healing

"the light will find its way through your cracks."

there are red knife slit marks down our arms, split to reveal raw shiny flesh. but there is a ball of light slowly growing within us, and it finds it snaky way through the cuts, slowly spills out like trickles of blood. the light will seep through the slits and cover our wounds like a warm healing balm. as i kneel before the Lord empty and dry may His light wrap around all of me.

headlights

we are a city, zooming, swinging, chasing every car. we are every atom and every cirrus cloud, skyscrapers and fruit trees, our touch is the electricity that runs through the thick black wires and powers the entire grid. your hand is the heart-stopping beat, your voice is song, and i am all the stars in your eyes.

we are duvets by fireplaces, the stitches in the fabric. bookshelves, nietzsche and rousseau, greek and the little prince and dante alighieri. two girls would be nice (”you sexist!”), bethel and aleithia. ‘house of God’, ‘the truth’: what we are, and what our lives are to radiate.

when your sneakers leave their tracks on the off-white tiles and you leave behind a trail of empty, words are all i have left.

i love words. i want to curl up in them and hold them close to my chest. i want to run my fingers over each one, memorise them, breathe them in. how mysterious it is that a little phrase makes one tremble.

your voice is a melody, your voice is warm and it wraps around me and a part of me detests that.

a summer drive away from dying; a broken heart, nothing to lose
i know it hurts so bad just trying to please the ones you hate to love
and i wrote this note about someone i used to know
so i’d remember how life can be so short when you’re left alone to wonder
how it is someone opens and shuts the door

i know you’re cold, but come home
it’s a shame how short we all have come

you set your mind on cruise control; knuckles grip the wheel in fear to let it go
love is empty, love is cruel, love it blindly breaks the rules
how could you have been a fool? it’s something all of us go through
you choke back tears and swallow lies but those wiper blades won’t fix your eyes
count on having clouded vision for at least a little while

giving up a person

28 nov, in response to drew

“you don’t want things hard enough.” that is true; also I am very pessimistic with regard to any sort of interpersonal relations. And the way you pursued her was remarkable, bordering on crazy. Years of despair, that long letter you pleaded with me to help you write that we never finished. You never wanted to give up hoping. I thought you were being stupid. Kept telling you to just get over it, since she already had.

but I don’t think it’s a bad thing, either, that I, through tears and days of lying in bed, can find it in myself to give things up. God gives; God takes away; may the name of the Lord be praised. It might not even have to do with God, or be because of Him. Regardless, He will carry me through every season, and not disregard the life and plans that I put in His hands. Ultimately it is not only about the journey between me and another person; there is no husband or wife in heaven; as Carmen says, marriage is an icon, a window into the divine union between Christ and the Church. What do I lose if I lose a person romantically? Ultimately the journey is about Christ, and He doesn’t leave. We don't bring our earthly marriage with us into eternity, but we bring the holiness that the spouse has helped to develop in us.

What about the pain? Can I forgive?



I have gotten to know some very beautiful people these few years, beautiful for the richness of the lives that they have revealed to me. I am thankful to have known them; that is all. I leave their lives, and mine, in Your hands; no future can go wrong there.

love: feeling / choice

Something really beautiful that I came across on Tumblr.

Suicide

(note: posted with permission. this past year or so i have become a lot more aware and cautious about what i post, whether i am disclosing things about other people, whether they are okay with it or not, trust issues. i asked for permission before doing this, and she said "can ah i'm fine with anything". so yes. posted with permission.)

I received this text at midnight today, and my heart swelled with relief, gratitude, joy. Love, I remember the night before it happened, I was at the lift lobby in school and you called me crying and I was like what and you said I really want to die....the sky looks so beautiful....... and I was like do you want me to come to your house and I remember very distinctly that you quickly went no, no, you're having your exams, I want to sleep now, I'm going to hang up, goodnight. and I thought,  what if you were to die, and I hadn't done what I could.

The next day you texted me to say that you were going to the hospital because you wanted to die and you thanked me for being a friend. My first thought was "thank God you're going to the hospital; they won't let you do anything to yourself." But you refused to pick up my calls and answer my texts when I asked which hospital you were going to. I even tried a different number, used Peiyun's phone. Peiyun said you were probably going to Alexandra Hospital. I was getting ready to set off, and then thank goodness you replied to say that Alexandra was indeed where you were headed.

I walked in, I saw you sitting in a chair from a distance. Your expression was blank, calm. I held your hand. You started to cry.

I stood with you, hugged you, grasped your hand, prayed with you, waited a long while before the ambulance arrived. I sent an email to my professors from my phone asking for essay deadline extensions. Even took a sombre photo in the ambulance as proof for my profs, lol. We spent the next week at the Institute of Mental Health.

Because we arrived at 10pm, I couldn't stay for long, since visiting hours were over. But even then the atmosphere was overbearing, toxic. When I got back to school I just felt like there was so much poison in me. I went to Daryl's room, sat on his floor and cried and prayed with him. I needed to detox. Let all the terrible energy seep into the floor, leave the stream of my soul, leave through the pores on my skin. Thank God I could even leave the place; I was merely a visitor. You had to stay there, every twenty-four-hour day, day in, day out. How could anyone keep sane in that place. There were double-grills on the windows. It wasn't a place to heal; it was merely a place to prevent people from killing themselves. You said the first time they brought you up from the basement to Level 1, you cried at the sight of trees. I remember the day they allowed me to take you out of the ward for an hour, you were so excited, so excited, the open space and air was life to you. You were released the day your dad returned from Nepal - on your 21st birthday.

I love you, you are so dear to me, and I'm glad that you've become so much better this year. I can't believe it's been a year. You are so much healthier now, you have learnt to appreciate the simple pleasures, to love good food and stuffed animals, to know that you are loved too, just in different ways from what you might expect. You've begun to experiment with makeup, and I'm glad that it boosts your self-confidence, and I'm glad that you also know that you don't need it. You exercise regularly now. You go for swims and bicycle rides. Your new job still has annoying people, but it's tolerable, and you like what you do, you like Chemistry, you like seeing the colours swirl. The day you renovated your room, replaced the too-big bed and got a swing chair, I was so proud of you. You did a thing for yourself, it was good, it was healthy, it was something you were proud of.


To you who are reading this, whoever you are, please don't keep it all in. The black emotions stored within will only make you a pressure cooker and the tension will have to be released somehow - you may release what's within through the blade on flesh, or through thrills that should never have been, or through purging, or through other means of defiling your body that is beautiful, pure, sacred, holy, created in the image of God, worthy of all respect and honour and dignity. These things will not heal your soul. Or maybe you find everything meaningless, in light of so much pain and the gaping hole within - maybe suicide is what you are considering, because this life is not worth saving, only to endure decades more of agony. Please, just talk to somebody, let somebody be there. You might not see the worth in an unhappy life but you don't know what's up ahead until you get there, and with death there is no turning back, never.

My friend here was at the point of death this day last year, and look, since then she has found the beauty all around her and taken delight in things that are healthy. Sometime half a year ago I too wished for death; I think it was pressure on all sides weighing in on me, but things just hurt so much, I just wanted it all to end. But then the summer came, and things got so much better, and I read books about the problem of pain and about the beauty of solitude and the Christian hope, hope in eternity and eventual justice and the Greatest Love, that gives us an unshakeable joy even in the saddest of times. Joy that this is not the end; that we know Love and justice have the final victory.

To you who are reading this, please, talk to somebody, allow someone to keep you company. And I, also, am just a text or Facebook message or door knock away.

Crescent Dance SYF 2007

(Wrote this thing for an informal ten-minute descriptive writing exercise sometime this year, happened to come across the file today, thought I might as well put it up.)

Pitch black. The emcee announces the name of our school, our anthem of pride, a legion of beautiful and courteous young women, the mark of dignity and grace. We rush out to the stage, small nimble feet, each girl carrying a white box with bold red flames painted on two sides. We don't need the stage lights or markings on the floor to know where to stand – we have rehearsed this a million times, etched it on the back of our minds. Our bodies know the number of strides to make, the number of seconds it would take. We run, smooth and graceful as swans, our red skirts trailing behind us. Gather in formation, groups of four across the dark stage. I can’t see my little circle of four, but I know where they are. We stack our boxes without making a sound. Lie down, curled around the boxes in a loose fetal position, my head on someone’s thighs, someone else’s head on mine. Anticipate.

It’s actually quite a comfortable position. We’ve done it several times during nap breaks at dance camps, our thighs serving as one another’s pillows. It’s always a curious sight, girls giggling as they sleep in circles. You all have to lie down at the same time, or someone’s head will end up without a pillow. It makes for a cute picture; it speaks of family.

Silence now, and a deep breath. It is still dark. My makeup is heavy on my untrained, fourteen-year-old skin. The floor is cold; my spine trembles. I cannot help but grin for the world: it has begun. The music comes on, a slow drumming beat, the tinkling of metal beads. It makes one think of the rainforest, of dewy green leaves and magical lights. A girl begins to sing, and the spotlight comes on. I am facing the back of the stage, but there, curled on the floor, I know that the lead dancer is beginning to rise. Her hands are cupped as if in anticipation of fire, and she is swaying dramatically according to the beat and the eerie song. I lie there, soaking in the energy of the music. My time is now.

(Ngh, was contemplating not putting the video here because the quality's so bad, but haaayyy gold with honours HAHA. My heart still races just watching it, remembering all the practices in the school hall, watching the amazing seniors practice the really difficult and tiring and beautiful sections again and again.)

Places

We never really leave a place, or a person. A bit of an exchange goes on - it leaves its imprint with us, and we leave a bit of our souls there. Labrador Park is full of memories for me: it's where I go when I need to escape the confines of school. Most recently I was there past midnight, the lights from the ships shrouded in haze, a guitar's melody blending with the crash of the sturdy waves. We were lying on the ground, my thoughts and tears going to a special person I once knew, a person I hope to meet again. The Esplanade waterfront is my favourite hangout spot in Singapore. I brought HY there - him getting all excited at drinking beer underage, asking for a picture and all - and Sabri, and Max before he went back to Germany. The Kallang River is where James and I played with sparklers last week. A beautiful, peaceful place I've never been to before. Every time I walk past Red Dot Traffic Museum I desire to go in and walk through the corridors where OB Music Forest used to be. Music classes there used to be the best part of my week, goofing around and singing acappella and squealing over JJ with the best companions. Those were beautiful years, when we foolish teenagers were unapologetically, unashamedly, absolutely hilariously ourselves. I also lost my first kiss in that lift.

I was only in Krakow, Poland for a week, but how I love that place, how many beautiful memories were made there because of friends I made on the free walking tours. The day Isaac and I decided to brave the thunderstorm to get to the Schindler's Factory with my flimsy umbrella, we got fantastically lost and ended up in a place so dull they had put an advertisement over it on the map. Bar-hopping with Isaac and Jack, roaming around the square on my own, going on all those amazingly insightful tours. My current phone wallpaper was taken in Krakow. It's a stencil mural in the Jewish quarter - the Jews in Krakow witnessed terrors of an unimaginable scale, with Auschwitz being just a short distance away, and only a tiny remnant of them remains. The mural is of a timid Jewish boy, made afraid by the atrocities of only a few decades ago, who must remember his identity: he wears the headdress of the lion of Judah. Remember who God has called you to be. Put on the identity of your destiny; be courageous and strong, for He is Jehovah Nissi, the God our Banner.

Even places that you're not too fond of also stick to you. I didn't exactly love my Banda Aceh internship, and I did not enjoy bathing with a pail or not having a toilet flush, but bits of Banda Aceh still feel like home to me - the coconut juice corner and the egg murtabak man and the incredible avocado juice, the supermarket, riding on the backseat of a scooter with a spoilt helmet. Watching the kids do simple English exercises on the floor of the porch, the afternoon light casting its yellow veil. I was only there for five weeks, but part of it feels like home, strangely, somehow.

I think what sparked this post was my thoughts about the Paris incident. This morning we awoke to shocking news, terrible news. It is currently 7.30am in Paris. The city is shrouded in blue morning chill, but the silence today does not speak of peace. The silence this morning is of terror, fear, mourning. I don't know many people from France, and I've never been there, but we live in an age without borders. Many many terrible things have been happening all around the world, and what can one do but ask for God to give us hearts of compassion, to keep ourselves bowed in prayer; to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly.

A picture of the Father's Love

My cell group members sit on chairs in a circle. As JX is talking, two-year-old Jadon is walking within and around the circle like he owns the place, quietly going up to people and letting them brush their hands against his head and playing with the chairs. No matter, he isn't being disruptive; let the child play as the child is meant to, comfortable in the presence of adults who love him. His mum is sitting across the room from me, keeping an eye on him. He’s playing somewhere behind me when he falls. It’s a gentle fall, but still he remains on the ground and whines in a mezzoforte: “mummy, mummy, mummy.” Loud enough to get her attention, not loud enough to cause an indecent racket. He just wants her to pick him up. Mummy motions to him from across the room: come, come here, come over to me. But he refuses to get up. Mummy, mummy, he continues. He will continue calling until she comes to him.

Mummy gets up. JX is still talking, but people shift their chairs to make way for her to pass through. Mummy makes the journey across the room. Shifting chairs. Shuffling feet.

Mummy comes all the way to Jadon on the other side of the room, bends down to pick him up from the floor, cradles him in her arms. Jadon stops calling.

How deep the Father's love for us,

How vast beyond all measure

That He should give His only Son

To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss,

The Father turns His face away

As wounds which mar the chosen One,

Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon a cross,

My sin upon His shoulders

Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,

Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that left Him there

Until it was accomplished

His dying breath has brought me life

I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything

No gifts, no power, no wisdom

But I will boast in Jesus Christ

His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?

I cannot give an answer

But this I know with all my heart:

His wounds have paid my ransom

Yale-NUS Christian Fellowship

I was going to share a testimony tonight, for the first time in this cell group, but I didn't get the chance to. But I still feel it's important for me to put it down in words, because words sort of concretize an idea somehow, give it a form and a definition. So here goes.

My calling, the greatest thing in my life from 2012 (when I said yes to Yale-NUS, a year before college started) to 2017 (when I graduate), is the Christian Fellowship. This is the ministry that God has placed in my heart. It was why I accepted Yale-NUS's offer, and I spared no delay in getting it running. Yet I was a terrible leader in many ways. I did not have good leadership skills, my core team was not bonded and I didn't bother to bond them, and my spiritual life was a mess. My heart was all messed up; I was sinning through and through with my emotional dependence on people and more. I will not bother to list my sins. I know them well, and they are vile. Suffice to say I did not steward my leadership privilege well, and CF suffered as a result.

Yet with the new committee this semester, God is really restoring CF. He has given it a new character, a renewed dedication, a refined passion. The new comm's heart for God really shines through. Every worship session leaves me moved to tears by God's presence. I have come to need CF, to be a receiver rather than a giver, and I'm constantly in awe of the work God is doing in CF now.

Yesterday's CF was about the value of intercession. Joanna and I were supposed to say a closing prayer at the end of the session, and I felt led to share the vision that God had given me this summer: that this new committee is clearing the road, paving the way for God's coming, and He will come like a fire through the Class of '19. Through them He will bring a revival of hearts, He will do a new and wonderful thing.

"Write the vision and make it plain on tablets, that he may run who reads it. For the vision is yet for an appointed time; but at the end it will speak, and it will not lie. Though it tarries, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry."

After Joanna and I prayed, Mel said she felt led to invite the CF comm to pray for everyone in the room. Mark prayed on behalf of the comm. As he prayed his passion was stirred, and his prayer was moving and powerful: "Your love is not for us to keep to ourselves." Then Sharon prayed to end our session once and for all, but even after she prayed Xueyin had a word from God: "Anticipate Me."

What a powerful atmosphere of expectation and passion, as confirmations of God's hand in the Christian Fellowship came one after another. Emmanuel, Emmanuel; what is greater than knowing that God is With Us.

Dear sisters and brothers in Christ, keep vigilant in intercession, restless in prayer. Once you have a supernatural glimpse of what God has in store for this harvest field, a personal revelation of His plans, everything else just seems so unimportant in comparison. This is a Love that restores, that makes broken hearts whole, that saves individuals from the deep hole of despair, that gives one a solid hope that nothing is for naught, a hope that stretches into eternity.

y'all think Christians think they're so good

People think like oh Christians oh the cross oh so righteous and holy they got their ticket to heaven they're trying to be good kids etc. But the Church is truly a place for broken people. It's a hospital. I love God because I have seen how the state of my soul drags me to the depths of ruin, of despair, with a multitude of things that glisten and seem to promise happiness but never, never do. I am sick, and the Lord heals me. I am a wreck, and He drags me out of the depths daily. My soul leads me to trivial pleasures and I cling to them like as if they give me meaning, and I am always left on the ground, in a puddle, crying, hopeless, wrecked. God saves me from myself. God knows that I will never be able to find meaning on my own, so He takes me by the hand. He gives my heart the energy it needs to keep going. Every day I see the darkness. I am a very emotional person, and I am often reminded of how easy it is for me to fall down the endless pit again. Every day I am reminded of what I would be without Him, and it is a very, very scary thing. My soul would have turned black years ago in my endless search for satisfaction. I cling to God because it is all I can do.

I have Bible verses all over my room and spiritual reminders everywhere and a cross round my neck and a cross on my wrist not because I want to look super holy, but because I am so weak and forgetful that I need reminders everywhere. I wish these verses and reminders were imprinted deeply in my spirit, such that no one would need to see it but they're always there for me, but that isn't the case. I am simply too spiritually forgetful. And this world is brutal. God created all the beautiful pleasures, and the world invites you to turn these pleasures into God. There is only One who gives a peace that is unlike what the world gives.

time travel

we are products of time travel. we all have specks of the past on our skin, under our flesh, woven into our muscles. a word someone said when you were fifteen. it made its way into your gut and stays lodged there. they say when you look at the stars at night you’re looking billions of years back, but the past is closer to you than you think. just look at the scars on your wrist.

there is a black mark on my forearm that carries the hurt of yesteryear. it speaks to me still, and will continue speaking to me until we are given renewed and perfect bodies at the second coming. if you look beyond the surface, there is an imprint on my waist. a branding iron left my chest burning and then cold, but still raw. and there is lava in my heart that is more often volatile than dormant, a testament to the tectonic activity that started when the plates split eight years back. as we go about our days little shreds of time tear themselves out of the immortal fabric and stick to our souls, and try as we might, we cannot shake them off.

firefly

you say you haven't been very much into music for a while now, which is uncharacteristic of you, and very weird.

i played your firefly song and the home one a couple of times today. there is a gentle spirit to these songs, and to you, and we often like to reappropriate meanings to suit ourselves even when it's absurd, don't we. today has been a silent day, which has been good. i think it is good for my soul. less prodding allows for healing.

i haven't written anything in a long time. my favorite piece is still the one i wrote before entering college, gentlemen. i reworked it last summer. i have had no inspiration in a very long time. i used to write multiple times a day but i lost the gold dust. but look, the dead thing twitches. tiny pulses. small hints of the crafting work starting up again. just the slightest sign, but perhaps it's on its way. perhaps i am getting the right emotional input now, and learning how to tease it out the right way again. and i am well aware that this means that the choice i might make tomorrow will result in me losing this gold dust once more. but it's okay. this, and that, is cause for a bit of hope.

fall

you cannot help
but circle the event horizon at the speed of light, tugging on an invisible thread
from the center of the hole. you love the exhilaration of it but it
also makes you sick to the core. you wish it would stop but you just
keep spinning, and you draw closer and closer and just one more tug and you’re
falling, oh but it feels so beautiful to fall. you can’t imagine it was bad before.

--
he pulls me back to the shore,
choking and there is saltwater in my eyes. at the point of death i was hit by
an erotic ecstasy, the most intensely incredible rapture
that almost led me to open my mouth and gasp.
i stopped myself in time. i would have died.

--
we are all lonely, ever since the fall, and that loneliness can only be cured in the loving of jesus christ - and by loving, i mean taking enjoyment and rest and solace in him. sit by him like mary, sit in his warmth like you would on a sunny day. at the heart of christianity is deep joy, and a kind of happiness that makes you serious.  -- evannia

come receive

In a dark room, you instinctively look around for a person, feet, arms, the one you compelled in your heart to stick around. You look back to empty space. I look at her and I wonder how many people have cried as they gave it up. I turn around and am confronted by the sickness of my own soul. I kneel, and I cry, and I cry. Relapse. I thought I was safe from myself now, but it comes to make me weak again. And then I see that the embrace, the presence I was looking for, is in every invisible particle in the air. He was always there.

Echo

[Narcissus] was out hunting one day, driving deer 
into the nets, when a nymph named Echo saw him,
a nymph whose way of talking was peculiar
in that she could not start a conversation
nor fail to answer other people talking.
Up to this time Echo still had a body,
she was not merely voice. She liked to chatter, 
but had no power of speech except the power
To answer in the words she had last heard...

She saw Narcissus roaming through the country, 
saw him, and burned, and followed him in secret,
burning the more she followed, as when sulphur
smeared on the rim of torches, catches fire
when other fire comes near it. Oh, how often
she wanted to come near with coaxing speeches,
make soft entreaties to him! But her nature
sternly forbids; the one thing not forbidden 
is to make answers. She is more than ready
for words she can give back. By chance Narcissus
lost track of his companions, started calling 
"Is anybody here?" and "Here!" said Echo.
He looked around in wonderment, called louder
"Come to me!" "Come to me!" came back the answer.
He looked behind him, and saw no one coming; 
"Why do you run from me?" and heard his question
repeated in the woods. "Let us get together!"
There was nothing Echo would ever say more glady,
"Let us get together!" And, to help her words, 
Out of the woods she came, with arms all ready 
to fling around his neck. But he retreated: 
"Keep your hands off," he cried, "and do not touch me!
I would die before I give you a chance at me."
"I give you a chance at me," and that was all
she ever said thereafter, spurned and hiding, 
ashamed, in the leafy forests, in lonely caverns...
Her body dries and shrivels till voice only
and bones remain, and then she is voice only
for the bones are turned to stone. She hides in woods
and no one sees her now along the mountains,
but all may hear her, for her voice is living.

Ovid, Metamorphoses (Translated by Rolfe Humphries)

OOOMGGGGGGG THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL AND SAD AHH HELP

naked in the light:

is that not how you first feel when God makes His way into your heart? He uncovers every bit of your being, everything you have thought and said and did leading up to this point. You suddenly become aware of the filth, the meaninglessness, the blindness with which you’ve been leading your life, running with a trolley across a corridor crashing into walls, deliriously hopeless. You thought you knew, but you didn't. He shines His light on you and you are bare. You cry out in the tragedy that you’ve created for yourself, so ugly, so unworthy, no-

He covers your body with His light. All is enveloped in that white, it is all you see.

When you first experience the love of God you want to burst and say something to someone!, but fear keeps your mouth shut, your heart trembling and small. You are cautious when you speak to people. What would they think of me, what is this strange new thing. But you want to seek Him again, tiptoe tiptoe into the light, be swept away by that dazzling mercy. When you first encounter His community, drag yourself to fellowship because you know that’s where the Holy Spirit is, you’re shy tentative afraid, I don’t know any of this, I’m so new, I don’t know how to recite the verses and the prayers that they do. I’m a noob. The rest have that community love and you are a newbie to this circle. But God, but God, He is here, you will persist.

magnesium ribbon

Not a spark, but a flame on a candle. In a dark room, our hearts come unlocked without warning and the little flame comes into contact with our silver strip: we are set off. A ball of blinding white furiously ingesting as much oxygen as it can, sliding along the ribbon, gobbling gobbling, destroying its path to exhale a cloud of dense white fumes. Conversations that run too late, smiles too eager, we fall over ourselves to offer story after story. This is me, my life and all I know; and what about you dear, what about you? Stunned for a moment, all we can do is stand aside and be witnesses to how we burn. But then our eyes start to hurt. It burns too bright; it frightens us. We scramble. Put it out. The night returns like a closed curtain, only the little flickering candle flames as always. But the ribbon is still half new, glinting in the light, whispering of its potential. Ten seconds, twenty. Careful now...we put it to the candle again, but cautiously, at a distance, and then we seal it in a glass jar. Reduce the amount of oxygen it can get. Make it last. We scramble to protect what is left of our dazzling magnesium star. Soon we will be but ash.

Volunteering Abroad: a good choice?

My purpose for volunteering abroad this summer was none other than to teach. I wasn't interested in travelling this summer, or in meeting new people, or doing new things. I just wanted to teach, to help the poor through education.

Shortly before I left Singapore, I was walking to Derrick's place at night and I passed by a girl who looked slightly younger than me, but taller. She was wearing an oversized collared shirt, unbuttoned to reveal her bra, and extremely short shorts. She was learning against the wall, looking down, her hair covering her face. She might have been drunk, or stoned, or just...really, really broken. I sensed that there was something really wrong...she was at a dangerous point. She seemed to be in an emotionally vulnerable and volatile state, and I felt like it would be foolish and unnecessary for me to go up to her. She might scream, or strike...it wasn't the right time. She was with a guy in a red tee who was standing a little further off, speaking in low and concerned tones on his phone. I could tell he was taking care of her. I walked past them, wishing I could do something, but knowing that she was in her friend's hands. And that's how it works. Upper middle class girl who leads a comfortable life and went to good schools, she will never understand; she will always be separated from the girl who's barely dressed and standing at the void deck looking like her entire being is on the verge of falling apart. After walking a little further, I saw a van arrive at the garbage chute area, and another guy in a red tee running out with a sense of gentle urgency, alarmed concern. My heart yearned to do something, anything...all I could do was walk on.

Thinking about it over the next few days, it finally hit me: why am I going overseas to volunteer with an organisation, when there are people right in my neighbourhood who need help?

And then I got on a plane.

I've been here for three and a half weeks but my heart has been very much at home. I wasn't ready to leave. All I wanted to do here was teach, but I haven't been able to teach very much at all. A few hours a week at most, plus the English-Indonesian barrier. At the same time, I am looking forward to seeing my Crest mentee Syafiah again when I'm back in Singapore, and dearest Cecilia whom I used to tutor at the Salvation Army but who has become a very dear friend. I'm also looking forward to starting a one-on-one youth tutoring program between Yale-NUS and the Clementi residential community. Stacey also sent me the link to her church's Geylang outreach called Tamar Village, something I've been meaning to explore for a year now. I'm also planning to go back to Tuition Ministry at City Harvest if I decide to stay with this church. It's a ministry I was involved in in 2013, where I gave English supplementary lessons to ex-dropout students who were doing their O Levels. It was an extremely fulfilling time, and I hope that I blessed them as much as they blessed me.

And all this isn't even the main ministry I am called to. I know that for as long as I'm a student at Yale-NUS, my main calling is to the people here. To share my life with the Christians here, to encourage them and let them encourage me; and to be God's vessel of light and love to everyone. Of course I've failed many many times. Failed to be God's vessel of love, failed to draw strength from God, failed to bring people closer to God at times. But I know that these are the people God has called me to pour my life and love out to for these few years, and this is where I am rooted, grounded.

My reason for being with International Humanity Foundation this year was just to teach the poor. I honestly didn't need the travelling or seeing new places or whatever. And that might not have been a good enough reason. Volunteering abroad is often for those who want to travel, and do something good while at it. If your purpose is solely to do something good...you might as well do it back home. I asked a few of the volunteers here why they were doing this, and it was mostly about the travelling. I asked a Kenyan why she wasn't volunteering at the Kenyan center, but would come all the way to Asia. She said, well, if she did it in Kenya it would just be like going back home, not so interesting.

A lot of my time here has been spent thinking about the inefficiency of manpower allocation. As an organisation, you're asking people from all over the world to come here, stay at a center 7 days a week, simply to teach a few hours of class? I would feel guilty, man. I would feel guilty about using their time inefficiently. They could be back in their home country, helping out at local NGOs while also earning money through a day job, or doing something else more worth their time, but they're staying here just to teach after-school lessons, which a local volunteer could easily do. (Of course, we're supposed to do 4 hours of at-center and 4 hours of admin work a day, but the admin is basically advertising for more people to come. And you will not teach 3 hours a day. Maybe teach 3 hours a week, and make up for the rest of the hours by playing with the kids and cleaning up the center.)

But yeah, I realised that that isn't necessarily the point of an international NGO like this.

Of course, I might be wrong. Take Carissa for example, who's currently volunteering with World Vision in Sri Lanka, and who spent last summer volunteering with Rachel House in Jakarta, a palliative care center for children with terminal illnesses. I haven't asked her why she's doing what she's doing, but I know it isn't about the travelling. I think it might be to be immersed in, and bless a community of, people of a level of poverty you just wouldn't see in Singapore. But also those places are children's homes, places that the kids stay in, so the volunteers actually need to stay there and take care of things round the clock. But Carissa also volunteers with children's care centers in Singapore during the school term. And that's important. Helping people shouldn't be something we only do when we've officially signed up for something abroad. The most obnoxious thing would be to go "Oh yeah, I volunteered at an elderly care center in Taiwan last summer" and disregard the elderly in need of care right at home. It's all about the state of mind, and your purpose.

I guess it would also be largely about knowing what poverty, or neediness, looks like in a different part of the world. Getting to know that culture, and bringing back lessons to your own country. If you "just want to help people" - you can do that back home.

Anyway, all my thoughts are kind of swirly and unsorted right now, I hope this post made some sense, and gave those who are intending to volunteer abroad some food for thought.

Carmen

So this is a really random post, but a memory from years ago fell into my head last night so I'm writing about it today.

This is Carmen. My earliest memory of her is when she first came to my cell group. We were sixteen, 2009. Cell group had just ended, and we were all going down the stairs to the void deck. I think it was at Daniel's place. Carmen noticed the silver cross around my neck, and asked me where it was from. I told her it was from my childhood friend, with whom I used to go to Sunday School. 

"Oh, that's lovely," she said. "My cross was given to me by my mum."

"Oh," I said, and smiled politely. Merp. I continued walking down the stairs. I didn't really know what to say to that. I mean, a lot of things are from our parents because at that age most of our things are paid for by them, right? Like, technically my clothes were from my mum too, and my shoes? I think it was our first time speaking to each other, too, so it was just all a little awkward, Carmen attempting to be friendly and me not really knowing what to say in response.

What I didn't know was that her mother had just passed away from cancer, right before she came over to our cell group. Oh Carmen, if I had known the weight of that simple sentence, I would have stopped right there and cried and hugged you so tight.

Our cell group multiplied a month or two after, and we eventually became closer when all these secondary school boys started coming into our cell group. After a while there were only 4 girls, and only the two of us were the same age. She often told me that she enjoyed our chats, non-superficial and unreserved; and I was always blessed to witness her beautiful soul, so pure and in love with God. Carmen's love is boundless; it overflows out of her heart and spills out to the lives of everyone she encounters. It's extraordinary. I also remember her Beauty Rush lip gloss. Smelled like cotton candy heaven. I remember once we met up for dinner or something before cell group, and talked about what was going on in our lives. She told me about a difficult decision regarding two things very close to her heart. I understood her pain. And then later on at cell group, Jason came around to say a prophetic prayer for each of us. I was sitting beside Carmen, so I could hear what Jason was saying to her, and every word was exactly on point, waves and waves of God's voice sent straight to her heart. Carmen was in tears, and I thanked God for His wisdom. Of course God knows exactly what to say, knowing all, wanting only the best for her. She made the right decision that night.

I think it was that same year, 2009, that we both answered an important altar call at church. An altar call for young people who wanted to dedicate the years of their youth fully to Jesus. It was a big altar call; a response that said "I won't live for myself anymore; I will live the most precious, energetic years of my life for You." I went down because I knew I would regret it later. I went down because I wanted to tell Jesus to have His way in my life now, so that I couldn't decide otherwise later on. So that even if I detested the follow-through, He would still be holding the reins. I wanted to make a choice that would bind me for the best. We both walked down the terraces, and we stood beside each other in the front, together with a crowd of other young people.

In a couple of years, I saw her completely blossom, from that quiet girl sitting at the corner of the room at cell group to such a bubbly, confident woman so full of life, so ready to love the people around her, radiating strength and grace. We both happened to go to SOT (School of Theology) together in 2013 too - at that point, she was coordinating the SOT worship team, preparing to be a worship leader at church, and I was about to start the Christian Fellowship at Yale-NUS. I am still in awe of how far Jesus has carried us from that altar call six years ago. (I've written about this many times, I think.) God has taken the years of our youth to spread His love. He has also taken our hurts and transformed it into compassion, infused it into our talents, helped us become deeper and stronger and more loving individuals.

Met her for lunch before I left for Indonesia and before she left for Berklee (!!!) this month, and I was reminded again of how genuine and down-to-earth she is, and how she continues to soar with God, always covered by His merciful presence. My heart is at ease, and full of thanks.

Here's Carmen's performance at my church on Mother's Day, 2011, two years after her mother passed away. (It starts at 4:57.) I remember I was sitting on my own that day, not with the cell group. And when the video played I was screaming my head off in support. And when she finished her performance tears were streaming down my face and I was cheering like a loony and people around me were staring and I was just like THAT'S MY GIRL THAT'S MY GIRL I'M SO PROUD. And I'll continue being a loony supporter Carmen, because your voice is a beautiful gift that God and your mother have given you, second only to your heart.



Ah well since I'm at it, here's Nightlight by The Sam Willows, written for Benjamin and Narelle's mother who also passed away from cancer in 2002. The lyrics, the video, the voices...this makes me cry  too often.

So the thing about Chinese Singaporean names

When you have an English name, your surname / last name typically comes last. Right? But when you have a Chinese name, your last name comes first. Like Xi Jinping or Mao Zedong. Many Chinese Singaporeans have both an English name and a Chinese name, so when your surname comes after your English name and before your Chinese name, it ends up in the middle. My name is Karen Ho Wen Ee, and Wen Ee is my cantonese name (the Mandarin name is Yun Yi). So I usually say I'm Karen Ho, or if I'm in Chinese class, He Yun Yi (何韵怡). And my surname brings both together neatly! It's like a Venn diagram. I like it this way. It ties together both my names while staying true to how both are supposed to be.

Some people don't like the last name in the middle 'cos that's messy, so they just put it in front, in which case my name would be Ho Wen Ee Karen. But anyway mine is in the middle, and it can be confusing if you're not a Singaporean or Chinese or...I don't know. So Western Union, if you're reading this, hey guess what Asians use your services too! And when you don't underline or bold someone's last name on the receipt but automatically shift it to the back where you expect everyone's surnames to be, it can get quite confusing for the bank teller because my name on the passport is Karen Ho Wen Ee but it's Karen Wen Ee Ho on the receipt, and my mum is Kam Wai Kuen but on the receipt it's Wai Kuen Kam. Poor bank tellers struggle with deciding whether or not I can be trusted, or whether perhaps Karen Wen Ee is a common name somewhere in the world and I'm a fraud who's trying my luck.

Well, I guess it's my fault though. Because it's Western Union, not Global Union, so it's not in their aim to cater to non-Westerners.

In Sec 4 I had a friend called Janey Yanting Lim, and she didn't like how her name was ordered because it wasn't like anyone else's. But I definitely see the utility of that, man. She won't have to struggle with the bank telling her that her name is not her name because Western Union didn't know how to order her surname.

-

Yeahhh, so that's my luck with the bank. Fortunately the ladies were very nice, they just made me sign my signature like six times, and they scrutinised it very carefully. Yesterday, though, I tried to make a trip to the bank with a bicycle because it was just 4km away. But the bicycle seat was too high and I couldn't adjust it because the screw had rusted over, so my feet couldn't touch the ground and my hands could barely reach the handlebars. Riding there was painful. With the strong afternoon sun and my low blood sugar thing (Dylan would know), and my struggling to reach the handlebars, and struggling to change lanes and doing a whole lot of standing and waiting by the roadside 'cos I was such a coward, and making a wrong turn, with that bloody sun, I felt quite faint by the time I got near the bank. Locked my bike and just sat on the curb for a while, waiting for my head to stop spinning. When I felt better I got a drink and asked where the bank was, and when I arrived I was six minutes late. (That's why I had to go again today.)

I was so miserable ok. So I got myself an ice-cream.