Nov 21, 2012
Quick update
Hey everyone! Was going to do a post about the UK but haven't found the time. It's been great meeting the Yale-NUS people again - movie on Saturday, baking on Sunday and work with the awesome interns on the weekdays. Also had a great time in church :) Will be going off to Australia to visit my dad who's finishing up his master's! SEE YOU
Nov 14, 2012
Wainbody Wood: The Search for Beauty
(long overdue post!)
7 Nov / Day 24 / Coventry
Yesterday I walked around Tocil Wood in the University of Warwick where I'm staying (with Jaslyn), and walked and walked and ended up at the math building and walked on beyond Heronbank to some farmy area outside the university where there was no one around to see me fall in mud. Yes, I was wearing my suede boots, the only pair of footwear I brought with me beyond London. Today I'm still determined to check out the woods, although equally as determined not to fall. I set out in the same pair of boots - they're already muddified, anyway - and walk through Tocil Wood this time, out of the University again. I have to get back by noon to go with Jaslyn and her friends to Birmingham.
By the time I'm out of the University, it's already past ten. I see a Wainbody Wood on Google Maps that's really big, so I head towards it. I don't expect it to be such a long walk.
Tight on time and aware that I'll be taking the same amount of time to get back, the walk down this endless road seems to take forever. The blue dot on Google Maps never seems to touch the woods. Then finally, Maps says I should cross the road and turn into a smaller lane.
I'm really anxious about the time now - it's eleven and I haven't even entered the woods yet! - so I take the first entrance that I see (first picture). It's lovely and woody, and I'm excited, but after a while the path gets too muddy for my noob boots. But I really want to continue...it looks so pretty up ahead... I don't want to turn back when this path looks like it's going to get really pretty...
I hear the tinkling of bells before a bunch of dogs appear, followed by a friendly woman who tells me I should go back to the small lane and walk a little further, to a different entrance that will lead me to a less muddy path. Reluctantly, I turn back, abandoning the beauty of the forest that seems to lie just ahead. If only I could walk a little further down this path.
I find what seems to be the main entrance. It's very pretty, trees and leaves all around, and every now and then when I take my eyes off the mud on the ground (very cautious about falling now!), I think, wow, look at what lies ahead! It seems to be a nice clearing / nice stream / nice dense area / nice leafy ground / group of pretty trees up ahead! I've got to get there!
It might not be the most ideal of situations, but treasure every second of the experience. If it's a bad one, we'll learn from it, and someday we'll look back and laugh at the days we allowed ourselves to fall. If you're in the middle of doing pushups for an hour straight in the sun with a heartless guy a year older than you breathing down your neck, someday you'll look back at the memory and admire your tenacity. You'll bask in the glory of the suffering. If you're on your bed crying and wondering if you'll ever get over that asshole, one day you'll look back at your younger days with a melancholic fondness. You'll look back at the strength you managed to muster and say you did well.
Stop yourself from time to time and ask if you're treasuring the present. If you aren't, change your attitude, or change the situation. The future isn't going to be any more beautiful than the present; all we have to do is remember to look up from the mud ever so often.
7 Nov / Day 24 / Coventry
Yesterday I walked around Tocil Wood in the University of Warwick where I'm staying (with Jaslyn), and walked and walked and ended up at the math building and walked on beyond Heronbank to some farmy area outside the university where there was no one around to see me fall in mud. Yes, I was wearing my suede boots, the only pair of footwear I brought with me beyond London. Today I'm still determined to check out the woods, although equally as determined not to fall. I set out in the same pair of boots - they're already muddified, anyway - and walk through Tocil Wood this time, out of the University again. I have to get back by noon to go with Jaslyn and her friends to Birmingham.
By the time I'm out of the University, it's already past ten. I see a Wainbody Wood on Google Maps that's really big, so I head towards it. I don't expect it to be such a long walk.Tight on time and aware that I'll be taking the same amount of time to get back, the walk down this endless road seems to take forever. The blue dot on Google Maps never seems to touch the woods. Then finally, Maps says I should cross the road and turn into a smaller lane.
I'm really anxious about the time now - it's eleven and I haven't even entered the woods yet! - so I take the first entrance that I see (first picture). It's lovely and woody, and I'm excited, but after a while the path gets too muddy for my noob boots. But I really want to continue...it looks so pretty up ahead... I don't want to turn back when this path looks like it's going to get really pretty...
I hear the tinkling of bells before a bunch of dogs appear, followed by a friendly woman who tells me I should go back to the small lane and walk a little further, to a different entrance that will lead me to a less muddy path. Reluctantly, I turn back, abandoning the beauty of the forest that seems to lie just ahead. If only I could walk a little further down this path.
I find what seems to be the main entrance. It's very pretty, trees and leaves all around, and every now and then when I take my eyes off the mud on the ground (very cautious about falling now!), I think, wow, look at what lies ahead! It seems to be a nice clearing / nice stream / nice dense area / nice leafy ground / group of pretty trees up ahead! I've got to get there!
And every time I reach 'that point in the distance' I realise I'm not in some nice clearing or in any area that's any prettier than where I was before, but then I see another point in the distance and think HEY it looks like something pretty lies ahead! and set off again.
Thing is, I never reach a nice clearing or stream or any point of breathtaking beauty, any point that's any prettier than the other, before it's time to head back. Now, I realise that I kept thinking that there was a more beautiful area up ahead. Did I appreciate the beauty of wherever I was at those points in time? I was on a constant search for beauty without realising I was already in the midst of it.
The most important thing, then, was that I treasured each moment of being in the woods, taking in the beauty of every second. I hope I didn't neglect the beauty of the present in my pursuit of greater beauty that lay ahead. The future was no more beautiful than that present. Each second was equally beautiful.
You know, you always hear people say "I just have to get through these few months, and then I'm out of here". We perpetually see ourselves as stuck in a crappy situation, when the good stuff lies just ahead. All we need to do is grit our teeth and get through this tough period, and then forget about it forever.
But that way, we'll never find true happiness. Truth is, every stage of our lives contains an obstacle, whether it's the exams or the army or university insanity or idling around having nothing to do with life. Or the stress of the workplace and the politics, or annoying kids that demand attention 24/7, or a marriage on the rocks. If we keep adopting the same mentality, we'll zoom through life never having found happiness. We'll be lying on our deathbeds thinking, what happened to the life I was supposed to have, what happened to the good times I promised I'd get to?
It might not be the most ideal of situations, but treasure every second of the experience. If it's a bad one, we'll learn from it, and someday we'll look back and laugh at the days we allowed ourselves to fall. If you're in the middle of doing pushups for an hour straight in the sun with a heartless guy a year older than you breathing down your neck, someday you'll look back at the memory and admire your tenacity. You'll bask in the glory of the suffering. If you're on your bed crying and wondering if you'll ever get over that asshole, one day you'll look back at your younger days with a melancholic fondness. You'll look back at the strength you managed to muster and say you did well.
Stop yourself from time to time and ask if you're treasuring the present. If you aren't, change your attitude, or change the situation. The future isn't going to be any more beautiful than the present; all we have to do is remember to look up from the mud ever so often.
Oct 22, 2012
Friends in the worst of times?
It isn't that hard to find a friend to hold you up when you're at the lowest of times. If you're in the darkest of moments, those around you would be concerned; they wouldn't want you to land yourself in anything stupid, and they'd be concerned, they'd give you a hug, listen to you cry.
But that's just the deepest point in a valley. It's dramatic and people don't want you to die, so they'd feel obligated to be there for you. Those who show up during the hardest of times are definitely true pals, but don't forget the ones who notice and are there with you in the points leading up to the lowest, darkest moment, as well as those who bother to follow through that, who are there with you in the weeks you spend climbing out.
There are those who sense that something isn't right before you hit the bottom, who bother listening to your whines the whole long way down. Weiliang, for example, listened to my emo rants for a whole year before the real hurt arrived, at all the points leading up to the pit.
And there are those those who keep on checking if you're okay after that period of deepest darkness, making sure you don't fall back in. Alex was also prominently there for me at my lowest point, and he also saw me through every day of my upward crawl, sending me lovely quotes and great encouragements every single day for weeks leading up to the A's, making sure I was doing fine.
Those who are there for us before and after the worst of times are those we often forget to be grateful for. They're the ones who know we're not doing all that badly yet, but still make the effort to help us feel better. They're truly selfless, too.
But that's just the deepest point in a valley. It's dramatic and people don't want you to die, so they'd feel obligated to be there for you. Those who show up during the hardest of times are definitely true pals, but don't forget the ones who notice and are there with you in the points leading up to the lowest, darkest moment, as well as those who bother to follow through that, who are there with you in the weeks you spend climbing out.
There are those who sense that something isn't right before you hit the bottom, who bother listening to your whines the whole long way down. Weiliang, for example, listened to my emo rants for a whole year before the real hurt arrived, at all the points leading up to the pit.
And there are those those who keep on checking if you're okay after that period of deepest darkness, making sure you don't fall back in. Alex was also prominently there for me at my lowest point, and he also saw me through every day of my upward crawl, sending me lovely quotes and great encouragements every single day for weeks leading up to the A's, making sure I was doing fine.
Those who are there for us before and after the worst of times are those we often forget to be grateful for. They're the ones who know we're not doing all that badly yet, but still make the effort to help us feel better. They're truly selfless, too.
Oct 20, 2012
Day 5 and I'm stranded
I stray into a clothes store.
Forty-five minutes fly by and I'm still trying to convince myself not to get the beautiful Christmas cards. (Will have to sell some away, just a heads-up, they're REALLY PRETTY) I instantly fall in love with a wallet. And then it's drizzling outside, so I hop in and out of shops - from Next to River Island to Fatface. And then I'm like shucks it's almost four-thirty I need to get to the museums before they close!!! And then Mum reminds me that I'm supposed to Skype her, so I spend another twenty minutes in Starbucks. And then half an hour in Boots trying to decide on which face moisturiser to get. And WAIT TWELVE POUNDS FOR BURBERRY WEEKEND?! I spray it on my wrist and love it, and fall into the buy-or-not-buy dilemma again. And then I decide that I really need to get to the Ashmolean Museum.
I spend about forty-five minutes there and cover the basement. Gotta go back there soon. And then it's almost 6pm so I decide to head to Castle Street where I'm supposed to take the bus back to the vineyard.
- Okay, actual rant about interesting experience starts here -
So the bus arrives at 6.15pm - strange, the electronic guide said it was supposed to arrive in 24 minutes - but I decide not to take it because I'll arrive at the bus stop before Aunty Sian and Uncle Richard get home, so they won't be able to pick me up from the bus stop, and in the dark, I'd rather wait at a lit, crowded bus stop near the city centre than at a completely unlit, deserted bus stop in the countryside.
A kind girl directs me to the bus timings schedule, and it turns out that the bus is scheduled to arrive at 5.50pm, 6.20pm and 7.20pm. So the bus that I deliberately missed was probably the 6.20 bus, and now I have to wait till 7.20. Argh!
I wait at the bus stop for another fifteen minutes looking at the electronic guide to see if they'll tell me when exactly the next bus will arrive, but my bus number never appears on the screen. At about 6.40 I give up and assume that the next bus will arrive at 7.20, so I make my way to a nearby restaurant to get a £5 burger meal -
WAIT THAT'S MY BUS
I say "shit" out loud and walk back towards the bus stop (for what?) and wonder what bus that was - the actual 6.20 bus, or the 7.20 bus, the last one. I stay at the bus stop and stare at the screen for fifteen long minutes (that's sixty seconds times fifteen of standing there craning my neck, mind you), hoping that my bus number will appear on the screen - if it doesn't, that might have been the last bus of the day.
Okay, okay, calm down now. Sniff your wrist. It smells so pretty. Gotta get that Burberry perfume.
Finally, at about 6.55, my bus number appears on the screen! It says it's arriving in 27 minutes - someone near me exclaims "twenty-seven minutes?!" - but I don't know how reliable that is since the count was 24 minutes off just now, so I decide to just sit there and wait until it arrives, so that I don't miss it again.
It's cold now, and the sky is dark. The crowd at the bus stop has now been reduced to two, including me. All my Whatsapp conversations have stopped - it's sleep-time in Singapore. Battery's low, so I switch off my 3G. Cut off. Now, I think, this is the kind of scene that is supposed to fuel some emo blog post - memories are supposed to be flooding me and I'm supposed to be all gloomy and wistful now - but there's not a hint of any of that. I'm cold and I need my bus to arrive. I look at the bar nearby and wonder if I should risk going in and grabbing a bite, so I wait for my bus number to pop up on the screen again, just to be sure.
After forever, the screen displays my bus number again. 19 minutes. That gives me until about 7.15pm. I go into that bar and check out their food and the burger meal's also £5, so I order one and ask if I can do a takeaway. "No, we don't do takeaways... The burger takes about ten minutes to make..." I'm like ARGH NO SERIOUSLY and my phone says 7.07pm so I say ah nevermind and rush back out. And the screen says 14 minutes more -.-
Cold, cold, where's my bus, and then FINALLY it says the bus is "due"! I'm so relieved that I even take a photo of it.
I almost miss my stop at the countryside - everything's totally dark outside so I really wouldn't have known where to get off if I had not walked to the front and asked. When I get off, it's a starless, moonless sky, and the only lights come from the red traffic lights and the small Shell station sign (not the station itself) a distance away. I turn on my iPhone flashlight so that I can see where I'm walking. My breath makes that fog thing. I'm shivering. I'm carrying my coat, but I can't stop and put down my stuff and put it on when it's almost pitch dark. Being cold while your coat's draped over your arm - it's like thirsting to death in a boat in the middle of the sea.
As I'm heading towards the petrol station (where there's light), I hear someone call out to me. It's Uncle Richard! I cross the street and make my way to him. I'm all shivering and jittery in the car.
"So how was it?"
"Man, that was... an experience."
"A bad one?"
"An interesting one."
Oct 19, 2012
Reflections on what Christianity means
This will be a quick one, because lunch's coming soon.
A few months ago someone asked me why I was a Christian and how different my outlook on life would be without God. For me, knowing that there was something bigger than this life was so important because things weren't an end in itself. I mean, we dream to impact people and change lives, leave a mark when we pass away, but these people we impact will pass away too, and there are six billion people in the world right now, and if once you die everything about you vanishes with a poof and everybody else vanishes with a poof and the whole world will one day die away, then what's the point of this endless cycle of creation to death? Basically, God gave me meaning in life - life here is merely a preparation for an eternity with Him. It doesn't matter if I'm a law student who dropped out in my final semester or a kid who never does well academically or a businessman who loses everything overnight. What is success but transient? Bigger things await, and the key is in how you take what God has given you to glorify Him, whether success or failure, big or small.
I saw it as a selfish reason, though - my relationship with God was something I needed to have meaning in life. What if I was just holding on to a piece of philosophy because I found comfort in it? What was the point?
Right now, when I question myself again, I realise I've had another way of looking at this for quite some time. Right now, God, to me, very obviously exists. I just can't deny it. Whether it's the God of the Christians or Muslims or Jews, it's a higher power in control, one that created everything and whom I can feel. Being a Christian, to me, doesn't simply mean acknowledging that God exists and believing in Jesus; it means wanting to have a relationship with this God. You could acknowledge that God exists and yet not be a Christian; believing doesn't mean wanting to take the time to cultivate a relationship. As a human being, as something with life, love, compassion and goodness wired into me - along with the capacity to sin and areas where I fall drastically short, I am a testimony of God's work. As a body with life - not just a mass of cells - I am proof that God exists. Being a Christian just means I want to be with Him.
A few months ago someone asked me why I was a Christian and how different my outlook on life would be without God. For me, knowing that there was something bigger than this life was so important because things weren't an end in itself. I mean, we dream to impact people and change lives, leave a mark when we pass away, but these people we impact will pass away too, and there are six billion people in the world right now, and if once you die everything about you vanishes with a poof and everybody else vanishes with a poof and the whole world will one day die away, then what's the point of this endless cycle of creation to death? Basically, God gave me meaning in life - life here is merely a preparation for an eternity with Him. It doesn't matter if I'm a law student who dropped out in my final semester or a kid who never does well academically or a businessman who loses everything overnight. What is success but transient? Bigger things await, and the key is in how you take what God has given you to glorify Him, whether success or failure, big or small.
I saw it as a selfish reason, though - my relationship with God was something I needed to have meaning in life. What if I was just holding on to a piece of philosophy because I found comfort in it? What was the point?
Right now, when I question myself again, I realise I've had another way of looking at this for quite some time. Right now, God, to me, very obviously exists. I just can't deny it. Whether it's the God of the Christians or Muslims or Jews, it's a higher power in control, one that created everything and whom I can feel. Being a Christian, to me, doesn't simply mean acknowledging that God exists and believing in Jesus; it means wanting to have a relationship with this God. You could acknowledge that God exists and yet not be a Christian; believing doesn't mean wanting to take the time to cultivate a relationship. As a human being, as something with life, love, compassion and goodness wired into me - along with the capacity to sin and areas where I fall drastically short, I am a testimony of God's work. As a body with life - not just a mass of cells - I am proof that God exists. Being a Christian just means I want to be with Him.
Oct 15, 2012
UK Day 1: Oxford
We're in London! And as I look down at the mass of buildings I think, there are so many people. How can there be so many buildings in one city? How many business, families, schools, just so many people and this is just one city -
And think, every single one of them knows Justin Bieber.
I mean, Michael Jackson, sure, practically the entire world knows him, and he was a legend. He deserved it. But Bieber? It's just...not right.
I walk out of the airport and realise I haven't cut off the Espirit label on my jacket.
I narrowly miss the bus to Oxford twice, so I'm stuck here for an hour. I step outside just to get cold. Lovely weather! Okay, it's getting bit too cold... why did I get an iced drink? Noob Singaporean. Well, good, cold is good! Treasure every biting second! Finally away from the Singapore heat!
Low brick walls, the cold, pigeons indoors, "Do not feed the birds" signs... this is it! I'm here!
At Gloucester Green, Oxford, Aunty Sian and I wait for each other for more than an hour - a misunderstanding about the cafe at which we were supposed to meet.
In the car, Zoe and her friend sing along to We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together, and Sasha has Mean on repeat in her room - I immediately need to Whatsapp the Taylor Swift fanboys Dylan and Jackie (CRAP I just realised that sounds like "Divian and Jacqui" :OOOO); how much they'd love it here!
Their house is lovely, and the girls are so friendly, open and genuine. Zoe warmed up to me really quickly, and made an effort to be friendly. The family is so close and loving, it's really nice just to be here with them. The girls are lovely and loveable, and as they have their funny chats with their dad, it isn't hard to see how a father will lay down his life to protect his children.
And think, every single one of them knows Justin Bieber.
I mean, Michael Jackson, sure, practically the entire world knows him, and he was a legend. He deserved it. But Bieber? It's just...not right.
I walk out of the airport and realise I haven't cut off the Espirit label on my jacket.
I narrowly miss the bus to Oxford twice, so I'm stuck here for an hour. I step outside just to get cold. Lovely weather! Okay, it's getting bit too cold... why did I get an iced drink? Noob Singaporean. Well, good, cold is good! Treasure every biting second! Finally away from the Singapore heat!
Low brick walls, the cold, pigeons indoors, "Do not feed the birds" signs... this is it! I'm here!
At Gloucester Green, Oxford, Aunty Sian and I wait for each other for more than an hour - a misunderstanding about the cafe at which we were supposed to meet.
In the car, Zoe and her friend sing along to We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together, and Sasha has Mean on repeat in her room - I immediately need to Whatsapp the Taylor Swift fanboys Dylan and Jackie (CRAP I just realised that sounds like "Divian and Jacqui" :OOOO); how much they'd love it here!
Their house is lovely, and the girls are so friendly, open and genuine. Zoe warmed up to me really quickly, and made an effort to be friendly. The family is so close and loving, it's really nice just to be here with them. The girls are lovely and loveable, and as they have their funny chats with their dad, it isn't hard to see how a father will lay down his life to protect his children.
Oct 14, 2012
Old posts
Okay y'all, my old blog posts make me cringe. It's just that I can't hide a whole chunk at once - I'll have to click 'Save as Draft' for each individual post, and it'll take too long. Just... don't bring up my old posts to me and then laugh at me for being so dumb when I was younger. Dude I was fourteen. I was entitled to be dumb.
On a happier note, I'm going to the UK today!!! I'll be there for a month, and I'll be going to Oxford, central London, Edinburgh, Warwick and Barnet. Really excited, but I'm so unprepared - if I have the time, I'll do a post later about my Yale-NUS journey so far, something I've wanted to do for quite a while.
I love lazy Sunday mornings (where I don't have to wake up early to give tuition).
On a happier note, I'm going to the UK today!!! I'll be there for a month, and I'll be going to Oxford, central London, Edinburgh, Warwick and Barnet. Really excited, but I'm so unprepared - if I have the time, I'll do a post later about my Yale-NUS journey so far, something I've wanted to do for quite a while.
I love lazy Sunday mornings (where I don't have to wake up early to give tuition).
Oct 12, 2012
We can be heroes / Just for one day
The Perks of Being a Wallflower:
"Why do nice people choose the wrong people to date?"
"They accept the love they think they deserve."
"Why can't you save anybody?"
You know how sometimes you come across an old friend's Facebook status or Twitter feed and you realise she's going through crap and you know exactly, exactly how she feels, but you can't just text her because it'd be weird since you haven't talked to her in forever? Or how you might overhear a conversation and you feel like the stranger's words are your very own, and your heart really hurts for hers, but it'd just be weird to go up to her and say something? Or how you feel so much for a friend, and you want to give him a hug, but you don't want him to take things the wrong way?
I hate standing by watching and not being able to do anything to soothe the pain, because we all know how hurt feels; we all can relate to it, and we know that what we all need is a little bit of love. I've been so fortunate to be blessed with so many friends who are there when I fall. And I'm okay with being really sad. I know I can take it; I'll just write and cry and whine a little and tomorrow things will be okay. But I hate it when others are sad, perhaps because I blow up their emotions in my mind since I feel so intensely, and especially when there's nothing I can do to take away the pain. Or when someone's on the road to disaster at full speed and all you can do is watch. They won't listen; they don't want to.
We can't save anybody. We all need to crash into walls ourselves.
When I write, sometimes I hope that a broken heart finds this blog and realises that she's not alone in feeling that way, that I speak to her soul, and that I can bring her out of her pain. A few strangers, acquaintances and friends-of-friends have emailed me before to say that they came across my blog and I helped them emotionally in some way. That's when I remember my dream: to speak to hearts like a close friend, and let people know that I share their pain, to bring them out of it.
Sucks that I've been blogging too much emo crap that doesn't really help anyone. Just gets people bored of reading this blog.
So this is to anyone. If you've got a hurt, you know that I will empathise. If you're willing to open up to me, I will listen. Just a disclaimer, though, that I might feel very intensely for your situation, and I just might feel inspired to do a blog post about it. And you must accept my hug.
Train wreck
But love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
I'm sorry. I made a promise to a friend that the next post would be a happy one, but I keep putting them off and pain can't wait.
There are some things that are doomed right from the start, like a train doomed to wreck. We all see it coming, but some stay at the platform and let it pass by, while some decide to hop on. Maybe we love the brilliant tragedy.
I don't know what this is, but my hands are trembling. I'm taking deep breaths. I really feel like throwing up. I need to cry. I knew what I was doing. I built myself that train and took the front seat. Why? I didn't have to deliberately head for the wreck. I took the front seat and went full speed toward the wall.
What is this, the deep breaths, the trembling, the nausea? I need to get off. I need a field. I need a hug and a cry.
Come on skinny love, just last the year
Pour a little salt, we were never here
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer
I tell my love to wreck it all
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
Right in the moment this order's tall
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
I'm sorry. I made a promise to a friend that the next post would be a happy one, but I keep putting them off and pain can't wait.
There are some things that are doomed right from the start, like a train doomed to wreck. We all see it coming, but some stay at the platform and let it pass by, while some decide to hop on. Maybe we love the brilliant tragedy.
I don't know what this is, but my hands are trembling. I'm taking deep breaths. I really feel like throwing up. I need to cry. I knew what I was doing. I built myself that train and took the front seat. Why? I didn't have to deliberately head for the wreck. I took the front seat and went full speed toward the wall.
What is this, the deep breaths, the trembling, the nausea? I need to get off. I need a field. I need a hug and a cry.
Come on skinny love, just last the year
Pour a little salt, we were never here
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer
I tell my love to wreck it all
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
Right in the moment this order's tall
Oct 8, 2012
Aren't these the moments we live for
You should have kissed me
I was right on the edge and ready to fall
I was right on the edge and ready to fall
Oct 5, 2012
Forced distance
Ever felt like you had to force yourself to numb over, go cold, because if you relaxed your grip on yourself you'd start flying again, and you couldn't afford that kind of pain anymore, you couldn't afford to feel that raging fire of life?
"Just leave me alone," she cries. "It's what you want anyway."
"If you're going to put words in my mouth, then I'm going to put some in yours," I say. "I know what you're doing, and I know why you're doing it. I realise you're mad."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Lucy mutters.
"But you're not mad at me, You're mad at yourself. Because against all odds, in spite of the fact that you were so damn sure that you would hate working with me and coming to music therapy sessions, they started to work. And you like coming." I put the ukulele down on a desk beside me and stare at Lucy. "You like being around me."
She glances up, her face so raw and open that, for a moment, I forget what I was saying.
"So what do you do? You sabotage the therapeutic relationship we've built, because that way, you get to tell yourself you were right. That this is a load of bullshit. That it would never work. It doesn't matter how you do it or what you tell yourself is the reason we're in a fight. You ruin the one good thing you've got going because if you ruin it, then you don't have to deal with being disappointed later on."
Lucy stands abruptly. Her fists are clenched at her sides, and her mouth is a livid red slash. "Why can't you just take a hint? Why are you still here?"
"Because there's nothing you can do or say or any way you can act that will drive me away, Lucy. I am not leaving you."
She freezes. "Never?" The word is like tempered glass, broken and full of beauty.
I know how hard it is for her to lay herself bare, to expose the soft center under that hard shell. So I promise. I'm not surprised when the tears come, when she collapses against me. I do what anyone else would do, in that situation: I hold Lucy until she can hold herself.
- Sing You Home (Jodi Picoult)
"Just leave me alone," she cries. "It's what you want anyway."
"If you're going to put words in my mouth, then I'm going to put some in yours," I say. "I know what you're doing, and I know why you're doing it. I realise you're mad."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Lucy mutters.
"But you're not mad at me, You're mad at yourself. Because against all odds, in spite of the fact that you were so damn sure that you would hate working with me and coming to music therapy sessions, they started to work. And you like coming." I put the ukulele down on a desk beside me and stare at Lucy. "You like being around me."
She glances up, her face so raw and open that, for a moment, I forget what I was saying.
"So what do you do? You sabotage the therapeutic relationship we've built, because that way, you get to tell yourself you were right. That this is a load of bullshit. That it would never work. It doesn't matter how you do it or what you tell yourself is the reason we're in a fight. You ruin the one good thing you've got going because if you ruin it, then you don't have to deal with being disappointed later on."
Lucy stands abruptly. Her fists are clenched at her sides, and her mouth is a livid red slash. "Why can't you just take a hint? Why are you still here?"
"Because there's nothing you can do or say or any way you can act that will drive me away, Lucy. I am not leaving you."
She freezes. "Never?" The word is like tempered glass, broken and full of beauty.
I know how hard it is for her to lay herself bare, to expose the soft center under that hard shell. So I promise. I'm not surprised when the tears come, when she collapses against me. I do what anyone else would do, in that situation: I hold Lucy until she can hold herself.
- Sing You Home (Jodi Picoult)
Oct 4, 2012
Pour a little salt, we were never here
Emotions are measured by the level of energy in your voice, and by how difficult it is to smile. You don't feel like doing anything. You don't want to try to describe it because no words can suffice, and it'll just come out sounding stupid and inadequate. You'll let the songs do the talking for you. You'll just sit in the sunshine, feel the outside air take the million tiny specks of your burden far far away, take away the suffocation of a closed room.
You chance upon a glittering speck on the floor, and you find yourself smiling
shit
that was the last straw
Sep 29, 2012
Thirsty
Do you know what it's like, for example, to want alcohol so much that even when you aren't drinking it, all your thoughts morph into it? Even though you're not drunk, you're never really sober. You can't snap out of it. You aren't actually taking a sip, but that's not enough. You should be steering your thoughts away from it.
Slap yourself awake. Get addicted to something else. Give your thoughts something else to cling to.
Slap yourself awake. Get addicted to something else. Give your thoughts something else to cling to.
A Warning
You think you're back on deck, dry and comfortable in your change of clothes, when the fish catch up with you to let you know you've dived into the deep again.
Where's your face mask? Your depth gauge? Your lifeline? All on the boat where you left them, along with your brain.
So cage up your heart! Keep it under constant guard. It slips away like a wish, disobeys like a child. Throw away the keys; why didn't you lock the gate in the first place? The heart is a deceitful girl; she makes you tell lies so you don't realise she's gone off again, on an eagle's wing, delightfully seeking the worst spot to take the plunge. Chide the monster. Hose it down with oil, so that it loses the ability to attach. Dehydrate it; let it squeeze itself dry, so that there's nothing left but the blackened walls and the stone.
You don't want to be anyone's doll. You're a heck of a gem. Don't let the child reduce you to a copper-coated soul and desperate tunes. Stop being that pathetic dog. Have some backbone; show yourself who you can be.
Where's your face mask? Your depth gauge? Your lifeline? All on the boat where you left them, along with your brain.
So cage up your heart! Keep it under constant guard. It slips away like a wish, disobeys like a child. Throw away the keys; why didn't you lock the gate in the first place? The heart is a deceitful girl; she makes you tell lies so you don't realise she's gone off again, on an eagle's wing, delightfully seeking the worst spot to take the plunge. Chide the monster. Hose it down with oil, so that it loses the ability to attach. Dehydrate it; let it squeeze itself dry, so that there's nothing left but the blackened walls and the stone.
You don't want to be anyone's doll. You're a heck of a gem. Don't let the child reduce you to a copper-coated soul and desperate tunes. Stop being that pathetic dog. Have some backbone; show yourself who you can be.
Sep 18, 2012
On Meeting Someone New
Sometimes I'm too eager to unwrap myself, too trusting too quickly, I forget to take a breath and stop to think. Some people who don't know me well say I'm a mystery they'd love to read. They want to know what makes me sing these melodies of words. Well it's nothing really. My life isn't interesting; it's just that my heart soars and crashes very easily.
I'm a lot like you. I'm a lot like most people. Maybe the mysterious package I'm looking at right now is how people look at me. Hello friendly face, we both know there's more to your happy eyes and my droopy ones. I am, pretty much, an open book; all you have to do is hold me. Let me unwrap you; take me through the crimson deliriousness and show me the bare bones. I will, in turn, unwrap my glass shards, which are a heck of a reward, because they cut into me when I hold them up for you to see, too.
Nice to meet you.
Guess who :)
I'm a lot like you. I'm a lot like most people. Maybe the mysterious package I'm looking at right now is how people look at me. Hello friendly face, we both know there's more to your happy eyes and my droopy ones. I am, pretty much, an open book; all you have to do is hold me. Let me unwrap you; take me through the crimson deliriousness and show me the bare bones. I will, in turn, unwrap my glass shards, which are a heck of a reward, because they cut into me when I hold them up for you to see, too.
Nice to meet you.
Guess who :)
Sep 17, 2012
when your heart breaks for those who know the truth
Sometimes you want to believe in something so bad. You've given your life to it. The hungry demons are at your every corner trying to lure you out of your little idealistic hole. You try to fend them off but you only have two hands. No, I know this is right, I know this is right, but the only other person who agrees is God, maybe, hopefully.
People tell you you're just being stupid. They've seen the world. They know nothing turns out like you think. Doing well in school doesn't mean you will have a nice family and a nice house. Putting trust in people means you'll either get cheated or very disappointed. Thinking you have the power to make a mark in the world is simply delusional. Being ever-ready to help only means you're asking to be walked over. You can't make it big through honest means. There is no such thing as a community of pure love - there are always the politics and the gossip, or they just want your money. You'll never get anywhere if you don't take the tried and tested route. Going into education to inspire and enlighten young minds is a spark you see only in the eyes of young, newborn teachers. Trust the vetrans. They know.
NO, they don't know; ignorance irks you, arrogance puts you off, selfishness is something you don't understand, but when you meet someone who has lost hope, all you feel is a hole in your heart. You suddenly feel listless. You don't feel like speaking to anybody, you can't even write, you don't want to listen to a song, you just feel like all of the light in your heart has been sucked out because you're imagining a minute in their shoes.
Hope is your every breath. Hope is the food of your soul. Sure, it only means your heart gets thrown down on the floor every day, but you just can't help but hope. It's irrational hope. They still say I'm naive. Some of them think it's cute, how naive I am. They assume I haven't been hurt by the world. Of course I have. I have more than those who don't hope. It's just that I can't stop from hoping. It's all I do.
it takes an ocean not to break
People tell you you're just being stupid. They've seen the world. They know nothing turns out like you think. Doing well in school doesn't mean you will have a nice family and a nice house. Putting trust in people means you'll either get cheated or very disappointed. Thinking you have the power to make a mark in the world is simply delusional. Being ever-ready to help only means you're asking to be walked over. You can't make it big through honest means. There is no such thing as a community of pure love - there are always the politics and the gossip, or they just want your money. You'll never get anywhere if you don't take the tried and tested route. Going into education to inspire and enlighten young minds is a spark you see only in the eyes of young, newborn teachers. Trust the vetrans. They know.
NO, they don't know; ignorance irks you, arrogance puts you off, selfishness is something you don't understand, but when you meet someone who has lost hope, all you feel is a hole in your heart. You suddenly feel listless. You don't feel like speaking to anybody, you can't even write, you don't want to listen to a song, you just feel like all of the light in your heart has been sucked out because you're imagining a minute in their shoes.
Hope is your every breath. Hope is the food of your soul. Sure, it only means your heart gets thrown down on the floor every day, but you just can't help but hope. It's irrational hope. They still say I'm naive. Some of them think it's cute, how naive I am. They assume I haven't been hurt by the world. Of course I have. I have more than those who don't hope. It's just that I can't stop from hoping. It's all I do.
it takes an ocean not to break
Sep 16, 2012
To: Every single person who knows me
Hello, this post is to everyone who knows me, whether we were classmates in primary school or acquaintances in ACJC or you're my future Yale-NUS schoolmate. I'd just really like to know what you think of me. Like, everything you can think of - be it a particular memory where I helped or hurt you, or a string of personality traits, or behaviours I should change.
You can drop me an email at karenhowenee@gmail.com, whatsapp me, Facebook message me, drop me an anonymous Formspring...whatever. But if you would rather not leave your name, I'd love to know at least how we know each other. Or in fact, I don't even really have to know you. You could be a random Crescent / AC junior who chanced upon my blog or something. I'd just like to know everything you think about me - whether I'm a friendly listening ear, or whether I need some backbone, or whether I need to stop being such an airhead, or whether I wasn't a fierce TRIC. I'd just really like to know how other people see me. Please do include constructive negative comments; they're more helpful in the long run than nice ones.
Thanks in advance, everybody. :)
You can drop me an email at karenhowenee@gmail.com, whatsapp me, Facebook message me, drop me an anonymous Formspring...whatever. But if you would rather not leave your name, I'd love to know at least how we know each other. Or in fact, I don't even really have to know you. You could be a random Crescent / AC junior who chanced upon my blog or something. I'd just like to know everything you think about me - whether I'm a friendly listening ear, or whether I need some backbone, or whether I need to stop being such an airhead, or whether I wasn't a fierce TRIC. I'd just really like to know how other people see me. Please do include constructive negative comments; they're more helpful in the long run than nice ones.
Thanks in advance, everybody. :)
Sep 9, 2012
RE: Letter to Singapore
You’re more than people just scraping by, dreaming of money and five-star hotels. You’re a hell of a lot more than just a good air-conditioning system. You’re everybody, not just the dream citizen; you’re the Malay kids skipping school, hanging out at Peninsula Plaza in black jeans and trucker caps. You’re the unemployed kopitiam uncle with his songbirds. You’re the schoolgirl holding hands with her classmate, hoping the teacher doesn’t see. You’re every one of them, but for some reason you just won’t acknowledge this. You like to hold on to this idea of you being this clean, perfectly efficiently city, when really it’s the dirt that makes you who you are.
- Letter to Singapore
No, it's true. The crime rates are low, the sidewalks are clean, the restrooms are good. Singapore's a great city to come to to work, but I've always felt like it was never much of a place to live. To grow up. I've always felt more than safe here - the closest I've ever come to being a victim of harassment was when a couple of guys wolf-whistled from the park across the road in the afternoon (and that was when I was fourteen and butt ugly) - but perhaps it's been a little bit too safe. I always tell people that you can't live unless you've died.
Singapore isn't a place to die. There's no room to die when you've got the grades to worry about, the endless piles of homework and the teachers and parents breathing down your necks, the school that keeps you engaged in a myriad of activities from before the sun rises to after it sets; the focus on the safe route to success. People assume that one always strives for the best - "best" isn't a personal perception, but society's. People assume that if you're capable of getting into law, you're going to go to law school. If you're doing the humanities in university, they assume it's not because you chose it, but because you had no better option.
We all know this, really. But it's okay, because we're equally as tired of it as you are, and our generation is about to change this. Give the nation some time. We're such a young country. Most of our parents are older than Singapore. This nation has only just crawled out of its years of hardship, turbulence and turmoil - third-world status, racial riots, the war - to become the efficient, safe, rich country it is today. The dream of our grandparents. We've only just realised this dream, and the ecstasy of having reached it is infecting the minds of those who grew up with Singapore. Mainly our parents and grandparents. It's only understandable that they make sure we continue to fight for that success. Dog-eat-dog. Fierce competition. They're terrified of returning to that state of turbulence, even if they see only a glimpse of it again.
My paternal grandmother survived the war, where six of her brothers died. My grandparents' house was broken into, and the millionaire family became bankrupt overnight. My mother grew up in a village in a family of ten, and all of them would share a single fish or chicken for dinner. Poverty was real, even just forty years ago.
All of my mum's sisters climbed out of that. From that lovely village in Ipoh, they're now in KL, Singapore, Australia and America, big houses and nice cars and a great education for their kids. Their generation has seen a lot - from the times of poverty to the present, where university education is the norm. Where you can be a millionaire and still be unable to afford a condominium. Of course you would expect their generation to want to make sure their children find nothing but success. Never find their way back to that hole of despair again. And what better a route to success than the tried and tested way?
"You’re more than surviving. You’ve done well. But now you need to stop holding your breath, stop acting like everything can be taken away from you in an instant. This kind of warlike paranoia isn’t doing you favours. You could be so great if you just relaxed and let go, just a little."
Singapore is, like you say, a bit to obsessed with this idea of material success. We've achieved it - streetlamps at every corner, Marina Bay Sands, one laptop per student and two per working adult - but this success is so new that the generation that fought for it is still so afraid of going back to what we once were. You're twenty. I'm nineteen. We grew up in a time of peace. The times in which a people grows up do affect the characteristics of the country when that generation takes the lead. A large part of our current workforce and leadership grew up in a time of hardship, and despite the success, they're still in fear mode.
And it's almost time for us to take the lead in this place.
- Letter to Singapore
No, it's true. The crime rates are low, the sidewalks are clean, the restrooms are good. Singapore's a great city to come to to work, but I've always felt like it was never much of a place to live. To grow up. I've always felt more than safe here - the closest I've ever come to being a victim of harassment was when a couple of guys wolf-whistled from the park across the road in the afternoon (and that was when I was fourteen and butt ugly) - but perhaps it's been a little bit too safe. I always tell people that you can't live unless you've died.
Singapore isn't a place to die. There's no room to die when you've got the grades to worry about, the endless piles of homework and the teachers and parents breathing down your necks, the school that keeps you engaged in a myriad of activities from before the sun rises to after it sets; the focus on the safe route to success. People assume that one always strives for the best - "best" isn't a personal perception, but society's. People assume that if you're capable of getting into law, you're going to go to law school. If you're doing the humanities in university, they assume it's not because you chose it, but because you had no better option.
We all know this, really. But it's okay, because we're equally as tired of it as you are, and our generation is about to change this. Give the nation some time. We're such a young country. Most of our parents are older than Singapore. This nation has only just crawled out of its years of hardship, turbulence and turmoil - third-world status, racial riots, the war - to become the efficient, safe, rich country it is today. The dream of our grandparents. We've only just realised this dream, and the ecstasy of having reached it is infecting the minds of those who grew up with Singapore. Mainly our parents and grandparents. It's only understandable that they make sure we continue to fight for that success. Dog-eat-dog. Fierce competition. They're terrified of returning to that state of turbulence, even if they see only a glimpse of it again.
My paternal grandmother survived the war, where six of her brothers died. My grandparents' house was broken into, and the millionaire family became bankrupt overnight. My mother grew up in a village in a family of ten, and all of them would share a single fish or chicken for dinner. Poverty was real, even just forty years ago.
All of my mum's sisters climbed out of that. From that lovely village in Ipoh, they're now in KL, Singapore, Australia and America, big houses and nice cars and a great education for their kids. Their generation has seen a lot - from the times of poverty to the present, where university education is the norm. Where you can be a millionaire and still be unable to afford a condominium. Of course you would expect their generation to want to make sure their children find nothing but success. Never find their way back to that hole of despair again. And what better a route to success than the tried and tested way?
"You’re more than surviving. You’ve done well. But now you need to stop holding your breath, stop acting like everything can be taken away from you in an instant. This kind of warlike paranoia isn’t doing you favours. You could be so great if you just relaxed and let go, just a little."
Singapore is, like you say, a bit to obsessed with this idea of material success. We've achieved it - streetlamps at every corner, Marina Bay Sands, one laptop per student and two per working adult - but this success is so new that the generation that fought for it is still so afraid of going back to what we once were. You're twenty. I'm nineteen. We grew up in a time of peace. The times in which a people grows up do affect the characteristics of the country when that generation takes the lead. A large part of our current workforce and leadership grew up in a time of hardship, and despite the success, they're still in fear mode.
And it's almost time for us to take the lead in this place.
Sep 4, 2012
so, write
There's no way you can fully accurately describe this feeling, this stone heaviness in your heart that spreads to the rest of your body like an infection that seeks to paralyse you one inch at a time. Freeze you over so that all that remains is a blank expression and that stone. You want to make it known so bad but there’s no word that puts it across well enough.
So if you can’t describe the feeling, you try to let others know how you feel by bringing them into your pit. You craft a story that transports them to a similar dark world, that makes them feel the same heartache that you do. Then you can go, “That heaviness you’re feeling right now? That’s what I’m going through.”
So if you can’t describe the feeling, you try to let others know how you feel by bringing them into your pit. You craft a story that transports them to a similar dark world, that makes them feel the same heartache that you do. Then you can go, “That heaviness you’re feeling right now? That’s what I’m going through.”
Aug 29, 2012
to society's rejects, to the queers,
the ones who feel they've been cursed with a talent in something so unique that there's no way to quantify it, no way to show it in a qualification, nothing useful to get you where you are told you need to be. To those whose parents want you to do what earns the most money and respect, but you know all you want to do is work with paints or words or music or people to create immeasurable beauty.
You are blessed. Too many people have mastered the art of pleasing the system and satisfying people, working their magic formula through the years, without ever finding that spark in their hearts. They have never found something they loved doing so much that all their thoughts morphed into it. You pass by a grandmother embracing a child and you freeze and set ablaze the image in your mind. You hear a neighbour crying at midnight and you play a soothing song in your mind, your heart aching for whatever's breaking hers. You look at a friend's new watch and mentally take it apart right away, taking in every bit of the intricate work. Or a slow song plays in a store and you immediately picture the stage, the soft lights, the magic.
Few people see the beauty in the everyday things that you see. Few people notice it at all.
And then, when the road of exploring and igniting becomes overshadowed by adulthood and they aren't as blessed to have found that inner flame in their youth, they become too caught up with the endless demands of work and family to be able to care anymore. Nothing's more important than making sure you don't lose your job. Nothing's more important than supporting the family. The boss, the kids, the money, it will all eat away at their lives. Those without passion become jaded. They become dead. Or they might not, but they've never been alive.
You've been alive. You are alive in that flame that burns in you; it's the reason you were placed in this world. And no matter how much your passion is buried under the boss and the kids and the money, it ensures you never become dead.
You have a gift. A gift so unique that there's no way to quantify it in this world's free-size system. It's right for you, or you struggle to put it on, or you just don't fit. And because you don't fit, you're either a stick in a dress made for Other People, or too full of life, trying to contain it all, praying it won't rip apart and reveal all of you. Either way, you wish you would fit. You don't want others to look and laugh.
Let them look. Let them realise this world was never for you. It's a gift you were blessed with. Only you. It's your responsibility to bring that gift to the world. Go out, now, and try to bring life to those who never had it. Or show the others that they don't have to be afraid of their gift. If you have that flame, don't try to quench it. Let it burn. Let it spread.
this is for you, kev. and ian, and mad, and wl, and my writer friends
You are blessed. Too many people have mastered the art of pleasing the system and satisfying people, working their magic formula through the years, without ever finding that spark in their hearts. They have never found something they loved doing so much that all their thoughts morphed into it. You pass by a grandmother embracing a child and you freeze and set ablaze the image in your mind. You hear a neighbour crying at midnight and you play a soothing song in your mind, your heart aching for whatever's breaking hers. You look at a friend's new watch and mentally take it apart right away, taking in every bit of the intricate work. Or a slow song plays in a store and you immediately picture the stage, the soft lights, the magic.
Few people see the beauty in the everyday things that you see. Few people notice it at all.
And then, when the road of exploring and igniting becomes overshadowed by adulthood and they aren't as blessed to have found that inner flame in their youth, they become too caught up with the endless demands of work and family to be able to care anymore. Nothing's more important than making sure you don't lose your job. Nothing's more important than supporting the family. The boss, the kids, the money, it will all eat away at their lives. Those without passion become jaded. They become dead. Or they might not, but they've never been alive.
You've been alive. You are alive in that flame that burns in you; it's the reason you were placed in this world. And no matter how much your passion is buried under the boss and the kids and the money, it ensures you never become dead.
You have a gift. A gift so unique that there's no way to quantify it in this world's free-size system. It's right for you, or you struggle to put it on, or you just don't fit. And because you don't fit, you're either a stick in a dress made for Other People, or too full of life, trying to contain it all, praying it won't rip apart and reveal all of you. Either way, you wish you would fit. You don't want others to look and laugh.
Let them look. Let them realise this world was never for you. It's a gift you were blessed with. Only you. It's your responsibility to bring that gift to the world. Go out, now, and try to bring life to those who never had it. Or show the others that they don't have to be afraid of their gift. If you have that flame, don't try to quench it. Let it burn. Let it spread.
this is for you, kev. and ian, and mad, and wl, and my writer friends
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