Not exactly the song I had in mind, but close enough. Here we go.
Every now and then come these sort of songs, they bring me to places I have forgotten exist in my self. I came to moments of contemplation today. I've been in this current job for about four months plus now. Pretty soon I no longer will qualify as the new kid anymore. Sometime later along Friday night, a few hours into the weekend, I came to this place of contemplation. The path began with people's words, and continued to lead me on as I realized they echoed some of my own thoughts that I haven't been listening to for quite a while.
It's high time for me to put my world in the mirror, I think. It's time for an honest stocktake, a good hard look at where everything are at, a brutal no-holds-barred Q&A session, a serious review of life, world, relationships, roles, vision and purposes of everything. Fittingly enough, I got the church's CPU here needing to have checks ran through it tomorrow to determine what stuffs are in there and what they're worth.
My drumming has purpose, but how does it prioritize in the bigger picture? Admittedly, as far as I can see at the moment, it's nothing big. It's just something I really really enjoy, that's all. I'm not particularly good at it, and will not be anytime soon, these things take time. I understand that, I realize that, and I accept that. But why does it still royally pisses me off regularly when I'm not good enough to deliver the goods? Have I taken too much pride in my performance? I don't think so, I know full well nobody's gonna come up and tell me I play good, was never looking for that. I've always been looking to play, that's all. Being in a good team is addictive, and I can't get enough of that. That may well be a testament to how I've lived my life, I don't know. What I do know is that this drumming thing is bigger in my life than it might seem in the bigger picture of things.
My work I'm not even gonna touch for now, as it's on a good track at the moment. I'm doing it for the money and the doors it will open as I go along. That's good stuff right there, so that's done.
You're a veteran fighter, but you party like a rookie. Veterans in your class have earned their medals and moved on to desk jobs. But you have yet to win your wars and earn your medals. What do you do? Your thirst for blood keeps you away from the idyllic life behind the desk. Your age and mindset set you apart too much from the rookies. Your bloodlust sets you apart too much from your peers. What do you do?
Your platoon is on a lifelong campaign to attempt the one thing almost nobody has ever done before, and for it an expensive price has to be paid by everybody involved. Nobody really have any proof they know what's gonna work and what doesn't. You believe in the ideals, you love what they're trying to do, and your fighter's blood burn with the flames of passion at the sight of this impossible fight. Yet, reality shows you a different story. The fights have been rare in between. The fighters have been even more rare. As your comrades grow up, there are hardly any rookies left. As there are next to no rookies around, next to no rookies are interested in joining your platoon, and thus goes the devil's circle. Morale is low, and more and more you're seeing more fat cats behind desks than hardened fighters ready for the front line. You thirst for blood, and you dream of the battles your company had envisioned back in the early days. Yet, hardly anybody is fighting anymore. What do you do?
You call this platoon home. You've been tempted to leave a thousand times before, and you have no doubt you'll be tempted a thousand times still. Rookies that take easy battles week in week out, or veterans who hit the furious battlefields every warrior worthy of his scars can only dream of but only once in a blue moon. You have a hard decision knocking in your head day in day out, sometimes softly, sometimes forcefully. What do you do?
Will you sell your dreams short for small easier satisfactions? Will you abandon your comrades in a half-sinking ship instead of furiously keeping the ship afloat? It may sink, or it may not. You might sink with it, or you might help it sink. Will you risk your life for this off-the-scales purpose, a make-it-or-sink-with-it situation? Or do you sit back and play soldiers, happily spending your life eating small chips off the real feast's table?
Will you sell your dreams short?
By the end of this contemplation, my questions have brought me to my answer.
Getting lost in you again is better than being numb
Better than being numb
Better than playing dumb
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Virtue of Necessity
There are songs that you like because you like their sound. And then there are songs that you like because you relate to them. There are these songs that you sing along because you think, "This is exactly where I'm at right now." You don't always feel the same about them, because most of the time on this highway of life you don't stay on the same spot for very long. But when these moments occur, when you hear songs that speak to you and for you right where you are in this journey, you hold your hands close to your heart and sing along. You sing it like your life depends on it, like you have to say the words out loud over and over again or you might lose that voice that speaks for you.
Living in a bubble is addictive. It is safe, it is secure, I know everything and there are no surprises. But the brightest of stars shine on me from outside, not sitting on my shelf waiting. So when I come across one of these and try to grab it, I always find myself suddenly outside my bubble, laid bare and exposed to the world and its chilling winds. In such times a piece of reality sinks into my brain: that I might get hurt. Living in a big bad world, that's always a given. But live in the comfort of a bubble long enough, and you'll begin to forget. And yet I found myself outside, constantly looking over my shoulders, paranoid that hurt will come from my blind side.
Apparently, turtles do cross roads. If a car comes running while they're in the middle, what turtles do is that they'll put their heads in and hide. But no matter what they do, a turtle's shell is no match for two tonnes of steel running halfway through the sound barrier. Don't mistake the illusion of safety for real safety. But the problem is, sometimes, you'll never get anywhere in life unless you cross the road.
So I decided to cross the road, and deliberately keeping on going, because I know if I insist on playing safe all the time I'm not gonna get anywhere. So I sing along with hands on heart and eyes closed, because these words speak to me and for me where I am right now, in my moment of vulnerability, where I can't keep myself safe and that's how it's supposed to be.
My hiding place
My safe refuge
Because you're with me
I shall not fear
Living in a bubble is addictive. It is safe, it is secure, I know everything and there are no surprises. But the brightest of stars shine on me from outside, not sitting on my shelf waiting. So when I come across one of these and try to grab it, I always find myself suddenly outside my bubble, laid bare and exposed to the world and its chilling winds. In such times a piece of reality sinks into my brain: that I might get hurt. Living in a big bad world, that's always a given. But live in the comfort of a bubble long enough, and you'll begin to forget. And yet I found myself outside, constantly looking over my shoulders, paranoid that hurt will come from my blind side.
Apparently, turtles do cross roads. If a car comes running while they're in the middle, what turtles do is that they'll put their heads in and hide. But no matter what they do, a turtle's shell is no match for two tonnes of steel running halfway through the sound barrier. Don't mistake the illusion of safety for real safety. But the problem is, sometimes, you'll never get anywhere in life unless you cross the road.
So I decided to cross the road, and deliberately keeping on going, because I know if I insist on playing safe all the time I'm not gonna get anywhere. So I sing along with hands on heart and eyes closed, because these words speak to me and for me where I am right now, in my moment of vulnerability, where I can't keep myself safe and that's how it's supposed to be.
My hiding place
My safe refuge
Because you're with me
I shall not fear
Friday, July 10, 2009
Men On Mission
I prepared long, hard, and thoroughly for this trip. The only glitch was that my shoes has gone somewhat closer to death unexpectedly. But it's patched, and I expect them to survive another 48 hours at least. And that's all I need from them. At the end of today, Andrew was pretty much knocked out cold. I've been going out and about more and longer than he had, and ate less and more erratically. My only advantage over him was that I had longer and better preparation. But apart from that, any other day it could've been me. As my shoes creep closer to their demise, I understand full well that I was not very far from going down the drain myself and killing this trip I have so looked forward to.
I can easily put myself down as a man on a mission. I came to grab as much as I can throughout the week. So much that it surprised me how stiff I've become when some random people said hy to me today. I was easier to talk to when I was in the office compared to today. As the day descended, so was people down to the arena. The group got scattered all over the place. I was on my own, and I ended up sitting along with a bunch of kids from Planetshakers. Well, they're not really kids, but anybody who's still surprised to find out I'm 26 these days is still a kid in my book. First, a girl talked to me. Asked her where she's from, then she asked me who I came with. I said there were eight of us but we got separated, thus explaining my repeated scanning of the seats and rows around me. Why didn't I call them? I was running out of credit. Upon this answer, she produced her cellphone and proceeded to offer it to me. I said no thanks, I'll just see them in the hotel, I got keys anyway. About ten minutes later, another one from their group came around, sat beside me, and started talking to me. Asked her same question, she asked me same question, answered her the same answer, and she proceeded to do the same as her compatriot from before. I'll not let it pass unnoticed that I was utterly and completely defeated. I thought I was a kind enough sort of guy all these years, but in the face of these strangers I was a complete fool of a cold evil man. The man on the mission has been defeated by some girls just having fun.
I wondered for a while what's so great about Joel Osteen. For all I knew, he was the guy with the kindest smile in all those Christian books, so much was the nice guy image that I wasn't particularly interested. My dad said something about him some time ago, I don't quite remember. Truthfully, tonight he didn't say anything most people don't already know. But his stories and his take on these things, and personally to me, the simplicity of these stories, they hit me hard. So now I know what's so special about Joel Osteen, and that is how simple this guy and his message is, and yet how powerful simple things are in the hands of the right people.
Speaking of stories, a huge part of what I get out of this week is how the stories have impacted me. They're just stories. But great storytellers telling great stories, they hit me hard. Everybody got stories. Not everybody can tell them, but that doesn't change the fact that that means everybody got something in them that can make impact on other people. It's just about telling them. I used to be a good storyteller, not so much anymore now. I stopped telling stories when I got no more stories to tell. But maybe, just maybe, maybe it's not all that hard to make a difference in people's lives, if you only have enough patience to listen to their stories. That heart and that patience are some things I've lost. Thus, my original point when I met those Planetshakers kid. I had become somewhat closed and self-preserving, to the point of untrusting.
So I guess it's high time I turn that around little by little, and start listening to stories again.
I can easily put myself down as a man on a mission. I came to grab as much as I can throughout the week. So much that it surprised me how stiff I've become when some random people said hy to me today. I was easier to talk to when I was in the office compared to today. As the day descended, so was people down to the arena. The group got scattered all over the place. I was on my own, and I ended up sitting along with a bunch of kids from Planetshakers. Well, they're not really kids, but anybody who's still surprised to find out I'm 26 these days is still a kid in my book. First, a girl talked to me. Asked her where she's from, then she asked me who I came with. I said there were eight of us but we got separated, thus explaining my repeated scanning of the seats and rows around me. Why didn't I call them? I was running out of credit. Upon this answer, she produced her cellphone and proceeded to offer it to me. I said no thanks, I'll just see them in the hotel, I got keys anyway. About ten minutes later, another one from their group came around, sat beside me, and started talking to me. Asked her same question, she asked me same question, answered her the same answer, and she proceeded to do the same as her compatriot from before. I'll not let it pass unnoticed that I was utterly and completely defeated. I thought I was a kind enough sort of guy all these years, but in the face of these strangers I was a complete fool of a cold evil man. The man on the mission has been defeated by some girls just having fun.
I wondered for a while what's so great about Joel Osteen. For all I knew, he was the guy with the kindest smile in all those Christian books, so much was the nice guy image that I wasn't particularly interested. My dad said something about him some time ago, I don't quite remember. Truthfully, tonight he didn't say anything most people don't already know. But his stories and his take on these things, and personally to me, the simplicity of these stories, they hit me hard. So now I know what's so special about Joel Osteen, and that is how simple this guy and his message is, and yet how powerful simple things are in the hands of the right people.
Speaking of stories, a huge part of what I get out of this week is how the stories have impacted me. They're just stories. But great storytellers telling great stories, they hit me hard. Everybody got stories. Not everybody can tell them, but that doesn't change the fact that that means everybody got something in them that can make impact on other people. It's just about telling them. I used to be a good storyteller, not so much anymore now. I stopped telling stories when I got no more stories to tell. But maybe, just maybe, maybe it's not all that hard to make a difference in people's lives, if you only have enough patience to listen to their stories. That heart and that patience are some things I've lost. Thus, my original point when I met those Planetshakers kid. I had become somewhat closed and self-preserving, to the point of untrusting.
So I guess it's high time I turn that around little by little, and start listening to stories again.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Another Morning
So my ego got shot down first thing in the morning. Twice. I've been through quite a lot, I think, but it wasn't until this morning that I found out that it's possible to punch someone in the face with words alone, and that it takes the most vulnerable of people to do such a thing. Very few things are more powerful than vulnerable people with scars from their pasts opening themselves up to reveal those scars. More powerful still is when those people tell you how they made the decision not to follow suit with what the handicap carrying. When they say no I'm not going down with this, you know you're facing people with higher powers. So much like you, yet so far different.
And it's an entirely different story when you are forced to admit that you've had some stuffs in the wrong priority. I had to swallow my ego and admitted that yes my drumming has been all about me. When it comes down to it, with all the pretty words and logical language are stripped away, my drumming life revolves around me. I do it because I enjoy it, I do it hoping that I'm gonna look cool while doing it. Little did I realize that it can't go on like that. Still I am human. To the day I die I will always revel in those things. I will still enjoy playing drums either way, and I may or may not look cool at it. But point is, that can't be what it's all about. Life is too vast, the world too important, and time too short to live my life with me both as its means and its end. People are too important to be hearing only my drumming played for the sake of me alone. I had no idea what I was dealing with. I still don't. I only know now that I didn't know before.
But the good news is that I can still do it. I can't help people myself, but I can still do what I can. My drumming ain't gonna impress nobody, but I sure as heck can practice.
Yesterday's opening struck me for its inclusiveness. It seemed to me to opened its arms wide, as if it's calling everything and everybody to come together as one. The young and the old; the modern and the traditional; the cultural and the steel; the didgeridoo and the drums; the insiders and the outcasts; the good and the bad; the Gundams and the Zakus, everybody. Any other day I'd say, you gotta be crazy. But today it began to make sense. It's true, it's a crazy endeavour. It's true, it's beyond my reach. But that's great, because if it's within my reach then I'll spoil it again by making it to be about me all over again.
That's about all I can say about today, Hillsongs Con 09 Day Two. Something else I can say about this city, though, is how it sticks to my mind. Maybe more than its skyscrapers and its pillars of steel and glass, glimpses of its suburbs got stuck in my mind. Small narrow houses, some fallen into disrepair, the abandoned brick buildings, the old shops and the empty streets, dark and wet under the winter rain. Maybe it sticks so stubbornly in my head because it's a part of a bigger picture. The eye of the storm is the calmest spot. It is where it breeds the destruction that it wrecks on its outside arms. The glamour of the central city, did it cause the suburbs to get so depressing? Or were the suburbs the sacrificial slaves for the empowerment of the city? I'll never know, but I know this: If I'll ever live in this town, I'm gonna fight tooth and nail to live in the central city.
And it's an entirely different story when you are forced to admit that you've had some stuffs in the wrong priority. I had to swallow my ego and admitted that yes my drumming has been all about me. When it comes down to it, with all the pretty words and logical language are stripped away, my drumming life revolves around me. I do it because I enjoy it, I do it hoping that I'm gonna look cool while doing it. Little did I realize that it can't go on like that. Still I am human. To the day I die I will always revel in those things. I will still enjoy playing drums either way, and I may or may not look cool at it. But point is, that can't be what it's all about. Life is too vast, the world too important, and time too short to live my life with me both as its means and its end. People are too important to be hearing only my drumming played for the sake of me alone. I had no idea what I was dealing with. I still don't. I only know now that I didn't know before.
But the good news is that I can still do it. I can't help people myself, but I can still do what I can. My drumming ain't gonna impress nobody, but I sure as heck can practice.
Yesterday's opening struck me for its inclusiveness. It seemed to me to opened its arms wide, as if it's calling everything and everybody to come together as one. The young and the old; the modern and the traditional; the cultural and the steel; the didgeridoo and the drums; the insiders and the outcasts; the good and the bad; the Gundams and the Zakus, everybody. Any other day I'd say, you gotta be crazy. But today it began to make sense. It's true, it's a crazy endeavour. It's true, it's beyond my reach. But that's great, because if it's within my reach then I'll spoil it again by making it to be about me all over again.
That's about all I can say about today, Hillsongs Con 09 Day Two. Something else I can say about this city, though, is how it sticks to my mind. Maybe more than its skyscrapers and its pillars of steel and glass, glimpses of its suburbs got stuck in my mind. Small narrow houses, some fallen into disrepair, the abandoned brick buildings, the old shops and the empty streets, dark and wet under the winter rain. Maybe it sticks so stubbornly in my head because it's a part of a bigger picture. The eye of the storm is the calmest spot. It is where it breeds the destruction that it wrecks on its outside arms. The glamour of the central city, did it cause the suburbs to get so depressing? Or were the suburbs the sacrificial slaves for the empowerment of the city? I'll never know, but I know this: If I'll ever live in this town, I'm gonna fight tooth and nail to live in the central city.
Everything For Everyone
I deserved this. No break in transition between two jobs, including two weeks working both, and a lifechanging month after a lifechanging career change, my psyche was worse for the wear. This is my little adventure, a much smaller version than last year's. This is my story. Here are the pieces and fragments that came along my way up till this very moment, two days into it. Hillsongs Con 2009, Day 1. Here goes.
Large expectations give way to a myrriad of ways to get disappointed. Disappointed people give way to anger flares. Most of the time nothing that nobody has is black and white. Most of the time, everybody are wrong and right in the same proportion. Nobody is an exception. Neither are Christians in a Christian conference. We're all humans afterall. The sooner we accept that fact, the better.
Second time around in the big city, the wonder and awe has diminished a little. Just a little. And even then, that's because the surprise factor has been cut off. Not many new buildings and new shops here today compared to last year. The Virgin store looked much poorer now, representative of the economic crisis. The "Grand Opening!" sign on what was last year a Vietnamese place near the hotel turned out to be nothing more than a sign that the place is now under new management. The place is still Vietnamese. So much for change. But I stoond agape in awe again on Martins Place, just as well as last year. That little piece of oversized-alley still amazes me. The grandiose, the skyscrapers, the busy-ness, the sheer scale of it all, and most ironically, the very business-like way people all around me seem to take it. Of course, I stood there right in the middle of evening rush hour, so they were all office workers caring for nothing more than getting home as fast and hassle-free as possible, day in day out. My holiday, their daily grind. The irony can't get any more delicious than that.
Everything For Everyone. Sounds like a dream straight out of Starbucks' book of what-could-have-beens. I've stopped dreaming for a while now. On Sunday Andrew touched a nerve when he asked us to pray for something that we want to happen. It got me stuck cuz I got nothing I really want right now. I got a new job, and as far as I'm concerned right now my life is in the groove. Anything else that can and need to happen will surely happen in time. I have lost my dreams, grinding my way day in day out on the concrete road of life. That's cool and all, but I've lost my dreams. So faintly I thought, I want to dream again. And what crazier dream is it than one that defies logic? Everything For Everyone. Every single thing. For every single one. It's crazy, as far as logic and logistics are concerned. I don't have enough heart for everyone, was my immediate reaction. Fair enough, but the dream has to be dreamt. No idea what's gonna come next, but this is only the beginning.
This is my third time doing this trip but this is the first time it has rained really hard. Make of it what you will.
I made a point that my holidays have to include elements of culinary tour. For tonight's dinner, thanks to said semi-new Vietnamese just around the time I got there, I walked around to find a white trailer-thingy outside a food court near the hotel. Typically, it's pretty much a different version of The White Lady, only this one serves more-normal-looking hotdogs and pies. Now, I don't know where the guy got his pies, but I dare say it's something special. Medium-sized pie, topping, and sauce, four dollars thirty. I had two. My first was a beef pie, pea and gravy on top, and chilli sauce. When he said pea and gravy I thought yeah well that's normal on pies, right. Well no, *mashed* peas isn't normal with pie. The topping was of the same size as the pie itself. Now, I don't know much about pies so I can be wrong, but that was one mean looking pie. I don't mean schoolyard bully sort of mean, I mean seriously-dude-look-at-me-wrong-and-I'll-stab-your-face-punkass sort of mean. For the price, it's pretty awesome too. Had I not been a big eater, one would've been enough for me. My second one was chicken with mince and beans and again chilli. Chicken doesn't go well with mince, I can tell you that. But stupidities aside, it's still a mean one. There is still a late-night place I want to try just right outside the train station, so I'm not yet sure which one I'll do tomorrow. But for sure, tomorrow will be pretty interesting as well from this aspect.
And that, as they say, was the first day.
Large expectations give way to a myrriad of ways to get disappointed. Disappointed people give way to anger flares. Most of the time nothing that nobody has is black and white. Most of the time, everybody are wrong and right in the same proportion. Nobody is an exception. Neither are Christians in a Christian conference. We're all humans afterall. The sooner we accept that fact, the better.
Second time around in the big city, the wonder and awe has diminished a little. Just a little. And even then, that's because the surprise factor has been cut off. Not many new buildings and new shops here today compared to last year. The Virgin store looked much poorer now, representative of the economic crisis. The "Grand Opening!" sign on what was last year a Vietnamese place near the hotel turned out to be nothing more than a sign that the place is now under new management. The place is still Vietnamese. So much for change. But I stoond agape in awe again on Martins Place, just as well as last year. That little piece of oversized-alley still amazes me. The grandiose, the skyscrapers, the busy-ness, the sheer scale of it all, and most ironically, the very business-like way people all around me seem to take it. Of course, I stood there right in the middle of evening rush hour, so they were all office workers caring for nothing more than getting home as fast and hassle-free as possible, day in day out. My holiday, their daily grind. The irony can't get any more delicious than that.
Everything For Everyone. Sounds like a dream straight out of Starbucks' book of what-could-have-beens. I've stopped dreaming for a while now. On Sunday Andrew touched a nerve when he asked us to pray for something that we want to happen. It got me stuck cuz I got nothing I really want right now. I got a new job, and as far as I'm concerned right now my life is in the groove. Anything else that can and need to happen will surely happen in time. I have lost my dreams, grinding my way day in day out on the concrete road of life. That's cool and all, but I've lost my dreams. So faintly I thought, I want to dream again. And what crazier dream is it than one that defies logic? Everything For Everyone. Every single thing. For every single one. It's crazy, as far as logic and logistics are concerned. I don't have enough heart for everyone, was my immediate reaction. Fair enough, but the dream has to be dreamt. No idea what's gonna come next, but this is only the beginning.
This is my third time doing this trip but this is the first time it has rained really hard. Make of it what you will.
I made a point that my holidays have to include elements of culinary tour. For tonight's dinner, thanks to said semi-new Vietnamese just around the time I got there, I walked around to find a white trailer-thingy outside a food court near the hotel. Typically, it's pretty much a different version of The White Lady, only this one serves more-normal-looking hotdogs and pies. Now, I don't know where the guy got his pies, but I dare say it's something special. Medium-sized pie, topping, and sauce, four dollars thirty. I had two. My first was a beef pie, pea and gravy on top, and chilli sauce. When he said pea and gravy I thought yeah well that's normal on pies, right. Well no, *mashed* peas isn't normal with pie. The topping was of the same size as the pie itself. Now, I don't know much about pies so I can be wrong, but that was one mean looking pie. I don't mean schoolyard bully sort of mean, I mean seriously-dude-look-at-me-wrong-and-I'll-stab-your-face-punkass sort of mean. For the price, it's pretty awesome too. Had I not been a big eater, one would've been enough for me. My second one was chicken with mince and beans and again chilli. Chicken doesn't go well with mince, I can tell you that. But stupidities aside, it's still a mean one. There is still a late-night place I want to try just right outside the train station, so I'm not yet sure which one I'll do tomorrow. But for sure, tomorrow will be pretty interesting as well from this aspect.
And that, as they say, was the first day.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Welcome To The Jungle
I haven't hit the bushes in more than a year, and out of nowhere in the span of two weeks I hit 'em twice. This last one was particularly interesting. Fully intent on giving their hardest to tackle the hardest a New Zealand tame-level jungle can give, four guys toughed the cold Saturday morning and went back to the jungle trek they conquered in three hours the week before: Waitakere Ranges. This is their story and the lessons I learned from it, served side by side.
First up: Sometimes the one bridge connecting you to your jungle can be blocked, but there's always a side door. And it may sound like cheating, but most likely it's actually harder than the original path. As we found out. The side trek was all the way up and down from the start. I was mentally prepared for the worst, and I had done the last leg of the previous week on a sprint, so I was in a good shape inside and out. Two others weren't so lucky. Whereas the previous week we started with a good 10-15mins of flat land to warm up, this time we hit ups and downs straight out, and it took out some breaths early. But therein lies lesson number two: if at first it's overwhelming, don't worry, you'll get used to it before you know it.
After what must be the longest fifteen minutes we've experienced in a while, we came to our designated intersection, where we saw the blocked path to the original bridge. From there we climbed the steep path that we descended on our way back the previous week. It hurt my knees going down that slope the previous week, so I was under no illusion that I could ascend it without trouble. We took it slow, but because we came upon it so soon from the start it still hurt us quite a bit. Up the top we got to the "Experienced" sign that would mark our gateway to our challenge. Three seniors with complete equipment and a map were sitting by the side of the path, studying the map. That was my ominous sign. If you see people with better equipment than you moving more carefully than you, in anything, I think it's a good time to start thinking a bit. But hey, I thought, we came for the challenge, so challenge we shall. And disappointed we were not.
The path straightaway went down in very steep slopes, considerably bigger steps than we've encountered before, narrower paths that took thinking to navigate around, and the lay of the land changed drastically like an overgrown rollercoaster of earth and vegetation. We went I think about 15-20mins like that until we hit the end of the path. Because we anticipated a challenge, we charged ahead to what looked like parts of the bush that people have passed by before. You can tell we've watched too many war movies and cheap thrillers involving jungles and stuff. We looked for signs of paths. We found ribbons tied on trees and followed that. I became suspicious when one such ribbon had some sort of trap under it. It was a rodent-type trap, as far as I could recognize, so I thought the ribbons were definitely not there to mark human treks. But we pushed onward anyway, sideways and under, taking in as many signs as possible. Quite some time later we hit a snag. It was impassable to city people like us, anyway. We hit a wall of greens, trees and bushes, so thick that we couldn't tell whether the next step would be land or a freefall. We heard the sound of waterfall in the background, so we knew a false step around there somewhere could lead to a very unfunny situation. After about half an hour, we decided to retreat back to where we last lost the path.
Lesson number three, then: save your game often. The problem is, real life doesn't have save points. In that case, at least take careful note of your steps if you're about to go down unknown paths. After some trials and errors, which thankfully didn't take very long, we found our last checkpoint when we saw the three seniors up the hill. Lesson number four: It helps if there are other people around. No man is an island. There is no shame in asking directions from those who got better equipment and a map. They pointed out the true signs of the paths, metal squares on trees, and thus the missing narrow path that we were looking for, almost hidden between two trees. Lesson five: Before you attempt something crazy, first you might wanna look around carefully for a more sensible solution. Needless to say, that half an hour of wandering around off the proper path was the highlight of the trip for me.
From that point on, it was more crazy ascends and descends, and a few river crossings. Now, every single time we were gonna cross a river, the sky would clear up. And then once we were all stuck in the middle, trying to figure out our next steps and not get our shoes wet, the sky would open and pour like crazy. Every single time. We had something like four crossings, and it happened at every single crossing. Eventhough we didn't stop and pray for protection before we left, but I'm sure we had protection. Under that confidence, I'll just say that this mystery is just further proof that God have an awesome sense of humour.
An hour or so later we came to the end of our experienced path and came upon the normal paths again. Lesson six: Once you've tasted the awesome bit, the normal bits will feel boring. It's a good break, but a good break can only keep you alive so much. Once you've recovered, you'll miss the challenges again. What was hard before became flat this time around.
We then came back to our first intersection, the blocked path that led to our broken bridge. There's a small river there that we've never crossed before. We thought, it was still early, just about two hours since we started, so hey, why not go for a little detour and cross this one too. As with the previous rivers, the whole mystery rain stuff did its thing again. Only this time that wasn't the only surprise we were to get. About ten paces after the river, we came upon a clearing, that turned out to be right beside our carpark. We didn't even notice there was an opening in the bush there when we went pass on our way in. Our adventure ended in a very anti-climactic way.
The final lesson, then, is this: What the eye has not seen, what the ear has not heard, what the mind has never thought of, that's what God has in store for us. We had no idea that the bridge would be closed. We never thought that there is another way to get in there, much less to get out. And most of all, we knew it was gonna be a challenge but we never thought we'd get lost in a tame-level trek. Arrogance can kill you, one of these days. Overall, it's been fun. Blessed are the people living in New Zealand that love the outdoors, for plenty are their fodder. We decided that we should do it again two weeks before Hills. I hope we'll get to do it for real, on another trek somewhere. Nature is one amazing creation, and I intend to enjoy it while I can.
First up: Sometimes the one bridge connecting you to your jungle can be blocked, but there's always a side door. And it may sound like cheating, but most likely it's actually harder than the original path. As we found out. The side trek was all the way up and down from the start. I was mentally prepared for the worst, and I had done the last leg of the previous week on a sprint, so I was in a good shape inside and out. Two others weren't so lucky. Whereas the previous week we started with a good 10-15mins of flat land to warm up, this time we hit ups and downs straight out, and it took out some breaths early. But therein lies lesson number two: if at first it's overwhelming, don't worry, you'll get used to it before you know it.
After what must be the longest fifteen minutes we've experienced in a while, we came to our designated intersection, where we saw the blocked path to the original bridge. From there we climbed the steep path that we descended on our way back the previous week. It hurt my knees going down that slope the previous week, so I was under no illusion that I could ascend it without trouble. We took it slow, but because we came upon it so soon from the start it still hurt us quite a bit. Up the top we got to the "Experienced" sign that would mark our gateway to our challenge. Three seniors with complete equipment and a map were sitting by the side of the path, studying the map. That was my ominous sign. If you see people with better equipment than you moving more carefully than you, in anything, I think it's a good time to start thinking a bit. But hey, I thought, we came for the challenge, so challenge we shall. And disappointed we were not.
The path straightaway went down in very steep slopes, considerably bigger steps than we've encountered before, narrower paths that took thinking to navigate around, and the lay of the land changed drastically like an overgrown rollercoaster of earth and vegetation. We went I think about 15-20mins like that until we hit the end of the path. Because we anticipated a challenge, we charged ahead to what looked like parts of the bush that people have passed by before. You can tell we've watched too many war movies and cheap thrillers involving jungles and stuff. We looked for signs of paths. We found ribbons tied on trees and followed that. I became suspicious when one such ribbon had some sort of trap under it. It was a rodent-type trap, as far as I could recognize, so I thought the ribbons were definitely not there to mark human treks. But we pushed onward anyway, sideways and under, taking in as many signs as possible. Quite some time later we hit a snag. It was impassable to city people like us, anyway. We hit a wall of greens, trees and bushes, so thick that we couldn't tell whether the next step would be land or a freefall. We heard the sound of waterfall in the background, so we knew a false step around there somewhere could lead to a very unfunny situation. After about half an hour, we decided to retreat back to where we last lost the path.
Lesson number three, then: save your game often. The problem is, real life doesn't have save points. In that case, at least take careful note of your steps if you're about to go down unknown paths. After some trials and errors, which thankfully didn't take very long, we found our last checkpoint when we saw the three seniors up the hill. Lesson number four: It helps if there are other people around. No man is an island. There is no shame in asking directions from those who got better equipment and a map. They pointed out the true signs of the paths, metal squares on trees, and thus the missing narrow path that we were looking for, almost hidden between two trees. Lesson five: Before you attempt something crazy, first you might wanna look around carefully for a more sensible solution. Needless to say, that half an hour of wandering around off the proper path was the highlight of the trip for me.
From that point on, it was more crazy ascends and descends, and a few river crossings. Now, every single time we were gonna cross a river, the sky would clear up. And then once we were all stuck in the middle, trying to figure out our next steps and not get our shoes wet, the sky would open and pour like crazy. Every single time. We had something like four crossings, and it happened at every single crossing. Eventhough we didn't stop and pray for protection before we left, but I'm sure we had protection. Under that confidence, I'll just say that this mystery is just further proof that God have an awesome sense of humour.
An hour or so later we came to the end of our experienced path and came upon the normal paths again. Lesson six: Once you've tasted the awesome bit, the normal bits will feel boring. It's a good break, but a good break can only keep you alive so much. Once you've recovered, you'll miss the challenges again. What was hard before became flat this time around.
We then came back to our first intersection, the blocked path that led to our broken bridge. There's a small river there that we've never crossed before. We thought, it was still early, just about two hours since we started, so hey, why not go for a little detour and cross this one too. As with the previous rivers, the whole mystery rain stuff did its thing again. Only this time that wasn't the only surprise we were to get. About ten paces after the river, we came upon a clearing, that turned out to be right beside our carpark. We didn't even notice there was an opening in the bush there when we went pass on our way in. Our adventure ended in a very anti-climactic way.
The final lesson, then, is this: What the eye has not seen, what the ear has not heard, what the mind has never thought of, that's what God has in store for us. We had no idea that the bridge would be closed. We never thought that there is another way to get in there, much less to get out. And most of all, we knew it was gonna be a challenge but we never thought we'd get lost in a tame-level trek. Arrogance can kill you, one of these days. Overall, it's been fun. Blessed are the people living in New Zealand that love the outdoors, for plenty are their fodder. We decided that we should do it again two weeks before Hills. I hope we'll get to do it for real, on another trek somewhere. Nature is one amazing creation, and I intend to enjoy it while I can.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Unarmored
Just as I got to work today I burned a finger joint on the steam wand. I've burned myself a lot in the past, but this was probably the first time I got it on a joint. It then proceeded to be a real annoyance throughout the night, because the position meant it wouldn't heal as easily.
I finally got home, and the cold gave me an excuse to soak under the hot shower for quite a bit. The burn on my finger had hardened a bit by then, like an armor. It then occurred to me that I've been pretty close to blowing off at (old) work from anger in the past two days. It's been busy, stuffs been happening, and I'm on my way out so it was all a bit of a drag, and it got to me a bit. It occurred to me that every time something pisses me off I almost immediately switched to combat mode. I always take the simplest path in combat: one-hit kill, as-short-as-possible combat. In any conflict, that's always the simplest and cleanest way to go. The problem is, we're not at war. We're civilized people living in a civilized land and an (arguably) civilized time. I understand that my kill-or-put-up-with-it way of doing things is bad for my health, so to speak. But why is it so easy for me to drop back down to that way of thinking?
Like the hardened skin on my finger, I think it's just because things get easy when you're armored. A skinny geek in a tank can still massacre half of Auckland easily. It's easy to be confident and to assert yourself when you hide behind an armor, a hardened skin, a defense mechanism. But relationships between people asks for something different. You can't touch each other with your armor on. The closer you get, the more armor you'll have to shed. And then at one extreme, my idea of Love, the whole thing has to go off. That's probably my biggest problem right there. Nakedness is a scary thing. Being defenseless is not comfortable. We were born naked and we cried. It's uncomfortable being naked in this harsh world. We were born naked and then we were clothed. And then we grow up and gradually we shed our clothes to show more flesh to the world, but the clothes and armor have moved inside, from shielding our skin to shielding our hearts.
Genesis wrote that once Adam and Eve realized they were naked they became ashamed and hid from God. But I've never read the original word, so I can't be sure if the story really meant that they were ashamed. What if they weren't so much ashamed as they were afraid? Afraid that they got found out, for one thing. We hide our thoughts from each other so we can move around easily. Me, I hide my heart away so it isn't easy for it to get hurt. Shedding my armor and defense mechanisms make me vulnerable. But if we were born to hide away from each other, wouldn't we have been born with hardened skin? Instead, we were born soft blobs of pink flesh straight into the mercy of strangers. We were born vulnerable. Why is that?
My best bet is that this is a straight reference to Love. You need to be naked to be receptive to Love. It's hard to show that you love someone if that someone refuses to be touched, inside more than outside. Some couples survive long distance relationships, but nobody survives a relationship where neither side opens up.
So what has my burnt finger taught me? Hurt hardens you. The more hardened you are, the safer you are against outside threats. But until you risk softening up, you are unlovable. And you cannot love until you have been loved first. The energy has to come from somewhere, you can't give what you don't have. It's easy for me to say, but I'm nowhere near there yet.
I used to be my own protection
but not now
I finally got home, and the cold gave me an excuse to soak under the hot shower for quite a bit. The burn on my finger had hardened a bit by then, like an armor. It then occurred to me that I've been pretty close to blowing off at (old) work from anger in the past two days. It's been busy, stuffs been happening, and I'm on my way out so it was all a bit of a drag, and it got to me a bit. It occurred to me that every time something pisses me off I almost immediately switched to combat mode. I always take the simplest path in combat: one-hit kill, as-short-as-possible combat. In any conflict, that's always the simplest and cleanest way to go. The problem is, we're not at war. We're civilized people living in a civilized land and an (arguably) civilized time. I understand that my kill-or-put-up-with-it way of doing things is bad for my health, so to speak. But why is it so easy for me to drop back down to that way of thinking?
Like the hardened skin on my finger, I think it's just because things get easy when you're armored. A skinny geek in a tank can still massacre half of Auckland easily. It's easy to be confident and to assert yourself when you hide behind an armor, a hardened skin, a defense mechanism. But relationships between people asks for something different. You can't touch each other with your armor on. The closer you get, the more armor you'll have to shed. And then at one extreme, my idea of Love, the whole thing has to go off. That's probably my biggest problem right there. Nakedness is a scary thing. Being defenseless is not comfortable. We were born naked and we cried. It's uncomfortable being naked in this harsh world. We were born naked and then we were clothed. And then we grow up and gradually we shed our clothes to show more flesh to the world, but the clothes and armor have moved inside, from shielding our skin to shielding our hearts.
Genesis wrote that once Adam and Eve realized they were naked they became ashamed and hid from God. But I've never read the original word, so I can't be sure if the story really meant that they were ashamed. What if they weren't so much ashamed as they were afraid? Afraid that they got found out, for one thing. We hide our thoughts from each other so we can move around easily. Me, I hide my heart away so it isn't easy for it to get hurt. Shedding my armor and defense mechanisms make me vulnerable. But if we were born to hide away from each other, wouldn't we have been born with hardened skin? Instead, we were born soft blobs of pink flesh straight into the mercy of strangers. We were born vulnerable. Why is that?
My best bet is that this is a straight reference to Love. You need to be naked to be receptive to Love. It's hard to show that you love someone if that someone refuses to be touched, inside more than outside. Some couples survive long distance relationships, but nobody survives a relationship where neither side opens up.
So what has my burnt finger taught me? Hurt hardens you. The more hardened you are, the safer you are against outside threats. But until you risk softening up, you are unlovable. And you cannot love until you have been loved first. The energy has to come from somewhere, you can't give what you don't have. It's easy for me to say, but I'm nowhere near there yet.
I used to be my own protection
but not now
Field Of Dreams
I used to dream of this stage to come. I used to visualize it over and over, how it happens and how I'll take it. Last week it came. Like a silent breeze it hit me. Before I knew it, I was through.
I'll just get this out of the way fast. Two Mondays ago, a day after my drums debut, I got an email. Well, the email I got on Friday, but I didn't find it until Monday. Tuesday I got myself an interview booked, and all this so far without ever getting a single call. Wednesday I got interviewed, a very tame and short one at that too. 20mins sharp. I came in 2pm, got out almost exactly 2.20. Crazy stuff, this was. The tame nature, my bad moves, and the briefness of it, all up I was pretty down when I went out of there. I wallowed in my sorrow by gorging into a huge Burger Fuel nearby. But I thought, yeah, another interview bungled, what else is new. So off I went, life goes on as usual. No news on Thursday so I thought that was it. Friday morning I got a call that I nearly missed, just a few minutes after I opened my eyes. "We were so impressed with your interview and I would like to offer you the job." How are you supposed to respond to that sort of stuff, two years in waiting and first thing in the morning? I struggled to keep my dignity and arranged to see them a few hours later to get my contract. It felt numb, it felt unreal. I pretty much didn't feel anything at all. No thunder, no great booming voice from heaven, no spire of light through the dark clouds, no nothing. Just a job offer on the phone and a contract to be signed, first thing in the morning. How's that for a surprise?
A week later, here I am. I have now tasted a glimpse of what it's like to work two jobs, which I still have to do for another week. In the three full days I was there, I managed to get as useful as logging phone calls for the last half a day. More difficult than I expected, to say the least. It took a while to sink in. Maybe it hasn't, even now, not fully. I didn't have much time to sit in awe and be impressed. I jumped straight in and absorbed everything like a sponge, and still I'm nowhere near being useful.
The day I got myself an interview arranged, I realized suddenly I gotta think through my shirts. I got very few shirts, and most of them were black. I also realized that this is a normal-hours job, so no more sleeping late and getting up late. At that point, a thought came into my head like a breeze, saying "Man, what a pain!" In reply to that, another thought came in. It was a modification of the Bethesda Pool story, and it goes more or less like this:
Jesus asks the crippled man sitting by the pool, "Do you want to be healed?"
Now, at that point in the story the guy didn't answer Jesus straight. Instead, he made excuses. "But Lord, there's nobody to help me into the pool when the water ripples!" Fair enough of an excuse, but an excuse nonetheless. In the same way I always say, "But God, nobody would give me a chance!" It was as if God answered me, "Yeah well, I just gave you one." And thus the story got shortened in my head into just two verses:
Jesus asks the crippled man, "Do you want to be healed?"
Then the man got up, picked up his bed, and walked away.
Don't make excuses, just grab it with both hands. You want a better life? Then work for it. The work is not just in searching for opportunity, but working those opportunities when they do come. Work 'em like your life depends on it. And so I did, and still do.
And so here I am, facing my Field Of Dreams. I used to listen to this song, Do As Infinity's Field Of Dreams, and watch the music video over and over again. Youtube has pulled them all off, but basically it's all just a bunch of black and white pictures of buskers on the streets of Japan, struggling musos reaching for their dreams, clawing and crawling every inch of the way. I resonated with that. We work and we work but we're not gaining ground, and still we call it our Field Of Dreams. That's the kind of desperate hope I had been operating in for a long long time. And now it's finally here.
It's crazy, what hope can do to you. The Book Of Proverbs says that good news is like good medicine for the soul. In my case, it wasn't just a medicine, it was a tonne of pure ecstatic Red Bull without side effects.
Until you've been in a similar position I'm guessing it's almost impossible for you to feel the magnitude of these simple words: It's. Finally. Here.
So what happens now? I'm just gonna work my ass off day in day out and find out later. A newbie getting a job in a recession, if that's not a miracle I don't know what is. Suddenly everything else seem small. God knows best, and I'm hanging by an invisible thread. This whole thing can only be described as insane, but if that's really the case then I'd stay insane for a while and see where this leads.
Funnily enough, despite the title of this post, I found myself re-discovering Linkin Park. And so I'll close this post with an attempt to describe how my heart and soul feels right now from one of theirs.
With hands held high into the sky so blue
like the ocean opens up to swallow you
Amen
I'll just get this out of the way fast. Two Mondays ago, a day after my drums debut, I got an email. Well, the email I got on Friday, but I didn't find it until Monday. Tuesday I got myself an interview booked, and all this so far without ever getting a single call. Wednesday I got interviewed, a very tame and short one at that too. 20mins sharp. I came in 2pm, got out almost exactly 2.20. Crazy stuff, this was. The tame nature, my bad moves, and the briefness of it, all up I was pretty down when I went out of there. I wallowed in my sorrow by gorging into a huge Burger Fuel nearby. But I thought, yeah, another interview bungled, what else is new. So off I went, life goes on as usual. No news on Thursday so I thought that was it. Friday morning I got a call that I nearly missed, just a few minutes after I opened my eyes. "We were so impressed with your interview and I would like to offer you the job." How are you supposed to respond to that sort of stuff, two years in waiting and first thing in the morning? I struggled to keep my dignity and arranged to see them a few hours later to get my contract. It felt numb, it felt unreal. I pretty much didn't feel anything at all. No thunder, no great booming voice from heaven, no spire of light through the dark clouds, no nothing. Just a job offer on the phone and a contract to be signed, first thing in the morning. How's that for a surprise?
A week later, here I am. I have now tasted a glimpse of what it's like to work two jobs, which I still have to do for another week. In the three full days I was there, I managed to get as useful as logging phone calls for the last half a day. More difficult than I expected, to say the least. It took a while to sink in. Maybe it hasn't, even now, not fully. I didn't have much time to sit in awe and be impressed. I jumped straight in and absorbed everything like a sponge, and still I'm nowhere near being useful.
The day I got myself an interview arranged, I realized suddenly I gotta think through my shirts. I got very few shirts, and most of them were black. I also realized that this is a normal-hours job, so no more sleeping late and getting up late. At that point, a thought came into my head like a breeze, saying "Man, what a pain!" In reply to that, another thought came in. It was a modification of the Bethesda Pool story, and it goes more or less like this:
Jesus asks the crippled man sitting by the pool, "Do you want to be healed?"
Now, at that point in the story the guy didn't answer Jesus straight. Instead, he made excuses. "But Lord, there's nobody to help me into the pool when the water ripples!" Fair enough of an excuse, but an excuse nonetheless. In the same way I always say, "But God, nobody would give me a chance!" It was as if God answered me, "Yeah well, I just gave you one." And thus the story got shortened in my head into just two verses:
Jesus asks the crippled man, "Do you want to be healed?"
Then the man got up, picked up his bed, and walked away.
Don't make excuses, just grab it with both hands. You want a better life? Then work for it. The work is not just in searching for opportunity, but working those opportunities when they do come. Work 'em like your life depends on it. And so I did, and still do.
And so here I am, facing my Field Of Dreams. I used to listen to this song, Do As Infinity's Field Of Dreams, and watch the music video over and over again. Youtube has pulled them all off, but basically it's all just a bunch of black and white pictures of buskers on the streets of Japan, struggling musos reaching for their dreams, clawing and crawling every inch of the way. I resonated with that. We work and we work but we're not gaining ground, and still we call it our Field Of Dreams. That's the kind of desperate hope I had been operating in for a long long time. And now it's finally here.
It's crazy, what hope can do to you. The Book Of Proverbs says that good news is like good medicine for the soul. In my case, it wasn't just a medicine, it was a tonne of pure ecstatic Red Bull without side effects.
Until you've been in a similar position I'm guessing it's almost impossible for you to feel the magnitude of these simple words: It's. Finally. Here.
So what happens now? I'm just gonna work my ass off day in day out and find out later. A newbie getting a job in a recession, if that's not a miracle I don't know what is. Suddenly everything else seem small. God knows best, and I'm hanging by an invisible thread. This whole thing can only be described as insane, but if that's really the case then I'd stay insane for a while and see where this leads.
Funnily enough, despite the title of this post, I found myself re-discovering Linkin Park. And so I'll close this post with an attempt to describe how my heart and soul feels right now from one of theirs.
With hands held high into the sky so blue
like the ocean opens up to swallow you
Amen
Sunday, May 17, 2009
To A Different Beat
I hit a milestone today. Today I finally and officially survived my proper Sunday Service debut. I'm finally a part of it, this world of musicians big and small. A mere year ago this wasn't even fathomable. There is a good reason that I signed up for the Youth stream for this year's Hillsongs Con. A little less than a year ago, it was absolutely unthinkable for me that I will ever be any sort of a musician in this lifetime. And yet today I finally am. From this point on, when I hear people talk on the street say "muso", I can smugly smile and say to myself, "Self, that includes you." So now, a recap.
I had long expected this day, from the moment Lucko set me the date. That was nearly a full month ahead. I had practiced and practiced, intent on cementing the basics more than anything else, very slowly moved up my comfort zone 20bpm to where it sits now, at 100. I was expecting this day to come, in hot expectation and burning desire, and like a caged beast my soul growled day and night, "Let's rock!"
I make no excuse. I wasn't impressed with my performance today. I knew it was going to be a challenge. This week started with my side-job needed to be done. Halfway through the week, I was caught off guard with a hole in my plans: my body broke down. Wednesday morning it was, and by the evening I broke Ko Den's commandment: I took panadol. I had to do anything to get to practice on Thursday night in as best shape as I can. I woke up okay on Thursday, got to practice fine. Then I sat behind the drums and found a piece of myself missing: my creativity was lost. It was right there that I came to understand why people say that most (positively) creative people are happy people. I felt that most of my energy had been used just to keep my body going, so much that I had nothing left to spend on extra stuffs. The feeling was the first casualty. Nevertheless I managed to squeeze out some good moves, I thought. Friday was a disaster. My body broke down so bad I had to take a sickie. I was better on Saturday and by Sunday I was functioning. But the feeling wouldn't come. I had been overtaken by the dynamic duo of sneaking assassins of the soul: Doubt and Pressure. With my body broken, I couldn't put in anywhere near enough final practice that I had wanted. And without realizing it, the pressure got to me. I only realized it on Thursday night, as I lay awake in bed after just three hours of good sleep, all these things that I could use to play better came flooding into my head. It repeated itself on Saturday night. I realized it too late.
I survived Sunday Service. I played almost solely by memory, nearly nothing by heart. I couldn't even feel the atmosphere for most of the service. I escaped with barely noticeable mistakes, thank God. I played the closing much easier, much more enjoyable. In saying that, we didn't practice the closing, so I had no memory to use there, I had to play by heart. It was a bit of a comfort zone for me playing like that. A shame, I thought, not being able to enjoy the majority of my debut that way.
Had I been healthier, I thought, or had more practice, who knows. But put it another way, what if I *had* arrived on this day in perfect condition? I can only guess. I might end up cocky, much less thirsty for improvement, much less reliant on God, and maybe I'll rely more on my hands and tricky skills than the heart and atmosphere, pure and simple.
I went home after the Service and caught some sleep before I went to work. That was the fastest hour and a half I experienced in this past week. A few hours later at work it sank: I made it. I survived this day, and it seems that the only person who have anything bad to say about my performance is myself. All that is left now is to wait for Julian for the footage of a third of my play, and get Adit to look at it and give me feedback. I expect him to be especially harsh on me, because otherwise I wouldn't learn very much. But that'll take another week at least.
All in all, objectively speaking, I think I did alright. I survived despite the odds. I didn't enter my battlefield a star-decorated general. I crawled and clawed my way into the trenches, and didn't come out with a clean uniform. I came, I fought, and I'll be back another day. And then I went home, and I was satisfied.
Through our rising and falling apart
we discover who we are
I had long expected this day, from the moment Lucko set me the date. That was nearly a full month ahead. I had practiced and practiced, intent on cementing the basics more than anything else, very slowly moved up my comfort zone 20bpm to where it sits now, at 100. I was expecting this day to come, in hot expectation and burning desire, and like a caged beast my soul growled day and night, "Let's rock!"
I make no excuse. I wasn't impressed with my performance today. I knew it was going to be a challenge. This week started with my side-job needed to be done. Halfway through the week, I was caught off guard with a hole in my plans: my body broke down. Wednesday morning it was, and by the evening I broke Ko Den's commandment: I took panadol. I had to do anything to get to practice on Thursday night in as best shape as I can. I woke up okay on Thursday, got to practice fine. Then I sat behind the drums and found a piece of myself missing: my creativity was lost. It was right there that I came to understand why people say that most (positively) creative people are happy people. I felt that most of my energy had been used just to keep my body going, so much that I had nothing left to spend on extra stuffs. The feeling was the first casualty. Nevertheless I managed to squeeze out some good moves, I thought. Friday was a disaster. My body broke down so bad I had to take a sickie. I was better on Saturday and by Sunday I was functioning. But the feeling wouldn't come. I had been overtaken by the dynamic duo of sneaking assassins of the soul: Doubt and Pressure. With my body broken, I couldn't put in anywhere near enough final practice that I had wanted. And without realizing it, the pressure got to me. I only realized it on Thursday night, as I lay awake in bed after just three hours of good sleep, all these things that I could use to play better came flooding into my head. It repeated itself on Saturday night. I realized it too late.
I survived Sunday Service. I played almost solely by memory, nearly nothing by heart. I couldn't even feel the atmosphere for most of the service. I escaped with barely noticeable mistakes, thank God. I played the closing much easier, much more enjoyable. In saying that, we didn't practice the closing, so I had no memory to use there, I had to play by heart. It was a bit of a comfort zone for me playing like that. A shame, I thought, not being able to enjoy the majority of my debut that way.
Had I been healthier, I thought, or had more practice, who knows. But put it another way, what if I *had* arrived on this day in perfect condition? I can only guess. I might end up cocky, much less thirsty for improvement, much less reliant on God, and maybe I'll rely more on my hands and tricky skills than the heart and atmosphere, pure and simple.
I went home after the Service and caught some sleep before I went to work. That was the fastest hour and a half I experienced in this past week. A few hours later at work it sank: I made it. I survived this day, and it seems that the only person who have anything bad to say about my performance is myself. All that is left now is to wait for Julian for the footage of a third of my play, and get Adit to look at it and give me feedback. I expect him to be especially harsh on me, because otherwise I wouldn't learn very much. But that'll take another week at least.
All in all, objectively speaking, I think I did alright. I survived despite the odds. I didn't enter my battlefield a star-decorated general. I crawled and clawed my way into the trenches, and didn't come out with a clean uniform. I came, I fought, and I'll be back another day. And then I went home, and I was satisfied.
Through our rising and falling apart
we discover who we are
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Wolverine and The Art Of Healing
Yeah yeah okay, so he's special. But along the lines of "[Pop culture icon] and philosophy", the series of books which I cut my philosophical teeth by, I thought I could extract some ethics and philosophical discussions out of Wolvie too. Subtly the thing that got to me was the matter of healing. So we know that basically Wolvie's cells regenerate. This way he doesn't die, and (conveniently, for plot purposes) ages only into his prime and no older. Smart old man, this Stan man.
Complete regeneration implies the state of perpetual freshness. This being a Wolvie movie, there was bound to be some scenes where we see his wounds close up almost instantly. Taken philosophically, this could be a representation of Wolvie the man, the being, and not just the physical body. And yet we saw, as we saw in previous movies, that this dude got an attitude problem and had a hard time trusting people. So this proves that Wolvie got scars too. He got emotional ones. I hope one line out of the entire movie is not much of a spoiler, but I think a line near the end of the movie hit it home for me. "His brain will heal, but his memory will not come back", was the line.
This line is interesting. See it from the dualist side, it says that memory is more than just cells in a brain. See it from the materialist side, it says that yes memory is just cells in a brain. The materialist wins early, by pointing out that when the brain cells regenerate they regenerate as fresh cells, and thus the information stored in old cells are gone. Double-whammy from the dualist will then point out that if motoric functions can be restored, then why can't the memory parts? Also, say that what keeps Wolvie alive is the regeneration of cells. That is to say that every once in a while cells are replaced by new ones. If this applies to the brain as well, wouldn't that mean Wolvie would forget old memories eventually, as the cells that hold them would be replaced by fresh ones? I'm not gonna drop the verdict myself on this one.
Technicalities aside, there is the soul to be discussed. I'm a dualist, I believe in souls. And as far as Wolvie's flick went, it seemed to me that Wolvie changed as a person during the course of the movie. The final moments of the movie propped forward two opposing sides of an argument. Does memory loss play the part of a reset button, clearing one's slate of mind back into a primal state, with only the most basic functions intact? Or is there something, beyond memories, that is still attached somewhere deep inside? I'll leave that argument alone, I think.
At some point in the beginning, though, it reminded me to move on, to keep looking forwards in life. I had a slightly buggy day today, and got big things lined up this week. This Sunday I'll play my first proper Sunday Service gig, and quite frankly right now it fills up the space in my head pretty much constantly. Going back to the wilderness, to cool my head under the stars is out of the question right now, just tonight it's about 7 degrees out there.
But the idea itself was enough to set me on my path again. Get a job. Find a girl. Don't let the bugs hold you down. Move on. Scars will come anew, and the past will catch up and bite you on the ass eventually. Shake 'em and trash 'em, but don't let them hold you back. Fight back, fight back, fight back. This life ain't easy, nobody ever said it was gonna be easy. But in fighting back, remember, you're not an animal.
Last point I want to make out of the movie: Ever wonder why we keep on fighting, keep on searching, keep on working, keep on digging, endlessly laboring and never finding? Maybe, like a wolverine, we got tricked, we fell from grace, and now at night we gaze and howl at the moon, for the beauty we can always see but can never touch again. Maybe.
Complete regeneration implies the state of perpetual freshness. This being a Wolvie movie, there was bound to be some scenes where we see his wounds close up almost instantly. Taken philosophically, this could be a representation of Wolvie the man, the being, and not just the physical body. And yet we saw, as we saw in previous movies, that this dude got an attitude problem and had a hard time trusting people. So this proves that Wolvie got scars too. He got emotional ones. I hope one line out of the entire movie is not much of a spoiler, but I think a line near the end of the movie hit it home for me. "His brain will heal, but his memory will not come back", was the line.
This line is interesting. See it from the dualist side, it says that memory is more than just cells in a brain. See it from the materialist side, it says that yes memory is just cells in a brain. The materialist wins early, by pointing out that when the brain cells regenerate they regenerate as fresh cells, and thus the information stored in old cells are gone. Double-whammy from the dualist will then point out that if motoric functions can be restored, then why can't the memory parts? Also, say that what keeps Wolvie alive is the regeneration of cells. That is to say that every once in a while cells are replaced by new ones. If this applies to the brain as well, wouldn't that mean Wolvie would forget old memories eventually, as the cells that hold them would be replaced by fresh ones? I'm not gonna drop the verdict myself on this one.
Technicalities aside, there is the soul to be discussed. I'm a dualist, I believe in souls. And as far as Wolvie's flick went, it seemed to me that Wolvie changed as a person during the course of the movie. The final moments of the movie propped forward two opposing sides of an argument. Does memory loss play the part of a reset button, clearing one's slate of mind back into a primal state, with only the most basic functions intact? Or is there something, beyond memories, that is still attached somewhere deep inside? I'll leave that argument alone, I think.
At some point in the beginning, though, it reminded me to move on, to keep looking forwards in life. I had a slightly buggy day today, and got big things lined up this week. This Sunday I'll play my first proper Sunday Service gig, and quite frankly right now it fills up the space in my head pretty much constantly. Going back to the wilderness, to cool my head under the stars is out of the question right now, just tonight it's about 7 degrees out there.
But the idea itself was enough to set me on my path again. Get a job. Find a girl. Don't let the bugs hold you down. Move on. Scars will come anew, and the past will catch up and bite you on the ass eventually. Shake 'em and trash 'em, but don't let them hold you back. Fight back, fight back, fight back. This life ain't easy, nobody ever said it was gonna be easy. But in fighting back, remember, you're not an animal.
Last point I want to make out of the movie: Ever wonder why we keep on fighting, keep on searching, keep on working, keep on digging, endlessly laboring and never finding? Maybe, like a wolverine, we got tricked, we fell from grace, and now at night we gaze and howl at the moon, for the beauty we can always see but can never touch again. Maybe.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
A New Return
After a long hiatus, I have decided to come back to blogging. A lot of factors played parts in this decision, but I'll just mention a thanks to Wulan for unknowingly being the final catalyst of my return to this realm.
So where do I start? I have to start with life. A lot of things happening at the same time at the moment. A lot of things of a lot of different magnitude to a lot of different people. Some good, some bad. But who am I to say what is good what is bad? All I can say is that this is pleasing and that is not so pleasing. Good or bad, I can only say later in retrospect. Suffice to say that everything happens for their own reasons. Be their cause our own doing, or their purpose is our future, only time will tell. The sheer magnitude of these events and happenings are what drove me to write again, to once again open a dam that I thought will never be full ever again. Anyway, here I am again, for better or worse, in this blogosphere.
Last night my parents left back home. At the airport I found myself torn between cold hard reality and a sense of filial duty as an eldest son. I think it's sad when the word Filial is paired with Duty, instead of Love. But, partially at least, that's what I felt last night. Am I supposed to be sad to see my parents go? In the beginning I found myself not so sad. I was sad nonetheless in the end, sad that I'm not all that sad that they left. Is it filial duty to miss one's parents? All emotional complexities aside, I recognize that I do miss the conversations with my dad. Though that's all there is, but it's still something. As they left I uttered a silent prayer, a prayer let on too long by my own uncertainties but summed up in one word: Godspeed.
Today I bought myself a cheapass new pair of sticks, an oval-headed hickory 5A. This pair I hope to use to play in church, to be a filler between my acoustic pair and my round-tipped 3A. I'm gonna give it three gigs. If I can't get the volume under control in three gigs, I'll give in and use a 7A to play in church. I like the feel of a thick stick when I'm playing. Even with this 5A I'm already compromising. I liked the 5B much better, but I thought if I'm gonna get the B I might as well just use my 3A.
Life has taken an interesting turn at the moment. Not just mine, but all around me as well. At the moment I'm just diversifying like crazy. That's one reason I'm starting this again. Either I'm eager or I'm desperate, you be the judge. I'm scrambling all over the place, hoping something I do will lead somewhere solid. My so-far-futile job search, my so-far-dead-end job, this blog, my drumming, Manis Manja Band, my Ember Curhat Ministries, my Advanced-Point-and-Click For Fun Ministries, all in hope that something will lead somewhere. I'm currently operating under the philosophy that I wouldn't know where things will lead to until I start them. So here's hoping one or some of these will catch on.
These are hard times we live in. But in hardship lies opportunity.... somewhere. Adin once said, "In the rushing currents of the river of life, the good news is there is always an island of opportunity. The bad news is, if you miss it you're pretty much screwed." But I need that opportunity. Die quietly or die fighting. I think the choice is a no-brainer.
Today as I was chillin' out with Lucko and throwing random thoughts at each other, he said "There's nothing solid to hold on to but God these days." Unknown to him, I recently re-discovered Creed. So in relation to those two facts, I'll let Scott Stapp has the last word for tonight:
Please come now!
I think I'm falling,
holding on to all I think is safe
So where do I start? I have to start with life. A lot of things happening at the same time at the moment. A lot of things of a lot of different magnitude to a lot of different people. Some good, some bad. But who am I to say what is good what is bad? All I can say is that this is pleasing and that is not so pleasing. Good or bad, I can only say later in retrospect. Suffice to say that everything happens for their own reasons. Be their cause our own doing, or their purpose is our future, only time will tell. The sheer magnitude of these events and happenings are what drove me to write again, to once again open a dam that I thought will never be full ever again. Anyway, here I am again, for better or worse, in this blogosphere.
Last night my parents left back home. At the airport I found myself torn between cold hard reality and a sense of filial duty as an eldest son. I think it's sad when the word Filial is paired with Duty, instead of Love. But, partially at least, that's what I felt last night. Am I supposed to be sad to see my parents go? In the beginning I found myself not so sad. I was sad nonetheless in the end, sad that I'm not all that sad that they left. Is it filial duty to miss one's parents? All emotional complexities aside, I recognize that I do miss the conversations with my dad. Though that's all there is, but it's still something. As they left I uttered a silent prayer, a prayer let on too long by my own uncertainties but summed up in one word: Godspeed.
Today I bought myself a cheapass new pair of sticks, an oval-headed hickory 5A. This pair I hope to use to play in church, to be a filler between my acoustic pair and my round-tipped 3A. I'm gonna give it three gigs. If I can't get the volume under control in three gigs, I'll give in and use a 7A to play in church. I like the feel of a thick stick when I'm playing. Even with this 5A I'm already compromising. I liked the 5B much better, but I thought if I'm gonna get the B I might as well just use my 3A.
Life has taken an interesting turn at the moment. Not just mine, but all around me as well. At the moment I'm just diversifying like crazy. That's one reason I'm starting this again. Either I'm eager or I'm desperate, you be the judge. I'm scrambling all over the place, hoping something I do will lead somewhere solid. My so-far-futile job search, my so-far-dead-end job, this blog, my drumming, Manis Manja Band, my Ember Curhat Ministries, my Advanced-Point-and-Click For Fun Ministries, all in hope that something will lead somewhere. I'm currently operating under the philosophy that I wouldn't know where things will lead to until I start them. So here's hoping one or some of these will catch on.
These are hard times we live in. But in hardship lies opportunity.... somewhere. Adin once said, "In the rushing currents of the river of life, the good news is there is always an island of opportunity. The bad news is, if you miss it you're pretty much screwed." But I need that opportunity. Die quietly or die fighting. I think the choice is a no-brainer.
Today as I was chillin' out with Lucko and throwing random thoughts at each other, he said "There's nothing solid to hold on to but God these days." Unknown to him, I recently re-discovered Creed. So in relation to those two facts, I'll let Scott Stapp has the last word for tonight:
Please come now!
I think I'm falling,
holding on to all I think is safe
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