"The Shawshank Redemption" has to rank among some of the best films I've ever watched in my life. Every single word in the film is laden with strong, sincere meanings, and Morgan Freeman has the most sage-like voice. But the most heartwarming thing is the friendship between Red and Andy. And of course, the beautiful hope that Andy brings to life inside a prison with absolutely no hope of parole. But of course, this post will have no meaning to someone who hasn't watched the film yet, so I shan't blabber on. Do watch it.
However, one point of the show struck home hard. Andy told Red to go look for something after Red had been given parole and released. I shan't spoil it for you by telling you what it is, but it saved Red's life in such a beautiful way. What it did was to teach me something that I have been contemplating about for some time. When we do something beautiful for someone, something sincere, from the heart, we don't have to sign it with our name. In our current generation, time passes so fast and we worry that these little meaningful things that we do will be forgotten, therefore we write down our name so that the person will remember us should he or she look back into his or her little treasure box. In the culture that we live in, we do these little things out of love, but behind our minds we hope that it forms a bond, a show of goodwill, with a tiny glimmer of expectation of a returned favor in the future to come.
When I do nice things for people, I always sign my name. And I take pains to ensure that I have a beautiful signature, clear and legible so that people will remember that it is from me. When I do nice things for people, I expect, deep inside, for something in return. The more the person means to me, the less I expect in return, but regardless of the status, always something. A smile perhaps, or a shimmer in the eyes. Maybe even, a shiver of anticipation, and a joyful skip. At the very least, a minimum "thank you" as a reply would suffice my efforts.
But if that is the case, how come some of the most meaningful things to me in my little treasure box have no names on them? I remember exactly who they are from, what they were for, and what they intended to mean. How come in the movies, the most romantic gifts are those when upon receiving, the giver is not physically present, but he or she so fills the mind of the receiver? How come some of the strongest friendships in life are built without a word of thanks, but simply a small action, a tip of the hat, and a self-satisfied smile by the giver?
Movies that touch our hearts have lessons that hit home. If there is one thing I learn so late in my life, is that the most beautiful gifts, the most meaningful actions, the loveliest words, are given without signing our names behind it, and without expecting anything in return. Not a single thing. Before the receiver can even understand what is going on, or what he or she did to receive such a present or favor, all the giver has to do is smile and walk away. By the time the receiver understands, the giver is gone, with his hands in his pockets and his smile towards the sky. It means up to oh so many times more to the giver when the receiver finally understands that he or she did nothing to deserve such a wonderful gift, but is loved by someone. And God rewards the giver in ways even words cannot describe.
This must be one of the greatest secrets in life. That under the act of giving anonymously lies one of the most hidden keys to joy. A contradiction in itself, for often the law of economics and scare resources only leads most of us to the conclusion that a sacrifice is required when we give something to someone else. But God was never governed by the laws of mathematics. Instead, the Bible says in Acts 20:35 that it is more blessed to give than to receive! How simple, yet how profound! It is easily understandable, but not easily carried out. And sometimes when we give in manners such as these, we think to ourselves, "Did they get it? Do they know if it's from me? What happens if they mistake the gift to be from someone else, and become very nice to an undeserving other? What happens if that undeserving other claims credit for it? Would I have wasted my efforts?"
If I may testify, such thoughts will never disappear. But one thing is sure, their effect will decrease gradually as we give more and more. And one fine day, they will entirely lose their hold on your conscience. Giving will become naturalized, a part of your life. And should that appreciated other smile in return, it doesn't become something that you had expected all along.
It becomes a gift from the other, and the cycle repeats itself, just as God did not make the rainbow to be a semi-circle, but a perfect, beautiful circle.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Growing Importance of the Exterior
My next essay proposal has been approved by Dr. P. I will be researching on the effects of globalization on the concept of "female beauty", and to study the various social structures that have undergone homogenization or heterogenization. It's scary. I'm absolutely clueless on where and how to begin, but it's an idea that I've been toying with for a long time. But that makes it even more challenging! I can feel the adrenaline rush already. (Okay I'm a nerd. Yes. Say what you like. LOL)
And Nick will be leaving for Shanghai soon. Had a farewell dinner with some of the youths of which Yaosheng paid most of it. Thanks bro.
Somehow, despite Nick being EXCEEDINGLY irritating at times, especially when he's so determined to be my image consultant, he's probably the closest person I am to in the family, simply because we talk the most trash among ourselves. I mean, he must love me alot to be so fixated on making me look good. I'm not really obsessed about looking good; the only thing that bothers me is that I'm attracting aunties and giving gays the wrong idea. But he keeps giving me advice on which part of my body to beef up, which part to cut down, which shirt I look stupid, fat or fugly in. Somehow, after so much emphasis on the exterior, even if one doesn't really care about it at the start, it suddenly becomes important. I mean, if you didn't really care what your nose looked like, and were pretty happy with your normal looking one, life goes on. Now if you add someone in your life who's constantly ranting about how your nose is quite ugly, with alot of space for improvements, as well as how to go about doing them, suddenly you will begin to look at your nose a little longer in the bathroom. And the bad part is, Nick is someone who rarely gives positive comments, so it's hard to take his advice seriously and not feel sucky about oneself. But thanks for all the advice anyway. Sorry I flared up just now. It's just really sucky when people close to you think you're ugly. Anyway, you've been this way your whole life, and I've never reacted so strongly till recently. It's just when someone who meant the world to you told you in the face that you're not that good-looking, not as good-looking as another... even the smallest things with a bit of relation said by others, can have... catastrophic effects.
Anyway, some people around me have been extremely supportive! A few have been exceedingly funny. I'll post them here since they are people who don't read this blog anyway. Just for laughs.
During my junior DG on the week of Valentine's Day, just for fun I decided to split them into two groups, those who were attached and those who weren't, and debate on the topic "It is better to be single. Discuss." Albeit the fact that both parties learnt ALOT from one another, it became evident that being single was harder to take. I mean, you can say things like "You should never enter a relationship thinking that you'll be happier", and evidence shows that it is true, but it's hard to convince those who're single and feeling lonely. For some reason, even when I was the arbitrator and not taking sides, somehow my disciples sensed that I was feeling a little moody, and tried to encourage me. The funny part was the way they put it across, guys being guys. Samuel said, "Victor, if I were a girl, I'd be running after you. Serious." And he had a straight face that kept me in fits for one heck of a long time. Minghan then chipped in by saying that he can't believe there weren't any girls running after me, or flirting by leaning on my shoulder etc., especially in a female-dominated environment, and that in so many ways he wished he had whatever I had. Kee Onn, albeit with much reluctance, also felt I stood a much better chance than him. He suggested that I gave out too much of a "decent gentleman" aura that kinda scared the ladies away because I gave the impression that I'm someone serious about relationships. Well, I don't know how true these words are, but hey, thanks for looking up to me fellows. It's by God's grace that despite me being much less worthy than each one of you, Samuel the Encourager, Minghan the Meek, Kee Onn the Charismatic and Shane the Humble, you still gave me more respect than I ever deserved. It's heartwarming and means alot to me, really.
The other interesting person is my mum. Ever since I was young, people always said I looked like my dad. That all three of us brothers resembled my dad. However, this Chinese New Year, during visitations, everyone said that I resembled my mum, especially with contacts. While waiting for a cab to a friend's place to "bai nian", my mum looked at me for a while and said, "Victor, I think you're very handsome the way you are now." I looked at her, and replied, "Firstly, that's because people are now saying that I look like you, and you would like to think of yourself as beautiful." Then I saw Dad's eyebrow raised, and quickly added, "Well of course, that's the truth. And secondly, it's because I'm carrying all the heavy stuff now, and Andrew and Nicholas won't come along so you trying to 'por' me to make me happy." And you know what? My mum didn't laugh. She just looked at me and smiled so sweetly and hugged my arm. I bet my dad was green with envy that moment. It's a tad strange, but my mum never did approve of any of the few girls I dated. She wouldn't say it, but after the torrents of separation was over, she'll always come to me and say, "Well, I never thought she was good enough for you." Every single time. I always believe that my mum groomed me up (and still is) into her idea of an ideal man and perfect lover. That's why I attract aunties of her generation. LOL. I did tell her that I believe even I did get together with the most wonderful girl in the world, she would also think the girl wasn't good enough for me. Too obviously biased, but oh well. She's my mum, what would you expect? I just worry for my future wife. The "mother-in-law headache" might manifest if my mum decides to speak out whatever is in her mind. Nah, she won't la. +)
As I blog, I realize that ideas for my essay are pouring in. Hmmmm....
And Nick will be leaving for Shanghai soon. Had a farewell dinner with some of the youths of which Yaosheng paid most of it. Thanks bro.
Somehow, despite Nick being EXCEEDINGLY irritating at times, especially when he's so determined to be my image consultant, he's probably the closest person I am to in the family, simply because we talk the most trash among ourselves. I mean, he must love me alot to be so fixated on making me look good. I'm not really obsessed about looking good; the only thing that bothers me is that I'm attracting aunties and giving gays the wrong idea. But he keeps giving me advice on which part of my body to beef up, which part to cut down, which shirt I look stupid, fat or fugly in. Somehow, after so much emphasis on the exterior, even if one doesn't really care about it at the start, it suddenly becomes important. I mean, if you didn't really care what your nose looked like, and were pretty happy with your normal looking one, life goes on. Now if you add someone in your life who's constantly ranting about how your nose is quite ugly, with alot of space for improvements, as well as how to go about doing them, suddenly you will begin to look at your nose a little longer in the bathroom. And the bad part is, Nick is someone who rarely gives positive comments, so it's hard to take his advice seriously and not feel sucky about oneself. But thanks for all the advice anyway. Sorry I flared up just now. It's just really sucky when people close to you think you're ugly. Anyway, you've been this way your whole life, and I've never reacted so strongly till recently. It's just when someone who meant the world to you told you in the face that you're not that good-looking, not as good-looking as another... even the smallest things with a bit of relation said by others, can have... catastrophic effects.
Anyway, some people around me have been extremely supportive! A few have been exceedingly funny. I'll post them here since they are people who don't read this blog anyway. Just for laughs.
During my junior DG on the week of Valentine's Day, just for fun I decided to split them into two groups, those who were attached and those who weren't, and debate on the topic "It is better to be single. Discuss." Albeit the fact that both parties learnt ALOT from one another, it became evident that being single was harder to take. I mean, you can say things like "You should never enter a relationship thinking that you'll be happier", and evidence shows that it is true, but it's hard to convince those who're single and feeling lonely. For some reason, even when I was the arbitrator and not taking sides, somehow my disciples sensed that I was feeling a little moody, and tried to encourage me. The funny part was the way they put it across, guys being guys. Samuel said, "Victor, if I were a girl, I'd be running after you. Serious." And he had a straight face that kept me in fits for one heck of a long time. Minghan then chipped in by saying that he can't believe there weren't any girls running after me, or flirting by leaning on my shoulder etc., especially in a female-dominated environment, and that in so many ways he wished he had whatever I had. Kee Onn, albeit with much reluctance, also felt I stood a much better chance than him. He suggested that I gave out too much of a "decent gentleman" aura that kinda scared the ladies away because I gave the impression that I'm someone serious about relationships. Well, I don't know how true these words are, but hey, thanks for looking up to me fellows. It's by God's grace that despite me being much less worthy than each one of you, Samuel the Encourager, Minghan the Meek, Kee Onn the Charismatic and Shane the Humble, you still gave me more respect than I ever deserved. It's heartwarming and means alot to me, really.
The other interesting person is my mum. Ever since I was young, people always said I looked like my dad. That all three of us brothers resembled my dad. However, this Chinese New Year, during visitations, everyone said that I resembled my mum, especially with contacts. While waiting for a cab to a friend's place to "bai nian", my mum looked at me for a while and said, "Victor, I think you're very handsome the way you are now." I looked at her, and replied, "Firstly, that's because people are now saying that I look like you, and you would like to think of yourself as beautiful." Then I saw Dad's eyebrow raised, and quickly added, "Well of course, that's the truth. And secondly, it's because I'm carrying all the heavy stuff now, and Andrew and Nicholas won't come along so you trying to 'por' me to make me happy." And you know what? My mum didn't laugh. She just looked at me and smiled so sweetly and hugged my arm. I bet my dad was green with envy that moment. It's a tad strange, but my mum never did approve of any of the few girls I dated. She wouldn't say it, but after the torrents of separation was over, she'll always come to me and say, "Well, I never thought she was good enough for you." Every single time. I always believe that my mum groomed me up (and still is) into her idea of an ideal man and perfect lover. That's why I attract aunties of her generation. LOL. I did tell her that I believe even I did get together with the most wonderful girl in the world, she would also think the girl wasn't good enough for me. Too obviously biased, but oh well. She's my mum, what would you expect? I just worry for my future wife. The "mother-in-law headache" might manifest if my mum decides to speak out whatever is in her mind. Nah, she won't la. +)
As I blog, I realize that ideas for my essay are pouring in. Hmmmm....
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Belongings
People always talk about the gaping hole left by a lover's absence, the emptiness that they never knew about until someone came along and filled it. Why doesn't anyone ever guess the truth? That emptiness wasn't there before. It was carved into you by a lover who knew no other way to find a home except to lodge somewhere inside of you, pushing other things out of the way to make room. Maybe you helped them, shoving kidneys down and lungs up, saying, "Don't worry honey, I can breathe fine!" Maybe you did it together, each of you making nests inside your hearts with feathers pulled from your breast; tiny, warm spaces, bald spots on your chests.
I used to think that after you died you would get to see yourself through the eyes of everyone you had ever interacted with, and that depending on your behavior this could be Heaven or Hell.
Imagine how beautiful you are in the eyes of each of your lovers, and how entirely different.
Excerpt taken from www.sleeptrip.com/belongings/
RAH
Just outside Raffles Place MRT station two days ago, I was on my way home when someone passed me a free magazine. The issue was about marriage, so I decided to just skim through it on the way home. Free reading material anyway. Inside there was an article interviewing three pastors and how they viewed marriage. There was nothing outstandingly special, but one thing caught my eye. One of the pastors was asked to give tips for those on the look out for potential partners. And the tip he gave was this:
Observe how he/she handles children. It'll give you a good insight into how he/she is going to handle your children in the future.
Observe how his/her lifestyle i.e. grooming, eating habits. A spouse who can't handle his or her own life with care will not be able to handle yours either.
Observe how he/she treats the elderly. It will give a picture of how he/she will handle your parents in the future.
I took one look at this and the first thing that came to my mind was: Does eating seaweed count as eating vegetables? Goodness, such arrogance and perfectionism coupled with low self-esteem. Ironic. Sigh. Go figure. It's not that hard.
My driving instructor is a mad man. He must be thinking that I'm both a genius and a complete idiot at the same time. More of the latter.
First lesson, hardly any progress. Didn't even get to step on the accelerator. "I tell you ah, I think you cannot make it la. Other people fourth lesson on the road le. I think for you about sixth lesson then you can go onto the main road." Crestfallen.
Second lesson, he drives to the middle of a main road, gets out of the car, kicks me into the driver's seat. Then as my car engine stalled a good number of times, continues to complain about how I'm totally hopeless, and that he've seen much better. He thinks I've been fiddling with my dad's car and getting useless advice and assume that I know how to drive already. "You so good, you drive lor! People like you, drive your lao peh's car in the carpark all the time, need to come for lesson for what?" I really felt like telling him that I ain't the spoiled brat from the rich family he keeps assuming I come from, and that I don't have a car because my dad has a handicap and we don't need one at the moment.
Third lesson, engine didn't stall much. However, got sent into a ulu place to learn how to reverse. And I haven't even gotten the biting point of the clutch right yet. Which means hanging 3 seconds in front of every green light because I'm VERY slowly releasing the clutch. Stalling the engine would mean a torrent of non-stop cursing and insults for the next 10 minutes.
Fourth lesson, went back to the ulu place to learn how to do reverse parking. And he puts the poles so close to one another that the car would never even have been able to go through straight. Then he sits down for a cup of coffee at the passenger seat and continues to nag about how useless I am. Of course, I never made it between the poles.
I'm suppose to take a minimum of 20 lessons before I can sit for the practical test. And I'm already forced to learn how to do reverse parking at the 4th lesson! Someone please tell me that private lessons are NOT supposed to be so fast. And if it is really fast by normal standards, why is he insulting me non-stop?
I've been keeping VERY quiet, nodding my head and doing everything he says. Everything. I even smile whenever I can, say my "sorry"s, "please"s and "thank you"s, and pay him with exact change, not huge notes. Why? Because I started out knowing absolutely nothing about driving and wanting to do my best so as to get this over and done with. And he accuses me of being a spoilt, stupid brat with filthy rich parents (doctors, he say) with big cars and who'll buy me a Ferrari the moment I pass the test.
RAH.
It must be my face. Jamie says I have girly eyes. Huge, watery, innocent girly eyes. No wonder I only attract aunties and gay men. Totally lacking masculinity and an aura of assertion. I quote a passage from my sexuality module's readings.
"Thus, every heterosexual who is not claimed by the opposite sex as a hearthrob in their youth has doubts - and not only of being ignored and feeling invisible, but also because of sexual aspirations lofted his or her way by other people with insecure sexual identities."
Interesting. If this is true, that my sexual identity is constructed based on the people who are attracted towards me, I should be feeling really sucky now. This is when whatever remaining baseless ego keeps one man afloat in a world of ambiguity. "I'm a child of God" needs a bit more breaking down. I wonder what sexual identity can one be labelled with if he only attracts guys and older ladies.
RAH.
Observe how he/she handles children. It'll give you a good insight into how he/she is going to handle your children in the future.
Observe how his/her lifestyle i.e. grooming, eating habits. A spouse who can't handle his or her own life with care will not be able to handle yours either.
Observe how he/she treats the elderly. It will give a picture of how he/she will handle your parents in the future.
I took one look at this and the first thing that came to my mind was: Does eating seaweed count as eating vegetables? Goodness, such arrogance and perfectionism coupled with low self-esteem. Ironic. Sigh. Go figure. It's not that hard.
My driving instructor is a mad man. He must be thinking that I'm both a genius and a complete idiot at the same time. More of the latter.
First lesson, hardly any progress. Didn't even get to step on the accelerator. "I tell you ah, I think you cannot make it la. Other people fourth lesson on the road le. I think for you about sixth lesson then you can go onto the main road." Crestfallen.
Second lesson, he drives to the middle of a main road, gets out of the car, kicks me into the driver's seat. Then as my car engine stalled a good number of times, continues to complain about how I'm totally hopeless, and that he've seen much better. He thinks I've been fiddling with my dad's car and getting useless advice and assume that I know how to drive already. "You so good, you drive lor! People like you, drive your lao peh's car in the carpark all the time, need to come for lesson for what?" I really felt like telling him that I ain't the spoiled brat from the rich family he keeps assuming I come from, and that I don't have a car because my dad has a handicap and we don't need one at the moment.
Third lesson, engine didn't stall much. However, got sent into a ulu place to learn how to reverse. And I haven't even gotten the biting point of the clutch right yet. Which means hanging 3 seconds in front of every green light because I'm VERY slowly releasing the clutch. Stalling the engine would mean a torrent of non-stop cursing and insults for the next 10 minutes.
Fourth lesson, went back to the ulu place to learn how to do reverse parking. And he puts the poles so close to one another that the car would never even have been able to go through straight. Then he sits down for a cup of coffee at the passenger seat and continues to nag about how useless I am. Of course, I never made it between the poles.
I'm suppose to take a minimum of 20 lessons before I can sit for the practical test. And I'm already forced to learn how to do reverse parking at the 4th lesson! Someone please tell me that private lessons are NOT supposed to be so fast. And if it is really fast by normal standards, why is he insulting me non-stop?
I've been keeping VERY quiet, nodding my head and doing everything he says. Everything. I even smile whenever I can, say my "sorry"s, "please"s and "thank you"s, and pay him with exact change, not huge notes. Why? Because I started out knowing absolutely nothing about driving and wanting to do my best so as to get this over and done with. And he accuses me of being a spoilt, stupid brat with filthy rich parents (doctors, he say) with big cars and who'll buy me a Ferrari the moment I pass the test.
RAH.
It must be my face. Jamie says I have girly eyes. Huge, watery, innocent girly eyes. No wonder I only attract aunties and gay men. Totally lacking masculinity and an aura of assertion. I quote a passage from my sexuality module's readings.
"Thus, every heterosexual who is not claimed by the opposite sex as a hearthrob in their youth has doubts - and not only of being ignored and feeling invisible, but also because of sexual aspirations lofted his or her way by other people with insecure sexual identities."
Interesting. If this is true, that my sexual identity is constructed based on the people who are attracted towards me, I should be feeling really sucky now. This is when whatever remaining baseless ego keeps one man afloat in a world of ambiguity. "I'm a child of God" needs a bit more breaking down. I wonder what sexual identity can one be labelled with if he only attracts guys and older ladies.
RAH.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Little White Rose
If you're at home by now
Then open your front door
Shut your eyes awhile, then peer through them
And I promise there you'll find
A little white rose
And sixty-six little paper hearts
For the sixty-six silly reasons
Why you're still on my mind
You won't find my name on it
Could you tell that they came from me?
An ordinary man from the south
Staying just beside the sea
Oh little white rose
You remind me of a girl
So beautiful, so special
Worth more than a thousand million pearls
Could you do me a little favor?
And stand by her front door
Like the brave little soldier you are
Keep watch till she comes home
And when she finally sees you
Put on your biggest smile
Let her hold you in her hand
Like I wish she would hold me now
I know you won't last much longer
Promise me just for tonight
That you would be there to dry her tears
Should loneliness break her might
Shine with all the beauty
That God has thus clothed you
So she'll always remember
The sixty-six little paper hearts
With the sixty-six silly reasons
Why she's still on my mind
Then open your front door
Shut your eyes awhile, then peer through them
And I promise there you'll find
A little white rose
And sixty-six little paper hearts
For the sixty-six silly reasons
Why you're still on my mind
You won't find my name on it
Could you tell that they came from me?
An ordinary man from the south
Staying just beside the sea
Oh little white rose
You remind me of a girl
So beautiful, so special
Worth more than a thousand million pearls
Could you do me a little favor?
And stand by her front door
Like the brave little soldier you are
Keep watch till she comes home
And when she finally sees you
Put on your biggest smile
Let her hold you in her hand
Like I wish she would hold me now
I know you won't last much longer
Promise me just for tonight
That you would be there to dry her tears
Should loneliness break her might
Shine with all the beauty
That God has thus clothed you
So she'll always remember
The sixty-six little paper hearts
With the sixty-six silly reasons
Why she's still on my mind
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Love Please Come Back
Just a post ago, I was commenting on how God was playing jokes with me, making me look absolutely ridiculous in front of her. Well, I'm sure God reads my blog too. Because today, I walked past her along the AS1 walkway, looking better than most other days.
I think it's God's way of saying, "Look, Victor. Making you look crappy in front of her was my intention all along, with love. But since you're complaining so much, fine. I'll give you an opportunity to look good in front of her. And you know what? It's not going to change anything. Her heart is firmly set on him, and that's just one of the many special qualities that I put into her. As for you, you know that I have many special plans for you, way better than you can even imagine..."
That's when I walk out of the conversation with God. I've heard the next part so many times, in my QT, with my chats with friends, from the Bible. It's not that I don't know or don't understand. It's just... hard to believe. And that's something about Jesus. Try this rebellious move with any other god, and you'll be zapped to death. But with Jesus, I'll eventually come back. He waits for me like no other. And He doesn't hang around to nag like my mum, poke my shoulder like Nick, and ramble on like Andrew so as to get my attention. He'll move to a corner, hidden and out-of-sight. But the moment the loneliness sets in and the stirring becomes a cry of anguish, He comes back to hold me in His arms.
God, this song is dedicated to You.
Love Please Come Back
Intro:
E C#m A B
Woah…
Verse:
E
Something’s missing here tonight
C#m
The moon just doesn’t seem so bright
A
The room is oh so empty,
The silence drives me crazy,
Hear voices all around me,
Hurt tries to bounds me tightly
B
Where are you tonight?
Oh where are you tonight?
Pre-chorus:
C#m
You took that something away from me
A
You took that something away from me
C#m
You took that something away from me
A
Away from me
Chorus:
E
Then the raindrops start to pour
C#m
And the teardrops start to fall
A
Questions echo in the dark
B
Will love come back?
E
But the loneliness inside
C#m
Doesn’t let the pain subside
A
Then the heart begins to cry
B
Love, please come back
Come back once again
I think it's God's way of saying, "Look, Victor. Making you look crappy in front of her was my intention all along, with love. But since you're complaining so much, fine. I'll give you an opportunity to look good in front of her. And you know what? It's not going to change anything. Her heart is firmly set on him, and that's just one of the many special qualities that I put into her. As for you, you know that I have many special plans for you, way better than you can even imagine..."
That's when I walk out of the conversation with God. I've heard the next part so many times, in my QT, with my chats with friends, from the Bible. It's not that I don't know or don't understand. It's just... hard to believe. And that's something about Jesus. Try this rebellious move with any other god, and you'll be zapped to death. But with Jesus, I'll eventually come back. He waits for me like no other. And He doesn't hang around to nag like my mum, poke my shoulder like Nick, and ramble on like Andrew so as to get my attention. He'll move to a corner, hidden and out-of-sight. But the moment the loneliness sets in and the stirring becomes a cry of anguish, He comes back to hold me in His arms.
God, this song is dedicated to You.
Love Please Come Back
Intro:
E C#m A B
Woah…
Verse:
E
Something’s missing here tonight
C#m
The moon just doesn’t seem so bright
A
The room is oh so empty,
The silence drives me crazy,
Hear voices all around me,
Hurt tries to bounds me tightly
B
Where are you tonight?
Oh where are you tonight?
Pre-chorus:
C#m
You took that something away from me
A
You took that something away from me
C#m
You took that something away from me
A
Away from me
Chorus:
E
Then the raindrops start to pour
C#m
And the teardrops start to fall
A
Questions echo in the dark
B
Will love come back?
E
But the loneliness inside
C#m
Doesn’t let the pain subside
A
Then the heart begins to cry
B
Love, please come back
Come back once again
Monday, February 09, 2009
The Moon and Love Languages
For those of you who happen to read this post tonight, this is the brightest you'll ever see the moon for the next few years to come. Maybe decades. I was sitting the bus on the way home from a late DG meeting and gazing at her beauty (a good fifteen minutes) before RJ and Jeremiah messaged me to confirm that the moon tonight was indeed the spectacle I had regarded it to be.
I saw her again today. She looked absolutely radiant. And she smiled at me too. +) A slightly embarrassed smile, but a smile nonetheless. And you want to know how God plays jokes on people? Let me tell you. It's the 4th time this semester that I've seen her, and probably the 3nd time she's noticed me, at least from what I can tell. And every time, I'm looking like my ugliest, tired-est, stupidest self. Most other days when I look better, she's never there. Maybe it's a psychological thing. But the fact that I was wearing specs on all three occasions only affirms the possibility of divine humor. I oh so want to slap myself.
One thing got me pent up though. Maybe she was wearing it some time ago, and I didn't notice it, but I noticed it today. A ring on her left hand, third finger. Doesn't that symbolize a certain engagement, or decision to belong to another? Sigh. Is it simply coincidental, or are you trying to tell me something, knowing that I'll be at the booth today at that time? Well, whatever it is, I hope things are going well between the two of you. In a way, I might never know how God answers my prayers every night. I wish I did, but I'm sure God withholds answers from me for a good reason.
The moon tonight just reminds me of you in so many, many ways.
First, it is a brilliant white, my favorite color, and one that has come to firmly represent you.
Second, it looks like a perfect circle, like the perfect figure that you possess.
Third, it is smooth, like your skin, flawless and ideal.
Fourth, it shines so bright, like your unmistakable smile that catches all eyes even from afar.
Fifth, its rare appearance sets the tone for the frequency of which I get to see a glimpse of you.
Sixth, it captivates and captures attention, like you whom I find it so hard to tear my mind off.
Seventh, its beauty is God's showmanship, like yours which represents a beauty which can only come from a divine architect.
Eight, it symbolically partners the Sun, like in the mythologies of every ancient civilization, and not a mere human being like me, whose person is so... insignificant.
Ninth, it rises above the skyscrapers and far from reach, like you are, so near, yet so far.
Tenth, it is known to cause people who stare at it too long to go crazy, hence the term "lunatic", which aptly defines the illness which I am suffering from.
So many more. But I've just completed an hour of "lunatic" running around my neighborhood area, so much of the frustration has temporarily given way to mental exhaustion. Blame it on the new song I just wrote that kept playing in my mind during the entire run. Some of the lyrics literally reminded me of wolves howling at the moon as fatigue and lactic acid set in.
The Love Movement has already started in the forum! If you have time please go take a look. I was assigned to massaging people in the morning at the "Physical Touch" section, but for some reason I just found it... weird. Massaging guys I mean. And having to ask female students, "Hi, would you like a free massage?" After considering how perverted I probably sounded, despite using my most innocent voice, I kinda gave up. And looking around gave me time to rethink and make more specific (and complicated) the love languages in my own life.
Material Gifts:
This is my dad's primary love language. He's always buying everyone in my family gifts, and it took me a long time to get use to it. Even till today, I find it a little heart-wrenching when he spends extravagant sums of money on gifts for me (it somehow doesn't affect me one bit if he spends on my mum), but most of the little precious things in my life are bought by him. It is my love language for people I can't and/or don't want to get too close to.
Acts of Service:
This is my mum's primary love language. Having been a housewife for most of my childhood, and an enthusiastic and dedicated nurse by profession, this love language has impacted me more than I actually imagined. I actually find myself getting slightly irritated having to do an act of service for people I don't feel close to at all (The singular exception is when I'm doing community service). On the opposite end of the spectrum, this love language is effortless, and actually makes me feel warm and fuzzy and loved, if accepted by those whom I love.
Quality Time:
This is a love language that I'm most familiar with, simply because it's how my parents see love. Wanting to reciprocate their love in every way, I've learned how to devote attention and sensitivity, make time to be with them so that they'll know I love them so much, and that I want to make them happy in every way possible. It's my "most improved" love language, one that did not come naturally, but learned through a library of self-help books, experiences and try-an-errors.
Words of Affirmation:
This is my primary giving/receiving love languages, one that I find myself using with timeless enthusiasm, while consciously holding back the negative, discouraging stuff. Writing is a huge passion of mine, be it stories or songs. Singing to cheer others up makes me happy. Encouraging others while running gives me boundless energy when I should be dead tired. Inspiring others to work harder with speeches and pep talks motivates me too. Sweet nothings should be an art for men, not a survival strategy. I also strongly believe in doing what you say, unless you meant it as a joke. It has also come to a revelation that because of that, the words from people whom I love, I take very seriously and as the truth, which often leads to the deepest wounds at the expense of my self-esteem.
Physical Touch:
This is my primary receiving love language, and like words of affirmation, something that my parents hardly provided. Because of the cultural norms, touching guys (or receiving it) has more or less been relegated to the court or the field, and touching (or receiving touch from) girls have been... non-existent. The very deprivation of it, and because I refuse to put myself in situations where any is possible, creates a horrible craving that somehow eats the soul from within, and increases sensitivity so much so that any accidental contact, especially from the opposite gender, brings a reaction that would embarrass the millipede. This makes it so much so that I've relegated this love language as something to give only to a special someone. The example that when she's clinging on to my arm and nuzzling her head into my chest, I can conquer the world (and absolutely no doubts at all) just testifies to the forced and unnatural demotion of so powerful a love language.
In my best sociology essay voice: This short excerpt of limited word count (and brain juice) has endeavored to provide a few examples of how complicated love languages are through the additional inputs of selectivity within overlapping circles of relationships, the restrictions of cultural norms, the consideration of self-propelled learning, individual histories, and context-based situations. However, in conclusion it can be established that the individual's primacy of love languages are greatly determined by the very ones that have been most often bestowed or neglected upon the individual on him/herself in life i.e. the ones that we crave most are the ones that we receive the least, and the ones that we give most are the ones that we've been trained/forced/socialized to give because of high frequency demanded from us.
I saw her again today. She looked absolutely radiant. And she smiled at me too. +) A slightly embarrassed smile, but a smile nonetheless. And you want to know how God plays jokes on people? Let me tell you. It's the 4th time this semester that I've seen her, and probably the 3nd time she's noticed me, at least from what I can tell. And every time, I'm looking like my ugliest, tired-est, stupidest self. Most other days when I look better, she's never there. Maybe it's a psychological thing. But the fact that I was wearing specs on all three occasions only affirms the possibility of divine humor. I oh so want to slap myself.
One thing got me pent up though. Maybe she was wearing it some time ago, and I didn't notice it, but I noticed it today. A ring on her left hand, third finger. Doesn't that symbolize a certain engagement, or decision to belong to another? Sigh. Is it simply coincidental, or are you trying to tell me something, knowing that I'll be at the booth today at that time? Well, whatever it is, I hope things are going well between the two of you. In a way, I might never know how God answers my prayers every night. I wish I did, but I'm sure God withholds answers from me for a good reason.
The moon tonight just reminds me of you in so many, many ways.
First, it is a brilliant white, my favorite color, and one that has come to firmly represent you.
Second, it looks like a perfect circle, like the perfect figure that you possess.
Third, it is smooth, like your skin, flawless and ideal.
Fourth, it shines so bright, like your unmistakable smile that catches all eyes even from afar.
Fifth, its rare appearance sets the tone for the frequency of which I get to see a glimpse of you.
Sixth, it captivates and captures attention, like you whom I find it so hard to tear my mind off.
Seventh, its beauty is God's showmanship, like yours which represents a beauty which can only come from a divine architect.
Eight, it symbolically partners the Sun, like in the mythologies of every ancient civilization, and not a mere human being like me, whose person is so... insignificant.
Ninth, it rises above the skyscrapers and far from reach, like you are, so near, yet so far.
Tenth, it is known to cause people who stare at it too long to go crazy, hence the term "lunatic", which aptly defines the illness which I am suffering from.
So many more. But I've just completed an hour of "lunatic" running around my neighborhood area, so much of the frustration has temporarily given way to mental exhaustion. Blame it on the new song I just wrote that kept playing in my mind during the entire run. Some of the lyrics literally reminded me of wolves howling at the moon as fatigue and lactic acid set in.
The Love Movement has already started in the forum! If you have time please go take a look. I was assigned to massaging people in the morning at the "Physical Touch" section, but for some reason I just found it... weird. Massaging guys I mean. And having to ask female students, "Hi, would you like a free massage?" After considering how perverted I probably sounded, despite using my most innocent voice, I kinda gave up. And looking around gave me time to rethink and make more specific (and complicated) the love languages in my own life.
Material Gifts:
This is my dad's primary love language. He's always buying everyone in my family gifts, and it took me a long time to get use to it. Even till today, I find it a little heart-wrenching when he spends extravagant sums of money on gifts for me (it somehow doesn't affect me one bit if he spends on my mum), but most of the little precious things in my life are bought by him. It is my love language for people I can't and/or don't want to get too close to.
Acts of Service:
This is my mum's primary love language. Having been a housewife for most of my childhood, and an enthusiastic and dedicated nurse by profession, this love language has impacted me more than I actually imagined. I actually find myself getting slightly irritated having to do an act of service for people I don't feel close to at all (The singular exception is when I'm doing community service). On the opposite end of the spectrum, this love language is effortless, and actually makes me feel warm and fuzzy and loved, if accepted by those whom I love.
Quality Time:
This is a love language that I'm most familiar with, simply because it's how my parents see love. Wanting to reciprocate their love in every way, I've learned how to devote attention and sensitivity, make time to be with them so that they'll know I love them so much, and that I want to make them happy in every way possible. It's my "most improved" love language, one that did not come naturally, but learned through a library of self-help books, experiences and try-an-errors.
Words of Affirmation:
This is my primary giving/receiving love languages, one that I find myself using with timeless enthusiasm, while consciously holding back the negative, discouraging stuff. Writing is a huge passion of mine, be it stories or songs. Singing to cheer others up makes me happy. Encouraging others while running gives me boundless energy when I should be dead tired. Inspiring others to work harder with speeches and pep talks motivates me too. Sweet nothings should be an art for men, not a survival strategy. I also strongly believe in doing what you say, unless you meant it as a joke. It has also come to a revelation that because of that, the words from people whom I love, I take very seriously and as the truth, which often leads to the deepest wounds at the expense of my self-esteem.
Physical Touch:
This is my primary receiving love language, and like words of affirmation, something that my parents hardly provided. Because of the cultural norms, touching guys (or receiving it) has more or less been relegated to the court or the field, and touching (or receiving touch from) girls have been... non-existent. The very deprivation of it, and because I refuse to put myself in situations where any is possible, creates a horrible craving that somehow eats the soul from within, and increases sensitivity so much so that any accidental contact, especially from the opposite gender, brings a reaction that would embarrass the millipede. This makes it so much so that I've relegated this love language as something to give only to a special someone. The example that when she's clinging on to my arm and nuzzling her head into my chest, I can conquer the world (and absolutely no doubts at all) just testifies to the forced and unnatural demotion of so powerful a love language.
In my best sociology essay voice: This short excerpt of limited word count (and brain juice) has endeavored to provide a few examples of how complicated love languages are through the additional inputs of selectivity within overlapping circles of relationships, the restrictions of cultural norms, the consideration of self-propelled learning, individual histories, and context-based situations. However, in conclusion it can be established that the individual's primacy of love languages are greatly determined by the very ones that have been most often bestowed or neglected upon the individual on him/herself in life i.e. the ones that we crave most are the ones that we receive the least, and the ones that we give most are the ones that we've been trained/forced/socialized to give because of high frequency demanded from us.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Tell Me Who You Love, And I Will Tell You Who You Are
Thanks Jamie. Found the story that pastor was reading two weeks ago in church. Nearly thought I'll have to write it out myself.
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn’t, the girl with the rose.
His interest in her he had begun 13 months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf, he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner’s name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort, he located her address. She now lived in NY City.
He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day, he was shipped overseas for service in World War II. During the next year and one month, the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn’t matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting — 7 pm at the Grand Central station in New York. ‘‘You will recognize me,’’ she wrote, ‘‘by the red rose I will be wearing on my lapel.’’ So, at 7 pm, he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he’d never seen. We will let Mr Blanchard tell you what happened: A young woman was coming towards me, her figure long and slim. Her blond hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive.
I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. ‘‘Going my way, sailor?’’ she murmured. Almost uncontrollably, I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had greying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes.
The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible; her grey eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her.
This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke, I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. ‘‘I am John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner.’’
The woman’s face broadened into a tolerant smile. ‘‘I don’t know what this is about, son,’’ she answered, ‘‘but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!’’
It’s not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell’s wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.
Tell me who you love, and I will tell you who you are.
That explains my obsession with the marginalized. The poor. The handicapped. The unattractive. The depressed. The lonely. In many ways I pity the rich, the powerful, the popular, the ignorant-happy, the beautiful. The eye of the needle isn't really that big you know. Neither does popularity, beauty and ignorance get any of these beneficiaries asking about the purpose of their life, until they lose it.
And you were someone who cried for a good half-hour on your bed after reading about the Mumbai bombings. Someone who wanted to wipe the tears from the eyes of others, so they'll never have to go through what you did. Someone who had a dream (literally) to go to the Middle-East to bring the Gospel to the final frontier of the 10/40 window, even if it meant poverty and death.
Maybe that's why I chose to put the study of "Geopolitics in the Middle-East" with MINDEF as the first choice for my internship project. I'll just hope Adam and Xiao Jun spark revival in Japan soon as they touchdown. If not I'll have to make use of my half-past-six Japanese language. Let's just see where God wants me to go. And who He'll want me to go with. I'm hoping it's you.
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn’t, the girl with the rose.
His interest in her he had begun 13 months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf, he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner’s name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort, he located her address. She now lived in NY City.
He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day, he was shipped overseas for service in World War II. During the next year and one month, the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn’t matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting — 7 pm at the Grand Central station in New York. ‘‘You will recognize me,’’ she wrote, ‘‘by the red rose I will be wearing on my lapel.’’ So, at 7 pm, he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he’d never seen. We will let Mr Blanchard tell you what happened: A young woman was coming towards me, her figure long and slim. Her blond hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive.
I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. ‘‘Going my way, sailor?’’ she murmured. Almost uncontrollably, I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had greying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes.
The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible; her grey eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her.
This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke, I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. ‘‘I am John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner.’’
The woman’s face broadened into a tolerant smile. ‘‘I don’t know what this is about, son,’’ she answered, ‘‘but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!’’
It’s not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell’s wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.
Tell me who you love, and I will tell you who you are.
That explains my obsession with the marginalized. The poor. The handicapped. The unattractive. The depressed. The lonely. In many ways I pity the rich, the powerful, the popular, the ignorant-happy, the beautiful. The eye of the needle isn't really that big you know. Neither does popularity, beauty and ignorance get any of these beneficiaries asking about the purpose of their life, until they lose it.
And you were someone who cried for a good half-hour on your bed after reading about the Mumbai bombings. Someone who wanted to wipe the tears from the eyes of others, so they'll never have to go through what you did. Someone who had a dream (literally) to go to the Middle-East to bring the Gospel to the final frontier of the 10/40 window, even if it meant poverty and death.
Maybe that's why I chose to put the study of "Geopolitics in the Middle-East" with MINDEF as the first choice for my internship project. I'll just hope Adam and Xiao Jun spark revival in Japan soon as they touchdown. If not I'll have to make use of my half-past-six Japanese language. Let's just see where God wants me to go. And who He'll want me to go with. I'm hoping it's you.
-
Did you become prettier, or is it my favorite color playing tricks on my eyes again?
You were wearing the same white top which I first noticed you in. The image which captured my heart on the spot. "Faith" was the word printed on it. God knows how much of it I had lost. And also my gradual realization of how valuable it is to me.
It's silly, the propensity of my clumsiness when I'm around you. Embarrassing, but not entirely noticeable to the rest of the world. I hope.
And most of all, the way you lock eye contact with me when you speak. Confidence, innocence, seduction, who cares what people make out of such an act. A maddening drive, a prelude to insanity, an unspeakable force of attraction that extends the capabilities of the love language "physical touch" to new horizons that sensationalizes and mystifies irrational thought due to its very lack of scientific explanation for the absence of mutual physical interaction. Yet, the emotional ecstasy is indescribable.
A new revelation of self-awareness. I used to think that my attraction towards beautiful eyes was socially preconditioned by my (extremely biased) mum who told me straight in the face never to marry a girl without double eyelids, simply because she didn't want the "good-looking genome" to die off from the family gene pool. (Never genuinely thought of myself as that mesmerizing on the outside anyway.) But now I realize that it's also one of the reasons why you enthrall me so much.
Because I've never met a girl who can look me in the eyes like you do.
They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. That if you can't look at someone you love in the eyes for long, you may be hiding something. Let me identify what that "something" is. It is Love. You're afraid to look and gaze, because you're afraid of falling in love. -Valentino Casanova
You were wearing the same white top which I first noticed you in. The image which captured my heart on the spot. "Faith" was the word printed on it. God knows how much of it I had lost. And also my gradual realization of how valuable it is to me.
It's silly, the propensity of my clumsiness when I'm around you. Embarrassing, but not entirely noticeable to the rest of the world. I hope.
And most of all, the way you lock eye contact with me when you speak. Confidence, innocence, seduction, who cares what people make out of such an act. A maddening drive, a prelude to insanity, an unspeakable force of attraction that extends the capabilities of the love language "physical touch" to new horizons that sensationalizes and mystifies irrational thought due to its very lack of scientific explanation for the absence of mutual physical interaction. Yet, the emotional ecstasy is indescribable.
A new revelation of self-awareness. I used to think that my attraction towards beautiful eyes was socially preconditioned by my (extremely biased) mum who told me straight in the face never to marry a girl without double eyelids, simply because she didn't want the "good-looking genome" to die off from the family gene pool. (Never genuinely thought of myself as that mesmerizing on the outside anyway.) But now I realize that it's also one of the reasons why you enthrall me so much.
Because I've never met a girl who can look me in the eyes like you do.
They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. That if you can't look at someone you love in the eyes for long, you may be hiding something. Let me identify what that "something" is. It is Love. You're afraid to look and gaze, because you're afraid of falling in love. -Valentino Casanova
Sunday, February 01, 2009
-
I'm still smiling from the little excitement that coursed through my fragile being three days ago. I saw her, not for 5 seconds, but for a whole 2 hours. For much of the time it was a view from afar, often crowded with the bodies of others, but it was good enough for me.
She taught me how to fold a heart using paper, when my own heart was still in pieces.
She smiled at me more than once, albeit gingerly, and that unforgettable image is still firmly imprinted in my mind as I write this post.
She spoke to me, even when it was a simple question to confirm my attendance at the Befriender's Meeting this coming Monday.
Baseless hope, I know. But don't we all need that sort of stuff sometimes? And somewhere in our hearts a voice whispers to us, comforting us, that the longer we wait, the more pain we endure, the blurrier our dreams become...
The more beautiful the ending.
+) +) +)
She taught me how to fold a heart using paper, when my own heart was still in pieces.
She smiled at me more than once, albeit gingerly, and that unforgettable image is still firmly imprinted in my mind as I write this post.
She spoke to me, even when it was a simple question to confirm my attendance at the Befriender's Meeting this coming Monday.
Baseless hope, I know. But don't we all need that sort of stuff sometimes? And somewhere in our hearts a voice whispers to us, comforting us, that the longer we wait, the more pain we endure, the blurrier our dreams become...
The more beautiful the ending.
+) +) +)
Waiting produces a feeling
So strong
So crushing
So bittersweet
A crescendo towards an eternity
Of which our minds cannot fathom
Yet,
A reminder of Paradise to come
So strong
So crushing
So bittersweet
A crescendo towards an eternity
Of which our minds cannot fathom
Yet,
A reminder of Paradise to come
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