Have I grown stupid?

I really like this verse: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight" (Proverbs 3:5-6).

Although common, this verse springs out a different way at me every time I meditate on it when I'm confused. Why am I told to trust in Him with all my heart and ignore my head? Aren't feelings like shifting sands and the mind more superior to the heart?

Out of curiosity, I read the verse preceding: "Let Love and Faithfulness never leave you... write them on the tablet of your heart" and then realised, "Wait, I can never trust God completely if I simply depended on my head". Over the last few years, the facts I came to know of, the signs I witnessed, the outcomes I experienced, can never compel me to surrender all to him. Someone dies, another marriage broken, disappointments, unanswered prayers, dashed hopes, love betrayed... how can I possibly and logically leave my future with God? My mind sees and analyses facts, but it is my heart that is attuned to perceiving God's heart and His love.

Where do you hide your love and faithfulness? In your head or in your heart?

A random sweet song...

Got a habit of repeating the same songs over these days. I was listening to 'I'm Yours' by Jason Mraz and caught this song 'Lucky' from the same album as well. The lyrics fine, but it's the tune and the duet that makes it such a sweetie.

Landing in the Wrong Land...

Have you ever had an idealized version of a life, relationship, family, spouse, job, and yet you got derailed in that vision? Though not exactly disastrous situations, you are caught between stomping your feet crying 'no no no, that's not what I've wanted!' and accepting a not-so-ideal.

I was reading Mark Conner's blog, and was moved by this poem "Welcome to Holland" written by Emily Pearl Kingsley, a parent of a special needs child.

"I am often asked to describe the experience
Of raising a child with a disability,
To help people, who have not shared that unique experience,
Understand it
And imagine how it would feel.
It's like this
When you're going to have a baby,
It's like planning a fabulous trip to Italy;
You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans-
The Coliseum, Michelangelo's David, the gondolas in Venice-
You may even learn some handy phrases in Italian.
It's all very exciting.
After all the months of eager anticipation,
The day finally arrives.
You pack your bags and off you go
Several hours later, the plane lands,
The stewardess comes in and says
'Welcome to Holland'.
'HOLLAND!?' you say. 'What do you mean, Holland?
I signed up for Italy.
I'm supposed to be in Italy.
All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy'.
But there has been a change in the flight plan.
The important thing is
That they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place
Full of pestilence, famine and disease.
It's just a different place.
So, you must go out and buy new guidebooks.
And you must learn a whole new language.
And you will meet a whole new group of people
You would never have otherwise met.
It's just a different place.
It's slower paced than Italy;
Less flashy than Italy.
But after you've been there for a while
And catch your breath,
You look around and you begin to notice
That Holland has windmills;
Holland has tulips;
Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy,
And they're all bragging about the wonderful time they had.
And for the rest of your life you will say
'Yes, that's where I was supposed to go;
That's what I had planned'.
The pain of that will never, ever go away,
Because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss.
But if you spend your life mourning the fact
That you didn't get to Italy,
You may never be free to enjoy
The very special, the very lovely things about Holland."

Snowy Weekend

We've got quite a good snow season this year. After bumping my head silly in spring snow last year, this year proved to be a less painful experience. Furthermore, Dan has arranged a good trip with great people, nice accom, and hordes and hordes of food.

I'm glad I didn't waver in my choice to drop snowboarding for skiing this year. The soft snow makes digging into the snow easier (not to mention falling on your face is quite a breeze too). The other 'smart' thing I did was to get myself enrolled in 3 hours of private lessons. As much as that meant I have to survive on instant noodles and bean sprouts for the next few weeks, it brought me up to speed and within a day, I found myself doing the J-turns and trying to link a few turns- after which you can officially call yourself a 'snowboarder' instead of a 'tumbling snow eater'. Click here if you are new to what I'm talking about.

The only downside is that Mount Hotham caters more to the Intermediate and Expert skiers, and the very very downside is that my snowboard crush of last year would still be in Falls Creek. So there wasn't a smitten kitten at the end of my lessons as Chris my South African instructor was only too keen to earn my extra bucks.

I inherited two amazing big blue blacks, but otherwise, I'm quite happy that it's a giant well-faced again. I seriously won't mind going for another trip before this season ends, but the 5 hours drive up there is a big hold back.

Well, till the next snowfall again.

When love is a decision away...

I am the baby of my department, and I hang out with the ang moh 'uncles' for lunch, people in their 40s-50s who are married with growing/grown up children.

One of our favourite lunch topic is our views of marriage. It's interesting to see how they met their spouses, how it all started with love or even physical attraction, and how all of them agree that their spouses have grown differently from when they first started. Graham the 55 year old laughs at the tiff he had with his wife the night before (and you know they'll patch up in no time), and Grant still calls his wife every lunchtime and calls her 'darling' after 20 years of marriage.

It makes me wonder in light of a few divorces that are hanging around me, if love is sustained by interests/similarities or a decision to want to make love work. My fren Nel said that one of the things she admired about her husband when they were dating is how he never saw the exit door as an option when things don't turn out well.

Over the years, I've been in good and bad human relationships to develop my personal outlook on love. As much as I can be emotional at times, I love not because I want love returned in that same capacity, or do I give as much as what someone deserves. In the last few months, I thank God for teaching me how to love beyond what I'm usually comfortable with. It's easy to love what you like, when others do things your way, share your similarities, and anything that doesn't go against your grain of things. I know I can also succumb to an easy relationship of being loved, but I will come out none the wiser about my capability and capacity of loving.

Love is a challenge. In every quarrel, disagreement, irksome differences, there lies an opportunity to extend my ability to love.

Is love about similarities, or is it more a decision of wanting to be challenged to grow your love as wide as to cover differences?

10 to 1

I promised Daisy this... the 10 most often used aussie words/phrases to use in various social contexts.

In no particular order of usage
1) He/You make me uncomfortable / As long as you are comfortable with it
2) He/you are annoying
3) He is like/ it's like / I'm so like...
4) Fair Dinkum
5) Beauty! / Gold (nothing to do with beautiful woman or striking gold)
6) Reckon (I reckon it gets used a lot to express our thoughts)
7) 'Happy' to do blah blah blah.. (I hail from a country where no one can possibly happy to do any 'work')
8) Chuck a sickie (My all time favourite and someone's going to do that on Wed)
9) Heaps (a lot, many, much)
10) Whinge (complain)

One Happy Post

There were two thoughts of the week that got me thinking... that mmm... it was all worth it.

I was spending the last 10mins of my work reading a list of prayer requests from Singapore. They all sounded stressed. There I was, preparing to go home on the dot.

Then a friend back home commented to me that sometimes life seemed to be a cycle of working hard, resting and before you know it, Monday is back again. There's just no reprieve to it.

Tomorrow is Monday again. Yet I do not feel like I dread going to work. Over the weekend, I went to watch Hamlet at the Arts Centre, went to the hairdressers, had a Spanish dinner, went to church, dropped by the art gallery, and watched 'Definitely Maybe'. Exactly a week ago I was throwing snowballs at Lake Mountain, and trying to do an Edward Scissorshands with heaps of fresh snow falling down on me.

I have been really enjoying my weekends, and I feel really in bliss to be able to enjoy all these activities. At the risk of sounding airy fairy, it's not so much that I will be unhappy in Singapore, but I'm glad I can walk to work every Monday without feeling the heaven-to-hell difference.

The winter is cold but my heart's nicely warmed.

Thanks to the necessary hero who's larger than life to me today.

It's been a long while....

Can't whip out the lengthy tabloid version, only the ticker tape version of how life has been for the last couple of months.

Beautiful things: Saw a lovely sunset at the Mornington, climbed the Pinnacles @ the Grampians, saw yet another sunset there. Took numerous walks at the Botanical Gardens and Fitzroy Gardens, catching the autumn leaves as they fall. Went to the NGV for the Modern Britain and Black in Fashion exhibitions.

I ate like a whale too. I was stuffed with food at Apte, Bistro Guillaume, 312, Green Refractory, Money Order Office, No 3 @ Station Pier, Ocha. Great food all round, tonnes of calories, horrendously loved.

Winter, though commenced 1 month back, has finally arrived. Feels so cold!

At the Grampians









(In case you are wondering why the fish is stuck to the pics from the Grampians, Blogger has altered its formatting that makes it hard for me to add multiple pics now. It's 1am and I'm too tired to figure it out)

Things that happen in the dark...

To run over or not to run over? That was the question a friend of mine asked me while we were driving in the countryside of UK where animals often cross paths with speeding cars. I know my frivolous answer will be 'depending on whether the animal is cute'.

I've never ran over any animal in all my trips, altho Larry has collided with a bird, stopped in time for a water buffalo and a wallaby in Northern Territories, and I have in other instances, tail-gated sheeps and wombats.

But what about going head-on with a cute koala bear? To be fair, I could not tell if it was 'cute', but it was sitting lazily in the middle of the windy curves of Great Ocean Road, and my night rider was driving his 100th time on the familiar same stretch (read: speeding), and in a split second, I saw it right in our path, staring at us, and while I let out a short "eeeeeeeeeeeeks!", I could hear the sound of 'wham, bam!'. Shocked, I did not dare contemplate how it could have survived the impact, but swerving was not an option along this treacherous coastal stretch in pitch black darkness. Assessing the damage, the number plate was dented, the plastic covering it was smashed and the plastic underneath the car was scraped off. I wondered if Mr Koala died without pain, hopefully the absence of blood and gore proves it.

Other than this almost macabre incident, it was a nice day in Lorne. I love being near the beach, waking up to a relaxed feeling, having an outdoor brekky at the Arab, and popping into the unit to read and rest and out again to walk along the falls, rivers and art galleries. We finished with dinner at Ba Ba Lu - a spanish restaurant with a band playing jazzy-type music while we indulged in grilled optopus, chorizo with caramelised onion jam and a mushroom and rocket entree. I love it!


Illustrations for the more visually inclined- the view from the car by day and by night:

I'm in denial again...

I'm back into the in-denial-about-my-CPA phase. I found a midnight game of Scrabble to be more interesting, (I won!) and we played our 2nd challenge on the rooftop on an Autummy Melbourne day. Unfortuntately, 'Autummy' is not a real word, and even more unfortunately, 'Launders' is... and according to the rules of Scrabble, using all that 8 tiles allowed my opponent to gain that 50 bonus points that made me contemplate either jumping off the roof, or pushing him off.

Had a meal and jaunt at The Maling Room after the game and really enjoyed the Serrano ham, an nice latte and a homemade quiche. Yummss.. smacks lips... Maling Road in Canterbury is quite an attraction in itself, with art galleries, fromagerie, boulangerie and chocolaterie in rows of Edwardian style shophouses.

Past the daylight savings hours, I'm now nursing a porterhouse steak, rocket salad, earl grey tea, soy bean milk and a 'bao' (bun). Oh, did I even say I didn't have to cook any of that! I lurrve it!


The 1st Scrabble Challenge

Armchair Holiday

I spent the last hour ignoring my CPA notes and was instead, taking an armchair holiday. At last count, I was at Fairhaven watching the 4 metres waves crashing up the shoreline. I wanted to take a little trip somewhere before I start on my new job, but everything happened so fast that I'm only left with this weekend.

It's been a month since my last trip to the beach, although it feels way too long. Come think of it, it'll be nice to be sitting in the quiet night right now with the sound of the waves and the crescent moon shining above, tracing silvery paths of the little twinkling stars in the utter darkness of the night isn't it?

The last time I did that, I was lying on the beach till 3am, counting 22 shooting stars that flew by.

I have to be dreaming...

Losing to Gain

"The best boundary against giving in to bad relationships, less-than-satisfactory relationships, or bad dynamics in a good relationship is your not needing that relationship." (Boundaries before Marriage- Cloud and Townsend)

I don't mean divorce, break ups or the actions to take against a bad relationship. As I thought about what to write to a friend over the weekend, I know she was not seeking my advice as to 'what she should do', but rather, how to 'think' when you feel that you are in a relationship gone wrong. I flipped through "Boundaries before Marriage' for the 3rd time, and my eyes remained on this line. I partially liked it because I do like ironies- one of my crazy quirks, but most of all, I thought that is a good line to reflect upon even in my own relationships.

Over last year, I only found courage to confront a friend after I decided not to 'need that friendship'. It was a very good friend I'm talking about, but I was beginning to feel that there was an imbalance in how we give and receive in that friendship. 3 months of silence and 3000 kms later, we had a very frank talk about how we felt in the relationship, something we never done over the 18 years of friendship. I knew I stand losing a valuable friendship if she had walked away during that silence, and I could have allowed myself to harbour feelings of being compromised and keep the friendship for the sake of it. It is an irony that it was only through not needing the friendship that I found myself reclaiming a better friendship in the process.

Not needing the relationship doesn't mean that you no longer care about the relationship, or that you should take the first boat/bus/tram out, but it simply means you are no longer holding yourself hostage to the relationship by needing that relationship so badly that you forget the reason why you were in that relationship in the first place. At the thought of losing, you are happy to settle for form over substance, not realising how it would return to gnaw at you later.

Reflecting on that line as I finish writing that letter, I found out that the difference between playing first and second fiddle is possessing courage and faith- courage to lose, but faith to claim the better.

Made a shortbread...

I just made a shortbread for Easter. Anyone wants a slice?

How to add a dash of fun...

It's the place that makes an outing fun, but it's the people who makes fun possible.

That was the conclusion I made after last Saturday's trip to Monsalvat. It was a lazy afternoon, 2 people just got off work, 1 was fully charred and I was as usual, a happy tripster. It was suppose to be a larger group outing, but I'm glad Dan kept it going.

In the end, it was quite a funny trip. I like the old French architecture, the rustic little artist workshops, the art galleries, right down to the rusted metal wheel sitting next to a whitewashed cobwebbed wall. The fun part came when everyone took turns snapping silly pictures of ourselves, just to compensate for the heat that attempted to dull our enthusiasm.

I'll let the pics speak for me... It's been a long week and I have procrastinated this entry till now!

Waiting Part 2..

If waiting is the time between prayer and revelation, is there an attitude to waiting?

I was drained out during the whole of yesterday. For the first time, I was being called to seek God's presence many times, yet never knew why I was drawn to my knees each time. Later that day, I got to know that a friend's mum was on the verge of death, and I was desperate and wanted someone to pray with me. I thought about who's around but ended up emailing the necessary hero to pray. Nearer the end of the day, I still felt that drawing feeling. Prayed with Tracy via long distance phone call before I could get to sleep.

24 hours later, my friend's mum had managed to pull through the night. I also received a call from a recruiter who informed me that he's going to pass my resume to some companies (this was after a very disappointing meeting with his colleague who did not look remotely interested). I continued to ask God what yesterday was about- I was drawn to reflect my own attitude of waiting recently. I have gotten anxious with the actors in a play when the producer/director is the one determining the pace of it, and the bigger revelation being that if I want to be fearful while waiting, I am handing myself a death sentence of a different kind, prayer or no prayer.

In retrospect, the reason why I found 'Waiting' (the book) beautiful was also because Shuyi the ex-wife waited with faith, for there was no mention of her fears or the troublesome psychology of 'what-ifs' despite going through 18 years of impending divorce. I believe that was what Lin saw when he chose this 'peace of mind' over love.

Waiting becomes a peaceful anticipation when you wait in faith, but turns into a hungry beast that devours you when you wait in fear.

Waiting...

"Yet one thing he was certain about now: between love and peace of mind he would choose the latter." - Waiting, Ha Jin

A man waited for 18 years to divorce his wife only to finally find out this truth about his true love. He thought that time tested love would reveal its own spectacular glory once realised, only to conclude that "he had never loved a woman wholeheartedly and that he had always been the loved one". In his drunken stupor, he asked his ex-wife if she would wait for his return after his current wife dies. The ex-wife subserviently agrees.

I enjoyed this deceptively simple book, the breadcrumbs remnants on it would probably hint that I didn't put it down for 2 days. The setting was beautifully described, transporting you to the old China during the Chinese Revolution, but despite that, the love between Lin, his longsuffering wife Shuyi and his forbidden love Manna Wu were juxtaposed intricately within.

The book did got me thinking a little about the story. It's a refreshing change from the Hollywood plot, and somewhat challenges the political-correctness of typical notions of love. Is it ironic that in the quest for pure love, the weariness of the journey end up killing this very same love? Is love worth revisiting after going through the ravages of time? Does the notion of forbidden love accentuates our wants so much that it causes us to overlook if it was love in the first place?

A little hard-hitting here for a midnight blog. It was meant to recommend the book for those who might want a simple but thought-provoking book. Not suitable for starry-eyed lovers, but for those who would like a dose of down-to-earth beauty in their romance fodder, this book is a must-read.

I'm now reading "In the Pond" by the same author; my hunch is that it will be less heart-wrenching than Waiting.

Ode to Summer

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I miss the beach...

If Harry didn't meet Sally...

"...I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." (Harry declaring his love to Sally in "When Harry Met Sally")

"Awwww......" It sounded rather romantic, my heart nearly melted as Harry finally declared his love for Sally after countless arguments of how a man and a woman can never be friends. Past the 100mins of forbidden love among this pair of awesome friends, and the audience (me included) could only root for both to come to their senses and give us a good run for our money.

Is forbidden love sweeter? Let's dissect the equation: time ticks, couple has obvious affections for each other, pride or some strange g-forces in the form of heart-wrenching opposition stops them. Forward it to some time later, in one innocuous Wednesday night, they meet again and realised that 1 more minute is going to a big waste if they don't hold each other in their arms now. The audience coos and the curtain falls.

What if on that innocuous Wednesday night, Sally gives Harry the lowdown- that she's already married/seeing someone else, relocated, drifted apart, turned gay, taken the vow of celibacy? Should forbidden love come with a warning that it's not for the faint-hearted, because as much as the tear-jerking bittersweet feelings it brings, the bitter will outshine the sweet when all is lost.

The Amazing (Waterhole) Race

When my cool 22 year old cousin asked me what the pubbing/clubbing scene was like in Melbourne, I sheepishly smiled and could only spewed out 4 alphabets 'eh, ok'.

Pride aside, I've never got myself to check out any of the bars or clubs in my years here. Other than a few visits to some random bars led by friends, I was more accustomed to scratch the base off my leftover cheesy pasta bake and sipping vintage (7-day old leftovers) wine on a Friday night than to put on my Friday best and attempt to beat the cacophany.

But a woman's got to do what a woman's got to do. Before she can no longer fit into her slinky party dress and 3 inch stilettos, she'd better bring herself out there to 'check out' the scene.

After lining our stomachs with a lovely Jap meal at Kuni, the first stop was The Croft Insitute. Hidden in an long-winded alley filled with water-puddled cobberstoned floors, endless walls of graffiti and dumpsters, the 3-storied hospital-themed pub leaves you with a different 'sensory' experience. Beyond the dingy lane, a lady sitting on a desk with a study table lamp collects the cover, and you are then greeted by a shelf of laboratory equipment. We ventured upstairs to explore the quirky toilet, aptly named as Department of Female Hygiene- with operating theatre lights and gurney thrown in. An old wheelchair is suspended mid air at the waiting area for patients. After a Cosmo and Manhattan, and a few jives at the Raggae music, we had work to do- our quest to find where the nice pubs/clubs are.

Past the opening act, we also did our rounds in The Deanery, whose classiness contrasted with the quirky Croft, and Robot next door- a smallish but noisier area to mingle on a summer's night with friends.

With so many bars/clubs to choose from, we decided to be more strategic and went west-wards the city. There were a few hit and misses, with Bond looking rather promising on the cards, but was a tad too quiet for its James Bond velvety glam and cavernous space. We were after all, the pesudo-happening party creatures of the night, albeit for the most time, we acted like bar reviewers working undercover for The Age's Epicure.

Moving on towards the North West side of the city, we headed towards Golden Monkey- depicted as the old Shanghai with lots of rich reds and blacks. Awarded the "New Bar of the Year" in 2006 and "Bar of the Year" in 2007, this basement establishment cocoons little boxy spaces for lounging customers to sip that sexy Single Blossom or Green Tea Cognac. The added bonus was that they serve pretty decent "Asian Tapas" to placate our slightly growling stomachs.

It was midnight, but that didn't stop us from adding Gin Palace to our list. My sane partymate exclaimed 'brothel!' when we stepped past. Went for a walkround of the premise, and it was quite a cozy size, rather stable with no particular theme to its decor. Gin was suppose to be their boisson-du-jour there, but I was determine to keep my sobriety. On the way back, we popped into Croft Institute again, stripped our 'reviewing' persona, and took some candid incriminating candid shots of the not-so-glam us in Croft Alley, ending our 5 hours impromptu jaunt in bid of arming ourselves with some useful conversation tidbits of the Melbourne clubbing scene...

BRING IT ON!!


The Croft Institute






















Department of Female Hygiene
















Golden Monkey















Scavanging for food at Croft Alley...

Feeling Beachy

28 degrees with no sign of blue skies,
lazy afternoon without a plan,
2 assorted nuts released from a sealed can.

Somedays, I find Melbourne so amazing. You can be listening to a sermon on church vision in the morning, and lying in the sun-soaked sand dunes listening to sounds that conjures another kind of vision in the afternoon. Close your eyes and listen to the sound of the waves work like little machines making strong 'whrrrillll whrrrilll' rhythms, and I momentarily drift into a sort of blissfully dreamy state.

I blotted out the occassional people and excited dogs that came into the picture, and the sea kept beckoning me. Unable to lie still any further, we ran towards it, as if to embrace the big waves like they were two welcoming arms. I jumped a few waves (almost deliriously by now), but the waves got even more enthusiastic, producing a rip that attempted to coax me further out to sea. In between being caught up by the tug of war between the waves and the rip, I was trying to catch sight of the necessary hero to ensure that I wasn't going to be condemned to be the eternal mermaid of Anglesea.

'Welcome back' rang through my mind as I tucked into a hungry meal at A La Grecque- a Greek-Mediterranean restaurant that have both good food and service. The quail I had and the chargrilled rib eye I tasted was really flavourful, unlike the 'sourness' I've grown to associate with Greek food. Yummilicious! Something to end the day with, since we were not able to catch a sunset.

Mmmm... I came home tired, but felt so recharged to start my week with a purpose again!

Postscript: In retrospect, the rip was actually quite scary because at one point, I felt the drag below me was much stronger than the waves that push me to the shore, and I couldn’t feel the ground below me.

The beautiful stretch of beach at Anglesea