Returning to the basics

Teaching a teenager is a big challenge.

Today, LQ (a 13-yo boy whom I am giving tuition to) asked me, "What's the meaning of "Siren"?"

"Oh. Siren? Siren is a beautiful but daaannnngeroooous woman." I said.

Why does a 13 yo boy need to know the word Siren? Funny school system. I don't think he would recognise a Siren if he sees one. What is the point of learning that word at his age?

"Isn't it a warning device?" LQ asked, checking his digital dictionary.

"Oh....yes. It also means that."

yes, dear ms kee. What's on your mind? Has age erode your capability of viewing things simply. Have you forgotten that Siren is also that yellow flashy thingy usually seen on an ambulance. You are such an idiot!

"Ok. Make a sentence with the word 'pretext'." I asked, after explaining the word pretext to him, which came up in an exam paper.

"Don't know," LQ said. "This word is too difficult."

"Let's do it together then. You know that pretext is something you used to conceal your real intention, right? Let's say there was this guy who wanted to ask a girl out to get to know her but he didn't want to let her know that. So, he made up an excuse that he needed her help at an old folk's home." I said and watched LQ looked at me in bewilderment.

"The sentence structure is very simple: Subject + action + on the pretext of/that + "the excuse" + but + "the real intention." Simple right? Use this template and you can't go wrong. Let's try: He asked her to meet him for coffee on the pretext of discussing with her........." I let my voice trailed off because LQ looked even more lost than before. His intelligent eyes which usually sparkle had already dimmed to a dullness.

Ok. Why did I use that example? From life experience I guess. D, you are so stupid! LQ can't relate to that. He is a 13 yo boy. He thinks about computer games and not how to ask a girl out under a pretext.

"This topic is too difficult. This word is too difficult." LQ said, shaking his head.

yes, it is too difficult for him. How can he as a 13 yo boy understand the complexities of adult human behaviour? There is no need to use the word pretext at his age because they don't do things that way. Only us, the insecure adults would do things or say things under a pretext.

Sigh.....I can't teach him. Life has ruined me. I can't return to the basics.

Substance abused

I had a thought and I went with it. I wanted to have a glass of Bombay Sapphire and tonic. So I opened my cupboard and took out the opened bottle of Bombay Sapphire. I searched my fridge but I couldn’t find any tonic water. I sighed and took out instead a bottle of Hoegarden which had been chilling in there for months.

If I were a guy, I would be into alcohol, fast cars and women. But I am not a guy. So when I am weak, I would drink a little more. When I am stressed, I would smoke a pack. I am probably the most unchristian Christian. Bah! I could wave off criticisms because I am individualistic. I care about what others think of me but I also can block them out fairly easily.

But I can’t, isn’t it? I don’t only represent myself. I am part of a royal priesthood. I have a duty to uphold. My actions will stumble others if I don’t choose rightly.

Reading Neonangel’s entry Bent but not Broken has my conscience pricked and me, being weak, turn to my Hoegarden to drown that nagging voice. And where are my ciggies? Ah! I have quit for a while. I am useless!

So I will lose my faith through despair? Then D, just pray harder and don’t let yourself slip, don’t let your faith slip. As far as you want to love that guy, you can’t because you are representing God.

I don’t know what Neonangel is struggling with or what life choices she has made to put her in that uncomfortable position. Whether it is similar to my issues, it doesn’t really matter. All of us have hard choices to make. They are equally painful.

The duty to rightly represent that royal priesthood is far more important than satisfying our selfish desires, to relieve ourselves of that pain because we can’t cope and have turned to despair. And what despair? I have prayers. I can turn to Him.

“There is a Truth in the world and it takes the choices of ordinary men and women to preserve it.” Neonangel wrote.

Our choices are not just about us. I love my Father. I know He is concerned about the millions out there and He needs me to make the right choices because He needs them to make the right choices. He needs me to be his agent to safeguard the salvation of the millions out there and their lives, not just to preserve my own salvation and my life.

I have been given the freedom of choice so that I can choose willingly to believe in Him, and then to choose willingly to live according to His ways.

I have abused my freedom of choice.

And neonangel have said it more elegantly than I have. So go read her entry, I beg. Don't let my iniquity mislead you.

And so she wrote, ".......the world has enough of people like that, inside and outside the church. If I add to that, I am just propagating the very culture that I wish to stop."

I choose Love

An email came in from a friend:

Dear Ms Kee

I'd say from the sound of your recent posts you aren't doing so good - and wow - even the title of the blog's changed. And all this in the morning before 10 am.

You can't say that it's just catharsis, one aspect of you, that's all - sorry, I won't buy that.

Let me make this very clear to you. Stop whining and making my Father look bad.

NOWHERE in the Bible does God say you must not marry a non-believer. And I take the Bible as the handbook to life.

In the Old Testament, God did express dismay at how the Israelites intermarried with the women of other tribes because they sometimes also took the religions of their wives. In a few cases, He actually asked that entire tribes be exterminated - genocide. Or 'ethnic cleansing' if you like.

I can't imagine having to obey an order like that - whether it comes from God or not. But I think His meaning is very clear. HE must come first, not any other god or any other god in the form of a spouse. Go check your commandments. I believe that's one of the big ones.

But you know, you could lose your religion just as easily through despair and the surrender of a very decent human being simply because he isn't what we call 'a believer'. How can you say he is not good enough to be your husband when God thought he was good enough to send his Son for?

In the New Testament, Paul does say that one should not be unequally yoked to a non-believer. That's sensible advice. As sensible as also saying that one can probably serve God with less to worry about if one were single. That's Paul's well-intended advice (and I agree with it). That's all. It is NOT a law or even a rule. But we have made it so.

Lots of people have made a big deal of this. It's part of the way the 'purity' of an in-group is maintained - and the control of some pastor who thinks he is God. You think Catholics are not Christian. How stupid. How pathetic. How unChristian. How denominational. We will have an awful lot to answer for when we face judgement - and it's not about stupid things like sex before marriage, taking drugs or even being gay.

Looking at your situation right now, I'd say you're more likely to keep the faith if you give this man the love he so clearly deserves (I trust your judgement on this). You will be strengthened because you will KNOW that you need God's help to stay true to God. You will need to pray - because only God can touch a man's heart - and God often does this through the good offices of a Proverbs 31 type woman.

So go - be a godly woman - and be godly with this very good man. I know that we've been advised not to carry out opposite-gender proselytization and this is probably correct in most situations. But this is a person you know already, as a person, not someone you approached on the street or who responded to altar call. This is a person you know personally, whom you obviously love deeply.

And you would leave his salvation to chance? Of course, his salvation is important to God, but God leaves us, His agents, to carry out His plans. And who better than the person who loves him most, after God?

Denise, follow you heart. Go love this wonderful man, but let your first love's Spirit guide you in this. And since God gives all of us the power of choice, you have the power now to help this man see the power of God's grace and love - and choose God for himself, knowing that he has a wonderful, godly woman by his side in this life's walk.


My reply:

Thank you for this.

No, I am not doing well. Purification cannot be done through painting or writing or ranting or screaming. These are just temporary release. They ease your pain for a while. But the root of the problem is still there. Those who are in pain are still in pain, they can never be happy, unless they find a treatment. In many cases, treatment can only be found if they know the cause. Your email has pointed me to the cause.

I ranted, I whined and I wrote depressive stuff on my blog. I was hoping for a catharsis. But it didn’t occur. “Wearing out” is my tantrum to our Father, your Father, his Father My tantrum: if life is this bad, take it back, please. I don’t care for it.

Your email brought some things to lights. I know I am unhappy with my situation. I just wasn’t sure what it was. Lots of things are going right, going well. I can count my blessings and the list is longer than the list of rock bands that I like.

I am not sure how you caught that. It’s probably your gift and a wonderful gift. You use it wisely.

I obeyed the “equally yoked” advice that Paul gave because it is a better path. I reckon the main function of a Christian is to bring the gospel to others and to bring salvation to others. So I centre my life choices round it. If I were with a godly man, we could do so many things to fulfill that function - raise our kids to have the right values and open our home to others for fellowship.

Every church has a dark side. Churches are run by imperfect people. Then the imperfect people attending the churches apply God’s words in their imperfect ways.

Well intended are my choices and my actions. But I am feeling pain, resentment and bitterness.

My friend said, “In relationships, we sacrifice for each other. But if we do it grudgingly, it is well, not a sacrifice.”

To follow that path or Paul’s advice, I had to make a sacrifice. I don’t like it. I am holding a grudge without realizing it and I have been letting it breed. It turns me into a monster.

I did more than writing depressing stuff on my blog. I have been viewing “dating Christian guys” as a chore I have to do, like a punishment that I have to bear. I do it grudgingly. I do it as if my fate is doomed, as if my chance at happiness is ruined. I have to date these or those Christian guys, whether I like it or not, because Paul advised so.

That is why I am not praying for a right Christian guy to cross my path because deep down inside I already think of him as someone who is coming to punish me. Ahead of me, I see a loveless marriage with a Christian guy, I see times when I have to grit my teeth to submit to him.

I can present a great theory of why we should all date Christian girls/guys. I can write a paper on it.

I put myself through quite terrible times; justifying, reading tons of biblical dating books, reference books.

I fully appreciate the benefits I would get walking on higher ground - marrying a Christian man. But I am not quite happy there. Because I am unhappy, I couldn’t fulfill the main function of being Christian. It defeats my initial motivation to follow that advice, i.e., to be godly. I can’t show how good my God is to the pre-believers, I can’t show them love being the way I am. If I persist, like what you said, I may even lose my faith.

The choice has been made. If there is a chance for me to choose again, I will choose otherwise. Right now, I can only ask God to help me deal with this resentment so that I can love others again instead of dwelling in my so called “injustice.”

My situation will turn around because He is who answers prayers.

My situation can now take a positive turn because of your email. I am very grateful for that. There is also an important lesson that I learn from your email and from this whole episode.

The bible is a handbook. The application of its words is very tricky and very hard. What I realized I did wrong is in trying to follow bible, I have forgotten to be loving and forgiving. I have been hard and judgmental. I have been unsympathetic towards others. Loving others is more important than everything else, I realise, now at a deeper level. Love is the theme of the bible, the reason for Jesus Christ’s death. To love others is more important than following something that erodes one’s capacity to love.

And yes, you are right. We have turned what Paul intended as an advice into a rule and our commandment. I have made myself miserable following it and others miserable through my judgment.

And yes, he is worthy of my love, just like everyone else.

If I were to choose now, I would choose to love him. I just need to work a lot harder. I need to pray a lot harder for him to be saved. It is a lot easier going out with a Christian man. But if God can sacrifice His son for him, what is that I can’t go through for him to be saved? I always have Him to lean on.

For now, what's done is done. I need to just work on my resentment and my bitterness through His help.

For now, I need to work on not being self-righteous and judgmental. I would be kind to others the way you have been to me, through His help.

His n Hers

What I fear most about breakups is that I would never get my CDs back.

I didn't get back my CDs - many of them. I replaced some but some I can't replace.

I bought Suede's Coming Up twice. I lost the first Cd in one breakup, and I lost the other one in another breakup.

I replaced most of my Pulp's CDs except a few because Pulp's important to me. Those few, I can't seem to find. From then on, I never bring those CDs to anywhere, especially to his place (whoever I was with).

Many of the CDs that I didn't get back are still not replaced. Some I have forgotten that I used to own them.

You would probably say, "CDs? That would be the last thing on my mind."

Precisely. That was the last thing on my mind. That's why I never got them back.

When we broke up, I ran and he stayed. The CDs also stayed. With him.

If I were to go back to his place and to his car, and go through his stacks of CDs, and asked him while picking up the CDs one by one, "Can I have this back?"

He would say, "yes, take them."

He would bury his head in his hands on his couch.

He would cry. I would cry.

So I never got them back.

So, a big thank you to Annoymous who posted a comment in my last blog entry on Mansun. I went to the website and bought Legacy and I also bought Pulp's His n Hers.

Mansun - the outsider band

"We would have to import from Japan, mdm. It will cost 57 dollars."

"What? 57 for an EP? EP?" I repeated several times. The poor HMV guy blinked a few times.

"Yes, mdm. But no guarantee we will receive what we order."

"huh? what do you mean?"

"we have never ordered it before. sometimes the CD never come."

Sigh.........

"No more UK version?"

"No more, mdm. Only Japanese version."

I was trying to get a copy of Legacy EP by Mansun. The band which has been easing the souls of loners like me.

"It was an 'outsider' thing. The kind of 'outsider thing' that has lost souls into the dark labyrinths of obssession throughout the decades....

It was that defiant radiation-burst of savage individualism that often defines a band as a 'cult' and its fans as 'devotees'. The kind of a "outsider thing" that gives the misfits some place they can fit......

But even alongside rock's length parade of eccentrics and non-conformists. Mansun stood out a mile. Mansun - poor Mansun, doomed to be crushed beneath the stampede of their own inventiveness - were the most 'outsider' band on earth......

.....but they offered a sinister, Tim Burton-esque warping of the fabric of rock that seemed irresistible when all around were suggesting we roll with it, do the white line and feel aaaaalright.

So the poets, the loners and the dreamers flocked to Mansun for catharsis and companionship and Mansun repaid them with their own strange devotion."

Now now, where can I get the Legacy EP? From UK?

Ah yes! I know. Didn't someone before going to UK say that I can get him to get me anything I want from there? heh heh. If he can find that EP for me, I will marry him, believer or not! What would that make me? Esau. Yes. I am selling my heritage for a bowl of red stew - for a CD. D, You are useless!

Listening to Legacy by Mansun....

If you feel transition to your other life
Don't need money to be there
Leave behind your money just to prove your worth
Won't be here so I don't care
If you strap your conscience to your vision thing
Won't be here so I don't care
Prove your worth to people that you can call your friends
Won't be here so I don't care.....

Wearing out

You care enough about me to want me to have eternal life. Then can I ask you of this boldly, very boldly? Let me end it all! I can’t watch myself all washed up every morning I wake up. I can’t live another day of meaningless, of despondence. I can’t watch others inflate their egos by wearing out my esteem thus slowly reducing me to a piece of deflated skin. I am your useless soldier. I can’t live here and not hate the world. I can’t be hurt and not hate the people. So if you will be kind to me one more time, one last time. If I plunge into the waters, don’t let it spit me out like a cork. Let me sink.

A broken column

At her last exhibition in Mexico, Frida Kahlo said, "I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy as long as I can paint".

Do you notice, from your sharp observation, from your astute awareness of life that God is a merciful God? He gave those who are victimised by a series of unfortunate events, those who are constantly being plagued by pain, an outlet so that some of that intensity, of those pains can be released a little.

He gave poor Frida the gift of painting, so that she could paint and be happy, so that she could depict her mental anguish and her physical pain on canvases to give us The Broken Column and many others. She painted so that you could know the intensity of pain when you see what held her together were a piece of a broken classical column and a tight corset. You know the strength of a survivor when you see Frida painted herself with numerous nails piercing her flesh, with tears on her face but still looking brave and determined. You know from her painting she felt helpless in her situation when she painted herself in half-nudity.

Frida had an outlet and I am looking for mine. Do you have yours?

This is why Chris said he would keep writing.

Cusack - do what you will with me

After watching Must Love Dogs today, I had wanted to write about John Cusack, about how he has a handle on me that I would proceed with a movie that I know has a bad ratings and has a below average plot. I changed my mind later only to have it changed back.

Must Love Dogs is not a breath of fresh air. It is an uninspiring movie with very little to offer except occasional brilliant lines which are not all that memorable. There are many people I know in real life that are capable of better lines. So, why waste money on this movie?

Still, I was glued to my seat for 1.5 hour.

I can’t explain the thing about Cusack that draws me to him, that I am willing to let him rule my life for two hours. I couldn’t explain Cusack’s charm until Roger Ebert uncovered that mystery to me.

“Cusack in particular has a gift of intelligent speech that no doubt inspires discerning women to let him know, one way or another, that he can have his way with them if he will just keep talking,” Ebert wrote.

I thank Ebert for making sense of my infatuation for Cusack and for many other things which I won’t have known if not for his sharp observation and depth. I thank writers like him for helping me see my world better and to rise above my circumstances. He is one of the few reasons that I still check Chicago Suntimes’ website.

Well, see what Cusack has done again. I actually wanted to write about something else, something that is more important about what N and I had discussed earlier today about depressing blogs. But Cusack captured my attention and I couldn’t stop writing about him.

Let me capture two lines from the movie to end this entry:

“I had the one true love and nothing can replace that. I am just tap dancing now and if I tap dance fast enough, I may forget what I have lost.”

“When your heart breaks, it grows back bigger.”

The Fairer Sex

I went jogging today at Botanical gardens, a rare occasion that I jog in the open, instead of on a thread mill.

My jogging partner came to pick me up. I actually wanted to cancel the jog because it rained just half an hour ago before our jog. He convinced me otherwise.

“No. this is the best time to jog, after the rain,” he said while driving.

“Oh really. Why? Because there is more water vapour in the air and we don’t have to stop too often to drink to replenish the water in our body?” I offered earnestly. (I confess! I am a bimbo!)

He laughed and said, “No. Because the pavement is moist, the coefficient of friction is higher and hence the traction is better.”

Sorry, huh? Coefficient of friction? What is that? The ground is wet and it is more slippery. So there should less friction.

Oii, why you sian me?

I wrecked my brain to think of any equations that relate to Forces and only remembered Force = mass x acceleration.

“You took physics right?” he asked.

That question is very sensitive, sir. I took up physics only because the record company returned my stuff. I was depressed. You may know all about coefficient of friction, but you may not know of depressed women. Ahem! Let me explain. Depressed women tend to make unwise decisions. They take up physics in their depression. Really! I am the case in point.

“I don’t remember there is a coefficient,” I said in a small voice.

“You know when the floor is slightly moist, the friction is better because the coefficient is changed. That is why the running tracks are sprayed with water, making them slightly moist, during the Olympics before the race.”

“Wow. Really? I didn’t know that. Wow!” I said, sounding more bimbotic than ever.

Good job, D! There is really no need to provide more evidence that you are lacking of intelligence. Verdict was already reached earlier. But thanks for trying. Can you please try to resist saying anything from now on? Thank you.

I slided lower in my seat.

Then encouraged by my enthusiatic reply, he went into a long explanation of coefficient of friction.

He said: "...................................................................
................................................................................."

He continued, "..................................................................
............................................................................................."

Ok, such an illuminating explanation! Now I know all about coefficient of friction. He is such a sweetheart.

Strangely, talking about coefficient of friction did make him look a lot sexier. Maybe I should try my new knowledge of coefficient of friction on that guy who has been making my heart flutter (GWMMHF) each time he walks by.

Here's one application of the newly acquired knowledge:-

[Scenario: GWMMHF (Guy Who Makes My Heart Flutter) and I are strolling along say, Orchard Road. Suddenly it rains cats and dogs (with thunder, lightning and all). I grab the opportunity to exhibit my newly acquired knowledge of coefficient of friction, hoping to appear sexier than usual.

Me: We should go for a jog now.

GWMMHF: Huh? Why? It is raining.

Me: Precisely. We should run. You know why? (AHEM!) The rain increases the coefficient of friction and hence increases the friction and we can run better. This is the best time to run. C'mon, let's run.

GWMMHF: Can I call you another time? I have to attend to something NOW.

Then I watch him run like never before. I watch him run in the rain.

Hmm....The rain does make a jogger run better and faster.]

Finally, we reached our jogging destination.

At the botanical garden, after 30 mins of running (or was it 15 mins), I had cramps and we had to stop and start strolling.

I apologized for spoiling his jog.

“It is ok. I knew you would have cramps after a short while. I actually just wanted to chat with you to catch up.”

Thanks, that's sweet for wanting to catch up! But what do you mean by "I would get cramps after a SHORT while" ? I am of a weaker sex, I know. There is much evidence tonight. But somehow I am not taking pride in my status as the fairer sex. I want to be a Man so that I can talk about coefficient of friction and I can run without cramps.

Irreconcilable differences

I was out for lunch with a banker and I asked him for a love story.

He didn’t tell me.

To encourage him, I told him a love story that another banker told me.

“He met a girl and they never started anything. It was nice for him because there was anticipation and there was longing for each other. But nothing happened in the end.” I told him.

“It is what Flaubert was trying to say in Sentimental Education,” I offered.

“What sentimental education?” The banker asked, taking a prawn dumpling.

“Oh. Flaubert reckoned that Anticipation is the purest form of pleasure. While the things that happened to you invariably disappoint, the things that don’t happen never fade and never dim. When nothing happened, these things exist as a form of a sweet sadness.” I said quoting from ‘somewhere’.

“Wow,” the banker said, looking bewildered.

Then suddenly in the next moment, there was a flash of light on his face. “You mean like foreplay?” he said.

The music that I was hearing in my mind while reciting what Flaubert said came to a full stop.

“Walau,” I said, in my most lian accent. “You have a way of stripping down to the bare minimum. Yes, like foreplay.”

“You say like that, not romantic already.” I added.

The banker laughed, looking quite pleased with the epiphany he had.

“……,” I said.

I sighed.

A future looks probable: I am going to live my life the way Flaubert had lived – in depression.

The Tao of Blogging

Rust’s entry on blogging set me thinking. He wrote, “People stop asking about each other's life, but ask each other about their blog entries.”

A blog has become a deceitful likeness of a person. It promotes a false sense of intimacy where one feels close to someone he/she hardly knows or talks to.

I blog (see blog has become a verb) to remember an experience, to capture a feeling or a thought, or simply to reminisce. With each entry on my blog, I peel off a layer of myself exposing fresh skin that is otherwise unknown to others, except my close friends. I write about things that would usually leave me raw and vulnerable if I share them with others. With a blog, I can write with honesty, hiding behind some written text. The blog gives me a false sense of security as I peel off layers after layers of myself and of my life. There is no instant reaction from blog readers that would render me disappointed that I am not being understood, that I am disliked for who I am. There are no instant ramifications that I have to face when I am too forward with my views and my strong emotions.

With blogging, each blogger, whether intended or not, is guided by a consciousness that his/her written text would be read, would be talked about and would be shared among others. This consciousness is a double-edged sword. For some, it prompts them to be honest and to write something edifying. For others, it turns them into cowardly writers. These writers write to create an image, which could be fake, that they want the world to know them for. They write to put forth a point which they do not have the courage to bring up in a social setting.

I have come to loathe certain bloggers and have to implore my Creator to equip me with a more generous heart and more goodness to subdue this loathing, so that I can at least appear civilized and polite to these bloggers when I see them. This could easily be resolved if I have gone to them and made known to them my displeasure. An interaction would promote some form of reconciliation if he/she and I are not hiding behind some written text, so that our thoughts and our feelings could be out in the open to be challenged, examined and to be corrected.

However, given the abrasive nature of human interaction, which is one reason, I think, for the proliferation of blogging, we prefer to be nested in the safety of blogging scripts. This is the irony of being a human. We want to be understood and we do that by voicing our thoughts, our views, our feelings and our experience but we do not want the messy consequences of voicing them face-to-face to others. Blogging seems to fulfill that purpose.

If I am offended by an entry, I can’t ask the blog instantly and have to wait for an opportunity to clarify with the blogger, which may never come. Worse, you don’t have a chance to clarify if you don’t know him/her. As a result, his/her version of the “truth” lies on his/her blog unchallenged; my loathing for him/her is left to breed.

Therein lies the wisdom of Socrates’ rebuke of written text, as he said to Phaedrus:

“I cannot help feeling, Phaedrus, that writing is unfortunately like painting; for the creations of the painter have the attitude of life, and yet if you ask them a question they preserve a solemn silence. And the same may be said of speeches. You would imagine that they had intelligence, but if you want to know anything and put a question to one of them, the speaker always gives one unvarying answer. And when they have been once written down they are tumbled about anywhere among those who may or may not understand them, and know not to whom they should reply, to whom not: and, if they are maltreated or abused, they have no parent to protect them; and they cannot protect or defend themselves.”

Christ came and lived in communion with His people. He spoke and he acted. Or did he write? As bloggers, do we write more than we speak or act?

Blogs become a tool for cowards, for socially inept people like me to hide behind written text, instead of living in communion with others, instead of speaking our thoughts out loud.

Technology conspired with us to disseminate our thoughts and opinions at a pace that outdo readers’ ability to process them, and left too much unexamined. Thoughts unexamined are just mindless babbling, aren't they?

So, in that sense, should we “sow words which can neither speak for themselves nor teach the truth adequately to others?” Should blogs or written text, like Socrates suggested, be a pastime to amuse and as “memorials to be treasured against the forgetfulness of old age” only?

Listening to.....

A friend sent an email to me after reading my blog.

“…..A whole list of things that have gone wrong in your life (I was amazed that you could keep count and still appear happy and well-adjusted!) that can only be compensated by rock music (certainly an original way of counting one's blessings)…..”

Rock music is my blessing? Yes. Thank you, Rock! I don’t think I could survive this far without music. Of course, I am exaggerating. It numbs my mind so that it does not churn. It soothes my soul. It cries and screams with me. Very few things in my life are that faithful and so readily available.

I had very little pocket money when I was a teenager. Whatever I had, I would spend it on music albums. A tape would cost me 5 dollars sometimes 6. I discovered a stall in Chinatown that was selling albums cheaper than elsewhere. I would list the albums that I wanted to get in a notebook, dreamed about listening to them on my walkman. When I saved up enough money, I would make a trip to Chinatown to that stall. I could only afford three albums, sometimes five if I were prudent with my spending, per quarter.

Sometimes when I could not hold out, I would rush to the nearby music store and buy the album that I wanted and paid an additional dollar or two for it. Then for the whole of that week, I had to cut down on food, eating plain noodles with a few shreds of fish cakes. Those plain noodles cost 50cents each. I grimaced each time I had to eat those noodles. But my spirits would be uplifted each time I put on my earphones and listened to the album – my indulgent buy.

When I was 15, I decided that I wanted to be a music producer. I started to write songs and more than a year later accumulated quite a number of them which were written mostly during my down period as an angsty young teenager. I wrote when I was angry, sad, upset, angsty, confused, unsure, trapped….

From that collection of songs, I chose some of my best ones and sent them to a record company.

I waited. I waited for my dream to unfold – a music contract coming in through the post. I would be the youngest music producer. I daydreamed about it often. I daydreamed that I would be shipped away to somewhere in the US, maybe, for a music degree. I would make music all day.

Then the post came. I waited for at least two months, I think. I opened it. My songs were returned to me. The company said they did not have any use for them but asked me to keep my work coming. Of course, it was only polite that they said that: keep them coming. I was bitterly disappointed. My young heart was shattered. My pride was hurt.

I lifted the lid of my piano bench and threw the letter in there and let it rest together with my other songs, and some score books.

I quit piano. I quit writing music. I would leave my walkman, which my father paid more than 200 bucks for when I was 12 (it was the first wireless walkman at that time), lying for weeks and not listen to it. I was angry. I took it out on music, which was a silly thing to do.

I abandoned that dream and for a long while, I was lost.

Should I be an engineer? Maybe. So I took physics, read all about heat transfer and kinetic energy. Yucks. I swallowed. I took further mathematics and was really bad at it. I was miserable.

But I did well enough miraculously to get into Bizad at NUS. I picked up listening to music again – rock and ballads mainly, Cranberries and U2 mainly. My white old walkman was still with me. It had been with me for many years. In fact, the walkman is still with me now lying in the drawer attached to the table where my computer sits. I hardly use it now. It has been replaced by a CD player, later a MD player and now with my white ipod. Cranberries and U2 have been replaced by Lifehouse and Jimmy Eat World.

My problems are more complex than the ones I had as an angsty teenager. The songs are played a lot louder on a better hi-fi which I could afford now. I played the songs louder than before as if the higher decibel would compensate for my more complex problems.

I played Pulp’s Like a Friend when I was having shouting matches with him, when we couldn’t stop arguing, and when we finally broke up.

I played Pulp’s I am a Man when I was working late and had gone on with little sleep for a number of days.

My relationship with alternative rock grew stronger when I was in the US. There was an alternative rock radio station in Chicago. It offered 24 hours of alternative rock, streaming in heaven to my ears. I listened to it at night when I was writing my essays for school. I listened to it during the day when I had to take the rather bulky camera out to get footage for my broadcast stories. I listened to it when I was waiting for the El to Evanston. I listened to it jogging on days when the weather was not too harsh. I listened to it strolling in parks or when I was visiting the small zoo in the city. That was when I fell in love with Jimmy Eat World and GooGoo Doll. However, the love I had for GooGoo doll was rather short-lived. The band had only one good song and now they are as good as dead.

My relationship with alternative rock was still going strong when I moved to Washington DC. I found another station that offered me a decent amount of alternative rock, and some indie rock. So I listened to it jogging from my rented apartment to Georgetown and back. I listened to it watching the mob downstairs from my balcony protesting against the Iraq war. I listened to it when the heath care policy in the US confused me and I didn’t know how to proceed with a story. I listened to it while eating my favourite sandwich from Pot Belly.

Yes, rock is my blessing.

Now, I am listening to…

Wide Open Space by Mansun

I’m in a wide open space, I’m standing
I’m all alone and staring into space
It’s always quiet thru’ my ceiling
The roof comes in and crashes in a daze

I’m in a wide open space, it’s freezing
You’ll never get to heaven with a smile on your face from me
I’m in a wide open space, I’m staring
There’s something quite bizarre I cannot see

I’m on the top of a hill, I’m lonely
There’s someone here to shout to miles away
I could be back in my house, for I care
They do not hear me, it’s the same old case

Thou shall not fall

I nearly fell. It attacked me at 4pm – my dark secret desire. I haven’t seen it for almost a year. I thought I have conquered it. But it came. The dark wave came, splashed against me and threatened to drown me. The dark wave caught me. I closed my eyes and squeezed them tight. My breathing was heavier than usual. I was ready to return to the dark world. When was I last there? Ah yes! I remember. The room – dark, smoky, Pete Yorn was singing, dark wood furniture, CDs stacked against the wall and the red-leather arm chair - was designed to look like a cigar bar.

5pm. No response. I heaved a sign of relief. Lucky me.

Click! I was awoken. God saved me! Yes!

6pm. I ran home and locked myself up in the room. I pulled the bed cover over myself and curled up in a fetal position. Then I prayed and prayed.

Don’t go out. Please don’t go out. Don’t answer any calls.

I start to pray

My God is a faithful God. He always send someone to comfort me whenever I suffer an injustice. Earlier today, I was attacked. I kept quiet to prevent myself from fighting back. I went into prayers. I did what was right in His eyes but I felt sorry for myself.

He didn't send anyone. Usually He would. I felt like a lone warrior fighting the battle alone. I got cuts and wounds but I won. There was no one to share my joyous moment of my triumph and there was no one to comfort me. I was a sad sorry figure when I left the office, with my head hunging low and my shoulders drooping.

I picked up my phone and called. No one was available. I logged on to MSN and messaged whoever was online. No one answered.

For the first time in the longest time, I thought it really would be good to have someone.

I recalled the several times that E had asked me whether I have been praying about finding "the guy". Each time I said no.

"What do you normally pray about for yourself?" E asked.

"Work lor. Finding a new job. I am bored to death. I have been praying for that for the last one year. ARGHHH....I am going to die if it is not going to happen anytime soon."

"Huh? Why don't you pray to God to guide you to your husband?"

"Oh. Because I want a new job badly. For now, finding that guy is not that important. Later lar. I will pray later when I come to it. Walau. JOB first lar."

"You have to pray." E advised. "Have you thought about the qualities you want in your guy?"

"Don't know. The usual lor. 1.8m tall like all my exes. What am I going to do with all my high-heels dating someone shorter right?"

"You must pray." E said, ignoring what I just said about the high-heels, which was such a salient point.

"Orrh..."

Wow. Why E like that? My mom also never talk to me like that. What is the hurry? Pray about it later. One thing at a time mar. I really want a new job. I am so bored and a guy can't resolve my boredom at work. He would just make my life worse.

Even N is anxious. Our usual conversation about my singlehood goes like this:

N: Why don't you like A? (running through the list of single guys that we both know)

Me: Don't like. Don't know.

N: How about B lei.

Me: Don't like.

N: Why?

Me: Don't know. Don't like.

N: That one lei. That C.

Me: Aiyo. No lar. That one cannot.

N: (let out a loud sigh) Then D.

Me: Hmmm... (turning to my book)

N: Oiii. D is good what. Goodlooking. Quite smart. Tall. Read a lot.

Me: No.

N: You are looking at this as your future. (N raised his hands, placed his palms together in a Buddhist prayer style and did a little chanting)

N: (loudly) A Nun!

Me (annoyed): Shut up lar. Don't be stupid!

N: (let out another sigh) I don't know what kind of an ultra alpha infra-red ray guy you want.

Me: aiya you! No hurry. Wait lar. Sarah has to wait for quite a while for a son what. So I wait lar.

N raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Then he raised his hands, placed his palms........

So the result of that non-chalant attitude: I am alone today. No one is available today. I realised that I probably need someone. I better pray.

Past bad experience cut a person deeply. But I should have faith in Him.

So I sat down and prayed the prayer that E had asked me to pray. I prayed.

Daddy, come

I was disappointed when my father didn’t raise his hand yesterday at an altar call at Jubilee Church.

It was such a powerful sermon - awe-inspiring and comforting.

The speaker used a very endearing anecdote. He told us his daughter would call him and asked him to go fetch her from her bible class every Wednesday night. She would call and she would only say, “Come Daddy!” He would drop everything and go to her.

“This is how much faith my daughter has in me. She knows I love her and I would go.”

How much more would our Heavenly Father do for us if we ask him? How much more would he do for us if we go to him in prayers and say, “Heavenly father, come help me. Come.”

I am a romantic person, too achingly romantic sometimes. I thought that all the things that had happened before the Sermon were leading to my father being saved that night. It was such a perfect sequence of events.

When we were making our way to the church, a few guys walked in front of us and guided us to the church. They were strangers on the street. DA told my father that there were no coincidences – God had sent them.

My father laughed.

“Ya, uncle. Really. How come they are not at Paya Lebar or Serangoon. They are here, giving us directions. God knows you are coming today and He knows you need directions to the church.” Da said earnestly.

My father laughed again.

We reached the church and my father realized that it was his primary school. It was an emotionally charged moment for him. I saw him scanning the church building, the fleet of stairs leading to the main hall, the boards on the wall and when the memories were too powerful for him, he poured them out to DA who was standing near him. Good old Da listened to him intently. By the time he broke eye contact with DA and turned to me, tears were already welling up in his eyes.

“Do you think I would see my teachers?”

I looked at him, smiled weakly and shook my head slightly.

No. You are close to 70 and they probably have died. I am sorry.

“My teachers used to tell me about Jesus.”

I thought it was going to happen that evening for my father. It would be closing the circle, coming to a full round - my father receiving his salvation at the place where he first heard about Jesus.

My journalistic instinct told me it would be a great story.

Wow. Great story. Headlines: “Coming to a full circle” or “A seed that was planted…” My lead would be something like this. “Years ago, a seed was planted and now it starts to grow. A young boy at the age of 6 at a place called……”

It didn’t happen. It is real life, not a Hollywood movie.

I was a little disappointed but I have no fears. I just have to pray harder than before. He would know Him one day. Because I can go to my Lord and say, “Come help my father, Heavenly father. Come”

Rock me into oblivion

This is my antidote

to pain, to boredom, to isolation, to being single, to being an only child, to being in a bad relationship, to temptations, to failing others, to failing myself, to my parents' screaming at the top of their voices, to my mom's misery, to my dad's painful tolerance, to my mom wanting the attention I can't give, to never see my family in one complete piece, to being ostracised when I was young, to not being loved, to making bad decisions, to being hit on in a crowded club, to being scared, to being worried, to being fearful, to memories of Kea in pain, to memories of Kea's voice on the phone, to falling for someone not saved, to him leaving for UK on Saturday, to him sending me SMSes before he leave, to being loved by someone I can't be with, to crying by the window, to bad dreams, to hopelessness, to uncertainities, to confusion, to wanting to give up, to being lost, to watching a bad movie, to a bad date, to being hurt, to being shouted at, to being slapped, to feeling low, to seeing what is ahead of me is behind a thick fog, to the lack of inspiration, to frustration, to sorrow, to sadness, to having someone wiping his feet on my dreams, to see my dreams disintegrating, to not be able to complete a book, to his insensitivities, to my sensitivities, to my limitations, to feeling suffocated, to sins, to being blamed, to being betrayed, to not being trusted, to wanting to hide, to not wanting love, to not wanting to love, to wanting to run away, to bleakness, to the tears I can't supply, to the comfort I can't give, to walking home alone, to imperfections, to bad ramifications, to being pushed to a corner, to seeing anger in his eyes, to seeing pain in his eyes and to know I am responsible - Rocking-good music.

My antidote to all these - Rocking-good music.

So rock me into oblivion, rock me into numbness, rock me into forgetting, rock me so that I won't cry.

Cheers to Gun & Roses, to U2, to Depeche mode, to AHA, to Willson Philips, to Debbie Gibson, to Banarama, to Cranberries, to Frente, to Salt & Pepa, to Kurt Cobain, to TLC, to Pulp, to Metallica, to Oasis, to Pet Shop Boys, to Tears for Fears, to to the music I made in the 80s and 90s.

Cheers NOW to Citizen Cope, to Jimmy Eat World, to Lifehouse, to Matchbox Twenty, to Travis, to Pulp again, to Vertical Horizon, to Keane, to Avril Lavigne, to Gavin DeGraw, to Saliva, to Hawthorne Heights, to Green Day, to Five for fighting, to Weezer, to 3 Doors Down, to Jet, to Foo Fighters, to Pulp again and again, and many more kick-ass music bands.

From mini compo to hi-fi to iTunes player.

From walkman to CD player to mini-disc player to iPOD.

From cassettes to CDs to MP3

From stacks of tapes to stacks of CDs to playlists on my IPOD.

So, let's rock. Rock me into oblivion.

The song continues and dies off

Early in the morning, a message came in:

"Thanks. Drop me an email anytime if you need anything from there. Take care."

The song started playing again, loudly on my Hi-Fi

"Summer has come and passed
Innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends"

The transmitter was not working very well on my ipod. The song was fuzzy and unclear, like my mind.

So, I stood by my window in my bedroom by my table and cried.

Then I switched off the hi-fi, my ipod, that fuzzy and unclear song, and my fuzzy and unclear mind.

And September ends......

So the song continues this time not on my hi-fi. It is playing in my mind

"here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are

as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when september ends"

My reply:

"What do I want? The usual. I want you to go to UK and do whatever you need to do and come back safely. In the meantime, find happiness and abundance in life"

I press the sent button on my phone and whisper, "Bye."

I say "bye" with a soft "b".

I say it with a very soft "b".

And the song stops playing on my hi-fi and in my mind.

Wake me up when September ends

A SMS came in early this morning when I was preparing to go to work:

“Hi, leaving for UK this Saturday? Only back next August. Need anything? Drop me an email if anything comes to mind. Call me on this number. Next year. Sign...XXX”

I stared at the SMS and after a long while, turned on louder the music I was playing on my Hi-fi:-

"as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when september ends

summer has come and passed
the innocent can never last
wake me up when september ends

ring out the bells again
like we did when spring began
wake me up when september ends"

I live in a pool of ink

I am a lonely writer. I live in a pool of ink.

I think, at the rate of how things are going, I will remain a lonely writer for a long while or for the rest of my life even.

I am amazed by the number of mismatches in the world of dating. You like a person and the person doesn't like you and you don't like the person who likes you.

I received an internal (yes read INTERNAL. how can you hit on your colleague...disgusting) email yesterday: "I am sent on a mission by my colleagues to check on the beautiful and mysterious gal who sat behind me on the bus last Friday. They want to know whether you are attached." (<---------very cheesy)

huh? what? *Delete*

Today, an SMS came in: Want to have dinner instead this Friday? I can't book a court.

huh? what? *ignore*

Later today, another SMS came in from the person whom I want to get to know better: "thanks D but I am ....."

huh? what? *disappointed*

Dating coordinator, are you there? Are you listening?

"Oiii, you! Si mi kang tou? Hello? All in one week? WAKE UP!"

Milk bottles and maid

I went milk-bottle shopping with K today. K generously educated me on the different rubber tips they used on milk bottles. I tried to look interested but my mind had already wandered somewhere else. K mentioned something about buying tips with smaller openings so that the babies won't get too much air in their systems from drinking from the bottles. My mind wandered off even further.

".....if not.....the baby will burp for four hours straight and that is when you wish you have a maid."

"..orrhhhh..." I said, while deep in other thoughts.

Should I ask him out? Maybe I should. But how? Aiya, don't want to ask him out. Ok la, ask him. Send an SMS or call? What if he is ....

"Remember to tell your boyfriend to get you a maid if he wants to marry you," K said. "My wife asked me to when she was about to marry me."

This K is such a good husband /father. I wonder whether my husband, whoever that is, would go milk bottle shopping with me and do research on milk bottle rubber tips.

"Huh? Well, it would have to depend on who I am marrying. Why if I am going to marry someone really poor, how am I going to ask him to get me a maid?"

"errr......but you can afford. You pay."

"Huh? I pay?" I said and wondered why most people assumed that reporters are well-paid.

Well, at least now I know. A maid and milk bottles with rubber tips that have small openings are essential to keep a wife (which is me in the future) from going beserk and to keep a marriage going.

So this is my new boyfriend qualifying test:-

Me: When buying a milk bottle, do you buy one with a rubber tip that has a small opening or big one?

Prospect (sitting in a booth, looking utterly confused and thinking big is always better - the baby can drink faster) : Errr....Big one?

De-AIRRRRRR...... Wrong answer! (Red lights flashing in the background!)

Me: Are you going to get me a maid if we marry?

Prospect (remembering all the horror stories of maids killing their employers and marinating employers' babies in kitchen sinks) : NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

De-AIRRRRRR.....Wrong answer! (Red lights flashing in the background)

Wow. That is easy. What a fool-proof test!

N and I

N is one of God's blessings in my life.

So, this N called this morning.

"Oii. You called yesterday night? Wassup?"

"Nothing. I wanted to complain."

"Oii. Can you call me when you have something edifying to say please? Complain?! Luckily I was already sleeping."

"You are so mean. I was really upset when I heard that there is this bunch of dudes out there who want to hold out to wait for better deals. Didn't like that."

"Oh. Like waiting for newer car models. Wow!"

"So I said I would pay a dollar each for the names of these guys."

"Wow. That is so smart of you. What are you going to do with the list of names?" N said condescendingly.

"Err....ok ok. I am childish and stupid. Fine."

"Ya. You are really FOS and DJL, you know." N's favourite description of me: FOS (full of shit) and DJL (damn jia lard)

"Oii....you....bridle your tongue."

"Ok. Haven't seen you for a while. Meet for lunch? I will go down to Holland V."

"As long as you are the one travelling, I don't mind."

"Haiiizzzz........ok ok. I will go to your place."