same place, different men 12:21 am

It has been more than a year. Gavin and I met in the Birmingham seminary, Oscott College.


I still recall how unwillingly I dragged myself from university and onto the train that Easter weekend. I was meant to go to the College on Friday morning, and I was only lugging a suitcase onto the Birmingham-bound train that Saturday morning. Why should I go? Don't I have better things to do? Exams were approaching, I needed to study. There were all the right reasons for me to to go for this Easter retreat at the local seminary where they trained Catholic priests. Was there even a reason for me to go? Yet somehow, the guilt for not accepting the invitation to go for this paid-for retreat was too much to bear that Friday evening.


I took the local train from Coventry to Birmingham, passing all the small towns I never knew existed in my three years there in the Midlands. Perhaps there was so much of my surroundings I missed being so engrossed in my own tiny life.


The typical cold English wind was typical that morning, biting through my coat and scarf. With a print-out from Google Maps in hand, luggage in the other, I made my way across the industrial suburb on foot, passing pub and electrical store and landscaping company. Finally, I saw its sign; Oscott College. A tall door of wood and steel seemed to suddenly appear amidst a very tall hedge. I cross the road; you would had to stare very hard to make out what the signage to the handsome door. Feeling absolutely tiny compared to the door, and with flashes of frightful scenes out of childhood cartoons, I rang the electronic doorbell. Announcing my name and intent, the electronic locks released, and the door jumped open. I pushed open the ajar door and stepped in. The door slammed behind me.


Without over-dramatising, what sat before was like a scene out of Robin Hood or some Harry Potter scene. There were two paths before me, one left one right. One couldn't make out where the paths started or ended as the brown leaves from the towering trees above strewn the entire grounds for as far as the eye could see. Only eyelets of the ground beneath showed up amidst the leave-carpet. I took the right path.

After passing a shed on the right and some small low-rise buildings to my left, I could literally hear the sounds of the city slowly fading behind me, along with that gate. It wouldn't surprise me if the gate was built that big as a metaphor to the great divide between this mysteriously alluring compound and the harsh world out there. As my luggage's wheels jabbed itself with the fallen leaves, my foliage on the left slowly revealed a stone building. As it slowly came into view, it was truly a magnificent Oxford-ish building of about 3 storeys. I was awed as I stood staring at its centuries-old facade. Standing there still digesting the sight before me, I spun around for another hit; there lay a long stretch of flat green fields and beyond that, the city of Birmingham stretched out before me. It was as if the city was bowing towards Oscott College which sat on a slight hill.


But it was at this seminary I met Gavin, the Manchester-born Irish construction worker. Charming bloke with a smile that told you he knew how the extent of his charisma. The confidence of his shaven head matched that sparkle in his eye, that you can't resist but feel sheepish when it catches your stares. Yet amidst his easy charm and his equally easy admittance to all indulging in all the hedonisms this life could offer, that was something good in his eyes, something earnest and truthful. Gavin, like the 10 others there at the retreat, was considering priesthood. I suspect I'm the only one in the retreat who hadn't decided on priesthood.

What struck me about Gavin on our walks when he shared his life, was how real a person the bloke was. He's like you and me, as sinful, as tempted; in fact I think he has led a more hedonistic life than two of mine. Yet, this young man found God, and now is even taking a step further.

Today, I'm proud to say Gavin is going to start his formal discernment as a priest-in-training. He is off to a Spanish seminar. I am so glad, joyous, for him.

But funny how we both were at Oscott more than a year ago. A year later, here I am fat, unkempt, tired, whilst Gavin is excited about laying his entire life down for God. Truly, we might start at the same place, but end up being very different men.

Uncle T

His voice in a foreign land 11:53 pm

"...being placed in a foreign land takes away distractions of the routines we've built around ourselves.

it provides you a place to be so intimate with yourself that you hear the echoes of your soul. and its possibly only in circumstances as these that you'll hear His voice, and what He has to say to you."

Uncle T

woman. 12:47 pm

"by this gesture a woman invites us: come, follow me, and you don't know where she is inviting you to go and she doesn't know either, but she invites you in the conviction that it's worth going where she is inviting you. that's why i tell you: either woman will become man's future or mankind will perish, because only woman is capable of nourishing within her an unsubstantiated hope and inviting us to a doubtful future, which we would have long ceased to believe in were it not for women." 

- immortality, milan kundera


thank you jamie for this :)

Uncle T

Fragility of the body 1:49 pm

Its so fragile, this thing called life. Heard of it? Yup, life. It is so ubiquituous to our being and daily selfs one cannot be faulted for even noticing it is what it is, let alone remember how fragile it is.

I've always admired the human body, our humanness. How these different organs come together like an intended design of a perfect machine, everything in perfect balance. How parts that are meant to be hard is hard, and how parts that are meant to be soft are soft; fingernails-earlobes, teeth-nostrils. Designed to perfection.

Yet the human body, our humanness, is so fragile. Sure, I understand our human being is more than the physical. We are body, mind and soul. But I don't think I'll be blamed for noticing the fragility of the human body, especially in a material world that embellishes the physical. A cut on the skin at the right place can make you bleed to death. I have this perennial fear when I feel my veins pulse in my neck that they would burst anytime and I might die. Yet this is the body that can run marathons if we will it to.

He lay there, fragile and unrecognisable. Where once were the recesses of a pronounced jaw, there was now bloated skin. Where once was a enthusiastic and creative character, there was now a frail body, comatosed. Skin and bone amongst the machines. Where his kidneys were was now a void, empty. The machine with the spinners next to his bed was now his kidneys. Machines. Doctors said he was on life-support; the machines were giving him life.

No, it cannot be. The machines were merely helping him. He was alive because he is fighting based on his human will deep inside that skin and bone. We are individual beings not only because of our anatomical construct, but more so that being of emotion, intellect and will. Yet science has yet to find a way to house the human being without the human body. That our being is a function of our body; we cant store ourselves outside our bodies. Perhaps one day we might.

'The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak'.

...and so for the 5th time. 10:36 pm

"And so for the 5th time, they part and say goodbye. Like the previous 4 times, they didn't know when they would next meet. Somehow, this time there no tears. Perhaps this time more confident that the old cliche might finally have some truth in it: parting is such sweet sorrow.

'Come what may' sounds painfully beautiful rather than pure resignation to a fatalistic view.

And so for the 5th time, they part and say goodbye. Till they meet again."



Uncle T

right back where we started... 2:35 am

We waited for the storm to fall. The clouds gathered till the night sky turned white. The clouds became the canvas upon which the lighting choreographed its tropical movement. The wind played its part by rustling the leaves and disturbing the calm serenity of the water.

We were right back where we started, but only different this time. The storm did not come, only mere droplets of drizzle. Perhaps the storm is still brewing, and will take time before it pours its eternity upon the earth. We wait.

We wait for our chance. Show us only half of it and we will seize it.



Uncle T

Removing my security blanket 8:21 pm

I finished work early today. Relatively. Ended at 7.30pm. Do you think its worrying that I actually felt uneasy ending early? I'll admit, I actually felt uneasy finishing work early. Have I developed a habit in engulfing myself in work that it feel unnerving when I don't have the blanket of work to make me feel secure?

I think its slightly worrying.

I finish past ten closer to midnight more nights these days that the equation is simple. Finish work asap, rush home to shower and turn in for yet another early start. When I end work early, that simple formula breaks down.

Its quite funny really to find myself at a lost when I have slightly more time to myself. :) Funny. But keep this up and I won't be finding this as funny anymore

hope past midnight 1:31 am

"...well maybe there's a ledge underneath."

"it's your hill to climb. but you're not alone. remember, you're not alone.
give me half the chance to fight for you, with you, and i will."

"but when will you know when to stop?"



Uncle T

uncertainty past midnight 1:29 am

"right now i feel like im standing on the edge of a cliff. that's my present.
 i don't know...just i guess my future now is more uncertain than its ever been...
its like climbing that hellvelyn. its so damn foggy and i cant see a thing.
im not expecting it to be clear blue skies and all. i wouldnt want it to be that way.
just right now,
i really dont have a clue. and im completely lost."

"i don't wanna let you go."


Uncle T

ramblings past midnight 1:27 am

funny how we choose not to look at the possibilities ahead
which seem endless
but in that way, its a hopefulness full of uncertainty
one that is deceptively within our control yet perhaps not so
the past however seems so much more certain. because it has happened.
and standing at the present is the great balancing act
of looking backwards and forwards, both a gift and a mystery.
and with life made up always of tiny moments of the present, life is really a mystery to be lived.
yet my humanness often mistakes it for a problem to be solved.
the faith in the Divine so fragile.
-the end-



Uncle T

Pint on a weekday 8:44 pm

Sitting alone in an Irish pub in Singapore. To my left and right, pockets of companions and friends. Its just me and my pint of Heineken. Holland and Denmark are about to kick-off their World Cup campaign on the screens. There is the perennial buzz from the live sound feed, but there is also that anticipation, earnest, in the pub too. Orange shirts dot the pub; Dutch support. That's what football does; you suddenly adopt nationalistic pride of a nation you possibly know nuts about other than some of its football players.

I sip on my pint; beer is only nice ice-cold. That means I'll never really love it. I like it only when its in a particular condition of being cold. That means I'm attracted to it, but not in love. I'm in love only when I love something in all its possible states; I love it for what it is fundamentally regardless of its condition. Perhaps its the same for people. Attraction and love; similar, but different.

Half-time. There are no goals, and I'm half-pint done with my Heineken. The pockets of friends around have grown slightly louder with the liquid-freedom alcohol provides, And still its just me and my half-pint.

Yet somehow the solitude doesn't seem to bother me: not this evening at least. Perhaps its only just this evening. But I should be used to this by now; I used to watch Liverpool matches alone in England too. But I suspect I could never fully get used to perpetual solitude. Can anyone?

Perhaps I'm living off the energy and spirit I regained coming back from my short trip to Melaka over the weekend. I surely know the company there helped inspire my bounce again. I like myself positive and full of optimism and energy. Challenge is to find a constant inspiration in keeping that way in good times and in bad. I long for that sustainable and consistent source of strength and confidence. Perhaps I already know the answer, and only need the stillness of mind and heart to seek it and own it. I want to have ownership of that source of strength.

I take a swig of my Heineken. Its starting to lose its chill. But the match continues...

Hopefully next week 8:43 am

The irony, the irony. I have been so busy and occupied by work I hardly have had time to pen my thoughts and recollections. Until I forget to bring something important to work and rush home from the office to get it. Am now in the cab rushing home to pick it up, and I have found time to pen my thoughts.

It has been a whirlwind of thoughts that have assailed me in the last couple of weeks, with extremities too. There is so much to learn at work, there are still optimistic and passionate people of my age out there, that fostering a child is something I hope to do, that learning to rise above trying situations can be triumphant, that I'm terribly excited about next week, that I found a new friend...

Amidst the throngs of thoughts in the bustling streets of my mind, the landmark desire that protrudes from the sea of disparate musings is the desire to be creative. My creative juice is waiting to burst forth, awaiting that critical juncture to be released with fury and passion.

Hopefully next week.

Parasites through history 8:18 am

“Empires bought stability at the price of creating a parasitic court; monotheistic religions bought social cohesion at the expense of a parasitic priestly class; nationalism bought power at the expense of a parasitic military; socialism bought equality at the price of a parasitic bureaucracy; capitalism bought efficiency at the price of parasitic financiers.” [Matt Ridley]



Uncle T

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.

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.

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