. When I came to AC, I decided that I'd no longer be the emo girl I was in Crescent. No longer would I sit alone during recess, leading an unsatisfactory life, looking at the people with whom I wished to be friends. In AC, I decided that I'd go all out to make each day the best that it could be. I spoke up, volunteered to be OG Rep / Class Rep, loved the mass dances and school anthem, made great friends. It worked.

Alternatively, if you'd rather lead the easy life, not bothering to make the most of this, that's what you'll get, too. You have to work hard at anything to get what you want, but the results never disappoint. Don't choose a less taxing CCA just because you want to go home early every day. Plunge yourself into the deep end. Go for things that interest you, even if - especially if - they're strenuous and heavy activities. Or at the very least, try to be as involved in your activities as possible. It is through this that you gain the most rewarding experience. It is through a CCA that involves passion, commitment and perseverance that you find your family.

For some, it's in the performing arts groups, like the Dance Society - any Dancer will tell you that it was through the late-night, exhausting Bailamos / SYF practice sessions that the strongest bonds were formed. For some, it's in sports groups, like Netball. For me, the Students' Council transformed me, and it was the highlight of my life.

Previously, I had never wanted to join the Council. In secondary school I looked upon the Council a little cynically, like how everyone else does. I guess I put my name down in AC because I wanted to make the best of my time here. I went in with little more than burning passion and dedication, and these qualities got me incredibly far. Endless Council work? Three-hour meetings? Insane decision-making moments? Council was an exhausting journey, but that's what made it so amazing. In a 'heavy' CCA, you'll find yourself spending more time in school than at home, arriving in school before the sun rises and leaving after it sets. But trust me. The more you give, the more you receive, and what you receive will be priceless. You'll find yourself a fierce passion, and that's what makes the AC spirit what it is.

Soon, you'll find the people who will never leave your side, who will never make you feel like you're worth any less than who you are. You'll find the people who will always rush over to dry your tears when you need to cry. You'll find the people with whom you share a common strong passion, be it for singing, soccer or photography. You will also push yourself to achieve things you never thought possible, realise the importance of integrity and tenacity, do some amazing things. All you have to do is take a step forward.

P.S. ELL is an amazing subject. Contact me for more info. Email or something.

P.P.S. If anyone actually saw the iMovie video they were screening at the corner in the Hub during the Open House...that was the first time I used iMovie! Council. Brought a lot of first-times.

and lonelier than ever

As she walks in she's greeted by darkness and smoke and rapidly flashing green lights all around and deafening music whose beats pulsate through her skin, throbbing. Her pals drag her along and demand 'the strongest one' and she goes through the routine, three rounds of bitter fire. Before she knows it she is the song itself, it fills her head, the beat is all she knows, all she knows. She's cursing some guy's name, she can't remember who or why but it feels good just to curse it over and over again, laughter mixed with angry shouts. Soon she's light and happy like there's helium all around.

She knows everyone here, yet knows no one, only that crazy beat. It takes a while before she realises that she's in the arms of a superstar, and all she wants is to say did you know i love you? Suddenly as his hand slides down her back she feels the tingles all over and she needs, she needs to feel his body against hers, the warmth she knows. She presses hard against him and it's all that resounds in her head, the music and the friction, her superstar boy. That look he gives her just as their lips meet, like a signal, it gets her crazy. His hand's under her skirt, picking at her underwear -

suddenly it flashes through her mind. Him. That pudgy-nosed guy with one slightly chipped tooth and soft features, that soft smile, that soft gaze. There's something about imperfection that's so beautiful. Suddenly she remembers why she was cursing his name.

She draws away abruptly. Her heart grows cold. This stranger can't give her what she needs. You can't find love in a club. The physical touch is only a poor disguise; the mask falls off too soon and by the time you realise it's not what you were looking for it's too late. The next day you'll realise what was taken from you and the loneliness coulds you over again.

Run.

She needs to escape this monster that threatens to eat her up again but it catches up as soon as she falls to the ground that still threatens to tip her over. She feels the monster tackle her like a powerful force and reach right into her body to wrench out her heart. He leaves it on the floor beside her, covered in blood and tears.

saga seeds

(youzhuan-inspired)

The idea of you leaving doesn't seem real until you take out your passport. Until a female voice reads out a string of words and numbers that ring like warning bells through the air and you mumble 'that's my flight'. Only then does it hit me that after you pass that border, I'll be walking back to the car alone. The seat beside me will be empty. There'll be no one to pop in for dinner with the most beautiful song that is your voice. And the emptiness will linger for years - the ache of my arms when I've no one to wrap them round, the iciness of my hands when you aren't there to warm them. Years, until you came back again.

You reach into your haversack and carefully extract a translucent pink glass box. I know that box: it's my princess box, your mother's Christmas present to me when we were six. It has a crown ornament on the top and glitter all around and I used to to keep my most precious possessions in it. A rose petal from Mum's bath stuff, a small crystal keychain in the shape of an angel, a metallic red rock I found on the ground. When I was seventeen I emptied the box and gave it to you because you were too big to fit in it.

I open it: it's filled with saga seeds, tiny red hearts, whispers of childhood memories and of love. "They're all from Corie," you say awkwardly, your eyes glued to my hands, to the box. Corie. Even the way you it takes me years back. Corie was the tree we found at the end of the street where we lived; one Saturday when we were seven, you burst into my room saying 'Hey Dee, I found little hearts." Subsequent afternoons were spent underneath the little hearts tree, scouting for the red seeds and comparing whose were more heart-shaped, or lying in the shade waiting for one to drop on our faces. Soon we decided it needed a name: Corazone, Spanish for 'heart', but it didn't sound right for the tiny seeds it produced, so we called it Corie.

I put a few fingers into the box, feel the little hard hearts against them. Excess. "I've been collecting them since last year, when I got the letter." If you knew at age eight that you were capable of collecting these many seeds when you were older, you wouldn't have bragged about your find of five new ones every other week. You used to clench your right fist tightly as you walked up to me, the seeds carefully nestled in the middle, protected, the little hearts. Then you'd uncurl your fingers and reveal the bright red hearts, strikingly bold against your pale white palm. That was how you confessed to me, too, when we were sixteen; in the park a few streets away, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a closed fist and opened it to reveal a single saga seed: "that's my heart and I'm giving it to you."

As I slowly pull my fingers out one drops to the floor. You bend down, reach for it, offer it back to me: it's in your white palm, just like it was that day. I look into your eyes and I know you're recalling that day too, how I took the seed smiling and cautiously leaned into your embrace. How I said 'My heart's yours, too.'

'So I guess this is it,' I say. I close the pink box, slip it into my shoulder bag and manage a smile. Suddenly you're all around me and I let my breath be taken with your grip. The smell of you and the detergent your mum uses. It brings me back again. Me sleeping on your bed - at seven, and at seventeen. I feel a tear on your cheek - wait, it's mine. I let my arms soak you in one last time. Your soft cotton tee and the warm comfort of your skin.

You walk through the gates and all I can do is to stand and watch from the other side. The glass wall deceives: it makes me think I'm still within reach of you, before the cold hard truth hits me again, again. I sit on the short metal railings and watch you disappear. Then I take out the box again. The red seeds, fire, warmth, love, little whispers of love.

相思豆

que sera, sera

I've been spending the entire day on the computer researching universities and courses and wondering how I'm going to start my uni application essay all over again and I walk out to look for my specs because I'm getting a headache and he calls me over.

She's twenty five and a dentist and her dad proudly shows me pictures of her dog, her friends, her boyfriend, her life in Melbourne. Fragments of memories stir inside me - of me in her bedroom once upon a time, watching the dog curl up inside the closet. Everyone said we looked alike when we were younger. She even went to AC for a while, even though she knew she was going away.

Back in my room I stare at the pages of university rankings and the dilemma that's screaming at me in the face: law or literature? law or literature? and my incomplete uni applications and the decisions I have to make right now, right now, that will determine the whole life's path ahead. Time's running out two more days to the US universities' application deadline and I'm far, far from done, not much longer till UK's applications are due and I'm considering a whole course change, gotta rewrite my essay, talk to people who know better, pray like mad, pray like mad, make the decisions now

que sera, sera

something about lonely nights and my lipstick on your face

I don’t know this place and they’re going wild. A little too much vodka and they’re still not quitting so I say I’m out and leave the red room into the night. Josh follows me, takes my hand, stops me at the brick walls. His hand is on my waist and suddenly it’s you touching me, you saying my name, your hand on my neck your energy.

New place, new language, new identity. She puts down her luggage. Lies down on the off-white sheets, flips the channels – they’re all either French or tasteless – then gives up turns off the telly and stares at the grey ceiling.

Her mind floats back to that autumn night he forced sugar-coated strawberries down the back of her hoodie in Shilin and she made him reach inside to get them out. They laughed and held hands and took a random bus to a random stop just to get lost. Three stops after the museum and they were effectively in the middle of nowhere. They hopped off, it was chilly – it’s only chilly in Taiwan, never freezing cold – and quiet and dark. She would’ve been freaked out if she was alone, but his laughter lit up the night. He was fearless, and so became she. They walked aimlessly just talking and he stopped at a random alley. Reddish-brown bricks; no stale smell, but the air felt damp and creepers grew along the walls. A single dim streetlamp flickered at the other end. He sat on the floor with his legs straight, had his hands on his lap and his eyes on her, a request. She sat on his lap, her legs crossed around him, there in that damp alley in the dim flickering light. His faded jeans and her fruity scent. She looked into his hazel eyes and they ignited her soul. They sat there for almost twenty minutes just looking at each other and smiling, then he said “so are you going to kiss me?” and she said “do you want to?” and that was the first time they kissed. Gently at first, cautiously, then he pressed his lips harder against hers and they were in sugar-coated heaven.

Now we’re a few thousand miles and a time zone away, boy, and a gulf that surpasses all these – do you still remember all that I do? Do you still remember how you listened to my heartbeat, how our faces came so close, how all we needed was a long look into each other’s eyes for the whole world to disappear? Do you remember how it was like when I was yours and you could hug me whenever you wanted, like in the bus when I was sleeping and our stop was here but you wrapped your arms around my waist and said you didn’t want to get off? Or when we were in the lift, or when we snuck into the cinema? Do you remember the staircase hours when everything came so naturally? Do you think of me too, like how I’m thinking about you now, the tears forming a puddle on the hard pillow? When have you cried for me? – I forgot to ask you that before we parted – and do I seem like a dream to you now, the way our days feel unreal to me, like I can’t believe they ever happened? Do you feel a pang when you see people kissing on TV or couples on the street? Do you feel lonely too?

HELP WITH UNIVERSITY CHOICES PLEASE

To anyone who happens to be reading this post: I really need information about Royal Holloway University of London, University of East Anglia and Lancaster University! Maybe University of Manchester. I'm looking to do English Lit with Creative Writing. And US universities that are good for those kinds of courses? Desperately looking for universities that will suit me! I've applied for University of Warwick, Nottingham and Exeter so far in the UK, and Washington University in St. Louis in the US. I took the SAT once and scored 2170; really regret not doing it another time because my essay component killed my writing score. Maybe I'll take two subject tests in Jan, if it makes a difference to the unis I'm trying for.

HELP ME PLS

MRT Breakdown - lessons to be learnt:

1. How about an easier way to get people out? Like a non-electricity-operated way of opening the train doors. Like a lever system or something. Even if only for a few doors per train.

2. Or a safer way to break certain windows meant to be broken in case of an emergency if that's possible. Like buses have it! That thing that's supposed to be a hammer to break the window but is so small and harmless-looking.

3. Even when you think a message is kind-of-private, the public eye is always ready to devour and criticise, especially if you're a big company that represents the government and take the people's money (and raise fares). Especially if you represent the government.

4. My brother offered a much more reasonable explanation for that 'income opportunity' alert to taxi drivers. See, taxi drivers would avoid a place that's said to be crowded, because there's bound to be a traffic jam, so 'income opportunity' is a way to bring them over, or any phrase that focuses more on the money than on the potential congestion. After all, they're at work; they're looking for business, not inconvenience.

5. Making the top person step down might not even make any difference really aiyoh it's such a huge company, the top person isn't always at fault with every single detail. And the person responsible for whatever there is to be responsible for (that 'income opportunity' message, I guess) has probably already learnt his/her lesson well from this incident.

And how is stepping down taking responsibility!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! That's AVOIDING responsibility!!!!! The right thing to do would be to wipe away the tears and get down to work resolving all the problems and ensuring minimal chance of these happening again, not step down, so people should stop unnecessarily suggesting that top people 'step down'. In fact, not stepping down is harder, because it's facing up to the mistakes and the humiliation and criticism and taking it in your stride. Yes, they have a huge pay and yes there's a mistake that they need to account for, but that phrase gets annoying when it's used unnecessarily.

anesthesia and gold medicine

True friends are like surgeons. When you find yourself on the brink of death, when your entire being seems to have fallen apart and you don’t know if you’ll be able to get out of this mess alive, they come ready to receive your shattered soul. They know exactly what to do to piece your heart back together again, and slowly, they’ll help you find your way back to the life you once lived. With reassurances and promises and embraces, they’ll stem the flow of pain; they’ll stitch up your wounds and make you believe you’ll be better again.

'i just wanna stay here forever'

your words

your arms

your hands

your smile

your kiss

you

my hopes and plans with you after the a levels, the phrase i chanted again and again: 'everything's going to be amazing just hang on', my daily indulgence in the memories, our message log,

your words, i remember them all

'you're sweet as heaven'

mutual acceptance, thank you for tolerating my temper and waiting it out and bringing me through and holding back for me.

I don't wanna fall another moment into your gravity

Prom was fun, a celebration of friendships. Spending it with the 35ths made me realise how much I missed and will miss their company. Had a great time, even when I was crying in the room.

I'm tired and my eyes hurt too much to cry anymore but fresh rounds of pain never seem to stop coming. No girl should bring herself down this low, chaining herself to someone else and willing herself to be dragged on the floor, so one day I'll find the strength to believe I'm worth something more. Until then, I'll be waiting for you to prove me wrong.

Did you forget everything we ever had?

Did you forget what we were feeling inside?

Now I'm left to forget about us

Did you regret ever holding my hand?

Never again, please don't forget, don't forget

We had it all, we were just about to fall

Even more in love than we were before

I won't forget, I won't forget about us

But somewhere we went wrong

Our love is like a song

But you won't sing along

You've forgotten about us

(don't forget)

The weaning-off period

Suddenly I don't feel like going out to town to get my nails done anymore, don't feel like trying on my prom dress to see if I can do that rose knot, don't feel like getting my hair done, makeup, don't feel like going into that room, don't feel like walking in heels, don't want to try to put on that mask of cheerfulness, don't want to try to be pretty, don't feel like spending the night with y-

So I'll change out of that dress - that I put on to try to look pretty for you but it doesn't matter anymore - and sit in front of a laptop to type, and then retreat to my bedroom where I'll curl up into a ball. I've cried too much in the past few months, and therefore I forbid grief. No need to cry anymore, you said. It was my fault really, I shouldn't have asked when I already knew the answer. I knew what it was inevitably coming to - an end. Didn't expect it to come so soon, maybe, before anything had the room to blossom again, take away the pain of months of silence. It wouldn't be half as bad if we tried to seize each day left now.

During that time I just kept thinking, if all it was coming to was an end anyway, we might as well cut the line now.

Pain is to be cut short, not prolonged.

So I'll focus on those who bring me up, who can't stand to see me push myself down into a pit of pain. Who put a stopper to the tears and stay with me till I laugh again.

Repel darkness

Give thanks to the Lord for He is good; His love endures forever.

With all I am and with all He is, He takes me into his angel arms and there is love. Teach me what love is, dear God; your version of love, not the kind that drags me down into the pit of darkness, not anymore. Teach me what it is to live in Your light, love me with the love of Paul, of Mary, of any servant...of any sinner. I won't write about the dark. I'll write about You and Your embrace. Keep my tears for the things that break Your heart, not the useless things that break mine. Teach me to see beyond these days, months, years, into eternity, into the heavens. Take me into Your light and teach me to love without getting hurt. Let me be a lamp atop a hill; use me, fill me, fill my heart so much with light that it overflows. This darkness I plunge into is not of You. You can bring me to safe ground. I don't have to fall to feel, all I need is You and Your love of light. I don't need to fall.

I'm sick of the pain, sick of trying to convince myself, sick of trying to build this unstable wall. Oh God come. I know what it's like to be filled by You and disregard the world. Help me make my decisions because I seem to make all the wrong ones. Teach me how to expect nothing from this world but everything from You. Batter my heart...restore Your image in me.

Sick of wondering what's real anymore. Isn't it ironic that the only thing that's real is intangible?

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

(John Donne; Holy Sonnet 14)

-

when you lose something you can't replace

lights will guide you home

and i will try to fix you