Archive for December, 2008

Until The Day


It’s always a mad rush leading to Christmas. Every year I tell myself that I need to get started earlier, that this year, yes this year, will be smooth and easy and without the hair-pulling, the late-night bleary eyes, the self-flagellations of whyohwhydidn’tIstartearlier. And every year I find myself at the same place.

This year seems to be no different. Even with my two and a half months of chilling out, sadly.

But it’s a good kind of place to be in I think, to want the people important to you or who’d blessed you to be able to have that simply joy of receiving a little something on Christmas, however mundane or ordinary; I like to think that every card and every gift matters, that you were thought of in a fond or kindly way, which then leads, perhaps inevitably, to thanksgiving.

So thank You for being asked to serve in the skit. It’s funny how I enjoyed the rehearsal thoroughly, when acting is the last thing I’d ever think of doing, let alone volunteer for. But I like how in acting you put on a face, you roleplay and make-believe and pretend, and in doing so create a gulf between your part and your true self. This way, you can let go of your inhibitions or your fears and inhabit the character in the space of your time on stage. Your stage self becomes the one accountable for its flaws, its mistakes and behaviour.

I guess that when I look at it that way, I find it easier to slip into ‘acting mode’ and not be so self-conscious, as loathe as I am of being in the spotlight.

In any case, it’s been fun 🙂


A New Song


I’m dreaming music tonight, hearing notes and words and crests and dips drift into silence and then tiptoe gentle across the streams of my consciousness.

Listening to light-year songs beamed across the universe by deep space explorers who compose lyrics from the slipstream of a blue streak comet, riff and distort in time with the pulse of atmospheric gravity on meteor shards that twist and turn and roll, tuning tempo from the groovy dissonant beat of a white dwarf going supernova; all this I hear in the peak hour train and its dreary-faced passengers, secret smiles as my mind roams elsewhere on the journey made by those same intergalactic adventurers.

The air tonight was a clean and crisp kind of cool, filling your lungs with a sweetness that says it’s a joy to be alive. New sights and sounds and people who didn’t sideways-glance at you. So I sat down beside them at the curb and sipped soy milk from a can in silence, watching the crazy neon lights flash in bizarre, tacky ostentatiousness. An old lady with grey-dusted hair and geeky specs and the kindest eyes I’d seen in weeks sat in a yellow chair by the carpark. She smiled as I asked her for directions and waved me on my way, wishing me well.

So many years of age and yet so young and full of brightness that I walked away carrying a bit of it with me. And in that moment I learnt that I had so much more of it to do.

The world can beat me down or I can have my heart chewed on and spat out or I can face a seemingly-endless stream of disappointments but that’s what the world does. It doesn’t faze me at all, because I know I have You. And I know You have already laid better days ahead of me.

Sean + Nikki

more on flickr

Thank you for being such a testimony and blessing, you two.

Fever Dreams


I’d been feeling a little off in the evening yesterday, so when I collapsed into bed it felt like sweet surrender as I closed my eyes and embraced the quiet darkness of sleep.

And then I woke up in the middle of the night, freezing cold despite having my comforter wrapped snugly around me, images of my fever dreams still dancing around in head.  I saw her and her and her, didn’t know what to do as all of us stood amongst strangers in that antiseptic white waiting room with once-white venetian blinds now yellowed with age. A sickly potted plant stood in the corner, leaning precariously against the wallpapered wall, as if the slightest breeze could cause it to keel over, defeated.

My throat was dry and parched, so much so that I had to swig my bottled water in tiny sips so it wouldn’t hurt so much going down. A litany of aches made every movement a tiny agony multiplying against the next, so much so that all I wanted to do was curl up into a little ball and sleep until the sickness passed.

This is the first time I remember being this sick this year, and it sucks completely.

Thank you Jesus, that I have been made clean.

Only You Matter

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” (Proverbs 13:12)

“My soul finds rest in God alone;
my salvation comes from him.

He alone is my rock and my salvation;
he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.” (Psalms 62:1-2)

I am walking on new ground, breathing in the air of shifting seasons, closing my eyes to the tides of change and opening my heart to listen, to hear.

And all I can do is to let go, release my fears, my doubts, all confidence in my flesh, relinquish my hold on what I devise in my own limited wisdom to be necessary for a sense of fulfilment; because I know, in some deep, imperceptible way that a deeper truth, one that speaks life to dead bones and loves brokenness unto wholeness, exists.

I can’t say why but all I can tell you is that I believe, and I speak, against common sense, smirking defiance in ridicule, complete surrender to confusion, with this weapon not made of men’s steel but of something far softer and supple that cuts through all situation and circumstance; it restores, it declares blood-bought victory two thousand years ago, it is the vessel through which a stand is made against all the forces of hell and says, ‘no further’.

I speak and I write, heart full and with a smile of inner knowing, that I cannot but He can, always and forever, always true and faithful, and be in me all that my flesh cannot.

I am in Him and He is in me. There is no separation, nothing that one is that the other is not, and these are the words I speak tonight, in truth and in power.

“Then he touched their eyes and said, “According to your faith will it be done to you”; and their sight was restored.” (Matthew 9:29-30)

shoot or die

shoot or die

exploring the weird, wonderful and all the tiny gaps in between conversations

Threads Of The Same String


I came back from a funeral today, of a man who was the same age as my dad. Born in the same year, carrying the same surname, dying from the same terminal disease, leaving behind three sons. We share the same blood, and we are just branches off the same vine. Even if we are strangers who know nothing more than each others’ names, we are still family.

It’s like peeking through the fabric of the space-time continuum and seeing parallel universe versions of yourselves. A leap of quantum recognition, collapsing of all existing alternate possibilities, reality folding onto itself.

And it strikes me, in quite a sobering manner, considering how in the past few days I have been carefully assembling the words that I would use to speak of my father. It’s been almost four months since the second anniversary of his death, and strangely, but perhaps unsurprisingly, the words do not come easily as they should, or at least how they usually do.

And I know that I will have to write it all down soon.

Sometimes you want to defy wisdom, common sense, and the impossible. But it’s only something you can dream about and hide from the light of day.

Because the truth is that only He satisfies.