I don't wanna go! I don't wanna go! You can't make me!!

Yeah right.

I'm going for cell now without the tube, and it's not because I have to as the cell leader. As if I'm even able or allowed to do something as low as that-going for the sake of going. Thus ends my attempt at being a hardened gangsta rebel. Before Friday night! I shouldn’t have gone for prayer meet last night. Such a self-defeating move. So much for tubing, eh? This right-winger is back to square one again.

So now I've barely put up a fight before running straight back into the fold, bleating like a lamb with its tail on fire with its tongue hanging out. At this rate, nobody’s going to take me seriously the next time I say I want to quit. Which should happen around the end of the year, judging from past patterns. But that's a pattern I have to break. Burning out after every major event. So it's probably good not to take me seriously anyway.

Flippant tone aside, it’s good to know that I am taken seriously by the leadership. I'm thankful that they're sensitive and know how to persist in asking "What's wrong?", they know how to hear you out without judging and then they actually help you fix it up without making you feel worse.

The truth hurts, but it also prevails. It really does.

Tubin' hedgie hides its wee noisicle!

So I’ve been dubbed the right-winger/model leader, both in the Squad and WK GT circle. Fergus (there, that’s your honorary mention) was even inspired do his quiet time on Monday night after dinner. Well, somebody has to be it. But it’s awkward at times.

Probably because I know that deep down I don’t have it all together, especially after the way things have unfolded over the weekend. I’m not really sure why I seem to appear more self-assured or spiritually grounded than I actually feel. Maybe it’s the regular attendance for prayer meetings and going on time for services. But really, it looks good but doesn’t account for very much on its own.

What ever it is, these aren’t comfortable issues to dwell on. It leads to all sorts of horrid suspicions of being a fake, putting up a front or other similarly dishonest means. Besides that, accusations hurt. Being told I can’t take constructive feedback hurts too, especially as it’s more than likely true. Hence, this right-winger would very much rather tube like a hedgie till Saturday. Ahh....

I'm slow

It takes me forever to pour my thoughts out into the concrete form of a blog post. Having two co-workers-slash-bloggers who are very prolific (of late anyway) seems to make it worse. I shouldn’t be comparing, but I am.

Fergus' last post and Roger's last and second last post. Click on the left pic to see my honarary mention!

Man, I hate the way the two of you can come in at 8am/stop chatting on gtalk for a while (respectively) and poof! 593/466 words (respectively-yes, I counted, heh) on what you think/feel/are experiencing/plan to do/wish would happen comes right out.

"Saran and I don't cook"

Roger: finally reached 100 posts. hahahhaa. after sifting out all the drafts
athalia: cool. you just posted?
Roger: much slower than you leh
athalia: not that much slower, I'm only at 101. I saw your 21 question and answer post. was that your 100th?
Roger: rushed through that. no that was 99
athalia: cool. I'll check your blog now then
Roger: rushed through it coz i had to pick sarah up for the friday

easter play

athalia: I hope your 100th post isn't something along the lines of 'this is my 100th post. TADA!!' hehhe
Roger: it is, very much so
athalia: bah. WOI!!!!!! GOT TYPO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Roger: really? haha. i'm tired today lar
athalia: FASTER GO CORRECT IT BEFORE 'SARAN' SEES IT LEEEERRH. you habis otherwise. 'Saran' hahahahahhaha 'Saran and I don't cook'
Roger: no lar. something wrong with the system. its correct
athalia: whew for you then. yeah, I refreshed the page and it's ok. but that was funny for 10 seconds. hehehhe
Roger: just joking i corrected it. hahaha
athalia: IDIOT
Roger: haaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahhaa
athalia: you're so dead. I'm posting this conversation up.
Roger: copy fergus eh?
athalia: YES

Looking towards Easter

Home by Dkim

"For it is not physical solitude that actually separates one from other men, not physical isolation, but spiritual isolation. It is not the desert island nor the stony wilderness that cuts you from the people you love. It is the wilderness in the mind, the desert wastes in the heart through which one wanders lost and a stranger. When one is a stranger to oneself then one is estranged from others too. If one is out of touch with oneself, then one cannot touch others."

Anne Morrow Lindbergh

You promised me

that my time of wandering around in the wilderness will come to an end. You promised me that I will enter the promised Land, and leave the barrenness and dryness and dust and despair. You promised me that barrenness will turn into fruitfulness. That it will be a land flowing with milk and honey and that my labour will not be in vain. You promised me that You are mindful of me and You care for my needs.

Keep Your Word Please.

It seems that everyone around has secret timelines, hidden agendas and plans that they mask. In church, at work, and at home. Walking through this fog of impermanence and impenetrability…drags me down. More and more, I’m tempted to withdraw and stop trying to feel. It’s becoming an overwhelming struggle to bare your soul and then realise that nobody will be there for you when you need them to be. I’m tired of people who are either unwilling, unable or both unwilling and unable to strive beyond themselves.

It is that additional aching, surging effort that makes the difference between integrity and falseness, both artistically and relationally. Who sees that anymore? You see, meaningful connections are harder to form than we realise. Probably because when it actually happens, it feels so natural and effortless. So much so that we think that “This is the way it happens and should happen! How nice!!” And we never pause to marvel that so many things could have gone wrong and prevented that connection from forming, but somehow, the combination of factors fell into place this time round. And a miracle took place.

I need a miracle now.

Yesterday evening

I drove down a long straight road with open plains on either side. The dark shrubs and waist high grass were dancing in the wind against the wide canvas of the sky. Unobstructed by buildings, it was a vibrant battleground of colours that bled and blended into each other. Not one of those soft, gentle and peaceful sunsets. Yet, it was peaceful. And violent and mysterious all at the same time.

The roads dipped rather steeply down a hill. From the top, you can see the blocks of a commercial square, a sprawling hypermart and endless cars moving along the roads down below. I followed the long straight back down into the encompassing embrace of warm electric lights and civilisation. Leaving behind an unknowning presence and that plain where the mysteries of the universe were slowly playing out.

The Promise

It just occurred to me some days ago that

sometimes, pain can be a form of purification. Sanctification.
And somehow, understanding that makes having to understand the pain much more insignificant now.


"You are no longer a child, Reuven, . . .It is almost possible to see the way your mind is growing. And your heart, too. . . .So listen to what I am going to tell you. . . .Human beings do not live forever, Reuven. We live less than the time it takes to blink an eye, if we measure our lives against eternity. So it may be asked what value is there to a human life. There is so much pain in the world. What does it mean to have to suffer so much if our lives are nothing more than the blink of an eye?. . .

I learned a long time ago, Reuven, that a blink of an eye in itself is nothing. But the eye that blinks, that is something. A span of life is nothing. But the man who lives the span, he is something. He can fill that tiny span with meaning, so its quality is immeasurable though its quantity may be insignificant. Do you understand what I am saying? A man must fill his life with meaning, meaning is not automatically given to life. It is hard work to fill one's life with meaning. That I do not think you understand yet. A life filled with meaning is worthy of rest. I want to be worthy of rest when I am no longer here. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"My father himself never talked to me, except when we studied together. He taught me with silence. He taught me to look into myself, to find my own strength, to walk around inside myself in company with my soul. . . . One learns of the pain of others by suffering one's own pain, he would say, by turning inside oneself, by finding one's own soul. And it is important to know of pain, he said. It destroys our self-pride, our arrogance, our indifference toward others. It makes us aware of how frail and tiny we are and of how much we must depend upon the Master of the Universe. . . .Reuven, I did not want my Daniel to become like my brother, may he rest in peace. Better I should have had no son at all than to have a brilliant son who had no soul. . . . And I had to make certain his soul would be the soul of a tzaddik no matter what he did with his life."

Exerpts taken from The Chosen.

I've received my Promise. I really should go buy The Promise and read it now.