Libraries

http://brightside.me/article/24-libraries-of-the-world-so-magnificent-theyll-take-your-breath-away-24105/

For future trips, I should squeeze libraries into the itinerary. Prague's, Vienna's, trinity college's are gorgeous...

Sibu, Sarawak 11-15 Dec 2015

I am not sure why I did not feel the least bit apprehensive about not knowing anyone on this trip. Neither did I ask anyone else if they were interested in coming along, which is something I usually do knowing how socially inept I am. I just signed up without telling anyone. I quite enjoyed the trip honestly even though most of the trippers were almost twice my age. I guess this was also one of the reasons why the schedule was quite lax with each day ending about 3pm. We visited two long houses and one ibanese church. I really liked the communal feel of the long houses although I am not sure if the ibanese do gather at the common area frequently or if they only do that on special occasions. The long houses are like Hdb flats built longitudinally, with modern sanitation like running taps, flushing indoor toilets, etc. I liked the longhouse (which held 51 units) we visited on the last day, which had a porch facing a large paddy field. It was enjoyable just sitting on the porch and having lunch, a simple fare using raw ingredients gathered from their surroundings, eg wild ferns, core from the trunk of a banana tree, bawang Assan, etc. We played games with the children, did a nativity play, taught some of the adults balloon sculpting, etc. What struck me most from the trip was the Christmas procession. I just felt so amazed that Christianity is celebrated so openly in a mainly Muslim country and also by the large throngs of Christians participating in the procession. It was a truly beautiful sight to behold.

Everything went smoothly for the entire trip except for the first and last day. On the first day my luggage lock died on me and I was so flustered, worried that u wouldn't be able to access my luggage during any security checks. But thankfully, the airport staff solved the problem easily. On the last day we almost missed our flight back to SG as the transit time was way too short for an international flight. We had only 40 min to collect the luggage, check it in, clear customs and get to the boarding gate. It should have been clear to me that this was a mission impossible yet I didn't think of it, and just rushed off wanting to get the luggage checked in. If we had not done that, then the two trippers wouldn't have been left behind. 

On the whole, I felt that I did not do anything really significant for this trip. I guess the purpose of this trip was to just lend a bit of encouragement to the ibanese Christians there and to establish some bonds, and not exactly to make any impactful changes. 

I thought what would be more useful to them would be medical care such as dental checks/ treatment and physiotherapy techniques for pain relief in the knees. But that would be another mission for another day. 

Dreams

Ah, the dog is living my dream. A cabin by the lake with a rowboat. Sometimes I wonder who plants our dreams. Why do I think a cabin in an isolated place is the perfect place to be? Would one truly feel at peace when we acquire all our dreams? 

The faithless one

A song was sang in church last Sunday and it went something like this,"I have faith in you". I almost teared at this because it just hit me how little faith I have and how much disbelief is still residing in my heart. I sometimes find myself not believing that God answers prayers. The head knows that He answers prayers in His own time and way and that what we ask for may not be the best options for us, and He will sometimes present us with things other than what we asked for. The head knows all these, yet the heart is always obstinate, not listening nor understanding, nor believing. How does one grow faith and not just knowledge? 

I know how the story goes 

We move on with our lives

And as the years go by

You may remember me someday.

The past may be broken 

But sometimes you may glimpse it once more,

If you take a careful look. 

We each form chapters of a book 

Woven together for a while 

then, a chapter closes

And we lose sight of each other.

As we lay down our pens 

You wrote that last phrase in the closing chapter

And I whispered to myself,

" we have come to the end of the line."

And it is done. 

You wish you have all the answers 

But there are secrets that you will never know.

What lies in your heart 

Are sometimes hidden from your eyes. 

We are sometimes blind, you see.

The truth is a blinding light 

And the untruth, well it is served on a silver platter,

And you devour it without a sliver of hesitation. 

Lang Leav

https://underthenightstarrysky.wordpress.com/tag/lang-leav/

Quite like some of lang leav poems although they aren't big on words...

Some people like to collect stamps, coins, and such, whilst some like to collect words and verses.... 

Sometimes you find yourself crying 

But then you do not know the reason why.

You think you have all the answers 

But then you realize you do not know the questions after all. 

Why does one's heart ache 

When you know it is already long dead?

Why does one hope

When you already know you have come to the end of road?

It's a show

It's a front

It's easy if you know

How to hide behind the jokes.

It's easy if you know

How to hide behind the laughter.

The truth, it hides, it sits,

Sometimes unsettlingly in the heart.

I can laugh with you,

But I would rather weep on my own.

The reason why,

Is what one will never understand,

One would always rather believe a lie,

And pretend everything is fine.

Because it is easier that way,

Because sugar-coated lies

Are all we need for a happy life.

Personality test

http://brightside.me/article/this-test-will-show-you-how-your-interpretation-of-the-world-influences-your-character-17755/

I've always been skeptical of personality tests after learning of the Barnum effect. But I think this is rather accurate, mainly the curiosity part. Something has been bugging me for a long time? Quite true but I wonder which part of the test shows that... 

Food memories

Recently saw someone posted something on Barcelona. The first thing that came to my mind was not the la sagrada familia but El Xampanyet. El Xampanyet is a small little tapas bar near Picasso museum in Barcelona with just a few tables and seats. It gets crowded fast and most of the time, customers have to stand and share the small bar tables scattered around the tiny floor space. But the ambience, the homemade cava, and the tapas are the bomb. I love the pepper bombs to death, the fried potatoes with chorizo, almost everything except the canned food. The popularity of canned food (which can be really costly) in the tapas bars in Spain puzzle me. I tried some mussels and sardines and did not find them remotely palatable. Anyhow it is funny how food plays such an important role during our travels and how it sometimes surpasses the memories/ ecstatics of seeing architectural marvels, sculptures, etc. Perhaps it is because food engages almost all our senses- smell, sight, taste, and I would think touch too, when we feel the texture of a food with our tongue. All these plus the bliss we feel when we taste something good, make food a vital part of our travel experience. 

I think my most loved places for food for now are Thailand and Spain. 

Food that I find myself reminiscing and longing for are the supions (grilled baby octopus) in southern france, the buffalo cheese with basil and tomatoes in Cicheti in the Arab street area in Singapore (they are so creamy and smooth), beef and duck kwayteow from the street stalls in Bangkok, sai grog(grilled fermented pork sausage) outside the Big C opp centralworld in Bangkok, som tam (papaya salad) from perpetually any street stalls in Thailand, grilled squid with olive oil at one of the smaller markets in Barcelona (not la boqueria but I have forgotten the name of the market), fried jalapeños at one of the tapas bar at carrer commercial district in Barcelona, oyster mee suan from Ah zhong in ximengding in Taipei, spicy hotpot at dingwang franchise in Taiwan, beef tongue at the now defunct Japanese restaurant in takashimaya, parkway mini steamboat, specifically the vegetarian fish slice, thinly sliced pork and the chilli dip( I've patronized the place for 25 years but sad to say standard has dropped over the years), bachormee from 85 market in bedok, Mookata at tomyum kungfu at boat quay, chirashi don at one of the small shops (they have only 3 tables!) at tsukiji market in Tokyo (ultimate freshness!). It's funny how france is like the food capital of the world but I don't find the food particularly memorable except for that one supion, which is more Mediterranean than traditional french. The food in Italy was good and cheap too yet vaguely memorable as well. I did like the bistecca florentina though and the gelato but it just doesn't create that kind of longing that I have for the other food listed in this post. Sadly there's no food memorable from the US except for Hawaii (the ahi poke in a popular rest in Haleiwa(I think) was so good- pan seared tuna with a burnt crust of sesame seeds and ?nuts with the tuna still tenderly raw with sesame dressing) and the mahi mahi, and salad with papaya seed dressing. Good food memories.... 

Winds of change

Tomorrow the winds will change 

And we will be blown

To whereabouts we know not of.

Like the dandelions that gather in the wind,

We dance loosely 

And tomorrow we belong to a different land.

Whether we are apart or forever bound together

Only the wind knows the answer

And it is a secret that it will never tell.

You can believe, you may hope,

Sometimes there is magic left in this world

And sometimes all there is, are crushed dreams.

Winter books

I read a post about books to read for winter and the first book that came to my mind was Sherlock Holmes. I read the entire series during my last winter in Arizona and it just felt so right for the weather. With a cup of coffee/tea, thick socks, cosy blanket, and that book, life was good. 

I miss winter. 

"Conscience is the labyrinth of illusion, desire, and pursuit, the furnace of dreams, the repository of thoughts of which we are ashamed; it is the pandemonium of sophistry, the battlefield of passions. To peer at certain moments into the withdrawn face of a human being in the act of reflection, to see something of what lies beyond their outward silence, is to discern struggle on a Homeric scale, conflicts of dragons and hydras, aerial hosts as in Milton, towering vistas as in Dante."

The Thernardiers are so beastly. Although it is just a story, it invokes a sense of fury and indignance over their actions toward Fantine and Cosette. Hugo is indeed a great storyteller. 

Marcus Aurelius

https://www.brainpickings.org/2015/11/18/marcus-aurelius-meditations-mortality/

Alexander the Great and his mule driver both died and the same thing happened to both. They were absorbed alike into the life force of the world, or dissolved alike into atoms.

We have to go there too, where all of them have already gone: 

… the eloquent and the wise — Heraclitus, Pythagoras, Socrates …
… the heroes of old, the soldiers and kings who followed them …
… the smart, the generous, the hardworking, the cunning, the selfish …
… and even [those] who laughed at the whole brief, fragile business. 

All underground for a long time now. 

And what harm does it do them? Or the others either — the ones whose names we don’t even know?

The only thing that isn’t worthless: to live this life out truthfully and rightly. And be patient with those who don’t.

Kingdoms raised 

Kingdoms crumbled.

Kings reigned

Kings befallen.

Things mortal, they never last. 

Power you held dearly in your bloody hands

Gold and silver and riches

You paid for with your life

What good are they

When the sun is overcome by darkness

And all things under the heavens 

Turn to dust?

"The brutalities of progress are called revolutions. When they are over we realize this: that the human race has been roughly handled, but that it has advanced." 

On grief

Quite a good analogy

Anna Quindlen

"In books I have traveled, not only to other worlds, but into my own. I learned who I was and who I wanted to be, what I might aspire to, and what I might dare to dream about my world and myself. More powerfully and persuasively than from the "shalt nots" of the Ten Commandments, I learned the difference between good and evil, right and wrong. A Wrinkle in Time described that evil, that wrong, existing in a different dimension from our own. But I felt that I, too, existed much of the time in a different dimension from everyone else I knew. There was waking, and there was sleeping. And then there were books, a kind of parallel universe in which anything might happen and frequently did, a universe in which I might be a newcomer but was never really a stranger. My real, true world. My perfect island."

I feel the same way sometimes- that reading brings you into a parallel universe and let you live through a many different lives, experiences, emotions, etc. A Book sometimes intrigues you, creeps you out, makes you cry, makes you smile, inspires you, piques your curiosity...it's no wonder that we sometimes seek solace in books.  I love that sense of serenity on a quiet afternoon, sitting with a book, and a cup of hot tea, and it is double the bliss when it is gloomy, rainy day. I don't know why but I always feel that rainy days complement books perfectly. 

This is where I leave you,

This is when I leave you.

You left me with nowhere to go,

And the only road,

Is the one where you will not be.

Your mind was made,

Yet I had waited

Like a fool chasing after rainbows

Under the grey winter skies.

Now I understand,

Your beginning was my end,

The unseen path

I blindly tread

To another world where you will not be. 

How do you measure time?

Sometimes hours become days

And days become hours.

I count each second 

Tick tock time runs away.

Proust and the squid - Maryanne wolf

I was attracted to the title of the book when I bought it. Proust is on my reading list and I was curious what a famous french author and squid had to do with one another. Alas, I'm not sure if I wanna finish this book although the subject matter is interesting. It talks about the invention of language and how the brain was re-wired to acquire reading skills. It's not a book that one can speed read through and I wonder if it's worth spending time on. 

Socrates decried the use of written language and deemed oral culture to be superior to than of a written one. It is also posited in the book that the Greek efficient alphabet system allows its learners to gain linguistic capability at an earlier age and also allows them to create novel thoughts. The reasoning behind this is that a simplified alphabet system taxes the brain less (wolf suggested that oral languages such as that of the Sumeritans/Egyptians require memory and other meta-cognitive strategies for literacy), this explains the outburst of philosophical, theatrical and scientific undertakings during the Classical Greek period. 

21 oct - 25 oct

Astray-Emma donoghue

I really love the short stories in this book, where fiction and non-fiction mesh so beautifully together. 

But it wasn't love at first sight as I was quite bored at the first story- Man and Boy, which talks about the love between an elephant, Jumbo and his keeper at the London zoo. Jumbo was bought by the infamous PT Barnum but refused to enter his crate to cross the ocean to America. Wasn't too exciting to me as the story was mainly an imaginary covnversation between the keeper and the elephant. 

The book travelled through various periods and in various cities in north America, such as wickenburg in Arizona, Chicago, Yukon, etc. 

I liked the story of a couple (Jane and Henry) who was separated from each other, as the husband had gone first to Quebec to seek work. They conversed through letters and one sensed the bitter sweetness of a long distance relationship and also the tension. One particular passage which I thought was rather amusing was when Jane felt that she needed Henry more than he needed her. Henry similarly felt the same and that Jane was probably enjoying her new found independence, away from him. Both did not realize just how miserable the other was and both felt a sense of resentment towards each other when they thought such thoughts. 

When Jane finally managed to reach Canada soil after an arduous journey at sea, her husband contracted cholera right before he was to meet her at the dock. When he was hospitalized, all he could think about was what her reactions would be when she didn't see him. How she and the two children were going to survive on foreign land with no skills.

 She didn't know the reason for her husband's no show and only learnt of his death 3 months later. She married someone else within a year of his death. And I think it is mostly out of a need to survive rather than love. Rather sad story. 

The story "snowblind" was also pretty good. It talks about the Yukon goldfields and the miners. It is pretty much a game of roulette for these miners as one has to pick a random spot and start panning for gold. When one is out of luck, all the hard work and money would be for naught. The story tells of two men mining together through the winter, when they suffered from scurvy, the cold, etc. Alas, when spring came they realized all their efforts had been wasted and that they couldn't repay the loan to the storeowner who had given them the equipment on credit. One of the partners eventually gave up on gold mining and took on a job at the store. 

What Remains was also rather sad. It talks about two female famous sculptors who had lived together almost all their lives and who self-admitted themselves into a nursing home after they fell ill in their eighties. Frances the fiesty one suffered from dementia and couldn't remember Florence; this broke Florence's heart. The story talked about their youth and also of Frances' best work -a sculpted lion at the entrance of Queen Elizabeth way in Toronto. One day at the nursing home, Florence noticed Frances sculpting an imaginary lion and decided to bring her to see her original masterpiece. They finally managed to get permission to leave the home and also found someone who was willing to bring them. Upon reaching queen e way, Florence excitedly called out to Frances to look at the majestic stone lion. But Frances remained quiet and only stared at her lap. It was only then that Florence realized that Frances had gone blind and she had not even noticed that. Devastating. 

The afternote said that Florence later developed dementia too and the two close friends died within 3 weeks of each other in 1968. 

Beautiful but sad story. 

16 oct - 20 oct

A second is worth a dime 

You are wasting my precious time

All your fancy lies 

over my muffled cries.

It was a lonesome road 

The one you led me on. 

Your fortified heart lies beyond the moat

A place that I can never go.

April rushes in the fools

I turned around and the joke was on me.

The summer days were long and cruel,

And with you I am all that I cannot be.

Ocean at the end of the lane-Neil Gailman

10 oct- 11 oct 

I thought I quite liked the story but it got a bit creepy in the middle. I also thought I was losing my memory when I couldn't recall the protagonist's name. Alas, I realized it wasn't mentioned throughout the entire book. 

Things started becoming weird for the protagonist, a 7-year old boy, when his family car was stolen and their tenant was found dead (carbon monoxide poisoning) in the car. The protagonist wandered into the Hempstock's farm one day when he found a coin lodged inside his throat and met with the three women (one had been 11 years old for a very long time) who lived there. It was there that they told him something wicked had been stirring trouble in the town by giving people what they wanted (which in this case it seemed was money, the root of all evil). Lettie Hempstock the 11 year old girl then brought the protagonist with her to set a boundary for the evil one, so as to protect the town. They failed to keep evil away as it had lodged itself inside the foot of the protagonist. A beautiful housekeeper appeared at his home one day and started to wreck havoc by seducing his father and sister. It was the evil one in disguise and she was out to get the boy as he was her link to home.

To cut the story short, all were resolved except that Lettie fell into a deep sleep after saving the boy from the varmints who wanted the boy's heart. The boy came back to visit the Hempstocks over the years but he never could remember what happened due to Lettie's grandma's snipping and stitching of his memories. He was made to come back to the farm just so Lettie could know he was worth her sacrifice. However, whenever he left the farm, he would only recall that Lettie had left the farm for Australia.

I liked the protagonist's character, an avid book-reader who found solace in stories rather than reality and who also found courage through his friendship with Lettie. 

Maybe someday you will understand 

All the words that I can't say

Sometimes I wish that you could read my mind

Coz with you I'll have nothing to hide.

If you could see my heart 

You will know for sure

That this love is true

As true as the night that will surely turn to day.

Perhaps tomorrow your heart will change 

And you will find another to love

And I know I will wander then

Back to the dusty roads I have always known.

The winding country roads,

Are long and lonely 

But I have the memories of you 

And the tunes from this old harp

And I know I will be lonely no more.

The cicadas chirp

Breaking the silence 

A cabin by the river 

A small light litted

An old man by the window 

Looking forlorn

He stares at a faded picture

Holds it close to his heart 

And he weeps.

Sorrows, they fill every space in his heart.

Sorrows, they fill the empty rooms.

Sorrows. 

Sometimes he wanders through the woods

Loses his way

And then he remembers her

She will lead him home

As always, as before, 

His never failing guiding light.

The dusk settles slowly into night 

The faded photograph catches the dimming light,

He remembers every moment,

Every smile, every tear, every word.

The days seem longer 

The nights ever more so.

He imagines her in the room

Dancing softly across the moonlit floor,

He follows her in her footsteps

One two one two three

The rhythm of their feet

One two one two

The rhythm of their hearts. 

Shadows on the wall

Once there were two

But now there is only one.

She asked him for a song 

When the nights seemed long 

And he would play her a song or two

The familiar old tunes,

They could hum together. 

Chicken soup for the soul-count your blessings

5 oct 2015 - 9 oct 2015

I used to love reading chicken soup when I was younger. Then I kinda grew out of it. Book was given to me by cousin and I think it is a good reminder to take stock and count our blessings. Honestly, there are so many things we are to be grateful for. Clean water, public transport, air conditioning, shelter over our heads, peace, harmony. 

Almost all our basic needs are taken care of and we are natural disasters free, free as well from political unrest, etc. All these allow us to pursue other things in life, the topmost things on Maslow's hierarchy. Yet it is funny that despite all the comforts that we have, a lot of us face depression, a sense of emptiness and loneliness. From the book, I get a sense that we need to give thanks constantly to God even in our darkest hours, believing always that he will never test us beyond our limits. This is how we derive a sense of peace. 

Epictetus

http://mobile.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/e/epictetus.html

Lolita- Vladimir Nabokov

Wanted to read this book after reading "Reading Lolita in Tehran". I really like the prose of Nabokov, the words he used, the manner in which he drew the readers into the mind of the perverse pedophiliac Humbert. 

Humbert fell in love with Dolores Haze (Lolita) the 12 year old child of a widow at first sight. After meeting Lolita, he schemed to "possess" her and it didn't help that young Lolita was similarly attracted to Humbert. When Lolita was away at summer camp, he received a note from Mrs Haze that she was in love with Humbert. Humbert decided then that the best way he could remain with Lolita was to marry her mother and so that was what he did. Much to Humbert's delectation, mrs haze met with an accident right after discovering his dark secret. And this was how he and Lolita began their aberrant and doomed relationship. For two years, they traveled on the dusty roads of America and with Lolita growing older and bored. She finally decided to run away with a man from her old hometown. This man was eventually killed by Humbert for stealing his one true love away. This was how and why the story was written. Humbert wrote to an imaginary jury to justify the murder. 

When Humbert finally tracked Lolita after several years, he said:"It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever ever sight." Lolita then was no longer the nymphet he knew. She was 17, married to an ordinary man, and pregnant. But Humbert still loved her and it was then that Lolita told her the about the man she had ran away with, unknowingly sentencing the man to his death.

I think this is one of the classic books that one must read and it amazes me how people would risk their lives just to read and discuss this book in Iran. 

27sep- 4 oct 2015

The ragged trousered philanthropists - Robert tressell

Thought this was a rather interesting book, even the life of the author and how the book came about was interesting. This was the author's first and last book and he never lived to see it published. Robert tressell was the author's pen-name and he had worked as a sign writer before deciding to write a book on the social issues he had seen. The book was then published three years after his death and was heavily edited. The editor had cut his book from 250k words to 150k. The current edition that I read was however, the full version. Lengthy it was but a well-worth read.

The book was about the lives of the "working men" in England in the1900s. The author termed them as philanthropists as he thought the way they slogged so hard and not reaped any rewards was akin to being philanthropist. The working men were a group of builders and painters who worked to the bones day and night and yet still lived in poverty. The loafers as the author called them were the ones who didn't have to labor but sat in their offices, giving orders, and lived in luxury. The main lead was Owen, an intelligent man who believed that the reasons for poverty were money, capitalism, private ownership, etc. He advocated fiercely for socialism and eloquently tried to convince his counterparts that they could change the present system, that they could find a way to get themselves out of their current dire state if only they would try. However, Owen soon realized that his efforts were futile. His co-workers did not believe that it is possible that their situation could change. They believed faithfully in being controlled and worked to death by the money men, whom they believed were superior to them and so should lord over them. 

I agree fully that sometimes people do not believe they could rise through the ranks as all their lives they have been told they are not good enough. Power, wealth etc are meant for the individuals who they deemed to be their betters and so they resign to their fate and accept the cards they are dealt with.

It was a very grim and desperate situation painted by the author, with the working men living from hand to mouth and their wives and children suffering along with them. Yet the working men's belief was that if the current life was good enough for them, it would be good enough for their kids. A vicious cycle ensued. Their children would become laborers like them, half starved and overworked, just because they didn't believe that the situation could be better for the likes of them.

Owen and his counterparts spent most of their money and time on brochures on socialism and holding talks to educate  the working class of the viability of socialism but the working class believed firmly in having the capitalists ruled over them. These individuals turned aggressive against all those who promoted socialism and continued to vote for the capitalists. They could not see the dire state they were in and believed this is the way things should be, because this is the only way they have known their entire lives.

It is rather sad that people are often the ones who set their own traps and put themselves to death. 

Almost to the end of the story, Philpot died on the job as the ropes to secure a ladder were unravelling and he did not dare to bring the matter up nor did he dare to reject the work, as he was afraid of being fired. The ropes tore and he fell to his death. The entire book was so grim and gray and reminded me of the gloomy weather in London. The teeny weeny bit of joy was at the end of the book, when hunter, the mean-spirited foreman committed suicide in a moment of madness of trying to draft a bidding proposal for a job that would please his employer, Rushton. Also when Owen in a fit of anger confronted Rushton about not letting one of the young apprentice lit the fire in freezing weather, Rushton got a shock and started treating Owen a little more humanely. 

Throughout the book the author talked about the Christian hypocrites. I have to admit that oftentimes Christians are deemed as hypocrites as we do not preach what we say. Not that I'm trying to find excuses for Christians, but we have to keep in mind that most of us are work-in-progress individuals. But of course there are also those who truly are vile and who use god's words to bully/for ulterior motives. 

It took me a rather long time to finish the book and I'm glad I can now move on to something else.

He comes knocking on the door

A man of forty-five,

His face a story of time gone by.

He speaks her name 

But she doesn't live here anymore.

She doesn't live here anymore 

In the old house with the creaky swing

On the porch.

The roof where they once laid,

Counting the stars,

Is now covered with moss,

The evidence of their youth 

Forever lost.

She doesn't live here anymore.

He had loved her and she him,

But time, you know, has a funny way with things,

It steals hearts away,

And lovers become strangers.

The windows rattle as the wind blows,

The leaves of the weeping willow

Fall gently to the ground.

The overgrown weeds graze his feet,

The day is dimming,

In the gentle glow of the setting sun,

He sees his and her names 

Carved in the ragged trunk of 

The big willow tree.

Forever thine,

Forever mine,

There she will be,

Etched deeply in his mind. 

Forever mine,

Forever thine,

She doesn't live here anymore.

A little headstone

Hidden by the tall brown grass,

There she lies now,

Forever thine.

The girl doesn't live here anymore,

She who had wanted to see the world with him,

She who had wanted to see the capes,

the ruins of Athen, the pyramids of Egypt,

She who had wanted to dance with him,

Till the stars faded into the night.

She who had wanted to live a life of adventures with him,

She who had loved him,

But he who had loved the safe harbors.

That girl now lies

Beneath his feet. 

The man of 45,

He weeps

Garden of Eden

The hollowness I darenot speak of,

The echoes of the silence,

They resonate of the bleakness

Before my eyes.

Hidden are the secrets

Of the garden of Eden

A place verdant,

And filled with life.

It is a hope beyond my reach,

A place where damned souls

Are not to be.

Inferno, paradiso,

The divine's comedy,

Sometimes the flames threatened to engulf.

but sometimes in my wildest dream,

I glimpsed Eden.

Sometimes I landed in the in-between,

the place half-hell, half-paradise,

The place where good and evil often meet,

The place where savages rage wars,

The place where sometimes you may glimpse a sliver of goodness,

Of love that is pure,

Of light that is pure.

There is always somewhere to go,

There is always something to do.

There is no time for hellos,

Sometimes we forget to say our goodbyes.

You know time is strange,

It slips through your fingers like fine sand.

You know time is strange,

One day you awake and the days are gone.

Count your days,

Measure the hours,

Time passes in a breath.

Count your blessings,

Each day is a gift,

One day you are here 

Tomorrow you may be gone.

Count your days

Measure the hours

One day you are running

The next you may be down.

The plans you make 

The dreams you have

They are like porcelain

A careless gust of the wind

And they are broken.

We know not what tomorrow brings,

Follow the heart wisely,

And live the day.

You will always be safely lodged in my heart,

Though the wind may blow us astray,

Drives us to the edge,

We get lost,

But we will never be apart.

The memories packed and locked away,

Deep in the recesses of my mind

Though my hair may turn silver

And I may forget a thing or two,

But the pictures of the two of us,

They will remain till the end of time.

The days may come,

When we are longer in each other's lives,

Because the good Lord calls us back to where we belong,

But I will hold on to all that I know of you.

You may be a gentle whisper in the wind,

A soft leap of the heart,

A drop of rain on my cheek,

The warmth of the sun on my skin.

Had wanted to go for sibu mission trip last year but I missed the deadline. This year I felt a prompting to sign up for the trip again but didn't know about it till the last minute. Coincidentally the person in charge of the trip was sitting next to me during service and I felt an urge to ask her about it but being the procrastinator, I decided to just drop her an email. When I was about to leave the service she came up to me to pass a prayer pamphlet so I just asked her about it. She told me that I might be too late but to still drop her an email anyhow if I'm really keen on going. Dropped her a mail and she told me the bad news that the trip was already booked and that I would have to wait till next year. I was a little disappointed at first but then thought I could use the leave to go Bandung and started planning for it (this was later foiled and for a good reason- I do not have sufficient leave for both Bandung and sibu). 

I then received a missed call from pastor the next day but didn't return his call till the next morning and he told me that I might be able to join the trip if there are still flights and also that I would have to stay alone in the hotel room. He then said he would let me know again after he discussed with the mission team and a week passed and I was kinda having mixed feelings about going, as I didn't like staying alone in hotels. I must admit I was secretly relieved when he didn't send me any updates. 

I then received a message from a church member that there is a last minute sign up as well and that I would have a room mate. The flight and room were then confirmed today. I wonder if this is a work of God. So many coincidences and hiccups. 

The things unseen

And your vision is far,

Further than the edge of the universe.

The things we see,

We believe are real.

But the unseen,

Are they not more real?

Your hands,

They raise up kingdoms,

And transform servants into kings.

Your faith, your love,

Unseen,

Yet one's heart sees them ever more clearly

Than the earth beneath our feet.

I believe, I believe,

That your plans are bigger than mine,

That all I have in my little hands,

Are just fragments of a beautiful puzzle.

One day, you will open my eyes,

And the truth which I seek,

Will be unveiled,

By your eternal grace.

Leftover time

I realize I'm always giving God my leftover time. There's only time for God only when the day's tasks are done. This shows how much priority/importance I've given God in my life. It is the same with people. For the important people/ interests/ tasks in our life, we portion our time to them first and it is through this gesture that we know our place in someone else's life. And it is also through this gesture that we realize just how much someone means to us. 

Recently I've been asked to be part of the core group in cell. My first thought was that I am definitely not "qualified" to be part of the group. How could I help others grow when I myself am struggling, sometimes with doubts, sometimes with questions that I just brush away because I do not have the answer to them. Sometimes I look on with envy at those whose connection with God is so close, that they can believe without a doubt that He is so real and present in their lives. 

I know that in most cases such faith does not come easy and these people may have paid a dear price to be where they are. What am I willing to give up for a steadfast faith? I don't know. I am still fearful of changes, of the unknown, of making wrong choices, of regrets. The faithless live in fear because they do not have faith and in order to be rid of fear they need to have faith and in order to have faith, they need to lose their fears and so it goes round and round....

Amusement parks

I vaguely remember going to amusement parks such as these, sitting in giant tea cups where you had to turn a "steering wheel" in the middle to make it spin. It's such a pity that we do not have amusement parks like these anymore. There used to be travelling amusement parks in Singapore where they would set up tent in various neighborhoods in Singapore. The rides I used to love were the roller coaster (although I was always squeezing my eyes tightly together ), haunted house ride, bumper cars, Viking ship, Ferris wheel. Fun was the tikam stations where you tossed rings over cones or hooks, threw bean bags or balls at cans, etc and after all the games, had huge-ass cotton candies on a paper cone, or popcorn. One of the fondest memories from childhood although there weren't any technology-laden rides. I really miss all these and was quite excited when I heard that there would be an old-school carnival at tanjong pagar railway during the jubilee weekend. Alas, I was sorely disappointed. Couldn't find the bumper cars at first although I could smell the "scent" (a weird electric smell) of them and when I finally found them, it was a poor kiddy imitation of the real thing. The station was made up of a small round platform with four cars that were kinda joined together with a rail. The sngbaos were also not iced... It was quite ridiculous... 

Towards the past

Due to a glitch in the cosmos, the fabric of time and space was folded. The future, so it seems, becomes the past. Since the beginning of time, the Creator had laughed at the naivety of mankind for believing that there would always be a tomorrow. A father made a promise to his 5 year old son to bring him to the zoo tomorrow but on his way to work that day, he had a cardiac arrest and died. An empty promise he had made, even though it was not exactly his fault. An 18 year old girl waiting till the day she gathered enough courage to ask her lab partner to the prom. Alas, the lab partner, a fine handsome young man, was killed in a freak bike accident. The girl spent prom night gorging on Ben and Jerry's and snicker bars. She became obese 3 years later and suffered a stroke 7 years after the death of her lab partner. 

Men sometimes forget that tomorrow does not exist and its existence is only a make-believe one in our silly little human minds.

It is only till the glitch in the cosmos that the humans realize their folly, perhaps a little too late. What they have now is only yesterday and with this realization, comes an impending sense of doom. Without a tomorrow, surely they will be progressing towards Armageddon-the extinction of all mankind. 

By Nightfall- Michael Cunningham

I liked Michael Cunningham after reading and watching The Hours. But By Nightfall was perhaps a little disappointing. Peter Harris was a middle-aged art dealer married to Rebecca. The story opened with the news that Rebecca's wayward younger brother, Mitzy (which stood for "the mistake", not his real name) was coming to stay with them. Mitzy was a recovering drug addict who was brilliant but was jobless and clueless about what he wanted to do in life. Mitzy came to stay and on an afternoon Peter returned early from work and found Mitzy asleep on the couch. He observed Mitzy and found him strangely like a young Rebecca- the one who was carefree and a little crazy. He thought Mitzy was beautiful. Peter then retreated to his bedroom and later, found out that Mitzy was still using drugs. He then made a promise to Mitzy not to tell Rebecca as his clan of sisters would throw a fit if they knew.  

Peter then brought Mitzy to a client's place as Mitzy had expressed interest in being on the art scene. Peter and Mitzy kissed. Peter had never thought himself as a homosexual and yet he found himself strangely attracted to Mitzy. Peter was torn and confused. He wanted to be with Mitzy but was unsure of what to do next. The next day, however, Mitzy suddenly left without a word. Peter was heartbroken. With Rebecca, Peter felt that they were "happy enough" but was "happy enough" sufficient to sustain a long marriage? 

Mitzy returned one day and asked to see Peter. Peter was excited and yet troubled. He knew that if Mizzy asked him to run off with him, he would say yes without a doubt. He worried however, what would happen to Rebecca and his estranged daughter Bea. When he finally met Mizzy at a Starbucks, he thought Mizzy was really declaring his love for him when he asked if Peter had told Rebecca. Peter went into a tirade of how he couldn't possibly tell Rebecca because he didn't know if he truly loved Mizzy but that he knew he was in "something" with him. Mizzy then said he was referring to the drug thing. It was then that Peter realized Mizzy was using the kiss as a blackmail against Peter. He was crestfallen. 

When Peter got home, Rebecca told him she wanted a separation. Peter thought she knew even though no one had said anything. But the reason she wanted a separation wasn't because of Mizzy but that she felt like a stranger in her own home and that she was all messed up. But Peter decided then that they should just continue going and try to make things work. Rebecca agreed.

Can't say the story was completely unbecoming. It has its beautiful sides  especially when it came to the display of emotions and inner struggles of the protagonist. One can empathize with Peter. But I think it falls a bit short of John Irving's writing especially when I'd read this right after cider house rules. 

Completed 27 July 2015

Three seconds

It was a crowded room. Melody was in a middle of a lengthy discussion with a group of people from her philosophy 101 class. She gave her two cents' worth and listened as the others rattled on and on, about Socrates' idea of reality being shadows of the human's ideal form, of Plato's dialogues. Melody thought the discussion would never end. It was Lucas' turn to speak. She did not know him well and had spoken about five sentences to him over the semester, mostly about the weather. 

"What I love most about Socrates is his humility. The knowledge that what we humans know is truly limited. Remember the quote: "She who knows she knows nothing is the wisest"? That was what got me interested in philosophy."

Melody felt a strange pricking sensation in her neck when she heard his soft but firm voice. She lifted her head and glanced over at the source of the voice . Lucas' and Melody's eyes met for three seconds. In that three seconds, Melody felt as if she was in a bubble and that it was just her and Lucas trapped inside that little sphere. She couldn't hear the chatter going on around them and time stood still. It was then that she felt that her world was about to change. She had gazed into the soul of Lucas Matheson and she saw that his soul was kind and humble. And it was that three second gaze that had Melody changing her life course and trailing desperately behind Lucas. 

Melody was about to trade her entire life for that three seconds.

Whether Lucas had too glimpsed into Melody's soul was an unknown. A secret that Melody would perhaps never know. 

Book reviews

I realize when I write book reviews, I always succeed at making the story seem dull. A lot of times, the essence or most beautiful part of a book is not the plot/ storyline. Sometimes it's about how beautifully the author can construct the sentences, sometimes it's about the facets of the characters in the book, sometimes it's the display of the human nature, emotions, etc. If I had look at the review of the cider house rules, I would probably not be enticed enough to want to read it coz the plot sounded so unexciting. I really do not know how to make a story come alive. 

Cider house rules - John Irving

The best line I like from the book : "how we love to love things for other people; how we love to have other people love things through our eyes."

A very awesome read. I had to watch the movie after reading the book but was vastly disappointed by the movie. Wilbur Larch was an obstetrician and head of an orphanage in St Clouds, Maine in the 1920s. He was a non-religious man who believed that everyone had freedom of choice and that he merely gave people what they wanted and would not give recommendations. He delivered unwanted children and also performed abortions which at that time was illegal. Homer Wells was an orphan who was adopted and returned twice and so would, as Larch thought, forever belong to St Clouds. Larch loved homer and trained him to become an obstetrician so that he would one day replace him. However Homer disagreed with Larch on abortions and said that he would never perform one as he believed the fetus had a soul. 

Then came Wally and Candy, a beautiful couple who came to St Clouds for the sole purpose of abortion. Homer fell in love with Candy at first sight and followed them back to Wally's family's apple orchard to work as a picker. Wally then went to the war to fly the Burma route during WWII. His plane was shot down and he was thought to be dead. Candy who was never good at being alone fell in love with Homer but they kept their affair a secret out of the protection of wally's mother's heart. Candy then got pregnant and in order to continue keeping things a secret, they delivered the baby at St clouds and then told everyone that they had adopted an orphan. This secret they kept till Angel, their son, was a teenager. Before their return to the apple orchard, they received news that Wally had been found (very Pearl Harborish) but was paralyzed after being bitten by Japanese B mosquito. He was also sterile after acquiring an infection during catherization  in Burma. Candy married Wally even though she told Homer that she loved him but she couldn't leave Wally now that he was a cripple. Homer continued working on the orchard despite Larch's continuous efforts in asking him to return to St Clouds to replace him. Larch then started faking documents (medical degrees etc) and stories so that Homer could officially become the head of the orphanage. Homer continued to refuse until he had to perform an abortion for one of the pickers who was abused and impregnated by her father. That was he relented on the belief that abortion is immoral. Larch then died of an accidental ether overdose and Homer had no choice but to return to St Clouds as his replacement. It was before his departure that he told Angel the truth and Candy the truth to Wally (although throughout the story there was the impression given that Wally already knew). 

The story is beautifully written as it portrays the dark and beautiful sides of the human nature. Dr Larch and Homer's father and son love for each other, Homer's unrelenting and insufferable love for Candy, Meloney's worship of Homer as her hero and her pursuit of him for decades, Dr Larch's and his nurses' devotion to the orphanage, the secrets that were hidden, the crimes committed (incest, fights, prostitution, etc), Homer as the prodigal son who returned to the orphanage, etc.i don't know how the movie could turn out to be so dull. 

18 July 2015

Ether dreams

She lay in bed half awake

Surrounded by the fumes of ether.

In a minute or in two

Her mind will be fogged

And she can begin to dream.

A dream or two

She wouldn't be counting

One dream may get lost

But what does it matter?

The colors of her dreams

Are vibrant and brilliant,

Like the sun that burns with ferocity.

She will be roused from her dreams 

When the ether loses its power

And she will be released once more

Into that dark grimy world

The one with a name that spells

Reality. 

Counting tears

She sits by the pier,

Overlooking the lake,

The water shimmers 

And her tears glisten.

She counts each teardrop 

One, two, three,

And wonders if they could be named.

The sun burns her soft skin,

Yet she wouldn't leave.

One, two, three

She continues to count.

Sometimes she wonders if the tears would never end,

And she would have to sit by the pier

And count her tears 

Till the end of days.

Do not go gentle into that good night-Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Life

I thought I could use these two months of solitude to carefully reflect on things and make a change. But almost two months have passed and I caught myself thinking where had all the time gone? Time is funny that way. Days just slip you by without you noticing it. I realize there's always something for me to do but never time for me to just sit quietly and think. There are just too many distractions. I also realize I don't even know what questions I want to ask myself, and where I see myself say 5-10 years down the road. What do I want? What does God want? How do I discern His will and my own desires? How do I live this life properly? Will I get a second chance at a life if this one goes awry or wasted?

Living alone somehow doesn't affect the rhythm of my life that much but yet at the back of my mind and in my heart, I realize im the type of person who will always need someone. I'm not sure if the need to have someone is a good or bad thing. Recognizing that we will always need someone is a good thing I guess, since men are not made to be solitary creatures. Bad in the sense that it puts fear in your life coz you know you may not always have someone. 

C                            Am

Dreams they'll only be dreams 

                F                  G

If you're not here with me.

      C                   Am

Xxx 

Melody's first dream

For the longest time Melody couldn't dream. Throughout her entire childhood and 30 years of adulthood, she had never had a single dream. She was envious of those who could dream. She would imagine that most people could do the impossible in dreams, like flying across rainbows, diving deep into the abyss of the deepest ocean, seeing creatures that one would never see on earth, or rocketing out into space and seeing earth at a vantage point. Her inability to dream broke her heart so that she would weep during the darkest hours of the night. 

If only there is a cure for dreamless sleep! She cried. 

Somewhere in the darkest of woods, lived a wizard. He felt the desperate cry of Melody and decided that he would concoct a treatment for her malady. He gathered some dried twigs, wild herbs that grew only in that darkest of woods he lived in, a lamb's ear, a sparrow's feather, nutmeg, cinnamon, star anise, and a wild boar's snout and brewed them for 3 days. On the fourth day, he muttered a spell and ended up at the doorsteps of Melody's brownstone apartment, between west 33rd street and Leicester square in New York City. 

It was 2:32am when he arrived at Melody's apartment. He entered the apartment and went to Melody's bedroom. Her breathing was even and her eyelids did not flutter a bit. 

Ah indeed she is having of those dreamless sleep! What a poor dear! The wizard thought. 

Carefully using an eye dropper, he placed two drops of the potion onto each of Melody's eyes. He blew on her eyelids gently and then, vanished into thin air. 

Melody awoke with a start. She thought she had just had her first dream and it was of an odd looking old man in her bedroom. 

That's quite impossible! No, it wasn't a dream I'm positive! Thought Melody. She didn't want to believe either that her first dream was that of an odd looking old man.

Melody went back to sleep.

Very soon, she found herself floating carelessly amongst thick fluffy clouds. She looked over her shoulders and didn't find any wings but yes, she could fly! She was thrilled beyond belief. She flew with the geeses heading south, chased after airplanes, whizzed past the roof of an ex-boyfriend's home, and hovered above the Statue of Liberty. 

She then flew to La Jolla beach in San Diego, and dove into the cool waters of the Pacific Ocean. She plunged deeper and deeper till she could touch the ocean's floor and saw spiky sea creatures, slimy eel-like fishes, colorful and luminous schools of fishes. She couldn't believe her eyes. When she had swam to her heart's content, she flew out of the depths of the ocean and to a small cosy apartment in Paris. She lighted the fireplace with a snap of her fingers and warmed herself before the cackling fire. She picked a book from the huge library inside the small apartment, the kind where you needed a ladder to reach the topmost shelves. She settled into a comfortable armchair and started reading Hemingway's "A Moveable Feast". She wrapped a soft throw around herself, sipped on a warm cup of thick gooey hot chocolate topped with tiny white marshmallows, and read and read. She fell asleep in her dream. It was one of the best nights of her 48 years of life and it was a dream. The best dream that one could ever dreamt of and Melody didn't want to wake.

Melody was found at 2:32pm in a small apartment in New York city, 4 days after the appearance of an odd looking old man in her room, cold and hard as ice, but with the most serene and beautiful smile on her face. 

The dreamer

She is a dreamer

And she dreams in technicolors.

When the world goes to sleep,

She awakes in her dreams.

She lives without fear in her dreams

Sometimes she flies

And those are her favorite kind of dreams.

The rivers are long and wide

And sometimes she rows a little red boat

Out to sea.

In dreams, she builds her reality,

And sometimes she wishes

She never has to wake.

Sorrows are things of the past,

Memories, what are they? 

Everything is born new

And the days are always bright.

She slides on the rainbows

Landing softly on the clouds.

Her technicolor dreams,

Where she is the creator,

She pens her stories

Paints her world.

Sometimes she wishes and she prays 

That dreams will never end,

But she is shaken awake 

And her dreams lay broken

As she faces another day without dreams.

Of independent bookstores

I really like these little bookstores such as books actually, littered with books, etc. There are too few of them in Singapore although I think they are starting to gain popularity in recent years. 

I can understand how difficult it is to sustain such businesses when books can be bought cheaply off the Internet and with youngsters going for the convenience of e-books. 

Although I really like the selection at books actually and littered with books and really hope they can stay in business, I can't bear to pay 4 times the price for a book. In the end I bought some used books including Dante's Inferno, 7 lives of Picasso, David Sedaris' I forgot the title, and enlightenment something. There were lovely cats roaming around at books actually and I always feel that cats go well with books, both are excellent companions when you are in need of some quiet time. 

Indian Tea Company

Teas. There are teas that are sweet, bitter, fruity, flowery, smooth, dry, light, strong. There must be thousands of teas out there. And it was so that Balrash who was enamored with the wonders of tea that he set up the Indian Tea Company with his entire life savings at the age of 32 (although his tea leaves were imported from Sri Lanka).

His little store is located on a bustling street in Mumbai, called Gandhi Marg. Men would come in after a hard day of labour, sat around, smoked their cigarettes, drank his tea and made coffee shop (or tea shop rather) talk. Balrash has a knack for guessing what teas his guests will order and for the uninitiated, he will recommend teas that he knows they will love. There was once a beautiful woman dressed in the most wonderful turquoise blue sari that glittered as she swayed, who wept after drinking Balrash's special tea blend and who later thanked him by kissing both of his cheeks. When Balrash was still reeling in shock from the kisses, she left the tea shop... without paying. Balrash then learnt to be wary of beautiful women in wonderful saris because one can never be too trusting of such people.

Balrash sees all sorts of people in his little tea shop. In the mornings, it is mostly the elderly with their canes and toothless grins, in the afternoons, it is mostly the housewives with their children in tow, or the drivers taking a break while waiting for their employers, in the evenings, it is mostly the shopkeepers, the bricklayers. Balrash would stand behind the wood-paneled counter, pretending to be polishing the tea cups but his ears are always pricked (much like a cat's) to the chatter in his tea shop.

Proof of heaven - Eben Alexander

It is really funny how I find myself being sceptical about what was written in the book, when the idea of heaven/afterlife is central to Christianity. It felt rather cliched with angels, paradise and all. But then again, it could be that all these were glimpsed before by the lucky few who experienced it and came back and hence, their stories gradually became part of the cliche. But this doesn't make it any less real. 

The story was written by a neurosurgeon who had the misfortune (or fortune rather) of contracting an extremely rare form of bacterial meningitis and subsequently went into deep coma for a week. His chances of survival were low and the general agreement of his doctors was that even if he had came back to life, he was likely to remain in a vegetative state for the rest of his life (doctors are grim like that). Just when Eben's doctor was communicating to his wife on the seventh day that they should consider pulling the plug, Eben returned to life to everyone's disbelief.

And thus the tale of where he had wandered to during that week of coma began. Eben first ended up at an assumingly hell, which he termed as the "realm of the earthworm's eye view" and subsequently ascended to paradise, accompanied by a girl with butterfly wings. He had no recollection of who he was nor did he remember anything from the past. He saw faces that he thought familiar but could not recognize.

During his wandering, he was able to feel the prayers of others and also a sense of warmth/ deep love.

I think all that he said is steeped in the Christian faith. We know that God is love and it was only natural that he felt the love of God while in heaven. What puzzled me a little was that he never claimed to have met God during his stay in heaven. Maybe the idea of God as a being is man's way of making God easier to understand and more palatable. But really perhaps God could be just a presence, an energy, or just this warmth/comfort/ love, etc. 

Eben went on to say that the consciousness is more real than the physical/ material world, including our body. He also said that we are one with the universe, that all of us are linked to one another. Maybe we really are. I don't know. I think in some theories of quantum physics, the same kind of argument has been made, that when we are all broken down into the tiniest particle/ atom, we realize that we are all  interconnected.

Anyway this experience changed him completely and he wanted his readers to be moved enough to recognize the fact that we are all eternal and deeply loved by our Creator. 

I know all these theoretically but find myself struggling to believe. I believe in God, I believe He is love, yet the concept of eternity is so foreign and at times, frightening to me. I know how the entire Christian faith is founded on one fundamental truth- love and yet, I find myself doubting and asking why I can't seem to feel God's love.

I want very much to believe in heaven, in God's unconditional love, but sometimes I just feel I have not found the key yet. 

Anyhow Eben was bent on sharing his stories in the hope that he could help others who are facing impending death with fear. Most of his colleagues/ scientists who heard his story tried to explain that his experience could be due to the brain's creation (much like dreams) but the argument he made was that the meningitis had rendered his neocortex and limbic system useless. Hence it was impossible that his brain could create such intricate and vivid "dreams". As he continued to share his story and met with skepticism, he himself was also starting to lose faith that all he experienced was real. It was then he received a photo from his biological family (Eben was adopted and never knew his biological family till a few years before his coma). The photo was that of his biological sister who had died and one whom he had never met before. He recognized his sister as the girl with the butterfly wings. It was then that he was finally convinced that all he had been through was real. I liked the analogy he made that he felt like the boy in a fairytale who had travelled to other worlds and returned to earth disappointed to find that it had all been a dream. However, upon reaching into his pocket, he found a handful of sand from the other world and realized it had all been real.

Completed: 30 June 11:58pm

Proof of heaven- eben Alexander

True love casts out all fear. I was reminded again of this verse reading the new afterword in the book. Wanted to write this down before I forgot. I really like this verse and it was one of the verses that spoke to me when I became reacquainted with Christianity. 

More about the book after I've finished it.

A cat, a hat, and a piece of string-Joanne Harris

Love most of Joanne Harris' books. There's always something mischievous and mystical going on in her stories. This book is a collection of short stories and every story begins with how she obtains the inspiration for the plot. The stories are creative and entertaining. I especially love the stories about Hope and Faith, two elderly ladies at a home for the aged.  There were two stories which featured Hope and Faith- one was about how they were barred from an excursion by a staff who was a bully, but through Chris' (a kinder staff) cleverness, was able to transport themselves to a beach with the use of candles, sand, etc. It made me kinda sad at the part when faith and hope would go through travel brochures but knew they would never be able to go to the places they saw in the brochures. 

The other story was about how they outwitted the bully by setting off a false fire alarm and locking the bully up.

It does frighten me a little to think of the future. Would I end up like Faith and Hope in a home for the aged? The idea of home for the aged is pretty much akin to an orphanage. One is abandoned and has to live amongst non-blood relations and adopt them as family. 

Stories are like Russian dolls; open them up, and in each one you’ll find another story.

Fitzgerald

https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/2432116-the-beautiful-and-damned

Fitzgerald always wrote such beautiful prose...

The light

There is a light that shines above,

A light that we sometimes fail to see.

Some call it the guardian angel,

Well, some just fail to believe.

In a world where darkness threatens to engulf us,

We need a little light,

To remind us that we will be safe 

That the darkness will never win.

Sometimes when fear is planted in our hearts,

We foolishly wander away from that light.

But the light, it stays and continues to burn,

Like the North Star,

It will lead us home. 

Into the light

The judges sit in their ivory towers

With a wave of their hands

We are put to death.

Don't you dare judge

What you know not of.

The torments that have wretched our desperate souls.

Can you ever be sure

The difference between good and evil?

Can you ever be sure that your eyes are not blinded by the darkness that surrounds you?

Are we ever wise?

Or are we just fools

Pretending otherwise.

In this world, the once great divide

Between black and white

Is no longer clear.

Sometimes we fall,

Deeper and deeper we fall

Into that bottomless pit,

And sometimes the fire below consumes us.

We are just here for a while

We are just waiting for a glimpse of heaven

For that light, for that light,

We await in ernestness. 

For that light to save us from our eternal damnation.

For that light, into that light 

I seek your face

Verse 

C                       Am

Lord I seek your face

C                        Am

Lord I seek your grace

F                         G

In the darkest of place 

                         C         Am

You shine your light on me. 

C                           Am

Lord I'm on my knees

C                           Am

Lord I seek your peace 

You lift my sorrows and my grief

It is in you that I believe.

Chorus

Lord, I just want to praise your name forever more.

You have seen me through my darkest hour,

I have been tossed about in the storm,

But you were always there,

You held my hand and healed all my wounds. 

Lord, I just want to praise your name forever more. 

Ephemeral things

He has gained the whole world,

The world lies small and battered

In the palm of his hands.

And yet, his sorrows are abysmal,

The shadows that hang over his eyes,

Have blinded him. 

He has forgotten what beauty is,

He has not seen the look of love,

In a lover's eyes. 

All the things acquired and gained

Are but ephemeral.

With a gentle touch of the creator's hand,

All will crumble and turn into ashes.

And maybe then,

He will remember what was once important,

Maybe then he will examine his own heart,

Maybe then,

It wouldn't be too late. 

Summer dream

The summer ended too soon,

And I picked up the remnants of our dreams.

We chased the rainbows,

Counted the stars,

Rode the waves of the deep blue ocean,

Felt the mud squishing between our toes,

After the gentle summer rain.

That summer, I believed in you,

That summer I believed in love. 

But the days grew shorter,

The rays of the sun grew ever fainter,

And the sounds of our laughters started to fade.

The rhythm of your heart

No longer beats with mine.

Summer days are gone,

You say.

And it is time to collect our childish dreams,

And toss them to the wind.

I foolishly believed in forever,

But all you had ever wanted,

Was a summer dream.