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.

Je suis fatigue.
Je ne suis pas bien.

What I Remember You By

I remember you by your wristbands from Thailand. A couple of years old and all that was left from your once extensive collection that spanned your forearm. A crisscrossed mixture of blue, orange and possibly green. All these I know because you asked about mine - green hearts on blue that encircled my wrist; a nine year old friendship going on to forever. At that point I wished I had an extra one for you as a souvenir; it felt like an apt thing to do.

I remember you by your gorgeous slightly sad, sometimes uncertain smile, almost like you couldn't decide if you should savour the present or sigh at the inevitable parting of ways. This is great, is gonna end way too soon, don't wanna mess up the remaining time. It might have been a projection of mine but I find that hard to believe when it was written all over you, from the light in your eyes to the complementary magnetism to the inconvenience we worked around.

I remember you by the outstretched palm you offered me on that boozy lazy afternoon. Open, unassuming, hopeful, demanding. Beer in your other hand, on the floor, on the table, in my hand. How your fingers were longer than mine by an entire section and your palm still visible after mine covered yours.

I remember you by the tremulous voice cracked with slight disbelief and realization when you said, word for word, the exact sentence I was thinking at that moment. Then it was my turn to be in complete disbelief at that freaky telepathy.

But most of all I remember you by the collective memory of the little things that enhanced the idea of you, not you. Crinkled eye corners, giggly laughs, nerdy preferences, laugh lines, chivalry, incredible perceptiveness, and passion so deep it left a crater-sized impression.

Presence

I've learnt to embrace - instead of avoid - this fickle thing called emotions. The mood changes that can send my soul soaring and suckerpunch me in the gut the next moment. I've learnt to embrace them the way an awkward teenage boy would hug his mother in front of his friends - slightly unwilling but knowing he can't get away with doing so.

So with all the peaks and troughs and occasional flatlining, I've learnt that dealing with them will still leave the sad days sad and the good days great. At the end, however, I walk out of it feeling better than before each time.

Time is a blended blur of movie clips fading into each other, of soundtracks on a turntable overlapping into the following song - almost discernible but not entirely so. And time-passed plays in my mind like disjointed shards of a home video put together by an amateur, moving from one scene to the next to the next to the next with seemingly no relation except for the one theme running through them: Presence.

Presence of heart, mind and soul reduced on low heat and concentrated to those very moments where the awareness of being right there and then paint more than mere visual memories. The hearty laughter of a jolly Italian baker, abrupt hugs from five-minute friends with promises to change the world, a last dinner, a heartbreaking final sunset in Paris, the exact moment someone wordlessly threaded his fingers through mine, goodbyes, a climb up slippery rocks along the Calanques with great friends, the silent ride back on a train with my nose buried in an e-book, the heart-stopping moment when I thought I was going to crash my bike on a busy road, and all! those! smiles!.

Smiles from strangers, acquaintances, and friends - some tentative, some broad, some polite and some with hugs thrown into the mix. From the one with a perpetually restrained smile belying an unreserved reservoir of thoughts (upon some probing) to others with their hearts on their sleeves and sunshine in every grin - each time I start doubting people, with just smiles, others restore my faith in humanity.

Humanity defines us, both as individuals and as a whole; an ocean. Most times I just see myself, but those moments of (re)connecting with friends and strangers is when I (re)realise the vastness of humanity. Just think about it: personalities*background*philosophies*experiences*andsomuchmore.

More than just a big digression, what I am trying to say is that I've reach a point where I am a-okay with strolling into the next scene, with my hands in my pockets and heart in my chest (and not throat), to take on whatever it is because for the people and moments? It's worth it.

Dear R

Don't miss me too much,

we both said
coincidentally.

But it's tough not to do

what we're told

not to do.

Then again,
we brought it
upon ourselves.

Finding Your Own Way

While reading blogs on travelling and in particular, solo women travellers, I realised that alot of the entries revolved around tips&advice or lists of top 10 mistakes/things to look out for/ etc. Much of it comes from a 'I've seen it, been there, done that' point of view that's been shaped by one or a collection of particular experience(s).

Similarly, when I dropped by the orientation camp for my course, the answers to the questions from my doe-eyed, bushy-tailed, fresh-faced juniors all came from the same position. We try so often to dish out advice, mistakenly thinking that there is always a set path or a formula to achieve a certain result. And inadvertently, we create an illusion of expectations for others (and ourselves) that might in fact be a stumbling stone. While hearing about past experiences can help to calibrate expectations of the future, the danger lies in expecting the same to take place for you. That never happens.

And so, while I don't deny that taking the cautionary advice of those who have gone before you can be infinitely useful, I realised that we've just got to figure out our own way. Shrugs. It'll be fuzziness with a touch of chaos thrown in, mixed with some surety that should eventually give rise to a degree of certainty that allows for the next step to be taken. We're made of tougher stuff; not knowing what the hell's going on is not gonna break us any time soon. Just gotta figure it out our own way.

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.

Happening sia

For a supposed week of intensive study/preparation before finals, it has been very eventful.

The shit hit the fan tonight. Or perhaps calling it a nuclear meltdown might be more appropriate. While spectacularly fascinating, it's also potentially damaging and I shouldn't watch people crash&burn. That said, I don't even know where or how to begin picking up the pieces; it's feels foreign to be rendered this helpless.

Pre-farewells

In 17 days, I will be leaving this school with a heart full of memories with people who've become dear. I saw opportunities when I first arrived and till now, those doors have led to many more that I've yet to walk through; there are far too many. 17 days and it's Time gently nudging my shoulder, saying wake up, you're reaching your stop. Dix-sept jours. Right from the start, people have been a big part of my life and now they seem larger than life.

Quite possibly, it's a human reflex - to instinctively grasp what we're about to lose. Something like fleeting friendships except that I've just crossed the ravine but the ground's still unstable. I'm enjoying myself here too much to miss home and I'm not ready to give it up just yet.

London Calling

I asked myself, several years ago, if we were friends by virtue of the fact that we've known each other for so long and I got my answer this weekend. No; it's a resounding no. And I was plenty naive to have thought so. We're friends because we've grown up together, seen each other at our worsts, most unglamourous moments and talked about things we'd never talk about with any other soul. Four years of no contact didn't change a thing but I didn't think I'd enjoy the company so much. When I said I missed you and will miss you, I meant it. I miss you already. And with the exception of my mom, you still give the best hugs.

The weekend in London was an absolute dream but like most dreams, they are over too quickly. Nevertheless, it didn't diminish the immense sense of peace and fulfillment this weekend getaway brought to my soul. Thank you God.

A cumulation of the smallest things can crack us when we least expect it. There's been a change of scenery; I'm not sure if I like it and have been nit-picking. Let's see what'll happen over the next month. I should just follow my gut the next time. Follow my gut and not try to rationalise things. Follow my gut and look out for just myself a little more. Follow my gut and not consciously make decisions that my gut tells me I will regret. 

When I return home, I'll probably look back at how easily the little factors crumbled me... and scoff. Such. Little. Things. My mind buay tahan. Sleep it off Christine. Tomorrow's a new day in London.

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.

As we wandered

We wandered along a long stretch of street today, my new friend & I. Hands in our pockets, necks swaddled in scarves, strolling aimlessly, walking into places on a whim, dropping by cafes for hot chocolate, standing next to heaters and just chatting about anything, everything. T'was a timely break with great company and a calming, intriguing presence. And I can also now check chilling at a Parisian cafe off my List of Parisian Things To Do.

"And I will pay for your drink as well."

Today was also possibly the first time I graciously accepted an offer to pay for a drink on my behalf. It was more of a statement and less of an offer, really, but it contrasted greatly with the others I had previously encountered.

Frankfurt's now on the growing list of places to visit.

"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.

2013

Hello beautiful new year.

The horizon has been looking absolutely lovely. I'm enjoying and appreciating every bit of it as I re-orientate myself to the idea of A Whole New Year. 2013 Resolutions will be done by the end of the week! Things look like they may be more than I'd hope for (in a grand way) although I must remember to watch where I'm treading once in a while. Y'know, curb my tendency to get disproportionately happy too soon. (I can't help it. I pat myself on the back whenever I achieve something I secretly don't expect to.)

I'm thankful for friends, for experiences (good, bad and strange), especially for hard-hitting realisations (some of which still leave me breathless), and most importantly for family the past year. 2012 was a late blooming [read: tough] year. A continuous plot of my emotional state would reveal it being generally below neutral (zero point) and only increasing significantly towards the end of the year. 2013's gonna see many changes and even more opportunities and I will have to seriously start thinking of The Future in More Concrete Terms. Meeting interesting people for my own entertainment cannot be a full-time job. This year, I shall take on Growing Up as responsibly as I can.

Remember when I mentioned that the canvas felt strangely clear last semester? It did fill up. With a delightful potpourri of personalities and smiles that hold promises of future meetups and fond memories.

On a side note, I'm absolutely chuffed to see a hookup I predicted happen. Like finally. (Sooo. Damn. Adorable. Makes me want to squeal.) Along with it also came a feeling I couldn't quite identify. The closest I've arrived at is being intrigued with the idea of intrigue. See, after realising that some people intrigue me, I began to wonder why I am even intrigued. Is it because of the person? Or is it me? Or is it one of those endless continuums where the grey areas come in ten thousand different shades?

Tell me if you've reached the end of one of these convoluted mental labyrinths?

Hello Festivities

This is the time of the year that rolls by with a gentle build-up before a week of feeling like you have espresso shots sent straight to the veins. Yes, it's Christmas - and with it, the annual family gatherings that leave you, in equal parts, fulfilled, contented and breathless (especially if done back to back). (Celebrations started slightly earlier this year, beginning with a laughter-filled evening at a Hollywood-themed party. The security guards were looking at us weird though). There is enough food to feed an army and stuck on the fridge is a list of dishes (with plenty of subpoints) to be prepared. I don't know how we managed to that the past 10 years. Next year, maybe we'll take a vacation, if I can convince the parents.

Making Curious Memories

What do I want to remember best when I end this phase of my life? Impressions. Faces, I remember well  but impressions even better. Think of it as a canvas and each interaction an imprint - be it a splash, a streak or just a squiggle - and when the collection of souls collide as atoms do the imprints become prints upon prints upon prints. Much like the secret paintings of the great masters; what lies below may just influence what's shown. Impressions. The gentle pressure of first contact. The collective vibe of camaraderie. The inquisitive poking around. The little moments of micro-reactions. The subtle shifts in tone. The multi-coloured tapestries of personalities that clash and complement. The curious actions to initiate reactions. The occasional unexpectedness that changes dynamics.

This semester, the canvas still feels strangely clear and I'm still coming to grips with this odd sense of urgency to spend as much time as possible with people. Family, friends, acquaintances, people. Just. People. Each semester, curiosity would take me off the tracks once every so often and there'd be people who fascinated, inspired, intrigued - if only for a little while. The passerby I saw myself in with her nose buried in a book as the world made way for her as she walked. The salesman with a uncommon name and a lovely voice. The half stranger with unusual charm who stole kisses on semi-moonlit semi-rooftops. The cancer scientist who exuded an unusually familiar vibe that I couldn't place my finger upon. The lovely group of girls selling pre-loved clothes who became shopping advisors. And the many with whom I had mental conversations with because I didn't think it appropriate to approach (and regretted later on).

The canvas is strangely clear this semester, but I've got till year end to fill it up and hey, it probably will.

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 

Song, Adrienne Rich

"If I'm lonely

it must be the loneliness

of waking first, of breathing

dawn's first cold breath on the city

of being the one awake

in a house wrapped in sleep."

It's been a while since I woke up early enough to truly appreciate the solitude that only mornings can bring.