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 我的歌声里 - 曲婉婷

没有一点点防备，也没有一丝顾虑
你就这样出现在我的世界里，
带给我惊喜，情不自已
可是你偏又这样，在我不知不觉中
悄悄的消失，从我的世界里，
没有音讯，剩下的只是回忆

还记得我们曾经，肩并肩一起走过，
那段繁华巷口尽管你我是陌生人，
是过路人，但彼此还是感觉到了对方的
一个眼神，一个心跳
一种意想不到的快乐，
好像是一场梦境，命中注定

你存在，我深深的脑海里，
我的梦里，我的心里，我的歌声里
你存在，我深深的脑海里，
我的梦里，我的心里，我的歌声里

世界之大为何我们相遇
难道是缘分难道是天意

"But you used to hate this song, I even got told off for listening to it!"

It's interesting how often, when you hear a tune many times, annoying repetitive becomes contagiously catchy, and unusual-almost-unpleasant vocals become interesting and unique.  How many times can you listen to and hum along to the lyrics, before you really hear the song?

But other times, annoying (even if tolerable) never ceases to be annoying. How can a song be so pervasive that everyone, from my primary aged sister, to the middle aged aunt and her Communist-party colleagues, to my eighty year old grandfather and all of his elderly morning exercise neighbours at the park, know and enthusiastically embrace it? What makes that ridiculous dance worthwhile being repeated everywhere - from school assemblies, to university balls, to public parks, to weddings and more?

Time, mysterious time

Time, mysterious time.
A year, six years
How long is long,
How short is short?
How do some months
Fly fleetingly, carelessly
Whilst it need not hurry;
And others halt,
Wait out. Waiting
In agonising slowness
For days to be marked.
How are these the same
Circles spun, passing
The same numbers
Twenty-four times?
Time, mysterious time
Ticking quietly, unseen
Labouring without rest
Patiently boring holes
One drip,
One drip, at a time.
A constant friend, a foe.
A healer, a murderer.

How many have you loved

Who, what, when, where, why. I would not have been impressed with this guy's smooth talk if I had asked the same question, "how many have you loved?"

I've sang it countless times in song lyrics, in English, in Chinese, and more. Wrote it out once, maybe twice, in an indirect, roundabout way. How far along a relationship do you first start to say "I love you", we discussed, in our lovely but not so productive group study session - which ended up to be a delicious feast of Korean fried chicken with pear salad, mango and grapes, jelly and flavoured seaweed, and lots of random chit chats. I can't remember ever having said those three words aloud, ever. Really?! That's so weird. 

Anyway, I thought about how I would answer that question, and whether what the guy in the short film said resonated with me. Did I love at the time; and even if I did, is it fair to retrospectively say that I did or did not love, based on my thoughts about what love means now.

What is love? Oh how it changes.

As a child love was the desk buddy you blamed for something that was your own fault, but still brought your homework books to your house when you left them at school. Or a classmate who twirled red and green pipe cleaners to create a perfectly shaped heart and sweetly handed it to you for Christmas - instead of the other boy who saw what the first boy had done, and made a wonky white and yellow imitation that barely resembled a heart. Love was a poorly written piece of poetry, left beside your scooter, which you tried hard to decipher because it was barely legible, but soon gave up and forgot about shortly after. Love, was the not very academic boy teased and hated by everyone in class, who had the foresight to bravely ask you to be his primary school graduation dance partner a whole half a year (no less!) in advance. Or for some, love was the cutest and most popular guy who expressed his interest.

In high school love was the boy who asked your mother for permission, before asking you out in person. Which was a refreshing change from randomly declarations of love from people who you never spoken to, who said you were beautiful, and declared their love from behind the screen of a computer. Love was the warm and fuzzy feeling that kept you awake after your first date, of watching a movie that neither of you paid much attention to. It was not caring what this or that person said about what he looked like, what his background was, or being together, despite the frownings by the nosy adults in our community who said - you are going to be distracted in your studies. Love was having a Valentine to bring you gifts and endure the teasing of your crazy girl friends. It was drawing a lovely blinking bear in front of a rainbow, childlishly playing footsies under the table, or letting someone hold your hand for the first time.

At the same time, love was not that best friend who awkwardly swapped seats to be seated next to you on a long international flight, then in the middle of the plane trip, abruptly held his hand up and declared that you should do the same so that you could, palm to palm, see how perfectly they fitted one another. Love was not the intensity of one depressed person paired with another sad person to create waves of negative emotions which would wash over from one to the other. Or him, having long DNMs (to borrow my friend's phrase) with other girls on long phone calls, or having other fights which would result in long silences on the phone whilst you felt the time pressure of trying to prepare for your piano exams, as well as high school finals.

Later on, love was being unfortunately paired with an annoying, arrogant jerk for school work, only to later become best friends with him. Love was catching each other's eye in class, then quickly looking away and feeling giddy inside. It was never exchanging words at school, but writing a million emails back and forth, every day, about every thing. Love was having a person to make you laugh after you had a fight with your parents, or listening to his sibling conflicts at home. Love was well, sort of nerdy. Getting through the final part of high school together, studying and racing to solve mathematic problems on practice exams, outdoing one another in assessments, seeing each other at the library every day during study week and pouring water on his head every time he took a drink at the water fountain. Or (get ready for more nerdiness) receiving clues via a message encoded in a series of matrices and colour codes. Love was the fun of changing your profile picture and screen names to be the same so that all your friends were confused. Or the awesome delight of receiving a creatively carved block of cheese, in the shape of a rat!

Love was being relentlessly pursued for years though you had laughed at him, offended him, when he first told you how he felt. Love made the high school formal magical, and made you dance happily until midnight, though your friends had left hours earlier. Love was saying goodbye for a year, waiting and hoping that the lyrics of (Guang Liang's) 童话 and 约定 would really come true. But fairytales are fairytales for a reason, ha ha. Love was going through many seasons thereafter as good friends, listening to each other's new love problems, but that would also end one day.

In a brand new city, love was the boy who shared his breakfast with you, and many meals thereafter. Love was filling an emptiness in one another, until the world seemed to only contain the two of you - only later do you realise how you each had neglected to invest in other friendships, interests and hobbies, to your detriment. Love was exploring the city, learning to do daily chores, and helping each other to get by with living away from home for the first time; vacuuming, laundry, dishes and all those mundane things in life. Love was not - having that closeness, then not acknowledging it by calling it, just friends.

Love was confiding secrets in one another, caring for one another, having someone to sit by you when you are delirious with fever. Love was staying overnight at the airport, so that he could pick you up early in the morning, and leaving you a lovely surprise in the fridge upon your return. Or the thoughtfulness of making a home-made drink out of green tea ice cream for you because you loved it so, and prettily completing the drink with bubble tea pearls and bright green mint leaves. Love was being taken to the highest mountain, or highest buildings in the city, looking out on a beautiful sunset, then being showered with multiple cakes, surprises, long road trips, and expensive gifts. Yet soon realising that you can have beautiful scenes and even beautiful times, but that doesn't always equate to a beautiful relationship. Love was a warm hug, but then seeing, how love was not a valid excuse for lust. Love was, sitting through church services with you every Sunday, and even taking notes; then perhaps realising, love was not about trying to meld two sets of values that were worlds apart. Never being able to agree on the fundamentals about what life and love was about - all that would do was make one another unhappy, or compromise on the essence of who we were.

As college students, love was about being crazy. Running around and literally chasing one another down the corridor, down the street. Having your headband and shoes stolen, and plotting revenge by throwing his shoe outside the window, or apple pieces into the principal's courtyard beneath his balcony. Hiding in the wardrobe and jumping out to scare the other person, smashing the table tennis ball at one another's faces, play fighting and choking one another. Then, love was about the quieter times too - talking until early hours of the morning, walking around the graveyard, learning from the Bible together, praying and asking God for help, and memorably, love was about honestly pointing out something wrong in your life. Love was crazily intoxicating, but it is not about being blind to how you hurt others in the process. Neither was love about taking a huge leap before you take a good long look, and think about what you were doing. Love, it seemed, was the long period of harmony at the begininning; until a year had passed and you saw that it was merely the sweetness that marked the first stage of a relationship.

Back in high school, I would show an interested guy this poem, which would basically ask whether he liked me or liked the notion and feeling of being in love. I would never have admitted it, but perhaps for many years, I too often confused the two. It seemed that anyone who came along the way was suitable enough as long as there was that buzz, or as long as they were totally, "my zing" (Hotel Transylvania, terrible movie). It took me a long time to realise that it's very inadequate not to be able to give specific reasons as to why you like someone - you have to look a bit harder, take a bit more time to work out who they are, whether there is something special, compatible, worthwhile pursuing, beyond the delusional feelings which would fade one day.

I agree with the guy on WongFu productions, how "the final" would contain bits of everything - the crazy times, the fun times, the mutual care, the hopes, learning together, getting through daily life, and more. But, with so many silly and strange ideas about love over the years, after seeing all that love is not, who would really want their final person to embody everything that they found in all their previous "loves"?? Looking back you wonder, how could I ever have thought this or that was true love. Then you wonder, would I mock myself with the same question if I looked back from the future, to where I am now?

What does the picture of love look like in my mind, now?

What if your blessings come through raindrops?

Blessings - Laura Story

We pray for blessings, we pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
And all the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things

We pray for wisdom, Your voice to hear
And we cry in anger when we cannot feel you near
We doubt your goodness, we doubt your love
As if each promise from Your Word is not enough
And all the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we'd have faith to believe

Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?

When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win, we know
That pain reminds this heart,
That this is not, this is not our home
It's not our home

What if my greatest disappointments,
Or the aching of this life,
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy.
What if trials of this life,
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are your mercies in disguise?

God, why?

I think it will take me a long time, if ever, to understand. But I see now why I loved this song and thought so often about what it meant, since I first heard it on the radio that frosty morning. What beautiful words of sorrow and hope, truth and clarity.  How did I not see it before - there is no true antidote in anyone, any distractions, anything, but God.

Life, not love

It's about life, not love.

It was and is my dad's favourite line. Probably mum's too. Not that I was ever a hopeless romantic. But as teenagers do, you half listen and half think, how cold is that? Maybe that's how things worked in your times, but... just a bit outdated! They never tire of repeating the phrase. Whether we are sitting back lazily on the bed in our new house, in a quiet evening stroll beside the sea-facing resort pool in Bali, or chugging along a bumpy train in China. More and more this year, I have been thinking about this phrase, weighing up its truth, its value.

A: We did all the corny things that couples do, just sitting and holding hands. Beach, mountains, sunsets. It was nice, like being on drugs, all the time.
B: Or having a mental illness.
A: Now we see couples and laugh at them, ha. Well, you can't have that forever, the feeling fades. Unless you start a new relationship.
B: I guess you can't do that indefinitely.
A: Yeah, and it will never be the same as the first one.
A: He used to really love me, doing all the sweet things. He says all the right things now but...
B: He could do more?

Despite that, they are getting married this year.

We too laugh at young couples. Couples making out on open grass, blissfully oblivious to the other users of the busy park. Those glued tightly next to one another, so much so that they bump one another awkwardly and walk down the street in zig zags. The two in an adjacent table looking intently into each other's eyes, holding hands across the table, with an endless flow of soft sweet words and laughter. I guess they weren't too interested in the meal itself. Meanwhile, I eat in silence - looking intently at my mouth-watering, spicy crispy pork ribs, picturing how delicious another bite would be. Friends celebrating their one month, one and a half month, two months, three months, one hundred day anniversaries; that's nice, I say, but what I'm really thinking is, with that plus Christmas, Valentine's Day, birthdays and more, how many presents and special meals can you manage to buy in a year?!

As fire in a fireplace changes from hungry flames to a quieter glow, changes in relationships are inevitable. Perhaps necessary, because reality can't be held off forever. How quickly the buzz which is often called "love" gives way to "life". Doing life. Living with each other's imperfections, and somehow reconciling a growing realisation of differences in personality, backgrounds, interests, communication styles, ways of thinking, ways of feeling, basically everything. In handling daily life with studies, work, careers, household chores, church, children, property, finances, and more.

Life not love.

Mum and dad, is that what you meant? But, in a way, marriage is about love, as much as it is about life. Love, not the intoxicating feeling, but a quieter, selfless love that lasts and sees through the challenges of life. Also, I'm not old or cynical enough to agree with you completely just  yet - a little craziness, not every day not even every week, but once in awhile, would be nice.


(Started drawing the original version of this whilst jotting down sermon notes!)

Dreams - part 1

Dreams. The dreams you have at night, and the dreams you have about your future. "I wouldn't dream of..." and "as if in a dream...". Nightmares, recurrent dreams, vivid dreams. The topic did happen to be the latest lesson available on BBC English. But, I didn't tell my class why I really chose that topic.

It was because I had a vivid dream which was lingering as I thought about what to teach that week. A vivid, also recurring, and not nightmarish, but certainly disturbing, dream. That's okay. They have reduced significantly both in intensity and frequency. Medical descriptions are pretty handy, for all sorts of things.

When I wake up, I always wonder what to "do" with the dream. Does it mean something, is it trying to tell me something, is it reflecting my inner psyche? Do I try to not think about it so that it will fade into oblivion? Take it as a prompt and act on it? I do a bit of both. Dreams are just dreams. But, they can and do have tangible effects, depending on what you do with them.

In this case, my dream and our brief exchange of words that followed, has led me to be disappointed, and colder.

Out of my collection of whacko friendships, or non friendships, you are the one who I never got angry at. I never portrayed you unfairly, or even written negatively about you at all, really. I never failed to correct nasty or uncalled for snide remarks against you. I never echoed your coldness, cynicism or sarcasm. To you, I've only communicated genuine, warm, offers of friendship, in various ways, over years and years and years. I didn't give up on you because long ago, we expressed a common sentiment that it's sad if we can't even be friends.

You've always been surprising. Surprising in how long you can stubbornly clutch onto a cup of poison. Surprising in your maturity and generosity at the least expected times. I had always hoped that time would heal sufficiently, to allow us to start over anew as friends. "Maybe we're a bit better now," you remarked not too long ago. Then you seem to change your mind depending on the season.

Thinking back, we can sum up our interactions by the same questions we've been asking  each other all these years. Why. Why shouldn't I hate you, ignore you. Why do I need to let go of anything, why shouldn't things remain the way it has been, why should I have anything to do with you. And my answer all along has been, because. You don't have to, but you could, and why not? You could never give an answer to that either.

Sometimes I think you're ungrateful. I come across your photos, and see that you're happy to be normal and happy with our mutual friends. Why should I be any different. When I see your confident smile I want to ask you, do you remember how you used to be awkwardly hiding your face or giving a blank look in photos, until I sweetly suggested to you to just smile? Look at your earlier photos if you don't believe me. I think about you graduating and wonder if you remember how I helped you with that year, how I encouraged and believed in you when you said you felt like a failure. Or how I cooked and washed up so that you could study. And did you forget how many assignments and essays I patiently edited for you? It's no wonder that I know the course material so well, though I've never done it myself. Of course it's your own work and achievement in the end, that you scored well and entered into a course which you've always wanted to do.

In the time that followed, what more could I have done to demonstrate my constant friendship, or how else could I have done better in giving you the space you required? Yes there are other areas in which I could have done much much better. And although I can't change what's passed and am unwilling to change where I am now, I don't see how I could apologise more sincerely, and try to understand your point of view any more than I have been trying to do for the past years. I tried to keep out of your way when I knew it would be unsettling for you to see me wandering down your corridor. When you don't appreciate my light hearted comments, I give you a serious answer. When you wish to speak in cryptic codes, I play along with you. When you are drawn back into reflecting, thinking, I haven't ignored you. Hey, why should you pick out the worst aspect of me, and remember me based on that particular season, never looking back, never looking ahead? Unfair, I say. I have always remembered the good in you. Although I am still learning to deal with the consequences of the scars you have left in my life, I have never held it against you, or hated you for what you did. You probably don't have enough insight to realise what they are, or what their effects are.

Which is to be expected. You were always selfish. This time you respond like this, because it is an inconvenient, busy time for you. To even give a civil answer. I hate to compare but am almost certain that I have better reason to be too busy to be friendly to you. Back then, every time exams came around, it was inconvenient for you to discuss or face anything. Often, you were so engrossed in your constant physical and emotional ailments, that you could not bring yourself to recognise, much less help me deal with mine. Always saying that your love was one sided, I think the truth is that you're too self pitying and ungrateful to even recognise love when it was in front of you.

Look, it doesn't what you were like before and hopefully you've matured since then. After all, I was taken aback when I calculated your age this year, ha. This dream, your response, my reflections, might just be what I need to wholeheartedly acknowledge God's wisdom, thank him for his grace in a time where I ignored him, thank him for where I am today, and move onto a new stage in this healing process.

Not so fantastic

I had hopeful thoughts. Instead of scribbling sadness and anger, for the first time in ages, I started to jot down some positive things, about our interactions. I thought you were learning, being supportive, patient, thoughtful. I thought this semester started well, and unlike the last, maybe it will even end well.

Maybe, there will be less of these days. But nothing has changed. The forever standing conflicts over communication haven't improved. We laugh about it, but it's really not very funny when you can't start a chat without starting a fight. Just masked when we are in the same place more often and not required to demonstrate that extra effort. It's not like you're short of time these days or doing something important that you can't actually be attentive. Just lazy. For the millionth time - when I share my concerns, I want to talk to an alive, thoughtful, empathetic, normal, human, being. Not a wall, not generic answers, not robotic replies. Out of sight out of mind aye? Good to know before next year.

I hate optimistic thinking, it sets you up to be disappointed.

A: What do you think happened when the Prince found Cinderella?
Little girl: Uh, they got married and lived in a castle?
A: And... lived unhappily ever after! *evil laugh*

Four o'clock

I thought today was an improvement.
I wanted to thank God.
But, tossing and turning in bed.
Thinking about waking up tomorrow.
Getting more and more agitated.
I suppose, no one can be expected to keep you company.
Not at 4am. So I sit here and talk, to myself.
Maybe double digits is a bad year,
I hate birth. Days. Not to be ungrateful to my family.
And the friends who wrote me thoughtful messages.
Or C, who always has a lovely word and card.
But they're distressing. Days.
I hoped for quiet, familiar, company.
Instead I dined and talked with a stranger.
A nice stranger doesn't take away the bitterness.
Really. It's been building up for longer, beyond that day.
M, the city of distant ghosts, cold faces.
A place I loved, or a bad and lonely place?
The cars. Deadly trucks. Angry cyclists knocking angrily.
The closer proximity, the heightened expectations.
The distateful mess. The fatigue. And a poisonous aftertaste.
Pointing. It's your fault. No it's your fault.
The inability to say a caring word. How sad.
Sadness is irritable. And sadness. Is isolating.
The episodes makes functioning. Rather difficult.
And sleep. Rather difficult too. Don't think DSM.
I thought there were old friends and new friends.
On good days there are. Opportunities to love.
But on bad days I see the popular, shunning the unpopular.
And lament that it happens at church. Of all places.
It could be seasonal. You know, summer and winter.
The lense needs a cleaning. Dark in darkness dwells.

Rare sighting

In a way, I was mourning and burying the dead all these years. But you are actually alive. I know because I caught a brief glimpse of that ghost after almost three years. Almost like the dream where I saw you through the window of an apartment.

It didn't make me freeze, or cry, at least not at the time. And amazingly it made me walk straight past for the sake of not stirring the brewing bubbling pot. I would have never have pictured that to be my response. Certainly I never responded like that in those recurrent dreams.

I've labelled you these years, said you're emo and weird. But no matter what I felt or what anyone said, I never presented a one sided picture - that is, I've often spoken about both the beautiful and the ugly, spoken about the stupid things you did, and the stupid things I did. In these years I never hated you or had any malicious thoughts. In fact, though I'm a pseudo stranger, I probably have more understanding and compassion of where you're coming from than most. And I guess, that's only natural after what was shared. Ha, and especially able to empathise, when history repeats itself - in that, you are partially right.

I wished so, so, so much that animosity would be replaced by healing and a normal friendship. I haven't completely given up. But with this, I've learnt to be more patient than I could ever have imagined myself to be.

Finally I want to address the friends. All that gossip. Does it make you feel special having knowledge about the secret lives of others? But hey, you know what, it's not a secret. I dare you to ask me to my face, and I'll tell you the story from beginning to end. There's nothing about it that I'm ashamed of - though that's not to say there's nothing in it that I don't regret.

Back from the grave

This is supposed to be dead and buried. But no, somehow it manages to magically crawl and leap through the dirt, up out of the grave, into broad daylight.

It troubles my mind, it troubles your mind, and yours, and yours. Why do we need to go through this (history repeats itself is your explanation?), what are you trying to achieve with your weird comments, your hate is consuming and you need to deal with it for your own health. And you, I'm most troubled, disappointed about you. Why are you:

1. Careless about how you feel, how you make others feel, how you hurt relationships.
2. Selfish about what benefits you, what is convenient for you, and therefore unwilling to make changes.
3. Impulsive and just plain sneaky by invading people's privacy.
4. Stupid. Not intentional, but foolish. Damage doesn't need to be intentional. I've warned you so many times.
5. Stubborn. Too stubborn to listen.

Mysterious ways

At least one puzzle has been decoded. I had no idea what you were talking about. Now your cryptic comments still play over in my head. I'm not sure it's something you see and hear, or if it's just what you see through lenses of hate. Out of his hate he says it's your sly schemes, but I'm more inclined to believe you mean well. Of course a friend's word weighs more than yours, but you've planted a seed of doubt and fueled my already heightened sensitivity to such issues. I'm not sure whether to believe your "prophecy" or not. Out of spite I would say no, that's just how you want it to be, that would never happen. But honestly, who knows.

Then there is the mystery that surrounds my friends. It's interesting that I can spend a lot of time with these friends, do lots of activities together, even considering them to be some of my closest friends here. Yet they can give little or no clues at all to what they're thinking, what they think of our friendship. That is, the conversation rarely moves from what is happening, to how they feel day to day. I talk a lot and share a lot with anyone who I have a genuine interest to talk to, and (I can imagine but) can't understand why there are people who wouldn't. In fact it even offends me a little because I'm showing you who I am because I can be bothered, and I'm trying to learn who you are because I care. But you don't want me to know. My guess is that some people are selectively expressive, others are too polite to cause rifts with their opinions, or find it awkward to talk "deep". The mysterious friends, maybe you can enlighten me on your ways sometime.

For a moment

Over recent times, as I reflect on my friendships both pre uni and since uni, I've found them to be disappointing. There are good moments, good memories, and some friends are great for the period of time that they are friends, but in most, the longevity factor is just not there. Friends are fickle with the times. There is not much to be expected from them.

That thought led me to think about how relationships may in fact be necessary at some stage of your life, where you may have more depth, and stability. But love is brief, and good and perfect times are brief. I guess there is nothing to be disappointed about because that is how the relationship between two imperfect people would be. But I am disappointed. And can't imagine how any relationship can end well (or should I say, continue well).

Sure, maybe tomorrow will be a new day and an end to the bitterness. But there's always tonight when the emotional disruption halts or retards any physical or mental tasks, when peace is disrupted, when you go to bed with question marks and a heaviness that doesn't help with sleep.

Like death

I'm not sure I can do it ever again. I've known nothing worse than its sharp grief and lingering consequences. I hope and pray that I never have to know it again, but maybe, just maybe, I might face it once more. The abrupt cutting off gives a taste similar to what death would bring. And it is metaphorically a death, an unbridgeable chasm. But perhaps it's worse than death because it comes through conscious choice, and is stained by your own errors.

And if it does happen I would need plenty, plenty, plenty of therapy.

Flames and burning coal

Once upon a time the highs and lows came in abundance. The excitement of getting to know each other, the conversations that drag late into the night, having (or perceiving to have) so much in common, the fluttering heart and butterflies when you "accidentally" meet each other in the corridor, the ecstasy of just holding hands, and the purring contentment of simply being near the other person. On the other hand there were the tears of parting, even for a ridiculously short period of time, the uncertainty of what he really thinks, and the endless angst of waiting for messages or phone calls. The first flames, infatuations, are deceptive, you're adamant that the person is so perfect when you've only known them for a few days. How hilarious. (It's ok, I'm mocking myself too.)

Familiarity changes relationships - from sweet words to hurtful arguments, admiration to contempt. Fine, let's not be cynical, there are good changes too. The rollercoaster ride of romance turns into a valuable friendship, someone with a deep understanding of your thoughts, feelings, tone and moods.

A parallel to my relationship to God. The first time I started understanding the words of the Bible, saw depth in the layers of meaning, listened to God's words spoken and realised how true! how relevant to everyday life! how wise! - do you know, that was as refreshing, as fascinating as the start of a new relationship. Once in awhile I really saw God's words as his "love letter" to us. The first experiences of God's presence in times of turmoil, opening my eyes to God's grace when I've sinned, experiencing changes in my character that even my family were surprised to see - that left such a deep, moving impression on my spirit.

Yet now, I'm finding the enthusiasm harder to come by. Hate to say it (because it sounds disgustingly arrogant) but sometimes I read and think, well I've only read about the Christmas story, the account of the crucifixion, the letter to the to the Corinthian church like a million zillion times. What can I possibly learn. Then, when I think about which book of the Bible to spend my reading time on I sometimes can't help think - if only there were new books in the Bible I haven't read before, that would be so much more exciting.

I've always loved church and fellowship, and couldn't understand why some Christians avoid it when loving, learning, and serving together with fellow believers is clearly how God wants his family to live. And not only that, meaningful fellowship is such a blessing. Yet this week I thought, I am so tired I don't want to go to church. Why do I have to go. These months I often have problems listening with my heart in sermons because I sigh and think I know this passage well, I've heard the concepts and teachings before. (But yes, as long as I haven't put everything perfectly into practice, I would do well to listen attentively.) Then when I went to fellowship the other day prayer made me groan inside "oh no, why is this so long, boring and repetitive."

What did Jesus say to churches who endured life threatening persecution but lost their "first love"?

You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary. Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken the love you had at first. - Revelations 2:3-4

I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! - Revelations 3:15

But I know (or doubt sometimes, but I still believe more than I doubt) you are God, you are real, your words have power. I know you give me purpose, joy, mental stability. It troubles me deeply to be lethargic towards something that is my passion, but enthusiastic or not I will try to honour my commitment to you, seeking you as you have sought me.

"We shouldn't expect a relationship with God to remain on a constant plane all the time. Not long ago I celebrated my sixty-fifth wedding anniversary. Believe me, when you've been married that long, you don't stay on a plane of ecstasy all the time. Romance starts as a blazing bonfire - you know, 'You light up my life.' After a few decades it settles into something more like a heap of glowing coals. Sure, some of the heat dissipates, but coals are good, too; you can roast marshmallows, or warm your feet. A different level of companionship opens up." - Vernon, in Prayer by Philip Yancy

Indeed, in front of the fireplace is a good place to start contemplating about the changing flames in a relationship.

In the name of love

It's amazing how love can be twisted. It's amazing how twisted lust is.

In the name of love, David, the man after God's own heart, committed his greatest sin. He found Bathsheba beautiful, slept with her, and she became pregnant. David tried to cover what he had done by calling Bathsheba's husband back from war, and suggesting he should go home to lie with his wife. When that plan failed, David purposely sent him to the frontline of the battle, so that he would be killed. Then he took Bathsheba and married her. (2 Samuel chapter 11)

David's son Amnon fell in love with his beautiful half sister Tamar. He became "frustrated to the point of illness" that "she was a virgin, and it seemed impossible for him to do anything to her." He pretended to be ill and tricked her to come to him, then grabbed her against her will and slept with her. He then hated her with intense hatred, he hated her more than he had loved her. (2 Samuel chapter 13)

It takes a long and gradual process to see love for what it should be. The world suggests love is about an uncontrollable passion, a thirsting desire and overwhelming emotion. Do we admire a love so great that it will scheme and kill for love without consideration for anyone else? What about a boy and girl who love at first site and can't help but physically express their passion for each other? Unconsciously, are we pleased to see the married woman run away and be reunited with her childhood love? Are these not the heros and heroines we admire in movies, TV dramas and novels? Are these not the lives of our Shakespearean characters Romeo and Juliet, Othello and Desdemona?

In the name of love we sin and accept sin. But feelings and passions should be under the guidance of unselfishness, perserverance, self control and ultimately, holiness. Is that not what distinguishes love and lust?

Love: two choices

If you had two choices, would you rather:

1. A passionate, all consuming love like Heathcliff's; dramatic, with times of sweetness, times of bitterness and haunting pain.

OR

2. A selfless, good and constant love, like that of Mr Linton.

Wuthering Heights was one of those books that would sit on my bookshelf for years. I would attempt to read it from time to time, but never made it past the first page. But actually, it was a fascinating and engrossing story. Classics are classics for a reason.

On a side note, why are novels considered academic, and a more wholesome form of entertainment than say, movies and magazines? In the days before television, were these books, full of scandals and drama, not equivalent to today's soap operas?

Entropy - 1

The most vibrant petal falls, decays.
The sturdiest building collapses.
Carefully carved candles are set ablaze.
Winter always overcomes summer.

The darkest hair turns white.
The smoothest skin scars.
The liveliest baby sleeps in a coffin.

Even the closest friends we forget.
Memory becomes a blurred silhouette.

From dust we came, to dust we return.

Thoughts triggered by the first line - where I saw these bright red petals scattered onto the muddy ground underneath the tree from which it grew.

The paradox

Do we carelessly toss what we have,
Then lament for what has been lost?

Only in turmoil is peace so dearly cherished,
And amongst tears that laughter so precious.

Does the same peace become monotony,
To which we forget to be grateful for?

Bound as brothers in storm; calamity!
Then becoming strangers in silence.

Art

Once upon a time an artist completed a painting. He was mesmerised, delighted! A scene rich in harmonious colours, with exquisite details, with life. (The rainforest. Grass green, dark green, dull green, crisp green. Fine rays of sunshine shy through the rustling leaves. A fresh scent lingers, the dampness seeps through the canvas, the birds are gliding out of the page...)

He continued to paint. But none matched the one he had completed. His skills and techniques were unchanged, but in light of his masterpiece, they were mere shadows, without colour, without magic. After numerous failed attempts, the joy of art was lost to him.

The artist was contented with his works before the painting changed him. If by some power you could decide, would you have let him create this masterpiece?

Flickering flames

In a fireplace. The solid, thick log is tended to for a long time before it's heated enough to catch fire. Once it alights, it burns slowly and steadily, radiating a warmth and a dim orange light within the room. Balls of newspaper are thrown in. In contrast, they instantly produce a wild and brilliant flame that is intensely hot. As this flame rapidly dies, the log continues burn and provide heat.

Last year at college, I had the opportunity to play with fire at a fireplace for the first time. I didn't understand why we used the logs instead of bits of tree branches, recycled cardboard, or just the newspapers from each morning. Well, now I do.