I have misunderstood God. In very short four words, that's what I learned in the past two weeks. I thought I was walking right with God, being part of this ritual-less generation of believers. It was only recently that I realized I have gravitated towards ritual as I walk with God. So little faith, I'm ashamed to say. It's easier with rituals, after all. It's like everyday life. You pay money, you get your stuff. With God and faith, there is no money to pay with. The concept of Grace and God as a Father, they exist outside the realm of logic. The concept of Christ dying on the cross to save humanity is based on the belief that we cannot save ourselves. In other words, for all our powers we can't do a lick to change our fate, to move a stone in the course of this universe. That's why God has to do these things for us. In my arrogance I have come to believe that I can do something about it. In my familiarity I thought I can create something that isn't already in God's hands. Easter bears new meaning for me this year.
Easter Sunday, as we prayed for communion, I thought I heard Steve slipped his tongue. I don't know if he really did slip, or did he do it deliberately, or if it was just me. When Steve prayed over the bread, describing again how this is God's offer to take part in him, I thought I heard him say, "Let me die for you." From that word, this became the first year in my walk with God that I had to take the communion sitting down. My legs went out, and I bawled my eyes out. "Let me die for you", I heard God said. I grew up a survivor. I learned to be self-sufficient. A long time ago a friend warned me that I risk dying alone because I have a problem receiving from other people. In Hillsongs a few years back Joseph Prince said that the church today doesn't have a giving problem, it has a receiving problem. Grace is an easy concept to understand, but nearly impossible for me to take in. I understood their words back then, but this time my heart was broken open.
"Let me die for you", Jesus said. He could've said "let me buy you dinner", or anything, I would've broke down just the same. "Let me" anything. It's been a long time since last time I let anybody do anything for me, anything significant beyond the little chores. I have asked favor from people, and received them, but those were matters of utilitarianism on my part. I was using them because I know those were easy tasks for them each. This time, it felt like completely something else. Somebody wants to do something for me, not because I asked, not because it's easy for him, not because I can pay him back. He just wants to. In my survivor's mind, that's crazy. Why would anybody do that? And it's a big thing as well. It's a matter of heart. I have quite a big privacy sphere. Anybody unwanted who enters this sphere will find themselves kicked out, first gently and later harshly. I have been told of this before, and that I will always be alone if this sphere keeps up. I know that in my head, but I haven't had the courage to let go. Taking it to an extreme, I can call this sphere the AT-field, otherwise known to [my type of] geeks as Absolute Terror field. It is true, most things that get that close to me terrifies me. But as Jesus said that, along with the bread and wine that I took, I was hit and hit real hard.
As I learn to accept and receive, I feel that I'm walking ever closer to the edge. I'm living more dangerously now, I feel. Take risks, let myself be hurt, keep going forward under a rain of fire, and my only defense is a deep breath. I'm a willing target now. As I put these thoughts down to words, my mind can see a big one coming, a blow to shatter me. But I have to learn. I have to learn that all things work for my good. I have to learn that my God is not a boss, my God is a good Father. Everything has been prepared for me, I'll just have to come and grab them on the right time. It's hard to believe. I'm walking on water right now. As the waves lick my feet, I become more and more afraid, the thoughts of drowning fills my head. But the thing is this: I'm wet, not drowned. Despite all this terrifying things ahead of me, I'm still alive, I'm still typing, and I'm still thinking [although maybe not very straight]. This is a different kind of survival. I am nothing. All I have to hold on to is God and God's promises. I'm walking on water, and this time the water is no longer calm.
I stare down the rain of fire
I gaze at the hail of swords
and all I can do is stand back,
be still, and know you are God
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Walk On Water, part 2
We want what we cannot humanly have. We see in others what we want for ourselves. We see in others what we want for them to have. Everything has its cost, but there is no rule that says who has to pay for them. We want them to have it, but they don't wanna pay for it. So we pay the price for them.
Is this right? Is this wrong? The heck with right or wrong! We willingly bear the sin of arrogance, of paying for something the receiver might not want. We willingly bear the sin of intrusion, of being the mustard seed that grows on a barren field where it is not wanted. We willingly bear the sin of annoying persistence, of growing back up everytime we're chopped down. We willingly bear the sin of subordination, of insisting that in some things we know better than our elders. Insistence is a strange thing. It is what parents do to their kids, when they know for sure what's good for them. So when we insist on something we believe is good but our elders refuse, we reverse our roles. We willingly bear the sin of natural subordination, a rebellion against natural order, of insisting to our superiors what we believe is good for them. And most of all we willingly bear the sin of the audacity of hope, of being so audacious as to believe for a moment that we can move God's heart, as we noisily and persistently knock on heaven's door.
This journey is gonna cost me, and it's gonna cost me a lot. Fighting in someone else's battle is not what I usually do. But I think it's high time that I be real. I am real. Life is real. God is real. I want God to be as real in my life as this desk in front of me, this towel on my wet hair, this chocolate bar in my mouth, these blinking lights that I'm watching, and the autumn sun shining down from the sky. So this is my attempt at Kingdom Come. Life is passing me by, and I'm just one man trying to make his way in the universe. There has to be more to life than this. There is God, and God is here. But to have God's presence known and felt and noticeable, now that's real. This next period of the year is for this purpose, of inviting God to be real in my world and my reality, as real as can be, so real that I can almost reach out and touch his shadow. Funny how I have to come to this conclusion by someone else's battle. But maybe that's what we are. It is not good for human to be alone, it says. Fighting your own battles is one thing. But fighting for someone else, in a business where you don't get to determine where it is headed, where you can lose a lot just by being in a supporting role, that's something else altogether. My comfort bubble isn't real. Life isn't always comfortable. This is real. Living and fighting with and for others, this is real.
This is our attempt
to bring the Kingdom down here
on earth as it is in heaven
This is our attempt
for what the eyes have not seen
what the ears have not heard
and what the mind has never even thought of
Is this right? Is this wrong? The heck with right or wrong! We willingly bear the sin of arrogance, of paying for something the receiver might not want. We willingly bear the sin of intrusion, of being the mustard seed that grows on a barren field where it is not wanted. We willingly bear the sin of annoying persistence, of growing back up everytime we're chopped down. We willingly bear the sin of subordination, of insisting that in some things we know better than our elders. Insistence is a strange thing. It is what parents do to their kids, when they know for sure what's good for them. So when we insist on something we believe is good but our elders refuse, we reverse our roles. We willingly bear the sin of natural subordination, a rebellion against natural order, of insisting to our superiors what we believe is good for them. And most of all we willingly bear the sin of the audacity of hope, of being so audacious as to believe for a moment that we can move God's heart, as we noisily and persistently knock on heaven's door.
This journey is gonna cost me, and it's gonna cost me a lot. Fighting in someone else's battle is not what I usually do. But I think it's high time that I be real. I am real. Life is real. God is real. I want God to be as real in my life as this desk in front of me, this towel on my wet hair, this chocolate bar in my mouth, these blinking lights that I'm watching, and the autumn sun shining down from the sky. So this is my attempt at Kingdom Come. Life is passing me by, and I'm just one man trying to make his way in the universe. There has to be more to life than this. There is God, and God is here. But to have God's presence known and felt and noticeable, now that's real. This next period of the year is for this purpose, of inviting God to be real in my world and my reality, as real as can be, so real that I can almost reach out and touch his shadow. Funny how I have to come to this conclusion by someone else's battle. But maybe that's what we are. It is not good for human to be alone, it says. Fighting your own battles is one thing. But fighting for someone else, in a business where you don't get to determine where it is headed, where you can lose a lot just by being in a supporting role, that's something else altogether. My comfort bubble isn't real. Life isn't always comfortable. This is real. Living and fighting with and for others, this is real.
This is our attempt
to bring the Kingdom down here
on earth as it is in heaven
This is our attempt
for what the eyes have not seen
what the ears have not heard
and what the mind has never even thought of
Thursday, March 11, 2010
All Too Human
A few days ago, an old guard passed away in the family. It's been a long time coming, and I think it's safe to say that most have been expecting it. But life is such an awesome thing that the weight of a matriarch's death is still a heavy burden. I spent an entire day sweeping the subject under the rug, much to my dad's confusion. Yesterday, it hit me that I was being inhuman. Yes it's awkward, yes I didn't know what to say. But isn't it more wrong to not be present, whatever that means these days, in such situations? Then I watched a part of Summer Wars. After the part where their matriarch passed away, I scrambled a few txts and sent them away.
"... because the saddest things in life are being hungry and being alone..."
I'm used to being both of those, sometimes in turn, sometimes at once. But I hardly felt sad. I quite enjoy it most of the time, in fact. Such is my inhumanity.
Then I took my mind off things by polishing my cymbals. They sit proudly in my room, glistening under the light. The medium, intimidating and thin. The ride, enormous and imposing. Light does that to you when you reflect it well. You only need to be polished every now and again.
I originally intended to write long and imaginative. But this week has been a bit of a quiet rollercoaster ride, and my words have failed me in this past hour. So many things I can write about, so many angles I can analyze from. But really, what else do I have to talk about other than us, humans being humans?
One man trying to find his way in the universe. What would his tomorrow bring? Which path should he take? There are no save points in life. You make your choices, and you don't look back. His sword arm tightens. "Whatever comes", he thought, "I can handle it". But his sword slashes the wind, his legs chase after shadows. He walks and travels far and wide. He sees much, gains much, listens a lot and speaks his part. Yet he has nothing. "Let your sword arm go", says a whisper. "Let go." The world is bigger than you. You, a survivor in this concrete jungle, let go. Live on, but don't forget you're human.
A woman fights her way under a steel sky. She puts her armor down and opens herself vulnerable to those who wants her help. She gives, and gives, and gives. A fountain never runs dry, as long as it keeps its water flowing. And so she gives, she gives, and she gives. Then it all becomes too much for her. A fighter, she refuses to sit down. But a human, she can only handle so much. Human, all too human. She finds herself down on the ground, without knowing why. She wants to keep going, but her self refuses to move forward. Rest, warrior, you will need it. Rest, child, you deserve it. There will be another day to fight, another day to save others. Remember you're not alone.
An old matriarch passed away. Two generations come and mourn. Few days of ceremony, then everything's back to normal. Everything? Nothing. Nothing will ever be the same. A man stood on farewell. Goodbye, he said, the last of your generation. Without you I wouldn't be here. Without the past, the present wouldn't be here, and the future wouldn't come tomorrow. Fare thee well, old generation, all of you. You are part of us, like you made us part of you when you were here. Goodbye, past. You are not nameless memories. You are real people, with real impact. Rest in peace, everybody. Rest assured, we will not waste this future you've paved for us.
Rest in peace
Opa, Oma, Mak Akoh
Fare thee well, all of you
We are one, but we're not the same
We hurt each other, and we do it again
But we have to carry each other
Carry each other
Hear us come, Lord
Hear us crawl!
Hear us knocking,
knocking at your door!
"... because the saddest things in life are being hungry and being alone..."
I'm used to being both of those, sometimes in turn, sometimes at once. But I hardly felt sad. I quite enjoy it most of the time, in fact. Such is my inhumanity.
Then I took my mind off things by polishing my cymbals. They sit proudly in my room, glistening under the light. The medium, intimidating and thin. The ride, enormous and imposing. Light does that to you when you reflect it well. You only need to be polished every now and again.
I originally intended to write long and imaginative. But this week has been a bit of a quiet rollercoaster ride, and my words have failed me in this past hour. So many things I can write about, so many angles I can analyze from. But really, what else do I have to talk about other than us, humans being humans?
One man trying to find his way in the universe. What would his tomorrow bring? Which path should he take? There are no save points in life. You make your choices, and you don't look back. His sword arm tightens. "Whatever comes", he thought, "I can handle it". But his sword slashes the wind, his legs chase after shadows. He walks and travels far and wide. He sees much, gains much, listens a lot and speaks his part. Yet he has nothing. "Let your sword arm go", says a whisper. "Let go." The world is bigger than you. You, a survivor in this concrete jungle, let go. Live on, but don't forget you're human.
A woman fights her way under a steel sky. She puts her armor down and opens herself vulnerable to those who wants her help. She gives, and gives, and gives. A fountain never runs dry, as long as it keeps its water flowing. And so she gives, she gives, and she gives. Then it all becomes too much for her. A fighter, she refuses to sit down. But a human, she can only handle so much. Human, all too human. She finds herself down on the ground, without knowing why. She wants to keep going, but her self refuses to move forward. Rest, warrior, you will need it. Rest, child, you deserve it. There will be another day to fight, another day to save others. Remember you're not alone.
An old matriarch passed away. Two generations come and mourn. Few days of ceremony, then everything's back to normal. Everything? Nothing. Nothing will ever be the same. A man stood on farewell. Goodbye, he said, the last of your generation. Without you I wouldn't be here. Without the past, the present wouldn't be here, and the future wouldn't come tomorrow. Fare thee well, old generation, all of you. You are part of us, like you made us part of you when you were here. Goodbye, past. You are not nameless memories. You are real people, with real impact. Rest in peace, everybody. Rest assured, we will not waste this future you've paved for us.
Rest in peace
Opa, Oma, Mak Akoh
Fare thee well, all of you
We are one, but we're not the same
We hurt each other, and we do it again
But we have to carry each other
Carry each other
Hear us come, Lord
Hear us crawl!
Hear us knocking,
knocking at your door!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Reflections
I need to care more. In a nutshell, that's what I've learned through the whole of today. In the beginning, there was a beach. Then there was a watermelon. Two, actually. A cutting board and a huge kitchen knife showed up shortly after. Brilliant. Why didn't I think of that. What's summer without beaches AND watermelons? Yet I couldn't come up with that after all these years. It's been a while since last time I went to the beach more than once a summer. Muriwai didn't disappoint. Not so crazy winds this time. Huge waves tho. Towards the end I hit another one of those washing machine types. Needless to say I retired shortly after.
Then off we went, all of us five adults, to house-sit/kids-sit 9 kids as their parents went off for dinner. I intended to learn as much as I can out of it, thinking I was ready enough to absorb as much as possible. I was wrong. I learned that girls want to be pleased, want others to do what they want them to do. It's not about winning or losing with girls. And with kids, boys or girls regardless, it's about diving into their worlds and the heck with anything else. I'm far from that stage. Took me about half an hour to figure that out.
Then came dinner time. After a few attempts of smooth coercion from my comrades, a kid refused to step out the TV room and have dinner. So I decided to step up and invoked one of my most archaic weapons: Cao Cao. Or to be more specific, his governmental system, Rewards And Punishment. I put on my strict voice and threatened him with punishment. Two rounds later, he gave in. For a moment I felt good about myself. An hour later, the kid threw his ego around again. This time I was having dinner. I didn't see what happened, I only heard the noise from the next room, but I knew this little dude was harassing the girls. After two rounds, the matter was resolved peacefully. Etta weaved her magic wand around a bit and came out the magic trick called Positive Coercion, as I'd like to call it. The matter was resolved peacefully. And so I learned how far behind I was in skills.
Not long after, the little dude went back to take it on with Etta again. His buddies were reluctant accomplices this time. And this time I jumped in, still with half-eaten dinner at hand. Out came Cao Cao again, but this time I've learned my lessons a bit and kept my voice lowered. "You guys still want your milk tea?" Three little heads nodded. "Then behave." Cao Cao level 2 won the confrontation bloodlessly. As a side note, those milk teas were actually promised and were due to be delivered about half an hour back. I purposely held them back until they'd ask again, as a backup weapon. And it did work the way I wanted them to. A copy of Sun Tzu's Art Of War somewhere must be glowing with delight.
Much later, another little story happened. There was this Japanese kid that's been on a PS2 for hours, replaying the same stage over and over again. After watching him for a while, noticing that he began talking to me whenever I sat there, I asked him in Japanese, dude is this really fun? He smiled and didn't answer. He must be thinking, "Oookkkaaayy creepy old man, don't get too familiar with me...." After a while he began explaining, in English, what he was doing and why he liked it so much. My mediocre Japanese failed me, so I continued in English. I asked him, what else do you like? "Umm... this." Okay, how about sports? Basketball, soccer, rugby? "I don't like them, all they do is run around." Excellent answer, though it put me in a tight spot. How about swimming? "Oh I tried swimming yesterday, didn't like it." And so I was stumped. At that point, almost my entire background came to the fore. I'm a gamer myself, I treated this gig like a job, I'm individualistic, and I'm philosophically open-minded. So I thought, if that's the case then this is your rightful place, have fun.
As I moved on elsewhere, a while later Etta came in, again armed with her favourite trick. As I listened in, I quickly found out that the kid had once said "I'm really good at this." Then it hit me. It's not that he's enjoying the game itself, it's just that it connected to what he's good at. It turned out that he's good with his hands. So, for some unknown mystery, Etta got him to draw with the other girls. Insanity, I thought. But it drove home my point. I need to care more.
At that point I was tired, fatigue finally set in. I borrowed Andrew's ipod, got myself a book as drum pad and two pens as sticks. I sat myself on the kitchen bar, and started practicing. It was my autistic moment. After every turn of the song I would go around, checking if everything was fine. I got through about five or six of these rounds, not bad at all for a day when I thought I wouldn't be able to get practice time. Everything went downhill for my body after that. Half the kids were glued to the screen watching The Princess And The Frog, and then Astro Boy. The other half were with Etta, drawing and showing off magic tricks or whatnot. I could barely summon any more energy.
Not long after Andrew left. I cleaned the kitchen, unable to think anymore, as my body went back to Starbucks-mode. It was still about an hour and a half until some of the parents got back. To say that fatigue got the better of me is an understatement. As the TV blared, and the remaining six kids, bleary-eyed though they were, roared out laughing as the hilarious moments they've been expecting came up on screen, the three adults slumped on their chosen spots and slowly withered. Ccl half-died first, Etta sometime later, while I still managed a laugh or two at the jokes that were too adult for the kids to understand. Inside, I withered about half an hour before either of them.
In conclusion, it had to be one amazing day to get me to write this long again. I would do it again, make no mistake. It's a very valuable experience, and I'm not entirely happy with my C- performance.
But before I get another shot at this stuff, I need to learn to care more.
Then off we went, all of us five adults, to house-sit/kids-sit 9 kids as their parents went off for dinner. I intended to learn as much as I can out of it, thinking I was ready enough to absorb as much as possible. I was wrong. I learned that girls want to be pleased, want others to do what they want them to do. It's not about winning or losing with girls. And with kids, boys or girls regardless, it's about diving into their worlds and the heck with anything else. I'm far from that stage. Took me about half an hour to figure that out.
Then came dinner time. After a few attempts of smooth coercion from my comrades, a kid refused to step out the TV room and have dinner. So I decided to step up and invoked one of my most archaic weapons: Cao Cao. Or to be more specific, his governmental system, Rewards And Punishment. I put on my strict voice and threatened him with punishment. Two rounds later, he gave in. For a moment I felt good about myself. An hour later, the kid threw his ego around again. This time I was having dinner. I didn't see what happened, I only heard the noise from the next room, but I knew this little dude was harassing the girls. After two rounds, the matter was resolved peacefully. Etta weaved her magic wand around a bit and came out the magic trick called Positive Coercion, as I'd like to call it. The matter was resolved peacefully. And so I learned how far behind I was in skills.
Not long after, the little dude went back to take it on with Etta again. His buddies were reluctant accomplices this time. And this time I jumped in, still with half-eaten dinner at hand. Out came Cao Cao again, but this time I've learned my lessons a bit and kept my voice lowered. "You guys still want your milk tea?" Three little heads nodded. "Then behave." Cao Cao level 2 won the confrontation bloodlessly. As a side note, those milk teas were actually promised and were due to be delivered about half an hour back. I purposely held them back until they'd ask again, as a backup weapon. And it did work the way I wanted them to. A copy of Sun Tzu's Art Of War somewhere must be glowing with delight.
Much later, another little story happened. There was this Japanese kid that's been on a PS2 for hours, replaying the same stage over and over again. After watching him for a while, noticing that he began talking to me whenever I sat there, I asked him in Japanese, dude is this really fun? He smiled and didn't answer. He must be thinking, "Oookkkaaayy creepy old man, don't get too familiar with me...." After a while he began explaining, in English, what he was doing and why he liked it so much. My mediocre Japanese failed me, so I continued in English. I asked him, what else do you like? "Umm... this." Okay, how about sports? Basketball, soccer, rugby? "I don't like them, all they do is run around." Excellent answer, though it put me in a tight spot. How about swimming? "Oh I tried swimming yesterday, didn't like it." And so I was stumped. At that point, almost my entire background came to the fore. I'm a gamer myself, I treated this gig like a job, I'm individualistic, and I'm philosophically open-minded. So I thought, if that's the case then this is your rightful place, have fun.
As I moved on elsewhere, a while later Etta came in, again armed with her favourite trick. As I listened in, I quickly found out that the kid had once said "I'm really good at this." Then it hit me. It's not that he's enjoying the game itself, it's just that it connected to what he's good at. It turned out that he's good with his hands. So, for some unknown mystery, Etta got him to draw with the other girls. Insanity, I thought. But it drove home my point. I need to care more.
At that point I was tired, fatigue finally set in. I borrowed Andrew's ipod, got myself a book as drum pad and two pens as sticks. I sat myself on the kitchen bar, and started practicing. It was my autistic moment. After every turn of the song I would go around, checking if everything was fine. I got through about five or six of these rounds, not bad at all for a day when I thought I wouldn't be able to get practice time. Everything went downhill for my body after that. Half the kids were glued to the screen watching The Princess And The Frog, and then Astro Boy. The other half were with Etta, drawing and showing off magic tricks or whatnot. I could barely summon any more energy.
Not long after Andrew left. I cleaned the kitchen, unable to think anymore, as my body went back to Starbucks-mode. It was still about an hour and a half until some of the parents got back. To say that fatigue got the better of me is an understatement. As the TV blared, and the remaining six kids, bleary-eyed though they were, roared out laughing as the hilarious moments they've been expecting came up on screen, the three adults slumped on their chosen spots and slowly withered. Ccl half-died first, Etta sometime later, while I still managed a laugh or two at the jokes that were too adult for the kids to understand. Inside, I withered about half an hour before either of them.
In conclusion, it had to be one amazing day to get me to write this long again. I would do it again, make no mistake. It's a very valuable experience, and I'm not entirely happy with my C- performance.
But before I get another shot at this stuff, I need to learn to care more.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The Spring and The Mirage
I've had a bit of a crazier than usual day. After a rather average gig, I left feeling well that wasn't too special. Then we had a BBQ, unexpectedly running around more than I thought I would. There is something about running around with kids that just doesn't replicate in any other way. It's a happy day, and not just because I ended up with a week's supply of meat, cutting my expenses drastically. I got myself ice cream before going home. I hope this one wouldn't sit there for a year before I decide to throw it away uneaten. I even had a mug of it just now, a great improvement for me.
There is that mysterious glow that some people give off. I hung out with such people today. Running around with the kids, eating with them, listening to them talk about what they've been watching and playing, their heroes, and everything else. I didn't have the heart to tell Sammy that I think Naruto is very weak as a main character, that Kira Yamato is a complete jerk, and that I don't rate Athrun Zala going to Kira's side as "good". Instead I just uhm-ed and ahh-ed and nodded my way through his story. I sat looking out to space as a few grandmas asked me how mom is doing. I couldn't meet their gaze, for fear that I wouldn't be able to hold back tears. It's not so much the story that saddens me, as much as the gentle hearts and voices of old-timers reaching out to raw explosive hearts of the ticking time bomb that is youth. I watched as the parents bought some overpriced ice creams, and the disappointment in some of the kids' face as they found out they weren't gonna get any, and then the efforts of their peers trying to share their pain. For that very reason I went and bought for myself two liters of very cheap ice cream on the way home. It's one mess of a world out there, a chaos of emotions and conflicts, of people and personalities bouncing off each other. From that chaos I emerged wanting more. It was so outside my comfort zone, and yet I felt so alive after all that.
And when you walk away from a place carrying a new light, it is wise to use that light to help your way ahead. I have a lot to ponder about ahead. I have some risky hope this year. I believe, however, that no matter what happens, if worse comes to worst, my God is bigger still. This belief doesn't make me any less anxious. The higher you fly, the harder you fall. It's gonna hurt when everything comes crumbling down, I'm not fooling myself. I have learned to stop thinking what God will or will not do. The good thing about that is, that means things will happen beyond my wildest dreams. The bad thing is, that means I wouldn't always get what I want. Pain is on the way, there's no denying that for people who have their ego still attached. But I'm holding on. This is faith, I think. It's scary, it's crazy, it's undeniably insane. But what choice do I have? Between living secure in mediocrity, or reach for the skies risking suffering, I know which I'll choose everytime. And yet, this belief does nothing to tame my anxiety and fear for what the future us like.
That is what the chaos from today taught me. It was chaos, it was brutal, and a lot of things could go wrong. But it was warm. At this day and age, as I survive in the jungle of concrete and steel, warmth is something else altogether. For this very reason, I have great hope for the unknown ahead, in the knowledge that I have had firsthand account of such a chaos that didn't hurt me, but in fact warmed me up inside. I should have more of that.
The dog howled at his silver moon
Come down and keep me company
But the night is cold, the wind shivering
Because warmth will come only at the light of dawn
There is that mysterious glow that some people give off. I hung out with such people today. Running around with the kids, eating with them, listening to them talk about what they've been watching and playing, their heroes, and everything else. I didn't have the heart to tell Sammy that I think Naruto is very weak as a main character, that Kira Yamato is a complete jerk, and that I don't rate Athrun Zala going to Kira's side as "good". Instead I just uhm-ed and ahh-ed and nodded my way through his story. I sat looking out to space as a few grandmas asked me how mom is doing. I couldn't meet their gaze, for fear that I wouldn't be able to hold back tears. It's not so much the story that saddens me, as much as the gentle hearts and voices of old-timers reaching out to raw explosive hearts of the ticking time bomb that is youth. I watched as the parents bought some overpriced ice creams, and the disappointment in some of the kids' face as they found out they weren't gonna get any, and then the efforts of their peers trying to share their pain. For that very reason I went and bought for myself two liters of very cheap ice cream on the way home. It's one mess of a world out there, a chaos of emotions and conflicts, of people and personalities bouncing off each other. From that chaos I emerged wanting more. It was so outside my comfort zone, and yet I felt so alive after all that.
And when you walk away from a place carrying a new light, it is wise to use that light to help your way ahead. I have a lot to ponder about ahead. I have some risky hope this year. I believe, however, that no matter what happens, if worse comes to worst, my God is bigger still. This belief doesn't make me any less anxious. The higher you fly, the harder you fall. It's gonna hurt when everything comes crumbling down, I'm not fooling myself. I have learned to stop thinking what God will or will not do. The good thing about that is, that means things will happen beyond my wildest dreams. The bad thing is, that means I wouldn't always get what I want. Pain is on the way, there's no denying that for people who have their ego still attached. But I'm holding on. This is faith, I think. It's scary, it's crazy, it's undeniably insane. But what choice do I have? Between living secure in mediocrity, or reach for the skies risking suffering, I know which I'll choose everytime. And yet, this belief does nothing to tame my anxiety and fear for what the future us like.
That is what the chaos from today taught me. It was chaos, it was brutal, and a lot of things could go wrong. But it was warm. At this day and age, as I survive in the jungle of concrete and steel, warmth is something else altogether. For this very reason, I have great hope for the unknown ahead, in the knowledge that I have had firsthand account of such a chaos that didn't hurt me, but in fact warmed me up inside. I should have more of that.
The dog howled at his silver moon
Come down and keep me company
But the night is cold, the wind shivering
Because warmth will come only at the light of dawn
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Walk On Water
Once upon a time there was this guy. At one point in his life, this story happened. He and a bunch of mates were hanging out on a boat in the middle of a lake. Being experienced sailors, they were people who didn't mind spending the night on a boat. Only that night, this big crazy storm came and shook their party out. His mates, being the experienced sailors that they were, did all they could on the boat to keep it floating, wishing with every fibre in their bodies to come out through the night alive. The storm was raging, the boat was shaking, the wind was crazy, there was water everywhere, and the adrenaline rush was more than normal people could handle. But then this guy came out and saw something in the distance.
He saw what looked like a man appeared at some distance away from them, standing over the waves. On the unstable footing of the boat, the winds, under the pale and weak moonlight, this guy gazed to the distance onto that barely-visible figure. "Lord, is that you?" through the raging winds he shouted. "Yes, it is me", he heard the reply. An insane thought flashed in his mind. "Lord, tell me to come out there and I'll come out!" this guy shouted. The figure gestured him to come. Then our hero had a choice in his mind. The storm is raging. It's not comfortable in here anyway. But we're experienced sailors, we might just get through this if we play it cool. This is not our first storm, but it sure wouldn't be our last either. What do I do?
He made a step towards the edge. "Come back in here, man! What's wrong with you?" his mates called out. The guy was too lost in thought to be able to hear them. In fact, he could barely hear anything. The storm, the winds, the shaking boat, his mate's voice, even the figure out on the waves, they all blur in the background as his heart pounded and pounded and pounded, louder and louder. His thoughts came in and came out like a flood in his head. What makes you so sure it's who you think it is? If it's really him, then I can do this easy, no problem. You can still survive this, no need to risk your comfort zone. Yeah, but I don't like being shaken in a boat like this anyway. It's bad right now, but it's nothing new, you can get through this just like before.
Just like before....
But I'm sick of all my "before"s
The dog opened his eyes, startled. He wasn't even sleeping. The scene flashed through his head over and over again. He gazed upon the uncertainty ahead of him. Not the mist, not the road. The dog gazed ahead at the crossroads. Reality and fantasy blurred. Left or right became minor details. Faintly up ahead he saw a figure of a man, neither here nor there. The dog closed his eyes, took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, the figure was still there, as if waiting.
Lord, if that is you
bid me to come
He saw what looked like a man appeared at some distance away from them, standing over the waves. On the unstable footing of the boat, the winds, under the pale and weak moonlight, this guy gazed to the distance onto that barely-visible figure. "Lord, is that you?" through the raging winds he shouted. "Yes, it is me", he heard the reply. An insane thought flashed in his mind. "Lord, tell me to come out there and I'll come out!" this guy shouted. The figure gestured him to come. Then our hero had a choice in his mind. The storm is raging. It's not comfortable in here anyway. But we're experienced sailors, we might just get through this if we play it cool. This is not our first storm, but it sure wouldn't be our last either. What do I do?
He made a step towards the edge. "Come back in here, man! What's wrong with you?" his mates called out. The guy was too lost in thought to be able to hear them. In fact, he could barely hear anything. The storm, the winds, the shaking boat, his mate's voice, even the figure out on the waves, they all blur in the background as his heart pounded and pounded and pounded, louder and louder. His thoughts came in and came out like a flood in his head. What makes you so sure it's who you think it is? If it's really him, then I can do this easy, no problem. You can still survive this, no need to risk your comfort zone. Yeah, but I don't like being shaken in a boat like this anyway. It's bad right now, but it's nothing new, you can get through this just like before.
Just like before....
But I'm sick of all my "before"s
The dog opened his eyes, startled. He wasn't even sleeping. The scene flashed through his head over and over again. He gazed upon the uncertainty ahead of him. Not the mist, not the road. The dog gazed ahead at the crossroads. Reality and fantasy blurred. Left or right became minor details. Faintly up ahead he saw a figure of a man, neither here nor there. The dog closed his eyes, took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, the figure was still there, as if waiting.
Lord, if that is you
bid me to come
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
The Dog's Journey
A dog was walking down a country path. He met a lot of dangers on the road, and though he survived so far he knew there are much worse dangers out there in the world. Thus far into his journey, he came upon a fork in the road. Both paths still go forward, they just diverge quite a bit. On one side the road was what the road had always been. It's not easy, not hard, not safe, not dangerous, not plain, but not terribly exciting either.
On the other, was a gap on the ground, like a cliff down to nowhere. Across was an island, like a piece of land were chopped off the main road and stuck there like a detour. Thin mist floated lazily between the cliff's edge and the cutoff island. On the island, the dog saw something he had never seen before in his short life.
It was a spectre, standing silently, not mourning nor cheering. It was a siren, singing a brave song one moment and a tragedy the next. It was a ball of energy, seemingly unchained but at the same time looked as if it was chained with an invisible shackle to nothing but the mist. It was alive. It was like the dog and nothing like the dog. It was mysterious. To the dog's eyes it was warm, though the dog's paws went cold. It wasn't bright, it wasn't dim. It floated there like a butterfly under the moonlight. And for an instant the dog thought he mistook the butterfly for a hawk. His fur bristled behind his neck at the thought, but his eyes couldn't get away. Everything about the place calls out danger.
But I want it
The gap was big, and the mist was hiding something. The dog couldn't see what was behind the mysterious being, but if the chain was real then it was definitely something big. A giant wall of mist stood before the dog, and the gap laid open under it. What little scars the dog had had taught the dog that he had never challenged anything this big before. His heart beat faster. His fear grew bigger. The shadows grew longer. His paws got colder. His breath got quicker. His body shook harder.
But. I. Want. It
The dog faced the biggest wall he had ever thought of jumping in his entire existence. The cold steely gaze of reality stared back at him without mercy. The mist still stood. The gap still laid in wait. The mysterious being still fluttered about, courage and sorrow embodied, scars and beauty personified. The dog stood on a decisive moment in his life.
To be continued...
On the other, was a gap on the ground, like a cliff down to nowhere. Across was an island, like a piece of land were chopped off the main road and stuck there like a detour. Thin mist floated lazily between the cliff's edge and the cutoff island. On the island, the dog saw something he had never seen before in his short life.
It was a spectre, standing silently, not mourning nor cheering. It was a siren, singing a brave song one moment and a tragedy the next. It was a ball of energy, seemingly unchained but at the same time looked as if it was chained with an invisible shackle to nothing but the mist. It was alive. It was like the dog and nothing like the dog. It was mysterious. To the dog's eyes it was warm, though the dog's paws went cold. It wasn't bright, it wasn't dim. It floated there like a butterfly under the moonlight. And for an instant the dog thought he mistook the butterfly for a hawk. His fur bristled behind his neck at the thought, but his eyes couldn't get away. Everything about the place calls out danger.
But I want it
The gap was big, and the mist was hiding something. The dog couldn't see what was behind the mysterious being, but if the chain was real then it was definitely something big. A giant wall of mist stood before the dog, and the gap laid open under it. What little scars the dog had had taught the dog that he had never challenged anything this big before. His heart beat faster. His fear grew bigger. The shadows grew longer. His paws got colder. His breath got quicker. His body shook harder.
But. I. Want. It
The dog faced the biggest wall he had ever thought of jumping in his entire existence. The cold steely gaze of reality stared back at him without mercy. The mist still stood. The gap still laid in wait. The mysterious being still fluttered about, courage and sorrow embodied, scars and beauty personified. The dog stood on a decisive moment in his life.
To be continued...
Monday, January 11, 2010
State of the Heart
A random ramble just to prove I'm still alive and writing.
A butterfly flutters in the midnight sky. Cutting through the wind, she ponders, where will I land, what will I find? Enveloped in darkness, guided by the shy Moon and the faint dispersed stars, she travels the sky. I hope I'll get there, I hope I'll get there. Get there where? Somewhere out there, I don't care.
A dog howls to the moon. Long unchained, he still feels restrained. I am no longer chained, but the ground still binds me. So he howls to the moon, knowing where light is, basking in its glory, can't grasp it, can't grasp it, unless it comes down. So howl, dog, howl. Sing to your moon, bring its silver beauty down.
Shadows under the street lights, where are you going? Here and there, most roads lead to nowhere. Passing by, trying to fly, just can't get off the ground, not even making a sound. Don't mistake the street light above as the Moon up in the sky.
Dance, butterfly, dance. Let your wings go, fly away, find your way. Take to the midnight skies, navigate the chilly winds, reach the moon where it is brightest.
Howl, dog, howl. Take hold of your place, your inheritance, the wolf, the alpha. Run to the hills, to the highest place. Howl to the big light in the sky. Sing and bring down the light, the warmth, where you belong.
A butterfly flutters in the midnight sky. Cutting through the wind, she ponders, where will I land, what will I find? Enveloped in darkness, guided by the shy Moon and the faint dispersed stars, she travels the sky. I hope I'll get there, I hope I'll get there. Get there where? Somewhere out there, I don't care.
A dog howls to the moon. Long unchained, he still feels restrained. I am no longer chained, but the ground still binds me. So he howls to the moon, knowing where light is, basking in its glory, can't grasp it, can't grasp it, unless it comes down. So howl, dog, howl. Sing to your moon, bring its silver beauty down.
Shadows under the street lights, where are you going? Here and there, most roads lead to nowhere. Passing by, trying to fly, just can't get off the ground, not even making a sound. Don't mistake the street light above as the Moon up in the sky.
Dance, butterfly, dance. Let your wings go, fly away, find your way. Take to the midnight skies, navigate the chilly winds, reach the moon where it is brightest.
Howl, dog, howl. Take hold of your place, your inheritance, the wolf, the alpha. Run to the hills, to the highest place. Howl to the big light in the sky. Sing and bring down the light, the warmth, where you belong.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Disenchanted Lullaby
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
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
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
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