This is my meditation. This is my medication. I have worked hard. I have leapt forward. I have changed, and I have improved. I have gained new scars, and won new crowns. I have shed more tears, and pumped more fists of glory. A year on, I found myself almost where I started. I have no profound answers, nor do I need any. I make mistakes, just as I've always done. I gained more tools, but I also gained more weaknesses. In forever moving forward, I found myself not moving very much at all. In trying to live a fuller life, I reduced myself to a mere drone. But there is joy in working hard, and then letting go for a time. There is joy in meticulous execution, and then the unabashed abandonment of care into the wind. There is joy in sleeping long, and then some other day sacrificing sleep to waste some long moments absorbing the rising of the sun. There is joy in killing yourself to make a living, and then there is joy in just enjoying every moment to feel that you're alive.
I can work hard, plan all I want, build up everything I want to build, but yet at the end of the day the sky may still fall over my head. I can do everything in my power but I may still fail. There is a strange joy in knowing that even if that really happens, there is a God that is still in control of everything, and he got my best interest in his mind.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Saturday, May 21, 2011
The Only One I've Got
I was walking up a street tonight, and I saw this bunch of eastern European dudes coming down. Suddenly one of them unleashed a flying kick to the guy in the front. It was barely a nudge, hardly made a sound, almost like a friendly toss. But the guy tumbled over. I sidestepped him. The other guys went around him, threatening and cornering him, all with their broken English. I guess he did something real bad. A few paces later I looked back, and they were walking together again. Fake friends? Fake bullies? Fake power-tripping? Fake victim? Who knows.
I've been a fake many things. Most of the time I don't do a very good job at it. A fake friend. A fake drummer. A fake runner. A fake nice guy. A fake Christian. Most of the time I got caught, one way or another. I try to be true to myself, try to be authentic. Unfortunately, the authentic me is full of holes. I try to fix them, and in the meantime it's borderline fake. Unfortunately, I do a really bad job in faking that they look more like failures than anything else.
A lot has happened in the past few weeks, and it just gets crazier. I'm gonna start a new job soon, and it'll be a huge jump for me. A whole bunch of things are changing outside work too. I have just been given a green light to basically do crazy stuffs that, to my shame, caught me off guard. Because I was lazy I now find myself in a spot of opportunity and unprepared. Many horizons open up in front of me, some new some old, but all of them open wide. Problem is, most of them also come with storm clouds. But the only way to go is forward.
I am dirty, I am not worthy, I am unprepared. Things can go really bad from this point on, but what choice do I have. I can't go back and fix my mistakes. I can only bite my lip, take a deep breath, and push on forward. I have to take these chances, have to grab these opportunities. I have to try.
How I wish I can redo many things. How I wish I didn't make those mistakes. But as much as I mope and mull over it, there's nothing I can do about those now. They're gone and I can't fix them. Some I can pay for in the future, and I will gladly pay for them tenfold. But I know full well there will be some mistakes that I can't pay for, no matter what I do. I will just have to live with those. But oh what I would give for another chance...
This song caught me last night, and I can't stop listening to it. It speaks to me, about me, and for me. This is the sort of song that I listen to with headphones on, fist on heart, as if I can bring the music closer to me and I can make the words ring more true. It goes like this:
A crowded street can be a quiet place when you're walking alone
And now you think that you're the only
one who doesn't have to try
and you won't have to fail
If you're afraid to fly
Then I guess you never will
You hide behind your walls of "maybe never"s
Forgetting that there's something more than just knowing better
Your mistakes do not define you now
They tell you who you're not
You've got to live this life you're given
Like it's the only one you've got
Memories have left you broken and the scars have never healed
The emptiness in you is growing, but so little left to fill
You're scared to look back on the days before
You're too tired to move on
What would it take
To get you to say that "I'll try"
And what would you say if
This was the last day of your life
You hide behind your walls of "maybe never"s
Forgetting that there's so much more than just knowing better
Your mistakes do not define you now
They tell you who you're not
You've got to live this life you're given
Like it's the only one you've got
I've been a fake many things. Most of the time I don't do a very good job at it. A fake friend. A fake drummer. A fake runner. A fake nice guy. A fake Christian. Most of the time I got caught, one way or another. I try to be true to myself, try to be authentic. Unfortunately, the authentic me is full of holes. I try to fix them, and in the meantime it's borderline fake. Unfortunately, I do a really bad job in faking that they look more like failures than anything else.
A lot has happened in the past few weeks, and it just gets crazier. I'm gonna start a new job soon, and it'll be a huge jump for me. A whole bunch of things are changing outside work too. I have just been given a green light to basically do crazy stuffs that, to my shame, caught me off guard. Because I was lazy I now find myself in a spot of opportunity and unprepared. Many horizons open up in front of me, some new some old, but all of them open wide. Problem is, most of them also come with storm clouds. But the only way to go is forward.
I am dirty, I am not worthy, I am unprepared. Things can go really bad from this point on, but what choice do I have. I can't go back and fix my mistakes. I can only bite my lip, take a deep breath, and push on forward. I have to take these chances, have to grab these opportunities. I have to try.
How I wish I can redo many things. How I wish I didn't make those mistakes. But as much as I mope and mull over it, there's nothing I can do about those now. They're gone and I can't fix them. Some I can pay for in the future, and I will gladly pay for them tenfold. But I know full well there will be some mistakes that I can't pay for, no matter what I do. I will just have to live with those. But oh what I would give for another chance...
This song caught me last night, and I can't stop listening to it. It speaks to me, about me, and for me. This is the sort of song that I listen to with headphones on, fist on heart, as if I can bring the music closer to me and I can make the words ring more true. It goes like this:
A crowded street can be a quiet place when you're walking alone
And now you think that you're the only
one who doesn't have to try
and you won't have to fail
If you're afraid to fly
Then I guess you never will
You hide behind your walls of "maybe never"s
Forgetting that there's something more than just knowing better
Your mistakes do not define you now
They tell you who you're not
You've got to live this life you're given
Like it's the only one you've got
Memories have left you broken and the scars have never healed
The emptiness in you is growing, but so little left to fill
You're scared to look back on the days before
You're too tired to move on
What would it take
To get you to say that "I'll try"
And what would you say if
This was the last day of your life
You hide behind your walls of "maybe never"s
Forgetting that there's so much more than just knowing better
Your mistakes do not define you now
They tell you who you're not
You've got to live this life you're given
Like it's the only one you've got
Friday, April 22, 2011
Life In Death
Over here in House Of Praise, we have a tradition of not having a tradition. Given our situation, most "Christian holidays" when most churches have special events, we have none. We got no building, uni is closed on (most) public holidays, and even if we wanna do stuff like camps etc these days we just don't have very many people around. So instead, what we do this good Good Friday was we went out, hit a few hundred balls on the local driving range, support the local Chinese business by playing pool, took the van out of my garage, put a long table in there, light up a gas cooker, use the van's seats as portable couches, nicked the church's projector, and have cheapass-cook-up while laughing to Stephen Chow movies playing on the wall.
Normal church types would easily spit this out as blasphemy, not going to church on Good Friday. I disagree to start with, but I can see where they're coming from. And originally this whole thing was just a result of lazy planning on a lazy holiday anyway. I was going to just as easily say happy long weekend, with no mention of Good Friday. I didn't really think much of it. But something occurred to me while I was waiting for the meat in the hotpot to cook. I took my eyes off the screen (or wall, rather) and I saw these bunch of people sitting around in a makeshift living room eating unhygienic food, with car seats as sofa, plastic chairs, and drum thrones, and a baby sleeping in her daddy's arms in a dirty garage.
If Jesus was a Chinese-kiwi and if he hadn't died until today, wouldn't the last supper look something like this? If he was a full-on kiwi it would've been a BBQ instead of hotpot, and Temuera Morisson rather than Stephen Chow, but I'm guessing the setting would otherwise look kinda similar.
While people celebrate his death, I can't help thinking about it like this: If you're a soldier in the middle of battle, and your fellow soldier died fighting, what would you do? Yes you'd be sad, but would you keep on fighting or would you stop and cry for him? Humanly speaking you would do the latter, but I'd think your dead friend would much rather you keep on fighting. Jesus died for something, so I think the worst that I can do is stop the fight to cry for him. Yes that sounds nice, but really? I'm not sure if it would make him happy, if his death so distracts me from pursuing what he lived for. I'd like to think that our little garage-supper was a celebration of his life on a day when in our hearts we remember his death. In his death, let's celebrate his life. I'd like to think he'd be happier with that.
Of course, some who know me might cry out "Hypocrite!" That's true, I'm not always the nicest guy to be around with, definitely not the first name that comes to mind when people talk about sharing life and playing nice with everybody. I got lots of holes in my life, so much that I can't fairly say I'm celebrating his life. I will always fall far far far far short. There are things I wanted to do today that I can't do yet. But we can only do what we can. I hope one day I'll be able to do more justice to the name of Christ I represent.
Today as the world remembers his death, I remember he died to give people lives. So I guess the best way to celebrate that is to eat and laugh and celebrate these lives, mine and my mates' and everybody's, the very lives he died for.
Normal church types would easily spit this out as blasphemy, not going to church on Good Friday. I disagree to start with, but I can see where they're coming from. And originally this whole thing was just a result of lazy planning on a lazy holiday anyway. I was going to just as easily say happy long weekend, with no mention of Good Friday. I didn't really think much of it. But something occurred to me while I was waiting for the meat in the hotpot to cook. I took my eyes off the screen (or wall, rather) and I saw these bunch of people sitting around in a makeshift living room eating unhygienic food, with car seats as sofa, plastic chairs, and drum thrones, and a baby sleeping in her daddy's arms in a dirty garage.
If Jesus was a Chinese-kiwi and if he hadn't died until today, wouldn't the last supper look something like this? If he was a full-on kiwi it would've been a BBQ instead of hotpot, and Temuera Morisson rather than Stephen Chow, but I'm guessing the setting would otherwise look kinda similar.
While people celebrate his death, I can't help thinking about it like this: If you're a soldier in the middle of battle, and your fellow soldier died fighting, what would you do? Yes you'd be sad, but would you keep on fighting or would you stop and cry for him? Humanly speaking you would do the latter, but I'd think your dead friend would much rather you keep on fighting. Jesus died for something, so I think the worst that I can do is stop the fight to cry for him. Yes that sounds nice, but really? I'm not sure if it would make him happy, if his death so distracts me from pursuing what he lived for. I'd like to think that our little garage-supper was a celebration of his life on a day when in our hearts we remember his death. In his death, let's celebrate his life. I'd like to think he'd be happier with that.
Of course, some who know me might cry out "Hypocrite!" That's true, I'm not always the nicest guy to be around with, definitely not the first name that comes to mind when people talk about sharing life and playing nice with everybody. I got lots of holes in my life, so much that I can't fairly say I'm celebrating his life. I will always fall far far far far short. There are things I wanted to do today that I can't do yet. But we can only do what we can. I hope one day I'll be able to do more justice to the name of Christ I represent.
Today as the world remembers his death, I remember he died to give people lives. So I guess the best way to celebrate that is to eat and laugh and celebrate these lives, mine and my mates' and everybody's, the very lives he died for.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Wonderwall
It's been about a year and a half since I properly swam. It's been about four months since last time I had even half-proper exercise. Four times the length of an olympic-sized pool was all I could get out of my body tonight before my left calf basically dropped dead and refused to work anymore. But here's the interesting thing....
Almost everytime, at the final quarter I would hit a mental wall. My legs began to hurt bad, my heart pumping out like a Foos concert, and my shoulders got very heavy. Problem is, the shoulders were what allowed me to lift my face up and breathe. Underwater there is no escape. The first two laps, when I hit that wall I panicked. I took a break like I was gonna die. A few minutes into my break I thought it was weird, because I realized I wasn't about to die afterall. On the third attempt, as expected I hit the wall again. I decided to press forward. The pain didn't subside, in fact it mounted.
But after a while, my body adapted. The pain didn't get any less, but it got more bearable. The wall was still there, but I was pushing it further and further back. When I hit it for the fourth time I realized something. The purpose of the mental wall is not to be destroyed. It is meant to be overcome, it is meant to be pushed back, it is meant to mark your progress, it is meant to be experienced.
It is meant to stretch you.
The sports world call it a wall, and the resulting mental image is about something that you jump over or break through. In the water, I found that it's not true. This wall is something to be experienced. I forgot the taste of hardwork in my mouth, being absent from combat sports for so long. Pushing forward when you think you can go no further, that's the essence of any sports, but combat sports most of all. When your whole body burns with pain and lactic acid, when your entire being screams "Get out!!", that's when your character and mettle are most tested and built up.
In the first two laps I found that I panicked and lost control. I went into the third lap mentally prepared for that, calmed myself down and kept focus. The difference was that I expected it to happen, I knowingly jumped into it. The first thing I needed to do was calm down. The second thing I did was look ahead, not down. I needed to look at where I was going, thrive and not barely survive. I recall that it was around that time that my body began to adapt. I still puffed like I was about to die at the end of it, but at least I actually felt like I was pushing myself and making progress instead of chickening out.
Now, that needs clarification. What is "progress"? It is not that I didn't feel the pain. Feeling the pain wasn't failure, contrary to what I thought previously. Progress is meeting that wall and pushing it further and further back. Progress is not running one mile, it is running a mile plus a little bit on your next try. Progress is not speed, it's acceleration. It should be a measure of how you are compared to how you were, not a boolean value of whether you're already "there" or not, wherever or whatever "there" is.
We hear it all the time, that Life is not meant to be survived. What that cliche needed was a word swap. Swap the word Life with whatever you're facing. It could be another hour at work, or the last three meters in the water. This changed an image in my head about finishing your race. The metaphor of the race is still true, but apply it to everyday life and I think a question needs to be asked: where is the finish line? I think the finish line is variable. It can be a tangible result, or, less commonly noted, it might be intangible. We normally think a day ends when you sleep. What if all the crap you go through today bears fruit in you being more patient tomorrow? Suddenly, you finish yesterday's race tomorrow. Not exactly the traditional way of looking at it.
We are not the greatest version of us today, nor should we. We should be better tomorrow.
If I go crazy will you still call me superman?
My kryptonite
Almost everytime, at the final quarter I would hit a mental wall. My legs began to hurt bad, my heart pumping out like a Foos concert, and my shoulders got very heavy. Problem is, the shoulders were what allowed me to lift my face up and breathe. Underwater there is no escape. The first two laps, when I hit that wall I panicked. I took a break like I was gonna die. A few minutes into my break I thought it was weird, because I realized I wasn't about to die afterall. On the third attempt, as expected I hit the wall again. I decided to press forward. The pain didn't subside, in fact it mounted.
But after a while, my body adapted. The pain didn't get any less, but it got more bearable. The wall was still there, but I was pushing it further and further back. When I hit it for the fourth time I realized something. The purpose of the mental wall is not to be destroyed. It is meant to be overcome, it is meant to be pushed back, it is meant to mark your progress, it is meant to be experienced.
It is meant to stretch you.
The sports world call it a wall, and the resulting mental image is about something that you jump over or break through. In the water, I found that it's not true. This wall is something to be experienced. I forgot the taste of hardwork in my mouth, being absent from combat sports for so long. Pushing forward when you think you can go no further, that's the essence of any sports, but combat sports most of all. When your whole body burns with pain and lactic acid, when your entire being screams "Get out!!", that's when your character and mettle are most tested and built up.
In the first two laps I found that I panicked and lost control. I went into the third lap mentally prepared for that, calmed myself down and kept focus. The difference was that I expected it to happen, I knowingly jumped into it. The first thing I needed to do was calm down. The second thing I did was look ahead, not down. I needed to look at where I was going, thrive and not barely survive. I recall that it was around that time that my body began to adapt. I still puffed like I was about to die at the end of it, but at least I actually felt like I was pushing myself and making progress instead of chickening out.
Now, that needs clarification. What is "progress"? It is not that I didn't feel the pain. Feeling the pain wasn't failure, contrary to what I thought previously. Progress is meeting that wall and pushing it further and further back. Progress is not running one mile, it is running a mile plus a little bit on your next try. Progress is not speed, it's acceleration. It should be a measure of how you are compared to how you were, not a boolean value of whether you're already "there" or not, wherever or whatever "there" is.
We hear it all the time, that Life is not meant to be survived. What that cliche needed was a word swap. Swap the word Life with whatever you're facing. It could be another hour at work, or the last three meters in the water. This changed an image in my head about finishing your race. The metaphor of the race is still true, but apply it to everyday life and I think a question needs to be asked: where is the finish line? I think the finish line is variable. It can be a tangible result, or, less commonly noted, it might be intangible. We normally think a day ends when you sleep. What if all the crap you go through today bears fruit in you being more patient tomorrow? Suddenly, you finish yesterday's race tomorrow. Not exactly the traditional way of looking at it.
We are not the greatest version of us today, nor should we. We should be better tomorrow.
If I go crazy will you still call me superman?
My kryptonite
Friday, November 19, 2010
Event Horizon, B-Side
An event horizon is a line on the horizon of a black hole where there is no turning back, so it's also known as a point of no turning back. But that means every second of our lives are mini event horizons. This is the flipside of this year's story, or accumulation of stories.
I've gained a lot and lost a lot this year, but I still believe I stand to gain a lot more. Much more. It was a rollercoaster ride start of the year, and quite frankly it was super exciting. I've done so many things I didn't think I'd ever do, twisted and turned my life in ways I've never imagined before. Most importantly, I met a few people that turned out to be very important in my life. For the opportunities to get these people into my life, I'm forever grateful.
In saying that, it hasn't been a walk in the park either. As I said, from Easter onwards work got insane, and it distorted me in ways I didn't know possible. As I said, my passion for people wore out, something I never thought possible. Luckily it didn't poison my roots. I still have great passion for a select very few people in my life. For them I would put my neck on the line if need be. Some of them know it, some of them may not know it yet. It doesn't matter. What matters is that my roots are still there, and that's why I said I still stand to gain more than what I've lost even now.
It had been a very intense year. I cannot say this enough. I have experienced so many things I didn't think I would ever experience, taken steps I didn't think I would ever take. I took chances, some wilder than others. But what else would you do if you're desperate for change? Some of these chances would change my life forever, and I hope the effectual ones are the ones I'm hoping for. But even that is a risk I'm taking. What if the wrong things become big? Or if the right things become big in the wrong way? When you put financial investments it can only go down to zero at worst. But when you put your heart on the line, especially a tin man like me, things can easily go deep south of zero. The problem is, I want to live. I don't want to stay stagnant and live peacefully and uneventfully. Let's really live. I have jumped emotional cliffs this year, and I hope I wouldn't end up at the bottom of all of them. As the year comes to a close, the cliffs don't get any softer. In fact, they get taller and harder, the gamble gets bigger, the chances get smaller, the land gets tougher, the weather gets bitter, but the life? The life gets closer to God.
I got up an hour early this morning and couldn't get back to sleep. The melancholy from last night still hung in the air for me. Out loud I pleaded with God. I didn't ask for an easier ride. I only confessed that I can't do this. There is no way I'll survive these life decisions, both public and secret. In my mind I thought I saw a tip of a blade. I stood on the tip, and everything else was white. All I could think of was, I need to hang on to God. That's the only way I'll get through this. There's absolutely nothing I can do to ensure my success. Imagine working your entire life to save up for a great retirement, and then on your way home from your last day of work you get hit by a drunk truck driver. Nothing I can do can save me. I'm responsible to do the best of my capacity, yes, but in the end nothing is sure. My only chance of being sure of anything is to hold on to God, because this rollercoaster sure ain't gonna get any slower.
From that point a song came into my head. I got out of bed, found the song, and sat there rocking out in my heart. I felt peaceful. Rockers never die. It felt amazing to me the simple event that God reminded me of a song whose lyrics spoke to me right where I was. It's a small gesture but to me this morning that was super huge. It told me that God was right there, and he cared. That has got to beat everything else. He may not give me everything I want, but he cares, and he got me covered. I will still feel pain and taste blood, yes, and some things will still hurt really really bad, but my world wouldn't end without his agreement. And I still believe he got the best for me in mind.
In the end, I know I'm facing not just giants, but giants of fire. Who knows what next year would throw at me. Even worse, who knows what else will I get myself into. Let it be known that I'm shaking in my pants in overwhelming anticipation. But let it also be known that I stand tall, looking forwards and upwards. I'm not Ali, but in the presence of my giants I can thump my chest all the same, while I look at them in the eye and declare: I got God.
In everything I do
I'm holding on to you
And when my world is falling down,
in You I will be found
I've gained a lot and lost a lot this year, but I still believe I stand to gain a lot more. Much more. It was a rollercoaster ride start of the year, and quite frankly it was super exciting. I've done so many things I didn't think I'd ever do, twisted and turned my life in ways I've never imagined before. Most importantly, I met a few people that turned out to be very important in my life. For the opportunities to get these people into my life, I'm forever grateful.
In saying that, it hasn't been a walk in the park either. As I said, from Easter onwards work got insane, and it distorted me in ways I didn't know possible. As I said, my passion for people wore out, something I never thought possible. Luckily it didn't poison my roots. I still have great passion for a select very few people in my life. For them I would put my neck on the line if need be. Some of them know it, some of them may not know it yet. It doesn't matter. What matters is that my roots are still there, and that's why I said I still stand to gain more than what I've lost even now.
It had been a very intense year. I cannot say this enough. I have experienced so many things I didn't think I would ever experience, taken steps I didn't think I would ever take. I took chances, some wilder than others. But what else would you do if you're desperate for change? Some of these chances would change my life forever, and I hope the effectual ones are the ones I'm hoping for. But even that is a risk I'm taking. What if the wrong things become big? Or if the right things become big in the wrong way? When you put financial investments it can only go down to zero at worst. But when you put your heart on the line, especially a tin man like me, things can easily go deep south of zero. The problem is, I want to live. I don't want to stay stagnant and live peacefully and uneventfully. Let's really live. I have jumped emotional cliffs this year, and I hope I wouldn't end up at the bottom of all of them. As the year comes to a close, the cliffs don't get any softer. In fact, they get taller and harder, the gamble gets bigger, the chances get smaller, the land gets tougher, the weather gets bitter, but the life? The life gets closer to God.
I got up an hour early this morning and couldn't get back to sleep. The melancholy from last night still hung in the air for me. Out loud I pleaded with God. I didn't ask for an easier ride. I only confessed that I can't do this. There is no way I'll survive these life decisions, both public and secret. In my mind I thought I saw a tip of a blade. I stood on the tip, and everything else was white. All I could think of was, I need to hang on to God. That's the only way I'll get through this. There's absolutely nothing I can do to ensure my success. Imagine working your entire life to save up for a great retirement, and then on your way home from your last day of work you get hit by a drunk truck driver. Nothing I can do can save me. I'm responsible to do the best of my capacity, yes, but in the end nothing is sure. My only chance of being sure of anything is to hold on to God, because this rollercoaster sure ain't gonna get any slower.
From that point a song came into my head. I got out of bed, found the song, and sat there rocking out in my heart. I felt peaceful. Rockers never die. It felt amazing to me the simple event that God reminded me of a song whose lyrics spoke to me right where I was. It's a small gesture but to me this morning that was super huge. It told me that God was right there, and he cared. That has got to beat everything else. He may not give me everything I want, but he cares, and he got me covered. I will still feel pain and taste blood, yes, and some things will still hurt really really bad, but my world wouldn't end without his agreement. And I still believe he got the best for me in mind.
In the end, I know I'm facing not just giants, but giants of fire. Who knows what next year would throw at me. Even worse, who knows what else will I get myself into. Let it be known that I'm shaking in my pants in overwhelming anticipation. But let it also be known that I stand tall, looking forwards and upwards. I'm not Ali, but in the presence of my giants I can thump my chest all the same, while I look at them in the eye and declare: I got God.
In everything I do
I'm holding on to you
And when my world is falling down,
in You I will be found
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Event Horizon
As the year draws to a close, I feel the need to make a record here of the state that I am in, a short history not of actual events but of metaphysical results, to be recorded here for a digital eternity.
I have gone through a lot this year. It was a whirlwind start, peaking at around Easter. After Easter work took over, and then it was a whirlwind of a different kind right to this moment. The fact that I have work running in the background while I'm putting these thoughts into words speaks for itself.
This year I've gained much, and I've lost much. I regret bitterly the fact that I have lost quite a big part of my humanity. Since Easter I have become a cold and machine-efficient man. I do what I like to do first and foremost, and I hardly ever stepped out of my comfort zone for others when I didn't feel like it. I regret to say that I have lost a lot of patience, a lot of general kindness, and a lot of love for the general public. I realize fully that operating right beneath my skin is a well-oiled machine geared for survival. I have evolved to put smooth-sailing and trouble-free safe day-to-day journey first and foremost in my daily life, without even thinking about it. I can blame that on so many things, like work, but I think that's just looking for an excuse. I am proud of what I have become in terms of skills in various areas in my life, but I very much regret that I have lost a lot of humanity in the process.
I found myself today sitting in the office, clicking away, making some progress in whatever I was doing. I began to wonder what it's like to live a different life. I wondered how my coming holiday is gonna feel like. The hot and humid air running through my nose, down my throat, filling my lungs. The strange and familiar cold white floor tiles. The dim white light. My faithful dog. The fact that everything is smaller and shorter. The fact that I can't see outside from my room, and so making staying at home the whole day a sanity-endangering exercise. And then I wonder what it's like if I overhaul my life and move back over, a Western-cultured kid in an Asian skin from a backwater Western country living in a poverty-stricken Asian megapolitan. An irony on so many levels at once. I'd end up a stranger in my own country, and nobody would know.
At this stage I'm a bit sick of my life at the moment. Many things are going right, even great. But at the same time so many things can't keep going the way they are without gnawing into my sanity. Therefore something needs to happen. Something needs to be made to happen. This coming holiday is the beginning. I haven't been home in nearly four years. In Jakarta terms, that's nearly an eternity. But then I thought, why wait? It begs the question, what can I do now? I think, not much. As I sit here in my comfortable multi-function room, I feel that my senses have dulled. I have no more creativity for things. I try to get up and run, and it feels like I haven't moved in ages. It's almost like there's nothing left for me to do in this country, in this setup. It really feels like I need something big, need to make something happen, need to take a huge step, brave a big risk, dare a big dream. It's not that I don't see problems around me to be solved, but it's that I have no answer to offer them. I found myself asking the same questions as people around me, and I have no answer even for myself, let alone them.
I read today how vehemently people stand opposed to Westfield's plans to upgrade St Lukes to twice the size. I understand the traffic complaints, no problem. But then came the argument that it will kill the smaller shopping strips. Well of course it will! People here prefer tranquil little neighborly things, while I prefer them big and steely. I don't know if it's just me or if it's an effect of being an Asian living here for more than a decade, but that's beside the point. This is New Zealand, and although her character is changing she is still mostly her old self. And there's nothing wrong with that. Not all countries in the world need to be big and built around networks of concrete jungles. I understand that much, I respect that much. But I want much more than that, and I have only a limited time to live. So maybe, just maybe, it's high time I move on.
I feel the need to emphasize here that my life is, on all accounts, going just fine. It's just that I want more than just fine, much much more. In what form this will take, I don't know. I hope this coming holiday will be a breakthrough for me. I still believe. I'm still hopeful. I'm still convinced this is not all there is to life. I still have faith that there are invisible bridges out there, undiscovered pathways, and unseen treasures. I still believe things can happen. I'm not a hopeless case.
The heart is a bloom
shoots up through the stony ground
It's a beautiful day!
I have gone through a lot this year. It was a whirlwind start, peaking at around Easter. After Easter work took over, and then it was a whirlwind of a different kind right to this moment. The fact that I have work running in the background while I'm putting these thoughts into words speaks for itself.
This year I've gained much, and I've lost much. I regret bitterly the fact that I have lost quite a big part of my humanity. Since Easter I have become a cold and machine-efficient man. I do what I like to do first and foremost, and I hardly ever stepped out of my comfort zone for others when I didn't feel like it. I regret to say that I have lost a lot of patience, a lot of general kindness, and a lot of love for the general public. I realize fully that operating right beneath my skin is a well-oiled machine geared for survival. I have evolved to put smooth-sailing and trouble-free safe day-to-day journey first and foremost in my daily life, without even thinking about it. I can blame that on so many things, like work, but I think that's just looking for an excuse. I am proud of what I have become in terms of skills in various areas in my life, but I very much regret that I have lost a lot of humanity in the process.
I found myself today sitting in the office, clicking away, making some progress in whatever I was doing. I began to wonder what it's like to live a different life. I wondered how my coming holiday is gonna feel like. The hot and humid air running through my nose, down my throat, filling my lungs. The strange and familiar cold white floor tiles. The dim white light. My faithful dog. The fact that everything is smaller and shorter. The fact that I can't see outside from my room, and so making staying at home the whole day a sanity-endangering exercise. And then I wonder what it's like if I overhaul my life and move back over, a Western-cultured kid in an Asian skin from a backwater Western country living in a poverty-stricken Asian megapolitan. An irony on so many levels at once. I'd end up a stranger in my own country, and nobody would know.
At this stage I'm a bit sick of my life at the moment. Many things are going right, even great. But at the same time so many things can't keep going the way they are without gnawing into my sanity. Therefore something needs to happen. Something needs to be made to happen. This coming holiday is the beginning. I haven't been home in nearly four years. In Jakarta terms, that's nearly an eternity. But then I thought, why wait? It begs the question, what can I do now? I think, not much. As I sit here in my comfortable multi-function room, I feel that my senses have dulled. I have no more creativity for things. I try to get up and run, and it feels like I haven't moved in ages. It's almost like there's nothing left for me to do in this country, in this setup. It really feels like I need something big, need to make something happen, need to take a huge step, brave a big risk, dare a big dream. It's not that I don't see problems around me to be solved, but it's that I have no answer to offer them. I found myself asking the same questions as people around me, and I have no answer even for myself, let alone them.
I read today how vehemently people stand opposed to Westfield's plans to upgrade St Lukes to twice the size. I understand the traffic complaints, no problem. But then came the argument that it will kill the smaller shopping strips. Well of course it will! People here prefer tranquil little neighborly things, while I prefer them big and steely. I don't know if it's just me or if it's an effect of being an Asian living here for more than a decade, but that's beside the point. This is New Zealand, and although her character is changing she is still mostly her old self. And there's nothing wrong with that. Not all countries in the world need to be big and built around networks of concrete jungles. I understand that much, I respect that much. But I want much more than that, and I have only a limited time to live. So maybe, just maybe, it's high time I move on.
I feel the need to emphasize here that my life is, on all accounts, going just fine. It's just that I want more than just fine, much much more. In what form this will take, I don't know. I hope this coming holiday will be a breakthrough for me. I still believe. I'm still hopeful. I'm still convinced this is not all there is to life. I still have faith that there are invisible bridges out there, undiscovered pathways, and unseen treasures. I still believe things can happen. I'm not a hopeless case.
The heart is a bloom
shoots up through the stony ground
It's a beautiful day!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Life is like.....
Results of meditations of a stressed out IT guy. Here we go....
Life is like Super Mario. You jump head-first into question marks, and various things happen. Sometimes you get nothing. Sometimes you get things that will force you to grow. Sometimes you get things that will empower you, often by setting you aflame, after which you'll be spitting fire at anything and everything for as long as you can. Sometimes you'll come upon a star. You will feel invincible for a while, as if the world can do you no harm. But unfortunately, that feeling wouldn't last. Sometimes you'll hit things that would threaten to take away everything you've worked so hard for, making you feel small. And in very rare occasions you'll find an extra life, which is really nothing more than the stuffs that forces you to grow, only in a different color. You run like the wind, you jump into the clouds, you climb dodgy veins into the sky, you walk through sewers, you swim in deadly oceans, you jump over sea of fire, but sometimes in the end the princess is in another castle. And life goes on.
Life is like Counter Strike. Sometimes no matter who you run with, no matter how deadly you're packing, you'll still get knocked out by a guy sitting calmly far away waiting to take shots at poor little buggers like you. Repeatedly.
Life is like Left4Dead. Yes you're not alone, but sometimes the sheer idiocy of others around you make you wish or feel that you're alone. And the enemies aren't much better. The fat ones will tell the smaller ones all about you and set them to gang you up. The small ones backstab you, or simply jump on you and try to get you to go where they want you to go. Sometimes everything makes you feel that your best friend is a shotgun.
Life is like Tower Defense. You face onslaught after onslaught, and because they get harder everytime you think you're making progress. One day the biggest onslaught comes, and you slay them too. And then.... nothing. In the illusion of making progress, you've lost sight that all you've been doing all these times were just surviving, an utter waste of time.
Life is like Fear. You're not the only one with ghosts from your past haunting you, but a lot of the times you're the one who has to clean up after other people's mess. And yours. At the same time. Repeatedly.
Life is like Fight Night. It feels good imagining beating the crap out of your problems, but when all is said and done, it's all only in your head. You haven't knocked down anybody yet.
Life is like Sudoku. We spend a lot of time trying to fit everything in without anybody stepping on anybody else's toes. But most of the time nothing ever goes that smooth. People will go into each other's rows, including yours, and make things uncomfortable for everyone.
Life is like Shadow of the Collosus. Sometimes the world feels barren and empty. You're fired up because you got a loved one to rescue. You braved loneliness and talking to animals to defeat the demons in your life. You think that when they're all defeated, your princess will wake up and everything will be sweet. Little did you know, spending so much time fighting your demons might turn you into one yourself.
Last but not least, life is like The Secret of Monkey Island. Sometimes, the solution to everything, that one key to banish the ghosts of your past, is just a good root beer.
Life is like Super Mario. You jump head-first into question marks, and various things happen. Sometimes you get nothing. Sometimes you get things that will force you to grow. Sometimes you get things that will empower you, often by setting you aflame, after which you'll be spitting fire at anything and everything for as long as you can. Sometimes you'll come upon a star. You will feel invincible for a while, as if the world can do you no harm. But unfortunately, that feeling wouldn't last. Sometimes you'll hit things that would threaten to take away everything you've worked so hard for, making you feel small. And in very rare occasions you'll find an extra life, which is really nothing more than the stuffs that forces you to grow, only in a different color. You run like the wind, you jump into the clouds, you climb dodgy veins into the sky, you walk through sewers, you swim in deadly oceans, you jump over sea of fire, but sometimes in the end the princess is in another castle. And life goes on.
Life is like Counter Strike. Sometimes no matter who you run with, no matter how deadly you're packing, you'll still get knocked out by a guy sitting calmly far away waiting to take shots at poor little buggers like you. Repeatedly.
Life is like Left4Dead. Yes you're not alone, but sometimes the sheer idiocy of others around you make you wish or feel that you're alone. And the enemies aren't much better. The fat ones will tell the smaller ones all about you and set them to gang you up. The small ones backstab you, or simply jump on you and try to get you to go where they want you to go. Sometimes everything makes you feel that your best friend is a shotgun.
Life is like Tower Defense. You face onslaught after onslaught, and because they get harder everytime you think you're making progress. One day the biggest onslaught comes, and you slay them too. And then.... nothing. In the illusion of making progress, you've lost sight that all you've been doing all these times were just surviving, an utter waste of time.
Life is like Fear. You're not the only one with ghosts from your past haunting you, but a lot of the times you're the one who has to clean up after other people's mess. And yours. At the same time. Repeatedly.
Life is like Fight Night. It feels good imagining beating the crap out of your problems, but when all is said and done, it's all only in your head. You haven't knocked down anybody yet.
Life is like Sudoku. We spend a lot of time trying to fit everything in without anybody stepping on anybody else's toes. But most of the time nothing ever goes that smooth. People will go into each other's rows, including yours, and make things uncomfortable for everyone.
Life is like Shadow of the Collosus. Sometimes the world feels barren and empty. You're fired up because you got a loved one to rescue. You braved loneliness and talking to animals to defeat the demons in your life. You think that when they're all defeated, your princess will wake up and everything will be sweet. Little did you know, spending so much time fighting your demons might turn you into one yourself.
Last but not least, life is like The Secret of Monkey Island. Sometimes, the solution to everything, that one key to banish the ghosts of your past, is just a good root beer.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Don't You Know That All My Heroes Died?
A conversation tonight made me realize that I have no role models anymore. The double-realization is that how quick I concluded that fact. I got no one to look up to these days. Nobody's perfect, nobody's even nearly perfect anymore, and that's fine. I like it like that. I like that I can pick and choose and learn from whoever I find light in. Suddenly flaws become strengths. In people's flaws I see their strengths, and learn all the same. By tracing their shadows I find their light. But is that it? Are there other implications to the fact that it it looks like all my heroes have died?
That's where Bon Jovi comes in. This is now the second time a Tuesday night lead me to a Bon Jovi binge. There is something here. I guess a gathering of people trying to open their lives, no matter that it's ever so slight, inevitably open the doors to memories of a time long ago when I had more of this kind, more often and much deeper. But it's been so long, and here I am so very far into the future but still talking of the same thing. I feel pathetic, like the guy in Byousoku, unable to part from my past and move forward to make a new history.
So what is it between Tuesday nights and Bon Jovi? And. That's right. "And" implies a joining, an act of addition, a formation of togetherness. I have no more heroes. That tells me that I have nobody to inspire and influence me on that level anymore. Seen in terms of circles of influence, I stand alone in the middle. Despite everything, I still do feel that I stand alone, fight alone, completely open to nobody. "And" is a significant issue in my life right now.
The thing with rock music is that it speaks to me. Long ago we used to refer to Jon Bon Jovi as Pastor, due to the way we sang along with him, and found ourselves holding our hands on our hearts as we sang his chorus. His songs spoke to us, back in those days. Maybe these songs still do. Maybe I should heed their voices. Theirs was not the only voice to preach this "And" thing to me. Wouldn't be the last either, I think. We were not designed to be alone. It's really hard for me to voluntarily open up and stay vulnerable in this world I live in right now. But this ain't what it's supposed to be, not what life is supposed to look like. There has to be a better way to live than this.
I'm walking around,
just a face in the crowd,
trying to keep myself out of the rain
But the stars ain't out of reach
That's where Bon Jovi comes in. This is now the second time a Tuesday night lead me to a Bon Jovi binge. There is something here. I guess a gathering of people trying to open their lives, no matter that it's ever so slight, inevitably open the doors to memories of a time long ago when I had more of this kind, more often and much deeper. But it's been so long, and here I am so very far into the future but still talking of the same thing. I feel pathetic, like the guy in Byousoku, unable to part from my past and move forward to make a new history.
So what is it between Tuesday nights and Bon Jovi? And. That's right. "And" implies a joining, an act of addition, a formation of togetherness. I have no more heroes. That tells me that I have nobody to inspire and influence me on that level anymore. Seen in terms of circles of influence, I stand alone in the middle. Despite everything, I still do feel that I stand alone, fight alone, completely open to nobody. "And" is a significant issue in my life right now.
The thing with rock music is that it speaks to me. Long ago we used to refer to Jon Bon Jovi as Pastor, due to the way we sang along with him, and found ourselves holding our hands on our hearts as we sang his chorus. His songs spoke to us, back in those days. Maybe these songs still do. Maybe I should heed their voices. Theirs was not the only voice to preach this "And" thing to me. Wouldn't be the last either, I think. We were not designed to be alone. It's really hard for me to voluntarily open up and stay vulnerable in this world I live in right now. But this ain't what it's supposed to be, not what life is supposed to look like. There has to be a better way to live than this.
I'm walking around,
just a face in the crowd,
trying to keep myself out of the rain
But the stars ain't out of reach
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Someday I'll Be Saturday Night
I dunno what's it got to do with it, but tonight's lifegroup somehow lead me to go on a quickie Bon Jovi binge run. I plugged in my supposedly-pretty-good headphones, fired up my old-school Bon Jovi collection, and closed my eyes. For some reasons I went mellow first. I first noticed the drum beats and how I play a lot of these beats now, though I haven't really been listening to these songs for a long time. I guess the subconscious really works. These songs influenced me much longer than the time I spent listening to them. Then the lyrics slowed me down. I'm so tired. God, I'm so tired.
I know I've been running myself ragged since Easter. I couldn't even sit down and read a book anymore. I got such a short attention span these days that I read a few words ahead everytime I try to read a book. I can no longer sit down and watch a movie at home. The longest things I can sit down and watch are boxing matches, which are usually an hour long, but that's only because they're split into three-minute rounds. I'm tired of running around all the time, a rat in a rat race. But I can't stop. Not easily anyway.
These songs remind me of that, of a time when I can relax. It's just a thought in my head, a huge chunk of data in my frontal lobe. I remember these beats by heart, and the lyrics not much further away. They almost instantly brought me back to those scenes. The city lights, the wet roads, the lonely CBD, the Starbucks, the nowhere-in-particular, the best car a man can have. The city is still there, the wet roads repeat themselves, the CBD is still lonely, the Starbucks are all still there, and the car I can get again. But the time will not come back. The memories will not revive. The midnight sing-alongs, the stomach-hurting laughters. God knows what we laughed about. The 1am BK, the 2am McD sundae. The cheap-ass [aka: free] fireworks session by the beach. The 4am Symmonds St. The kebab takeouts by the rugby field. We will never be the same, and we should never be the same again. I don't wish those times to come back. But the memories remain. I guess this is what true "home"sickness feels like. What do you do when your only experience of home is one spot in time? This is loneliness. The longing to belong, for a metaphysical place to rest a soul, a psychological cushion you know you can always count on. As it turns out, I'm not made of stone afterall, and this wolf isn't all fangs.
It's true, I gave love a bad name. Always. This is real life, and it ain't no bed of roses, but I'd die in a blaze of glory if that's what it takes. A lot of times I shout, "Hey God! Give me something for the pain!" There's no one else but us these days. But we live on a prayer, and we keep the faith. Most days feel like a Monday to me, but someday I'll be Saturday night.
The memories are of a time long gone. But I'd be lying if I say those weren't great times. When I'm tired, when I got no one to talk to, when there's no one I trust, when I feel weak and mellow [which isn't very often these days], the memories come back and I have to admit, I try to relive them in my head in vain hope to gain some strength and recover some comfort. I'd be lying if I say I don't miss those times. But at the same time I don't wish them back, because that would de-value them. They are best kept as memories, to remind me such a thing was possible. There is a home. It is possible to have a home, to be completely and utterly comfortable with people, to accept and be accepted all the same. It is possible to live among trusted people. I started writing this on a rather down state. I thought, there ain't no time to waste, nobody left to blame, nobody else but us these days. But by the end of it, I felt that I've seen a light somewhere. The stars ain't out of reach.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for the memories.
Hey man!
I'm alive, and I'm taking each day a night at a time.
I'm feeling like a Monday,
but someday I'll be Saturday night!
I know I've been running myself ragged since Easter. I couldn't even sit down and read a book anymore. I got such a short attention span these days that I read a few words ahead everytime I try to read a book. I can no longer sit down and watch a movie at home. The longest things I can sit down and watch are boxing matches, which are usually an hour long, but that's only because they're split into three-minute rounds. I'm tired of running around all the time, a rat in a rat race. But I can't stop. Not easily anyway.
These songs remind me of that, of a time when I can relax. It's just a thought in my head, a huge chunk of data in my frontal lobe. I remember these beats by heart, and the lyrics not much further away. They almost instantly brought me back to those scenes. The city lights, the wet roads, the lonely CBD, the Starbucks, the nowhere-in-particular, the best car a man can have. The city is still there, the wet roads repeat themselves, the CBD is still lonely, the Starbucks are all still there, and the car I can get again. But the time will not come back. The memories will not revive. The midnight sing-alongs, the stomach-hurting laughters. God knows what we laughed about. The 1am BK, the 2am McD sundae. The cheap-ass [aka: free] fireworks session by the beach. The 4am Symmonds St. The kebab takeouts by the rugby field. We will never be the same, and we should never be the same again. I don't wish those times to come back. But the memories remain. I guess this is what true "home"sickness feels like. What do you do when your only experience of home is one spot in time? This is loneliness. The longing to belong, for a metaphysical place to rest a soul, a psychological cushion you know you can always count on. As it turns out, I'm not made of stone afterall, and this wolf isn't all fangs.
It's true, I gave love a bad name. Always. This is real life, and it ain't no bed of roses, but I'd die in a blaze of glory if that's what it takes. A lot of times I shout, "Hey God! Give me something for the pain!" There's no one else but us these days. But we live on a prayer, and we keep the faith. Most days feel like a Monday to me, but someday I'll be Saturday night.
The memories are of a time long gone. But I'd be lying if I say those weren't great times. When I'm tired, when I got no one to talk to, when there's no one I trust, when I feel weak and mellow [which isn't very often these days], the memories come back and I have to admit, I try to relive them in my head in vain hope to gain some strength and recover some comfort. I'd be lying if I say I don't miss those times. But at the same time I don't wish them back, because that would de-value them. They are best kept as memories, to remind me such a thing was possible. There is a home. It is possible to have a home, to be completely and utterly comfortable with people, to accept and be accepted all the same. It is possible to live among trusted people. I started writing this on a rather down state. I thought, there ain't no time to waste, nobody left to blame, nobody else but us these days. But by the end of it, I felt that I've seen a light somewhere. The stars ain't out of reach.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for the memories.
Hey man!
I'm alive, and I'm taking each day a night at a time.
I'm feeling like a Monday,
but someday I'll be Saturday night!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Growing Up and Living A Little
I thought I was gonna celebrate turning 28 by a mini-repeat of 2004: bushwalking. In fact, it was looking like a precise replica of 2004, with bad weather whipping the country and forecast looking bad. On Friday night, I was halfway between letting go and kinda wishing for a repeat of 2004. It turned out different, into something I don't quite know how to put into words that make sense. But anyway, here goes.
When I saw on Friday night that the forecast for Saturday turned for the worse, my mind came back to 2004. I didn't initially thought of 2004 necessarily, when I planned on how to celebrate my bday. It was nothing more than a passing thought in my head. At about 7pm Friday night I was ready to call it quits. I stood in the shower for quite a while, mulling over it. At that point, I was a few days into mulling over my openness to receive, in anything. Under the shower I thought, why would God change the weather for my bday? It's just a small thing, nothing big, nothing important. Why would God lift a finger for that? But then all my few days' [or maybe weeks'] worth of discussions with Red came up, the whole issue about me needing to receive more, open myself up to love more. On Thursday night I dreamed of nearly getting stuck in a narrow lift. I'm claustrophobic, so those five seconds constituted a nightmare. So under the shower I thought, what, don't I believe God would save me from things like that? Then I remembered that incident on Easter Sunday, when I heard God strongly told me, "Let me die for you!" He might've even said, "Let me do SOMEthing for you!" So under the shower on Friday night I took an unusual step. I let myself be vulnerable and asked God to make Saturday morning clear. I have to admit though, I was half-hearted. Half of me felt really really bad for asking for such a selfish thing.
Well, it didn't stop raining on Saturday morning. So I cancelled the bushwalk and decided to just go yumcha, such was the plan B anyway. But the Plan B stopped there, I had nothing else after. At that point I began to get a bit nostalgic. You see, when memories of 2004 came back to me on Friday night, I loaded up the 2004 documentary that I made. It reminded me of the good times we had, the great friends I had, the faces I haven't seen in a long time, and started pondering, how did I got here six years later? This sure wasn't the place I thought I'd found myself in six years later. I noted at the end of the clip that the whole bushwalk thing back in 2004 was conceived at 1am in a BK. There's no way that would happen again right now. I kinda miss those moments now, that state of self, those friends, that atmosphere, that fire.
But let's continue with the story. We decided to go bowling, only to find a whole suburb of pre-teens occupying the bowling alley with a few parents. I knew it was the end of it for us when I saw a mom with a huge box full of snacks. Even as we went out I still saw cars after cars full of kids being cattled into the place. It's not a nice place to be. So we left, decided to grab a few movies from my hard drive, and went off to Andrew's. Now, we haven't done this in a long long time, so I didn't know how it would go. Quite frankly, I didn't care, I couldn't think of any better way to spend the rest of the day anyway.
When I revisited my old clip of 2004, it brought me back to Linkin Park. This wasn't the political and anti-war Linkin Park, this was something from 2004. I thoroughly enjoyed the tunes, but couldn't help noticing that the music was all so very teen-angst-driven. It made me chuckle, and my chuckling made me think. Why did I chuckle anyway? Here's where God's sense of humor came in.
This whole thing of me not being open enough, of me being too hard, when I chuckled at old-school Linkin Park I came to a realization to the link, and it's full of holes and maybes. I used to wear my heart on my sleeve more. These days I keep it to myself. Completely. I used to want to say things to the world, to make stuff, to live out loud. These days I just wanna survive another day's work. I consider anything beyond that as unneccessary. I have become apathetic, bitter, and passive. I'm still convinced that teen-angst is selfish, but maybe I've went to the other side too far. In my attempt to live and live more efficiently, I've stopped living.
Having fun should be the easiest thing to do. But in fact, it's probably the hardest thing in my life these days. I asked myself that, and quickly I thought of playing drums. But that's where it stopped. I couldn't figure out what I do for fun apart from that these days. I've stopped enjoying anything else, pretty much. And this isn't new. Back around Easter, Ko Den told me to relax. At the time I thought, yes I know I need to learn to relax, I'm insomniac afterall. I had no idea that it goes beyond relaxation, that I'm having trouble having fun at all. And having fun is important.
When God speaks to you through Vince Vaughn and Jean Reno, you know for sure God is having fun with you.
I need to relax more, not in terms of time-use, but in my psyche. I need to live much less for work. I have to work for a living, not live day in day out to survive another day at work. On the few days when I'm supposed to celebrate that I have lived another year, I was reminded that I should start living again, that maybe parts of me have been dead for a while. Scripture says guard your heart because out of it comes the spring of life. What if I've guarded it too well? Sure it's not attacked, but it's not used either. I hardly ever drink from it these days. I thought our role here is to distribute living water to the world. Maybe I have forgotten that I have the right to drink it too, and drink it as much as I want. I have forgotten to be selfish. I'm convinced God has blessed me enough, much more than I deserve. But what if God also cares about my happiness? What if I take this life more seriously than God? How the heck can you take life more seriously than God, you ask? That's exactly the point, you can't. So if God wants me to relax more, does that mean I've been over-serious?
Maybe life doesn't have to go as hard as it can be. Maybe I don't have to be as efficient as I'd like to be. Maybe this whole story doesn't make any sense to anyone, doesn't even come close to saying everything my heart has to say, and it's okay. Maybe in my excitement to celebrate another year of life I have died a bit more. Maybe God celebrated my life with me by telling me to live a bit more. The heart is a very vulnerable organ, and maybe that's okay. A steel heart wouldn't beat, its structure is too rigid to do that. Maybe being honest, in the face of weakness and soul's selfishness, is necessary sometimes. And even if it's not necessary, maybe that's okay too. Maybe it's okay to say what you really want, no matter how embarassing it is. Maybe it's not want, it's the heart's true longing. Maybe on the surface they look and sound and taste the same, they just end up in different places and satiating different thirsts. Maybe I'm more than self-sufficient enough, and now I need to un-learn some of that a little. Maybe just accepting the situation and stop letting your heart wish for a better world for yourself is not the adult thing to do, just the passive way to live. Maybe it's high time to be more honest, more open, and embrace my neglected self: the heart part. Maybe the heart part is the hard part. Maybe I need to ask for more stuffs more often. Maybe I need to learn that God cares about me more than I care about me, and maybe I don't believe that. Or maybe I do believe that, but just too guilt-ridden to be convinced of it in my daily life. Maybe God doesn't like it when I'm like that. Maybe I need to let my heart live a little.
Maybe the Father wants to give good things to the son, but this son refuses to ask and accept. Maybe this son refuses to feel that he is loved. Maybe this son needs to be more honest with the world, with the Father, with his heart, and with himself.
I wanna feel
I wanna feel like I'm somewhere I belong
When I saw on Friday night that the forecast for Saturday turned for the worse, my mind came back to 2004. I didn't initially thought of 2004 necessarily, when I planned on how to celebrate my bday. It was nothing more than a passing thought in my head. At about 7pm Friday night I was ready to call it quits. I stood in the shower for quite a while, mulling over it. At that point, I was a few days into mulling over my openness to receive, in anything. Under the shower I thought, why would God change the weather for my bday? It's just a small thing, nothing big, nothing important. Why would God lift a finger for that? But then all my few days' [or maybe weeks'] worth of discussions with Red came up, the whole issue about me needing to receive more, open myself up to love more. On Thursday night I dreamed of nearly getting stuck in a narrow lift. I'm claustrophobic, so those five seconds constituted a nightmare. So under the shower I thought, what, don't I believe God would save me from things like that? Then I remembered that incident on Easter Sunday, when I heard God strongly told me, "Let me die for you!" He might've even said, "Let me do SOMEthing for you!" So under the shower on Friday night I took an unusual step. I let myself be vulnerable and asked God to make Saturday morning clear. I have to admit though, I was half-hearted. Half of me felt really really bad for asking for such a selfish thing.
Well, it didn't stop raining on Saturday morning. So I cancelled the bushwalk and decided to just go yumcha, such was the plan B anyway. But the Plan B stopped there, I had nothing else after. At that point I began to get a bit nostalgic. You see, when memories of 2004 came back to me on Friday night, I loaded up the 2004 documentary that I made. It reminded me of the good times we had, the great friends I had, the faces I haven't seen in a long time, and started pondering, how did I got here six years later? This sure wasn't the place I thought I'd found myself in six years later. I noted at the end of the clip that the whole bushwalk thing back in 2004 was conceived at 1am in a BK. There's no way that would happen again right now. I kinda miss those moments now, that state of self, those friends, that atmosphere, that fire.
But let's continue with the story. We decided to go bowling, only to find a whole suburb of pre-teens occupying the bowling alley with a few parents. I knew it was the end of it for us when I saw a mom with a huge box full of snacks. Even as we went out I still saw cars after cars full of kids being cattled into the place. It's not a nice place to be. So we left, decided to grab a few movies from my hard drive, and went off to Andrew's. Now, we haven't done this in a long long time, so I didn't know how it would go. Quite frankly, I didn't care, I couldn't think of any better way to spend the rest of the day anyway.
When I revisited my old clip of 2004, it brought me back to Linkin Park. This wasn't the political and anti-war Linkin Park, this was something from 2004. I thoroughly enjoyed the tunes, but couldn't help noticing that the music was all so very teen-angst-driven. It made me chuckle, and my chuckling made me think. Why did I chuckle anyway? Here's where God's sense of humor came in.
This whole thing of me not being open enough, of me being too hard, when I chuckled at old-school Linkin Park I came to a realization to the link, and it's full of holes and maybes. I used to wear my heart on my sleeve more. These days I keep it to myself. Completely. I used to want to say things to the world, to make stuff, to live out loud. These days I just wanna survive another day's work. I consider anything beyond that as unneccessary. I have become apathetic, bitter, and passive. I'm still convinced that teen-angst is selfish, but maybe I've went to the other side too far. In my attempt to live and live more efficiently, I've stopped living.
Having fun should be the easiest thing to do. But in fact, it's probably the hardest thing in my life these days. I asked myself that, and quickly I thought of playing drums. But that's where it stopped. I couldn't figure out what I do for fun apart from that these days. I've stopped enjoying anything else, pretty much. And this isn't new. Back around Easter, Ko Den told me to relax. At the time I thought, yes I know I need to learn to relax, I'm insomniac afterall. I had no idea that it goes beyond relaxation, that I'm having trouble having fun at all. And having fun is important.
When God speaks to you through Vince Vaughn and Jean Reno, you know for sure God is having fun with you.
I need to relax more, not in terms of time-use, but in my psyche. I need to live much less for work. I have to work for a living, not live day in day out to survive another day at work. On the few days when I'm supposed to celebrate that I have lived another year, I was reminded that I should start living again, that maybe parts of me have been dead for a while. Scripture says guard your heart because out of it comes the spring of life. What if I've guarded it too well? Sure it's not attacked, but it's not used either. I hardly ever drink from it these days. I thought our role here is to distribute living water to the world. Maybe I have forgotten that I have the right to drink it too, and drink it as much as I want. I have forgotten to be selfish. I'm convinced God has blessed me enough, much more than I deserve. But what if God also cares about my happiness? What if I take this life more seriously than God? How the heck can you take life more seriously than God, you ask? That's exactly the point, you can't. So if God wants me to relax more, does that mean I've been over-serious?
Maybe life doesn't have to go as hard as it can be. Maybe I don't have to be as efficient as I'd like to be. Maybe this whole story doesn't make any sense to anyone, doesn't even come close to saying everything my heart has to say, and it's okay. Maybe in my excitement to celebrate another year of life I have died a bit more. Maybe God celebrated my life with me by telling me to live a bit more. The heart is a very vulnerable organ, and maybe that's okay. A steel heart wouldn't beat, its structure is too rigid to do that. Maybe being honest, in the face of weakness and soul's selfishness, is necessary sometimes. And even if it's not necessary, maybe that's okay too. Maybe it's okay to say what you really want, no matter how embarassing it is. Maybe it's not want, it's the heart's true longing. Maybe on the surface they look and sound and taste the same, they just end up in different places and satiating different thirsts. Maybe I'm more than self-sufficient enough, and now I need to un-learn some of that a little. Maybe just accepting the situation and stop letting your heart wish for a better world for yourself is not the adult thing to do, just the passive way to live. Maybe it's high time to be more honest, more open, and embrace my neglected self: the heart part. Maybe the heart part is the hard part. Maybe I need to ask for more stuffs more often. Maybe I need to learn that God cares about me more than I care about me, and maybe I don't believe that. Or maybe I do believe that, but just too guilt-ridden to be convinced of it in my daily life. Maybe God doesn't like it when I'm like that. Maybe I need to let my heart live a little.
Maybe the Father wants to give good things to the son, but this son refuses to ask and accept. Maybe this son refuses to feel that he is loved. Maybe this son needs to be more honest with the world, with the Father, with his heart, and with himself.
I wanna feel
I wanna feel like I'm somewhere I belong
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