Monday, February 25

Weekend

It was the best of times, it was the worse of times.

Ok, nothing quite as dramatic as the French Revolution happened, but the whole weekend was such an amazing emotional roller coaster, then I feel slightly off balance today. Might have something to do with the fact that I am trying to make it through the day on 5 hours of sleep.

Saturday totally rocked. I did this little skit in church, which well, wasn't booed off stage. It has inspired me to find rhymes in everything. And I got to hang with really cool people, two of whom are drummers. How hip am I? Ha ha.

And on Sunday everything just sorta crashed.
It was my fault really, because I don't read minds - a skill that would have come in really handy in diverting the situation. The one thing I learned is - a loaf of bread is not a good projectile when you are trying to do serious damage.

But anyway, I am drained. I need torrential, gentle, healing rain.

Ooh, that rhymed.

Anyway, I will come back when I am more coherant. and rant.

My, this is easy.

Monday, February 18

Hungry...

I need a new bible.

*Deep breath*
Every since my beautiful leatherbound Nelson bible - NKJV version - got left behind in a taxi by some careless goondu who shall remain nameless, I have been at loose ends for a good one.

I have a few at home that I have used at one time or another, but I want one that speaks to me where I am now, you know. But, with the exception of that one, I have every bible I ever got and they all are indicative of who I was at the time.

Let me try and recall them.

Good News Bible - my very first one when I was 11. My mum used to send my brother and I to vacation bible school to get us out of her hair, and one of the older "akkas" gave it to me. I remember the first passage I ever read was Daniel in the lion's den, because we were supposed to act it out the next day. I was Daniel.

Hardcover NIV Bible - 14 years old. This was a gift from my aunt, before I left for India. It was a great source of comfort to me during those 6 long, lonely months, and I think that's when my relationship with God really grew. He was the only one I had. I remember I used to sleep with the bible under my pillow, just for the security and comfort it brought. Of course I cracked it open every once in a way also.


The tiniest KJV in the world. 16 years old. My first true love gave it to me. He had underlined the entire chapter of Corinthians 13, and written above it, "I love you so." Its ironic how the word of God has outlasted him. But isn't that the way it is? Anyway, the whole bible is printed in point size 4 or something, so its really more a keepsake than anything else.


Nelson NKJV - 19 years old. That which got lost in my taxi. My uncle Henry gave it to me when I got baptised. It was perfect. The right font size. Wonderful cross references and study guides. Wide margins for copious notes. Fit in the palm of my hand exactly. I wonder whose palm it fits now. I hope he/ she loves it as much as me. I hope I don't see one of its pages the next time I buy Kachang puteh at the cinema.

Nelson NKJV Mini version. This was not as small as the tiny KJV mentioned before, but it is pretty darn small. Fits in my handbag, along with a notebook for sermon notes. Good for carrying around, but I want something a bit bigger for my private study and reading time. This one was given to me by Changi Prison Chapel - Young People Chapter. Wow, that feels like a whole lifetime ago. But I am pleased to say some of them are still my dearest friends. Rhordan, Chin, Mok, Ray, Kok Hong, Thiru -I love you all, and I still love my little bible.

I think I will get myself to one of them shops this weekend and buy one. It's time, I feel myself entering another stage. I want to document it in parallel with the greatest story ever told.

PostscriptI really do have the best friends. The day after this post, I met one of the aforementioned people for dinner and he presents me with a brand new NKJV Nelson's bible.

How not to love him, you tell me?

Sunday, February 17

If only

I think there are no words sadder than this. If only.

If only I knew then what I know now.
If only someone told me. (Chances are, someone did)
If only I hung in there longer.
If only I left when I had a chance.
If only I told him how I felt.

If only he loved me back.

But, I didn't, they tried, I refused to hang, I am still not leaving, I can't tell him and he doesn't.

Someone once told me, to get out of bad situtation, the key is to give it everything you've got to make it work. And if it still doesn't, get out and never look back.

People are always going on about how strong I am, and I am sick of it. The strong one, the rational one, the one that doesn't give up. I think I am ready to be weak, to be impetuous and to throw my hands up and say, "I am done!"

The question is, will I still be me?

Monday, February 11

Hanging with Hanan

There is nothing like eating large ice cream sundaes, looking at the one you love, and giggling over smears of fudge on each other's noses.

That's what I got to do yesterday. We went to Swensen's at Park Hotel and had a wonderful afternoon eating, talking and laughing over the strange things that happened to us during the week.

His classmate who had an "accident" in his pants.
My colleague's unfortunate heel caught in grate story.
His extremely pregnant teacher's propensity to drop her load at any time.

Later, as we walked hand in hand towards the train station, bellies full and hearts conjoined, we enjoyed a rousing game of "I spy". I like that I can be as serious, as silly, as young or as matured as I wanted to be with this young man I was walking next to.

It was good.

Saturday, February 9

Knowing how it hurts

"I know how you feel."

"I've been there."

"This happened to me too."

A burden shared is a burden halved, I have heard it said. And my friends who say the above are the best people in the world with the best intentions. I know they are trying to comfort and bring on healing. Which is what makes it hard to say what I am about to.

You don't know how I feel. You may have a similar experience, but you and I are not identical.

You cannot possibly look at things the same way I do. While its easy to put human experiences into neat little boxes and label them "sad","happy" or "angry", there arte actually infinte permutations which may exceed the number of human beings there actually are.

So you don't know how it feels. And I don't know how you feel. But you can sit with me, hold my hand, let me cry a little, cry a little with me, and give me a hug on my last sniffle.

Knowing it hurts can be enough to comfort me. You don't need to know how it hurts.

Tuesday, February 5

Taxi Woes

Ok, I am just tired of hearing cabbies gripe about the recent fare hikes have rendered them fare-less, income-less and whatever the hell else-less. I get it. The fare hike means more people don't want to take taxis when buses and trains will do them fine.

But you know, I have hard days at work too. I also work up 12 hours a day, and I also feel like I am underpaid and overworked. At the end of the day, I am so tired that I feel like I can treat myself to a taxiride and the LAST THING I want to hear is how bad YOUR life is.

Forgive me if I sound churlish and you are a taxi driver and are affronted by my tirade. (Or you know a taxi driver or... I digress). But there are only so many ways a passenger can hint that they would rather just be queit and sunk into their own thoughts while still maintaining tact and being diplomatic. Please take our cues and leave us alone if we are doing any of these things:

1) Plugging in our headphones
2) Calling, smsing or generally fiddling with our phone.
3) Not making eye contact
4) Going "mm" , "ah" or "ya" to your impassioned statements of injustice
5) Not answering at all
6) Sitting back wth our eyes closed
7) Snoring
8) Reading a book or magazine or the "surcharges" sticker
9) Trying to open the door while the cab is moving
10) Writing "help me" signs and showing them to passing drivers