"Oh You're Just A Riddle In The Sky."

______________________________

 The dust motes swirling in the sunlight
as it streams through the open window.

A woman tending the fire to the sound
of crackling firewood.

The smell of tea fills the air. 

Home can be found -
Two and a quarter time zones away.

______________________________


This was meant to be the start of my Nepal-post, typed just about 6 or so weeks ago, but maybe I'm never going to do that. Instead, here we are, approaching the end of November, and the year. Guns N' Roses' November Rain, as ever, ringing in my ears though the torrential downpour we've experienced over the past couple of days, respite from the haze, welcome relief from days of claustrophobic heat.

Caught in some strange sort of time-warp over the past few days, too. From late-into-the-morning conversations with the siblings, 4am dota nights (?!!), three hours spent watching old videos of Ronaldinho circa 2004 (¡Viva la Barcelona!), board games night (Balderdash!) (...or gossip night?), etc...

It's like the 00's all over again.

______________________________


And how brutal we all are to (all) our past selves.

And some nights we just want to walk on and on and on and on - but we can't. We've got all these responsibilities and commitments and obligations. And don't we wish we never grew up? And some weeks, like these, maybe we believe.

"And you'll fall in love again," she threatened.

And partaking of a stranger's happiness on a train, as she reads a birthday card, perhaps from a lover. Perhaps not.

"And were you ever lost,
and were you ever found?"

And she casts no shadow on nobody,
and nobody cares, nobody does not get hurt.

"And are you ready for this life?
The world is calling out your name,
there's another future out there for you.

And this, and that too, shall eventually pass.
The universe is riding off with you."

And oh, bluebird, I would not ever
try to capture you.

A City of Dreamers.

So 13 thousand gazillion years after watching V for Vendetta - I think this is the first time I am legitimately able to say, albeit quite disappointingly now: "Remember remember the 5th of November." YESSAH. Ok thanks.

I did have a genuinely excellent, and worth remembering sorta day though - thanks to the Singapore Writers' Festival and more pertinently, Dimensions and Demons!! Truly blown away by the copious amounts of talent displayed tonight. Ferry, weish, and Riot !n Magenta - Stephanie Ye, Dave Chua, and Daren Shiau. Collaboration has never sounded nor looked so sweet. What a night.

And hope for a dreary city, no? This concrete jungle produces fevered dreamers, too.

Now before the stroke of midnight, and the considerably less interesting 6th of November, shall I depart. Good night fellas.

Enough Rope By Which To Hang Yourself.

"Very often you hear people putting so much emphasis on having the freedom to choose, and living the lives that they want. And I understand that I have been very fortunate to be born into certain circumstances that allow me to do whatever I want to do, for the most part. But freedom can also be enough rope by which to hang yourself. I went through a long period of time where I didn’t have to answer to anybody, so I made a lot big mistakes: things that I don’t necessarily regret now — because I learned from them — but I overdosed on that freedom for a while. I think as you get older, if you mature and grow in the right way, then eventually you realize it’s not really freedom that you’re fighting for. It’s what that freedom can get you."


BE•TRA•YAL: Just wanted to come out and say, equal measures proudly and shamefacedly, that the new CRJ (Carly Rae Jepsen to you plebes) album is GREAT. Dear Lord, what is going on?!? Unbelievable hooks. Top-notch productions. Bubblegum pop at its absolute finest (what a pun haha ok sue me. no, fine me.) and guilty pleasure of the highest order, I tell you hwat. I mean, Tom Hanks in a music video??? Tell me it ain't so. And yet, it works. Hook line and sinker.

And in a now-doomed attempt at street cred - here's my second discovery of the day (waaaaaaaaay further up the cool spectrum pls b3li3v3 me) - the absolutely banging School of Seven Bells (SVIIB in short, told ya they were kool.) A superb feature by Stereogum (also source of 90% of all my new music finds) and I want more. Dark synth/dream/atmospheric pop(?), can't go wrong with that eh. Pop(?), though? Okwtv genres suck. How2wraphead around chillwave/jangle-pop/dream-pop/shoegaze/electronic-rock/etc etc etc???

In other news, new Grimes, Florence (heard it on my MAS flight back from KTM whaddya know), Deerhunter, Beach House (not on spotify WHY) etc is enough to keep this would-be-hipster going.

Largely trivial post here, triggered by a vague desire that my mind not stagnate (not too badly, at least). Of course there are plenty of better things I could be doing but I simply feel unable to bring myself to. Even banalities like editing (never too much, rest assured. I am a purist at heart.) and posting of pictures. Processing some of those journal entries from Nepal, also, feels just too much to do. For now.

And now it's time to make something of my weekend, at last! Happy returns on a happy weekend, fellas.

Everybody's Here For Someone Else.

So. Over a month ago, before setting sail for the distant shores of Ho Chi Minh and getting burnt to a crisp in Nepal, I had in mind this whole spiel on the arrestingly, surprisingly, beautiful sight of the haze under the light of streetlamps. A gentle reminder of seasons past - of foggy streets and train stations illuminated in the distance; of finding a strange version of family thousands of miles from home. I hope I never grow out of this joy for fog. The haze, though... One month later and here it still persists, accompanied by reports that it might last into the new year. What! Faux fog Christmas at least, I suppose......???

______________________________

And the sea. How terrible, how frightening, how beautiful, when the sky blends into the sea, when the horizon hides behind the rain. How terrifying, how dramatic, when the visibility drops below five cables, when you can barely see six or seven waves ahead of you, when the fate of the ship's company rests in your hands.

And how to explain what sailing feels like? The headaches, soreness, discomfort, etc. that you never know for sure exactly why, or where they're from. Seasickness, dehydration, lack of fresh rations, lack of sleep... The wait for the next meal, the massive disappointment when it sucks, the interminable waits and periods of inactivity, the adrenaline, the rush, the weight of the responsibility. The rolling, the pitching, the pounding, the shouts, the myriad little decisions you have to make to juggle them all. Chasing rainclouds, sighting dolphins - and above all a wonder at this man-made steel contraption making its way through the open seas.

Presiding over stormy weather and tenuous sunsets. People watching in HCM. Watching the street sprout stalls as the market closes for the day. Wondering at the supremely independent Japanese ladies roaming the streets. The hipster girls in their cute helmets - where do they ride off to? In a teeming city of 10 million, equal parts opportunity and obstacle, how do you not get drowned out?

______________________________

Perspective.

/pərˈspektiv/

noun

 

1. a technique of depicting volumes and spatial relationships on a flat surface;

2. a picture employing this technique, especially one in which it is prominent;

3. a visible scene, especially one extending to a distance; vista;

4. the state of existing in space before the eye;

5. the state of one's ideas, the facts known to one, etc., in having a meaningful interrelationship;

6. the faculty of seeing all the relevant data in a meaningful relationship;

7. a mental view or prospect.

How things change in a day - in a night, even. I had in mind this whole indulgent post before leaving tomorrow for what just might be ages, but that really doesn't seem to matter too much anymore.

I wish I could be more of a support, be readier with the right words, be more of a comfort, to a dear friend going through something so colossal. But I don't. And tomorrow I will be gone, too, and fat help I will be, huh? Well, I guess sometimes all you can do is offer your best, condolences, and prayer. I'm sorry for your loss, friend. And I pray you'll pull through.

 In other news, going to miss my kids very much. Especially after today when it felt like perhaps a sort of breakthrough with the dearest Tricia and Clara.. Shan't be seeing any of them for the next 3/4 weeks at least, I hope I won't be forgotten by the time I get back!

And because I have quite literally nothing to offer but words (bad ones, stupid ones, useless ones):

Death, and What to Do

         1. Tell the people close to you (let them love you, please.)

a.      Family

b.      Friends

c.       Lovers

         2. Stay focussed, practical.

a.      Funeral arrangements

b.      Informing workplace/applying for leave

c.       Documents

                                                     i.     Death cert

                                                   ii.     Funeral permit

                                                  iii.     Etc.

         3. Eat. Hydrate. Stay strong (for others, too.)

         4. Grieve.

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind.

Just came back from the actual WORST SAILING EVER. Haha ugh yuck sigh. So upsetting, almost made the horrific decision to play mahjong tonight, until I decided it really is time for me to treat my body a little more kindly... Not turning any younger anymore unfortunately! And the chef for some reason or another apparently hates vegetables. WHY. Never thought the day would come when I'd eargerly await my next meal hoping for some form of greens and be so bitterly disappointed to see none. My next poop is not gonna go all that well I fear!

Actually craved a salad after, unbelievable. And I'm drinking this Vegetable Juice (beetroot! carrot! celery! radish! acerola!) now to boot. What depths we've sunk to huh.... Really just wanted to whine about this sailing actually. Since all we did over the past 36hrs was moan and bitch about everything we could think of. It was actually disgusting. Whateverz.

Next few weeks promise to be exciting, at the very least! Time to finalize travel plans at long last, a new adventure awaits. And verrrrrrry happy with my new camera too yay! Thought it was the most expensive thing I ever bought and was very pleased about that fact until I remembered I bought this laptop too. Splurgingz ttm.

Finally, just wanted to reaffirm my love of Lean On (Major Lazer are you even kidding me with that name) and how it is my firm favourite for Song of the Summer! Cultural appropriation aside, ain't no other song got those grooves on, c'mon. Cheerleader = the worst. That is all!

Do The Whirlwind!

So, yay. 5 months of toil and trouble, and it's finally over. Thought there might be a tad more fanfare than this, watershed moments and all - but of course there isn't, who would know, and why would they?

Oh well. Was just considering that it's a little sad that here we are after all this while, huge sighs of relief out of the way, load off our shoulders - and yet one of us is still out there, one of us is alone at home cause his family went on holiday, and one of us (me) is here sadly tapping on his keyboard. Tsk. And trying and failing to peel off my Bedok-reservoir-sustained scabs too haha ok gross.

So ok, yay. All systems are a go - leave clearing and holiday planning shall begin in earnest now, and celebratory cameras do not buy themselves either. Hurrah.

This Grey Adorable City By The Docks.

Strange, unfortunate restless energy keeping me from sleeping tonight sigh. Have to be up in a couple of hours, the horror! To be carpark manager at a wedding, however, so no better reason to drag oneself out of bed I suppose.

So I've had a rather #sg50 weekend, all things considered! (i.e. not getting to watch NDP sigh whyyyyyy.) From a picnic at the botanic gardens which got rained on (#sumatrasqualls #sosingaporean) to rescuing a lost child at pasar bella, to a free (#sosingaporean) concert at bedok reservoir, conversing with precisely 1 x Foreigner (what consitutes a foreigner anyway?) the writer of the book I Ate Tiong Bahru which I promptly bought, and 1 x Senior Citizen (but not Pioneer Generation, unfortunately. How many people fall through the cracks huh?) who shared his dinner i.e. otah-bread with me. Descended a hill at a/m reservoir and stumbled and cut my leg almost falling into a longkang and bled rather spectacularly (#redwhitebloodcells #sg50) to cap off a most pleasant day/evening in the east.

Planned for and failed TWO (!!) suppers with the handsome most esteemed learned returning lawyer - Ho Captain! My Captain! (Mens rea was present, actus reus was lacking.) Sailed past the marina cruise bay, barrage, etc, and an immense crowd assembled on the various embankments/structures along the coast, most of whom, loathe as I am to admit, were there for the Black Knights (those magnificent beasts) rather than for us, I am sure. Caught the spectacular if rather too brief fireworks and the various fly-pasts from a unique vantage point I really shouldn't be complaining too much about (but I shall - ONE (!) whole day's worth of free transport and I enjoyed exactly none of it.)

Also managed to sneak a quick peek at the NDP on TV, quite happily the short segment featuring various Singaporeans overseas (including Sarajevo are you kidding me hello) and all their #sosingaporean comments. What is the Singaporean identity? one asks. And yet I identify with every single one of their sentiments, and maintain that I am able to spot a fellow Singaporean from a mile away. I'm not sure what makes us us, but I know that I know it when I see it. Most heartwarming for a prodigal Singaporean indeed.

Wonder if I have it in me to depart for years, again. Sometimes the scary thing is that I think I do, and I think I might have no qualms about it whatsoever. I can say all I want about personal growth, development, etc - but am I secretly glad to leave all this behind, again? This transient life, spent moving. Moving from, moving to. Moving on. And on and on and on and where is it we actually end up? Isn't home, home, and shouldn't home be enough? What, exactly, are we spending our lives in search of? The bright lights of a foreign city's sky, that sense of freedom ingested along with the unfamiliar smells and sights of a place so far from home. A green light at the end of a dock.

But this is us, this is what it means to be alive. The human condition: we run from the inevitable; we pursue the unattainable; we hopelessly hope.


P.S. How could I have neglected to mention that in addition to all that #sg50 extravaganza over MBS/Padang I had THREE (!!!) ice-creams on board today. 2 cornettos, 1 magnum. That is all.

P.P.S. I need to run/exercise/move around. Squash kakis hello please assist. Or any other sport, really. It's too much to drag my lazy ass out of home to run, sometimes. Sports is the only real solution I have available now..... #activesg

The Spaceman Says "Everybody Look Down."

When you leave, weary of me,
without a word I shall gently let you go. 

From Mount Yak
in Yongbyon,
I shall gather armfuls of azaleas
and scatter them on your way.

Step by step
on the flowers placed before you
tread lightly, softly as you go.

When you leave,
weary of me,
though I die, I'll not let one tear fall.

What a world we live in, that a random book (Reluctant Fundamentalist) could kindle an interest in 2 cities (Valpo and Lahore) which could lead (circuitiously, through a friend) to a most incredible website (www.lahorelanding.com) and lead to a Korean poem circa 1925.

How rough it is to gently let go. What could be harder?

Sometimes, it's all you can do to drown out the words unspoken. A whole conversation in my head of what's not been said. And all the while you can't help thinking: this is all just me, this is all just in my head. Sometimes, my head's a mess.

Your heart's a mess
You won't admit to it
It makes no sense
But I'm desperate to connect
And you, you can't live like this.

Way too late in the night now for thoughts as these - it is time for bed. Goodnight now.

Music To Walk Home By.

Spending the morning discovering that Tame Impala is pretty great listening on a spaced-out saturday. Body and soul on the Kevin Parker hype-train, I find myself yay. Have to get my butt out of this too-comfy chair of mine and run some errands soon but first.

Just realized yesterday was actually the 4th anniversary of our commisioning! What a 4 years too, huh. Definitely not, in so many crucial ways, the same person who marched out into that parade square what feels like forever ago. How the years have shaped us all! Not particularly prone to regrets, but I wonder what life would have been like had I actually lived out my resolve to put myself out of course way back when.

Well. In any case, just thought that this anniversary (yes, arbitrary remembrance though it is) was a rather timely reminder that:

I will not vanish.

Like Cigarette Burns On Otherwise Perfect Unspoilt Skin.

"And with a little pen-knife held in her hand
She plugged him through and through
And the wind did roar and the wind did moan
La la la la la
La la la la lee"


What a surprise to stumble upon Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds on Lush 995 the other day. A strange, fitting soundtrack to Sundays like these.

What a week. What a month. What a year. Working late every single day is no joke really, but I guess in some ways I'm actually glad to be this busy too. Thank God for a busy July! And they say that work shall set you free. Okay haha maybe not. Pls no. But yes, work is work and work is good, for now at least.

Except it kinda feels like I'm running on empty, sometimes. I really am reeling. Dog-tired, bone-weary. Barely even able to survive till the end of class today haha, or maybe it's the kids getting waaaaay more energetic! Little monsters the lot of them.

In other news, went into Lock and Lock the other day and got rather excited hahah. Almost bought a baking tray and casserole and friends.. Just a bit more preparation and my room shall finally be ready for housewarming! All that accumulated detritus from years of travel... Speaking of which, the title 'Desastres Naturales' actually is the title of a movie my Chilean friend directed. Talk about fascinating travel buddies...

Anyhow. Okay. Time to regroup. Lay low, start slow. Let's go.

Desastres Naturales.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick,  to-

He looks up at the clock whose second hand is still now, time freezes for a second there as his brain scrambles to figure out what it is that has suddenly gone missing. Something so seemingly insignificant, so perfectly natural, as the sound of a second hand ticking, his mind does not know quite how to react to its abrupt absence.

He stares at the once-clock. What is it, now? A clock which cannot mark time. Something whose entire existence is now entirely invalidated. A being with no raison d'être, no reason for being. He does not know how long he stares. Ha ha.

And the once-clock stares back at him. Tick, tock. No one's making those hands start moving again, and yet life goes on.

Life does. He starts walking. Away. And he walks, and he walks, and he walks. What, or who, was waiting for him back there anyway? Nothing. Just an existential question of a clock. Ha ha. He walks on.

He remembers this recurring dream he has:

A girl, a traveller in a city on a hill. As she wanders, absolutely and utterly alone, she wonders. She stops at a break between two buildings, and gazes out at the city spread out before her. She's never felt so alive, alone in a strange new city. The possibilities seem endless. It is beautiful, stark, the utter desolation of freedom. She smiles softly to herself. She walks on.

He realizes he cannot hold on to a girl like that. He must not. That no matter how tightly she holds his hand as they walk in the park, a part of her will always long to be free. A part of her which wants to lose everything, to leave everything behind. Her family and her friends and her habits. Her work and the things she enjoys. All the things that make her, her. She cannot help it - the desolation of freedom accepts no compromise.

Ah, compromise. He remembers the man on the streets, old, decrepit. Broken.

Love fully, or not at all. If love doesn't ruin you, then why love at all? Why settle for some safe, pale imitation of love?

His eyes comes alive as he speaks the words. Maybe broken isn't so bad after all.

What a strange place. This modern world, right? Surrounded by all these people, five million of us in this tiny city-state, and you're alone. Even though each of us know how lonely we all are. We pass each other by, strangers on a train, embarrassed by the furtive eye-contact, when we're caught peeking at each other's messages, showing interest in the shows we're watching, the games we're playing. Embarrassed!

The broken man does not stop talking.

The girl on the train reading the same print of Catch-22 you never quite got around to reading yourself, listening to your favourite song just that little bit too loud so it bleeds into the otherwise quiet cabin, with a faint smile flickering about her lips as she comes to the realization that you're looking at her. Perhaps wondering, too, what might be if you would just say something. A million possiblities, and then nothing. Another day, right?

Another day, it is. It has to be! The once-clock protests in futility - time marches relentlessly on. He takes comfort in that. He walks on.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Cow Now Brown Huh?

Or: Where is the Δ?

Let me sort myself out, here, please now. Nothing changes. Does it? Things are no more (and no less) scary just because. We shall, as always, have to keep on keeping on.

Yup. This is worth it.

The Conviction of Things Not Seen.

Hmmmm that was strangely reassuring, to see the title of my previous post. Perhaps that's what I need so sorely.

Let's backtrack here, kinda.

One of the fears every writer has must be that, one day, words will fail you. The perpetual terror that suddenly your sentences don't work anymore; that the words you string together turn out to be just that. Because one of the fears everyone must have is that, one day, we'll realize that we've never quite been able to make ourselves understood. Never fully; and especially never by the ones we most desperately wanted and needed to.

It's a fear present (and most inconvenient) at every (possibly) significant moment - from drafting a speech to a simple message on a birthday card, from innocent conversations to the heartfelt, the terrifying letters. What if my message, the core of what I'm trying to say, does not convey itself fully to the intended? For someone to whom so much is predicated on words... that is a most frightful thought indeed.

And on the subject of fear.. Far be it from me to try and dissect that topic here, less to offer up this simple observation, or even query if you will. Let us first look at what we fear, then why we fear, before we figure out the how. Because how is important, that's how we move on. Perhaps of far greater importance, too, is who. Not who I fear, but who I fear for. Someone who's worth being frightened for! Then everything else makes a sudden, sort of sense.

And isn't that, kinda, what we've been looking for all this while?

The Assurance of Things Hoped For.

Well here goes. Some things you have got to fight for. Life isn't easy, it never was, and it sure never will be. I used to imagine that life gets easier as you grow up - that past the awkward stages of adolescence things just fall in place somehow; that having navigated safely (or perhaps even not so safely) down the long and winding and twisted path that youth presents we'd find ourselves on the straight and narrow; that maturity could and would be wielded like some enchanted tree branch and decisions would be clear and come easy.

Well, I'm coming to discover that's not what maturity was meant for. We fight it out and we grow and we learn and we survive and we move on - not so that we can fall back one day, stand easy, pretend the battle is done. No. Maturity means we're better equipped, with the lessons of battles past, to deal with the present, to prepare for the future. Decisions get harder - not the other way round; they impact more people, more.

Well, "nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be so hard." But we have faith. Imperfect faith, to be sure - but in the One who is perfectly faithful.

Blessed Resurrection Sunday all!

Had We More Courage.

            And on your tongue
was the whisper of the wings

                      of the dreams
                      of the life
of the life we could
  have had

     had we loved more
          had we more courage
               had we let ourselves


we let ourselves


                           down.

At Least Icarus Flew.

______________________________

Icarus!
    Flew toward
        the indifferent sun

Ecstasy!
    Even as he fell
        toward the uncaring ground.

______________________________


So yesterday this super dubious whatsapp message was circulating around re: the moon from 10-11pm being visible in 12 different colours or something, and that formed the basis for that last post. For whatever reason, "The Jade Rabbit Feasts on Green Cheese" is now my favourite title of them all, even as I'm still wondering what that was all about. Poems (or attempted poems!) are the strangest things of all.

"Icarus" here, at least, I know why. Of course, the story of Icarus is at heart supposedly an allegory on hubris. But perhaps it is a mere tale on the dangers of getting lost in the moment, of forgetting where or even who you are. That is the origin of Icarus, after all. It is about daring to dream of escape; it is about actually trying to.

What do the actual consequences matter?

Except that they do. They really do. I feel like I'm treading on dangerous ground at times. Only sometimes I'm not sure whether I even care or not. It's so easy to lose myself in flight. And yet. A duty of care, a responsibility to be better than this. It's not just about me anymore, is it?

It's terrifying to think about all the things that could go wrong, exhilarating to think about what could go right. So God help me, I gotta navigate my way through these shoals on either side and emerge safely somehow. Well, safety perhaps isn't the right word here - there are going to be risks I have to take too. What a crazy state of delirium indeed.

Hurtling blindfolded into the great unknown, and I wouldn't have it any other way. This is the real world. This is me in God's playground. And He's holding on to me.

Alright, time for bed. Operation: BodyClock Reset begins now.

The Jade Rabbit Feasts On Green Cheese.

The moon they say will
be seen in twelve
different colours tonight

Once in a hundred
and eighty-four years
O!
Wonder!

let the moon reflect that
life is a many-splendoured thing
as Chang-e flits across her face
as the Jade Rabbit nibbles on green cheese

let the lonely moon reflect that
lonely as she is
love goes beyond distance
love goes beyond colour
love goes beyond desire
love goes beyond hope and tears and laughter and
fear and sorrow and understanding

let the lonely distant many-coloured moon tonight
reflect our light
let us teach her what it means to live
let us teach her what it means to love.

When I Am Not This Hunchback That You See.

So, a hundred thousand years after hearing Jeff Buckley's rendition of Hallelujah on House, today I finally listen to Leonard Cohen for the first time - after a circuitous journey only the internet and youtube comments and sidebars can offer. Good stuff.

I've also just embarked on Ministry of Moral Panic by local writer Amanda Lee Koe, and am supremely excited to resume it - only it doesn't feel fair to read it while in a distracted frame of mind, as I am now. It's so Singaporean in such a natural way, I'm not sure how else to put it. Probably once I'm done I'll be able to accurately dish out the hyperbole, but for now I can only say how pleased I am with such wonderfully crafted short stories. Definitely a writer to get excited about! Good stuff.

-

Okay so I wrote all that sometime in December but never found the time to finish it. 2 months on I can safely say that Ministry of Moral Panic was truly excellent and a debut unlike any other. Hope for local talent after all!

Anyway. First CNY back home in years and boy does it feel good. Despite the snacking. Especially the snacking. I don't even know anymore pineapple tarts confuse me. How can something so bad feel so good? Or vice versa. I don't even know, man.. Wanted to go for a run right this morning but decided to turn on my laptop instead - story of life indeed. Rumour has it kueh bangkits don't just go on their own and disappear from tummies and love handles, but I'm willing to live with that possbility apparently! You gotta love this season. So soon after 1st jan too, you can literally hear the sound of a million resolutions breaking... Well that got dark fast!

So the actual reason I was gonna write today was to explain, perhaps, my last story. It didn't actually start off as one per se, I had to come up with some sorta narrative to stitch together all these different thoughts. Origin: Reading Murakami's Kafka on the Shore on the MRT to work one fine morning - I felt inspired to type out a couple of drafts on my phone, pretty much all those passages in italics, which in my book constitutes a pretty productive morning huh. Think it took all of 40mins, so that was pretty inspired I think. Not to mention how surprised I myself am by the result.

I had no idea what to do with these fragments, so one fateful night I decided to piece them together - imperfectly probably - and see what the result could be. As with all my other stories, I didn't quite know what to make of it after writing it. A bit ragged, maybe. A tad unpolished and choppy, maybe. But as with all the rest too, I don't think there's any way for me to make any changes anymore. What's done is done, I guess. And every time I read it again I'm not sure what I was thinking while I wrote that, what I was trying to achieve, who I was trying to speak to. Apart from myself, that is.

I didn't write the story about someone. I did write the story for someone. I hope it worked. Funny, how that is sometimes, maybe cause I'm not sure what I'm trying to achieve either. 2nd story I've written that wasn't just for myself - it makes writing that much of a scarier process too. And quite uncharacteristically too, and I'm still not sure why I did, I even posted it on fb to largely positive reaction, of which I am very appreciative. Apart from some strange and probably unnecessary comparison to 50 shades.....

I guess maybe it's cause I know by now I really am not writing for anyone's approval or reception, that the audience is not that important a part of the process maybe. Something about the integrity of why I do what I do, not quite sure how else to put it. But if it might mean something to someone else too, then why not? I finally know for sure I'm not writing for other people's eyes, so I'm comfortable now to let people read these stories. Cause it doesn't really matter to me anymore.

Well, rather long spiel on writing huh. I guess we can leave it at that. Life is no joke btw. You think things are going pretty smoothly and you've kinda had most of it figured out, the planning stage is over!, and it's a mere matter of details and execution, and then suddenly bam!. It's ridiculous. And exciting. But ridiculous nonetheless.

To the anon who commented on Release Horse, maybe Like the Moon was a bit more dy-like huh haha. A tad extreme, perhaps... Anyway that's all folks!

And She Looks Like The Moon.

Q: And do you think this, all this, lasts forever?

A: No, and if it does it should not. Nothing that is this beautiful should be made to last. Life without death is a tragedy; eternal art not art at all.

A: Yes, and if it doesn't it should. If even this degrades, decays, then of what use is hope? I could not bear to live in a world where all beauty eventually dies, where beauty, indeed, is contingent on transience.

I get on the train, and you are there, waiting for me. You smile as I sit down opposite you, and I remember the day we met all those years ago. The day I met the 99% perfect girl; the day I fell in love; the day everything started; the day it all started to end.

I knew as soon as I saw you: here is a girl as close to 100% as I'm ever likely to get. Should I have waited for that 100%, I will never know.

Of course we ended up disappointing each other. No surprise. How could we not, when we were so afraid of revealing what we want? (What we want what we really really want.) Somehow we made that 1% out to be so much more than it really was - it grew and it grew until there was a rift between us neither of us knew how to bridge. Was it because everything else was so perfect that we couldn't help but focus on what wasn't?

I look across at you. All I see now is the 99% I overlooked because of the 1%.

How did it happen, when did we grow up all of a sudden? Where was the line, how did we cross it? Without warning, without fanfare. What a shame! Do you remember the smell of rain, the whisper of the wind?

Your smile fades. You look out the window. Silence.

But you were always like the moon to me. As you went so did my desire ebb and flow, as I tried my hardest to keep up with you. But no matter how hard I tried I never got any closer to you; no matter how hard I try a part of you will always remain hidden from me.

We speed past the seaside. Oh! That is where we were once, on that beach, happy. You lay against my chest as you scoop up handfuls of sand and allow them to run through your fingers. Do you remember? The picnic mat beneath us, the future before us. We used to talk, once. We used to love, once.

And beneath our love, our happiness, flowed that steady undercurrent of sadness. Do you remember how sad we were? Like something that could only be seen out of the corner of your eyes. Lurking, always, at the edges of our happiness. It was not loss, no - it was the memory of loss. That every second I spent with you was another second gone, lost forever like so much sand in the wind.

Your side profile still turned towards me, I remember the day I went through your diary. Why, I will never know. And I will never forgive myself. "And love was a language he never learnt to speak. He had to pick it up and piece it together wherever he could. And slowly, but surely, he began to understand. Just the tiniest bits at first, but slowly, and surely, he began to be fluent in love. But who can say, even as he was learning to listen, learning to speak, how much had been lost between the cracks, how much love had flowed past him, incomprehensible? They say you never step in the same river twice. So too love. He could not receive the love I gave him, and it will never be the same again."

Didn't you feel like you were drowning, desperately trying to grab on to anything that felt real to you? That's what falling in love felt like to me. Or maybe it was like wandering in a desert. I'm parched, desperate for a sip of water, and I stumble upon an oasis I'm never sure is not a mirage. I gulp it all down, hungrily, filling myself to the point of bursting. Maybe cause I thought it was real; maybe cause I was afraid it wasn't. When you're at breaking point what do you care about the difference between reality and illusion anyway?

I turn to look out the window, too. There it was, the scene from the day we met. I glance back at you but of course you were gone too. What do I care about the difference between reality and illusion anyway? The train speeds on; we arrive at our next memory. I think of all the things I've said, all the things I never said. How could love have turned out to be the greatest barrier of all?

All the messages we sent each other were the perfectly preserved records of our imperfect love. Another chance for us to get things wrong again. Love: the perfect desire for the imperfect. But we confuse the imperfect object with the perfect and like two trains speeding away in the night we miss each other by inches, perfectly engineered imperfection. And we are breathless from the speed, the proximity. We want to reach out; we dare not.

In the distance, we hear the sound of two trains - a collision.

Release Horse Come Here.

What a mad week it's been! And I mean mad in the dullest, most mind-numbing sense possible. Haven't been home since early Monday morn and probably won't till Friday eve. Sir Worksalot. Things wouldn't be so tragic if I weren't running out of socks... Just kidding! I've already run out of socks. 3 days in a row think my toes are gonna be dropping off real soon.

So thing's have been a little ridiculous at work lately, but not without its little bright spots too. Managed to have a number of meaningful conversations with people at work, even with colleagues I've known for close to 5 years now, and learnt a surprisingly lot in the process. Slogging away somewhat in tandem with your batchboys till midnight each day does bring its fair share of good times too, despite my having to go home to a layer of dust on my bed come Friday sigh.

All I really wanted to say was 放马过来! Gonna cling on to God's love and peace and joy and rest and not let myself be troubled by the insanity of work and the workplace. Now let me get what rest I can so good night fellas.

Let The World Spin Madly On.

I've just been inspired to embark on my end-of-year post, a mere 2 (or 3 or 4 this post is taking ages to write actually) weeks after it did, indeed, end. I've been meaning to do it all this while but things kinda took a turn for the busy at the close of 2014 - happily so. Guess it's a good thing I held off on this cause the beginnings of this year have been nothing short of amazing, and offers a sort of vantage point from which 2014 can better be viewed in retrospect.

So, 2014. SSDD, as the cynics are wont to say? Definitely not! A couple of milestones arrived at and departed from - some momentous; some strangely anti-climactic and thus deflating to some extent. Yet more ticks on some hypothetical bucket list, which presumably shall allay some sort of quarter-life crisis perhaps, or at the very least much of the regret we all seem destined to bear as we approach middle age. Meh. Not sure how much these chest-beating facebook-conscious like-seeking checklists are gonna help just because "I visited 10 of these 15 places to see before you're 25!" So yes, I visited some incredible places and had some amazing experiences, but no, that's not why I'd say 2014 was on balance a good year. Not entirely.

Well. Came back home excited at the prospect of resuming a life that seemed in many respects like it'd been on hold, although it's hard to say when exactly that actually happened. Sometime between the heady days of our A levels - the sensation of being young, truly young that no one can fully identify with till it's gone - and the peculiar reality of enlistment, of endless confinements, perhaps. When life abruptly and jarringly began to be nothing more than an endless cycle of work and sleep and living for the weekends, and everything began to seem so completely pointless. Being displaced a continent and thousands of miles away didn't seem to change a thing, except to exacerbate the isolation and the fear of never quite being able to fit in. So it was that I returned fully expectant that finally, finally I could pick up the pieces of what remained and slowly begin to build on what I had.

I couldn't. Much as I enjoy and find meaning in what I do for a living, I couldn't shake the feeling that this, even this, meant nothing at all. Home at last to a decent job I actually like! How many people can say that? But no, it all felt as pointless as ever - I'd end work after a long day and think: What now? Not one of those trivial where-to-have-dinners or should-I-eat-alone-tonights but an existential question mark hanging like a cloud over every day and every week.

I began to think: all I need is someone to do all this for. Someone for whom I'd be excited to end work, someone who'd be there through the long days and the longer nights. It's a classic narrative after all, and I began to buy into it. All this led to, though, was a deeper sense of disappointment and regret, of late disquieting nights spent ruing the half chances and the missed opportunities and all those other silent ships in the dead of night. Just a couple of months away and still struggling with some of these thoughts, but I can say quite assuredly that no, this was not (and is not) the answer. It would have been an answer of sorts, for sure, but a weak one which would more than likely have collapsed on me in the end, precipitating some sorta crazy downward spiral or something. Der Untergang level at least.

Hmmm, okay. "This post will first set out the various crises a 22-year old male faced in the year 2014, before proceeding to inspect the solution(s) and will finally conclude with some thoughts on the coming year, 2015." Smooth.

There is much to be said about the availability (physical, emotional, even spiritual) of friends and family. Too much, in fact, that it should rightly constitute another post altogether if I'm ever feeling contemplative and thankful again (which I really should.) What I'll put down here is a mere (but no less superlative) thank you. It's pretty scary to realize how miserable life would've been without all these people; it's pretty easy to imagine how bad things would've turned out.

As indispensable as family and friends have been (to be filed under emotional support, direct or indirect, whether intentional or unintentional), the crux of my year was something else altogether (though not quite, everything builds upon everything else) - and it was God. It is God. An answer both exceedingly simple and excruciatingly complex; a path both joyful and painful to walk on.

If 2013 for me could be characterized by desire, of re-learning what it meant to want to want again, then perhaps my 2014 was about trust. About trusting God with my desires, my fears, my plans. With the past, the present, the ever-looming future. The past is a dark area without Him, the present a dangerous place to inhabit, and the future scary in the extreme.

I learnt so much about trust; I had to. Through disappointment, trying circumstances, failures, breakdowns. Through all the self-reproach, crippling self-awareness, attempts (conscious or subconscious?) at self-destruction. And all the natural highs too.

Solo travel to ever more exotic locales, and the accompanying sense of independence and self-sufficiency. Lesson: complete independence is not complete freedom; it is a prison unto itself. You don't claw your way back from independence. Not by yourself, you don't. Self-sufficiency feels good for a while, it's empowering, and then you think: what am I empowered for? For myself, and myself only. An unsatisfactory state of affairs to say the least.

Survival of uni and subsequent graduation, one more paper qualification to brandish, another chance to flex the ego, but it begged the eventual question: so what? Of course, as existential/quarter/mid-life crises questions go this is one of the most ubiquitous, repeated ad nauseam, but its worth asking nonetheless. Especially upon graduation, the end of the yellow brick road, launchpad to (reportedly) inevitable success, pinnacle of a Singaporean Student's existence. The paper chase is (possibly) over; the rat race can now rightly be begun in earnest! But so what, so what, so what. It's kinda heavy stuff if you let it get to you - which it did, of course.

So here they were, among others, elements of the good life as the world says they should be - and it all seemed to add up to nothing. All that accomplishment and achievement and it was all just as futile and pointless as the dark days, the dog days. Worse, even. At least in the darkness you want to work towards the light; when you're lost and wandering you harbour hope of being found. When I arrived at the human conception of "success" I found that beyond the peak lay nothing. I remember taking the train out of Exeter, graduation certificate in hand, shape of the mortarboard still impressed upon my hair, and sure it felt good, but it's the overwhelming sense of emptiness I felt on that train which left its imprint on me. What next? Back to Singapore, back to work, back to family and friends. But what next?

Well. Thank God for God. 2014 ended up with me poised on the brink of something big and scary and exciting all the same time. Thank God for empowering leaders - and the insane faith that God has in me too, despite all the times I've messed up, all my failures as a "leader", all the times I've managed to stray from the path. Amazing grace. Unearned, unmerited, undeserved.

The opportunity to co-lead a group during the young adults' retreat was such a ridiculous, miraculous one - one that I really can't help but thank God for. It was pretty scary, and I had to learn necessary lessons in trust, in submission, in humility before and even during the retreat. The fear of failure, of rejection, feelings of inadequacy, unpreparedness, etc. It meant that I had to step out. Step up. Grow up.

And I reaaaaaaallly didn't want to have to. At some level I was pretty happy with the status quo, with staying in the background, with weekends binge watching movies and TV shows, playing dota, being careless and callous. Why would I want to take up responsibility, take on pressure? Except that I knew I had to, too. So God places me here (where I'd never thought I'd be) and it turns out to be the right place at the right time, and maybe I'm not quite the right person - but God will mould me to be just that. I have to learn how to let God work through my insecurities, and stop allowing myself to use them as excuses to not do what He's called me to do.

So I've managed to learn so much about community, what it means to love and be loved, about joy and peace and rest, and perhaps even had glimpses into servanthood and leadership. All in the past 2 or 3 months. Sacrifice, too. About what it means to put the Kingdom of God before the other things in life - a painful lesson; a precious one. One I'm still learning everyday. Really crucial lessons at this juncture in my life, a season for growth, of learning what it truly means to be a man of God. To be a disciple of Jesus.

You know what people say: Growing up sucks. And part of me still believes that, still wants to cling on to youth - nay, immaturity. Still wants to be beholden only to myself and to myself alone. Duty-free, obligation-less. The easy life. But by no means the good life. I think I've learnt enough over the past few weeks and months to say with conviction that no, I shall not again choose the easy life. Not at the expense of the life God wants me to have.

And maybe this path will alienate some people. I've always taken a measure of pride in being pretty savvy, pretty worldly. A man of the world, if you will. I thought that was not too shabby. Maybe one of the reasons I've found it so difficult to go all out for God is that I always kinda think: I'm not half bad myself, right? Maybe so and maybe no, but even that's not enough. Not anymore. And so maybe this will seem completely weird and strange to people, but I guess a line's gotta be drawn somewhere, and this is it. This is where I lay everything down and say "Father God, all that I have, all that I am, I give to You. Take me as I am. Use me as You will. No holding back. Let's go!"

So let the world spin madly on. I will be still and know that You are God. Days shall pass, seasons will change. Years go by, life goes on. And through it all I know that You will be with me, that You love me so. So let me run, run!