Day 18-20: Warm and Fuzzy Belonging

I'm not one to get sentimental at chinese new year. For most parts it would simply be a time of meeting old faces, doing superficial catching up- the usual outcries of asking after what you are doing now, where you might be working, when you would be getting married, who's dating who and all the other mindless chatter and occassional fussing over new borns that somehow entertains us and allows the hours to slip by. In fact, there have been years where I've found such conversations- or more correctly, attempts at conversations- something I didn't really care much for.

In the lead up to this year's chinese new year festivities, I raged a fierce internal, and sometimes external, debate over whether I could/should/would slip off for a bit to chill, unwind and simply be. I stayed.

And for the first time in a long time, I was glad to do so. It was nice to see old faces, talk of old times and feeling that good old feeling of belonging. Some old faces were older than I remembered, new lines peppering their already age-worn skin, others, I admire for their sheer energy in these twilight years of life. Talk of old time simply served to remind me of how small, naive and innocent I once was; yet how, now when I'm reasonably grown I'm touched at how they seem so very proud of all I am, have become- my virtues, flaws and all. It felt good to be pumped enthusiastically in the hand by cousins at that awkward age still afraid of meeting girls, even those way older than they are. It felt warm to have aunties and uncles wrap you in tight embraces and remind you they've always got your back. It felt right having people that mattered close ranks around you.

I don't know how many times more will I feel what I felt.
After all, people grow, people change, things happen.
But for now, I'm grateful.

Day 16/17: The greatest commandment

I've been a Harry Potter fan for a while. Not since the beginning, to be quite honest, I wasn't too keen investing time, money and energy in what I considered a children's book. But I've grown to love the book, its characters and the way the story still gets me. Its a simple enough concept, the boy wizard destined to walk the narrow road of a reluctant hero in an epic battle of good and evil and every other shade in between. It has giants, elves, romance and back biting... all thrown in for good measure.

But what I find so different about this series from all the other epic/adventure type books- think Narnia and Lord of the Rings- is the simple message about love. Dumbledore, and JK Rowling for that matter, spends alot of time talking about how Harry's innate ability to destroy Lord Voldermont stems from his ability to Love.

"By attempting to kill you, Voldemort himself singled out the remarkable person who sits here in front of me, and gave him the tools for the job! It is Voldemort's fault that you were able to see into his thoughts, his ambitions, that you even understand the snakelike language in which he gives orders, and yet, Harry... you have never been seduced by the Dark Arts, never, even for a second, shown the slightest desire to become one of Voldemort's followers!"
"Of course I haven't! He killed my mum and dad!"
"You are protected, in short, by your ability to love. The only protection that can possibly work against the lure of power like Voldemort's." - Dumbledore and Harry [ch.24, HBP]

I never gave it much thought, this whote concept of love and destruction- they are really two sides of a very vast spectrum. They can't exist without each other and they can't survive with each other. One of life's more complex paradoxes, I suppose. Each QT is filled, these days (I think God's trying to send me a message here) with verse after verse of loving each other (Jn 15:12), loving your neighbour (Gal 5:14) and the grand exclamation that Love never fails (I Corinth 13:18). And sometimes, in times like these, I find it hard to keep that commandment, and even, in believing that promise.

But, as a good friend said to me today, we all get there in the end.

I pray its true...

Day 14/15: Silence

I'm finding it hard to breathe- there's so many things closing in from so many sides that all the wind has been knocked out of me and I'm sometimes- one time far to much- gasping for breath. Gasping. Gasping.

I'm finding it hard to find good, clean, air- the smog, the muck, the miasma rising pervasively all around seems to filter through, permeating everything.

I'm finding it hard to trust this world- its like there are endless fine prints to read and unsaid untruths to wade through; too many hidden agendas and back biting to make the journey entirely unenjoyable.

I'm finding... I'm finding... I'm finding...
I'm searching. I'm searching. I'm searching.

Where else can I look?

Will you come and search with me?

Day 13: Homerun

This was the first essay I ever wrote for the Bells and it still holds a dear place in my heart given I actually spent quite a fair bit of time on it, reseaching on baseball- though I'm sure I still got some facts wrong- and reading through many many verses to find just the right one. The inspiration for this started in Las Vagas in 1999, I had the chance to watch a little league baseball game at a field near this lunch deli I was at. It was between two teams with tiny little boys and when one of them actually scored a homerun the smile that spread across his face was positively priceless.

Homerun

The last ticket had been sold months before. For months, people have been anticipating this day. For weeks, speculations raged as to whom would finally emerge victorious. For days, fans had not been able to sleep well knowing the day of reckoning was coming. No. It was not the general elections, neither was it the centennial Olympics. It was bigger than that. It was the most mammoth of all games, it was where the best would meet the best. It was the New Life Baseball League (NLBL).

Heaven Warriors, defending champions of the NLBL were meeting once again with Hell Furies. For the longest time, they have been rivals, many were taking the Heaven Warriors to maintain their unblemished record of straight wins, others were not sure considering Hell Furies had seen their most promising season yet.

J. Christ- Heaven Warriors’ team coach since the team’s inception and premiere in the Creation League eternity ago was busy preparing His boys. They were a seasoned team that an impeccable teamwork. He had, afterall, the top four players in the league: William Love, Damien Faith, Graham Grace and Selerio Vation (affectionately known as Sal Vation). All four had already been indicted into the NLBL hall of fame.

Busy in the other locker room was Stephen A. Tan, team coach for the Hell Furies. Though he had the considerably weaker team, no one was affirmatively saying victory would elude them once again. Hell Furies boasted two of the world’s best pitcher-catcher combinations in Alan Death and Mike SINclair.

It is now the final moments of the game, the bottom of inning nine. The Hell Furies are still up by three, which meant that the final four runs have to be executed successfully by the Heaven Warriors for them to win the league. William Love steps up to take bat, watching closely for the killer pitch SIN was going to throw. Behind Love, Death twitches, steadying himself for the fast ball approaching. With a single swing and a loud crack, ball connects with bat; the ball falls fair and Love makes it to first base. Love never fails (I Corinth. 3:8).

Damien Faith is a small man, a disadvantage he makes up for with speed, and he now steps up to bat, bracing himself for the deadly pitch. SIN recoils, his gaze unwavering and pitches. Faith’s shoulders twitch just so, and swings- the ball flies way over the center fielder. Faith makes a dash first base, Love to second. Faith, small as a mustard, can move a mountain (Matt 17:20).

The tension in the stadium is thick beyond measure, strained nerves all round, the war cries get louder. Suddenly, there is silence, for Graham Grace has stepped up to the plate. He rubs the bat for a briefest of moments and stances in preparation. With expert precision, SIN pitches, Death reaches out, Grace just gets to the ball first. The crowd cheers as Graces runs to first base, Faith to second and Love to third. (My) Grace is sufficient…(2 Corinth. 12:9).

The final countdown, the last batter, Sal Vation takes his place at the batter’s plate, as SIN readies himself at the pitcher’s mound opposite. Everyone watches with bated breath, no one dares to breathe. Sal Vation glances back at his coach who gives him the two thumbs up. This is it. SIN pitches the pitch of his life, Sal Vation, with a loud crack hits the ball. The ball ricochets into the screaming crowd. SalVation can be found in no one else (Act 4:12).

It’s a homerun. Love reaches home base first, followed closely by Faith, Grace and SalVation. Out on the field, SIN stands with Death wondering what went wrong and when they look to their coach, their bench is empty. Again.

Day 12: Its in the small things

People have asked me if I have plans to compile all the essays I've written for Bethesda Bells into a book. I've considerd that notion and think, I'd pass. Instead, I'd document them here; some would be articles in full, others excerpts. Thanks to all that have encouraged me to write over the years, its been an amazing trip. I've not written quite so much these days, well, maybe its time to pick up the pen and start again...


From: Don't let the Sun go down on Myanmar

Cherie: God? You know, someday, I want to do great things for you.
God: Really? That's good. (God smiles) I've got a big job for you.
Cherie: Cool. I want to teach many people. I want people to see me and see You. I want my life to be a walking testimony for you.
God: that's wonderful my dear, in fact, I could use you today.
Cherie: Em, now?

God: See that young girl over there? She'd love to get to know you.
Cherie:But, em, God, its lunch time and I'm hungry.
God: And she's hungry too...
Cherie: She lives here, Father, food is really not an issue for her you know.
God: She's hungry for you, for what you have to say about Me.
Cherie: Now?

God: You see that road, Cherie?
Cherie: Yeah.(Screws up her face) Ewww, is that cow dung I see?
God: Walk and visit the children at the end of the road.
Cherie: But its so far in! And God, I'm tired.
God: Go child, It'd be worth it. Come, I'll even walk with you, let me enjoy the sunrise with you.
Cherie: Do we have to go now?

God: See that man? Listen to him, he's got something worthwhile to say.
Cherie: It wouldn't take too long right?
God: No, it wouldn't. But talk with him ok?
Cherie: But I might be late for the other appointment.
God: I'll take care of things. Just listen and be encouraged.
Cherie: You mean, like now?

God: Do as I say, Cherie. I know what lies ahead.
Cherie: Thought You said you had a big job for me?
God: I do. See that child. She needs a hug.
Cherie: But what about saving the world?!
God: (Smiles) But you are the world to her.

Day 11: Will and Grace

The Will of God will never send you,
where the Grace of God cannot keep you.


I don't think I've felt the full understanding of that statement till today.

Enough said.

Day 8-10: Back to the heart

Those of you that were there over the last few days toiling and running around with me, you'd know what a sigh of relief I've breathe now that it is all over. At least for now. More will come and it will be another mountain we'd scale together. :) Its been a real voyage of blind faith and probably a slight sliver of sheer dumb luck, but who's complaining eh? We take the good and the bad and deal with everything else in between.

Now, I've had quite a lot to think about the last few days and its so coincidental that the conversations that I have all revolve about the matters of the heart. Weddings, new attachments, break ups, cheating and divorce. It runs the whole gamut really, and sometimes it all comes at the same time that I don't really know what to think, how to feel, what to say. It's joy, fear, pain, bewilderment, sadness, disgust, excitement, anxiety, thankful, puzzled, optimism, wariness, happiness all rolled into one. Its a bizzare thing to feel but thankfully I have an emotionally capacity that's larger than a teaspoon. But its still hard to digest it all, to make sense of it all.

In any case, I'm now going to reply to a tag from Joan:


Name five of life’s simple pleasures that you like most, then pick five people to do the same. Try to be original and creative and not use things that someone else has already used:

1. Dinner with family where we don't talk shop
2. Re-reading Harry Potter I-VI
3. Teaching Mango to fetch-sit-lie down, we've not gotten to roll-over yet
4. Wearing pretty socks to bed
5. Long, meaningful pillow talk

And now I have to tag 5 people:
- Cecilia
- Mariann
- Kim
- Alvin
- Sooli

Right then. Toodles!

Day 7: Stand up and be counted

As many of you would already know, I'm not so good with maths, neither am I really big on anything mathsy. But I used to love to play the little counting game as a kid. When I was a little girl, my dad would play "Spot the Merc and count to ten" with me. We'd race, as we were driving from one place to another, to count the mercedes that we could spot and the first one to reach ten would win. I think this pretty much made me a default Merc fan, but that's another story for another day. Of course my dad would always let me win. He'd pretend to have a merc radar and make little buzzing noises and I'd frantically look about for the elusive Merc I so believed he had yet to spot. My dad's a sweet man, really.

In any case, I may not be a math genius, but I can most surely count from one to ten. See: one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten. I can add, subtract, multiply and divide with these numbers, I can count down from ten to one and even do multiplications. I'm good with one to ten.

Thing is, I've discovered a group of people that I've come to love and respect but that cannot seem to count properly. They are, ladies and gentlemen, my gym instructors. Yeah, the little fireballs of energy that shout and egg you on to do one more rep, to do one more set, to do one more crunch, squats, round around the track.

They'd say, "Come on girls, just three more sets... that's it, we're almost there." And I'd always buy it. When she says, three more reps, I start counting down... 3...2...1! And when I get to 1, I'm suppose to be done. Right? No. When you think they are done with you, they'd go, "That's it, come on, 8 more. You can do it!" And in my head I'm like "What!" But, see, this is where they get you, I actually believe them thinking, "Ok, last 8, come on, after this set, there's bound to be some reprieve of sorts." And I girt my teeth for another 8 reps of whatever that's making my muscles burn and scream. And then, after that 8, when you think that you've gotta be done she goes for another 8.... and the story continues.

Its amazing really. You'd think we'd all be wiser by now, at least, I thought I would. But, nah, I'll still fall for it the next time she asks me to do three more kicks or twists or hold my half-crunch-almost-dying position for three more lllllloooooonnngggg seconds. Yeah, she knows she's got my number.

Day 6: Fish out of water

Cat's sit on the windowsill
Children fit in the snow
Why do I feel I don't fit in?
Anywhere I go?

I was once regaled with it by a chorus full of young vocal talents accompanied by an ensemble of talented ballerinas perfoming Pippin and at once fell in love with the title track. It was a poignant story of a young disillusioned and dissatisfied prince at the turning point of his life battling to find his way amidst the pulls of royal obligations, political duty and personal desires. It was colourful, entertaining and ultimately real. Musicals have a funny knack of coming to life often enough.

Rivers belong where they can ramble
Eagles belong where they can fly
I've got to be where my spirit can run free
Got to find my corner of the sky

I've found it hard over the last few years growing up. When you're 16, the world's your oyster and given my very female-empowered upbringing I was brimful of wants, dreams and ambition. I was like a bulldozer raring to take on anything life would throw at me. When I hit 18, saw me dead set to join the legal ranks, I was a debater, I decided I spoke rather well and all until I interned at a law firm and sent my law plans spiralling in the opposite direction. At 21 years, I recall a huge huge birthday party with over a hundred guests who clapped and applauded to my very promising life and all that jazz. I lapped it up lock, stock and barrel on the surface, inside I doubt I've ever been quite so terrified of the prospect that I actually had my whole life stretched out in front of me, a blank canvas waiting for my very uninspired artistry.

So many men seem destined
To settle for something small
But I know I won't rest until I know
That I have it all...

At 25, going on to 26 I look back at my not-so-very-long past and I realise that I still have very little clue as to where exactly I fit in in this world, no real concretness to my daily methods. It's like riding on a train with a ticket you did not purchase but was given to you by somone who looked you straight in the eye and said, "Have faith in Me." A train whose destination you have no real idea of and all you see are the ever changing landscape and blinding scenery; all you feel is the beating of your anxious heart in a strange syncophanted samba with the roaring engines of time and change. And all you have for company is suitcase of Ideals, a bag of Dreams and sackful of Faith.

So, don't ask me where I'm going
Just listen when I'm gone
And faraway you'll hear me singing-
Softly to the dawn

And maybe, that ought to be enough.

Day 5: The things that shape us

Was clearing out stuff today and came across an old piece of writing (a piece of poetry written long time ago, i've re-printed it below... alas, the crappy stuff we churned out, I'm so embarassed) that jolted me back some ten years; coupled with the fact that I just came back from my SCGS 10th year reunion kinda made time move in a strangely slow, retrospective manner that makes your inside go warm and slightly cold at the same time. Its amazing to be reminded of where you came and revisit the lives of the people that were instrumental in shaping the you in the past, laying the foundation of the you of today.

When I was in secondary school my friend Joan and I had a love-hate relationship with two totally funny guys from another school. It was the two of us against the two of them and for a long while we had a correspondence of letters that included stream-of-consciousness writing, empty titbit packets stuck onto foolscape, long pseudo-poetry and loads of insults, innuendos and what have you traded back and forth. This absurd relationship has endured to some degree over the years and we seen each other grow up, change, develop, move on to different things in our lives. We'd spanned half the globe with the guys overseas and us back here pursing totally divergent paths; we've had totally bizzare and strange reunions and seen how our network of friends have crissed-crossed way too many times for it to be entirely normal.

So, we have grown over the years. One of us is a photojournalist- after a long journey of teaching, design work and a beautiful wedding to a guy that seemed tailor made for her. One deals with the army or air force, and I believe he busies himself with something to do with security this, that or other. Another is still far far away deeply cleaved in the northern hemisphere battling to finish med school while concurrently pursuing a life behind the shutters, I personally hope he gets to do both given how gifted he really is in either fields. And then, there's me.

Its hard to remember exaclty how things were, really. Its all a blur but there are significant enough moments to make me smile, tear and at the core of it make me realise how far this road we've all taken, and how its small things can really impact you so very greatly. That the things that shape us are are not the big decisions or the grand occassions, but the small ones that sometimes come in crumpled envelopes with a big fat smiley face, or in poorly wrapped packages sometimes containing dried leaves or a hand made paper weight, or even sometimes, in that twinkling of the eyes that speaks volumes.

To J, N, C: This is for you. Cheers to the years gone by.
This, I believe was written in response to one of the nonsense letters you guys wrote us.

Whinny now, fear creeps upon them
Helplessly they await certain death
Youth? It no longer matters at all to them

Divellicated bodies scatter the floor
Ominously peering from unseeing eyes
No one would or could hear their cry
Telos. Fated. Real. Sad. So sad.

Younkers have fallen to mere vulnerabilty
Over and over again, throughout history
Undulatingly, their hears pound against their chest

Grovelling bear by, waiting so patiently
Unless assistance comes quick- lost.
Yips escapes; terror strikes so deep
Sealed fate.

Grim silence explodes...
Overwhelming. Overwhelming.

All of a sudden- hope bursts forth
Needle fine pricks of gratitude
Dismay and dispair cleaned from slate

Dire states are long, far and gone
In its place they are all
Ex arquo indebted to me...

Day 4: There's gotta be more to life

I am not a big Stacie Orrico fan. In fact, before the writing of this blog, I didn't even realise her name was spelt with at -cie as suppose to a -y; and of course I also spelt her surname wrongly. I personally have nothing against people with beauty marks but for some reason I've always found Miss Orrico's highly distracting. Even when I'm not watching MTV, and am only listening to her on the radio, I find her mole looming at the back of my mind. I don't get that with Enrique though- yeah, yeah, I'm on first name basis with him- maybe that's cos he got his removed. Anyway, much as I'm not a fan of Stacie, I do love her music and the phenomenal messages that she drives.

She speaks of how life's funnily absurd. How when we appear to have everything, we still feel empty; how when we appear to have all the going-ons going for us, we find ourselves emptier inside. That we seek highs that are but temporary, we squander the precious, and we are always two steps shy from finding what it is we seek to find. We plug at life searching for answers, finding the right formula, collecting accolades, storing up treasures and other pretty playthings... and we so badly want to believe we have it all. We are so busy writing all the titles behind our names on our namecards, so keen to share our acheivements with the rest of the world, so quick to jump up and down and scream "Me! Me! Me!"... Only to face the bitter reality that it all counts for naught. Nada. Zero. Squat. Zilch.

Because, beyond the pages of the books that we fill is another chapter waiting to be written, more brilliantly than the ones before. That beyond the journey of this life that we live is another place- unbounded by space, time or the humanness that defines this highly material world- where better things wait us. That past the transcience of wanting to the most popular this and that, desiring to have millions shored up in our vaults and having people laude us with "thank yous" and pats on the back- we realise, deep inside of us, that there's gotta be more to life.


Stacie Orrico: (There's gotta be) More to Life
I've got it all, but I feel so deprived
I go up, I come down and I'm emptier inside
Tell me what is this thing that I feel like I'm missing
And why can't I let it go

There's gotta be more to life...
Than chasing down every temporary high to satisfy me
Cause the more that I'm...
Tripping out thinking there must be more to life
Well it's life, but I'm sure... there's gotta be more
Than wanting more...

I've got the time and I'm wasting it slowly
Here in this moment I'm half way out the door
Onto the next thing, I'm searching for something that's missing

i'm wanting more
I'm always waiting on something other than this
Why am I feelin' like there's something I missed.....

Day 3: Quiet desperation, aimless distraction

I love driving. I love the way it takes me places, I love the way it frees my mind and I love the way it somehow allows me to breathe slightly easier in the constant lunacy that is my life. I love the way I can feel the feedback of the road- it gives me the assurance that I am getting somewhere, even if it is really nowhere; I love the way I feel like I'm in control of a big ass collectiva of metal that purrs and screams at demand, even if all it really does is gurnt and whine, but I pretend just fine. I love the way I have the option to drive, to cruise, to speed up and slow down, and, get this, even get to honk at people, even if I just wanted to say Hey and not because the other driver is flouting some rule.

I hate driving. I hate the way it means I sometimes get caught in jams, I hate the way it oftentimes puts me at the mercy of other drivers and I hate the way I sometimes have to grit my teeth and bear with the crappy road manners of some other drivers, and sometimes even pedestrains. I hate the way there are too many red lights and ember lights and not enough green one- it makes me kind of wonder if I'm ever going to get there; I hate the way I have no control of the horrid peak period nonsense and I'm sandwiched between a big tow truck with a sublime message and the constantly weaving motorcycle, they think they are both in some roadster acrobat show, I know better. I hate the way I'm forced to jam my brakes, swerve to avoid collision, I get flicked at from the incessant impatient car behind to move it and I've to pay toll at way too many ERP gantry points.

So, ok, there are good days, and there are bad days. There are days when I feel like I'm on the road to somewhere; and there are days I feel that no matter how well I drive, how clear the traffic, I don't seem to get anywhere. Somewhere, anywhere, nowhere, everywhere.... Maybe I need a driver. Maybe I already do, I just have to learn to use Him.

For those that get this post, good. For those that don't, well, re-read it ok?

Day 2: Not by chance

It's a phenomenal game, snakes and ladders. Sometimes your're up, sometimes you're down. Most times you're never quite sure whether you're up or you're down, or merely floating in that strange limbo between here and there. It all seems so random, such a shot in the dark, the luck of the draw or the chance of the dice that its hard to imagine life as anything but far from being certain, constant, planned, destined or fated. So many things occuring at the same time- kinda like the original big bang- that Aha! that magical, unplanned, random moment when everything falls in place. Amazing, yet, possible.

I have had alot of problems with the idea that God has its plan. Not cos He's got a plan, really. But that I'm not always privvy to it. Like I'm a chess piece at the mercy of the greater player and ever so often it seems He has made some very strange moves, thrown many seemingly arbitary curve balls my way that it makes life appear to be one huge lottery game. I don't like not knowing, to be honest, it scares me, it annoys me and it terrifies me. It's like driving a car in unknown territory without a map. No, it's like trekking in the deepest rainforest without a map and food or water. No, correction. It's like sailing the protean sea without a map, without an obvioius guide, buffetted by the tempest and without any real useful floatation device. No, no, correction again. Its like crossing the angry desert with no map, amenities with only the sun to guide you. You are at the mercy of the changing winds which, with a single breath, is able to transform the landscape from there to come hither; where there are mirages of hope and false futrition in the etheral oasis-wasteland that misguide and mislead.

But here we are, isn't it. Exactly where we don't really imagine ourselves being. Life's funny like that, God does have a sense of humour (I mean, He did create the platypus didn't He?). And sometimes we just have to have faith, that nothing's ever random, nothing's ever unplanned or unaccounted for. And maybe that's the beauty of life, that we see only as far as we need to see, or as far as we should see. And take heart, that someone out there- someone greater- knows the grand plan, knows what lies beyond the bend, knows of the potholes and the high crests and that's enough for us.

Day 1: It's not about me

I've read the "Purpose Driven Life" once before when one of my students gave me her copy at the end of a particularly eventful training session. Her copy was dog-earred, highlighted, and it had the slightly worn look that suggested that she had obviously been pouring over its pages. In fact, when i got hold of that copy, I was already the fourth in line to read it. It was a pass-it-on copy and I've no clue where the book is now given that I also passed it on to a friend. In any case, I've now got my own copy of the book and its been a phenomenal re-read.

"Everything got started in Him and finds it purpose in Him." Col 1:16b In the course of my work I speak of the idea of purpose, the concept of knowing what is it you were put here on earth to do, the understanding that we were put here to fulfil some sort of mission, destiny, grand plan. We talk of knowing, of learning, of discovering. We preach of living the life we were meant to live, being the person we were destined to become. We speak of purpose as though we have infinite and tangible say in what that might be. That as humans, a minute part of the grand vastness of the larger, unfathomable present eternity, we might actually dare lay claim to our discovering what it is we were out here to accomplish.

It's humbling, I must admit, to know that we may not always know everything, that we cannot know everything, and that we should not know everything. That we may choose and decide upon many things, many great things in our lives- but we would never get a chance to choose our purpose. That we may seek it, search for it, plough through pages of self-help books, attend seminars, follow gurus and what not only to discover that we have to wait- oftentime patiently, introspectively, humbly- for it, and its fullness, to be fully revealed to us.

Sometimes we just have to patiently wait.... and perhaps, just perhaps, it is in that waiting that all becomes clear.

the houses of Annie Wallas

Annie Walles took a walk the other day, down by the river where the gem-lit waters bordered the cruel lake and the fervent ripples morphed into rip tides that slapped and stoned. She walked along the briers that demanded the ancient levy of tears, sweat and woes, then past the deadened woods that whispered of pain and ecohed loss. She walked on. She walked on, though the hidden sun ravaged the air and the two-faced wind waxed and waned. She kept on. She kept on, fumblling and trembling, falling and waking, rising and tumbling.

At the end of the pathway, Annie Walles saw a path- a path of incompetion, a path of fullness. Or, more correctly, she glimpsed a path of two worlds, spanning wide chasm, highlighting the narrow way. Its roads were broken, spilled out and charred, yet also of ripeness, of life and greenings. It was a pathway of despair, a pathway of hope; a pathway of old fears, a pathway of faith; it was a pathway of pain, a pathway of promise. One side was the wide abyss, the deep drone of Dante. One side the packed Nietzchean marketplace, the soul-searching waking Frost.

So Annie Wallas walked the pathway, the road between two houses, bridged the incompletion with grave soulful wholeness. Neglecting the whispers of bated breath, these imprints of naught, she stood in the wide gap and knew of its fullness. She paid heed the sweet sighs of keeping, the soft cries of belonging.

For it was never a path between two places, spaces or time.
It was simply a pathway, nothing more, nothing less.

From My walk with Annie Wallas, Anon

the egg born quartet

Helen of Troy, widely considered by scholars as the most inspired character in all literature, ancient and modern. The story of the unrivaled beauty of the daughter of Zeus, King of the Gods and the stunning beauty that was Queen Leda of Sparta has gone on to define a whole era, marked by fighting, love, andintrigue; of impassioned young soldiers, half Gods and far-flung kings and princes. A tantalizing enigma from the start, a breathtaking catalyst to the end.

Its an amazing story, Helen of Troy.

I have a Greek savvy friend who, I've recently discovered spent a great deal of time with fellow Helen Scholars (I can't believe there are Helen scholars, can you?) debating theories of Helen's cataclysmic role on shaping Greek in the ancient and middle ages. There is the school that blames her, another that worships her. I personally think she's to be pitied.

Leave the poor girl alone you Helen Scholars (I still can't believe there are Helen Scholars), she didn't ask for any of this.

what's real, Peter Pan?

The late December- Early January period is my favouritest time of the year. It has Christmas which feeds my great love to wrap presents and eat, New Year which allows me to catch up with old friends, feel better about the fact that i'd be getting a new set of resolutions to let down and it has the whole early Jan period which is always so brimful of possibilities, discoveries and potential. Its a brilliant time of the year. Most years anyway.

I've not really enjoyed this erstwhile favourite time of the year this time round. Its been bligted by This, plagued by That, marred by unruly expectations and messy connundrums. It has, however, been a real eye opener, a true blue awakener, a honest-to-goodness blast in reality. Life's not so simple babe. People cheat, people lie, people do whatever it takes to ease their carnal soul. They tear, they rip, they punch, they bully in a desperate bid to sooth their savageries; whatever they may be.

I say, beware the devil in the angel's mask. They are everywhere.
Maybe they are in the seat next to yours, or the one two rows down.
Maybe it was the person you met yesterday, or that nameless face from your faceless past.
Or maybe, just maybe, he's right in your seat.

Grow up Peter Pan, you destroyed your NeverNeverland...
Tinkerbell's too good for you...

oh be careful little....

I was watching some kids play in the park the other day and a few of them were singing an old children's song that goes: "Oh be careful little eyes what you see... Oh be careful little ears what you hear... for the Father up above is looking down in love; Oh be careful little lips what you say..." Life's funny like that huh? We are so often quick to judge what is it that we see, what is it that we hear and we are even quicker to retort, to snip and snap back, to blame, to curse, to threaten, to scold, to rave, to rant, to scream, demand, shout, to issue ultimatums... all forgetting to take stock of what it was that we ourselves had said and done that others had seen, heard and witnessed.

Its easy in life, really, to forget about ourselves sometimes. We go on the offensive and then when someone bites back, we forget the whole shennanigan started with us to begin with and we decry fairness, call for justice and demand for the worth of a name. Its a strange game we play. Some call it selective memory, others egocentric deafness, still more call it reverse verbal narcassism or even plain, old, forgetfulness.

Either term, the meaning is the same. Know what words it is that we have given breath; be wary of the snowballs we ourselves are guilty of building and setting in motion; be willing to take what comes may when we fail to follow the rules or life and being. As a wise friend of mine once said- be careful of the words you give breath to. For with the purchase of life, comes the harbringer of decay.

Einstein was right after all.