Refreshing Wilderness.

“We need the tonic of wildness...At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be indefinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because unfathomable. 

We can never have enough of nature.

We must be refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and titanic features, the sea-coast with its wrecks, the wilderness with its living and its decaying trees, the thunder-cloud, and the rain which lasts three weeks and produces freshets. 

We need to witness our own limits transgressed, and some life pasturing freely where we never wander."

― Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods

mind wander/wonder.

wrestle

I can sit here and throw a pity party for as long as I'd like, or I can say "no regrets. because at one point that was exactly what i wanted." and move on.
what is it like to let go, with no bitterness, no baggage? it would almost seem as though the memories would have to go too. but that's not what release is. i'm so fragmented that catching my reflections through different scenarios in a single day scares me. the PR mode where its all fun and dandy, the excruciating struggle with myself in the quieter hours of the day, the acrid rant against existing circumstances, fomented by discontent. and the reaction to that - the desire to be the heroine, not the victim. to exact peace, not wallow in a puddle of prescribed misery.
GOD! God. How did you get through Gethsemane. What did you cry?

Abide.

Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. (John 15:3, 4 ESV)

This verse hit me in a fresh new way. "how can I have the mind of Christ? How can I love someone impossible?"
It was a direct answer. Abide. And you can and will bear fruit.

Also, thinking about the oil of anointing in left hand of the priest to the forehead of the leper; for cleansing.
"Already you are clean." hmm. What is this cleansing thing all about?

Transparency

Honor requires transparency. If I honor you, I won't put on a mask. Because you deserve the truth
about who I really am.

"Outdo one another in showing honor."

Compartments
A compartmented life is about protection. We keep little fragments of our lives in little boxes, and we can only give ourselves in little fragments. We hope that is a form of insurance, in case one basket fails there are still loaves in others.
But He has called us to fullness of life! Which is to give all of ourselves in every moment.
Because Jesus is our eternal insurance. And when our policy matures, our greatest reward.

living & active.

Holy Spirit, you're the best.
Only you
can reveal truth so cutting,
so gently.

The cutest conversation.

Overheard on the bus this morning, in cute little British accents.
Boy,4: I want to write too.
Helper: What do you want to write?
Boy: I want a pink and green fire truck.
Girl,6: But fire trucks are red, not pink. Can you stop liking everything pink? Boys are not supposed to like pink. Boys like blue! I don't like pink.
Maid: What colour do you like, then?
Girl: I only like ten colours. I like all the colours except pink and grey.
(pause)
Boy: I like pink.

A Tale of Three Cities.

New York is defined by what it lacks. The void of Central Park, presciently planned, and the void of Ground Zero, maliciously inflicted. It's a city that attacks you with its energy, just walking on its sidewalks. Its possibilities gush at you at the turn of every block, with the glaring lights reflected off buildings, the blaring horns of taxis, and the turbulent assault of fast walkers. It is a city of outbursts- chatter, cursing, conversations. I spoke to more strangers in four days (well, they spoke to me) than I did in four months in Singapore. Even the homeless shout at you their brand of propaganda. Something about how chinks should give to poor men on the street who aint got no place to stay, nor to go. Well I'm a chink so I figure it's fine that I repeat it here. If there's anything I learnt from Russell Peters, its that it's okay to laugh at yourself. But who're you calling chink?

Chicago accommodates you. Fairly politely. It knows you as a traveller along its trajectory of rise and fall, old and new, destruction and rebirth. It's a city that lies constantly on the cusp of something, like an unfinished sentence at the tip of your tongue. You feel the gentle boiling beneath the surface, bubbling with its instinctual urges for something more. It's as though the Great Fire of 1871 left an indelible mark in their psyche- a need for repeated tabula rasa, a cyclical need to be made new. To be new. The tour guide pointed out district after district that 'revitalised' themselves from ruin, as one through the fire. But its history seeps out at you like oil through pores, casting a sheen across the entire landscape. Chicago is beautiful. Like a well-worn couch whose leather has been burnished by the fabric of its many occupants, it is part polished and part cracked, but all of it charming.

Orlando is utopia. It is escape in its most literal form. I cannot imagine a city more direct in its intention  and manifestation. It is completely artificial, and does not pretend otherwise. It is a two-dimensional city, and no, I do not mean that it is shallow, but that it chooses only, chooses deliberately, to show you one side of its face. Perhaps because the other does not exist. The show must go on, and you know what? The show never ends. In Orlando there is no past, and its future is an exact representation of the present. For is Epcot not an encased Tomorrow? It is not a city you visit for depth. It's interiority is only as convoluted as the twists and turns of its coasters, and even then, it's only a thirty second ride. Buy your fast pass, hop on, and enjoy the ride.

actively

Hear us, Shepherd of Israel,
you who lead Joseph like a flock.
You who sit enthroned between the cherubim, shine forth (Psalm 80:1 NIV)
Isn't it strange that singular Joseph was referred to as a flock? But Joseph's story has been key in leading me to the path I'm about to take, so was thrilled to find this verse during QT.
-
Heading to New York next week! But before the excitement of going, there is the bustle of tying up loose ends, and this weekend bares the face of a restless monster.

Friday night:
One of those crazy triple booked days.
Had to turn down SIA dinner and AFF Swarovski show invite to go for cell with Nicole! Then i had to cancel on Nicole for Cherie's wedding planning. I'd totally forgot!! The bridesmaids met after work to discuss the gatecrashing, got home at midnight.

Today:
9 Woke up, did laundry.
945 Designed Cherie's guestbook.
11 Photoshopped burger cafe render.
12 Worked on burger menu
1245 Hung morbid black laundry
1 Got ready to leave the house
2-330 Lunch with erica!
4-930 Went to office for work
More burger stuff. Shower. Face mask. Episode of Lost. Worship.

Sunday
Church, Chinatown in the afternoon for wedding props shopping + wedding planning. Burger meeting? Dinner & drinks at Timbre to celebrate belle/ling's birthday. Pack for US of A!!!

Feels like minuting down this crazy schedule exhaustively is a way to get it out of my system. Gah!

the heart's cry

Ever since that Sunday, when i thought i heard Him speak in church:
"surround yourself with an atmosphere of worship"
"worship in the secret place, and I will open doors to worship Me in the public space."
and i responded by renewing a covenant to worship Him,
there's been this hunger, this added dimension to seek His presence and anointing
in all the facets of what worship is. 


ultimately, worship is our heart's response to the overwhelming love of a saviour. whether it is expressed in an awkward dance, or tuneless singing, or a painting, or tongues, or prayer, or sitting quietly at his feet, or speaking aloud the promises in his word, or crying out for him- somehow when we release ourselves to respond to him in honesty and in freedom, something powerful stirs in our hearts. it doesn't even need to make sense. this peace that i feel in the midst of all the uncertainty at work doesn't make sense. but it is exactly what i feel, what i know, that certainty lies not in the surety of circumstance but hinges solely on the character and perfect timing of God. of a God who cares, who intervenes at the right time to redeem, to heal, to bring joy. such joy. 


2012. the year of the lord's favour. (: i expect only good things from a good Father. 
as deep cries out to deep, so my soul cries out to you.!

Though the fig tree should not blossom,

nor fruit be on the vines,

the produce of the olive fail

and the fields yield no food,

the flock be cut off from the fold

and there be no herd in the stalls,

yet I will rejoice in the Lord;

I will take joy in the God of my salvation.

Habakkuk 3:17-18

dream places

the first two .gifs are cinemagraphs by the talented Jamie Beck and the rest are not real photographs of Paris. *surprise, surprise* but miniature models that were carefully photographed then edited. hard to believe it's not really Paris, huh! but unfortunately, i cannot remember the name of the artist who created it, please tell me if you do!

yasuaki onishi's reverse of volume

an ethereal, stunning piece at rice university art gallery. a plastic sheath was propped up by a stack of boxes, which was later removed to reveal negative space. the sheath is held up apparently by adhesive that was dyed black. how onishi did it, is of course his little secret. the trickery (!) is breathtaking. every image has a quality that reminds me of a chinese landscape painting.

framing you

it dawned on me today
why loss is so difficult.

because loss is never complete
nor is it thorough
that would be so much easier.

instead, we are left with
the remnants of a person
all the associations without the presence
a web of invisible trails cut from you
all the places and signals and gestures
slowly empty themselves of kinship
but not of meaning
half of the stories replay themselves
in my mind, but are no longer mine to tell

the cut flowers
without the roots
that make it a dead thing.
although that blossom is still beautiful
left by the window, inside the box
to fade itself out

eventually what remains
is what we allow to be framed
i was never one
for throwing out the bathwater
for the sake of clean laundry
but for our sakes we'll let the water run
to dilute the frothing detergent,
that ever purges and removes.

one day i will look back and see what we framed
through the 'faulty cameras in our minds'
and smile

grace to rejoice

wow, this was a tough week. 
which ended in a good way, with cherie's hens party at amara. 


But he said to me, 
"My grace is sufficient for you, 
for my power is made perfect in weakness." 
Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, 
so that Christ's power may rest on me. 
2 Corinthians 12:9


I don't always understand joy, "count it all joy, when you face trials of many kinds"
I also don't understand how weaknesses are to be boasted and celebrated, but the bible doesn't say experience the power of God when you are weak, therefore, be happy you have weaknesses, but rather the reverse:
boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. 


The difference is that faith is required, that mustard seed of it. That when I feel most crushed, that is when I am to rejoice. That is when I am to count it all joy, for when I respond in faith, I open a door for Christ's power to enter and work in me. 

the day emma

I woke this morning to the straits times alert that Emma Yong passed away after a prolonged battle with stomach cancer. All that was in my head was 'no,no,no..'
...
I was in RJ year 1, and was supposed to arrange for a number of classmates who'd wanted to catch the Dim Sum Dollies. Mr Reeves very kindly booked and paid for us, and put me in charge of collecting the money for him. But I messed up and thought the show was on Friday not Wednesday, so on Thursday a very offended Mr Purvis and maligned Mr Reeves thought we stood him up and didn't show up the day before! But I passed him the money and apologized for messing up the dates. Mr Reeves felt bad and told me he'd call up Emma, who was his ex humanities student to see if she could do anything about it.

She gave us five VIP seats. They were probably double the price of the crappy student tickets we had paid for! And that sickening knot in my gut that I had to compensate all my classmates for being so stupid dissolved into gratefulness. Mr Reeves then gave me emma's number and told me to give her a call to thank her. "But don't call her too early in the morning! You know these artistic types.." ;) I texted her, nervous and very starstruck. She replied and was so sweet about the whole thing. We bought her flowers and after all these years, am still eternally grateful. xx RIP Emma.

little joys

One must always count their little joys
Mine are the yummy gummy vitamins
In my secret stash cupboard of which I'm entitled two a day
And day-gazing at the horses prancing across the field
Wishing all the time I was out in the melted glaze of sunshine
And the trips to the coffee machine
Serendipity makes me smile

Playing Steffany Frizell's song "Closer" en-loop
Saturating myself in an atmosphere of worship
Until I am moved to do the same.

"You make known to me the path of life;
You will fill me with joy in your presence,
with eternal pleasures at your right hand.
- Psalm 16:11"

the need to talk

"Most of all, we need to remember... to listen to one another, even to the boring bits, because it is often in unedited moments, moments in which we hesitate and stutter and go silent, that we reveal ourselves to one another."

A wonderful reminder from a well-written NYtimes article: flightfromconversation
That we talk because we are human, we share because God created us to connect deeply, and no matter how clever Siri gets, artificial will never, and should never, be good enough.

Architect's Mistake

"A doctor can bury his mistakes but an architect can only advise his client to plant vines." - Frank Lloyd Wright.

Oh, Frank. Heh.