Psalm 32:8

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;
I will counsel you and watch over you.

Happy Ending

(Photographs from Charles)

I wrote this poem last year shortly after returning.

I felt silly reading it this morning because it seems that everyone else has long moved on but here I am, feeling that a part of me remains there. Every once in a while, I find myself lapsing into this reminiscent mood, and I ask myself to snap out of it because truly I have no idea what I miss. Everything, and quite possibly, nothing too.

My memory is contained in fragmented sounds, smells and visuals. Father Abraham tune, the air that smells of hot sun, brown clouds of sand trailing the tuktuk, laughter, fragrance of Beef noodles soup, two students standing outside a classroom peering in, shy smiles on their faces, Peter's voice, the smell of freshly laundered clothes, orange sun setting and us caving into a drowsiness before dinner.

I wonder how they are, I can’t remember their names now. Joy. This is the one name I remember after one year because it is the only English name. I guess I could always return, but I'm not sure if want that too. I'm afraid that playing it out again will not match up to how I remember it to be.


Of Knowledge

I know your country is poor.
I do not know the shade of your skin colour.
I have packed sanitary wipes.
I guess poor means dirty.
I slept on the plane,
I must recharge to bring cheer to you.
I guess poor means sad.

This is how you look like, there are so many of you.
In long skirts, long pants and long sleeves,
Are you hot?
It is blazing in you country.
Yet, you bring out your rope of rubber bands,
jump and laugh,
you have examinations tomorrow.

We taught you
past, present and future tense.
You giggled and looked curiously at us,
strange formations at our lips,
unfamiliar sounds and
alien faces.


You taught me about the present when I looked less obscure.
I have a digital camera,
we took a photograph together.
The present is now,
The future is later.
In the same clothes you wear everyday,
you carry a beautiful smile.
I have a big wardrobe at home,
I hate that my shoes are not colour coordinated.
I smile when needed, what is it like to smile
unconsciously,
the way you do.

We held hands and
laughed a lot
when words become sounds that mean nothing.
We like weaving thread around pencils,
running in pools that form after the rain,
I am surprised I am having fun
without my laptop and wireless network.

I look at the candid shot of us in laughter.
My friends and I from our developed country
are to help you and your friends in your less developed country.
I guess you are poor,
I am right.
But all my other guesses were wild and wrong.
In your little hut with no furniture,
you have everything we long for
and need.

Running in circles,
chasing the start point,
not knowing where it is,
or how to get there.
You knew all that already
because the present triumphs the future.
You understood that.

Romulus my father

The story tells of Raimond growing up with his father amidst the beautiful natural landscape of rural Australia, and how Romulus teaches Raimond the meaning of a compassionate, decent and moral life. At the same time, the family struggles with the depression of Christina, and her increasing neglect of the family. Romulus, My Father is a celebration of the unbreakable bond between father and son, and the depth of love for family, against a background of coping as new immigrants in a foreign land.

This is one of those films I wish would never end.

fear is the heart of love

"I Will Follow You Into The Dark"
by Death Cab For Cutie



Love of mine some day you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark

No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark
If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black
And I held my tongue as she told me
"Son fear is the heart of love"
So I never went back

If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

You and me have seen everything to see
From Bangkok to Calgary
And the soles of your shoes are all worn down
The time for sleep is now
It's nothing to cry about
Cause we'll hold each other soon
The blackest of rooms

If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
Then I'll follow you into the dark

Fri night/Sat morning city

I wonder whether people think about where they are going, not where to go tomorrow, or later, but where are we going, doing the things we are doing? I found this quote somewhere by Douglas Adams: “I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.”


Not only needed, but love too. Doing Sociology makes me feel this way, doesn't matter that nobody buys our "we can do many things" answer. Like what Alvin said, they think we're going to end up being Social Workers because...I have no idea why. Maybe because the prefix sounds the same?

Sometimes, the night feels comforting, like tonight. It was windy, the kind of wind that sends hair whipping faces, Josh Groban crooned on the radio, and we wined down the windows. Snapped photographs of this night Singapore landscape, ubiquitous HDB flats that remind me of Twelve Story scenes, not in a depressing way, but in a picturesque way. Cars drive faster in this early hour, people are more laid back, snuggled up on carpets and cushions over early morning conversations and the air smells of fruity shisha, a little smoky and that is good too-in this slight haziness, everyone is less uptight, doesn’t quite feel like Singapore.

school days

Orange evening light settling on white-washed walls, slowly dissolves, waits for transition before the sky paints of a darker seven o’ clock colour within minutes.

Nine o’ clock morning light falling on construction work on campus, months and years spent doing a blueprint, transformed into reality at that very moment, soil digging, cranes, huge blocks; every tilt of an angle makes a difference.

Smelling the noon time sun in its prowess, familiar LT9 whiff, soaring hearts in the brilliance of an ever-inspiring lecture, discovering, hoping that others could listen to passion speak.

Somewhere else in a Physics lecture, man stands in front and admits to be Einstein’s biggest fan, wild gestures and eyes twinkling a little, demonstrates his theories, amazed by them all over again, and again.

Musty book pages smell trails first and air condition air hit next, call number spotted, shelves of the same topic surrounds, tiny self amongst boundless books, writing a term paper, uncovering the tip of the tip of an iceberg.

Vastness, the world, and the self, both of the same magnitude of vastness.