we cannot change the cards we are dealt,
just how we play the hand.
Tuesday, December 31, 2002
11:28 PM
2002 beneath a chronoscope
At The Beginning
It was a wednesday, i still remembered. Stepping out of my father's BMW, i peered at the looming pillars of Raffles Junior College. Menacing they looked, just like Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. As my father sped off, i was stranded amidst the sea of people who were bustling into the building, some short, some tall, some thin, some fat. But what struck me was the flood of white and blue, a kindred of secondary rafflesians, a freight of friends who had already known one another.
Eshcroft
I tugged at my tight khaki shorts, but vain was my effort to veil my lengthy legs. I hurried after the crowd, eager to search for my own kindred, when a loud call from across the hall cried out for my name. Dalglish he was, and beside him stood a beaming wei an. I soon learnt that wei an and i were in the same OG, and such was the relief for both of us that we punched the air and gave the rest of our kindred a gist of envy. A trivial lineup OGs may offer, but little did we know how much it would have affected our lives. wei an found his first love, while a long lost friendship with chermain dated from a p4 discovery camp was rekindled. Blessed too was i who had the opportunity to change first impressions of my exclassmates.
Gryphons
A new path uncovered, and despite earlier renounces, i took basketball up as a cca. Competition was immense, but i was lucky enough to emerge top 14 amongst 30 candidates, and we trudged over to Malaysia to play Johor state team and Segamat Village. The jokes shared, the pranks played, the defeats suffered, the victories triumphed, all of which are experiences which contributed to the tear which tumbled down my cheeks when departure was impending.
1S06D
Eshcroft dissolved soonafter, and my rJ class crept to the top of my priority index. I still remembered my quiescent entrance into the class, unnoticed and unacknowledged. I settled myself between joshua and the wall, while peering around inexplicitly. A girl in a yellow blouse caught my attention almost instantaneously, she reminded me very strongly of MoonFace in E.Blyton's The Faraway Tree, with vivid waves of her hand and blatent laughters which echoed shrilly within the container class. Equally amused was a nanyang girl, short and dainty, just like one of the elves in Mirkwood. My attention strayed from the seemingly moonstruck classmate, and i soon got to know a clearheaded warrior named Tienfun, sweet and shrilly Olivia, hairy and furry Andrew, bottomless Joshua and not forgetting the equally hyper sailor. All good things come to an end nonetheless, but the end was sooner than i could bear.
The Metamorphose
So there, and here i was plopped. Like a martian from pluto, i landed on mercury under the scrutiny of many. 69 i so loved, and 69 i had to enter. The first day, i could still recall, an erratic course of chemistry lessons which i had no utter idea on what Png was rambling on. Then came andrew tan's econs, and this nanyang creature kept letting her hand fly. A shrill voice she had, and many a times did her personality tallied with moonface Mel of rJ. i was somewhat annoyed, but later adventures with this mystic creatures revealed a more-than-pleasant soul beneath her loud self. And yakkatiyakkatiyak went on and on and on, just like a gramophone with its needle blunted was a giant with bedraggled looks and cloying recurrents. He pissed off everyone, and pissed me off he did too, and bad was his situation that a similar giant who clambered on our heads and shit on them would have fared better than he, but much as we do detest the likes of him, i appeal to all who read this not to clout the minds of our juniors next year with the giant's eclat. I do, and still do, think a warm soul thrives beneath.
Sixes and Nines
Over the months, i got to know various sixes and nines on a deeper basis. Resembling the elf of mirkwood, cherie, in many ways, there also lived an equally dainty and yes, equally height-impaired pixie. Two in fact, existed in the 69 realm, one dark, one fair. Also, the sea of secondary rafflesians at 69 were no less warm than those 5.7km away. But great is he who played with my emotions. He who irritated the guts out of the eegofreakz clique, he who pissed dark and fair pixies off the moment he stepped into 69, but its also the same he who encouraged endless study sessions, and most importantly he who had boundless faith in my organisation of class outings when i myself, the utmost optimist, had a grim outlook of the turnout. I thank you K, for that.
Hoopla beneath Hoops
I strutted to the courts on the first day, sporting a yellow shirt and a silver bottom. Pissed was he who lost three matches to me in a row, and enemies we nearly forged. Little did i know he would be my captain, and my bosom friend. The hwachong basketball team has been my shelter and haven all year long, its humour was not of the same class as that of gryphons, but the puerileness and innocence of the team struck a chord in my soul. We laughed and we shared, and i still remember this time at KAP when Huanghui, Mond and i sat and chatted, and chatted, and chatted. We poured our souls out for one another, and deep were the secrets uncovered across the endless training sessions and bridge assemblies. The frankness of Jingfeng, the innocence of Raymond(s), the childishness of Yuhao, the desparation of Huanghui, the outspokenness of Joshua and the punklike behaviour of Jianming have carried me through bouts of depression and sprees of hopelessness. Frankly, i do know that chances of entering the team eventually are slim, but it is these wonderful people that enrich my life. Happiness can't be bought, yet hoopla beneath those hoops had, have and will be bounteous, for no sum of money would i quit at present.
aWak3n|nG miles away
The OCIP trip to china is indescribable. I can tell you about the kids, i can tell you about the village, but you would only dismiss it as an interesting trip. You can't lie, for that would be my similar reaction if i had not gone on the trip. Something rekindled in me, a child-like yearn for another meaning of life. I realised that there was still some humanity in me despite what had happened to me in my upper secondary years, and the real waikit still lives on beneath the masks of happiness and endless grins. I made friends there, not just expedition mates, but village kids. I had to be their teacher, but we chose to be friends. What more, Shanci, Bernice and Zing gave me a lot more to think about than they thought; not forgetting the little actions, the little speeches, the little letters of huijing, wangyan and qinglian who had unwittingly resurrected a nearly forgotten soul in me. Perhaps no one would get the meaning of this minutia, but the OCIP gave me a mountain load more than i had bargained for. All in all, it would have been worth the metamorphose just for the trip.
Conclusão
A year back, if one were to question my whereabouts of today, the picture painted would be miles apart from the scenerio at present. I wasn't supposed to get attached. I wasn't supposed to be in hwachong. I wasn't supposed to play basketball. Neither was i supposed to drop a subject.
If you ask me now, what would be my state a year from now? All i could say would be that i'd have just returned from my second trip to nawang village, i'd have graduated from hwachong, i'd have applied for national service and i'd have sprained my leg at least twice.
But who knows what the next change is going to be, what unexpected opportunity is just around the corner, waiting a few months or a few years to change all the tenor of our lives.
2002 had been a moment of history where change is so speeded up that i began to see the present only when it is already disappearing, but i shan't let 2003 wring me by my neck. i won't.
Happy new year to all.
the voices in my head-
Ode to Club Seventh
We learn a new thing everyday.
Good teaching is one-fourth preparation and three-fourths pure theatre.
The night has unveiled a curtain of great shakespearean acts.
I've understood a few good people way better yesterday than the day before.
The party virgins in particular. Change not art thou, there were and are people who loved you as you were.
The friends especially. The foursome beneath a sporadic moon while the fifth snoring goodness-knows-where.
Not forgetting,
The organisers. The whited sepulchers, who blackened further the drab night.
We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds, club seventh yesterday was a mental institution of the universe.
I nearly lost myself, and embarked upon a oneway journey to hell i would
if i had lingered on for another trivial 15 minutes.
The temptations, the distractions. The girls, the sex.
The drinks, the smoke. The police, the risks.
Sigh. Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former.
the voices in my head-
Friday, December 27, 2002
8:51 AM
Featherbrained Puerileness
In the 1st place, God made idiots. that was for practice. Then he made Jingfeng.
During the 2 rounds of PE route which distanced 3.2 km that we had to run for our cool-down today, Jingfeng and i lagged behind the bulk of the team. Halfway, he turned and declared...
"Lets slack!"
And slack we did. We hid among the trees and squished squashed did our shoes padded amongst the chinese high mud. We kept yelling snippets of ssshhh to one another, and we crouched beneath a huge oak tree, wrestling with a stubborn leafy brunch to provide us extra cover amidst the crimson darkness.
Oh well, as Herodotus says, great deeds are usually accomplished at great risks. Jingfeng and i wrought one of the most whopping collossal risk, and hence under the law of beguiling fallacies, the slacking pair had just compassed a significant deed. Hail us.
the voices in my head-
Wednesday, December 25, 2002
3:14 AM
Christmas
It has been an engaging week. The flurry of events, just like a mad whirlpool, has consumed me and drained me of every ounce of energy. Which left me sprawled eagled upon dreamland for a couple of hours on precious Christmas. Nevertheless, unbeing dead isn't being alive, and i appreciate all that had happened, from chermain's party to endless trainings, from the gathering of relatives to candle services in the dead of the night.
Just yesterday, i finally made my way down to fullerton hotel to catch hwachong's choir in action. Alvin has had many smerses and calls about it, so i'd decided to drop by since my church candle service commenced at 10pm and i had many a minute to spare. As i entered fullerton, the splendour of its lavish bedizenment awed me and amidst the trivial exaggeration, the choir resembled a host of angels singing their souls out. The vivacity burned in alvin as he poured his lungs out, and i caught bernice in action too. Carols followed carols, and i leaned upon a gigantic pillar, eyes half lidded with fatigue, whilst the soft blend of voices wafted into my ears.
"Hark, the herald angels sing..."
And upon the mistake of creation, someone blurted, "What? How gay is that. Guys in choir? Wipsy pussy dudes!"
i spun around, and eyed that varmint in disbelief and acerbity. A fifteen year old kid he was, and great was the temptation to climb upon his head and unload a mountainload of faeces. But somehow, a knock prodded the back of my head, and i recollected the days of eegofreakz when Alvin would sing dramatically in class, and all of my clique would roll our eyes at him in half mock, half disgust. It seemed so long ago, yet it couldn't have been more than a year. Things change, people change, and amongst the most innocent of events do we actually uncover the subtle differences in our past and present selves.
Its part of growing up, and as time whizzes pass, perhaps more of the present me would awaken to a new form. I cannot say whether things will get better if i change; but what I can say is they must change if they are to get better. Merry Christmas to all.
the voices in my head-
Saturday, December 21, 2002
7:17 AM
Timeline upon å basketball retrospect
Today marks the worst match i've played in my life, never have i had zero shots, zero points in a single game. Lo and behold, zero rebounds too. Gross as it sounds, its worse for the unfortunate souls who witnessed the match. Hwachong JC, second in nationals, scraped a 22-31 defeat in 4 quarters, with zero points in the third quarter.
Sigh, upon the past basketball days i recollect, it was surpassingly different from these weeks i've been drifting like some malovalent phantom. These days, i've been going for training 8 times a week, and the passion thriving deep within me has morphed into a commitment and sometimes, a chore. In the past, i'd start tightening the shoe laces of my shoes 10 minutes before the 1:30 bell rang, and would rush helter skelter like some thunderbolt to the courts. Beneath the scorching sun, i'd then spin balls from ridiculous angles and shoot hoops from behind the boards.
Alas, its an inverted scene upon the courts these days. Set plays i'm running, whilst creativity and fancy plays lie low on the priority list. "To get the ball in.. To get the ball in.. " the voice at the back of my head keeps prodding, and whenever i get the ball, all else fades in comparison but the chief objective.
Today's defeat sparked an inspirational speech by the coach and he kept emphasising on the happiness of each and every player. Only with happiness would success be derived, and victory should be secondary to personal standards. He has rekindled the spark in me, and i'd no longer fear reprimendation. I'd heed creativity and daring strokes, unleashing the playing styles of my sec 4 days.
Edmund Burke once said "There is a boundary to men's passions when they act from feelings; but none when they are under the influence of imagination." Look out for the 360 dunk in a not too distant future!
the voices in my head-
Wednesday, December 18, 2002
7:53 AM
Timeline upon ë nawang retrospect
For some life lasts a short while, but the memories it holds last forever
When we leave, what remains of us are mere memories of ourselves in the spirit of others
But when they die, what would remain of us would be just an undisturbed footfall upon the muddly fields of nawang
Alas, when the double edged excavator replaces the hoe and sickle, all would be lost.
the voices in my head-
Tuesday, December 17, 2002
8:24 AM
Meanie Me
Some sec 4 guy pissed me off today, big time. It was a friendly against NUS, with a mere 15 minutes per quarter, and everyone had to have at least a minute on court, so the arsenal of substitutes were busy swapping one another off the court. Just like a cataclysmic, i was thrown upon the game with this faggot centre and even if we had combined rings to call upon captain planet, he wouldn't have saved the day.
First of all, he had throbbing muscles with pulsating veins but they were put to no use as he maximised his eye power for each and every rebound. Block outs aplenty, but alas, they were accoutered by the opposing team. And then, the set plays which we had painstakingly practised over the weeks were rigged out, but nonsensically like a fleeting iceberg, he drifted from one position to another, and help he did not but cause a major uproot in both offence and defence. Which got me irritated.
But behold all curses and swears, for the power of his mighty rumble has yet to cease. Not only did that ass-inverted invention of humanity wafted from one wrong place to another, his mouth had an ability to match pak. Ceaselessly like the current of the yellow river, he commands all on court and hail muscles as the omnipotent key to success. Which got me really pissed.
So, like that plain old guy who projects happiness above all, me no get angry but strode off the court with a sullen face. And mini meanie me arose after the match when we played 4 on 4, me fuhluen chiangming and weicheng against him and 3 other poor souls. I apologise for all arrogance in that match, but hell pleasant did it feel when i saw his darkened face after trashing him by a couple many points. So much for muscles, when i'd obligingly burnt him in the face and spun over his phhhat build to fingerroll a few balls into the hoop.
Haha, i must say. And nanny nanny poo poo.
the voices in my head-
Monday, December 16, 2002
8:38 AM
Simplified Happiness
Action may not always bring happiness, but there is no happiness without action.
Bored as we are, do something! Ride an elephant, shoot the moon, cook a telephone, roast your sister, or even stuffing your teacher with crushed peas and olives, anything beats nothing.
Thinking too, is a mind boggling act, but it involves no action. Alas, it brings about no happiness and sometimes even depression. Think not, act more, wala. Lets all be happy beings.
Nobody really cares if you're miserable, so you might as well be happy!
the voices in my head-
Sunday, December 15, 2002
8:44 AM
The Ring
One ring to rule them all, to put it on or not?
Donning it, i will be endowed with utter dominance, and climb upon the status of omnipotency.
But the black riders will hunt me down one day, and the weight of its burden would cause me to falter upon the weathered path one day.
I will be consumed by it, and other matters will fade into comparison, be it academics, studies or the companionship of Sam, Merry and Pippin.
Yet, i have no right to discard it. I do not own the ring exclusively and unconditionally. Contrary to naive thoughts, the ring owns me too. What more, the ring has done no harm to me, in fact, it kept me accompanied when i was bored, and as i fondled the ring beneath my neck, my sadness would wear away whenever i drown myself in misery. I loved, love and will still love the ring. It would be a harebrained, unanswerable and feckless act to hurl it out of my window. Despite the impending black riders, I have no right to do it.
And, i would have no such heart to do it.
the voices in my head-
Friday, December 13, 2002
9:03 AM
Zonked
Aha, i stumbled upon this mystic adjective today, and i realised it applied to me as apt as could be, and i was indeed zonked (pronounced in a short articulated zonk, removing the k sound instantaneously to produce a slight vibration after effect), zonked i said, zonked with fatigue, zonked with a overwhelming gloom of boredom.
I do not know what, or why, or who has caused this act of zonking, but ever since i returned from china, something in me rekindled. Rekindled it may be, or perhaps extinguished it was. I changed, as i had said, but like Frodo who cast the Ring down Mount Doom whilst his mind cleared amidst tranquility, the china trip unhinged a part of me i had not felt before. Like a thunder struck divine intervention, my interest in chinese spiralled, and i was churning out more letters in chinese than english in a week. What more, my life priorities have upturned itself, and i find no longer any interest in many matters which once strove close to my heart. i have been zonked, zonked as if with an intoxication.
And zonked i am still, all these days since i recovered from the Rising Valhalla, my life has only revolved around two things. Lord of the Rings, and basketball. I have not seen her since the return from the land of afar, and this ain't any involvement with Qinglian or HuiJing or Liling, as some might acclaim. Like a flower withered, a fruit passed its ripe eon, some zonking zonked my tender brain. I still love her, undoubtedly, but my enthusiasm for all and such has died. Even for my class, the proud social rep that once begged people to go on outings has yet to organise any gatherings for the holidays.
Yet still, i know my mind has not been blurred but unhinged. I made great decisions at a remarkable pace, declaring ajc no longer an option, and dropping out of Bukit Timah Constituency and Titans Basketball. All for what? some asked, and i could give no reply, but deep within me, i knew that the nagging voice at the back of my head was zonking me with a fury of panic. Like a streak of lightning across the crimson sky, flashes of my future zonked past my mind.
"A levels..." zonked the first flash.
"Basketball..." followed the second zonking.
Ah. I've let so many things go, at the expense of studies. Yet whenever i sit myself upon the mountain piles of workload that smacks me in my face, my mind drifts somewhere else. Jacky Cheung songs waft through the air, intermittent displays of memories recollect at the back of my mind, and my hand would crawl across the study table, grip a pen, and start upon yet another letter to Nawang Village.
the voices in my head-
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
3:55 AM
Modem is DOWN
This is pretty much screwed, i can't update my blog from home. And all due to starhub's wonderful service when your SCV modem breaks down. So here am i, surrounded by thunderous loads of Nanyang Primary Kids at coronation LAN shop blowing one another up while yelling warcries, high pitched and undoubtedly unpubertified. But anyway, shan't update for a pretty long time, but lo and behold, every cloud has a silver lining, and yupz! i have finally. gotten. myself. a. new. phone! 8310. Number's still the same, as funky as ever, 96303210 !
the voices in my head-
Thursday, December 05, 2002
12:03 AM
Chronicles Of The Land Afar
The Old Testaments
Genesis
Sprawled beneath a hooked nose teacher, and another scrawny one with a three syllabic surname, i was interrogated. Why this trip? Why OCIP? Was the bundle of 69 coming in as a package?
I still remember my reply, as clear as the cemented tips of my finger now. "To have fun, teachers. A match making session this is, i believe as long as your objectives are met, the pilgrimage to the sacred objectives needn't matter."
I know now the hooked nose teacher as Mr So, Swee Hock. God bless if you toed his limit of tolerance, but lucky i had been watchful throughout the trip. Mr So's temperamental, as the weather of China seemed, but beneath that mask of leadership and authority, a warm soul thrives on. Three syllabic surname's Baddiley, much pronounced bear-the-lean, pun unintended. Like a stealth (no, not only in the dark), she puts herself everywhere, taking care of the sick and unsick, and credit goes to organisation of massive facillitations despite her petite self. Not forgetting Mr Lim, he who's outrageously frank but flares up at the weirdest moments. Perhaps love. pun unintended once more.
So ends a tribute to the teachers who led us on tirelessly for 20 days; i once said i came upon the trip to make 31 new friends. Indeed, amongst them all lie these 3 oldies.
Exodus
Twenty days are but a flicker in the days of one's life, but these 20 days changed my life. Whether it being subtle, it being lucid, something ignited within me which i hadn't felt in a lifetime. It relieves my soul to learn that i could still tear, it relieves me to discover humanity thriving in the hardened being i am.
I still remember Galen, Zhiqiang, FuhLuen and I carrying a pillow talk over the second last night at Nawang Village. "Should i allow myself to draw away from the kids tomorrow, so that parting would be easier? Or attach myself to them even more, and allow the last day to tear our souls apart?" was the question from me to FuhLuen. It soon evolved into a discussion which both of us concluded that as we grew older, the society hardens people and emotions find it harder to worm themselves into the hearts of adults. But Galen soon came in as an afterthought that perhaps it wasn't a process of hardening, but growing up. Halt my growth then, O God, and let us stay young and carefree forever.
Halt time. Which was evidently what we all wanted. But as "xi shui chang liu" stated, the time for parting would approach eventually. The last day at Nawang was a scene i would never be able to wipe utterly from my memory. With the SuoNa rambling on and on, and the gongs and drums, tears trickling down the host families, the unending red eyes of my students which glared defiantly back at me when i asked them not to cry, so did the seconds trickle to our departure. It takes little for some to cry, while some may take a boulder before tears trickle. I know not which category i fall, but teared i did.
Psalms
Shanci said she didn't tear, not because she hadn't humanity in her. In fact, she's in humanities, but thats besides the point anyway. I guess its just emotions being channelled in different ways, while tears express sadness for some, silence may behold the misery for others. I find bus rides especially effective for team bonding, and i got to know Shanci through it. But something keeps pricking me everytime she gives me that look. The eyes are the same, in fact, identical. It was gelastic allowing my present self to reveal my past, when somehow i knew she knows of my past more than i do. Abstract as it sounds, i try to forget my past as i detest my past, but impressions count. And it lasts with the people of my past.
People remain closed. People open up. People get pried open. KahYee was one hilarious example, but what happened on the bus shall stay on the bus. An ultimate stone, she can get very hyperactive when put her mind to it, so's the purpose of basketball and its adrenaline rush. Bernice, just the cute piglet she is, sleeps with her mouth half open, with a very warm soul within. which exemplifies my hasty generalisation of rvhs girls in one of my previous posts. Many have asked me about Pak after the trip, contrary to the old legendary reply, i wouldn't just say he plainly suck anymore. He has a mind which still functions with utmost norm and we had a conversation on the same old eegofreakz over a bus ride, yet again. Yes, vulgarities still spew and his third finger salutes with erectness all the while, but i believe one day, one magic person can still come by and change him. At least Pak's changeable, like you and I.
Unlike others. Some who blare continuously twenty-four-seven, with facts at the tips of their fingers, as if they were the Riders of Sauron, and such facts would blow us to the ninth pits of hell. Hail the foresight of our three teachers that no more than two such Homo sapiens had come for the trip or i may have just blown my top more than once.
Sok and Yinbing told me on the plane to humour the kid seated in front of me, i couldn't give a burp about it since i thought i was suffering from PMS (which eventually turned out to be a 5 day old fever, punctured with a throat infection and nasal congestion). But somehow, i find it easier to work with kids than anything else. A gift, some might say, but it made the exodus even more difficult than it already was. Just visualise a platoon of 12 year olds, tearing and waving at a bus which would never return. Ain't they just cute? Undeniably cute, i would concur, but one might beg to differ. Her entitlement of opinion is distinctly within her parameters of rights, but one day, just in the case of pak, i pray and wish upon a star that one magic person would come by and alter the style she thinks.
Acts
FuhLuen was a fanatic when it came to kids, he laughed as easily as they did, and i believe, teared too as easily as they do. He was a fanatic when it came to keeping in contact, and sent my blood up the chimney with his incessant fetish with stamps. He was a fanatic when it came to HK food, and broke the 1.6km record on an elevator as he hunted down the supposedly 24 hour food court, with three mad idiots at his heels. But fanaticism arises from passion, and in him i see myself. i see myself when i play basketball, barricading all other matters and giving all farts to it. Good or bad, we have no-eye-dear, pun intended.
But, a friendship has been forged, no more than that, rest assured. and perhaps in the years to come, the pillowtalk of travelling around the earth would surface.
The New Testaments
"Write your objectives and come up with a team objective" was the homework we had on our first facillitation. And to have fun it was, while we make friends and dig holes. Each of us have our personal objectives too, i'm sure. Mine was to evade reality and hide like some snail in the thunderstorm in its hole. The plane ride back to Singapore wasn't easy. I still hadn't made up my mind, but i knew i had to do it before the plane touched down. A high fever i already had then, tears welled but i couldn't be bothered to brush them away. no one was looking anyway. And i had to come up with a decision fast.
I opened one of the letters which the kids wrote.
" ... we were at the village centre waiting for you all to return, but your meeting took so long. we peered in and saw all of you crying and we cried too. finally at 10 when your meeting ended, we went to talk to you and you told us to go home and rest. you said you would write to us so here we are, qinglian, wang yan and i at qinglian's place writing to you. lihong has gone off to her sis's place already..." signed off, qiu nian
and i couldn't even remember her.
A torrent of guilt rushed over me, and then i realised that perhaps eventual results ain't everything after all. There's much more to life than just grades and examinations. I don't want, and won't want to leave my friends at hwachong, even if i can make new ones at anderson. I had no choice at raffles, but now given the choice, why bother.
Its a wonder how rational you can get when a fever plagues you while irrationality plagues you instead when you're up and well.
Revelations
Life continues, the show must go on.
I have made new friends, old and young.
I have made new pals, china pals, pen pals.
Some things are changing, i feel it, i sense it.
This trip has indeed changed me, or at least the way i see some things.
Thanks, JenniferTan and VernonicaChua, for the mighty experience.
the voices in my head-
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
7:34 AM
Continuum
I. Am. Still. Sick.
Fuck it.
the voices in my head-
Monday, December 02, 2002
5:48 AM
Rising Valhalla
Much as words are insufficient to describe the china trip, i would leave the blogging of such a stupefying event to a day when my mind has been rid of the raging inferno.
Dammit, i am sick! For three years, i was as fit as a fiddle, like some erect tower in a fierce blitzkrieg. i had braved OBS conditions and survived nepal houseflies, but here i am, eyes emulsified, throat ruptured and legs wilted after the trip. Tonight marks the third night fever has plagued me, pardon all lost contact.
the voices in my head-
i love my girl. a love so beautiful, symmetrical, tangible
God loves me. a love so great, unconditional, real.
my life in a nutshell. working towards loves of sorts. beautiful, symmetrical, tangible, great, unconditional and real.
a page, deliberately left blank.
Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.
It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.
I Corinthians 13:4-8
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