Moment of Quiet Magic 9:54 pm

Perhaps it's the day before my final exams. Perhaps it was the warm lunch at church. Perhaps it was the calming evening last night. Perhaps it was the fresh air. Perhaps it was Sunday. But whatever it was, it was a moment of quiet magic.

Standing there sipping the espresso as the rain fell on a Sunday afternoon.

There was nothing in my mind but the perfection of that moment as the warm panacea touched my lips and the rain falling on a quiet campus. It was just magic. Quiet magic.

That's what life is made of. Little bits of these quiet magical moments. I hope you have one yourself soon.

colours of hope | marrakech, maroc

Uncle T

As the sky pours. 10:58 pm

As the sky now pours
So wish I to do too.

Instead, I punish my umbrella's
Arm and disturb the
Silence of the chapel.

Its darkness is the only
Embrace I feel.

So wish I do too
As the sky now does.

Uncle T

It's Here. 9:17 pm

Sweaty palms.
Trembling fingers.
Quickened breathing.
Random flipping of notes.
Fiddling with keys on the keyboard.

It's here.

Tries to take a walk outside in the rain.
Cold wind blows but it refreshes.
Baby rabbits eating grass.
Cold feet in slippers.
A prayer.

It's here.



Uncle T

kenna comprain 5:06 pm

SOMEONE complained my blog post always too deep. Too deep got wrong meh?


Uncle T

An Examination Prayer 5:04 pm

Come Holy Spirit,

Replace any tension within me with the peace that only you can give.

Replace any disturbance within me with a sacred calm.

Replace any fear or anxiety within me with a quiet confidence.

Replace any darkness within me with your gentle light.

Replace any cold within me with your loving warmth.

Replace any emptiness within me with a sense of purpose.

Grant me a calm, clear focused mind; a keen memory with a sharp attention to detail; and the fighting spirit of a true Lasallian.

Dull the edge of my pride.

Sharpen the edge of my humility.

If I should go astray, bring me back to the right path.

May I truly believe that your grace is enough for me.


Amen




Uncle T

What I will miss: Singaporean in London. 6:09 pm

A friend just recently moved into London. I asked how was things settling into the new city and new job. She spoke of the Lush store (a cosmetics shop), jazz outdoors, tea.

Possibly, that is what I will miss about London. Not the Lush store, but rather the possibilities that London provides. Sometimes seemingly boundless. The free gay cabarets, the nostalgic walks through Borough Market on a Saturday, the close-by gun crimes of Elephant and Castle, the magical musicals that take me back to childhood, the random discussion with street buskers...Boundless. That is what I'll miss; the boundless possibilities.

What I'm implicitly implying is that these possibilities will vanish once I move home come July. But how true is that? To be fair, I have to prevent myself from being overly-romantic about London; there are a huge number of times the city frustrates. Inefficient transport, drunk drunks, smelly streets...Besides, very often possibilities are for oneself to carve out. I honestly believe Singapore will provide me new opportunities to discover new "possibilties". Cynical as I may be, having equally cynical friends does not help, I honestly believe it.

But that does not mean I will not miss the Londonesque possibilities; where I first bought my film SLR, wondering the streets of London, chatting with an oil trader in a cafe...

I guess London will be London, and Singapore will be Singapore. Each has its own potential for possibilities; a Londoner in Singapore may be equally nostalgic as this Singaporean in London.

Just maybe.

Uncle T

At the harbinger of change: Alamak, why only now! 4:07 pm

hope at cryfield | cryfield, uni of warwick

Is it just so typically human that we only wished we did more with our lot at the harbinger of change? Just when we are about to close one chapter of our lives, that we start wishing to be at the start and did things differently; perhaps that is why people religiously convert at their death bed, or brides running away from the church altar. And perhaps that is why I am perhaps saying, just as I am about to end my academic life, "Alamak, why only now?!"

It is only now, just as I'm about to graduate, that I wished I wrote more academic articles, delved deeper into the academic issues, debated more with my prof, explored theology deeper, participated more in student government, sky-dived... the list can go on.

However, what initates the "Alamak" apostrophe is not only just leaving all this what-ifs behind, but not going to have another shot at such things again. That is what is scary. About change, about growing up. The fear of being stuck in the rut of daily monotony.

Will there be coffee-table debates? Not those that are of a personal-attack nature, but those that intellect-equals used to sparr in cafes of Paris and London. Will there be my contemplation of moral issues? Those that we often take for granted and deem "irrelevant" to think about. Will there be people around to remind me to continue to dream? Just being a student gives you license to dream; I'm not sure its the same faced with adult-responsibilities.

This fear is sometimes so choking. I don't know if you ever feel it. But its probably the same choking feeling I felt a long time back standing at the start line of a running relay, baton in hand. What if I drop the baton? What if I trip over my own feet (which happened mind you)?

A friend, who has started work since university, said the one thing she missed alot was just chatting with friends heart-to-heart for "no good reason". I wonder if that will be my fate as well, where everything has to be done for "some good reason". Are we no longer allowed to throw caution to the wind when we are adults? Can it no longer be like the 60s? Please say it is still possible.

If at some point in my life, possibly at yet another harbinger of change, will I be alone if I chose to pick everything up and head off in the direction of my destiny? Will I be alone? Or will there be that special someone there willing and daring enough to do the same?

I don't know. Do you? I'll wait and see. But that's what we are so good at doing. Waiting. For what?



Uncle T

"Composed Upon Westminster Bridge" 10:09 pm

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear

The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!


- William Wordsworth

Uncle T

A Poetic Everyday 10:08 pm

I was watching a BBC documentary on Wordsworth that inspired my thought on this. The programme specifically featured the poem “Composed upon Westminster Bridge”, poem that is atypical to Wordsworth’s glorious poems on nature; this was about London from Westminster Bridge.

This inspired me to think of 2 things.


First, about writing in sonnets. Having travelled to France to find his long-lost mistress and daughter out of wedlock, Wordsworth took strolls along the French coast with the two ladies and his sister Dorothy. Typical of Wordsworth, he enjoyed composing whilst walking on uninterrupted space, like in the fields and hills of his hometown Lake District. Here, whilst walking along the expansive French beach, along with Dorothy constantly reading Milton’s sonnets to him, he was inspired to be a good sonnet writer.

What draws me to sonnets is that in a short 14 lines, the poem seeks to capture so much. And the beauty of the word is truly manifested through his intense expression of emotion and opinion. Also, as brought up by the documentary, the easy rhythms and brevity of 14 lines allows one to capture the entire sonnet in one’s head, replaying it at will.

Secondly, the documentary reminded me of something I have always been fond of, that of the poetic everyday-life we lead. Some deem repetitive daily routines as monotonous, and I fully sympathise. But if we so much as stop complaining and admire the aspects of daily routines we take for granted, perhaps its poetry will flow. Same faces, same places, no longer that ‘same’ if we hear the poetry of everyday.


As such, based on these 2 things, I am hoping to do something when I get back to Singapore. I intend to pay more attention to the places, activities and people I meet everyday. Especially having travelled extensively in the past 3 years, going back to the place of my childhood could be a poetic canvas upon which I can use; to write lyrics, compose music, write poetry, paint pictures…or just even enjoy in the privacy of my reflections.

Finally, the documentary made me reminisce about those 2 months that I was resident in London, in Summer 2008. I lived, worked, played and sang there. Crossing London Bridge daily to work at RBS. I think the enigmatic beauty Wordsworth writes of in his poem becomes all the more relevant, where I found beauty in the filth, greyness and urban-scape of London.


Uncle T

It is 2200h. 4:47 am

It is 2200h, in the Warwick library.

She sits in the corner, shouting at another girl. She cries. She shouts AND cries. Her friend offers her a tissue. Her boyfriend calms her down by giving her a backrub.

I wish I were her. Funny. But just for tonight.

Instead, I anticipate my instant-coffee from the instant-machine downstairs.


Uncle T

Un, sil vous plait. 3:57 am

The morning prayer you say for strength.
The sense of hope you feel when you arise to a pretty sky.

Those are not for the easy times.
Those are for the tough times.
Its easy to be strong on good days.
But when the bad days come, those are the ones that the prayers were meant for.

It is like a football game.
You can be a star for 85 minutes.
But in the last 5 minutes you get a red card.
And all the good you did is blotted out.
These are the ones that the prayers were meant for.

You just go out the door and run.
Run the frustration, the bewilderment, the solitude away.
You at least try.
Then you find yourself standing on the slope, looking down at the green fields.
"That will be my future," you say pointing to the rolling hills.

But for now, here I stand on the top of the slope. Alone.

Uncle T

T-10: 10-day Exercise Hell-Fire 7:39 pm

I am starting to talk to myself. And my computer screen.

Uncle T

Judgemental on judgements 9:51 pm

How do we draw that fine line being judgemental and making judgements we do daily?
How do we not allow care for loved ones step over
To being judgemental?

How easy it is to disentangle
Feeling for something/someone so strong
And not being judgmental?

How do you be a good judge but not judgmental?
Pray, will someone teach?


Uncle T

indulgences that came and will go 2:03 am

Back home, I hardly had specific indulgences; not chocolates, not TV, not computer games, perhaps sports, but nothing specific.

Neither did I have one in my first 2 years at Warwick. But in my final year, as I properly lived on my own, beyond comfort zones and circles of trust, there is one indulgence that I find comfort in. True, there's prayer in the chaplaincy. But there is something else, which might just go as my time in Warwick is coming to an end:


Candle burning, watching Grey's Anatomy or Heroes online, in my room, as I tuck into an unhealthy swirl of Japanese instant noodles with crab sticks, egg and Chinese cabbage; and then get contemplative about life, love and death afterwards as I head into the shower. Especially after Grey's Anatomy.


I will miss this. Can't do it back home. Mummy doesn't allow food in the room.


Uncle T

A Day as a FB Whore 4:32 pm

One day, a friend put videos of us performing. I was singing. I then put it on my FB profile.

Soon, I get a flood of positive comments on my FB wall. I am, or rather my email inbox, gets overwhelmed. It is a nice feeling, that rush of ego-juice poured all over your exhibitionist-self and FB profile.

So this is how it is like, a taste of being a FB whore, of being a popular figure online, the famous blogger. No, I'm not famous, but I believe this overwhelming gush of ego-phoria is a microcosm of the sensations these online super-stars get; and I didn't do it by looking doe-eyed into a camera with 3-inch thick mascara. Kudos!

But it has dawned upon me, in the advent of the globalising of personal space and in the face of user-defined content of myspace, facebook, youtube, anybody can be a somebody. The only question is how; put a ridiculous video of you and your mates drunk, be a middle-aged Scottish lady who sings opera, be a cleavage-bearing interview-with-yourself youtuber...

Most importantly, these avenues gives us all a chance, even with the simplest capacity to change our status on FB, to let that exhibitionist in us come into fruitation.

My only fear is then that this reality gives us all a false sense of self, and possibly a false sense of grandoise.

Goodbye humility. See you after humanity implodes on its ego.


ps. click here to see the video that inspired this post (assuming the link works) or just hope onto my facebook to check it out. I told you I was the whore.

Uncle T