It is so hard and tiring to be good.
Hence I need more than my strength. I am strongest when I'm on my knees in prayer.
13 May 2010
So tiring 8:31 pm
It is so hard and tiring to be good. To try keep your cool when people and situations get frustrating and pesky. When you're down on luck. To keep smiling when you feel terribly lonely. To not get frustrated when the bus takes forever to come despite being late for an appointment. To stay strong and not be tempted to go to the toilet and cry when shit happens at the office.
12 May 2010
boxes of nostalgia 1:48 am
it began when i received an SJI newsletter. sent me reeling with nostalgia; decided to open the dusty carton box.
army photos; tan and handsome then, fat and ugly now.
old camp letters.
angel-mortal letters.
random postcards from classmates.
letters from crushes. christmas cards.
photos of ex-girlfriend.
letters from mei.
doodling of ex-girlfriend whilst she was in chemistry class.
advice from seniors written on letters.
old guitar strings.
christmas presents from sunday class kids.
senior joe.
diary entries.
things that remind you who you are. these are so important, yet i leave them buried in boxes. amidst the routine of wakeup-work-work-eat-work-work-work-eat-refuse to sleep-sleep-wakeup, i need such guideposts to remind me who i am, who i want to be; apparently i knew what i wanted to be 13 years ago. apparently.
i will keep these things close to me. i'm now itching from the dust. but also filled with an inspiring nostalgia.
inspiring nostalgia. amen.
Uncle T
army photos; tan and handsome then, fat and ugly now.
old camp letters.
angel-mortal letters.
random postcards from classmates.
letters from crushes. christmas cards.
photos of ex-girlfriend.
letters from mei.
doodling of ex-girlfriend whilst she was in chemistry class.
advice from seniors written on letters.
old guitar strings.
christmas presents from sunday class kids.
senior joe.
diary entries.
things that remind you who you are. these are so important, yet i leave them buried in boxes. amidst the routine of wakeup-work-work-eat-work-work-work-eat-refuse to sleep-sleep-wakeup, i need such guideposts to remind me who i am, who i want to be; apparently i knew what i wanted to be 13 years ago. apparently.
i will keep these things close to me. i'm now itching from the dust. but also filled with an inspiring nostalgia.
inspiring nostalgia. amen.
Uncle T
11 May 2010
thomas the obscure 1:52 am
The table went silent when Thomas spoke, more out of social courtesy than anything else. Once he was done saying his peace, which had intentions of being engaging and a conversation-starter, the polite smiles went round and after a necessary pause, the crowd at the table returned to their conversations and laughter.
The harder they laughed, the more painful it was for Thomas. He was there but not quite there; he was amongst the crowd but wasn't really with them. And the most painful thing, he knew. He knew he was only allowed to speak because they decided to be courteous. He felt like the loser he used to silently chuckle at in high school. Perhaps this was Fate's cruel reprimand for that arrogance. Thomas felt like Mr. Cellophane.
The crowd interrupted his sentences as if he never spoke, his comments were aired not heard, his exchanges never became conversations. Thomas felt like Jude. Thomas felt obscure.
All he wanted to do was get up and run into the cover of the night. He wanted to show them what a loss to the company if he did run off. I'll make them regret for ignoring me, Thomas thought. But silently the voice within reminded him that even if we walked off, hardly anyone would realise let alone care. So he sat there through the evening, through the conversations and laughter, with every passing moment Thomas' entire being only wanting to belong, if even for a few minutes. Why? Why me? What have I done to deserve this, he implored.
As darkness of night provided a slight reprieve, all Thomas could do was to turn his eyes to the Crucifix, bite his lips, fight the tears and pray. Thomas' greatest comfort amidst this darkness was being on his knees in prayer.
So the story goes of Thomas the Obscure.
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is to love, and to be loved in return".
Uncle T
The harder they laughed, the more painful it was for Thomas. He was there but not quite there; he was amongst the crowd but wasn't really with them. And the most painful thing, he knew. He knew he was only allowed to speak because they decided to be courteous. He felt like the loser he used to silently chuckle at in high school. Perhaps this was Fate's cruel reprimand for that arrogance. Thomas felt like Mr. Cellophane.
The crowd interrupted his sentences as if he never spoke, his comments were aired not heard, his exchanges never became conversations. Thomas felt like Jude. Thomas felt obscure.
All he wanted to do was get up and run into the cover of the night. He wanted to show them what a loss to the company if he did run off. I'll make them regret for ignoring me, Thomas thought. But silently the voice within reminded him that even if we walked off, hardly anyone would realise let alone care. So he sat there through the evening, through the conversations and laughter, with every passing moment Thomas' entire being only wanting to belong, if even for a few minutes. Why? Why me? What have I done to deserve this, he implored.
As darkness of night provided a slight reprieve, all Thomas could do was to turn his eyes to the Crucifix, bite his lips, fight the tears and pray. Thomas' greatest comfort amidst this darkness was being on his knees in prayer.
So the story goes of Thomas the Obscure.
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is to love, and to be loved in return".
Uncle T