I present to thee... the South Park caricatures of footy players.
Guess who they are!
Jose Morinho
Freddie Ljungberg (circa 2002, when he had that cool red mane)
George Best
Batistuta... or Bati-goooooaaaal
Sir Alex
Kaka
Rio "Snoop Dogg" Ferdinand
Abel Xavier
Francesco Totti
Collina the scary ref
Scholesy
And this, is yours truly.
Last Friday, I left office at 11.30pm. Was working on a paper pertaining to an application from a financial institution to set up operations in Singapore, as well as some merger and acquisition issues. Interesting stuff.
I was surprisingly cheerful when I left office that day, and was humming softly to the tune of Shout Hallelujah. Doesn’t sound like the usual mien when one leaves office near midnight on a Friday evening, surely! I’m so grateful to God for keeping my spirits high despite an avalanche of work. And I am actually enjoying it! Is this the closet workaholic in me rearing its head? I hope not. I prefer to think it is the Holy Spirit giving me strength and joy to tide through late nights at work. =)
That night, as I was praying, God gave me a word regarding the talents or giftings which we possess. He said, “However much we have, it is Him who gives. However little we have, it is Him who uses.” It does not matter how much, or how little skill aptitude or forte we have, because ultimately it is God who gives and also He who uses. If we have little, humility is paramount to acknowledge that it is He who bestows. If we have little, we can draw confidence and comfort that however minuscule and insignificant our talents may seem, God will still use them to advance His kingdom if we are willing to be used.
I love God’s teachings and the magnificent, refreshingly counter-logical way in which He works. Nothing is too ponderous nor trifling in His sight.
He also showed me the picture of an infant’s hand. Not exactly sure what that meant, but I know He will reveal His thoughts in His perfect timing.
It’s a good weekend I had. Plenty of rest, after slogging it away for much of the week.
Ok this is exactly what I need to cheer me up after a long day at work. A good ol' solid dose of wry, inane humour.
We were just talking about the choice of the actor to play the next James Bond (whatsisname, can't remember) and throwing up the alternative options. And then the spark of genius came.
Pila: Antonio Banderas! "Maaartini, por favor. Shicken, not steer'd."
I love you Pilaaaaaaa!!!
Last Sunday, we had our last Adults region meeting for year 2005. Pastor Lawrence was speaking about the church's plans for the last quarter of the year.
I came out of the meeting in a rather circumspect disposition. My mind was taking stock of the happenings which have unfolded during 2005, and what more I could have done for God. It was a good year overall, but I could have done more. At times, amidst all the industrious labouring and toiling, we lose sight of our life's prerogatives. Being busy does not equate meeting prorities. In the end, we have to ask ourselves - what are we busy for?
Experiencing Breakthrough the Couch Potato Way
Back home, I ploughed through Steven Covey's Seven Habits of Highly Effective People and revisited the importance of devoting time to tasks which are not urgent, but important. It was a good refresher, and an ironic reminder of how sometimes, we can claim knowledge to certain important principles, but yet woefully fall short of exemplifying these principles in our lives.
Which leads me to ruminate on our church's Breakthrough campaign. Personally, this campaign appeals much to me. I'm not satisfied with just the status quo. I desire breakthough. But how acute is that desire? Do we nod our heads vigorously in fervent agreement whenever the pastors speak about breakthrough? Do we clap our hands in encouraging, salutary approval whenever someone shares a breakthrough testimony? But what of it? Do we then sit comfortably nestled in our couches, waiting for God to rain breakthroughs upon our lives like free-flowing manna?
Insidious Festerings
It is easy for us to fall into the trap of bitterness, deceit or jealousy - anything Satan can hurl our way. But these traits manifest themselves in a more discernible, conspicuous manner. It is the more insidious festerings, such as indifference or complacency, of which I harbour a greater fear.
I have always been a rather nonchalent, unruffled girl. Stress doesn't get to me easily. Chocolate doesn't get me drooling. Words don't hurt me easily. In fact, before I became a Christian, there were about two things in life which would get me all passionate - football and music.
All that is well and good - and I'd say that my collected, composed self has enabled me to tide through life's more turbulent periods with a greater degree of fortitude and tenacity than would otherwise be possible. And I'm someone who reserve my energies for the things I truly love - such that if it's something I adore, I will really, really love it. It's either something gets my undivided affection, or close to none at all. Perhaps this explains my extreme opinions on music heheh.
However, it also meant that I am susceptible to indifference. It's true.
Treating God like the Pizza Delivery Man
I desire breakthrough, but I need to get my arse off that mental couch and do something about it. I don't want God to be simply a vicarious, in-proxy experience. I want that divine intimacy and solicitude which was once so real in my life.
And I know although closeness to God is promised if we seek Him, we must take the step to actually seek Him. I don't mean paying lip service to God, but truly seeking him in prayer and His word. It sounds easy enough, but you'd be surprised at how gargantuan a hurdle it is. It reminds me of a quote from Shakespeare's Macbeth:
I am in blood
Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more
Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
Macbeth was lamenting how steeped he was in sin that it would be impossible to undo the wrongs which he had committed, and in fact would actually be easier to continue perpetuating his wrong-doing. It is an excuse which we too, have often been guilty of proffering. I have already drifted thus far - it is too tedious to go back, so let's just continue drifting.
Sometimes we do recognise we need restoration. But restoration requires constant prayer and dwelling in the word; it requires heartfelt repentance and constantly setting aside time for God. I believe God is readily accessible, and that he is neither late nor early, but that does not negate the part we have to play in partaking into fellowship with Him. But unfortunately, many times, we ignore our role and expect God to simply turn up at a flicker of the switch or a mere phonecall. In short, we treat God like the pizza-delivery man. When I need you I'll call, and you'd better turn up.
Breakthrough - Internalise, Personalise and Characterise
That night, I prayed. I prayed really, really hard. I know this final quarter of the year is precious to me, and to God. God gave me a conviction that breakthrough can be very real during this last quarter. But He needs me to partake, and stop being that distant child, always glancing at a distance, always maintaining a cold buffer. I want to be like David, someone who is after God's own heart. I want God's heartbeat to be pulsating in my life, giving vivacity, growth and hope.
My life is great right now. I don't need to do all this. But I desire to. And I'm so happy I feel this way, because I cherish a faith which is not contingent upon life's circumstances, but which wants to endeavour to serve God in times good and bad.
There is still something which I am seeking God's answer to. But in the meantime, the path for the final quarter is clear amidst the hurricanes of life's unyielding storms - that is, to internalise, personalise and most importantly, chracterise Breakthrough. =)
Yesterday was an incredibly busy day (what's new, eh?). In fact, the past few weeks has been reminiscent of a quote from Jane Austen's novel Mansfield Park:
"Life is but a quick succession of busy nothings." -- Fanny Price
Right. Life nowadays seem just like striking off items in my trusty organiser which is chock full of to-dos, appointments, courses and deadlines, all scrawled with indiscreet haste (you can tell cos the handwriting is so bad).
But God is good. He keeps my spirits high despite of my busy schedule. The feeling is quite inexplicable, actually. A propensity to endure stress helps, but only God is able to confer that sweet joy. Only He is able to put a smile on our lips when there isn't really much to smile about.
So I mopped up my work as usual, and headed to church for worship practice. This time round, I was not saddled with a laptop as I walked out of the office lobby... cos I have to return to office to work over the weekend. It was just one of those weeks, but I took it with a good measure of sanguinity.
Was a tad late, but managed to gulp down some dumplings. Over dinner, Andrew, Beng, Junming and myself had the great debate on what England's chances are of winning the World Cup. Well, their chances are about as remote as the likelihood of Sir Alex and Wenger sipping hot tea over a chummy session of basket-weaving. End of.
The night's practice was in Nexus auditorium instead of the America room. I prefer the America room actually. Onstage it felt as though the blaring decibels were given free rein to bulldoze their way into your eardrums. Some of us were musing about how we felt an incessant ringing in our ears even after the music had subsided (quite like when you just walked out of a disco). But after a while I got used to it, so it wasn't that bad. It's like people who smoke in pubs. Afer a while you realise that you are able to put up with a lot of things (apart from Arsenal fans).
I liked the night's selection of songs. I'm not a Hillsong fan (thought their music is too repetitive and their songs sound more or less the same after a while), but I enjoyed the songs we sang on Friday. Somehow the atmosphere was more relaxed as well. How Joo was even showing us some funky dance grooves (w00t-w00t!!).
After the practice the band launched a surprise on Chris and played a birthday song for him. It was quite funny in the beginning cos it sounded nothing like Happy Birthday, but soon enough the familar tune rolled in and the rest of us burst out in song. It was his birthday the day before.
We had a mini celebration at S11 thereafter, sans cake. Chris got two pressies, and a cup of coffee from Rachel. No photos to show, regrettably. Nonetheless had a good chat, ranging from mp3 players to soliciting for tips on what stocks to buy (sheesh, do I look like a financial guru?? Haha!). And we've got incriminating evidence of Wilfred brazenly flouting the law. Ahem.
Reached home at midnight. Absolutely knackered, but happy at having a simple day spent with friends amidst the inexorable hurriedness of life. I'm so grateful, for God's little blessings. =)
The folks at B4 have just created a blog titled Cotton Woof (after KC's dog Cotton heheh).
Check it out:
Clickety-Click
Was reading the New York Times today and came across this article:
With Lenin's Ideas Dead, Russia Weighs What to Do With Body
In short, a bunch of motley detractors comprising politicians, film directors, Parliament speakers and clerks have articulated their distaste for placing the Soviet leader's remains in Moscow's Red Square. But the purists have stormed back fast and furious, accusing the former of desecrating the memory of the leader.
Anyway, what is Lenin - discounted maverick, or bloodthirsty murderer? No prizes for the correct answer.
Thoughts on Communism
Communism fascinates and bewilders me. It is, incontrovertibly, one of the most intrepid, outrageous, revolutionary social experiments Man has ever embarked on. And yet it left behind a ruinous legacy of social pestilence, psychological wreckage, economic pauperism and political ignominy. The very ideals which screamed socialist bravado have inevitably doomed it to its grave. The death knells have already sounded when the rumblings of capitalism bubbled and frothed beneath the veneer of a Communist economy, when Soviet Pepsi-Cola and Soviet jeans first made their way into the market under Brezhnev's reign.
When Communism breathed its last as the uprisings and siren-calls for democracy thronged across the Eastern bloc in 1991, I was too young to really remember what happened. What I could recall was that my uncle had managed to procure a piece of the Berlin wall. When I held the relic in my tiny hands at that time, little did I realise the sheer magnitude of the events which have unfolded then.
To me, the demise of Communism is not so much a failure of the ideology than a failure of Man.
Its practitioners have manipulated it for political elimination and egolomania. But shorn of all that, Communism, at its very core, remains an ideology of benevolent altruism. But that's exactly what is so fatalistic about it.
The failure of Communism is in fact, the failure of Man to subjugate his own pursuit of goals for a greater good. In contrast, capitalism has all the hallmarks of human nature - self-aggrandisement, insatiableness, go-getting, covetousness, narcissim, intemperance, indulgence... in essence - me, me, ME.
It's no mere coincidence that shortly after Communism fell, the Russian kleptocrats (read: nomenklatura) busied themselves fattening their wallets in one of the greatest misnomers ever: Russian privatisation.
Chronic Inability to Let Go
But the debate about where to place Lenin's body reveals another interesting tangent of the human psyche. Why are people spending so much resources wrangling over a dead man's body? Or more like, a vestige of a now indisputably bankrupt ideology?
This reminds me of the waxed remains of one of my university's founders, philosopher Jeremy Bentham. Poor Jeremy is seated inside a box, gazing ruefully over the glass at gawky bespectacled students lumbering across the hallway. I always thought it was kind of sad, the way he's just sitting there, day and night.
In themselves, such cadaverous displays don't really mean anything. But they are symbolic of our curious desire to immortalise things. Of a predilection to hearken back to older days through rose-tinted glasses. Or, on a more cynical note, of a chronic inability to let go.
History Buffs are a Sick-Minded Lot
And finally, this article reminds me of the days when I used to voraciously devour every scrap of knowledge relating to the Russian Revolution, the Long March, President Nixon's foreign policy or Hitler's reign.
I love history. But there's also something very warped about that affection. It's almost insulting to the millions who have perished during the dark ages of Sovet collectivisation or China's Cultural Revolution. It is as though you derive some sort of vicarious satisfaction from the suffering of others. You know your intellectual learning came at great cost, but still you love and pursue it. Whatever tears you shed, whatever outpourings of sympathy you may have, whatever lessons which can be gleaned from episodes of old... it doesn't really negate the fact that there is something terribly, terribly perverse about one's love for history.
In short, history buffs are really a sick-minded lot. =) I mean this with a dose of sarcasm and jest, but it's not untrue.
Finally, would like to share a deeply incisive and provocative quote from a seven year old boy (I can't find the actual quote, so I will have to paraphrase):
History is always about stories of rivalry, wars and death. I wish it can be about stories of great friendship.
How naive, but how beautiful a thought.
Had a lousy day today. For absolutely no reason at all.
Sometimes I feel myself turning into a pile of big soft mush. I used to be the composed, emotionally cool, nonchalant, unflappable girl who leave skid marks when people start crying in front of me.
But increasingly nowadays, I find myself getting affected by small things. Like a woman would. Like a woman!!??!! I can almost hear my old cynical self sneer.
Take today for instance. After church service we went for a Holy Spirit Baptism workshop. The workshop was pretty good, but I was feeling totally pensive and cheerless. Later we went to the Team Rally, and they were singing some praise songs. I found it so hard to concentrate on the Praise & Worship; it was as though I were flitting in and out of being in-sync with the congregation.
I hate that feeling. I like being in control of my thoughts, my feelings... it's not typically me to let things affect me. I'm not easily ruffled. But I guess even the hardest of hearts have their soft moments.
And I'm having one major softie moment right now. It's as though God is breaking down my defenses. I remember I prayed to God to give me a more loving and empathetic heart cos it is impossible to live a full Christian life without having Christ's love for people. I don't want to pay lip service to God.
But I know why I don't like the feeling of being easily affected by things, or people around me. It's like being led by the nose while you live. Perhaps it's cos I have always been emotionally independent ever since I was a kid.
Or perhaps it's a by-product of my being overseas. Having close friends, and then saying goodbye to them, and repeatedly playing out this cycle for years, has somehow deadened my senses. One moment you're so close to someone, and then bang - the next moment both of you return to your own countries and although you remain friends, your lives, once so intertwined, have become separate forked paths. Being overseas is great, yeah, but you get some in-yer-face realities being tossed your way. Like how ephemeral human relationships can be. Not to mean they are trifling, shallow alliances, but that ultimately, so much of it is transient, fleeting, impermanent.
I realise human beings are so incredibly malleable. It's so easy to badger them into shape. Plenty of people profess things which they think would last them a lifetime, only to turn their backs on the very things which they purport to live by. I'm sorry for being so cynical, but it's the truth, and there's no need to be sugar-coated about it.
Perhaps after all these years of seeing the uglier side of human nature, I've unconsciously erected fences around myself because I know, and understand, how fallible humans can be.
But back to today. I threw a tantrum with God. It's terrible, I know, but I did. It doesn't happen often, but I do get angry with God sometimes. He knows what is bothering me (just so not to take people on unnecessary guilt trips, nothing to do with care group, choir, unit, etc). And His silence is deafening.
Sometimes I am so incredibly obdurate. It's like I'm waiting for that bolt of lightning to strike but it never came. Instead, I'm brought back to the realisation that God, being God, loves me no matter what. I recall seeing Holman Hunt's painting The Light Of The World. Dating from 1853, a verse of Scripture is written below the painting.
Behold I stand at the door and knock. If any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and he with me. - Revelations 3:20
A commentary of the painting:
"This verse is key to understanding the painting. The door is a solid, staid symbol of the human soul. It is barred shut, with the nails and hinges showing obvious signs of rust, which, along with the forbidding overgrowth of vines and brambles around the door, suggest that it has never been opened. Most importantly, the door has no knob or handle. This is a door that can only be opened from the inside. Christ cannot force himself in, or even open the way for himself. It is up to the individual to open his or her soul out of his or her own volition - a demonstration of the necessity of individual participation in the act of faith."
Holman Hunt's The Light Of The World.
That is God. Despite being the most paramount, omnipotent and almighty being in the universe, He is ever so loving, so gentle, so unassuming.
I know, and God knows, what are the things which are making me upset. And yes, I do feel myself being more melancholic than choleric, more susceptible than unassailable. Maybe God is telling me that I can't expect to love others without first opening up certain recesses within me. Maybe it's Him teaching me that vulnerability and being accepting of one's foibles precede the capacity to truly love His flock.
On Tuesday, Chris called me "The Rock." Well, far from it, it seems.
Peishan, you pile of big soft mush, you.
Today is Children's Day. I recall this article which I chanced upon - "Eight Ways To Change The World" - on The Guardian website. It is about a photography exhibition by Panos Pictures on the United Nations' eight Millennium Development Goals. Now people close to me would know I have a snooty contempt for the UN and its effectiveness (of lack thereof, more like), but I won't begrudge some of its more note-worthy work.
In essence: "In 2000, leaders from the 189 countries in the UN promised to deliver eight Millennium Development Goals by 2015. These goals - to end extreme poverty and hunger, reverse the spread of HIV/Aids and malaria, and to give all children an education - are ambitious. But they are simple and achievable."
Eight Ways To Change The World
Two particularly poignant comments made by the photographers:
It would cost the same to train all the teachers poor countries need as the world spends every two and half days on warfare. - Chris de Bode
As a photographer, how do you depict this situation without it appearing wretched and hopeless? Will they be offended by your close-up photographs of their meagre supper? How do you politely decline tea made with water from their only source, a local pond contaminated with sewage? - Zed Nelson
I'm not here to expound a knee-jerk reaction to such abject poverty and deplorable living conditions. Not here to hurl disdain at powerful men purporting to reduce Third World debt whilst they plonk themselves on plush sofas, decked out in dapper suits sipping Martini at some opulent chateau. Not here to construe impassioned posts condemning the abhorrent rule of Mobutu Sese Seko, Leopold II, Robert Mugabe, Pinochet or whoever else. Not here to debate about why nobody gives a toss about the atrocities in Sudan, Congo, or Rwanda, but everyone pretends to be an expert armed with bucketloads of opinions when it comes to Iraq.
I'm just defeated by the overwhelming hypocrisy that reeks like a big steaming pile of horse manure.
I'm no angel myself. After I read the articles and finish blogging this entry, I'm pretty sure I would return to my usual routine in life. Most people see images which whip up instant doses of commiseration, and then forget about what they saw in a heartbeat.
Like my friend once quipped, "Africa? Who cares about Africa?"
don't know what I can achieve by posting this on my blog. Maybe it makes me feel better. Helps me to internalise the guilt which occasionally pinches my conscience when I realise that I'm just one of those masses who, when they watch news programmes broadcasting about famine in some remote part of the world, simply go "Awww... poor things, they are so skinny... hey pass me the pizaa while we're at it."
When I was in university, I write elegantly-construed, cogent theses on whether information technology should be deemed as the panacea which can help millions to get out of the poverty rut in India. But what did I achieve, sitting in my cushy semi-detached house in California, typing furiously away at the keyboard, burying myself in research books to come up with my essay? What did I do for the millions still mired in destitution after I got the coveted "A" for my paper? How have I improved their lives since I graduated with a Masters degree, self-satisfied in the knowledge that hey, I've engraved my name in the hallowed annals of Stanford history?
No, I've not gotten out of the ivory tower.
But I'm thankful for something my UL Elaine said after coming back from a trip to South Africa. She reasoned that we don't have to be positioned in impoverished beggary to start being fervent for God. When life is tough, when you witness bags of skin and bones dying in front of your eyes, then yeah - the exigencies of the situation can jolt you into the realisation that people need God - and NOW. But in an affluent society like Singapore, nah... there is medical technology if you are ill. CPF savings for retirement. Epidural to ease the throes of childbirth. A ditzy array of unit trusts and investments to help one accumulate wealth. And no - people are not dying in the streets - that only happens on CNN or the Discovery Channel.
I know the perennial, consequent question. "Where is God when all these happened?" But I trust in God. It's a trust which almost borders on folly because grim reality propels you to think otherwise, but I do trust in God. I believe He has a time and place for everything. I believe He is grieved, because He loves those who are suffering, more than the compassion and sympathy than we can ever muster. There's a surge of cynicism amongst many, and the surfeit of piteous images on telly strongly tells otherwise, but I'm clinging on to the belief that God cares. There is no perspicacious logic, no profound scientific or empirical reasoning behind it - just the simple faith of a child of God.
Here are some of the photos which I have picked:
The eight Millennium Development Goals
1) To eradicate extreme poverty and hunger
Rashida works in a brick-breaking yard. The work is poorly paid, repetitive and gruelling but, for many, it is the only source of income.
2) To give all children a primary school education
Feleke, who aspires to be a doctor. He lives in the village of Chathat, and walks one hour to school every day.
Endla wants to be a farmer when he grows up. Every day, he helps on the family farm. This is very common in villages as remote as Chimbiri. Endla knows how to plough. With two bulls in front, he drags the plough over the land. It's physically demanding work
3) To promote gender equality and empower women
Florencia's mum and grandmother never received an education. But their hopes lay on little Florencia, who is now in third grade.
4) To reduce by two thirds the mortality rate among children under five
Twins Jaime and Jose Puello (17 months) take a nap. Summer time is extremely hot in La Penuela. Babies sleep without clothes or sheets so they can get a better rest.
5) To improve maternal health
Less than half of tribal women in Orissa have access to any professional antenatal care. Only one third of tribal women in Orissa receive help from midwives or skilled birth attendants.
6) To combat HIV/Aids, malaria and other diseases
Anthony, 40, found out he was HIV positive when he went for a test after his wife died in 1998. The scars on his chest were made by a traditional healer who claimed he could cure him of HIV in three months. He's been on ARVs since 2002 and feels strong enough to cultivate his land.
"I'm so happy that I'm alive again. I tell everyone that they should not be ashamed to test themselves. I don't want to live in fear. I don't want to think about death every day. I want to know for sure that I can take ARV my whole life, even when I'm old and have no money left".
7) To ensure environmental sustainability
13-year-old Marietou from Dogon Valley collects her family's water at the village's unprotected well. The task of collecting water falls to women and children, especially girls, who help their mothers from an early age. She hauls the water basket time after time out of the 63 metre-deep village well. She fills a 25-litre basin which she carries home, half a kilometre away.
8) To develop a global partnership
Here's where we come in...
http://www.guardian.co.uk/millenniumgoals/story/0,16440,1560838,00.html
The Millennium Goals are a gargantuan, but worthy endeavour. But God must be in the picture, or else, it would be a dimmer hope to aspire that they would ever come to fruition.
