Even the staunchest atheist needs something to believe in. Logic, science, the cosmos, peanut butter density, himself - in which case he is his god. Now all he needs is a third ring to form the proverbial trinity. We depend, fervently, on our selected centres, particularly in tumultuous times. And so, we disguise prayers in beneath-the-breath mutterings, in exclamations, in silent gestures, in tension, in hope.

I pray because I still want to believe that the world runs on something bigger than the mistakes and self-interests of humans needing to stroke their ego; bigger than a random event with energy and particles. Here I might verily be falling prey to the deep-seated instinctive need find meaning and make sense of all things but the alternative holds little appeal. Somehow. And I pray because I don't think hope is possible without a speck of belief in something greater than our mere mortal selves.

Home and home.

There is home and then there is Home, with the capital H.

Home, with the capital H, is the place that holds the people I love most, where ever they may be. Home, with capital H and welcoming arms, is where I'll eventually return to. Home, with the capital H and comforting broad shoulders, is what I'll miss when I start tiring of the road. Home, with the capital H and all round familiarity that I slip into so easily, is what I'll want, but not now. Home, with the capital H, is as concrete as it is abstract; it is conversations at the dinner table, lazy family-day-Sundays, the disembodied voice over the phone asking when I'll be home, little notes left in folders and on the fridge.

home, on the other hand, refers to the places I found a familiar comfort and a certain security. home was the 16 square metre room in Cologone filled with warmth and a chestful of plants in the middle of it all. home was breakfast in a pavilion with a dear friend and his family in Bad Hersfeld. home was the warm embrace I slept and awoke to in Marseille. home was a comfortable couch, freshly cooked pasta and movie nights in Rome. home was the sincerity with which strangers opened their lives to me. home was the inexplicable touch of commonality and understanding about the Way We Live Or Travel. home, too, would've been a week in Riga with a soft-spoken, sparkly-eyed friend.

There is Home, the permanent place I dare to take for granted in the short term, in which I was missed before I missed. Then there is home, which I missed at times because some were fleeting and I hadn't the time to properly appreciate all that surrounded me at that point. home was where I left with a mere hint of reluctance, where the neighbourhood playgrounds were more memorable than the house itself, and where I would've loved to stay on indefinitely and left with great unwillingness.

Be it Home or home, while the physical spaces played a part, the people took up massive spaces in my heart.

Being Away

It doesn't feel like I've been away. I left Paris on a clear afternoon, landed in Singapore on  Sunday, slid into my dad's car and right back into the life I led before I went chasing my previously elusive dreams in Europe. It was a Sunday, just like every other Sunday I had lived in Singapore. The family went to church, had lunch then came to pick me up.

It doesn't feel like I've been away. I stood in front of the house fiddling with the lock and key with motions still second nature, and walked through the door just like I would have on any other day. Nothing's changed. I slept in the bed I hadn't touched for five months and it felt as if I had been sleeping on it all the other days that I wasn't.

It doesn't feel like I've been away. The humidity embraced me like a long-lost lover and the heat merely reminded me of the scorching sun of a European summer. It's actually cooler here. I took the public transport like I have been the past many years and still mixed up certain places on the MRT line like I have been the same many years.

It doesn't feel like I've been away. I jumped to hang my towel on the overhead bamboo poles out of habit when I returned, turned the difficult doorknobs with practiced ease, skipped up the stairs without looking at the steps, left the curtains half-drawn before I realised it and automatically checked the letterbox too.

It doesn't feel like I've been away. Everything came back too quickly and too easily. I was hoping it'd be a little harder, so that I'd get to know my home again in a slightly different light, perhaps. But nay, everything came right back like I'd only been gone for less than a day.

It doesn't feel like I've been away. I would've liked to miss home a little; to feel a yearning for something comfortable and familiar. No such luck, however. I did wonder about this apparent callousness of heart and arrived at a certainty that I'd be going back. And soon enough too. So I focused on my being there, in Europe, and chose to Live to my heart's content before I was pulled back.

It doesn't feel like I've been away. The day I left five months ago still remains a fresh memory. It just feels as if I just walked right out of a dream and back into reality. Not sure if I like this perspective.

The Thing About This Summer

The thing about summer romance is that when the weather is warm, you feel different; you are different. You feel more free, more beautiful, more of who you want to be; more of everything good.

The thing about summer romance is that you never quite see it coming. It just sort of happens, serendipitously, unexpectedly, unassumingly.

The thing about summer romance is that even if you didn’t plan for it, it can be exactly what you needed, and you didn’t even know it.

The thing about summer romance is that the kisses are always better. The taste of somebody’s lips in the hot summer air stings your mouth in a way that makes you feel refreshed yet aflame.

The thing about summer romance is that it can change from subtle to intense in the blink of an eye. Your usual careful nature is transformed to a carefree person who only wants to exist in the present.

The thing about summer romance is that you learn that affection doesn’t need to have the promise of forever for it to be real and true and timeless.

The thing about summer romance is that it can be your wake up call. It can be the reminder that you are worthy and deserving and wanted.

The thing about summer romance is that it makes you feel alive. It makes you feel like you’re not just passing through the motions. You’re enjoying every breath in every moment.

The thing about summer romance is that it gives you the heat of summer sunshine, and you bask in the ecstasy of that heat.

The thing about summer romance is that it leaves you wanting more from life, knowing that the coolness of fall and the harshness of winter don’t need to consume who you are.

The thing about summer romance is that it lets you know that life doesn’t always have to be a beautiful struggle; life can just be beautiful.

The thing about summer romance is that it feels like a wonderful secret that you want to tell the whole world. But at the same time, it feels like no one needs to know.

The thing about summer romance is that it’s a fallen piece of paradise that you stumbled on and you always want to keep it with you.

The thing about summer romance is that it’ll teach you about yourself. Who you become when you have no worries, when the earth feels a little bit lighter; and you’ll always want to be this person.

The thing about summer romance is that more often than not, it is finite. And before you start dreaming dreams or making plans or breaking hearts, you accept that it likely has a definite ending even if you’ll always hope for more.

The thing about summer romance is that even though it likely ends, and you might not have endured a great love, and it might not be there to keep you warm in the fall; you know that that is not its purpose.

The thing about summer romance is that it always has sweet beginnings and mostly bitter-sweet endings. But you cherish it; you’ll cherish it all the same. 

(Thought Catalog )

And the thing about this summer is that it leaves photographic impressions upon your heart and smiles upon your face at the most random times. With or without the romance.

A Dilemming lemming

Two in the morning and it's one of those great ponderous moment while my roommate is changing her bedsheets after living it up in Switzerland for the past eight days.

The past eight weeks. Feels like it's passing too fast. My greatest dilemma is not if I should skip classes. How many, is the question. And how feasible.

Ever get the impression that new things are fleeting until they're familiar? Familiarity and attachment are kind of on separate continuums. At least, that is the image in my head; they diverge somewhere. A friend (with pretty brown eyes) leaves for home tomorrow - far too soon. And it was with some, perhaps slightly unexpected, sorrow that I bid a drawn-out farewell in between bouts of Macarena & the most famous German song in the world (according to the Germans). (It's all about timing - leave before the next song is played else you'll get pulled into the conga-line all too quickly.)

Fleeting is when the friendship's at the border of I just met you and Let's hangout more often. Then the earth caves and you're reflexively grasping at the other person's hand. Familiarity is pieces of old friends you see in the new. Like the slow smiles, bear hugs on tiptoes (cos people are generally tall around here) and random dancing to the music, which remind me of the lovely pals from Chile. Attachment is discovering how the new complements the familiarity, realising that they reflect some part of yourself, and liking it (narcissism?).

var AmIMakingSense?
if(AmIMakingSense? == True)
   print ('Well&Good.');
else
   print ('It's 3am. What do you expect.');

Probably 10 000 errors with the syntax. I kind of miss programming.

"That I live more bravely,

And love more deeply."

JTLYK#26

As departure day draws nearer, I find myself introspecting a lot more. My motivations, career aspirations,  the to-be concluded internship, people around me, interpersonal dynamics, goals for the upcoming exchange, my spiritual life, the homosexuality repeal and all that. And I am, in equal parts, awed and overwhelmed at the stunning array of possibilities, choices and considerations.

On my internship (since it's the most recent thing):
Biggest gripe - Over too fast. I was enjoying myself a great deal for a variety of reasons (food, people, spaces - I had a cosy spot to work)
Biggest realization - Despite what I say about introversion and how socialising (term used loosely here) tires me (still true), I still enjoy meeting new people. Such fascinating creatures, haha. Everyone, from my fellow interns to the partners to the cleaning aunties and security guards, has been nothing but marvelously friendly and helpful. Is this what they call company culture? We need this to spread to the rest of the country. Pronto. Come now, where can we purchase some of that rainbow powder.

On teaching:
If I run out of career options, I'd go into teaching. It's almost like escapism - you go into this academic sphere where you attempt to equip your students with sufficient knowledge so that they'll stride out into the 'real world' and get confused by the Vastness of Everything before realising that everyone else is just as confused. I enjoy that. Teaching, I mean. Not confusing souls.

On time:
The prospect of being away for the next 5 months in 2 days' time suddenly makes priorities clearer and people dearer. It doesn't make the luggage any easier to pack, however.

The Perfect Lunch

Since I had lunchtime all to myself today, I decided to engage in a little wandering around the Areas Yet To Be Explored. And some things just call out to you, don't they? From across a busy road, that's exactly what The Sandwich Shop did. But it wasn't the only shop that did.

After resisting the urge to enter and resisting the urge to backtrack to enter mph, the bookstore which was en route to the lunchtime haven, I made it without further setbacks. And hellooo! sand! wiches! As I waited for the toasted goodness to be prepared, I busied myself with locating a spot where I could eat and read with maximum comfort (i.e. quiet corners or seats against the wall, optimal coolness, space for the sandwiches, serviettes within easy reach, phone on silent, book comfortably propped at an angle and doesn't slide, reasonable amount of extra space).

Then it was goodbye world, hello me-time. When I looked up, the sky was pelting large, heavy droplets at everything and anything. Oh well, looks like I've to wait a while. Not that anyone's complaining, really. Not at all. 

The next time I looked up, I noticed people glancing at me half-amusedly as they walked past. Then I noticed the person beside me and felt like I just met a kindred spirit. Hel-lo twin! There he was at a spot right next to mine, sandwich in one hand, book in the other (propped up),  phone on silent (it vibrated and was subsequently ignored) and blissfully oblivious to his surroundings. When did he even arrive?? Wanted to hi-five him at that moment but it would've been most impertinent to burst that obvious me-time bubble.

Even his table setup was similar to mine.

Best. Lunch. Ever. I've never been more amused.

To Be

"You exist by your smile and your presence. You exists for your joys and your relaxations. You exist in nature. You are part of the glittering sea, and part of the luscious, well-nourished plants, you are wedded to the sun, you are immersed in timelessness, only the present counts, and from the present you extract all the essences which can nourish the sense, and so the nerves are still, the mind is quiet, the nights are lullabies, the days are like gentle ovens in which infinitely wise sculptor's hands re-form the lost contours, the lost sensations of the body. The body comes to life. Quests, pursuits of concrete securities of one kind or another lose all hteir importance. As you swim, you are washed of all excrescences of so-called civilization, which includes the incapacity to be happy under any circumstances."

- Anais Nin 

1am

It's the new benchmark that marks the unexpectedly late (early?) start of my junior year, the post-witching hour that flashes in my minds eye before I sleep. Each time I actually manage to dive under the covers before 1am (which hasn't occurred too often in the past few weeks), I mentally pat myself on the back and thank God that I've a couple more hours to rest. All the unexpected 1am-ness is morphing into a horrid habit. Strangely enough, I'm not feeling too much fatigue but this could very well just be the calm before the storm. In which case, I can expect to feel like an absolute mess in about two or so weeks time. At least it's predictable, right?

"a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak"

I was initially going to post a little on silence, but the whole verse began making sense upon further contemplation. A cumulation of recent events have led me to realise that I quite enjoy fighting my own battles, big or small, because it forces me to take responsibility for my actions. The thought process is similar to playing chess - the possible moves, the best replies by the opponent, the counterattack etc - and I do not deny that I'm enjoying this familiarity. Fighting with weapons that mend or strengthen a bridge is something I should get accustomed to. Make it a habit.

On a related note, careless words are a dime a dozen and I consciously try not to partake in such frivolity. Matthew 12:36-37 comes to mind although a verse I particularly like as a reminder is Proverbs 16:24. While I like to think that I'm living my life as Christian-like as I can (with occasional lapses), my night-time ceiling-staring-thought-bouncing has led to a different conclusion. Most times, when circumstances provoke a response, my silence is not me practicing self-control. It's me deciding that the action, whatever it may be, is not worth warranting a reaction because I simply cannot be bothered. So I walk away. It might've reached a point where actual, non-silent, actionable responses are, y'know, socially required from me (can't confirm the certainty of the statement; further observations may yield a more conclusive answer) yet I still brush those concerns off with a mental shrug.

Can't decide which is more troubling - my delusions as a Christian or the fact that I've reached the Nirvana of Care-lessness.

This is your immortality

It's 1.06pm. Post-lunch. I'm at Beihang University sitting in a classroom with what feels like a non-functioning air conditioner and I'm almost back in primary school doing what I do best - reading books under the table. See that kid furtively glancing up at the teacher while attempting to find the best Angle of Pretence? That's me. It hasn't changed, except that I'm now much better at reading books under the desk. And am occasionally more blatant too.

The book was Have A Little Faith by Mitch Albom. & the only sentence that really stayed in my head was "This is your immortality." The idea that religion is what keeps generations connected and brings people together because it is the one thing that doesn't change when all else does. Doesn't matter what religion, but it's the idea of religion that's important. I'm trying to find that again.

We spoke of opportunities lost;

dandelion seeds that seem
 just within our grasp

yet elude us when the fingers curl.

How long will you walk

with your head held down

and miss dancing with the daffodils.

You're Too Idealistic

Finding a balance between idealism and realism is one of the hardest things I've yet to wrap my head around. When does hope cross over to naïveté? Being drawn to what can be sometimes works like a vicious cycle of crushing disappointment after exponentially elevated expectations and it gets tiring right after. What I suppose would be the wonderful salve to said bitter crushing disappointment (perhaps not that extreme) is the trace left behind, or lack thereof. They vanish all too soon, just like my anger. On the flip side, when what can be is realised, it makes everything worth it. The last time I was realistic was when I predicted my A level grades (they were spot on). But seeing what is is boring. I'm not talking about appreciating the present or being content with what we have. Rather I'm referring to basing an outcome on present factors without considering the possibility of divine intervention or even a touch of chaos.

Why walk when you can fly?

(Early morning ramblings done on a headache high)

We need to rediscover what makes us happy. 

The kind of happy whereby the mere thought of it makes you break into a huge smile even when you're all groggy with your eyes stubbornly shut against the morning sun.

What I Miss Most About Chess

That adrenaline rush of playing against the clock...and the euphoria of beating it. It's the clarity in the last few minutes that you wished you had from the start of the game. The garang screw-it,-let's-go attitude that should've been present in the entire game, in my life. Such a big part of my life; it's currently like a phantom just waiting to reappear again when the time is ripe.

These four days will be...exciting.

Of Metaphors & Markov Chain

P{X(t+s) = j | X(s) = i, X(u) = x(u), for 0 <= u < s} = P{X(t+s) = j | X(s) = i}

The conditional distribution of the future X(t+s) given the present and the past X(u), 0 <= u < s, depends only on the present and is independent of the past.

Drew an unexpected life lesson during a statistics lecture on Continuous Time Markov Chain... and immediately wondered if I had been getting sufficient rest. In other news, spoke with an amazing friend about how the past two weeks have been and it's a great burden off my heart (: Praise God!

A large portion of today's linguistics tutorial comprised an in-depth discussion about the presuppositions surrounding "Where did you put the cheese?" Apart from being highly amused at the absurdity of it all, it also made me think of cheese on toast and grilled brie <3 right before lunch. (& ya'll know my take on school food...)

How To Kill A Person

(Not literally, of course.)

You start by smothering a flame. 

The one that makes you keep the faith

and wake up each day

believing 

it'll be better than yesterday

because today, you're Alive. 

Not just  any alive,

but Alive. 

Envelop that flame

 with rules, pressure, distractions, expectations and the 'right'-ations, 

but do it gradually 

with the polished air of detachment. 

Because that's exactly what happens. 

Let them catch hold of the oxygen

with their grubby hands and greedy ways.

Leave the barest minimum to nourish the flame; 

keep the embers precariously between 

asphyxiation and extinction.

You start by smothering a flame

with the best of intentions.

We spoke about how university changes a person, how we all - brighteyed & bushytailed - had grand plans for our duration of study, how we've veered so far off course, how we're swept up in the academic hurricane and how the fog has blurred our priorities. Perhaps not having plans might just be the best plan?

I sigh a lot more these days. 

It's almost as if each breath I take requires

 more effort 

to expel else it might just 

remain in me. 

Each time I exhale

purposefully, I
 breathe easier,

if only temporarily.

Hello there, little puffs of storm vapour. 

Did I mention

 that I sigh a lot more these days? 

This paralinguistic respiration seems

 to be keeping me

 within the upper & lower control limits.

When I start drifting 

past the second and

inching across the third standard deviation,

 I sigh. 

I sigh;

 temporarily hijacking the stream

through an Inception-esque kick 

so I'm back in control.

Conscious.

 It's nice to know that I subconsciously watch out for myself. 

But how long more until the elastic loosens and 

the spring's no longer as bouncy;

maybe the mean might've shifted by then

 and the control limits changed.

 I wouldn't know, would I?

At least, not until I'm there.

I sigh a lot these days. 

Be it wistful thinking, involuntary regretting 

or unnecessary angsting, 

I sigh - loud & audible, 

only then I breathe a little easier.

& so it ends.

Curveball #84721.

Dust yourself off, carry on.
Carry on.

God's bigger than the problem,

but before that, first

reconcile

what the head knows

with what the 

heart's convinced about.
Angst
& this time I know
full well why.