Owl Post and other musings

There is something very dramatic about millions of books travelling to the world at the same time, arriving at people's doorsteps. This bomba-lastic (this funny, non-existent word came to mind) phenomenon seems to be something that just might happen in the world of Harry Potter itself, thus fanning the magic and excitement. Granted that if it were their world, we could possibly suffer from an attack of owl droppings. Yet, behind these astronomical figures, every book that arrives at a home seeks to consort a private audience with its reader, making this Harry Potter event not just phenomenal but also very personal. It is clear that we all seek an alternate reality from time to time, and the more vivid this other world is, the more willing we are to escape into its realms. I shall be quite reluctant to leave the world of Harry Potter, and would be sure to bequeath this wonderful legacy to my future children.

The magical world aside, I came across a most pointed and poignant column in Life! today, by Teo Cheng Wee. His bolded summary of the column read,

"I've always been dismissive of the relationship between my youngest brother and his girlfriend. But at their wedding recently, it dawned on me that what they have is what I've always dreamt of having."

Apparently, this young couple tied the knot two weeks ago, on 070707, after 10 years of courtship. In this column, the writer recounts how his immediate family members had disapproved of the courtship because "they were all of 16 years when they got together." And the couple had to suffer a whole decade of doubts and disbeliefs that they will ever last. The cloud only lifted after they had announced that they would be registering their marriage, it was then that "the ice started thawing.. you [they] see each other as family rather than enemy, attitudes and behaviours change and the bonds start re-forming." The writer guiltily admits, "Before that, I had never imagined them as mature adults ready to commit a lifetime to each other." And we wonder what they had been doing for the past 10 years.

As to why this particular article resonates with me, my dear friends and family, should be very clear. I was, all of 16 when I got together with the boy (he was 18). I remembered rather vividly the disapproval from my parents, and certain adults in church because we were far too young. I am now hurtling, in 5 months, towards my 21st birthday, with the boy by my side, squabbling away like a pair of eccentric magpies. And I wonder, how peoples attitude would change 180 degrees in another 3 to 4 years, when that time comes. I am bemused, because people never seem to really recognized a couple until they are officially married.

Till then, we shall work on being "ready to commit a lifetime to each other", or, haven't you already known?

And now, Book 7 beckons...

Pride and Prejudice

I have had a most uneventful day at home. Sleeping the afternoon away, and busying myself in finding things to do, and rather uncharacteristic of me. I have, however, discovered the joys of Pride and Prejudice after having watched the 2005 film version of the book, and finally understood how it can be such a much-loved classic.

Hostel

Is there anyone out there not keen on their PGP room?

Xiaoni, the boy and me

I wanted to upload a photograph and xiaoni, the boy and me taken during the boy's POP in 2004. But I couldn't find it. I will when I do.

Xiaoni, the boy and me is a funny trio. "the Ni" , or "xiaoni" 's real statutory name is Anthony, he is the boy's (vincent's) smallest brother, who follows us around whenever he can, since he was very young. For this reason, we often spend time together, playing cards in the hostel room last year, watch movie, eat.

Xiaoni, the one who bites from my subway sandwich while I am not paying attention, who calls me "AH GOON" just like the boy does, who hears my worries and laugh at them, who calls me 'gila'. Who, when the boy doesn't want to bring him around, says " i follow ah goon" and comes along anyway.

He, whom I treat as my own brother.

I wonder how our dynamics will change as we grow up. I hope nothing will change.

We've decided, he shall be called "Uncle Ni." although to us, he will always be "Xiaoni", no matter how old he grows.

To skim the heart's surface

I admit, I am wary.

The miroris event has taken a toll on us, that much is true. The events of the past few days have made me somewhat tired, and weary. I feel like I'm just waiting for this performance to pass. Waiting for next week to be over, after Campus Crusade freshman orientation camp, then I can finally have my own time and freedom again.

This blog may seem to depict a rather discontented life. But I would have the readers know that this view of my life is one-sided, because I usually cannot find the motivation to write here when I am happy or contented. My darker moments are usually also my more pensive moments.

I can understand why some famous writers and poets live tumultous lives. Perhaps, for them, such anguish is mettle for art, and sorrow the writer's opium.

What does it mean to guard one's heart? I cannot afford to ride an emotional roller-coaster, especially when the plunge downwards comes unforseen in the dark. So how can I smooth the peaks and the troughs?

We are created to be independent, and dependent at the same time. This balance is never easy to strike, especially when we put our trust in fallible human beings, knowing that we too, may fail them.

I need to rest.

Disappointments

My living tree shrivels in its own hope,
Strangled by the absence of promised sunlight.
Waited too long for a friendly bird's visit.
These little deaths that happen every day,
What does it matter.

Why make the heart jump, when you know it will stop?
A break in its constant rhythm is not welcomed
Its peaks and troughs are
Unpredictable, I will suffer
A cardiac arrest.

A tree with a pumping heart is not so hardy,
It dies sooner than you think.
Just takes, the absence
Of promised sunlight, and the no-show
Of a friend.

But the friend did come. A cheery bird, hopping,
Looking for the tree with a heart.
Puzzling, though, where did she go?
The little bird thought,
While perched on the dry dead tree.

W.J.H

On space, time, and the past. - A tribute to my victorian days

The mathematical equations describing the relationship of space and time is not understood by many. At best, we know that space consists of 3 dimensions, and time is the 4th. Yet, the very concept of time is abstract and mysterious. We exist in its very fabric, but can't quite comprehend its substance, what it is made of, how it looks like, how does it look from higher dimensions. My greatest guess is this, we can understand 3 dimensions more because we exist in 4 dimensions,we can only truly 'see' time if we exist in the 5th dimension or higher. But I am not going to dwell on the physics of the matter in this post, but rather, to speak of my personal experience of the intricacies of space and time today.

I felt keenly its relationship today when I passed vj and met michelle at parkway parade for lunch. My senses picked up, the things that had change, and the things that had not. The things that endureth gave me a sense of place, the things that had not showed me lucidly, the passage of time. For sure, the vj building and the 24 hours glass panes I glimpsed remained as endearing, like an old faithful friend, but my delight and comfort turn into ambivalence as I gaze carefully at each student decked in vj uniform. None of them looked familiar.

I stepped into the familiar zone, and it seemed like the past did not completely disappear. The buddies laughter, and the big butt's bickering, the starbucks study sessions, and conversations over apollo char kway teow and dim sum lingered like pleasant ghosts of the past, in the bubble tea shop, the curry puff lady by the bus stop, in the treats food court, in macdonalds, at the flag pole in parkway.

The things that had changed reminded me that life had moved on without us. That parkway was in the hands of others, and we are mere visitors.

Once we leave the past, and move on seamlessly into another phase of time, the times of the past get frozen into a sacred shrine, invisible to human eye, but keenly felt in our souls.

I grazed the curtain of that shrine today, and felt the its breeze and breath on my face, ever so gently, and elusively.

The breeze of yesteryears, and the breath of its warm wind.

Hostel application and its agony

Sigh, hostel application results have disappointed me again and again. Not that I expected to get a room in PGP through the appeal process. For sure, my reasons for appealing were not that compelling. Still, I felt it was worth a gamble as there was nothing to lose. Now i would have to wait till August to register on waiting list. Can anybody tell me what are my chances if I register on wait list? if you've been there, done that, my email is depth_of_grace@hotmail.com I would love to hear your story and get some well meaning advice from you. Never mind if we don't know each other, I would still love to hear from you.

IF any there are any friends out there who wishes to give up their hostel room, regardless if its PGP or elsewhere in NUS, please contact me. even though i know chances are slim. my contact number is 98772756.

Thank you, kind souls.

Mission trip

There is a certain lull in the very heartbeat of Malaysia that holds a mysterious allure. Somehow, my worries seemed to dissipate a little, in my 8 days spent there,during the church retreat and the mission trip. Both trips were, enjoyable in their own special way. The retreat in a, "the fellowship is great and warm" kind of way. The mission trip in a, "fresh experience, communal living"way. But I must say that these 8 days have been really memorable and special to me. Already, I'm beginning to miss the little sanctuary that we spent our 3 nights in.

I really loved playing with the village children. I am very inclined to believe that in their young lives, they have never taken a picture with a digital camera before. They run and snatch the camera to see themselves displayed on a small screen, only to laugh and roll on the ground, they literally did. When we gave them lollipops, they put them into their mouths without removing the wrapper. And we have to cajole them to take the sweets out just so we can remove the wrapper.

I had a great time fellowshipping with churchmates, and I told them about a stupid worry I had that was plaguing me for months. And by telling them, I released the grip that the worry had on me, and I am glad that they were very understanding, and they will shoulder this burden with me, imaginary as it may be.

This post is not complete. I will write more after the pictures are in. because they will trigger my thoughts.

Musings on seafood.

The supermarket is a mini-zoo, it is. We went to purchase necessities for retreat, nick, the boy and I, and I wandered off to the raw food section, to observe some of my dead scaly friends. It wasn't an uncommon sight: Housewives and a host of other people, poking and fiddling around with the dead fishes, obviously heeding no attention to the cold dead jelly eyes staring back up at them.

These days, I have an unexplainable fascination with lobsters. I saw a couple of them today, they look like gigantic sea insects. There were also some live prawns swimming in a bubbling tank, staring at me with their black beady eyes. The way they stare at me, makes me wonder who's really the exhibit.

Eels are a slimey lot. They wriggled and slithered in a big bathtub of water, I pictured them as Ah boy's favourite unagi, and they suddenly seemed comical.

Crabs. Ah! I can't even begin to explain my ambivalent feelings towards them! I have always had a predatory attitude for them, because they are one of my favourite seafoods, (and as I say this I'm looking forward to eating one of them tomorrow en route to the retreat destination) . But looking at how they were man-handled or rather, woman-handled today made me feel a tinge of remorse and pity. Their huge brownish glory pincers were strap tight to their shells, and signs of struggle can be detected as they are picked up by human hands, examined, and then thrown back into the pile. In such a situation, their size and their strength becomes their folly, for the good ones always get cooked and eaten first. I spent a good minute staring at them, contemplating their sorry fate. But soon, the cloud cleared, and my momentous grief at their impending funeral dissipated like the wind, and the image of huge chili crabs of tomorrow began to float in my mind's eye. With that, I was forced to confront my hypocrisy, and to move on.

I saw remnants of a medusa. A tentacle of a many-legged (or many-handed?) creature, and shuddered at its raw form, having just ate a small baby one hours ago. Friends of Davy Jones, perhaps.

Seafood is such a delicacy. The fruits of the sea come in many succulent colours that entice our eyes as well as our stomachs. Yet, the fish market, albeit an upperclass supermarket, is evidence of the barbarity of nature and man. A morgue for the magnificient creatures of the sea. Here, they are ripped apart for autopsy by the pathologist, the fish-monger no doubt, but we know the cause of death alright, "acute airway occlusion" , whatever. Lets just be thankful they didn't die for nothing, for their deaths would sustain many lives of a superior, literate race, or so we rationalize.

Yet in such barbarity, I can see the wisdom of God's plan for nature that began in Genesis. I am not sure if I'm saying this because of my voracious appetite for food, as my friends would know, but surely, if it were otherwise, seafood or any food for that matter would not taste that good.

Of course, nothing on earth can be entirely objective. I am a human being, so I am biased.

If you are a fish, salmon or trout, tilapia or prawn, you would treat me as an enemy, someone to be FEARED.

Such is the law of the sea.

Its a man eat fish world.