Destination Unknown

The past 3 weeks have been an absolute mad rush, where I have been caught right smack in the middle of a hurricane of things, unable to move for the force of nature. I took a look at my calendar this morning, and realised that for the next 2 weeks, it is gonna be pretty much a repetition of the same thing. Every tiny block has been smeared on by dark ink, and the paper bleeds a tireless stream of exhaustion. There doesn't seem to be any ample space, and I fear that I might forget to breathe.

In the midst of all this, like in the centre of a whirlwind, I find myself still. All is calm, yet all is not. All is still, but my mind ravages a concoction of images and thoughts, each with spitting venom and piercing screams. In the midst of all this, I can see God. He is sure and present. He calms my soul, and oh! how does it weep. He is my shepherd, and I shall not be found wanting. He calls me, and I answer.

There was this particular one moment during the nursing camp, as I was running around the compound taking photos, I saw His glory. The magnificence of it was simply breathtaking, and I could not help but stop in my tracks and admire the beauty of it. It made me contemplate many things. Things that had happened, and things that were going to happen. For that moment, I was not part of this world. For that moment, I was not a being, but a sensation, an image, a love. My worries felt light, and they dissipated into the horizon. I felt ashamed, for neglecting Him, and even more so, that He still forgave me for that.

I took a look around, and saw my family. On the rocks jutting out of the sea, I saw my friends, both new and old, waving back. In the distance of the path, I saw NUS.

I have much to be thankful for.
There is much joy and love on the road ahead.



"And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness."

The Great Skua

I wonder how Milton must have felt as he watched paradise crash before him.

Remember to breathe

It's been sometime since I'd last blogged. The past 10 days or so have just been a succession of blessing after blessing, and I have much to be thankful for.

Campus Crusade Camp was significant because it was my first exposure to uni life, and I'm glad I got to start it off on the right foot with God. Through the camp, I felt that God had given me direction and purpose to my subsequent 4 years in NUS. I had made many new friends, and each of them has been a great source of joy to me. Special mention goes out to my CG(2), who I had a really fun time with. Victor was especially inspirational and pivotal in leading us as a group that bonded well together. The 2nd night, where we didn't sleep at all and just stayed up for HTH talks and cold jokes would definitely be one of the nights to be remembered (not to mention Victor's snoring).

O-week pre camp was another huge blessing to come this week. Michelle Kuek had told me that the camp needed photographers and I jumped at the chance. Both Monday and Tuesday had really been a time of fun and sun, with many games being played, many friendships forged, and many photos taken. The O Comm was very welcoming to Yong Kang and I, and the pre camp, and subsequently, the actual O week, would really help us in our growth as photographers. The campers themselves were very accepting of us, and each of us have been 'adopted' into a house!

During my NUS Medical, the doctor who was examining me asked, "why are you here in NUS for?" I was momentarily stunned. The answer wasn't quite clear to me as I had thought. After some stammering, I replied that ultimately it was for my passion for history. He smiled and said that many students came for the cert. I told him that that was practical, and immediately, he grew very animated and urged that I never lose my idealism to realism. For me, it's small incidents like this that helps me get back on my path in life, and I really felt that God was speaking to me through this doctor. It was just another evidence that an idealist can survive in this world.

Many people have come back. Sarah, Ryan, Debbie, Brian, Cheryl, Jon, Samantha and Mark. Alvyn is coming back soon. I know I haven't been able to meet up with all of you, but know that I'm thinking of you guys constantly.

Probably one of the best advices I've heard all this time:
Remember to breathe.

Hope

Hey everyone, I'll be away at the NUS campus crusade camp from tomorrow till wednesday.

See ya!

Brighter Discontent

She stood in the monochrome, afraid to go into colour. Somehow, the black and white seemed to make everything that much simpler, as she grew weary of making decisions that offered hope. She stood in the dark, terrified of the light that might penetrate her eyes, blinding her from the raven, from the reaper, from the mad scientist and from the dark haired boy. Hollow white eyes stared into hers of a stagnated nature, as if time stood still by choice and could not go on.

The murder of crows glided in a calm descend towards the graveyards, each stone freed from the choices of the world and stood strong in grey. She envied them. A gentle rain of corrosion fell from the static sky, and she thought that no sunshine would ever take away this rain. Her shadow stood in mocking, and she felt happy, because, as she grew to die, her shadow had found speech, and would remain long after her body became food for worms.

She was consumed by her thoughts that transcended far beyond imaginative horizons; a blessing and a cruel curse. What images she conjured up would offer a goblet of hope, and once drank, the poison would seep stealthily through her veins, and bring her down to the ground in a lifeless tumble. The process would be complete. No, it would not. She would rise. She would live again. She would drink again.

An unkindness of ravens pierced her gaze with their spotted eyes, bidding her to contemplate her existence that was fast fading into the mists encapsulating the cemetery. Nameless names, thought she, and a comfort of familiarity rushed in. Perhaps, this was home, this was where she would sleep in serenity. And she would be happy. No, she would not. For the dead cannot feel, and time can go on.

She reserved no hope for herself, and when one had no hope, one had to hope for others. In their failures and disappointments, she faced an excruciating disintegration; her very being breaking up one by one into fragments of what used to be. In their neglect and scorn, she started dying, for she had nothing else to live for. They lived in abundance of colour and life, of parties and dinners, movies and theatres, adultery and incest, love and hate. She lived a forgotten life.

Perhaps in her, there was regret. Perhaps, there was anger, maybe even wrath. One might think that there was envy and jealousy, monsters that fed on her meat, and possibly there was a hint of loneliness. But about all, there was a nothingness; an absence of being.

Now, as the moon graciously brightened up the monochrome, she could see her hands filled with a tapestry of cuts. Her legs, as the contours of uncertainty, lay bruises and deformities. In the still water, she could see her reflection, as an intense paleness greeted her, dark droplets tearing down her face. She could see that her hair lay in a witchy frizzle, as a bitter cold wind blew in from the south.

In the moonlight, in the darkness, in the graveyard, in the monochrome, in black, and in white, she could finally see how beautiful she was.