Please? Thank You.
Please pass the salt, the foie gras is too tender.
Please bring the hammer, let’s see if you can mend her.
Please nail into the double-play, our lead is too slender.
Please, only black orchids, lest you may offend her.
Please buy that iPhone, and throw it in the blender.
Please forget the name, in order to befriend her.
Please dump your Gibson, to auction for that Fender.
Please think of golf, and hence comprehend her.
Please call Shylock, for he’s a gracious lender.
Please inflate your ego, and not condescend her.
Please be thrifty, and be a big spender.
Please call a taxi, you have a car to send her.
Please join the alliance, with your own agenda.
Please raise your voice, with thy love, amend her.
Please tip-off a policeman, your Dad’s a roadside vendor.
Please leave your plate there, because you depend her.
Please retain your integrity, and continue playing pretender.
Please take absence, if sickness should impend her.
Thank You for Your promise, at the moment of surrender.
Thank you is in order, to no one shall you lend her.
Morning Blur
I woke up about half an hour ago, stumbled out of bed, quickly checked the clock because I forgot to set an alarm, then expressed relief that it was ten past eight and the morning is still ahead of me.
Moved to my desk, went through my online news routine but nothing caught my eye. Then went to get a juice, walked by the dining table, glanced at the front page of The Straits Times and saw, “Yudhoyono buys a landslide”.
That makes sense, I thought. No wait a minute. The papers can’t possibly be that candid about this. True enough, upon closer observation, the headline reads, “Yudhoyono by a landslide”.
The Ashes 2009 (Day One)
The Ashes series has begun. The glory of that 2-1 triumph in 2005 is still fresh in the minds of us English supporters because frankly, we have tried our best to forget the 5-0 whitewash in Australia that silenced us over two years ago. As much as possible, we have attributed that pathetic defeat to English incompetence instead of Australian prowess; similar to how supporters down under often cite Glenn McGrath’s absence from Edgbaston and Trent Bridge in 2005 as the critical factor for their tragic losses in both Tests. In the words of a supporter who was quoted in Tom Fordyce’s blog, “Your lot (English supporters) bang on about 2005, but it’s like 2007 never happened.”
Yet despite our refusal to openly acknowledge the superiority of Australian cricket, most, if not all us, know deep down that the Australian army in 2006-07 was simply too good. Our 2005 team fully deserved the praise bestowed then, and likewise, no credit should be diverted from Ponting and his boys when they promised revenge and duly delivered a 5-0 drubbing in ruthless fashion.
Fact remains that the generation of Hayden, Langer, Ponting, Gilchrist, Lee, McGrath and Warne formed a dominating force that stands amongst the highest regard of all cricket supporters. Let alone the English. In fact, it was precisely because they were so good that there was so much anticipation going into the last two Ashes series. In 2005, it was the first summer in a long while (over a decade) that England felt at all confident of finally usurping Australia’s dominance in the Ashes. In 2007, it was the excitement of watching Australia’s response to their 2005 defeat that glued everyone to their screens for 25 days of Cricket. The expectation of either overcoming the great Aussies or being humbled by their sheer brilliance created the hype. This time, only Ponting and Lee remain, and it seems that much of the past buzz has waned with the mass retirement.
This time round it is neither as close as it was in 2005, nor as one-sided as it was two years ago (I paraphrase from Fordyce’s post) and the host of new faces makes The Ashes a far cry from the ones we have been familiar with in recent times. For years it was graced by Warne and McGrath’s lethal partnership, Vaughan’s cover drives, Trescothick’s confident stroke-play at the start of the innings, Gilchrist’s aggression, Langer’s cheeky smile, Hayden’s brutal shots…And with Lee out due to injury for this first test, Ponting looks terribly lonely amongst his less experienced counterparts.
Certainly the spirit about this series is terribly flat in comparison. A new experience is still in the making and until then, there is an awkwardness about the competition. Then again, this is The Ashes, and with so much history about it and with seven weeks to go, the lack of hype on day one should hardly be a reliable indication of the drama to come.
Man, We Can’t Be Moved
Lately it has occurred to me that many things seem to be either cyclical or unchanging. Ironically, there is progress, but at the end of it all it either adds up to nothing, or things have just gone full circle.
Arsenal FC and our inability to turn beautiful football (arguable even better than Barcelona at our prime) into trophies is a good example. The English National Teams in cricket and rugby failing to repeat the glory of the 2003 World Cup and the 2005 Ashes respectively, is another fitting one. And of course, the English football team, well – they are not even worth mentioning.
Closer to home, there is the history of modern China; and if we think about it, mankind and civilisation. Even knowledge seems to be cyclical.
Even closer to heart…everything seems to fall under the category. Through these lenses, everything looks to be futile.
“‘Meaningless! Meaningless!” says the Teacher”. Yes, a chasing after the wind. How do you keep a wave upon the sand? How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?
Therapy
Therapy over the long weekend has come in two forms. First, extensive reading of the news – both online and in print (newspaper and magazine). Second, listening to music CD albums in the kitchen or in the living room.
The latter has been particularly helpful. There is a charm about playing an album off the disc and letting the album run like a story. In the world of iPods and iTunes, the shuffle and playlists sometimes allow the singles (both the technical and literal usage of the word) to outshine the entire record. It is a pity there has only been sufficient time to enjoy half the album at a go.
One Step Closer To Nowhere
The Berlin Wall may have fallen, but it is unmistakable that the shards of glass and fragments of rock lie menacingly on the ground. Perhaps it may be best to close one’s eyes and walk the line. To run across, take the pain one last time so that I can fix my eyes on something less myopic.
Then again, that’s been the story all this while – it has always been believed that it will take one more jump, one more lap, one more month, one more moment of suffering before I can glimpse and touch the flame. Every time that “one more” does not turn out as hoped, I hope again. I trust that every failure and pain takes me one step closer because I get to learn and know more. So even if it is only a matter of millimetres, I take it and hold on to it; again and again.
But on a dreary afternoon such as this, my head spins and my mind aches under the burden of all these repeated cycles. It seems to me that it’s often not one step closer to knowing, but one step closer to nowhere.
Therefore, the notion that one more effort will suffice falls apart. Not even two portions of effort will be sufficient. Instead, because we are likened to begging bowls that beg to get back to our hearts and to the rhythm of our souls; the only solution on the table is that of surrender. This is a journey in itself; and even if we have made that journey before, we have to make it again. Because like the lost son who “came to his senses”, the moment of surrender is one of vision over visibility.
But it is hard, it is mighty hard.
Perhaps this is why, out of faith, hope and love – the greatest of these is still love.
Bad Day
Since we returned to school yesterday for our penultimate school term, something has clicked into gear. Although everything is still far from fixed or restored, it feels, better.
However, today was a bad day. It was one of those days when deep down it was positive, but somehow or another the events that presented itself and the subsequent emotions made it poor. It was a day of confusion, of not knowing what or how to feel. It was a day when feeling sad was dishonest, and the smile just about leaked out. It was a day of examination, but none of this had anything to do with it.
Strange really.
A New Beginning
I pray for a new beginning for in Him the old has gone and the new has come.
This webspace was created with the intention of documenting the lighter side of life, but over the years it has become a repository for darker musings. It would be an inaccurate commentary of life if its darker side were to be ignored and left aside, but it is also terribly unhealthy to allow one’s mind to flutter down that path more often than it should. If there is one regret of mine, it is that those darker moments have diluted some of the meaning intended. This has brought me disappointment, and now I have put an end to it.
This webspace has returned anew. A new journey with no baggage but a couple of items from the past that will serve only to act as signposts for the road ahead. Unpolished thoughts have been given a new home to prevent a relapse.
Many a time, mistakes weigh me down more than it should. As this new start begins, may the poetic words of Robert Browning in Rabbi ben Ezra resound:
Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith ‘A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!’
Yes, youth shows but half; instead, trust God. For ultimately it is our strengthening assurance that in Him, The Best is Yet To Be!
What Is Truly Important?
Tomorrow morning, Dr Robert Solomon, the Bishop of The Methodist Church in Singapore, will speak at our church. The last time I heard him speak was a rainy Saturday morning on 1 March 2008. I still remember that morning. I recall how we sped for cover while our classmates and schoolmates in uniform bravely bore the bullets of rain that pelted down. I recall the memorabilia stamps given out to every student to commemorate our school’s 20th anniversary. I recall the 3 of us (my teacher, close friend and myself) staying back in class to sign the “On His Wings, soaring twenty years on…” magazine as a birthday gift for a dear comrade who had crossed the street. I recall that the passage of scripture Bishop Solomon preached from was Psalms 127. He did not just cover the first verse – “Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labour in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain” – but he proceeded to use verses 3-5 to make relevant this Psalm for the school and its educational endeavours. But most of all, I remember that in that sermon there was a message, a warning, an advice and a decisive vision; laid clear by Bishop Solomon for the school as we progressed into our third decade of excellence in education. For this, he used the analogy of a boat sailing in a race from Point A to B with cargo aboard. (This segment is heavily paraphrased and summarised in view of memory lapses, but hopefully I have retained the essence of it). Bishop Solomon explained that while winning the boat race is undeniably an important priority, but it would amount to nothing, if victory over choppy seas, violent storms and strong competitors, came at the expense of losing the cargo on board. In other words, when we finish the race, will we have protected the cargo, and held on to the things that are truly important?
This message came at one of the defining periods of my time thus far as a student. It came when I had just made a decision. It came at a time when I was ambivalent; when I was convinced but not a convert. There were grey spots on the radar – it was clear, but not clear enough. This message was reassuring (and still is) and it gave me strength to push on. However, I never grasped the true gravity of the Bishop’s message.
I thought I understood it then; after all, it was so pertinent to the times. I thought I understood it a few weeks later when the evidence of damage became obvious. I thought I understood it when the next term elapsed, I thought I understood it when the June holidays that followed passed. Truth is, I understood what it means to protect the cargo, but I did not understand it enough. As my teacher astutely pointed out, “keeping the cargo intact is way more important than you think!”.
Today, the Bishop’s analogy of keeping the cargo intact continues to guide me and in many ways, bug me. It has been 15 months, and understanding that we are to protect what is truly important, hold on to them and never let them go, becomes more real to me with each passing day. I still dare not say that I understand it completely; I wish to, yet at the same time, I am distressed to know that to completely grasp it, more experiences must follow. As the last 18 months have shown, such constructive experiences demand a heavy price. Consequently, it pains me in knowing how much of the cargo I let fall overboard before I realised that I must “run in such a way as to get the prize” in order to protect the things in life that are truly important.
Thankfully, there is a purpose to failure on this journey. The U2 anthem infamously admits that “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for”, and indeed, this is so. Sometimes we really have no clue what we are looking for, we just keep running, sometimes crawling, sometimes being dragged along and even at times, dragging ourselves. Nonetheless, we move forward. And until all the colours bleed into one, we must hope in the Lord, and trust in His upward way to show us how it is we should run, what it is we should run for. Ultimately so that He may implant in us a “white-hot Christ honouring vision” once more. Then we may know more of the things in life that are truly important and finish the race with the cargo intact.
Speaking of U2, he certainly knows what is truly important:
People say, “Why don’t you do interviews? What do you think about this? What do you think about that?” My job in the band is to play drums, to get up on stage and hold the band together. That’s what I do. At the end of the day that’s all that’s important. Everything else is irrelevant.
—Larry Mullen Jr., U2.
Those Tiger Times
Yesterday evening I went through some of the photographs taken in Iowa, Minneapolis and Chicago in 2006. I cannot grapple with the fact that my face has thinned by almost half since then.
Settling In (Part 3)
Most of the room has been put in order and I am slowly constructing a new routine in organisation. As we go about our activities, all of us are finding areas in which slight adjustments may be made. But overall, we are pretty much settled in. All that remains is the settee that has yet to arrive. Tuesday, I just heard. We are on the brink of completion.
In A Net
No words in my head, no lyrics in my voice, no poetry on my lips, no waltz in my feet, no rhythm in my heart.
Thoughts Upon Our Return
During the camp, I was noticeably tired. It was astutely commented by family friends, who have seen me grow since Primary 5, that this onset of great need for sleep is caused by the need to catch on years of rest. We had two afternoons of free time and frankly, I wanted to sleep through both. The original intention was to read, but the poor lighting in the hotel room and the intense fatigue convinced me otherwise. Apart from a peranakan lunch on the third afternoon, the promise of a relaxing massage and the lure of affordable Starbucks Frappuccino, all I really wanted to do was sleep. I did not even seriously consider taking my camera out.
And now, that is all I want to do too.
I am really fatigued. Period.
Settling In (Part 2)
Yesterday involved cabling till the early hours of the morning, which means that I am nearing completion for the packing of my new room. Will get to enjoy more of it when we return in a couple of days time.
Cabling for hours on end leaves me with sore fingertips, and left me with hours to ponder, consider, reflect…over and over again.
On a separate note, I patched the week up with a CD and two books.
Settling In (Part 1)
It has been two and a half weeks since we moved in. However, we have not settled in just yet. Although most of our possessions have been put away into some form of storage or another, few things have been organised into its permanent place. Over the next few days, shelves will be put and finally, we may move towards some semblance of true comfort in our new home.
To Infinity, And Beyond
Out of the animation films I have watched, the ones produced by Pixar have been particularly enjoyable for me over the years. The first of the lot – Toy Story – has since become virtually synonymous with Pixar itself, and stands as my personal favourite.
Made a decade and a half ago as the first fully computer-animated film , Toy Story revolutionised the industry when CGI was still in its infancy. Yet for most of us, the importance of its technological impact is not as great as its incredible storyline of friendship, jealousy and identity. Its commentary of the human condition and of life, is just amazing, and the relevant issues it surfaces for audiences across all age groups is stunning. Even my Extended Essay is brought to mind when I associate the poignance of Woody being replaced by a technologically-advanced Buzz with the replacement of clan culture by the promise of a superior lifestyle through industrialisation and modernisation.
It is one of those heart-warming tales to watch on weekends such as this, with a cup of tea in hand. So just imagine my joy when I discovered Toy Story 3 is on its way in just over a year’s time. Till then, we have the teaser; which puts Woody and Buzz in a scene that reminds me of the PC and Mac guy. Of course we know who will always be the cooler one.
The More I Squeeze, The Quicker We’re Over
We tried our best. We fought, heart and soul. We all tried. But it seems that the more we squeeze, the quicker it’s all over. Full of hope. But it just eludes us, our batch.
You take the pieces of the dreams that you have
‘Cause you don’t like the way they seem to be going
You cut them up and spread them out on the floor
You’re full of hope as you begin rearranging
Put it all back together, but any way you look at this
Looks like the lovers are losing
Fight Heart & Soul
I have packed my big cricket bag for the final time. I have put my ACS shirt in, my whites, my bat, my batting gloves, my hat, my cap and my bottle. But I have left out my batting pads, my helmet, my spare shoes, my slippers, a few cricket balls and a towel. It is all but certain now that I will not play tomorrow and that my last ball for the school has been bowled.
Despite the disappointment and the moments of devastation experienced over the past week, I am very thankful. Although the journey has not ended in that way I would have hoped for, but the dreamed that I dreamed for 6 years came to past. It has truly been a great privilege and honour.
Over the last week, I have reflected on this injury and asked what it is I should learn from it. Amongst other pressing lessons including the need to protect and nurse my body more carefully, I have been reminded that nothing is to be taken for granted. Many a times we hear quotes that say we should live each day as if it was to be our last. Steve Jobs put a humourous spin on it by quoting, “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” This sounds all too familiar, yet the concept of death seems to keep it at a safe distance from my comprehension. It took pneumomediastinum to remind me of the importance of treasuring each moment, each day and each person; because all these are things that are truly important – the cargo on our ship that sails for Dover.
Prior to my injury, I had the opportunity of bowling in three games this season. Each was filled with its share of joys and disappointments of not having done better and at the end of the third match, I realised that the nerves of bowling for the first season and the pressure of the moment had gotten to me, and prevented me from transferring performances from the training ground to the match. I was enjoying myself immensely on the pitch, but not enjoying myself enough – the responsibility and subsequent disappointment had filled too large a part of my heart and mind. I resolved to correct this for the next game, but the next game never came, and will never come again. It is a painful way to learn this lesson, but as I look back on the last year and a half of struggling and battling, I do so with gratitude and thankfulness to God.
This lesson first came to me on the 1st of March 2008 when Bishop Dr Robert Solomon addressed us at our Founder’s Day celebrations. Since that day, I told myself that I will secure the things most important to me so that the cargo would not fall off whilst on speedy voyage. Yet somehow I knew that there was something that was still not right. I knew that I had to stop the train, but I could not stop it myself. I knew that it would have to take something drastic, but as much as I knew how it would help, I never wished it upon myself. So my lung did it for me; and in this last week I have been forced to sit down, rest, not carry things, not run, not exert, and not be the me that runs around way too much.
When I recover, I will return to my active self; but this time, I hope to be wiser. I hope to finally turn the page and close the chapter on the last year and a half, and in many ways, the last 4 years. It is with great anticipation that I await that moment, because when his chapter closed this morning, I could see the lift in his spirit, that spring in his step once more. I was simply delighted and overwhelmed with joy – now the things of true importance can return.
As we go into our final battle tomorrow, we shall fight neither on paper nor with just bat and ball; but with a character that that prevails. That is truly important and that will matter for all eternity. Everything else is secondary.
“Show class, have pride, and display character. If you do, winning takes care of itself.” – Paul Bryant.
While My Lung Gently Weeps
After years of education, an unbreakable connection has developed between me, the school and its people, insofar that throughout the morning I could not help but wonder what lesson it was, whether they had left class for the game, what the score is and what had happened during the course of the day.
Such connections will last forever. It is quite fascinating really. Most of the doctors I met over the last day are alumni of the school. In introductions, the first thing said is, “Hi, this is Dr ____, and he is from ACS.” When I asked one doctor if there was a chance of me playing Cricket for the remainder of the season, adding “Raffles” to the equation seemed to steer him away from his medical disposition as he hesitated and replied with a witty grin, “Beat them then come back and get a MC from (him).”
Today’s checkup reaffirmed that the tear is not serious, and that it was a spontaneous rupture that may well have occurred at the point when I suddenly felt the pain whilst sitting down and engaging in conversation. I have to say that in retrospect, the chest and throat pains should have been quite frightening, but I thank God for His wonderful peace that allowed me to discover that the pain comes even when I laugh. It is indeed amazing how God sent friends to make special arrangements such that everything fell into place well after the office hours of the various specialists. For all this I am deeply grateful. And for all the prayers, calls, messages and texts; thank you so much.
The devastation that came in the car-ride home yesterday evening lasted for no more than the evening. It is surprising – something, just something inside tells me that the dream still exists. Then, just this morning, the lung specialist suggested that the chance of playing remains. This adventure may not be over just yet.
This has all the marks of a fairy-tale, but I can only pray and surrender.
