Screwtape

Lived through another day in an exhausted stupor. I was standing in the shower yesterday when this excerpt came to me.
“Do not be deceived, Wormwood. Our cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do our Enemy’s will, looks around a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys.”
It’s from C.S. Lewis’s masterly ‘Screwtape Letters’, which documents the wise old devil Screwtape’s letters to his nephew Wormwood. Interestingly, ‘Screwtape Letters’ was dedicated to J. R. R. Tolkien.

In ‘Reaching for the Invisible God’, Philip Yancey writes about Christians who “volunteered to serve others in a spirit of idealism [that’s me!] As trials increased, they anticipated a closer sense of God’s presence, more support, stronger faith [exactly!]. Instead, they found the opposite.”

Why? Lewis goes on to write:
“It is during such trough periods, much more than during the peak periods, that it [the believer] is growing into the creature He wants it to be. Hence, the prayers offered in the state of dryness are those that please Him best…He wants them to learn to walk and must therefore take away His hand; and if only the will to walk is really there He is pleased even with their stumbles.”

Both Pastor Julie and Joseph have pointed out my strange idiosyncrasy of raising an issue and then proceeding to resolve it on my own. Well, looks like I did it again. But I really appreciate those who have offered their two cents worth (ok, it's worth much, much more!) of support and encouragement. Kudos to Rog and Lim!

Waiting

Futsal on Sunday was a decidedly miserable experience for me and I have no one to blame for it but myself. So much for feeling all sunshiny and optimistic. So much for having fun running around after the ball. I barely moved. My old habit of clamming up resurfaced with a vengeance, and I wished that the ground would open up and swallow me. Anyway, it’s over.

Joseph’s question (was it last week?) continues to haunt me: Why does it seem to be that the closer you get to God, the more confused Christians become?
I have no answer, no explanation, no defense. The silence rings like an accusation.
I’m sorry for being such a poor example.

cos' I’m a train wreck waiting to happen...

So this Saturday’s service is on Wrestling with God. “A time of seeking for a breakthrough in your relationship with God, parents, friends, career, studies, personal life”, as the email proclaims in bright letters.
Reading it, something stirred from within. But.
I hope for something this Sat, and yet I don’t hope at the same time.
I don’t know how or what to expect. Don’t want to expect?
Life seems to be currently dictated by circumstances, and that all my time is spent responding to events as they arise.
The lack of control I have over my life is frustrating. My life is frustrating.
Maybe physical exhaustion has a part to play. Maybe I’m trying to avoid reality.
Maybe it’s my fault.

Everything I need is you, my beginning and forever...

That refrain has haunted my consciousness for the past week, but it is hardly manifest in the way I live out my daily life.
Why do I look every where else but to God?
My fault.
God, come and get me. I don’t know how to reach You anymore.
I’m sorry for failing yet again.

Unravel me
a distant chord
on the outside is forgotten
a constant need

The road is long
the memory slides
to the whole of my undoing
put aside
I put away
I push it back to get through each day
and all I feel is black and white
and I'm wound up small and tight
and I don't know who I am

Unravel me
untie this chord
the very center of our union
is caving in
I can't endure
I am the archive of our failure
And all I feel is black and white
and I'm wound up small and tight
and I don't know who I am

From Sarah McLachlan’s Black and White.

Postscript: I wrote the above before going for the leader’s briefing after prayer meet at 9. Yeah, I skipped the praying part. Anyway, things took a tiny turn for the better there. After rushing and arriving a little late, it was gladdening to see Cason and Qi Wen already there, which was totally unexpected. Turns out they attended the whole thing from 8, and I was able to discuss the plans for this Friday, Saturday and Sunday with them, Jay Sonn and Enoch. Jay Sonn suggested combining cells and working together on Friday, which is certainly something I’m looking forward to. I’m so grateful that there are others to share the load with and people I can talk to a little. God can occasionally be kind to me.

Postscript 2: But I still feel like an archive of failure; and in the middle of me is a tight knot that I can’t unravel. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know who I am.
'Heartfelt Beauty' seems like such a mockery now.

Waiting to Play Futsal...

Five days since writing anything. Fear not, I have not abandoned this humble blog. (Apparently, it looks terribly unadorned and plain). Actually started on a new post twice, but couldn’t carry them both to full term and so their aborted skeletons are tucked away in my folder. It’s sad when a piece dies prematurely, but I hope to resurrect them someday. Ironically, one of them was about God’s timeliness but I just didn’t have the time or inspiration to sit down and develop it.

Anyway, in less than two hours, the Kool’s (plus a few imported players) will meet for our third ever futsal session. Anticipation is running high. Some even bought new boots. It looks like this is going to be a permanent fixture in our cell’s activity list. Personally, I’ve always shunned organized sports (Calvin and Hobbes are my role models!) so understandably, I’ve had ample practice and am very good at them. Not. I don’t mean to be a wet blanket and it’s been great fun so far but guys, if you want to go beyond having fun to playing seriously, it’s not going to be possible. A few of us (namely, the entire female minority plus some!) are complete dopes when it comes to anything involving balls-in more than one way, I might add but that’s beside the 'point'. However, the rest have been very gentlemanly and given us due deference on court so far. Let’s continue with that spirit ok? It’s a wee bit unnerving for me when I’ve received a few threats to get my comeuppance on the pitch, over some slight verbal jabs. Bah, why do guys always have to get so physical? I invoke the protection of my sex due to me as a female! Not that anyone’s going to read this till after the game. Anyway, I fell twice during the last session so I don’t really need any help in that department. Ah well, I doubt they’ll remember it anyway and it’s all in good fun. Though, why don’t you all be good sports and let me mock you people from the sidelines?

A Sheepish Post

My sincere apologies for lashing out last night. Sometimes I want to be understood without having to explain myself too much. Or rather, I feel that I have explained myself enough already to be understood. In retrospect, I could have done better but I lacked the presence of mind to do so. Ah well, at least you two have seen (or rather felt) one of my character flaws. Am working on it ok?

I thought that I'd gotten over wishing people will ask but I realized yesterday night that in some aspects, I haven't. Why don't they ask? Why don't they care? Was almost in tears yesterday. Tears of rage. But it's ok now. I shouldn't crucify myself over their ignorance. I can't save anyone from blindness, so I shouldn't have such a saviour's complex. Silly, silly me.

Anyway, I got up today and got out Dr. Larry Keefauver's "77 Irrefutable Truths of Ministry". 77 nuggets of wisdom, each a page long. I remembered something from there which I thought would be helpful and I wanted to go back to it again. Started flipping thru from the back and #39 jumped out-"Without prayer, ministry can do nothing. At the core of powerless ministry is prayerlessness...sheep follow the shepherd. As he prays, so they pray. As she worships, they worship. As he studies the Word, so they study the Word. As she serves, so they serve." I felt God tell me to be faithful in continuing with doing these things even if it seems like the sheep aren't following yet. That it's ok if they don't follow yet, because it will come around in time. In the mean time, pray for them.

Moving on, I found what I was looking for. #12-"Ministry's best classroom is brokenness. Brokenness is the tuition people pay to be equipped. The only vessels God can use are broken ones." Listen to it. "Ministry puts the minister on the cross whether he or she goes voluntarily or not. The good news is this: resurrection follows crucifixion. The Potter lovingly reshapes and molds us according to His plan not ours. "Then I went down to the potter's house, and there he was, making something at the wheel. And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter; so he made it again into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to make" (Jer. 18:4). Brokenness is not an attack of the enemy. Rather, it's the result of Christ reshaping us into His image."

I realise that I often think that being broken is the result of doing things the wrong way. That if I do everything right, things will all fall into place and be perfect. So, when things go wrong or doesn't turn out the way I expected, I beat myself up. I think, maybe I should have prayed more. Or been more loving, more gracious. Maybe I should have spoke up sooner. That may be true, but I need to see beyond that, to see beyond the cross of defeat. Resurrection does follow crucifixion.

That aside, what followed stabbed me in the heart. "The tools He most often uses to crush us are sheep. They become the sandpaper that smoothes out rough edges. Cleaning up their dung and anointing their wounds enables us to become shepherds instead of taskmasters. We come to value sheep for who they are, not for what they can do or give. Out brokenness allows the oil of healing to pour from us as we become wounded healers. The tears of brokenness cleanse you for ministry. Don't waste your tears. Use them to wash the feet of your people."

The crushing, breaking process starts by allowing them to rub me up the wrong way, as sandpaper that hurts and wounds even as it strips away the ugliness and allows God's love to flow from those very wounds. I definitely recognise that process taking place now. Let me look to Jesus for guidance-after all, He is the first and ultimate wounded healer.

Cleaning up their dung and anointing their wounds. Good job description. Of course, there are also long periods of sitting watchfully in the field, just waiting for them to come to you and wondering if they will ever lift their heads from the ground and move. The challenge then is to remain ever faithful, ever vigilant and ever ready.

I sometimes call them cows, especially when they stand around aimlessly in a herd. From now on, I want to think of them as sheep. Not my sheep-I don't own them-but God's sheep. Wounded, sandpapery sheep smeared with dung. Created in His image, bearing His Son's name (most of them at least!) and infinitely valuable because of that and that alone.

P/S: Just noticed the audience request for more about Designer Sex yesterday night. Was wondering why nobody ever asked about that item because I intentionally didn't elaborate. That aside, I did plan to write on it today but as you can see, there were more pressing topics.

Preserved for Posterity!

I promised to post our Mad-Lib stories from last Sat but before that, I discovered a great insight last Friday which I absolutely must share. Ready? Here it goes..
Why do we call lame jokes 'lame'? Apparently it's a localized expression in Malaysia. Anyway, the answer is because they don't stand up to scrutiny. Brilliant eh? No? Bah.
Anyway, here are the stories. I must say (somewhat grudgingly) that these are some of the best we've had so far. Yes, I'm sporting enough to put in all the names as they appeared originally.


MY DREAM GIRL

The girl of my dreams has colourful blonde hair scented like pianos. Her eyes are like two huge pools of fish-tank water. And her lips remind me of murky dental floss. Her skin is as smooth and lovely as green puppies, and she has a figure like Athalia. When she enters a room, people always stare at her and say, “What! What a red woman!” Her sense of humour is always pimply, and people marvel at her horrendous vocabulary. In my dreams I see her wearing an evil dress and a diamond balloon in her hair. I would gladly give up all my dictionaries for one evening with this ham sap female. Her name is Yan Ping.


A (SECRET) LETTER FROM AN ADMIRER

Dear Miss Athalia Kim Lee,
You may not recall my nose, but I met you at the smelly cocktail party given by our gigantic friend, Joseph. We had a fluffy talk about nice balls, and I was impressed by your hairy conversation and your grasp of the monstrous situation. Also, I was very much attracted by your repulsive eyes, your sharp little chin, and your curly teeth. If you’ll pardon me for seeming powerful, I was fascinated by your sexy walk and by your hopeless figure. I hope I made a sleepy impression, and that we can get together for a nice funeral next week.
Happily yours,
Elizabeth

Note: The last name was supposed to be a guy's name but I guess the person doing it overlooked that.


ARMY INFORMATION

If you plan on joining the army, here are some sexy hints that will help you become an irresistible soldier. The army is made up of officers, non-coms, and fat pigs. You can recognize an officer by the earrings on his shoulders and the long-johns on his cap. When you address an officer, always say “Tree” and salute mightily. If you get a naked hair-cut, keep your babies shined, and see that your toilet bowl is clean at all times, you will be a credit to the slogan, “The Army builds diapers.” And at roll call, when the smelly sergeant calls your name, shout “Ha?” loud and clear. Also, become familiar with basic weapons such as the thirty-calibre rattlesnake and the automatic worm. Follow this advice and in no time you’ll win the Sly Conduct t-shirt.


MY DREAM MAN

My “Dream Man” should, first of all, be very huge and rubbery. He should have a physique like George Bush, a profile like David Beckham and the intelligence of a hamster. He must be polite and always remember to light my crab, to tip his moron, and to take my armpits when crossing the street. He should move hurriedly, should have a transparent voice and should always dress Godly. I would also like him to be a sweaty dancer, and when we’re alone, he should whisper salty nothings in my luscious lips and hold my humongous legs. I know a superior man like this is hard to find. In fact, the only one I can think of is Li Jin.

Heartfelt Beauty

Am I beautiful? I ask that question too. Mostly subconsciously, but it recently surfaced over the weekend due to a series of apparently unrelated events that actually stretch back for months. Looking back, I really do believe that these events were all divinely orchestrated as part of God’s plan for me.

I realize now that I’ve carried a vague sense of discontent within me about who I’m becoming and the choices I make on how I project myself. In subtle, unnoticed ways, I have changed over the past six (maybe more?) months, mainly to accommodate other people’s views and expectations of who I am. I have watered my personality down, become less forthright, less candid. I have tried not to put myself above others, assert myself less; say what I really think and believe less. But it takes a long time to notice you’re descending and even longer to do something about it. This is especially so when in other areas, you are moving forward and outwardly you appear to be doing fine. It takes either a lot of scrutiny or someone to come along and jolt you before it hits you. It started two Saturday’s ago over lunch with Roger and Liz. Roger’s still Roger, and he’s as incisive and blunt as ever, which are qualities that I respect greatly. Talking to him made me realize how much I’ve changed in those aspects and I made up my mind to rediscover that side of me.

Last week was also a time of recollection, of revisiting past ghosts. I thought of both my exes and what I learnt from them and realized that I was no longer living much of it out. Strangely, last week was also the week when both of them decided to call/look me up. Coincidence? I think not.

The first one shaped the way I think. The second one taught me how to minister. Both taught me that I am beautiful, especially Corin. But I was slow learner and a quick forgetter (Yes, it’s a word), and it was always hard for me to fully believe and accept it. I was thinking rather wistfully last week that it’s been a while since I felt that way and it’ll be nice to do so again.

Anyway, it took someone else on Saturday to awaken that realization. Not that he told me outright. Rather, He did while I was sitting across him in the drive-thru McDee’s pondering human behaviour and relationships. It just slowly crept into my heart; “You carry the precious image of my Son within you and it shines out in a very visible manner to others. What a beautiful sight it is!” It’s amazing how God can transform a situation.

I am beautiful, because God created me so. I am beautiful, because Christ lives in me. I am beautiful, and I am not ashamed to declare it and exult in it. I am not ashamed! I guess it showed somewhat on Saturday in church. After a harrowing period of self-doubt, I finally felt good about myself. About how I look and who I am. I am the one that Jesus loves. I am exuberant, I am joyous, I am overflowing with abundant life. I am a vessel of God’s glory, I am His beloved, I am His. The same applies to the rest of you, if you would let yourself believe it.

This post is dedicated to Yen. Your questions on Saturday and our conversation today sort of tied everything together. To God be the glory!

P/S: To my dear agnostic/atheist (which are you?) friend-how does it feel to be part of God’s divinely orchestrated plan? Come on, you were back from Germany for a whole month, why choose last Wednesday to look me up just when I was praying that someone with the requisite intelligence would give me a leetle helping hand?

Cell Away from Cell

My dear girl,

Read your post late last night.
I wish I could give you a really big bear hug and tell you that you're alright and things'll be alright.
That I think you're really, really beautiful both within and without and I look up to you as a role model.
That I love you for being so honest about how you feel and I don't insist my role models be perfect.
In fact, I don't want them to be. I want them to be magnificantly human so that everynow and then, I can reach out and touch them.
When humanity is at its most beautiful.
Beautiful in its fraility. Because of its fraility.
Precious, you do make a difference in my life and I am grateful for that.

I identify with what you wrote but somehow I doubt I'd be able to put it down with such clarity. I still struggle to define how and what I feel or think. Seem to be going nowhere with blogging, and I've gotten feedback that my muddled musings are too incomprehensible. Ah well, practice makes perfect ya. Haha, can I just cut and paste from what you write? Kidding.

Anyway, I wanted to write about last night before it all just fades away. Seven of the cell members came over after dinner to hang out and after a few rounds of side-splitting Mad-Libs, we decided to break in our brand-new Pictionary set. Thanks so much for buying it that very day, mom. For the uninformed, we've been borrowing my aunt's set but she wasn't around on so we couldn't get it on time yesterday.

It was awesomely fun. As I told a few of them, it felt like cell away from cell. Or church away from church, or home away from home. After all, we are His body, and we carry His presence with us. I'm not saying that the atmosphere was super-charged spiritually, or that we were all consciously aware of His presence even. What I mean is that we were able to be comfortable enough to have fun and learn together and it was even ok to mess up. It was ok to not know alot of words, or how to draw, or how to guess what was drawn. It was ok to make mistakes like drawing an apple for the word orange, so that "...when I draw the orange, [the team] would be able to guess it" (What???) . Or drawing a rubbish bin for the word 'waste', instead of a wastepaper basket, a starfish and squirrel that well, was very abstract.

So, it was just a game. But I hope that it laid the ground for something greater. I want us to be able to come to cell and church and feel safe enough to drop our guards and our masks because we know that we're accepted in spite of all our flaws, weaknesses and unpleasant bits. I want cell to be a place where we can build each other up and help each other become more and more Christ-like. Where God's unconditional love can be extended to all, so that nobody has to worry too much about being put down or rejected or jeered at. I know that we're moving towards that, but there's still much room for improvement. I pray that I myself will learn to love each of them as God does, and it's happening slowly. It really is all about love, like I mentioned in one of my earlier posts.

I pray that as we draw closer to each other, we also draw closer to God. I used an analogy in cell before, where God is a circle in the middle, and we are all in a circle around Him, connected by a line to Him in the middle circle. As we move along that line closer to Him, we also move closer to each other and as we move closer to each other, we move closer to Him.

This is my vision for this little group of precious souls. Come talk to me, help me realize that vision.

I Can't Think of a Title

Thursday still occupies my consciousness somewhat. You know, it's very gratifying to be considered the smarter one by someone you consider smarter than you. Makes you wonder about the ones you don't consider as smart though. Especially as the conclusion was that you're smart when you're aware of your own ignorance. Now I'd better stop this rambling line of thought here because I'm starting to sound very dumb.

Moving on, Corin told me that one way to get out of the doldrums was to go out and give someone a hand. I've found that to be true before, and I found it to hold true today. As much as I would rather the contrary, I need people, just like everyone else, and it's self-defeating to be too introspective. Of course, such insight only comes upon introspection...does anyone see the irony here?

Last bit. Resume is Parker's best known poem, though not necessarily the best. Enjoy more of her brilliance.

General Review of the Sex Situation

Woman wants monogamy;
Man delights in novelty.
Love is woman's moon and sun;
Man has other forms of fun.

Woman lives but in her lord;
Count to ten, and man is bored.
With this the gist and sum of it;
What earthly good can come of it?

It'll be funny enough to laugh over if it didn't ring too true. Or maybe it's funny because it rings true. Mind you, I'm not saying it's true all the time so don't jump on me ok.

Resume?

A comment I received about blogs yesterday: the vast majority often degenerate into banal, insipid accounts of the writer's daily affairs (Today I went to eat char kuay tauh with my friend A. At first it was very hot but we got wet cos it rained and the roof got hole), or end up filled with inside references that only two people in the world are privy to. Well, I wanna jump on the latter bandwagon too, so lemme post some comments regarding today's teatime tete-a-tete (Tea? Hahaha. Oooo, I've started!).

From the pinnacle of virtue, beauty, intelligence and wit. How lofty it sounds! Why isn't the view loftier?

I still maintain that you're never too young to be wistful...sometimes, only the wise can be wistful.

Just a comment, the church has historically thrived when it is a minority- a little lump of yeast that leavens a whole batch of dough. Something dies when it becomes established in the mainstream, and yet we are called to work towards that. Haven't figured out a way around that paradox.

Yeah, thin hugs suck. Do you recognize any lines in my previous posts? Let me know.

To the rest of the minute masses who survey this, I leave you Dorothy Parker's best known poem. Really like her style-at once humourous and despairing; flippant on the surface and perfectly polished, yet concealing an undercurrent of pain.

Resume

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

I'd like to be as incisive as she was. Anyway, having vented out both yesterday and today (twice!), I still feel no closer to the end of the tunnel. Am half alive but I feel mostly dead. But that could just be the lack of sleep.

"The torment of existence weighed against the horror of non-being"-Watterson; sums up my frame of mind after our talk today exactly. Thanks for the clarity, teacher. If anyone can identify where it comes from, I'll buy you a drink and we can talk.

Relapse and Recovery

Don't worry, just a minor one over the past two days. Realised that I left out that one item from my list. I'm climbing out already and should be able to exorcise it (?) from my consciousness soon. Had a revelatory conversation with QY after class which was really like a beam of sunlight that lit up my gloom. You know, it really IS all about love.

Anyway, I need to counter-balance the past two posts. Enjoy these Pearls before Swine strips by Stephan Pastis.

Intro to the strip (taken from comics.com) : "At its heart, Pearls Before Swine is the comic strip tale of two friends: a megalomaniacal Rat who thinks he knows it all and a slow-witted Pig who doesn't know any better. Together, this pair offers caustic commentary on humanity's quest for the unattainable. The title of the strip comes from the New Testament(specifically, Matt 7:6b; I looked it up) and is taken from the phrase, "Don't cast your pearls before swine." In this case, Rat believes that he is an endless source of wisdom, and that it is wasted upon Pig, who is rather slow. In truth, neither of them is very smart, but while Pig is content with his humble status in life, Rat is always on a futile search for fame, riches and immortality.


I identify with Rat here. Anyone up for smacks?

The Foreign List

I actually got to talk about reading yesterday night. As a result, I ended up going to bed at 4am. Thanks guys, it was a real treat. Anyway, got up at noon today, glanced at the books on my shelves and tables...and promptly felt depressed. I don't read as much as I would like, and I remember even less of what I read. I wish that even half of the print I set my eyes on would stay in my brain. It's not that I mind re-reading good books;in fact, a good book always reveals something new or hits your consciousness afresh with every re-read. It just doesn't seem like a very efficient system. Especially when there are tonnes of other books...

I think I have only read 60-70% of all the titles in my library at least once. And there are a million other titles that I want to get right now. Maybe that's my problem: I'm never satisfied, and I tend to devour a book on the first read. Liz takes it slow, savouring the words and reading a little at a time, while I'll devour it, chasing the words all the way to the last page. I'm too impatient to relax and slow down. And I tend to go without reading for stretches, and then binge on print. I know that regular, smaller doses would do me alot better.

I'm currently reading Philip Yancey's 'Rumours of Another World'. I resolved to only do a chapter a day, but I covered a third of the book yesterday. Bad Athalia. However, I lost the interest to read further and had to stop, which is unusual. I think I just need to take time off to reflect on things, and that's when the idea of blogging hit me.

Anyway, what's weighing on my mind right now? I was asked that yesterday night, but I said I don't know. Here are some of the things that come to mind now, in random order:
1) Alan said that he didn't want to become a Christian because he doesn't agree with the 'old Testament God'. I understand why he says that, and I actually did have many questions too. Have I let them stop bothering me? Why?
2) Designer Sex. That's a title of a chapter in Rumours, but I don't really want to delve into what it's about now.
3) Why do I believe? When asked, I am able to provide an answer. But my answer feels hollow, and flies on tattered, frail wings. Maybe it's the lack of practice.
4) Is the church (or rather, are people) blocking me from thinking about God? That question just popped up. More accurately, am I spending time with other people to avoid thinking about God? If yes, why?
5) Do I think too much? Does all the thinking I do actually contribute anything to anyone? Maybe I should just do more.
6) Intimacy with God.

I'm tempted to delete this list. Even though I wrote it, it doesn't strike a chord within me as I review it, it doesn't feel a part of me. Feels like reading someone else's list. However, I'll resist that temptation and offer this up. Hopefully I'll do better the next time.

Joining the Ranks

I never thought that I would actually do this. I hate the idea of anyone reading what I write, so much so that in secondary school, I avoided handing any essays (especially English essays) up unless I absolutely had to. Which meant that the only essays I handed up were written during exams. Which means that since I got so little practice, they weren't very good. But I'd get good enough marks anyway, since I read alot and English is my first language.

I envied the bold souls I know who seem to so effortlessly post up events, reviews, musings and more online for public scrutiny. I am a perfectionist by nature, and am rarely satisfied with any thing I create. I keep going back to anything I've done to improve, redo, edit, change. I am my greatest critic.

So, why did I decide to blog? Simply, because I need to. I've always had a secret desire to write, and early this year I took the plunge and started keeping a spiritual journal. Mainly a short record of the Bible passage I read that day, some prayer items and the occasional reflection or meditation. Nothing spectacular, and there were many lapses and weeks of silence till I finally gave the whole exercise up in May. But every now and then when I felt overwhelmed, I would resort to scribbling down my feelings. I found that it helped to put things into perspective, and that the process of putting my thoughts into words helped to give coherence and clarity to them. Even so, I still have a long way to go in perfecting the art of shaping a thought into words. I think more than I write, and my words do no justice to my thoughts yet.

At the same time, a sense of belief that I actually do have something worthwhile to say began to grow. Or rather, I can see that it began to grow in retrospect, as the feeling seemed to manifest itself in my consciousness out of the blue. Today. I have spent my life (so far) admiring literary masterpieces, and I've learnt that one factor that makes a great piece of writing great is the message what the writer communicates through it. In other words, a great piece of writing must have both a worthwhile message AND an audience before it can be considered great.

I don't really want to go into the specifics of why, but I've reached a point where I must write. And I must write for an audience. For now, I'm happy with a close-knit, familar audience whom I trust. From there, try to write worthwhile messages.

Thus endeth my first post.