Kingdom fandom

Talking about last night's United concert, Fergs made the observation that teenagers naturally express fandom (which is an extension of their expression of identity), and if all they're exposed to are worship bands, they're going to express that fandom onto them.

I suppose some might say that it's better to adulate something Christian then not. But I'm not sure if I can be comfortable with the idea of translating expressions of adulation normally seen in the secular sphere to Christian artists and bands. You see, if worship bands are there to facilitate worship, then it's just contextually wrong to respond to worship music with fandom.

Oh well, about the concert last night. I think that the band and singers did a good job in negotiating the tricky balance of setting the atmosphere and staying out of the spotlight, and they let the crowd respond to it as they chose. So for me, somewhere in between the swarming, screaming, teeny-booper kids and long-suffering parents, I found my place and reason to be there.

Flickering

Your job should fit you, not you fit your job. Don't be afraid to fight for that.

If you don't know what you want to do, it's okay to take a year to walk slowly. It allows you to look around and within. Rushing too much means you miss seeing messages from your surroundings and from within yourself. You need those signs, and it's hard to hear these things when you're moving quickly.

I said these words last night to someone else and they seemed certain and true. In the harsh light of the day though, they seem to me like brave candles waiting to be puffed out by a cold wind.

My thoughts exactly

Today, I came across a wedding blog with the tagline "Planning a modern wedding in a world of pink flowers and poofy dresses."

I like that sentiment very much. I've heard it said before that after attending a few weddings, they start to all look the same and I'm beginning to agree. So. A vague idea I have floating in my head is to aim for a flowerless wedding.

Good start, yes?

Chocolate Brocade paper

So I self-loath quite a bit.

I find fault with stuff I make and there's no convincing otherwise that it is anything other than sub par. Just the other day I wrote a card out and hated my handwriting and the sentence construction so much, it never got sent.

It's rather paralysing, to put it mildly.


But yesterday night, I wrapped a gift and made a card and felt happy with the results. (Crooked edges, ignored!) I don't think I made any cards last year, but a very stimulating Tuesday evening in Papier and Ikea kick started the urge to create.

It's satisfying to feel like I've done something right. Here's to more of this satisfaction soon.

Birthday highlight

Bending over a paper napkin in Paddington's, intently sketching.

Observations from a week of RSD work

Three Macs have died while working on RSD, including the brand new one Jack picked up yesterday and then had to change (he didn't mention in his post, but the first one was brain dead when it came out of the box).

What does this mean? Either Mac is slipping or someone doesn't want this project to be finished.

*

Macs can draw pictures very well but they can't do math for nuts. All estimated task completion times seem random - they're that inaccurate.

I guess you can put it down to an artistic temperament. 

*

It's ironic to have bad Cantonese and bad Mandarin, but good French in a Malaysian film. The Hindi sounds believable as far as I can tell. Which isn't very far.

No more

Downward spiral. I'm out of words.

Blinded

"From behind him Madame emerged, small and wrinkled and fierce. She considered that she had created this man out of whole cloth, had thought him up, and she was sure that she could do a better job if she had to do it again. Only once or twice in her life had she ever understood all of him, but the part of him which she knew, she knew intricately and well. No little appetite or pain, no meanness in him escaped her; no thought or dream or longing in him ever reached her. And yet several times in her life she had seen the stars."

-John Steinbeck, The Moon is Down

Well I suppose that's a good enough arrangement.
Orbit (detail) by Jennifer Koshbin

Dont jump the gun

Sometimes, it's difficult to decide whether to hold your tongue or not, even though it isn't a fine line separating the two decisions, but a horrendous, gaping gulf.

I know one good rule of thumb is to refrain from offering unsolicited opinions. People aren't interested in what you think unless they actually ask you. I'm trying to hold to that. It's a hard discipline to maintain when the stakes are high.

At what cost should peace and respect be sold? How do you weigh that cost? On the flipside, honesty has its risks. Ill-timed or too much candidness can cause irreparable damage. I've learnt that the hard way before.

There's a point of no return, a point where "Speak now or forever hold your peace" is said. But to remain silent can be a damming enough indictment, right?


Orbit by Jennifer Koshbin

Bare legs

Today, I wore a knee length skirt to work. Wow. Big deal. No really, it is.

You see, it's been half a year since the last time I did so. Late last year, I developed a terrible eczema-like patch on my left ankle. It started out tiny, but over the months it steadily grew. I think it reached right round my leg three months ago. That rash also spread to other places - my outer thigh, left elbow, right shin. But my legs were the areas most affected.

The patches would itch, but only in the night when I went up to bed. It. Was. Excruciating. The only thing more excruciating than it was the pain that stayed after the itch was scratched away. No, I could not not scratch. At one point I was in constant pain.

Needless to say, I sought medical attention. I got tubes and tubes of steroids that were supposed to be so strong, a rock would shrivel up. In January a short term dose of oral steroids were prescribed. Sometimes it seemed to help and I'll begin to hope that it'll be over soon but that a relapse would happen. Every day I'll cover my legs and told myself to be patient, sometimes skin conditions need time to blow over.

Of course my family and boyfriend knew about it. They were concerned and supportive, and that made it more bearable at times. Yet, I didn't talk much about how disfigured and despairing and "cursed" I felt. Or how it was hard to sleep some nights because of the pain. It was still an experience that I had to go through alone.

A month and a half ago I went to a different doctor and he prescribed an antibiotic. Within two weeks, it cleared up. I'm still applying the cream to make sure the infection is completely gotten rid off, and the scars that developed will take a long time to completely fade away. But I'm not complaining at all. I am so so thankful that I do not have to endure that hell anymore, and promised myself that I will write about this the first day I show my legs again so that I remember to be thankful every time I put on a pair of shorts or skirt for a long, long time.

Farewell to Lucy

Lucky Lucy Diamond Jazz Poppy.

I drove her for nearly 5 years. Now I'm sentimental, in that I get attached to my inanimate possessions. I name them and sometimes talk to them and the thought of exchanging them for a brighter, better replacement makes me sad. Maybe I'm just resistant to change. But it was a necessary step to take, and I didn't mourn as much as I thought I would almost a month back when the hunt for another vehicle began. But that's probably because Lucy will be around for my mom and sis to use.

In fact, it was all a bit of a whirl - from dropping by the State car mart by on Sunday to take a look and then finding myself putting a $400 deposit down, fast forward to Friday and we're suddenly outside Menara Public Bank in KL getting the keys. Thinking about it makes me feel slightly bittersweet.

Dear girl, your legacy will live on in Poppy Ruby Ladybug Lucy.