Help Kopus

If I could fly to Nakuru, Kenya now to take pictures and videos and do write-ups of all the children who need sponsors there, I would. If I could do a video interview with them so that you could see what they're like, I would. (There's always Skype, but the wifi at my Aceh center can hardly load Facebook, let alone a video chat.)

But I'm not in Kenya; when I applied to International Humanity Foundation, they told me that the Aceh center needed volunteers, so I came here. But the Kenya center houses 75 children from the impoverished region of East Pokot, and gives them a home, food, and access to education. Because the region is very poor and the living conditions are harsh, the center also tries to bring relief to the community whenever possible. (It has a farm!!!! The kids are apparently really enthusiastic about helping to upkeep it.) Julie from the Kenya center tells me that they have only been able to provide two meals a day, and tea for breakfast. Ten kids are malnourished. I will elaborate on the breakdown of the sponsorship fee later.

Part of my work at International Humanity Foundation involves looking for sponsors for children who need it. I'm here to appeal for sponsorship for a boy called Kopus from the Kenya center.

Here's a writeup about Kopus that Julie sent me:

Kopus was living with his mother before he came to IHF, but she was too poor to care for him. He has three brothers who still live with his mother in the remote area of Riongo. Kopus is in Class One at Primary School. His favorite subjects are Mathematics and Kiswahili. Kopus loves to sing traditional songs from Pokot and he enjoys playing football.

Here, at IHF Kenya, we look after over 75 children such as Kopus by offering them a safe home, food and education. All of our children come from the marginalised tribes of East Pokot in Kenya who face some of the toughest living conditions due to drought and land rights conflict. IHF aims to support the tribes by not only looking after those children whose parents may have died or who due to poverty cannot support them, but by educating those children we are preparing the leaders of the future. Leaders we hope with pass on their knowledge and skills to their communities but also defend their rights, traditions and values.

I am writing to you to appeal to you to support Kopus. He can be supported by you in two ways either by paying for his basic needs (our Orphan program) at $37 each month, or by assisting him with medical care (Medical Program) at $15 each month. You can find out more about our different child sponsorship programmes at www.ihfonline.org and also sign up to sponsor Kopus.

If you choose to sponsor a child it is not just a transaction…you will be making a real difference to that child’s life. Each month your sponsored child will write to you and tell you what is happening in their lives. Many of our sponsors write back to their child and we make sure the child can read and understand the letter.  Some of our long term child sponsors have built a long-term pen-relationship with their child and have become firm friends. Our children are loving, respectful and very grateful for the support of their sponsors and this comes through in their letters.

I hope therefore you will be able to help us by supporting Kopus or indeed any of our children at IHF Kenya. Details of children who need support are on our website if you would like to consider another or several children. If you have any questions about child sponsorship at IHF Kenya I would be most happy to answer them.

If you'd like to read more about where the money goes:

We are trying hard to work to a model of sustainability by developing our Peace Farm but with 33 children in High School and a likely another 10 joining next year (only two will graduate) we are facing a sever gap between our income and expenditure.

It costs us around $28 a month just for food (which is less than $1 a day if you think about it), add to that commodities such as hygiene products and clothes at around $10 a month the Orphan sponsorship at $37 doesn’t quite cover the cost.   For the last year we have only been able to provide two meals a day and tea for breakfast. Four kids are officially underweight (according to the Kenyan Red Cross child BMI/age index)  and ten kids are malnourished.  We are seeking donations to sponsor breakfast but these will be sporadic at best.

For education, a high school student costs for fees an average of $300 per year plus annual requirements (school uniform and books) $100, plus transport and lunch money $108 – totalling $508 per year or $42 per child.  I have also not included one off costs like exam fees, admin fees, tuition fees and other random fees that  schools in Kenya require. You will again see that the TEP sponsorship of $10 per month nowhere near covers this.

Finally medicines – our medical sponsorship of $15 per month does tend to cover our medical fees however we do have special cases like Kamama that is blind and schizophrenic and who should be getting weekly counselling at $8 per week  and also Chepuser who needs an eye operation in the near future which will cost $843…

I don't know what the Kenya center is like, but I can tell you about the difference that sponsorship makes here at our Aceh center. A young child here recently lost his father due to an unexpected heart attack. His mum earns a very small income selling food or something. The child's older brother has a burger stand that doesn't bring in much income either, but he also just fell ill with a serious disease. The co-director at my center just managed to secure a sponsorship for this child. For just US$10 a month, the sponsor will pay for his school fees. They were worried that without this sponsorship, the child might have to quit school to help with the burger stand. At our Aceh center, the sponsorship is generally only used for the child's public school fees.

You can read more about the Kenya center through the volunteers' blog posts here. 

If you would like to sponsor Kopus, please please please let me know, and I'll get you in touch with Julie. If the cost of sponsoring a child is too high for you but you would still like to contribute in way you can, it only costs US$10 a month to sponsor a child's education, and the class sponsorship is $30 a month. You can also donate to the Kenya farm and the Famine Feed that they conduct to feed the surrounding community 2-3 times a year. (The last time I tried donating through the website I had problems with it though, so if you're having trouble with it too just let me know and I'll contact Julie to see if there's any other option.)

If you do decide to sponsor a child, please remember that it's a commitment. It doesn't just stop at 3 or 4 months - in the 5th, 6th, 9th and 14th month, Kopus will still need money for food and school. It's just a little over US$1 a day - think of it as helping to sustain a life halfway around the world. It forms a unique connection, more than a transaction; you're saying "I care about your day-to-day, and I'll see you through it however I can."

Church-hunting in Aceh

Don't get me wrong, I love this heavily Muslim place. The women look so graceful in their headscarves and long skirts (and they ride motorbikes too, it's awesome); the men are very nice; the children are lovely. I fall asleep to the recitation of the Quran blasting out of the mosque and I think, how awesome it would be if we could blast Hillsong music out of our churches at night. But while it's beautiful, it's also tiring, being surrounded by a different religion. I'm the only Christian volunteer at the center, and sharing a room with 4 others means I don't have the space to worship and pray out loud. We're not to eat in public, or in front of the kids, because everyone else is fasting. And everyone is speaking a language I don't understand. It's tiring to be present but not included.

On Sunday I was determined to find a church. The night before, I was told that the Methodist church has an English service on Sunday afternoons. I couldn't find the service details online, so I left at noon with the address in hand. Hopped into a rickety becak and told the man the address. Red polo tee, red motorbike. Where the left side mirror should've been was a green screw instead. I think he thought I understood Indonesian, so he kept talking and talking and I'd nod in agreement or laugh at whenever it seemed appropriate. I loved how his speedometer wasn't working; his needle was just jumping around.  I think towards the end of our ride he realised I didn't actually understand him.

A blue concrete arch: "GEREJA METHODIST INDONESIA". "Ohhh, methodist, this one methodist," the driver said. He offered to pick me up after I was done, too. I didn't know how to say "I don't know what time it ends, so it might not be a good idea, I'll just get another becak when I'm done", so instead I just asked him to come at 5pm. After all, I didn't know if the afternoon service was at 2pm or at 4pm, so 4.5 hours would probably be a good buffer. Right?

A woman from the church approached me and conversed with me in Chinese. Hearing her speak Chinese made me feel so much at home, made everything sound less foreign. Their Chinese sounds less foreign to me than their English, because their Chinese kind of sounds like Malaysian Chinese, whereas their English's mostly not very fluent and heavily, uniquely accented. Turned out they only had English services on the third week of every month. They did have Chinese services every week, though, but in the mornings; I'd missed today's service. Great. So now I had 4 hours left. It was still so refreshing though, seeing crosses on the walls and a hall with pews for worship. I wanted to ask if I could just go in and sit, but they might be suspicious.

As I walked out of the church compound I realised there was another church right beside this one. The doors were right open. I walked into a small, unimpressive hall, with a few pews and a little podium. Oh. A tiny congregation, huh. The gates to the stairs were also open, so I tentatively tiptoed up. A beautiful hall greeted me. It wasn't colourful or magnificent, no stained glass or fancy crosses. But it was peaceful. Transparent glass tiles forming crosses in the white walls, wooden brown shophouse-style windows, pews of polished wood. It was a magical moment, just me and a house of God.

(Bethel: house of God. I want to name my future child Bethel.)

A man appeared. I stood apologetically, asking about English services. In Indonesian, he said no, they only had Indonesian services here. He was short, very tanned, and jolly. We had a little conversation with what we could muster: him not understanding English, and me not understanding Indonesian. He was from Papua New Guinea (ah, that explains the skin colour - it was much darker than other Malay Indonesians); came here 10 years ago after the tsunami, and I think he came to complete his last 2 years of education here. (I might be wrong. He was saying all of this in Indonesian.) He manages the sound system at the church. I left after a while, not wanting to disturb him further; we probably wouldn't have been able to understand much more of each other at this point. I wanted to say "God bless you" in Bahasa but I couldn't remember how, so I just thanked him.

I walked and walked and walked. Everything was closed. Came across another church, Catholic, but it was closed. I walked and walked and it was still only 2.30pm. Hot sun, black pants, I forgot my hairtie. So many empty becaks came my way, slowing down for me, asking if I wanted a ride. I was so tempted to just go back to the center, but I had made an agreement with my becak man, and I didn't want him to come all the way here for me only to be let down by another irresponsible customer. I told myself to persevere. I decided to go back to the Methodist church and read Fireseeds (Dan Hayes) until it was time.

It felt so free, sitting in an empty compound within a church, reading a book about God's work in university campuses across the world. It felt free being able to pray out loud. A rat was running about in the drain at my feet, making all the trash clatter - drink packets, plastic cups. A group of ladies walked out - they must've just finished a meeting. One was going into her car when she noticed me, and came to sit beside me. We chatted in Chinese, again, and I asked her how she felt living in a place that was so strongly Muslim. She said it was generally quite alright, both religious communities largely left each other alone, it was quite peaceful, well sometimes restricting but generally alright but remember not to eat in public when the Muslims are fasting; they will scold you! When she left, I saw an old man walk slowly and sheepishly into the church compound, looking behind him as he entered; he crouched in a corner and took out a packet of food and started eating.

Just before 5pm, I decided to hunt for dinner. Outside the church there stood a woman selling gado gado. I noticed that she wasn't wearing a headscarf or long sleeves, so I asked if she belonged to this church. She said no, she was Catholic. Pointed in the direction of the Catholic church I'd walked past. This time I wanted to say it, so I asked her to wait while I took out my phone and searched for Carissa's Bahasa cheat sheet. "Tuhan memberkati mu". The Lord bless you. She seemed very happy.

5.07. Becaks still passed me by, but I was like no, the red polo tee guy said he'd pick me up. I kept on the lookout. 5.10. Finally he showed up at 5.12. Raised his chin to me like he was greeting a familiar friend.

1: Nurul

The kids will see a new face today. My black Outward Bound polo tee and three-quarter jeans - "cover the shoulders, cover the knees". The power has been out for a few hours. The air is hot and pregnant with water vapour; our living room is dark. I sit still on the couch, doing nothing, trying to forget the fact that I'm wearing pants. When you're calm you'll naturally feel cooler: 心静自然凉.

Cue Emily's cheerful, chiming voice, a plump little Indonesian girl clinging closely to her. Emily encourages Nurul to say something to me. "Ask, 'what is your name?'" Nurul timidly echoes, with awkward breaks between each word: "what is your name?". Immediately looks away. "I'm Karen, what is your name?" After more encouragement from Emily: "My name is Nurul."

Emily asks Nurul something in Malay, and Nurul nods. "Karen, Nurul wants to play with you," she translates. Nurul goes to get a puzzle, then comes to sit by my side. She seems content to just have me watch as she assembles together the colourful pieces of Canada. "Nurul's a little slower at learning, so she needs more attention," Emily tells me as Nurul obliviously works on the puzzle. "But she's very sweet. She doesn't seem to mind if you don't understand what she's saying. But she's very sweet."

I ask Nurul how old she is. She puts up her fingers: eight. "Eight? Lapan?" She sullenly nods. We sit awkwardly beside one another. I try to get her to say something. I point at the different parts of the puzzle. "Orange?" A pause; a nod. "Red? Merah?" She nods. "Which is your favourite?" She doesn't understand. "Pink?" Silence: I've run out of words. After a while she says two words in Malay, quietly. I don't understand, but I think she doesn't understand when I say I don't understand. Eventually I shake my head. She seems a little sad. So I nod. She brightens up and overturns the puzzle again.

Later, I am called to observe a class. The architecture undergrads from China are teaching the children how to draw a cube, with shading and all. Some of the kids are doing impressively well. But Nurul can't seem to get the lines right; shades in all the wrong places. She grasps an ochre colour pencil. She asks for an eraser. She rubs and rubs and rubs, gets the lines wrong again, doesn't understand why it isn't looking as it should. The teacher keeps going with her pencil, her shading makes the cube look magical; the little boy Michael is doing a really beautiful job; and here sits a slouching Nurul, her paper an ochre mess, her cube never looking like the others' no matter how much she erases and tries again. Nurul is sniffing.

When the rest are almost done, she leaves her stuff aside and runs out to the porch, where Emily is setting off on her motorbike. Nurul continues to stand there even after it has left. She is carrying her schoolbag. I leave the art class, put on my shoes. I approach Nurul from behind, put my hands on her shoulders. "Are you okay? Okay?" She turns towards me and nods, looking down. After a while she says something in Malay and takes my hand and leads me back into the living room. She continues saying things I don't understand and she goes back to the games rack and takes out the same Canada puzzle. Sits on the floor. She overturns the puzzle; the big wooden pieces click against the rough tiled floor; she puts each piece back where it belongs again, with more speed. More intentionality.

She cannot draw a cube or speak English, but she must prove herself, find comfort in the one thing in which she is confident. She is done. She overturns it. Does it again. A young boy deliberately runs into the puzzle and knocks it all over. She shouts, indignant, but soon calms down again as she falls into the rhythm of the puzzle. Another boy comes over, one who speaks to her kindly, and she responds with friendliness. The third time, she passes it to me. It's my turn now. It's a challenge. I know because the boy starts to chant in support: "Ka-kak! Ka-kak!" I smile, and still take my time with it anyway. Nurul helps me out. Saskatchewan is a lovely indigo. Nik's hometown. Toronto is represented with the CN tower. Ottawa. Quebec. All these things that make no sense to Nurul, but it doesn't matter; she knows the shape and position of each piece like the back of her hand, and they are friendly to her.

Lesbian

I'm here to recount a conversation I had a while ago that is very relevant today. Posted with permission.
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She told me about her new boyfriend; they'd been together for a few weeks. I noticed the happiness in her voice. I was little taken aback, since the last time we talked about relationships she told me about how she had many other more important things to focus on right now, etc., but it didn't matter. She seemed happy, so I was glad for her. I was grateful that she had told me something personal, and I wanted to offer something in reciprocation. I felt prompted to talk about my first relationship somehow, but it was a dangerous thing to say. You can't just talk about something like that to anyone. She might be weirded out, she might see me differently, she might become guarded. I struggled with the dilemma for a few minutes.

"My first relationship was with a girl, but that ended and I'm straight, so whatever." Shrugged, like it was something to shrug about.

"Huh? Really?" She seemed taken aback, but more out of fascination than in a negative way.

"Yeah..."

"Can I tell you something? My boyfriend is...a girl also. I just call her a he so that people won't say like 'eee, you're lesbian'. I'm afraid of what people will think."

Something tugged at my heart. I knew that this moment right here was God-planned. He was the one who had drawn up this friendship; it was so clear now.

She had never been in a relationship with a girl before, but although this was different, it was no less real. Her 'boyfriend' gave her the strength to face the problems in her family and brought her happiness.  She had liked her for quite a while now. I understood exactly how she felt. People can say all they want about 'unnatural' love, but it feels as real as any other. Emotions don't always discriminate, and love is love.

She told me that she was also beginning to feel really guilty towards God, like she was no longer worthy of being His child. For two weeks now, she would go to church on Sunday morning, and sit outside the chapel until the service was over. She didn't feel worthy of being let in. At this point I felt like God had orchestrated our entire friendship for this moment, like I was, right now, acting as God's messenger to her.

My first relationship lasted slightly under a year and nine months. God came into my life halfway through it. He didn't refuse to let me into His house; with open arms, He filled me with His overwhelming love, until I wanted nothing more than to pursue Him. As I was moved to tears at every church session, as I fasted and read the Bible and prayed and questioned and received, all other things in my life simply dimmed themselves out of existence.

"God has already forgiven you, and nothing can come between God's love for you," I said with urgency, with firmness. "See, I do things that make my dad angry sometimes, but he would never want me to stop talking to him altogether. Isn't it the same for our Father? He already knew everything about your life before you were born, and still loved you enough to create you, to die so that you could freely come to Him. And now you think you are unworthy of His love?"

None of us are worth God's love. The fact that we are unworthy is the reason He had to die to pay the price of our sins. God died to make us worthy, to bail us out. And since all - ALL - our sins have been paid for, nothing can separate us from God anymore.

"Please, don't stop talking to God. It breaks His heart more that you're not talking to Him. He knows, and it's okay, nothing you do will make Him love you more or less." There were tears in her eyes. She nodded, silent. I prayed so hard for her that night, that God would continue to show her that nothing, nothing, could stop her from being His daughter. And slowly, as God's love grew in her life to become the Greatest Love, all other loves would submit to it, and stand or fall in its presence.

For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. - Rom 8:38-39

Freedom always comes at a cost

I have a habit of learning things and being done with them before becoming proficient. I learnt how to play the guitar about two and a half years ago, so that I could play in CF if it was needed. I learnt how to play in the keys of G and D, but couldn't do bar chords so I could never play Bm right, and always avoided the key of C. I tried my hand at fingerstyle for a while - tried Blackbird and Tears in Heaven, but never finished learning either song. I still make mistakes when I play: CF would know all too well. It's been so wonderful and useful being able to play the guitar, and it really helps me in worship. But I never went beyond the basics. I learnt just enough to get by, and gave up.

My brother, on the other hand, came back one day when he was 14 and started playing a refrain on the guitar over and over again. I was like, "wow, you can play now?" and he said "nope". But every day, for a few hours at a go, he would lie on his bed and practice. Every day. Soon he was able to play anything. Like, he was able to play Sungha Jung arrangements. He could figure out how to play something in fingerstyle just by listening to it. He started being able to play things that Theo was playing. Coming home every night to the tune of Rylynn - one of my favourite moments at home.

And that is guitar freedom.

Guitar freedom is being able to play whatever you want. But that comes with discipline and practice. I don't have guitar freedom. I can't play whatever I want. Same for financial freedom. If you don't have the discipline to save and carefully steward your money (I'm guilty of this too), you won't be financially free. You'll continue to be bound by money. This is also often true of me. I don't work as much as I should, and I highly prioritise meeting people, and meeting people often happens over food, and soon I'm bound by my lack of money again.

I love to teach English because it's so important for a person to be able to express exactly what they want or how they're feeling. Being able to express yourself makes you feel free. But learning a language comes with practice. I don't know how to tell my students that. The skill of expression that I have is not a miracle. Read, write, read, write, train yourself, unlock that treasure trove within you, and your world of expression will also be set free. You know, I love creative writing because it's the avenue that sets my inner world free. All these ideas in my head, these emotions I can't express, this beauty that comes out in garbles in speech - they become elegant on paper. Yet I haven't been training. I decided I didn't like creative writing classes because it felt too stifling, too controlled and sterile. I haven't written a good creative piece in a long, long, long time. The last good piece I wrote was before Yale-NUS started, I think. And I see that I'm beginning to lose it, and I'm beginning to panic, because it's my one avenue, my refuge, my old friend, and it's slipping through my fingers because I failed to practice and keep and train my skill. And if I'm no longer able to effectively express ideas creatively in words, then I am no longer fully free to express myself. The colourful mess in my head will always only remain a colourful mess; the piece I produce will never ease the ache; I will lose my ability to write, and hence, my freedom.

Freedom comes at a cost. For things like music and money and sports, that cost is discipline. The freedom to walk around safely at night is something many Singaporeans experience; that comes with the cost of tight law enforcement. If evil weapon-wielders practised their freedom to hurt people on the streets, we wouldn't have the freedom to walk around safely at night. The freedom of peace comes at the cost of self-restraint on everyone's part. People say that love brings freedom. When you and your significant other are in love, you free up each other's souls. You are free to be yourselves, and in each other you find your own true self. Yet a relationship comes with commitment, and commitment means sticking to a decision you've made even when you don't feel like it. True love doesn't mean it's always easy; it just means it's the most rewarding. Love requires sacrifice, but that sacrifice is worth it.

Our desires, our wants, are endless. But in order to have freedom in a community, we need to decide what happens when our desires touch on another's territory. If I were the only person around for miles and miles, I could want all that land and have it; I'd also be very lonely and sad. Thankfully, there are many other people within that land area where I come from. However, in order for my community to have freedom, I can't have all the land. We all have to give and take.

Why should the freedom for speech be brandished about like it's the only one that doesn't come with a cost?

the necessity of pain

“I am progressing along the path of life in my ordinary contentedly fallen and godless condition, absorbed in a merry meeting with my friends for the morrow or a bit of work that tickles my vanity to-day, a holiday or a new book, when suddenly a stab of abdominal pain that threatens serious disease, or a headline in the newspapers that threatens us all with destruction, sends this whole pack of cards tumbling down. At first I am overwhelmed, and all my little happinesses look like broken toys. Then, slowly and reluctantly, bit by bit, I try to bring myself into the frame of mind that I should be in at all times. I remind myself that all these toys were never intended to possess my heart, that my true good is in another world and my only real treasure is Christ. 

And perhaps, by God’s grace, I succeed, and for a day or two become a creature consciously dependent on God and drawing its strength from the right sources. But the moment the threat is withdrawn, my whole nature leaps back to the toys: I am even anxious, God forgive me, to banish from my mind the only thing that supported me under the threat because it is now associated with the misery of those few days. Thus the terrible necessity of tribulation is only too clear. God has had me for but forty-eight hours and then only by dint of taking everything else away from me. Let Him but sheathe that sword for a moment and I behave like a puppy when the hated bath is over - I shake myself as dry as I can and race off to reacquire my comfortable dirtiness.. And that is why tribulations cannot cease until God either sees us remade or sees that our remaking is now hopeless.”

CS Lewis, “The Problem of Pain”

Remember: not everyone who is your friend is good for you

I've cut off my Facebook News Feed on my laptop, with the help of News Feed Eradicator (try it! it's wonderful) because there are too many things on it that are not good for my soul right now. Too many things make me feel annoyed, or angry, or indignant, or bitter, and I just felt like while I deal with the things inside me, it's better not to have News Feed screw me up more.

Besides this, I said to someone recently that all your friendships either make you a better or a worse person. While this may seem like a very selfish reason to pick and choose your friends, I'm not advocating that you do not extend love to everyone. However, it's important that we take care of our own souls. Don't give ourselves a reason to fall into temptation - whether addiction, unkind and ungracious speech, jealousy or anger. We become like the people we hang around. I've realised that there are a few friendships that are useless for me to upkeep - angry people with angry, loose or shallow Facebook posts that don't edify my life, and whose lives I also don't edify, because we can't engage one another with open hearts. Or maybe I'm just being selfish - I'm tired of hearing their ignorant, pessimistic views, and tired of trying to help them see things from a kinder perspective while they continue to arrogantly and crudely put down the things I stand for (like humble generosity,  or believing the best in people, or extending sympathy, for example). Today I stumbled upon a Facebook post on my phone (because I can't eradicate News Feed on my phone), sighed, took a few deep breaths, and proceeded to cleanse my Facebook feed of a few people who were not doing me any good. They might've been my friends. Might have been really nice to me, efficient people, people that society values. Doesn't make them healthy for my soul.

But we also cannot forget compassion. I was reading about compassion recently. Compassion means "to suffer with", and is about joining a person in his/her suffering. When we engage in compassion, when we identify with someone's hurt and feel their pain with them, we give and receive simultaneously. As we share our lives and hearts with another, our souls are also enriched. Compassion ensures that your friendships make you a better person, because you're learning and developing. I guess there are many things to juggle while learning how to love people - compassion is key, but also protect yourself.

Shrug. We're all navigating this, all trying to nurse our souls, while Other People try to tell us what to believe. I wish you all the best. I am trying, too.

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Random side note: Why is it that the strongest / most outspoken / most aggressive LGBT advocates, feminists and religious people are also sometimes seen as the least loving, or most intimidating? Being advocates of what they're advocates of, one would expect these people to also be the most accepting and loving and approachable, and the least 'harmful'; yet people tend to shy away from them. In fact, these three groups should have close ties with one another, too; along with groups that advocate awareness for the homeless, the poor, the sick, the helpless, the mistreated and neglected people who fall through the cracks.

Perhaps it's the loudness and aggression that rubs the wrong way. Or perhaps the aggression is a result of having fought fiercely, and having been embittered by annoying people. Maybe they have become less loving and accepting than they preach. I think we advocates of love and equality have a new game-changing aspect to add to our cause: that of gentle, genuine, unreserved acceptance, which also happens to be the crux of our cause itself. Perhaps we don't need to see ourselves so much as slayers and warriors, and more as passionate messengers of love.


(Am I making sense? Is this a dangerous post? Am I going to get a lot of negative Facebook comments and flak and judgment?)

Love doesn't wish for a person to remain where they are

I quarrelled with a friend today. Two stubborn heads butting into each other, one resistant to change, one insisting that he must be receptive to advice and actively seek out God and His wisdom. An arrow trying to pierce an iron block. “Your soul needs to be healthy; it’s where the Holy Spirit lives. Sometimes you need to hold your responses back a little; don’t be so quick to offer an excuse. You won’t develop otherwise.”

In the middle of it I said that if there was no edifying aspect of our friendship, then it was pointless for us to hang out. A friendship wishes the best for each other, and it seeks mutual strengthening. I said “Love does not wish for a person to remain where they are. I’m saying that I do love and have compassion for you. Do you understand?” I realised I was repeating CS Lewis’s own teachings. It was what I was reading a couple of days ago in The Problem of Pain. We are all very flawed, and all of us have a long way to go in being better people. That's why love wishes for the other person to change (for the better), not stagnate. A friend seeks to help make the other person stronger, wiser, better. Today I realised for myself that true love, the love of God, doesn’t just want the other person to be momentarily happy; true love wants the other person to be well. Joy is a natural by-product of being well in your soul. I don’t want a depressed drug addict to keep taking drugs even if that’s the only thing that can give her momentary pleasure. I want her to heal. And that healing process is painful, but necessary, to her soul becoming well, and then she can be truly joyful at her freedom from the chains of addiction.

I guess this is the product of both that CS Lewis book and the Henry Nouwen one that Tiff lent me that I’m also currently reading (Here and Now). We don’t just seek happiness or optimism - a feeling that’s tied to circumstance. Circumstances will always find their way to be shitty from time to time. We seek joy - that firmly endures regardless of the situation. And out of that joy one can be motivated to change their circumstances, too.

As a Christian, the firmest source of joy is the hope that whatever the circumstance, Christ lives in us, and has overcome everything. He knows our future and has taken care of it, and He will bring us through it. When we have that knowledge firm in us, there’s no reason to worry about anything. We know that sorrow may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.

And so a friendship seeks for both people to be anchored in that joy.

Ah, you see, the two books that informed my responses today were books that belong to my classmates. My reflections in this post is also a product of my semester of seeking advice from Evannia and Carmen, letting them know all about my life so that they can feed me with wisdom. This is why one cannot remain alone. You have to actively seek wise advice from people who have walked the road before; read, read, read; feed yourself with information and transform the useful things into wisdom for yourself. My last advice to this friend was to seek wise Christian advice and read Christian material - desiringgod.org, sermons, books, whatever worked for him. Because you can ask God for healing but He can't use what you don't have to shape you. In order to know the Bible better you have to actually read it. In order to know wisdom you have to actually seek it.

In the end, I ended that conversation with “Anything you say”. There was no point fighting, really; he would remain firm to his beliefs, and I to mine. But my reply made me sad. Because I stopped trying to care. And to stop trying to care is to stop loving. And it’s not true - I still care for him and want the best for him and “anything you say” is not my TRUE answer, just the only one I can give as long as one remains unreceptive to wisdom. And I still care for you, and I want your soul to be well, for you to find joy with Christ, because a life with Jesus is an exceedingly joyful one (although not the happiest). You have all the hope you need. And I will pray for that.

--

I must also say that a semester ago, I wouldn't have been able to say any of this. Thank you, Evannia, Carmen, Theo and Josh for being a part of my life and shaping me for the better this semester. I'm also so grateful for my small group, Yixuan and Bao, for always being with me and strengthening me, reminding me of God's love. Thank you Sau for displaying such care for me whenever I needed it, never leaving me alone. Thank you Tiff for your heart. Thank you Charlotte too, for that night a year ago when I came to your room and cried (you might not remember it, but I do); for the freshman nights we used to pray together, for allowing me to give you strength as you strengthened me in return; for the little Bible verses you've left me. Thank you Janel for that koufu lunch, for sitting with me and sharing your heart with me in order to strengthen mine. Thank you Carissa - for so much, for so so much, I can't begin to describe. Thank you Ami for all our conversations. There are many people who have played some part in shaping me these couple of years, and especially so this semester - I've changed so much this semester, and I'm so grateful that I'm a very different person now from last semester, and from two years ago.

Christian and Homosexual

Hello! I really love your blog, your posts always really make me think and provide a really insightful perspective! This is incredibly random, I apologise, but I was curious what your stance is on homosexuality. I am a christian currently struggling with my sexuality and I feel most have the view that you cannot be a practicing homosexual and christian? Thanks and sorry for the very random nature of this message. Take care!

Hello! Interestingly enough, I was thinking of doing a post on this sometime soon. I guess this is forcing me to stop procrastinating on it. 

I feel that in life, everyone has a particular tendency to sin, a weakness, a thorn in the flesh that God calls us to surrender to Him daily. It could be the tendency for pride, lust, greed. The love of gossiping. One might have had abusive parents, and have a lot of trouble forgiving and honouring them. My life’s struggle is emotional dependency - I tend to need people excessively, putting them before God, using them to fill the hole in my heart. It is idolatry. These things remind us that we cannot save ourselves. No one is sinless. God calls us to give them to Him every day, to trade our lives for His. “Less of me, more of You!”

Of course, you can’t help liking someone. That isn’t a sin. It’s what you decide to do with those feelings that matters. We know from the Bible that sex between two people of the same sex is a perversion of its original intention: the epitome of physical union, an expression of the emotional and spiritual union which are epitomised in the lifelong covenant and institution of marriage. (i know it's a long string of words, but read them carefully!) We know that to lust after someone you’re not married to is already committing adultery. Sex is a beautiful thing, the symbolism of full union. Marriage is a beautiful thing. It signifies the relationship between Christ and the Church. God has given us the privilege of experiencing love between people, and they are glimpses of what it is like to be in love with Him. These things must be guarded and stewarded properly, used to glorify Him and edify one another, as with all other things.

Of course it’s difficult. In my previous relationship my ex said “you have to help me keep away from sinful thoughts, too.” So we met in public spaces as far as possible; we had decided not to kiss until we got married (if it happened), not to ‘awaken love until it pleases’. And well, the hard truth is that as long as one is not married, any and all lustful thoughts are sinful.*** Thankfully, we were not meant to overcome our sins by our own strength. We can’t.

Repression is not the answer. It’s dangerous and unhealthy. It is important to acknowledge the thoughts every time they come, wrestle with them, and say “God, I am feeling this way; I put this at Your feet.” They will come again and again. Recently I have had to repeatedly come to Jesus with my sadness; with my longing for death; with my insecurities, bitterness, and jealousy. “God, I am feeling this way.” And I just cry with Him. Whenever you fall, it’s okay. Jesus already knew it would happen. He has cancelled out your name on your sin, and put His name there. And we were not meant to conquer the sin on our own. Jesus alone gives us the power to overcome. When we die to ourselves and ask Him to take over, that’s when His strength can work in our weakness.

The key to dealing with our struggles is not to focus on the things we *can’t do*, but to focus on Him. As we pursue God, delight in His love, all other things eventually fall away. I was in a lesbian relationship before coming to Christ. When I came to church, God didn’t say “you have to stop sinning here and here before you come”; He said, “Come.” And as I fell in love with God and found joy, these things just fell away. There were things I just didn’t feel like doing anymore, and eventually we broke up. Dealing with that was difficult, but just keep your eyes on Jesus and not on the sin, because Jesus will help you through it. A note to remember: why are you trying to keep the Law? Is it for the Law's sake? Then it's pointless, because the law will not save you. The desire to act righteously is born out of our love for God. When we love someone, we want to please him/her. I want my parents and friends to be proud of me. In classes where I love the teachers, I am very motivated to do well. If we deeply love someone we will try our best to stop doing the things that grieve them, and do the things they love. Quit a gang, quit self-harming, change old habits and pick up new ones. We love God, and because of our deep relationship with Him, we want our lives to please Him; but we need His help to do that, because we are ridden with sin. Loving God comes before keeping His commandments. Often we focus on the Law first. 

Most of all, don’t ever feel like you cannot talk to God anymore because of guilt! I think of it like my relationship with my dad - I do things that make him angry sometimes, but if I stop talking to him altogether, isn’t that worse? Jesus already paid the price for our sins so that our sins wouldn’t count against us, so that we could be in a full relationship with God. Don’t let anything make you feel condemned. Just keep on coming to God with them. As you daily choose Him over your sin, He will reward, strengthen and edify you. Also don’t let yourself be cut off from Christian friends! Many Christians commit the sin of condemning a homosexual, or viewing his/her sin as ‘more severe’. We need to remember that we are all so prone to sin, and help one another through our weaknesses. We are all sinners, justified not because we’re good but because of what Jesus did for us. We are all sinners on a road of sanctification, daily choosing the path of God, and daily drawing closer to Him.

All the best :) I will say a prayer for you today. I know it is difficult. It is difficult to trust that He has something bigger and better planned for us, in this life and beyond, and all we need to do is keep surrendering our lives to God. It might edify you to read a little about other Christians who have struggled with their sexualities: e.g. Christopher Yuan, Henri Nouwen. And here is a verse for you: Mark 10:29-30 “Assuredly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or lands, for My sake and the gospel’s, who shall not receive a hundredfold now in this time—houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions—and in the age to come, eternal life.”

*** edit may 2018: ALL lustful thoughts are sinful. Love seeks to give and edify, even at the expense of self; lust seeks to take. Physical and emotional lust are both sinful: they are self-gratification, a taking. My opinions on this whole sex-marriage-sexuality thing have also come to be much more informed by Theology of the Body over the past year; please drop me a note / email me if you'd like to chat more!

classical tamil wisdom

Kapilar / Kuruntokai 38 (translated by A.K. Ramanujan)

la beauté de l'éphémère

(this was one of the pieces I wrote for my Creative Nonfiction class. The title doesn't really seem to gel with the feel of the essay in my opinion....but I don't have a better one, so this will do for now. I'm sorry it took me more than a whole semester to put it up!)


Sandra and I stroll down Amsterdam Street, Manhattan. French Dude has decided to head back to the hostel first, but we’ve only had one crazyass long island tea. $10 for a jug of beer? We grab a seat with the dancing college kids and pool-players, two Asian girls sharing a jug on Amsterdam Street. Two guys walk by, walk over. They’re having a Hyundai company celebration. Evidently tipsy. How’s it goin’, girls. God leave us alone, I want to enjoy our ten-dollar beer and chat about school and ask Sandra about her boyfriend. Guy puts his arm around my waist. They’re asking us where we’re from, so we make it a game to stall for time. Hmmmmm. Vietnam. Guy’s hand slides to my thigh. I put my hands in my pockets. They ask all these questions. What’s your last name? What a joke: I can’t say I’m a ho, so I make something up. Tan. Taiwan. Guy’s hand slips into my pocket. I need to pee. I trip in a rush. The bathroom needs some soap. I dry my hands and exit the ladies’ and there he is, hey babe. Oh God. On the way back he attempts to hug me from behind. I instinctively push him away, speed-walk. Uptown Girl’s on full blast, I shout along. You have a beautiful voice. The guys make a deal: if they can guess where we’re from, we go for karaoke. Sandra’s and my eyes meet. The jug is a quarter full. China. Big gulps, big gulps. Before we go Sandra shows him the answer. “Shit! We guessed that!” No, you did not. We are not Taiwan, or China, or Vietnam; we are always only ourselves.

-
I recognise that straw hat. “Hi, we met yesterday?” Little Polish women behind blue-and-white carts hand out obwarzanek, and our food tour guide tells us that this is the pride of Krakow. Straw hat guy is a South Korean who’s been travelling the world for seven months now. I tell him I’m from Singapore. “Oh, I was there for like, two days,” he says. “It was so hot. I stepped out of the train and I was like, wow, I think I’ll leave tomorrow.” But we have no time for introductions: soon we are laughing about mothers and laundry, teasing each other over fermented cabbage. When the food tour ends, he asks if I’ve checked out the Schindler’s factory. Let’s go together? But it’s a forty-five minutes’ walk away, and admission closes in half an hour.

“So? You gonna give up? You a quitter? Let’s do this, man! We gotta try!”

A straw hat and a beige dress crossing the riverbank, laughter like the billowing trail of a steam train. It begins to rain a Singapore rain. My red umbrella between a straw hat and a beige dress, the sky a uniform grey, we jump over mud pools and blame each other for jinxing the weather. We wander into a town so dull that they put an advertisement over it on the map.

We never get to the Schindler’s Factory. Eight o’ clock, the sun is setting; we make our winding way back to city lights and tourists, but his pace begins to slow. Hey, I say, let’s check out the piano jazz bar back at the main square? His eyes brighten again, but he’s gotta go back to his hotel to take a shower, he’s a drenched mess. We agree to meet at St. Mary’s Church in half an hour.

I am there right on time, between the imposing brick walls surrounded by enormous metal chains and the Zara store. I prepare my smile, my eyes on the alert for a straw hat. Then ten minutes pass. Twenty.

Forty.

I want to send him a text, but neither of us have Polish reception– besides, I didn’t get his number. I pace along the church walls. I could call out for him, maybe, maybe he isn’t wearing that hat and I just didn’t spot him in the dark. And I realise I don’t even know his name.

-
Yellowing at the edges, school uniforms and empty stairwells: forbidden ritual. Your lap bearing the weight of me. My own reflection in your eyes. The night I taught you how to kiss you were nervous, but you slowly learnt a comfortable sort of love; you learnt the language of touch. Your hands made a sensory map of my hands, of my waist; traced the outlines, filled every crevice. Your hands traced the hem of my skirt, explored the smoothness of my thighs. You hated the slightest trace of PDA, but that night, we held hands as we crossed the road. While waiting for a cab I leaned into you and you didn’t inch away; you put your arm around me instead.

Two days later you stopped talking to me. I demanded to find out why; I found you in the computer room, clicking away at a game. I sat down beside you, waiting for you to acknowledge my presence. For forty minutes you didn’t budge. When I couldn’t take it anymore I barged out, into the emptiest corner of the school, and I cried and I cried and I cried, and then I cried some more, until my friends gave up, and then I became afraid of crying.

-
The night I miss my JFK flight, I shoot a panicked text to French Dude. Sandra has already left for D.C. He wants to check out Coney Island. He shows up – bald head and glasses – and we endure a train ride to the southern tip of Brooklyn. I ask him why he shaved his head bald. It’s just easier to manage, he says. Good for doctors. Suddenly, amidst the monotonous darkness: a display of neon color. Screaming teenagers and roller coasters, tea cup rides and big clown faces, all under the watchful eye of the glowing Ferris wheel. A Singapore sea breeze. We clamber onto the Zenobia. Now, when I think of Brooklyn, I think of being flung towards bright carnival lights, my screams reaching out into eternity, and French Dude laughing the most carefree laugh.

-
My best friend in kindergarten was a French girl called Lydia. She'd come to my humble HDB flat and we'd run to the playground, shaped like a gigantic elephant. I'd go to her condominium and we'd jump on the stepping stones. Once her grandfather opened the lift door for me, smiled and said "Ladies first." I felt like a princess. A French princess. This was my first, and most memorable, encounter with chivalry.

My best friend in primary school was from China. Her mum spoke to my mum in English, and my mum replied in Chinese, both aunties on a desperate endeavor to brush up their language skills. We spent every afternoon on the phone together. "What are you eating?" "Fruit Loops! Do you want some?" "Mmmm, I can smell it. Give me!" I would then pretend to push the cereal through the receiver as we both giggled, our minds still unwilling to concede to the limitations of telephone lines. "Did you get it?" "Yes I did! It's yummy!"

 -
Google Maps: Brooklyn. Zoom out. Street View: I land the little yellow man anywhere. I am at a yacht club in Connecticut.


We make our mark in places all around the world. Scribble your name on the brick walls of an Athenian shophouse, laugh at London’s Singapore Noodles. We let these places leave their mark on us: my sneakers sandy from Langkawi, my Nepalese ukulele. On the world map in my room I tag the places I’ve been, and the places I hope to go. We are never only ourselves; we are all a colorful foreign mess.

-
The South Korean reappears just as I’m giving up, without his straw hat. I ask for his name. “Isaac,” he extends his hand. That’s strange. In junior college I dated a South Korean called Isaac. “What!” He stops in his tracks, in incredulous fascination. I brush the whispers of uniforms and stairwells from my mind.

The piano jazz bar’s got some special performance on – three cute middle-aged rapping Bill Piel lookalikes in polo tees and berms. But it’s too noisy to talk, so we head out instead. We walk anywhere, nowhere, and I ask him why he shaved his head bald. It’s just easier to manage, he says. Good for travellers. We talk about college, about the controversy surrounding my school and the tyranny of journalism – we had both considered journalism as a career path once. Now we are only two confused Asians wandering around Europe, unwilling to grow up, uncertain about what we really want for ourselves.

We have circled the town square nine times. The castle chimes: 3.45am. And I realize that I have never conversed with someone so easily, so endlessly, in my entire life. And if our paths could cross a little more, if he had been born in a different place or if we had gone to the same university, we could’ve been the best of friends. We could go on ice-cream breaks and endless walks. But fate doesn't work that way, and tomorrow I head back to Singapore.

A farewell hug: the tragedy of travellers.

“See you,” I say. He hesitates.

“Bye.”

a love letter

can I see myself as beautiful? can I see myself the way I see others, the way I know God sees others?

can I believe that a beautiful future is possible? that something incredible lies ahead, something that would make an incredible story that will leave me bursting at the seams with gratitude-

Beautiful things can happen to me too. You can be beautiful, Karen. Do you believe it? That your future could be beautiful? That He can make beautiful things happen for you? Karen your life will be beautiful please believe it

there is no reason to be sad when others are experiencing beautiful things, because your time will come; life is long; He can make beautiful things happen for you and they will be pure and lovely and mature and calm. Patience and prayer, dear girl, there's no need to pour out ugliness because that's not who you are. Please be patient and keep your heart covered, you are precious and you need to treat yourself as such. Sit under God's shadow and He will show you beautiful things. You are beautiful under all those layers of muck, let Him peel them off for you.

Solid ground

It's easy to envy when other people walk on something solid. That there's a firm belief in something, a firm grounding in some value, that causes them to stand and smile. That they can smile and chime "hello" and have something sturdy to return to. That they've built a home, hammered in the nails.

When you are alone and the voices and nails and beliefs of other people fall away like dried flakes of skin, you see that you were nothing but a plastered patchwork of everyone else. When these patches fall away you are full of holes, and inside you is empty.

Even waves of overwhelming sadness is substance. Substance keeps you existing. If you can feel- if you have words- if you are hit with sheets of pain- you are still full. When you are angry, you are full. When you have treasure troves of knowledge that mean something personal to you. You are full. Being full fills you up with substance, whether sunshine or water or blood. What's difficult is being empty.

In your heart there is a hole. That hole transcends the world and realm that you know; you bleed into outer space. If you look closely into the hole you see galaxies far far away. Lots of empty space - darkness - weightlessness - if you are caught off-guard, it sucks everything out of you, a vacuum. Somewhere in your heart the loneliness of the universe, the blank space and the infinite emptiness, the nothingness calls out in grief to you. A gaping nothing. When you live in perspective of that emptiness, trudging through the day is hard. Doing things is hard, because everything is empty, as you are.

It's not a strong emptiness. Anything that's strong is substance. It simply is, and you can stuff the hole with things that look meaningful or things to help you cope but the hole sucks away and remains ever there. In perspective of it you are hollow.

the earth cracks and gives way to water

It comes creeping up at you again, as you lie on the couch reading an unbearably dense scholarly study on new religious movements. It knocks first, a small tickle at the little crevice in your heart, an invitation. And as soon as you look in its direction it gushes out of its corner in all eagerness, a tsunami that floods your mind. Memories of hands held, of heads on shoulders, of the eternity of a gaze. Of cooking together, cutting the onions and carrots and broccoli, of the outline of his back as he washed the dishes. Of wind in hair as you sat on the ledge and watched the night. Of the shape of his calves. You drown, helpless. The security of your head against the crook of his neck. On day one you cried. Now the heart is spent, too scared to let itself tremble, too tired for tears. An exhausted sailor washed ashore. You let the waves have their way.

On Death

I've watched and read every eulogy of the late Mr. Lee Kuan Yew that has been recorded over the past couple of days - albeit with varying degrees of attentiveness. PM Lee Hsien Loong's eulogies (at the funeral service, especially the meditation bit, and at the private cremation ceremony) were extremely poignant, but I think the most touching eulogies were by Lee Hsien Yang (particularly at the private cremation ceremony, followed by the one at the funeral service.)

I have dreamt about my death twice before. The first was when I was young; I had died in the lift of my HDB apartment, my soul floated away from my body and I watched from above as my mother cried over my lifeless body. The second time was a year back? - I dreamt that I only had two days to live, and I spent the time not rushing to meet people, but simply writing many letters. Mum came to me and said "You know what's going to happen, right?" and I simply nodded, at peace.

The annoying fact about death is that it's never just about you. I often say I don't mind dying now if I had to, but I'm often more afraid of others leaving my life. I'm not particularly close to my parents or brother, and I don't even live at home now, but I cannot imagine losing them. I'd probably be in denial for a long time, with bouts of eternally dark pits hitting my heart every now and then, throwing me into inner chaos, before I pull myself back out into denial. Not denial as in believing they're still alive, but it'd take a long time to register that I will never see them again in this lifetime, and possibly forever.

Imagine tying your soul to another's. Your lives join; you vow to live as one. He is your most intimate refuge, your pillar, the hope that covers you, heart of your heart. One day he leaves to get the week's groceries, or goes to meet an old friend. Hours tick by. The sky is dark. Then you get a call, but not from him, and never from him again, ever.

How would you react to seeing a close friend, or your partner, or your family member, lying lifeless in an emergency hospital bed? Maybe I would scream, or shut my eyes and shout angrily. I use sound to drown out reality - when the terrifying fire alarm rings, I scream and cry as loud as I can to drown out the alarm. When I'm walking somewhere dark and quiet, or when I'm haunted by a scary thought, I sing to myself. I probably would hug them and not let go. Letting go means letting go forever. As long as I can still touch their skin, hold their hand, they are still with me.

Then again, I've never been particularly sad at goodbyes, because I've never had to say goodbye forever to something close to me. My friends cried the day we stepped down from the Students' Council, the place where I found home; but I was like "hello, tomorrow we're still all going to sit by the bleachers in the morning. Goodbye is goodbye only when we let it be so." And we have photos and videos and vivid memories. More often, we let people die in our hearts before they actually die. There are just too many people to keep up with, and life goes on.

I often treat breakups like death, and they are in a way. He will never again be the him you knew. You will never again get to hold his hand, or sit with him in the same way. Those memories will always only remain memories. Soon you both become different people.

Perhaps I trivialise it. I've never known the death of a close one. A friend recently almost committed suicide, and I was one of her closest friends, and I had all the power to stop it. I hadn't paid attention to the signs - if only I had bothered to ask how she was doing, paid her a visit, and not be so caught up in my own selfish to-dos. If she had committed suicide in the end, I wouldn't know how to deal with that guilt.

Singapore's founding father, the man who turned the country from a dismal third-world state to one of the world's most prosperous nations in fifty years, died last week. I've never seen him in real life, and I'm not particularly sad about his death, and I don't agree with all he's done, but I am immensely appreciative of where he got us, and of his strength of character. A role model not just for us, but for other, bigger, more powerful nations. A few friends and I attempted to visit the Parliament House on Thursday at 4a.m., but it seemed that the whole of Singapore had that same idea, and the queue's waiting time was 10 hours - we would have to miss a few classes, and Lee Kuan Yew wouldn't have wanted that, would he? I was amused at our national, collective kiasuness. He had built that in us, too. At the same time, we didn't really need to see him - all one had to do was to wake up in their bedrooms, take the train, go to school, appreciate the safety of our streets, to pay tribute.

A friend shared this poem on her Facebook status that I thought was incredibly apt for Mr. Lee's death and Singapore:

Do not stand at my grave and weep 
I am not there; I do not sleep. 
I am a thousand winds that blow, 
I am the diamond glints on snow, 
I am the sun on ripened grain, 
I am the gentle autumn rain. 
When you awaken in the morning's hush 
I am the swift uplifting rush 
Of quiet birds in circled flight. 
I am the soft stars that shine at night. 
Do not stand at my grave and cry, 
I am not there; I did not die. 

- Mary Elizabeth Frye

The story of humanity

"On the day you were born, no one cared about you. No one had the slightest interest in you; no one pitied you or cared for you. On the day you were born, you were unwanted, dumped in a field and left to die.

"And when I passed by you and saw you struggling in your own blood, I said to you in your blood, 'Live!' Yes, I said to you in your blood, 'Live!' I made you thrive like a plant in the field; and you grew, matured, and became very beautiful. And when I passed by again, I saw that you were old enough for love. So I wrapped my cloak around you to cover your nakedness and declared my marriage vows. I made a covenant with you," says the Sovereign LORD, "and you became mine."

"Then I bathed you and washed off your blood... I gave you lovely jewellery, bracelets, beautiful necklaces, a ring for your nose, earrings for your ears, and a lovely crown for your head. You ate the finest foods- choice flour, honey, and olive oil- and became more beautiful than ever. You looked like a queen, and so you were! Your fame soon spread throughout the world because of your beauty. I dressed you in my splendour and perfected your beauty," says the Sovereign LORD.

"But you thought your fame and beauty were your own. So you gave yourself as a prostitute to every man who came along. Your beauty was theirs for the asking. You used the lovely things I gave you to make shrines for idols...In all your years of adultery and detestable sin, you have not once remembered the days long ago when you lay naked in a field, kicking about in your own blood.

"In fact, you have been worse than a prostitute, so eager for sin that you have not even demanded payment. Yes, you are an adulterous wife who takes in strangers instead of her own husband. Prostitutes charge for their services- but not you! You give gifts to your lovers, bribing them to come and have sex with you.

"Because you have poured out your lust and exposed yourself in prostitution to all your lovers...I will give you to these many nations who are your lovers, and they will destroy you... They will strip you and take your beautiful jewels, leaving you stark naked.

"I will give you what you deserve, for you have taken your solemn vows lightly by breaking your covenant. Yet I will remember the covenant I made with you when you were young, and I will establish an everlasting covenant with you."


Verses taken from portions of Ezekiel 16. Everything's from the NLT except verses 6 and 7, which were taken from the NKJV.

Lee Hsien Loong's eulogy to LKY, on meditation

(Please forgive the quality and background noise; I screen-recorded this part of the speech from Channel Newsasia's Youtube screening of Lee Kuan Yew's funeral.)

Transcript taken from Channel Newsasia.


"After my first wife Ming Yang died, my parents suggested that I tried meditation. They gave me some books to read, but I did not make much progress. I think my father had tried it too, also not too successfully. When his teacher told him to relax, still his mind and let go, he replied: “But what will happen to Singapore if I let go?” 

 When I had lymphoma, he suggested that I try meditation more seriously. He thought it would help me to fight the cancer. He found me a teacher and spoke to him personally. With a good teacher to guide me, I made better progress. 

 In old age, after my mother died, my father started meditating again, with help from Ng Kok Song, whom he knew from GIC. Kok Song brought a friend to see my father, a Benedictine monk who did Christian meditation. My father was not a Christian, but he was happy to learn from a Benedictine monk. He even called me to suggest that I meet the monk, which I did. He probably felt I needed to resume meditation too. 

And to give you some context, this was a few months after the 2011 General Election. I was nearing 60 by then, and he was nearly 90. But to him I was still his son to be worried over, and to me he was still a father to love and appreciate, just like when I was small. 

 So this morning, before the ceremony began at Parliament House, we had a few minutes. I sat beside him, and I meditated."

(pause. Lee Hsien Loong takes a drink of water. Members of the audience dry their eyes.)

Israel's Conquest

On Israel's conquest of the Old City of Jerusalem in 1967:

"'I stood there in the place where the High Priest would enter once a year, barefoot, after five plunges in the mikveh,' he remembered later. 'But I was shod, armed, and helmeted. And I said to myself, 'This is how the conquering generation looks'.' The last battle had been fought, and Israel was now a nation of priests; all Jews could enter the Holy of Holies. The whole Israeli army, as Rabbi Cook repeatedly pointed out, was 'holy' and its soldiers could step forward boldly into the Presence of God."

Karen Armstrong, "Jerusalem"

a valentine

we will not tire our facebook friends with so much as a picture. we will not have expensive valentine’s day dinners in fancy restaurants. we will spend the special days at hawker centres. we will eat out of takeout boxes by the riverside. we will cook our own food and lie in the grass with tupperwares. we will go on long free walks and sneak into hotels to marvel at their toilets. climb over fences and stalk random people to their apartments. free thrills. bring a guitar. we will spend special moments sweating and trekking and looking for old forgotten gems. a world war 2 bunker. the defunct railway station. i will drive that taxi. and you will speak philosophy. we will find it intensely difficult to understand one another. i will speak with my heart but your head will still be unable to read my heart and my heart will roll its eyes. you will go running. you will buy nicer shoes. i will buy you a pencil case. you will not shave your head. i will buy fruits. i will eat fruits. you will use conditioner.

The Anniversary & Death Be Not Proud (John Donne)

Two of my all-time favourite poems. We studied Donne's poetry for the A Levels, and I fell in love with the ideas that he puts forth in his work. The English is a bit hard to get, so perhaps I'll kind of explain it along the way, although it might ruin the beauty of it because AHH! it's so beautiful. The rhyming and all. But here they are.

The Anniversary

This poem celebrates the first anniversary of the poet and his beloved. The first stanza talks about how everything - "all kings", "all glory of honours", and even "the sun itself" - are now a year older than when the poet first saw his beloved. All these things are now one year closer to their destruction - but, in contrast, their love is timeless, and knows no age.

All Kings, and all their favourites,

         All glory of honours, beauties, wits,

    The sun itself, which makes times, as they pass,

    Is elder by a year now than it was

    When thou and I first one another saw:

    All other things to their destruction draw,

         Only our love hath no decay;

    This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday,

    Running it never runs from us away,

But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

The second stanza recognises that even though their love knows no age, their bodies will decay eventually. Even then, their souls will prove their love after death. My favourite bit here is when he says that even princes are mortal, and how he links he and his beloved to princes: they are royalty in one another's eyes.

        Two graves must hide thine and my corse;

         If one might, death were no divorce.

    Alas, as well as other Princes, we

    (Who Prince enough in one another be)

    Must leave at last in death these eyes and ears,

    Oft fed with true oaths, and with sweet salt tears;

         But souls where nothing dwells but love

    (All other thoughts being inmates) then shall prove

    This, or a love increasèd there above,

When bodies to their graves, souls from their graves remove.

What I love about the third stanza is the comparison of his love to royalty. He and his beloved are rulers here on Earth, being the kings of each other's lives. Since their kingdoms only have one another, their kingdoms are the safest of all, because the only people who can commit treason is each other. Since they are kings to each other, the poet encourages his wife to "let us live nobly" and add years and years to their kingship: they now enter the second year of their "reign".

        And then we shall be throughly blessed;

         But we no more than all the rest.

    Here upon earth we’re Kings, and none but we

    Can be such Kings, nor of such subjects be;

    Who is so safe as we? where none can do

    Treason to us, except one of us two.

         True and false fears let us refrain,

    Let us love nobly, and live, and add again

    Years and years unto years, till we attain

To write threescore: this is the second of our reign.

Death be not proud

As for this one, I'll attempt to do a 'modern-day translation' below.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow 
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, 
And soonest our best men with thee do go, 
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. 
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well 
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? 
One short sleep past, we wake eternally 
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

Death, be not proud, although some have called you
Mighty and dreadful, for you are not so; 
For those whom you think you overthrow
Don't die, poor Death; nor can you kill me.
From rest and sleep, which are pictures of you,
We derive much pleasure; then from you what more must flow!
And our best men go soonest to you,
To rest their bones, and deliver their souls.
You are slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And you are forced to dwell with poison, war and sickness;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than your stroke; why are you proud, then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, you shall die.


Dammit I LOVE this guy. (as you can tell from the banner on my blog.) Thank you JC for doing Lit so well.