wishes, hopes and dreams

hello again old blog!!

it's deepavali today!

so i'm off work!

it feels so lovely to be off work :)

SO LOVELY!!

I got up at 655am for some reason...

and I've just finished cleaning the whole house.

I considered baking a cheesecake but I realize I don't have enough eggs.

so perhaps I shall paint.

:)

it's lovely, lovely, lovely!!

There's only one thing...

I want to see someone.

but there isn't any excuse to see that person...

is there?

so near, yet so far.

Of The Past Few Months

So much time has passed since my last post here. Sometimes I come back here because I want to write the posts I used to write, the posts that are more pensive, less secretive, more descriptive, more talkative, more relevant...to my life.

The last few days have been really nice, and although I am strangely tired tonight, I feel like writing like I used to write again.

Not that I really remember how I used to write. I do remember being rather long winded and rambling, so that must be it.

This morning, I woke up rather later than usual (845am, to be exact) because the night before was spent with my open studio mates whom I have hardly met since I started work.

Anyway, so this morning I woke up at 845am and sort of mooned until i heard the Sunday Church bells ringing from my current church. Yup, I live that close. That allows me to wake up at 845am and still be at church vaguely on time. I kind of like those bells actually. Rather friendly.

I grabbed something from the fridge for breakfast, dressed quickly and dashed downstairs. Walked in just after the opening hymn...living nearby doesn't really make one early haha.

This church is rather different from the two churches I attended before. My church in KL was charismatic, and there was drums in church, and the youths got all jumpy during youth service. We sung Hillsong and Planet Shakers. GLCC was a very quiet church for me, when I first came.

Now Galilee is even quieter...

And they only play hymns. The band is kinda nice though. There is a grand piano and an organ, and violinists and the trumpet and the flute and the saxophone. No cello though. Lol.

I quite like hymns these days. Sometimes though, I find some hymns kinda weird...while people all say hymns are really biblical and modern Christian songs are all really bad, sometimes I find that some hymns are a little...strange.

but maybe I'm strange. Or I need to understand the lyrics better. Haha.

There are times when I don't quite agree with the sermons. GLCC sermons were slightly more aligned to my thinking. Not totally, but perhaps a little closer. However, I am glad for Sunday morning sermons because occasionally they guide my personal devotions (if devotions in a squashed train count).

still, it's ambiguous. I keep finding out more and more how wrong i am in my personal ideas of God, so I can't say I'm the best person to ask if a sermon is sound or not. I think most of the sermons are sound, and they aren't preaching nonsense or prosperity gospels or anything. God is God and He died for our sins. We are here on earth to glorify Him.

I guess we can't go far wrong there. Can we...if God is the centre one can't go wrong. Right.

I wonder often why I still attend Galilee...I dropped in after a disastrous trip to Grand Corpthorne which I have never told anyone about but I do think it was rather disastrous, which sort of encouraged my about turn into Galilee church the following week. Which was alright...which I find rather amazing because Galilee turned out to be precisely the church my mummy attended back when she was in Singapore. The senior pastor saw me one day and asked me: DO I KNOW YOU...then I said: Hmm, my mom used to attend this church...her name was dotdotdot...and then he said: OH YOU MEAN...??? then yeah...well I guess I resemble my mom alot.

Talk about fate.

Anyway, speaking about fate, I bumped into stacey on friday evening. I was going back from work, and for some strange reason I decided to go to artfriend to pick something up (I never get off at this station. I always take the green line and go back to jurong east). and walked into stacey who was talking on the phone down the staircase.

now if i hadn't gotten off at that time and stacey wasn't on the phone we could have just slipped past each other somehow. it was absolutely the strangest thing that ever happened.

and there was one seat left in simon's car (which he loaned to justin, apparently) which felt like the exact place i ought to be when i hopped up the car.

so. fate for you.

i don't know if there is such thing as fate, but i do think everything happens for a reason.

maybe when i'm 80 i will look back and know why God made all these things happen.

In the meantime, I think it's about time I stopped crapping (wah i haven't crapped like this on a blog in a while)

I was going to write about Luke something something today which the pastor spoke on but I sort of forget what to write.

oh ya I was also going to say that it's rather nice to be able to do craft work in church again! I never got the chance in GLCC because GLCC was so big and there were so many talented people that I wasn't needed and anyway there was no place to do any craft work because there was no building...

so i'm sorta glad to be in galilee cos I feel useful.

I don't know. GLCC, Galilee...all the body of Christ. Who cares which church you're from?

I used to think church hopping wasn't the best of things...now I think I was a bit legalistic.

Oh the video we watched at stacey's place was really good!

Ah. I better end here or I won't get to sleep early like I planned to.

Goodnight! :D

Invisible Rooms

The Architect was a frustrated person.

Balding, tired, and not particularly rich.

His name was Ralph, and he was 50 years old. He had been rather a brilliant student back in university. Somehow the world didn't take to him once he graduated. It was just darn bad luck, it seemed.

He had chosen the wrong paths, missed opportunities, been far too pleasant to be noticed, and generally didn't make too much of an impact in the design world.

He had a small family, a pretty, plump wife who worked part time at the furniture shop downtown. A slumping teenager who was all set not to become an architect like his father.  A younger son more obsessed with electronics than art. 

On Ralph's 50th birthday, he was in the office drawing out some plans by hand to be drafted out on the computer later by one of the young interns. He was rather afraid of interns, sometimes, just as he was a little afraid of his son. They were all so young and all of them spoke different lingo, and then they expected him to know everything because well, he was the Architect.

Well, Ralph was thinking to himself. Once he had been an intern. Once he had believed that the Architects knew everything. Once, he remembered, he had had ideals. 

But then, he decided, as he handed the plans over to the intern, a smartly dressed young man with a rather strange set of glasses that filled most of his face, that was all over. Now he was designing pretty buildings, working buildings. But under all these buildings were that underlying economic factor and the underlying boredom of their creators, artists stinted by conventions and styles.

He picked up his suitcase, smiled at the receptionist and left the building. Senior Architect, he could leave whenever he liked, and his wife had specifically said that he should be home early that day.

Well, thought he. Life was certainly all that he could ask. But it was still somewhat frustrating, having lived till 50 and still not having achieved anything of note. 

His wife and children were there with a birthday cake, and the sullen teenager had a sullen smile and the younger boy had a robot smile. Gift for his daddy. His wife had a little box for him, only to be opened in his study later, honey. 

Darling Bridget, he thought fondly. So many years she put up with him, his troubles, the time he was laid off when the economy crashed. She stuck with him. 

They had a lovely evening together, and the sullen teenager actually had a gift for him, a small moleskine notebook with blank pages, how thoughtful. Perhaps he hadn't seen as much of the boy as he should have, Ralph thought. One thing he did know was that the boy refused to become an architect, in fact, he refused to study, more or less. 

That was okay with Ralph. See all the billionaires, he figured, none of them went to college. Bridget had other ideas, though. She was convinced her son was a no-good and was constantly worrying about him.  The trouble with Ralph, she said, was that Ralph was too darn pleasant.

That night, he was really rather tired and slept early. Before he slept, however, he wrote neatly in his new moleskine book: "Spend more time with Timmy, before it gets too late. Get Darren a telescope."

That night, he had a rather unusual dream. He woke up feeling rather ratty, had his breakfast and was off to work again.

At work, he discovered he had picked up the wrong briefcase, and excused himself to go home to retrieve it. Well, there were certain perks to having a Director's title. 

His study was immaculate, as usual. Walnut shelves. His study table with the black box on it.

He picked up the box fondly and opened the cover. Inside it was a rather unusual combination of papers. Sketches, he realized. Possibly his own. He frowned. He never remembered drawing these. The handwriting was his, however. And the sketches were his style. 

Ralph was intrigued. Strange that his wife would give him such a gift. 

As he shuffled between the papers, a small envelop emerged. 

"Dear 50-year-old Ralph," it begun.

Ralph sat down rather hard on his armchair. He had never remembered writing this. 

He read it again.

"Dear 50-year-old self," it started.

It was about two sheets long. And it was signed Your 25-year-old self.

50-year-old Ralph sighed unhappily. It was all very well if he had written the letter when he was 25 years old and left the box to be opened by himself when he was 50 years old, however he remembered doing nothing of the sort. 

"Bridget!" He hollered. Bridget wasn't at home, he remembered. She was working at the furniture store downtown.

Well, Ralph decided. Even if it wasn't written by his 25 year old self, perhaps it might be worth reading, prank or otherwise.

He put on his reading glasses and settled down comfortably on his study chair. Work, it seemed to him, wasn't particularly important today. Which was a strange thought for Ralph. 

"Dear 50-year-old Ralph,

I am sure you are surprised to receive this. As I would be if I were you, which I am. And if I were you, most likely you would have looked down and checked who wrote this letter, so you already know who is writing this. 

I am writing this in the little room you shared with 6 other boys when you just graduated. Do you remember the double bunk beds and Richard who slept on the floor because he was jobless and couldn't pay the rent? 

Today I am alone, and it is a terrible evening. You wil imagine you have never remembered this, but it is true. I am sorry for the changes that would happen in your life.  I am sorry that mediocrity will be all you remember.

But it is a decision that I have to make, that you had to make. 

It is difficult to write this, because tomorrow I will remember nothing of this. And as you will see later, this is not a letter I am allowed to write.

25 years ago and 8 months, when you were in your final year of university, you joined an international design competition and won it. You were also involved in it for the first year of construction. you do not remember anything of this, but bear with me.

It was a design for the supreme court. You were working on it every evening for weeks, after your night shift at Kolmann's bar. I wonder if you will remember Kolmann's bar. You played the bass there some nights. Other nights you mixed drinks. I think that was the best time of your university life.

I shall bring you back to the competition. You had much fun with it. You did not expect to win. 

I write this because you did win. But there are no records that you did. In fact, if you check at all, there are no records of this competition.

But the building was built, and it is your design, as you can see from the plans you will likely find with this letter. And I would like to bring forward to you the presence of the passageway you included between the walls of the court, because it was built."

Robert looked up at the sheets of folded paper. Something stirred in his mind. He remembered his schoolday penchant for sometimes including strange spaces within his plans, glorifying in the fact that his tutors at school never paid enough attention to notice them, if he failed to mention them during his final critiques. 

A smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Just a few hours ago, you signed your life away. Or rather, you gave your life up. It was imposed upon you, this memory swipe. But it ensured a future for you. It ensured that one day, you would pick up this letter and read it, and your 25 year old self will know he cheated the system.

I will not write anymore, but if you are me, and the memory swipe didn't kick your personality out of whack, I imagine giving my 50 year old self another go at life.

Sincerely,

Your 25 year old self

50 year old Ralph glanced at the clock. He picked up the phone and called his secretary, announcing he was going to take 15 days leave in one go.

AARGHHHH how is this gonna end?

Oh Joys

I'm not a very smart person, but I'm graduating! :DDDD YAYS!

I feel like you know, the girl from Legally Blonde who was only checking her results to see if she passed...hahaha.

that's basically all i cared about, the little words at the bottom of the grades: passed.

well my grades sucked as usual, but who cares? I passed! I'm a masters girl!

WAH NO MORE SCHOOL @@ I can't believe I'm so happy I'm no longer in school...

A Profundity

Once in a while, I go on a blog binge, meaning that I check up all the old blogs I used to follow regularly, just to see what those blog people have been up to and whatnot.

I shan't tell you which blogs I visit, some of them are really girly blogs about makeup and stuff (seriously I am not that sort of girl, but sometimes they really are so pretty, you know) and some of them are of these pretty girls who write really well and attend Oxford or something. Sometimes the blogs are mother blogs, some of them are cooking blogs. I even occasionally visit sewing blogs. I realize very few men blog, or if they do, they rarely update or I am not interested anyway. Oh except for David Lebovitz, but he's gay.

On a side note, I kept bumping into the most beautiful guy last semester and the last time I saw him he smiled and said hi, and so of course I got kinda interested, so i stalked him using the usual stalk tactics and turns out he's gay. I suppose nice, handsome gorgeous young men tend to be gay. So sad :( But I digress.

I wonder what sort of blogger I am, and if anyone chanced upon this blog would anyone care to stay?

I suppose, being myself, I would be rather flattered if anyone wanted to even read my blog, if they didn't know who I was and were interested in it for it's own sake. Rather than the interest of a friend or the interest of a kaypoh. But then inside I also feel rather worried, should many people read this blog, will I remain writing what I write or thinking about who reads it, and tailoring my writing to meet the needs of these phantom readers?

There, I attempt profundity and realize I cannot continue. I really must be myself or none at all.

Anyway, I write here two days before my results are going to be out, and I must say I have inside me a rather nagging fear that I love to brush off with my usual "Oh don't think about it, it's going to be fine." but then when it does occasionally occur to me I feel this uncomfortable feeling rearing up like a bushel of dragonflies in the pit of my stomach wondering "what if it weren't fine?"

I wrote in an earlier post on this blog (I tend to mix up what I've written here and what I've written in my tumblr sometimes) about grabbing the bull by it's horns and facing the world and that the world owes me nothing and all that. Well, I wrote that before I sent out my cvs and portfolios and prayed very hard that somehow one of these 6 firms I applied to would grant me an interview. So that was basically what grabbing the bull by it's horns meant. You know, self promotion gets kinda scary when you look at yourself and don't feel exactly promotable. So I had to (grab the bull (myself) by the horns) look hard at myself, figure out which projects expressed myself best, and put it all into a booklet to make myself look better than I actually was.

Turns out I am rather impressed with my own work at points, and I wonder why my grades didn't quite show it. haha. Oh well, maybe my standards are low.

Still, right now my stomach turns at the thought of going to work and having my employers realize they really got a noob of noobs as an employee, after my shameless self promotion during the interview, during which i forgot to mention my weaknesses and remembered only my strengths. Argh. Is this dishonest? I should have mentioned that I am not exactly a top student, but I kept saying I liked this project and I liked the other project I did and why and all that and I suppose there was an impression that the projects were actually good (Actually I really think they looked rather cool, just that for some reason my grades didn't reflect that, but I didn't mention that...)

Oh dear I feel like my desperation to get a job has made me shameless in the interview room.

But who on earth tells the interviewer that I am really bad at what I do and please don't hire me?

In architecture, it's the portfolio that matters, not the grades. That's why they didn't ask me for my grades, they told me to bring my portfolio. My portfolio looks ok.

But my grades don't! D:

I am feeling very guilty now.

My main problem in this course is guilt. I never take credit for luck...which is basically what I have to rely upon alot when designing, because you know, in creative work, you 'suddenly' chance upon a really good idea and you have no idea how it happened, and you better not mention that you didn't know how it happened.

so I happily always mention that I didn't know how it happened. so I die there.

I should have taken a course where I know what happens. Like provable stuff. Not a course that's half the person and half the work.

But oh well, I'm a Master graduate...in two days...if i pass...arggghhh...of a subject I don't really know much about (honest, I still think I don't know what I'm doing) and I wonder if everyone thinks that? I have a PhD friend and he seems to think he knows more than everyone else about his PhD topic, which I suppose is true because he's the only one who ever did research on it. He's working for NASA on top secret stuff now. So I suppose it's true. Masters is really nothing lor, wait till you get a PhD.

Okay, here I am belittling my Masters again. I better quote myself just after I finished submissions: "Seriously, I think I learned more in my masters year than in my four years getting my bachelors."

But I still think I don't know enough...there is so much more I need to learn...

But no way I'm going to get a PhD. Too much work. Haha. (Secretly I don't think I can do it @@) And no point...you are very highly educated but you only get to teach. No point. I prefer to go into business.

Which brings me to wonder what I really want to do in life. I realize one thing: I Do Not Want to be An Architect For a Long Time.

But I also know that: "I Don't Know What I Want to Do, Really."

I was thinking I wanted to be a developer instead, but one needs alot of money to be a developer, not something I can be at once. I also want to do some sort of business, not very sure what sort of business, but I do.

Then I think...But I'm a girl. Okay, I know, equality of the sexes and all that. However, if I ever did have kid, I will give up certain dreams I have to look after those kids. I think it's important.

Nohow. Life is never what you plan it to be. At any rate, at least I know God is in control.

What a long post about nothing, and not very profound either, whatever the aims of these post.

Life

http://www.godtube.com/watch/?v=FCJ2CMNU What a beautiful story. If you look closer at this little boy, even though he seems scary at first, then you realize he is so beautiful, really. He is a child, like any other child.

 Imagine a person who got burnt and deformed in a fire and looked horrible...would that person say, oh i should have died? nay, the person would have said: Oh I'm so glad I'm alive!

 Ask a blind person, are you glad to be alive? And they'll say, life is so full of joy, why do you ask this?

The abortion of a child, if you look at it this way, is murder. Unless the life of the mother is at stake, and the chances of the mother living be higher than that of the child's, there is no reason to abort.

The argument that abortion is okay if the mother were 'too young' and 'made a mistake' and doesn't want her life to be ruined... well, come on, the child can be adopted. someone else can take the child. better still the mother takes on the responsibility of her own actions.

Or if a woman were raped. Well, there wouldn't be this problem if rapists didn't exist, right? Still, how much more noble should the woman let the child live, and even take the child in as her own, whatever the consequences, because the child was a child wherever the origin and whatever the memories?

In this age where everything can be attributed to psychological problems, the human race has fallen a great deal and degraded themselves.

 It is an age where every desire, they give in to.

 It is well known that children prefer to live a life that is regulated: "Mum never lets me do this. Lily's mum let's her do everything she wants. Poor thing."

Humans are actually happy to have discipline and rigor in their lives, they are most satisfied in that.

Well, this is a private blog, and these are my honest opinions, which everyone has a right to have. So yeah. signing off. and realizing that I am anti-abortion.

Grabbing the Bull By it's Horns

It's time to grab the bull by it's horns.

Life isn't going to be easy. And the world owes me nothing.

Here I am, at the brink of a new world.

And I'm shaky still, but one isn't going to be allowed to be shaky for long.

It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. And seriously, it's going to be harder than thesis.

Time to harden up, learn to pick up broken pieces by myself, learn to face the world with God by my side.

Wow. Graduating feels scary.

But with God, all things are possible!!

Well, thank God. And may my walk with Him grow stronger, and never weaker, over the years, despite disappointments and hardships, despite pain and suffering, despite setbacks and loss.

Oh I will need God's help for this!

Thesis

I suppose this warrants a post. Even on a dead blog :)

Well, thesis has been a long journey, a very, very long journey...

And at the end of it, I get this:

Talk about encouraging...haha.

Whatever it is, a new life has begun. Brave new world! How will you be?

Before that, I am going to record here, before the memory fades, how difficult thesis was. Because looking back, I'm gonna think thesis was a breeze (maybe, compared to the life ahead, thesis is a breeze...hahahaa). Whatever it is, at this point of time, thesis is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.

Two months before thesis. In school every single day from 8am (wake up at 7am) to 11pm. Closing in to submissions, I discovered bus 30 and 51 could take me home at 12:20am, so that was the time I left. Only tuition and church were distractions. 

All of us lived so long at studio that a studio pantry seemed necessary:

it evolved within a week to this:

and a short while later to this:

then even that failed, so we had this:

man, I love my studio friends. without then, I wouldn't have finished.

After this particular pizza incident, I came down with tonsillitis. Worked at home for a bit. Returned to school to work in the school computer labs, known as the dds. Tried working there for half a day then gave up when the sore throat went worse. Worked from home the rest of the day. Was in dds again the next morning. Sore throat improved a week down to submissions. Got going. 

Carol was a real angel:

Besides being my laser elf (she stayed up till 12am to book laser slots for me even when she was sick) she was also a food elf and elf encourager!! with kinder joy...haha. You will not believe how such a little thing could cheer a sad, sleep deprived thesis student. Even when I couldn't eat it because of my bad throat.

Honey lived under my table, on the warm space above the cpu.

The closer it got to panel submissions, the more sleep deprived we got. The more sleep deprived we got, the harder it got to work. It felt like pure torture. You want to sleep but you can't. Your brain is fuzzy and screaming for rest, you fall asleep randomly and once you jolt awake you continue working even when you don't want to. We began to stay in the dds and not go home. Sleeping on two roller chairs can be kinda comfortable, until you get back home and discover that clean sheets and a bed is the most wonderful thing in the world. When you actually go out of the computer lab, the sun looks so pretty. You wonder when will this whole thing end.

At points, you will want to give up. You will start chatting nonsense to the person next to you. You will start to sing randomly. You will suddenly slam the table and say: I GIVE UP. And suddenly everyone around you will look up with tired eyes and say: nono don't don't give up now just a few more days!! Just finish!!! Just finish will do, don't stop!! Just do.

And suddenly your wonderful friends wake up and talk nonsense just to cheer you up. I can't remember those conversations but I do remember it was punctuated with so much laughter. Friends are so necessary during this period. If I worked from home, I would have just given up and not submitted.

The last night, no one slept. I had one board to produce at 8am in the morning. One whole board! The rush. Clarence helped me to render one scene. Thanks Clarence. Just crazy photoshopping to complete the panels. The rush to west coast plaza in the rain to print. Tommy at scalebar was awesome (I don't work well with Tommy, but I admit, he did a great job at scalebar on submission morning. Thanks and no hard feelings.) Qian Lyn helped me submit panels when I was with Michelle at West Coast. Michelle sent me off with my panels even when she had so many panels to print. I am in awe at the unselfishness all my cohort showed despite the mad rush to personal submissions. There was no bad feeling in the mouth. We were in it together.

After submitting, Zakiah helped me pin up, even when she had already done hers and was probably dying to sleep. Walked around the panels a bit, then went back home and concussed for 15 hours. Then back to school for model making.

3 days to make a model that would normally take more than a week to do. I've tried. Thank God for the elves. 5 people helped me, Weiliang for a couple of hours friday night, Carol, Anh, Val and Eejia the whole afternoon and evening of saturday. Val and Eejia on Sunday afternoon, and Ee Jia stayed with me until 5am Monday morning until she was sure the model was nearly complete and I was safe.

my wonderful elves working hard on my model. sorry val, this one makes you look like you slack...hahaha

I got another egg of joy, haha this time from val!!! Thanks Val!!!

Ren Hui and her elves

Qian Lyn looks lonely here but her dear elf just left cos he had work...

Christy and her elves. Mind you this was taken at 2am, so the elves you see are the faithfullesst in the world.

this is the scene in the morning. kopped from ch:

must have like 20 elves working on one model. finished on time btw. awesome!

Oh btw, elves are the names of juniors (or seniors) who help their architecture seniors (usually) with their submissions. I assure you it is perfectly normal and tutors encourage the calling of friends and family to help a student with their thesis work. Without elves, it is impossible to finish. Other courses may think this is cheating, but they do not understand our workload. (Admission of QL's non-archi boyfriend (and elf): Man, I never knew you guys had to do all these...wah without help cannot finish one!) (okay, this is my own words, but he admitted it, according to QL)

ch stole my elf. 

ch's chio model and chui face (hahahahha i rather like the alliteration)

ee jia didn't want to have her photo taken. But seriously, I am terribly touched that she stayed till 5am for me. Best friend!! and that's my fairly chio model :)

damn complicated.

michell and owen. I dare say, i have never seen an elf as faithful as owen. archi juniors, do get a gf or bf from archi before you face thesis. they are the most faithful elves in the world. owen took off from work and overnighted with michelle for nearly 3 nights and rendered half her scenes. he was there consistently and worked even when michelle was sleeping. man. respect.

done! oh donee!!!!

Okay, actually I have a thesis report due tmr. byebye.

I AM SO GLAD THESIS IS OVER. I LOVE MY BED.

Hullo, I realize I forgot to mention God.

Well, I dare say my spiritual life went into slump during thesis. Especially during the end period. I did pray, but more or less sporadically. He was there, yet not there. I wonder what my relationship with God is like. I do think of Him constantly, but I tend not to mention Him all the time. 

He's just kinda there...haha.

Is this the wrong way to do things?

Hello God.

I know You are here, and You have had Your hand in everything.

:) Thank You God, thanks for all the things You've helped me with. Thank You for helping me complete thesis. Thank You for the friends You've blessed me with, thank You for the support and thank You for oh all the blessings I've received and the experiences I've been through. Thank You for all the hard work I've had to do and all the difficulties and thank You that I'm all through and I'm done and I'm alive.

Thank You for the sun in the sky, and that it didn't rain that day I was rushing back and praying it wouldn't rain until I stepped into the house. Thank You that I was sick, so I did rest and not hurt myself more. Thank You for Your constant reminders that I must be humble and thank You that I couldn't do it on my own. Thank You that I learned from thesis that I am not a one man show and that I have wonderful friends around me who love me and would do so many things for me and that I will do it for them too and I shall ask for nothing back.

Thank You that I'm alive and right now I have this future ahead of me and it's full of Your promises. Thank You Lord, thank You thank You!!

Thank You that You are everything and I am nothing and nothing I can do or not do will ever throw me out of Your sight. Thank You that You are wonderful and gracious and You love me even when I don't deserve to be loved. Thank You that I learn through thesis that there is so much I do not deserve but it is given anyway.

Thank You Lord!!!

worth fighting for

what is worth fighting for?

and what is not...

:(

i don't feel very well, and i have stomach pain.

i wonder what would happen if i were really sick...

thesis? what would happen to a year of work (okay maybe like 6 months?)

could i last another year?

what if...i had this really terrible disease...and i couldn't live for more than a year?

what would I do then?

what becomes important when there's no time left?

i know what i won't do if i had only one year left.

i won't do anymore architecture because it means barely anything to me...right now...

i think i would like to see the world a bit. maybe confess my love to someone...though right now there's really no one i think i love very much right now, i'll find someone to love just so i can do it. haha. maybe if i did that now i wouldn't be single, right? :P does love happen at first sight? i don't know...for me i guess i might just find someone to love, cos love is a choice, isn't it? a decision to love someone...not something you fall into, right?

or i just don't know what it is.

have you ever cried because a couple broke up? i think i have. i think it was because it broke all my pretty pictures of love. i thought they were a perfect couple, and then they weren't. and that dashed my hopes. i suppose that's how children of divorced parents feel. i don't even have divorced parents. anyway, i'm sitting here crying because a couple i thought would last forever broke up. i don't know why i'm crying, it might be i'm just a bit mental right now due to too much stress and worry about thesis and falling sick. and i'm getting too emotional. i should stop. maybe i need to visit a psychiatrist.

i'm not crazy, yet. but i'm depression prone, i might topple over the hill if anything happens. okay i won't. my practical side will pick up the pieces. i think i'm a very hard person to live with. i'm both mental and practical. i'm a person of extremes.

They say your defining weakness might be your defining strength.

moderation, is important. a happy medium. i read about her in A Wrinkle in Time. I remember the period i read that book, when Ah Kong was ill and mom would bring us to Singapore in batches and uncle/aunty would bring us to the library to choose books to read while mum took care of Ah Kong. I remember indulging in Fantasy at that time. It was the Fantasy period. Fantasy/Scinece Fiction. I remember a green book about mazes that I read and reread because it was fascinating. I can only remember the green cover and it's fascination. I cannot reread it because i forget the title and the story.

is this the product of delirium? i'm unsure of what i am writing about.

i'm writing of love and dashed hopes. and what to do if i had only one year left to live.

i would love to indulge in that...but i am also practical.

i'm so conflicted. on one hand i am sentimental and messy and diverted and romantic. on the other hand i am ruthlessly practical and legalistic. who am i? i don't exactly know.

i was thinking of writing about something else. the usual crap i like to spew that gives me great joy.

i tried to write a story in my head one day about a girl. and since i had only one model in my head it began to sound like an autobiography. i discovered that my life is really very interesting if i wrote it out the right way and left out all the mundane stuff.

words it seems, can deceive people terribly. one can make any person sound beautiful, or make a person sound evil and disgusting. You can do it with the same facts, you just have to create an atmosphere. I realize art and photography is the same. The addition of props and a turn of color can change the whole perception of an image. Those peripherals suggest what is not said but is there.

times have changed since this blog was begun. i write less in this manner, i write more in short gasps.

today i have been sick and i think despite my thesis i am going to write something very long and not edit it.

and don't think of beginnings or endings but write how i feel from beginning to end and never stop until i'm satiated.

writing satisfies me.

i think i like books.

oh! and did you know i love being random too!

you know, whatever i write, i might not even mean? because even though i mean what i write i don't really know what i mean.

i feel like stopping now. i have much to write...but somehow i feel like stopping. why? because i feel that what i write here really doesn't mean anything to anyone.

does it matter if it means anything to anyone? i used to think i didn't care. but maybe i do care.

i've put myself up against false humility. CS Lewis or some other respected individual said this: That True humility is not thinking less of yourself but rather thinking of yourself less. So it means i'm really rather proud because i think of myself so often.

Maybe that's my whole problem, this pride thing.

I wonder if this is getting anywhere. I don't know why I'm writing but I feel I need to clear somethings in my head and I always clear my head when I write. At least I used to. I stopped for a bit but now I feel I need it again because my head refuses to be cleared no matter what I do so I better try writing just in case it works. Not a very noble reason to write, I dare say.

Wow I feel quite proud of all the words up there, even if it means nothing.

Oh my mind is not cleared...but I feel this strange aversion to writing now.

I cannot let my feelings bind me!

Hahahaha. I feel like I'm in the Lord of the Rings and Gandalf shouts: YOU SHALL NOT PASS!

This crazy, crazy mind in me!!

Why am I so afraid of the future?

He's more than that.

I shall stop now. I want to reread it and I might as well stop.

The world defined by odors

"It is the citrus one I want," Tommy said. "With a hint of musk."

"Right-o" Dominikus smiled. He booted up his olfactory computer, a LINE, of course, designers always preferred the LINEd version. So much sleeker.

The combination of smells was a tricky business. To become a smell designer was a tedious task requiring at least four years of schooling, but to be a smell architect took at least 8 years and another 5 or so of experience before the final thesis could be written and one were allowed to generate olfactory spaces. Dominikus failed his entrance exam to architecture, hence his final decision to become a smell designer.

Harder still was the combining of tastes and smells, thus the "Chef" was one of the hardest things to become. Years ago, the mastery of sight and space had taken over the world, but that time had passed, along with the world of sound.

The chemosensory had taken over.

Sight, sound, touch! So passe!

Smell was so instant, so perceptive. Wasn't a designer meant to be intuitive! To work from something inside, and not outside. The design world was now completely intuitive! Where it should be. Designers were born and trained, but never, never, made.

Dominikus ran Olfac-shop, an intuitive computer programme where he could combine smells and put together a series to advertise Tommy's latest business venture. He had a date with Sylvia later, his girlfriend of 2 and a quarter years. She had passed her architect's exam. They had planned to become Olfactory Architects together, when they first became a couple. Where had that gone? But the practical aspects of their differing education came in handy. He was working and cash flowed in, because whatever it was, Dominikus was a very good Olfactory Designer. They could be married in another 2 years, at the rate Dominikus was going.

He whistled a tune as he touched and tuned the various molecules in the air. The sweet, cloying scent of musk. The sharp tang of citrus. Perhaps, a walnut tint would settle the Whole. It would be a desirable scent. A scent he had been working on previously returned to his mind, perhaps by including that combination he could create a completely new scent, one which would boggle Tommy's mind. It had induced the exact element of desire back then in the Olfactory Factory, and the advertisement it had been used in had been featured in "Arts" the foremost Design Magazine, which was unusual for a commercial venture.

Dominikus knew he was meant for greater things.

He saved his work, picked up his soft leather bag (Chamois, with a hint of Africa, an amazing scent, designed by a student, Mark Theis, a very promising kid) and walked out of his Working Zone and into the busy street. He had to follow Orchid street and turn off into Skunk road for a little before entering Winery street on the left, where Sylvia said she would be waiting. He liked Winery street, a very old and ancient part of the city, "well-aged, and very hippy" as Sylvia loved to say, architect-style. And the chef's who worked there were the top of their line, very inspiring for an Olfactory Designer.

Skunk Road, on the other hand, was a rather sleazy part of town. Dark and dingy, it had the cold, metallic smell of old engines and dried blood. He turned in from the bustle of Orchid Road and pulled his coat closer toward himself, enveloping his face with the expensive Damask.

Which was a type of wool and a smell, of course. Smells were woven into the threads, a wonderful way of introducing special combinations that suited each individual. Fearsome. If Dominikus hadn't become an Olfactory Designer of Wholes, perhaps he would have gone into the Garment line. He heard a rather loud sound behind the walls of skunk street, some shouting, but enveloped himself further in the folds of his damask, separating himself as much as he could from the skunk zone.

Winery Road at last. Dominikus frowned to himself. Smell, so fleeting, gone in an instant, but sometimes pervasive. Unfortunate, that smells were molecular. The stench of Skunk Road still hung around him. But ah, he had arrived.

--extract from A World Defined By Odors, by Faith Zhou

Happy Valentines Day!!!

I can't wait to tomorrow
This feeling has swallowed me whole
And know that I've lost control
This heart that I've followed
Has left me so hollow
That was then, this is now, yeah you have changed everything

Everytime I see your face
My heart takes off on a high speed chase
Now don't be scared, it's only love
That we're falling in
I would never do you wrong
Or let you down or lead you on
Don't look down, it's only love
Baby, that we're falling in
--Falling In, Lifehouse

:) Happy Valentines Day everyone!!! :DDDDDD

The Lady

First came bright Spirits, not the Spirits of men, who danced and scattered flowers-soundlessly falling, lightly drifting flowers, though by the standards of the ghost-world each petal would have weighed a hundred-weight and their fall would have been like the crashing of boulders. Then, on the left and right, at each side of the forest avenue, came youthful shapes, boys upon one hand, and girls upon the other. If I could remember their singing and write down the notes, no man who read that score would ever grow sick or old. Between them went musicians: and after these a lady in whose honour all this was being done.

I cannot now remember whether she was naked or clothed. If she were naked, then it must have been the almost visible penumbra of her courtesy and joy which produces in my memory the illusion of a great and shining train that followed her across the happy grass. If she were clothed, then the illusion of nakedness is doubtless due to the clarity with which her inmost spirit shone through the clothes. For clothes in that country are not a disguise: the spiritual body lives along each thread and turns them into living organs. A robe or a crown is there as much one of the wearer’s features as a lip or an eye. But I have forgotten. And only partly do I remember the unbearable beauty of her face.

“Is it? … is it?” I whispered to my guide. “Not at all,” said he. “It’s someone ye’ll never have heard of. Her name on earth was Sarah Smith and she lived at Golders Green.” “She seems to be … well, a person of particular importance?” “Aye. She is one of the great ones. Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on Earth are two quite different things.” “And who are these gigantic people … look! They’re like emeralds … who are dancing and throwing flowers before her?” “Haven’t ye read your Milton? A thousand livened angels lackey her,” “And who are all these young men and women on each side?” “They are her sons and daughters.” “She must have had a very large family, Sir.” “Every young man or boy that met her became her son-even if it was only the boy that brought the meat to her back door. Every girl that met her was her daughter.” “Isn’t that a bit hard on their own parents?” “No. There are those that steal other people’s children. But her motherhood was of a different kind. Those on whom it fell went back to their natural parents loving them more. Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives.”

“And how … but hullo! What are all these animals? A cat-two cats-dozens of cats. And all those dogs … why, I can’t count them. And the birds. And the horses.” “They are her beasts.” “Did she keep a sort of zoo? I mean, this is a bit too much.” “Every beast and bird that came near her had its place in her love. In her they became themselves. And now the abundance of life she has in Christ from the Father flows over into them.” I looked at my Teacher in amazement. “Yes,” he said. “It is like when you throw a stone into a pool, and the concentric waves spread out further and further. Who knows where it will end? Redeemed humanity is still young, it has hardly come to its full strength. But already there is joy enough in the little finger of a great saint such as yonder lady to waken all the dead things of the universe into life.”

—The Great Divorce, CS Lewis

I read this a long time ago. And this image has always imprinted itself in my mind as "the person I longed to be". Isn't this a picture of what a Christian ought to be? A person who changes and fills her surroundings with the love of the Father. With the selfless Agape love that is like concentric circles, spreading forward and onward.

Such love will awaken all the dead things of the universe into life. And this love is filled with joy!!