Colour my world

Wine-coloured moments fill my glass as blueberry nights and rose coloured days twirl by, laughing with glee. I savor each sip. Caught up in the dance of events, the rhythms and patterns spinning out rapidly, like a thread. It's intoxicating. Even at when I sleep, it continues. Light-headed and breathless, it's hard to keep my head down on the pillow, hard to keep my eyes shut. Dreams tiptoe through and slumber is so light, I wake easily and before sunrise…

These are heady times. I've found my paintbrush, and I'm going to take up painting again. I catch myself smiling regularly and it feels exactly like the picture above-I'm drifting in a pool of warm water, suspended over a fascinating, undulating floor of shapes and tone. Brilliant darks smoulder; saturated tones are all aglow with warmth and vivid flashes sing out in high, clear tones. We touch. I blush pastel, and the colours bubble up with joy, seeping into the world around me.

"Daffodils and roulette wheels and rusty automobiles
Somewhere our things share the same windowsill"

Jewel

Primary colours

"And you were so anti-establishment in school!"

So my mom exclaimed when she saw me this morning decked out in all the Jalur Gemilang colours to work. Just because an email yesterday asked us to do so.

I wondered, what has changed? As I walk into the office, very few people are really decked out. There are passing nods, yes, after all it doesn’t take any effort to throw on a white or red shirt over blue jeans. A few pale yellows (which is the wrong yellow anyway) showed up too. It’s funny when supporting an establishment (or an initiative spearheaded by an establishment) means that you’re going against the norm. Intuitively, one would assume the opposite to be true…

Woods in blue red yellow white by Steve Slimm

I was asked yesterday what I was like as a child. What my primary colours were like. ("Anti-establishment" wasn't among my answers.) It was a good assessment to make, and I'm still connecting the dots to what I was before with what I am now. And I think that my blues and reds and yellows have been mixed into less vibrant, distinct shades. For example. Lets say as a kid you were cheery and chirpy. Pure yellow. But you grow up, you get hurt, you find out that people aren't always nice. So you learn not to be so chirpy. Your yellow gets mixed, it's no longer crisp and primary.

Nothing wrong with mixing, because shades of the primary colours are more attractive than plain primary colours in their pure form. Think cornflower blue, cerulean blue and prussian blue. Yet, mix colours too much and you get an indistinguishable mess of grey.

And so. I want to go back to my primary colours and wear them boldly in all their pristine, stark glory.

Insecure

I'm unsure. Hesitant. Insecure.

I thought I was ok with leaving cell. I was certain that it was the right thing to do. But I don't know if that is true anymore. Why can't I ever make up my mind? Why do I always end up like a pendulum, swinging from one extreme to the other? Where is the line between faith and blind stupidity?

Stand firm and fight a good fight. Walk away with dignity and leave things to work themselves out. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. And I don't know how to hear from God over the clamour in my head.

I quote:

"uncertainty: the birthplace of everything." Fergus

This is turning out to be one awfully long delivery then. And the labour pains are killing me.

Secret farewell

I have a story to tell.

I've gone to cell for six years now. Since Easter this year, I've been very evidently very unhappy on Friday nights. It started when somehow, someone decided that the entire cell should meet up without me to trash out grouses about. With cell, and with me in particular. It wasn't malicious, and I was told of the meeting right before it took place. Yet, the lack of trust that everyone had cut deeply. After that, I couldn't look any of them in the eye anymore.

The leaders only managed to sit down with me, Liz and the two of them because the other three weren't around one way or the other. Other than that, the subject has never been broached. Am I supposed to pretend that nothing ever happened? Continue being my former outgoing self, knowing that the person is withholding their opinions?

Easter is supposed to be a celebration of life. But, since Easter, I've withdrawn tremendously from life. And nobody once asked me why. I sit in silence in cell, and everyone else pretends that it's normal. I wish that someone would just come up to me and say "Hey...I'm so sorry that things are the way they are. It's not right. Let's change it." Not to blame me or anyone else, but to acknowledge my hurt and work through it together.

Am I that unapproachable?

Karen tells me that she believes in me and I just have to rise up and claim that breakthrough. So I try. A month ago, I call two members up, a guy and a girl, and pour my heart out. I tell them about past actions that have excluded me, left me out, hurt me. These two in particular have been cliquish, even though we were all shared classes in uni. They both said that they want things to turn around, to start anew. I heave a sigh of relief and thankfulness.

The next Friday, cells are combined in church. 8.30pm, I'm standing alone in the lobby. I call one, and he said they're both on their way with her younger brother who's in another cell. They met up for dinner again without me. But it's ok, I'm glad to see them anyway. We sit down together for the first time in months, four in a row. The first cell member, the brother, me and the second cell member. Towards the last half an hour, he (or was it she? I don't remember) whips out his phone and punches the keypad, then puts it away. Two seconds later, she whips hers out. Taps the keypad, puts it back. His phone comes back out, tap-tap-tap, she whips hers out, notices my glance, hides the screen behind her handbag, and taps again. Back and forth they go, while I sit there and try to look as if it was all perfectly normal. As the alter call is being given, they both quickly say "Hey, we have to go now. Bye!" and leave me standing there alone.

What should I think?

I ask myself why. Why do I repeatedly subject myself to such an excruciating experience? Why do I keep facing these people over and over again? Why am I so stupidly hopeful that maybe, just maybe things will be different the next time round? Why do I keep trying?

It's because I want desperately to belong in my cell. I hate standing in the church lobby, knowing that I'm alienated, that I'm lonely, lost and there's no where to go. But it's hard to keep brushing off the feeling that I'm not welcomed any more, that they don't trust or want me. It gets harder and harder to stand up after each blow. I'm not brave enough to keep trying. I'm not brave enough to keep asking to be let in.

Tonight, we're having a farewell dinner for her before she flies off to the states. Liz asked if I'm going. I am. I console myself by saying that it's my secret farewell dinner before leaving cell. Of course, no one will pray over me for journey mercy and say nice things about me. Or apologise, for that matter.

Every organisation has its flaws, every institution has cracks through which people slip out off. I think I'm one of the causalities in the small group system.

Where do I go from here?

Land of the Merlion

I hate it when long silences like this creep up here. It's been too long and I no longer recognise this space. Anyway.

The best part of the last four days was the clarity in which I saw my own heart. And I think I've fallen in love. It may merely be with an idea, it may just be a form of escapism, but it's there. Unexpectedly.

A few cherished ideals I have long stood by have crumbled away. Ties that I thought will always be binding and indestructible have been falling off almost unnoticed. There are very few threads left holding on and, like a reptile shedding its too-tight skin, I want to slide to another place and let the wind blow the wispy form left behind away.