Stolen

It is much like having a thief chase you down the street, knowing that eventually you'll run out of road and have to face something inevitable. But in the haste of running, we so often overlook the tiny alleys we could have dodged into, thus saving us that fate. We would have noticed them, had we taken little more than 2 seconds worth of time to be logical, rational, unemotional.

But we don't do we?

And so we keep running, down the street, on and on, until he catches up with us. And then he robs us of many things that we hold dear, taking as he will. After all, anger is a relentless pursuer, one that will not give up until he has had his fill; and he is certainly one who knows how to get it.

Hate is a strong word.

I hate fallouts.

Saline Solution

A man's life often starts out with learning. He learns as he grows, about life, and the many things in it, then sets out into the world seeking to learn more, and gain more knowledge. After spending the better half of his early life, he finally gains enough knowledge to realize that he knows nothing.

How ironic.

It's like trying to drain the ocean of its water by drinking it one cup at the time, over and over and over, eventually leading you into salt induced brain damage.

Knowledge is priceless,
Ignorance is bliss.
But ignorance,
Is no excuse.

Share your cup of seawater with someone, today.

;-)

My Little Siege Engine, Breaking Into Your Castle

It is such an amazing feeling when someone stares at you in pure astonishment, followed by shock, then breaks into disbelieving laughter, or screams, or the best: a stunned silence. It's even better because you know that you caused it

For me, that is the highlight of doing magic.

I've been practicing a few of my favorite routines, refining them, and testing them. The sheer impact you cause on people is priceless!

I was walking around the church area the other day, and approached a random group of mingling college students. I introduced myself and did one effect. Just one.

It left them reeling, almost literally.

After all the tension was released, cards tucked safely away in my back pocket, they instantly struck up a conversation. Barriers were down, they were relaxed and at ease.

Barely five minutes before, I had not met them.

Yeah sure, their reactions were priceless, but only after walking away did I realize that the reactions they gave me were only one minor thing. The way they had opened up to me later, was priceless-er! No matter what age, what gender, what race; magic broke down the barriers of prejudice. Barriers which I might not have been able circumvent for anything else in the world.

Never again will I underestimate the power of magic.

Trickery

The world invites deception

Ask And Ye Shall Receive

Thank you Lord,
For this parking lot,
That we have got,
Upon this spot.

Housekeepers and Nails, You are Warned

Have you ever noticed that something interesting happens when you touch something hot, such as a steaming kettle? Other than getting burned of course; there will be a flash of premonitory pain, so brief that it’s hardly a pain at all, more of a warning that a true pain is to come. And then the premonitory pain will subside, and there will be an instant in which there is no sensation at all, and in that instant you’d snatch your hand, away from whatever it was that was too hot. But it would be too late; the true pain was already coming, and there would be nothing you could do about it except ready yourself for its arrival, like a housekeeper forewarned about the imminent arrival of a guest, like the way the tide recedes just before a tsunami strikes. A tsunami of pain.

But this post isn’t about pain.

The above was simply to set up a premise to explain the following;

That it is much like coming to a realization; almost hearing the wheels within your head turning, meshing, and moving along a path which you know can only end in a conclusion. Knowing that some brilliantly stray thought has been snagged in the net your ever active brain has cast, and then, silence. For an instant in time your thoughts are no longer thoughts, but simply knowledge, and things in which you are assured to be true. And then it hits you the same way a hammer falls upon the head of the nail it is hitting. Like an explosion of truth expanding outwards, filling your brain with awareness; realization.

At least that’s how it happens for me, my face temporarily morphing itself into my blur look, followed by an exclamatory oh!

So what’s this all about?

It’s not about pain, and it’s not about how I come to a realization either.

Ultimately, it is about the realization itself.

How very often we have heard someone great say that they were called into the area of their ministry, and how I so envy those with such a clear direction to follow. And so by hearing this, we pray for a direction, by asking something such as; “Where do you want me to go, what do you want me to do?” We ask for specifics, and not to say we never get them, just that we don’t always. We ask the ever so common; “Do you want me to go into the music ministry? Or education? Or even full time ministry? What do you want me to do?!”

I asked for specifics, and not to say I never get them, just that I don’t always. This wasn’t one of those times that I did.

Then after months of prayer and much thought, while outside training my parkour, a memory suddenly pounded on the inside of my brain, stating something so blatantly obvious that I almost decided to find and punch something extremely hot as my punishment. It was a lesson from the Westminster Shorter Catechism that my father had gone through with me; the very first one in fact. It stated that “Mans’ chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy Him fully.” So eargerly I had set out into fulfilling it, wondering which way He wanted me to do so. I had been acknowledging that my purpose is to glorify God, and typically had been asking Him what He wanted me to do, or where He wanted me to go.

But then, hammer to my head, it hit me; my purpose is to glorify God. No more, no less. Pure beauty in simplicity.

I no longer needed someone to tell me where my field lied, for the choice was my own. All I had to do is keep in mind that I am to glorify God, pick a means in which I think I can best utilize to fulfill that end, and do it to my very best.

He does not care so much as to what you use to glorify Him, but more so that you do.

So housekeepers, you were warned of the arrival of this guest.

I can already hear the nails falling down in unconsciousness; the result of being hit by a hammer.

Big on My Little Spree of Puns

Looking for a way forward,
He decided to backtrack.

While thinking, the light bulb above went out.
The light bulb is the least of his problems.

Bomb Diffusing For Dummies was just released.
Reading it was a real blast.

Bored out of his wits,
He wrote this post.

Ripples

While still in the mood for poetry, I decided to drag up one of the first few poems I wrote.

I stand here starring through the mirror,
Pondering my very existence,
Wondering if my life is influencing even the smallest of things.
But I am a speck of dust, falling upon the ocean,
Creating a ripple ever so minute,
Swallowed and erased by waves and storms,
Silenced.

Nevertheless, even the tiniest speck of dust
Creates a ripple.

Living Poets Society

I've been asked how to write a poem.

It's simple.

Or maybe not so simple.

Whatever. You chose.

First, you think of something that means to you. Like something that happened. Or something you're looking at. Or an emotion. Or an emotion derived from looking at something. Or an emotion derived from something that happened to something you're looking at.

I'll stop now.

Second, you think of an interesting way of phrasing it. I often start with random prose only to realize that its structure can be changed to be a poem. So I change it to be a poem. Think of yourself as a rhetorician. Someone who churns out new phrases, ones which haven't been thought of before. Like a phrase-monger. Or, resort to using old phrases. I'm sure half of what I've written has appeared somewhere else in bits and pieces. Statistics and probability almost requires it.

Lastly, you pour out your ideas onto a page as expressively or un-expressively as you chose to do so. Its your writing. You give it life, you breath into it the meanings you want. Poems do not need a cadence or a rhyme to it. It just needs to flow from your heart. Or it can flow from your head, though I've yet to see a poem describing the beauty of a gauge boson.

Just keep in mind that there are no rules. That's the sheer beauty of poetry.

To express yourself with no limitations, no rules.

Reality Bites, But So Does Irrelevance

Warning: This post is intentionally designed not to make any immediate sense. However, if you do have an epiphany and somehow make something else out of it, please share your insights. I look forward to confusing the living daylights out of the next unfortunate victim to read this. Which for all I know may very well be me.

An effort of delicate subterfuge, no matter how valiant, is still lost upon a man who sees fit to fail to see that some of the rhetorical questions of life are not actually meant to be answered. What use is trying to rob a man of his sanity when he has none? So steal from him the sanity he hasn’t. It still does not succeed in making the deceived any less deceived; at least no more than a mosquito has the assurance of immortality. So instead of subtlety, use blatant deception instead. After all, one often chooses to bite into a sweet cake of lies, even while bearing the knowledge of its malevolence. So deceive the deceived, stay mute in the presence of rhetorical questions, and leave mosquitoes for dead.

*This was inspired by a dream in which a giant mosquito was trying to trick me into letting him bite me. Which was of course the same dream where I was enjoying a tofu burger when Doraemon fell on my toe. Who then tried to abort his baby, but didn’t get far because the giant mosquito bit him, and sucked out all the blue paint from him. I woke up screaming ‘albino’, and to my absolute horror, a ghostly white Doraemon was right there, calmly sucking blood out of my left arm.

Then I woke up again.

For real.

Swim

Am I a contemplative person? Am I a person that may someday unravel a mystery greater than myself? Or am I a person who is simply trying to fathom the sheer greatness of knowledge, simply trying to understand and grasp at things only just beyond my reach. In this infinitively vast world, I am only one among many others. Perhaps I may be one to do something great, magnificent, substantial. Or maybe I might be one to slip by unnoticed by the world, insignificant, invisible.

Have you ever gazed out of a car window, looking at other cars go by? To realize that with every pair of lights that passed, another life, another existence, passed by also?

I have often stared out the same window when I am angry. Wondering whether the world knew about my pain, my strife, and the many troubles that life decided to bestow upon me. Almost willing the next person that passed to turn my way, to see my tears, and to know that he was not alone in this world of strife.

All I saw was a person among his friends, violently bobbing his head to another mindless number played over the radio, temporarily oblivious to sadness.

I saw a man, smoking, hoping to blow away his troubles with every puff.

I saw another teenager, smiling wistfully.

I saw a flash of young man, driving as fast as he could away from his troubles, knowing that he was driving towards them at the same time.

I saw a mother, ecstatic with joy, enjoying the carefully crafted surprise that awaited her at the end of ride.

Then I saw a girl, thinking frantically. What was on her mind? Was it random facts she had crammed in last minute for an exam? Or was it an ever so complex relationship she had gotten into. Or was it perhaps how she was going to pay for the medical bill of her terminally sick mother. I do not know. I suppose I will never know.

And so hundreds of cars whizzed by, each bearing another life, another purpose, all with a destination not quite like my own.

That was when I realized that I was really just one other person in this world, my troubles unnoticed, insignificant. And if I were to unravel a mystery greater than myself, I would have to be contemplative. And so I asked myself, am I contemplative? Do I swim on the deep end of the pool? To many I may appear to do so, but perhaps I am only swimming on the shallow end of an even deeper pool; one that spirals downwards forever, filled with flashing lights of cars that pass by.

Umbrella.. ella ella, eh eh eh

I've been asked what the picture at the top meant.

I replied with the poem at the side.

I was then asked what the poem at the side meant.

So I'm posting here.

I've come to realize that every single one of us carry many troubles with us in our lives.
Yes.
You, me and the person next to me and you.
Sometimes they get so heavy that we no longer want to move, and we just sit down, brood, and end up getting nowhere. We end up stagnating.

So I conceptualized, for lack of a better word, a philosophy.

People often associate rain with sadness. I think it has something to do with the water falling. See you have people who come up with statements that go somewhere along the lines of "I walk in the rain so no one can see me crying". Ah ha, I was right. People associate rain, with crying. And, well, you either cry when your sad, or really really really happy/relieved. The latter is of course needless to say, rare.

But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm not talking about hiding your sadness by surrounding yourself with more sadness. I'm talking about walking with your burden. I'm talking about moving forward even though you have troubles. I'm talking about steadily progressing onwards, even though your emotions befit the rain. It's not about walking in the rain. It's about walking with the rain, umbrella or not. We don't always have one.

I've come to realize that every single one of us carry many troubles with us in our lives, but not every single one of us carry on even though we have troubles.

So that's my philosophy. To keep moving even though we have problems. The world isn't going to wait for us. It's not going to stop and wait for us to pick up the pieces before moving on. It just keeps moving, so we have to either keep up with it, or get left behind.


Rain Walking.

Rain symbolizes sadness.

Walking symbolizes moving forward.

Put the two together:

Moving forward with sadness.

Rephrasing it:

Moving forward with life, even though you're sad and troubled.

The Pinnacle Phenomenon

Why on Earth has Sam not updated for a week?!

Because he has been challenging South East Asia's tallest mountain. Yes, I climbed Mount Kinabalu! Of course I had the trusty companionship of Jason and Christina.

Phrase of Day 1: See what I have to put up with?

We started the day by waking up at the last minute, packing into a taxi, and rushing to the airport to catch our flight. Breakfast turned out to be the annoyingly faithful yet ever present Mc Donalds. Caught our flight, landed, and took a bus to our lodgings for the night. Overall, uneventful. Though in East Malaysia, there is a disturbing lack of Mc Donalds. The dominating fast food there is KFC.

Phrase of Day 2: Are you okay?

We woke up at, uh, well I've in all honesty forgotten. Took a minibus to Kinabalu Park, stowed the extra stuff, then took another minibus to the entry of the Mesilau route. Not before buying a 5 Ringgit walking stick though. That thing saved my life. So it started off as rather hot, uneventful, and filled with what else but countless steps. We hiked upwards for about 1.5 kilometers, then wasted the effort by hiking down the next 1.5 kilometers. Overall the first 6km were relatively easy. There was a point where we climbed a really long flight of stairs, only to turn back and discover we were above the clouds!

Christina and her "Mee Hoon" tree

It was an exhilarating feeling to know that your own legs had something to do with the magnificent view. The awesome view however, gave way to an extremely hard 2km. It was like my legs had punctured and was running on minimal amounts of chocolate and energy bars. It wouldn't have been as bad as it was, had my head not decided that it was about time I suffered from altitude sickness. And so suffer I did, in the form of a headache. Well a headache implies a dull throbbing pain. It was actually more like a brain aneurysm that popped with every heart beat. And due to the lack of oxygen, it was pretty fast. I was soooo thankful when our guide offered to carry my bag! He was awesome. We then (thankfully) arrived at Laban Rata where we would stay the night. The food there was, uh, reasonably edible but was up to *insert random number* times more expensive. It was the first spaghetti I ever ate that cost 25 bucks. Well everything up there is hand carried so I partially forgive them. I would be more forgiving had they put less oil and made it taste more, uh, like spaghetti. But then again food is food and when your hungry, trust me, you eat. I didn't think I'd be able to make it up to the peak the next day. After all, a head*brainaneurysm*ache is really no joke. Not to mention the exhausted muscles. We knocked out (more like collapsed) at 8 and according to Jason and Christina, I sleep talked! Don't quite know what I said though. Creepily, somewhere in the middle of the night, someone stole my walking stick. Whoever it was stole something I had become emotionally attached to. *begins to break down*

Phrase of Day 3: Just keep going. Take small steps...

We woke up at 2 am. Crazy hours but if you want to see the sunrise, it is more than worth it. I was amazed that my head didn't hurt. Apparently I acclimatised while I slept. We washed up, layered up, and then headed down for breakfast. Being a quick learner, I opted for the one thing that couldn't go wrong wherever you were. The efficiently constant Maggi Mee! We then went outside and had a prayer. I was wearing one of my lovely nylon T-shirts, followed by a long sleeved, and a jumper my dad lent me. It was the same jumper he used in his Europe studying days. Talk about pressure! I fortunately kept it clean by adding a windbreaker on top of it. After that on came these baddass leather gloves, a beanie, and a scarf. We were warm, and ready. We set off at a steady pace and quickly cleared the foliage. We then took this thin steep ledge with nothing but a rope and your feet to keep you on. If you fell there, you fell alright. After clearing it, I was pretty exhausted again. It made the last 800m feel like an eternity of steps. The air up there was so thin, that I was panting as if I was a hyperactive dog, to the power of 10! Minus the energy though. Every 15-20 steps, I'd have to take a breather before pushing on. That is how bad it was. The 800 meters included a smooth rock face angled at about 40 degrees. It of course meant that the wind was crazy. So after much struggle, we finally reached the much anticipated summit. At Low's Peak was when I noticed that I couldn't feel my fingers or toes. In 2 degree temperatures, it was a cruel thing when some voodoo shaman decided to play a game of blow wind blow, with me. It was great though I almost sacrificed my fingers to take photos. The 3 seconds I needed to take my camera out made my hands feel about 100 times colder than they were. Exhaustion and oxygen deprivation produced the following video.

This is our guide Richard Aneh. I think he looks like Adam

My "grinning like an idiot" look, derived from chilled winds, lack of oxygen, and an overdose of successA candid shot of Jason which managed to appear quite poserish

My hurried descent


Why else was I rushing?

No, no. It wasn't just numb fingers, toes, hands, and whatever else. I honestly had to take a piss, bad.

On the way down though, I couldn't help but take some pictures of the South Peak.

Look closely at the note, then the picture Muahahahaha. Yes, it is THE mountain on our RM1 note!

Midway down, there were a pile of rocks and I couldn't resist but do something artistic. Now that, is a great balancing act at 4000m above sea level.
After awhile the rocks fell down when they became the new target of that aforementioned shaman. They were in a stray bunch and my scarf flew of my neck and got caught in them. Something about it looked even more artistic and I was about to take another picture, but then Jason caught up with me and told me it probably symbolized some offering to a mountain god. That was when I decided to remember that my bladder was bursting and hurried down. Needless to say it was incredibly tough but a bladder craving for release can really do wonders. Ironically I felt as joyful getting back to Laban Rata as when I reached the peak. Haha. We then rested for a while and ate brunch. After my legs recovered slightly from the crazy morning workout, we began our decent. I shot ahead and hooked up with a Filipino boy named Franco who was waiting for his parents to catch up. We ended up sticking together for the rest of the decent. Speaking of sticks, he lent me one of his cool ski pole like things!
Franco, what would I have done without you.

When we reached the bottom we split up. He had an hour of waiting to do, and I had Poring Hot Springs waiting for me. So me and Christina picked up our certs (Jason already had one from climbing before), then we went to eat lunch with our guide. After lunch? Hot Springs! Needless to say it was an awesomely relaxing experience. We then collapsed, and this time I really mean collapsed onto our respective beds and slept like logs for 12 hours.

Phrase of day 4: My legs feel like crap!

Woke up, and had trouble getting out of bed. Not like I was tired, it was more of that my legs could literally not support me. It was insane and funny. It was like a hilarious rebuttal the shaman decided to throw at me for escaping the wrath of his winds. After a torture session of stairs, we ate breakfast then went to see some rafflesias! Okay, rafflesia, singular. Only got to see one but it was still awesome.

After that we headed to town and checked into a beach side inn. It was great. We then headed to town where we got full body massages. Now that was the epitome of awesome. Hurt like crazy but I guess we all have a slightly masochistic streak in us, don't we?

Phrase of day 5: Never again. Ever. Or, maybe next year.

We caught the flight and came home. Nuf said.


It was an overall incredible experience I would not have given up for anything. And I've even learnt two things.

One is that determination extends so far beyond just telling yourself you can do it and doing it. Its committing to something and really sticking to it through thick and thin. There were many times where I thought I really couldn't carry on. But all it took was a little encouragement from Jason and then we'd be moving again. It wasn't easy. There were times that I felt crappier than the rotting log I was sitting on, but by pushing through that point of almost giving up, it was both amazing and rewarding. It taught me to persevere, and at the same time help sustain others around me who may be struggling with something.

I also learnt that when you can't feel your fingers and toes, and your bladder is bursting, the way you move is almost synonymous with efficiency.

I call it the pinnacle phenomenon

Walk with me so I can touch your heart

Our legs are the way we walk. They symbolize our ability to move towards a goal. When we aim desperately for something but fail, we may lose confidence in ourselves, and become afraid to try again.

Our hands are the way we touch. They symbolize our ability to touch other peoples’ lives. When we extend a helping hand but are bitten, we become hesitant to make new friends and trust in others.

Our ‘hearts’ are the way we love. It symbolizes, well, it symbolizes nothing. When we give our all and give all our love, but have our hearts broken, we become, least to say, wary of giving our hearts again.

These petty cuts,
These petty wounds.
They heal, they scar,
Then fade.

But not all cuts
Are petty.
Not all wounds
Are small.

Some do not heal,
Some do not fade.
But instead they intend,
To hurt and stay.

How do we live
With a cut on our legs?
Must we be reminded by pain,
Every time we move?

Maybe we should simply,
Stay static, motionless, and still.
Or perhaps we should pretend,
That the pain is not really there.

Or maybe we should stitch the wound,
As painful as it may be,
Inch after inch after inch,
Rather than be shackled, to the ground.

How do we live
With a cut on our hands?
Must we be reminded by pain,
Every time we touch?

Maybe we should simply,
Make do with the other hand.
Or perhaps we should refrain,
From shaking the hands of others.

Or maybe we should stitch the wound,
As painful as it may be,
Inch after inch after inch,
Rather than be shackled, to ourselves.

How do we live
With a cut on our hearts?
Must we be reminded by pain,
Every time we try to love?

Maybe we should simply,
Lock our love in a chest.
Or fool ourselves to believe,
That it was never love.

Or maybe we should stitch the wound,
As painful as it may be,
Inch after inch after inch,
Rather than be shackled, to a memory of the past.

And so we choose to stitch the wound,
Inch after inch after inch.
The needle and thread burns,
But soon, the wound is closed.

And ever so very slowly,
The cut begins to heal,
It leaves an ugly scar behind,
To remind us the past was real.

It reminds us that;
We once could not walk,
Once could not touch,
And once could not love.

But now that we can,
We do.

Mona Lisa

Is it not what we strive for?

To progress?

To get better at what we do?

Yes, it is,
And we are only
going to get better,
And better,
And better.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against progress. If I were, I’d still be trying to fit the triangle block into the square hole. But have we ever taken a step back, and wondered how fast we should progress?

If I phrased that correctly, only one question should be running through your mind.

“What’s wrong with progressing as fast as you can?”

The truth is, there’s nothing wrong, as long as you aren’t doing parkour.

If I phrased that correctly, only one thought should be running through your mind, or something else equally synonymous.

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaa?”

So here’s the truth. Parkour, is getting diluted.

“Parkour”, is not a drink.

For those of you who haven’t yet got to hear me rant, parkour is a movement art based around efficiency. The art originated from France, and its true form is still practiced in Lisses, France (pronounced “liss”). It was founded by a man named David Belle, who was inspired by his father; a fireman. It is an art that allows to you escape or reach anything within human limits, though it often makes you redefine what the limits are. It is an art that permits the fastest route from A to B, using only your body. It is an art, which is based around overcoming obstacles. It is an art, which permits the obstacle to define your technique. It is an art, of sheer precision. Quoting Thomas Couetdic, “Parkour may not actually be a discipline by itself, but it may simply be part of a bigger thing encompassing many others”.

Here’s another quote. “To be and to last”. Profound, but I didn’t come up with it. We’re not sure who did. It is what the parkour community echoes. Call it a mantra. Whatever. But hey, if I wanted to write about what parkour is or isn’t, I would. But that’s for another time.

When I say parkour is getting diluted, I refer to its essence. I refer that what it truly is. And why is parkour getting diluted?

Because it is spreading,

Too fast.

Often nowadays, a teenager will stumble across a video about “parkour” on YouTube, do a quick (not to mention almost always incomplete) lookup on Google, and go out running and jumping, hurtling himself at walls while calling himself a traceur (practitioner of parkour). For starters, nine out of ten videos on YouTube misrepresent parkour, or are of incredibly experienced traceurs. Secondly, most teenagers don’t bother to do proper research. They somehow feel like they’d make do for “less that satisfactory”. Thirdly, they are going to go out and do what they think is parkour, and further misrepresent it to others. Now remember that they didn’t do any proper research. So classically they’ll do big jumps, huge drops, and anything they think will impress their peers, without first building up their bodies, and they’ll do it with horrible technique. Not that technique would help much if your body wasn’t strong enough. And they’d butcher the term “traceur”. Oh, and parkour wasn’t invented to impress. Now I could go on and lecture about the whole anti-competition thing, but then I’d never stop.

So have you got a hint about what I meant by “dilution”?

It’s spreading too fast, and it’s losing its’ essence.

But back to the topic (speedy progression). Let us assume the role of that teenager. But for our sake, make him sliiiiiiiiiiiiightly more matured, and lucky. Let’s say he sees a proper video. And let’s say he does some solid research. But, not enough. I know I didn’t do enough research until I broke my arm. Due to a delayed union, it caused me six months of deep thinking and extensive research. My dad calls is soul searching. I call it chronic boredom put to productive use. But back to the teen I liken my past self to.

He’ll do some strength training, but work largely on his technique. Due to the wealth of knowledge online, he’ll progress. He’ll progress fast. By two months he’ll be doing things that other people, training properly for over a year, wouldn’t dare do. And what’s the problem with that? The problem is that he should be strengthening his body, not doing death defying things. He can do them, yes. But he is unwittingly slowly destroying his body. I can say confidently that most people are not strong enough to start parkour with no strength training. By most, I include rock climbers, bikers, and marathon runners. That, is simply how physically demanding it is.

Because the many common techniques are already listed online, it makes it simple to learn something new. Too simple.

Let’s look at David Belle and the people he originally trained with. Why is it that they can take 30 feet drops without breaking their legs? It is because the original traceurs didn’t have the luxury of knowledge. They were out there day by day, finding new movements, rediscovering old ones, and siphoning away inefficiencies. As a result, through the many trials and errors, they developed strong bodies. Strong enough to consistently take 30 feet drops. Unlike the hypothetical but unfortunately common teenager.

So one day he’ll wake up, give his “traceur” buddies a call, and they’ll head out doing whatever their misinterpretation of parkour looks like. And he’ll feel the now becoming common pain in his joints, get worse. And by 25, he’ll have arthritis in his knees and ankles.

That, is what is wrong about progressing too fast.

And I take it back. It’s not only when your doing parkour.

It applies to everything.

When we progress too fast, we can become disillusioned.

Wouldn’t it be great to have a church that grew and grew and grew at an almost alarming rate? To simply put it, no. (For those of you who don’t know I’m a Christian, I’m a Christian) When a church grows too fast, the community does not have time to form a firm bond. It does not have time to become closely knitted. It just grows on and becomes something hollow. And while everyone is marveling and focusing on the growth, the church may (hypothetically) even lose sight of its mission. It just grows. The ideal church growth model would have the church growing in cycles. Grow, bond, grow, bond. And every now and then they should reassess their mission to see whether it aligns itself with Jesus’ mission, lest they veer off course.

When we progress too fast, we become so caught up in the progressing, that we lose sight of why we want to.

“Study harder la! Don’t you want to get good results? Study hard!” yells the mother. Sound familiar? So the student studies hard. He dedicates his life to it. Day and night, he studies. And gets phenomenal results. He then proceeds to repeat the cycle the next semester, and eventually gets incredibly fed up and frustrated. Why? Because he knows he is studying for his future, but has never taken much time to think what he wants for it.

So for those of you who have progressed incredibly far, for those who feel like they lack sight or direction, and for those who no longer know why they continue running…

Take a step back and look at the bigger picture.

There, I said it. The missing link between the title and the post.

When Leonardo da Vinci was painting the Mona Lisa, do you think he dedicated all his focus onto one spot of her/his smile without taking into account the whole lips, in reference to the face he was painting? Do you think he spent all his time painting methodically with his nose two inches from the canvas? No. Occasionally, he would take a step back and see how his masterpiece was taking shape.

So that’s what we should all do from time to time. Take a step back, and look at where we are heading. Also, take your own step back, or eventually something will come along and shove you and it’ll make you stumble further backwards than you can handle. And you’ll fall on your butt. Then you’ll have to go through the trouble of standing up again, learning to trust your feet, and before diving back into whatever you were doing, hopefully you’ll get a glimpse of the bigger picture. For me my little wake up call was breaking my arm. Okay maybe it wasn’t so little but I thank God for it. It gave me a nice six month long look at the bigger picture so that when I was ready, I had a direction to head in, and that direction has kept me these seven months.

So take a step back, or it’ll be taken for you. Why not do it voluntarily? Take the step back, so that you have a direction to head towards, and you’ll be able to progress with a purpose, and above all else, progress steadily.

Is it not what we should all strive for?

To progress steadily?

Running, For Dummies

Found inscribed onto a tombstone, “I beat you in the human race”. The only question left, is what he ran for.

So here we are; the human race, somehow having arrived at the foregone conclusion that we were put here for a reason. And the only legitimate obstacle left that can prevent us from carrying it out is the fact that many of us, just haven’t discovered that reason.

The most common period that people become aware and start searching, is teenage-hood. And people still wonder what’s so confusing about it all.

Ever walked out onto the street and caught a glimpse of a young face, skewered up in concentration or puzzlement? The owner of the face was probably trying to remember what was for dinner, where to go next, or an infinite amount of different things that could require little more than an ounce of concentration. It would at least explain the look. However, among all these randomly assorted strains of thought, one that truly matters might occasionally surface for air. That one, might take a peek at the world around, and be awed and aware that he was only one thought among many billions, yet that he was to be the essence of who the person would be. He would shape the person. He would be the person. After that awareness he may either linger around, lounging in the front of that person’s head trying to be figured out and developed, or he may be tiredly dismissed and go back to lurking.

Eventually though, he would be thought over carefully.

Eventually though, he would be contemplated.

And after several more eventualities, he would finally be answered.

And that would be the day that the young face, or maybe no longer young, would walk out of a door, with a strange sense of pride, a strange sense of achievement, and a strange sense of anticipation. A long path had been walked. Now a longer one would be ran, but with a purpose and direction. And it would be run.

Perhaps along the way, there may even be a glimpse of a young face, skewered up in concentration or puzzlement. The owner of the face may be thinking about what was for dinner, or where to go next. Or, a thought that truly matters could be surfacing for air, looking at the world around Him in wonder.

So who are we and why are we here?

We are the human race.

And we are all here for a reason.

Or Maybe He Lies

He stood six feet tall,
Statured, and strong.
Wore a fine mask,
Arms built, legs long.

He had six feet of pride,
Strutting, unashamedly,
He had nothing to hide;
For he was invincible.

Having six feet of height,
Filled with six feet of pride.

He appeared six feet tall,
But had twelve feet to fall.

So twelve feet he fell.

He now stands half a foot tall.
Or maybe just a foot.

My First Kiss

It was a gorgeous day.
The sun was lazily shining
Warming the pavement,
And the wind blew leaves in circles.

But we weren’t out there to enjoy the day.
We were in her room.
It was that day, that she introduced me,
To a world I had never been to before.

I was only twelve, or was I thirteen?
It didn’t matter because it was only us.
Just me, and her, and nothing to stop us,
From what awaited me.

Our tongues could not stop,
And we dove with much eagerness,
Into an experience that I would never forget,
Not soon anyway.

It was exhilarating!
It was amazing!
It was beyond what my words can describe,
And it was something I would long for so often.

From that day onwards,
The world would be bland.
Taste would be tasteless,
And I would never be the same.

She, was my sister.
And she was responsible
For introducing me to a world,
I now live for.

She had given me my first kiss,
With a little thing called deep conversation.

I never knew what it was like to share one’s deep feelings and emotions with another. Hey, I was a kid. Thankfully, Sarah dragged me to the deep end of the pool, and finding I could swim, I’ve never truly wanted to get out.

I think your first deep conversation is much like your first kiss. It starts as awkward, then it becomes natural, then all of a sudden you don’t want to stop.

But alas, she’s in Michigan now, isn’t she?

Ever since Sarah left, I’ve been craving for deep conversation. I’ve been craving for something meaningful beyond the funny scenes in a movie we just watched, or the quality of the maggi goreng we just ate. It’s incredibly frustrating when it seems that you’re the only one who wants to enter an emotionally vulnerable conversation. It’s so incredibly frustrating.

In one of the conversations me and Sarah had, we were puzzling at something I still can’t figure out.

Is everyone capable of deep conversation?

I seek it everywhere but rarely find any. I make myself vulnerable and open myself up. But a one way conversation is as lost as talking to your shampoo bottle. Really.

An odd paradox to this is the fact that deep conversations are lurking around every corner, ready to be discovered and unleashed. They seem to hide in the most unlikely of places, but when they make themselves known, appear to have always been there, waiting. The other day I was talking to a very dear friend of mine, Kathy. Well, at least this generation considers instant messaging as a form of talking. But out of the blue, a conversation worth while, and an hour well spent. To my absolute delight, I discovered she had also been seeking a meaningful conversation for some time too! At last I am not alone. There is someone my age who thinks deep and isn’t afraid to show it.

I truly cherish these conversations. They aren’t the same as the day to day exchanging of words. They hold weight. Serious weight. We often forget the mindless replies and quick witted retorts we utter from our mouth, but these? These valued gems? I do not forget them. They glitter in the sunlight and continue to sparkle for years to come. (Think “Diamonds Are A Girls Best Friend”… Haha)

Another funny thing is that when you get what you ask for, you certainly get it alright. The very next day, I was sitting down with Veron, (Hi Aunty!!!) and we just started chatting about random stuff. This random chat, of course, evolved into an exchange of opinions. An exchange of somewhat personal opinions. Oh I so value these conversations.

This seems to be turning into a post about things I find funny or odd.

Yeah, yet another thing I find funny, is that the majority of deep conversations I have, are with girls. Is it because females are more willing to open up? Or is that males make themselves vulnerable in front of women? Or do they just flex their muscles and strut? Haha. Maybe men are just less willing to open up to other men. You know, the whole no hugging or showing any signs of affection thing. Funny thing; male ego. It can be such a bother

So thank you, Kathy and Veron, for supplying me with one of my life’s few essentials, and for keeping me sane. Thank you so much, Sarah, for the years of jewelry we’ve collected together, and for being the one who started it all

So here I am, in my quest for deep, meaningful conversation.

And like your first kiss, you always come back for more.

Tagged

Is it a good thing, or a bad thing to be tagged?

I conclude that it’s neither…

Huey Sing this is your fault… =D

Seven things to be done before my death.
1. Train with David Belle (Parkour!)
2. Sing a song that gets a standing ovation
3. Get good at drums
4. Learn French
5. Learn how to cook & bake well
6. Write a poem that’ll be as famous as Shakespeare’s
7. Master C++

Seven things I will NOT do even if it kills me.
1. Wear a fluorescent pink suit. (Shirt, pants, tie, coat, sox & shoes)
2. Sky dive in my underwear
3. Pee on a live electric fence
4. Break another bone Willingly
5. Dunk my head in a vat of boiling oil
6. Lock myself in a giant meat freezer
7. Lock myself in a giant meat freezer with a chipmunk

Seven things I do when I'm away from the public.
1. Sing to my shower head (Sometimes the soap bar)
2. Boomerang cards at myself
3. Write poems
4. Imagine that I’m a giant strawberry (Hannah, don’t analyze this)
5. Cry (Awwwwww)
6. Eat peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwiches
7. Crazy stuff!!!!

Seven fav sentences/quotes (expressions)
1. Stuff
2. Dude
3. No freaking way! Oh… Way?
4. I guess
5. Dunno
6. Maybe
7. Wassup?

Seven favorite songs from all time
1. Crayons Can Melt On Us For All I Care (Relient K)
2. The Kill (30 Seconds to Mars)
3. Dance With the Devil (Breaking Benjamin)
4. These Pages (Mainstay)
5. Fighting (Yellow Card)
6. Devastation And Reform (Relient K)
7. Believe (Yellow Card)

Seven things I'll make you wish you didn't do if you did.
1. Pull my pants down (I’ll pull yours)
2. Try to kill me
3. Threaten me with a weapon
4. Expect me to respect you though you don’t deserve it
5. Be ignorant
6. Steal my laptop
7. Blast me for no reason

Seven things I wish I could fix/do
1. Fix? Computers… All of them
2. Still fix,… My brain
3. Still @ fix,…… My life
4. No longer @ fix, eat laksa without slurping
5. Moving to do, 300 perfect pushups without stopping
6. Still @ do, a 15 foot passé murraile (Wall pass)
7. End, do, speak French

Love my grammar, no?
I like the arrow… =P

Tag 7 people
1. Sarah (Gives you an excuse to blog)
2. Dad? Nahhh. Too immature for you…
3. Hannah
4. Jamie
5. Julia!! =D
6. Justin?
7. You...

The Wedding Gown

I clad her with a gorgeous dress,
Made of elegant white silk.
Curve hugging and tight,
It was the epitome of beauty; hers.

Falling to her legs,
Split at the side,
Exposing not nearly enough,
Of the beauty she held.

I stroked her legs,
I caressed her back,
I slid my hand down,
And squeezed her...

Her......

Her......

Seat

She, was a chair.

(Warning. Highly cynical point of view adopted)

Friday

I had the privilege of helping prepare for a wedding lunch, with some friends (Sean, Lewis, Samuel G), & some guys we didn’t know. It was in DUMC’s Dream Center. No, I don’t even know who the bride is.

Never before had I noticed the tiny miniscule details that were poured into these things. We started by arranging the tables, all 32 of them, and putting them into place. Then, we put sheets, followed by table cloths, followed by decorative dollies. (The VIP tables had a different color theme than the rest) After which, we set the table with flowers and arranged 10 wine glasses in neat circles. By then, the carrying of all the tables had started to get to us, and we were sweating slightly. But who cared? After all, our reward was to arrange countless dozens of cups, and flowers, and more cups. Followed by of course, carting 160 chairs to the tables, and arranging them. We were so relieved. It was “over”.

Then we discovered that we had to, as you may have already guessed, Dress each and every one of the 160 chairs with, uh, whatchamacallit, chair-dresses? It was a harrowing experience. And of course, to top it off, we tied ribbons on each of the chairs.

The ribbons are so important that I figured they deserve a paragraph of their own, less they feel insulted. It starts by finding the middle of a two meter long ribbon. Then, you wrap it around the chair and tie a knot. The next step was tricky. It involved kneeing the knot to keep it tight, while tying a ribbon knot, while keeping your balance, while trying desperately not to feel self conscious; all at the same time. You then you turn the ribbon into a puffy butterfly wing-like thing, and viola, you have tied a ribbon, onto a dressed chair.

Did I mention we dressed the chairs?

But hey, what wedding meal is complete without elaborately folded napkins? Yes, the four of us folded 160 napkins into a shape that I can only best describe as, a lamp. Fortunately though, it was a piece that only required 8 folds. Thank God for small mercies.

We then placed them between polished cutlery, wine glasses, and dressed chairs.

We were then instructed on the next day’s events, and how we would be participating in it. No, no, no. I didn’t just help prepare, I got to become a waiter!!! (To be updated later) We then carted the extra goods to the back of the church, and retired to a nice cup of milo, minus the milo.

Though it seemed like a quick affair, the entire set up time was 5 hours. And, remember that we weren’t the only ones there. There were others helping too. Gone are my dreams of having a mighty wedding with two thousand people attending the dinner. It would be too traumatic on whoever was preparing it. So out of consideration I’m going to have a quiet garden wedding with only my closest seven hundred and fifty friends instead.

No biggie right?

So that was my Friday, my beautiful Friday. And tomorrow after the meal, we’ll get to untie 160 ribbons, undress 160 chairs, and, well, more of that in the update.

Oh, yea. By the way, we dressed the chairs.

(Update)

Saturday

Phang Sing Lum & Gemima Chen

Those were the names of the bride and groom.

Though I spent 5 hours with her the previous day, only this morning did I discover that the person directing us yesterday was the bride. Yes, the bride herself, oversaw and organized her own wedding. Talk about stress!!!

The life of a waiter is a hectic one. A very, very hectic one. It involves keeping a keen eye for emptying cups (followed by refilling them), dirty plates that are no longer used, food that is running out, and ferrying supplies to and fro from the kitchen, while being harrowed by random people. It also involves asking the VVIPS whether they want coffee or tea, taking creamer and sugar for those already having coffee or tea, and deciphering what an old Chinese lady wants after she’s talked to you for 45 seconds, in Chinese.

I don’t know Chinese.

All this might have been slightly easier had I not been wearing black slacks and a white shirt, donned with a velvet black waiter’s vest. And a Life Choking Bow Tie. That evil black menace latched itself onto my collar and would not be removed for the 2.5 hour long ordeal.

The most interesting part was when we got to serve the VVIP table. Courteous manner is highly overrated here. Between ignored questions and trying my best not to spill coffee, I was fascinated by a somewhat lengthy disappearing act the bride & groom pulled. I conjured the excuse that they were changing, but 1 hour is a little long to change into a pink dress don’t you think?

But hey, lets not go there. Lets skip to the part where everyone left, without the traditional lineup and shake hands thingy. People just trickled out! But that was when the waiters came to play. Play, of course meant clearing all the tables of roughly 20 cups each, plates, bowls, stay bones, dirt, and of course grime… Okay maybe not the last two, but none the less it was ridiculously tedious. And heavy. Why didn’t they think of infusing helium into every ceramic plate?

Setting down was basically a deconstruction of the previous day’s work. Untying ribbons, undressing chairs, carting chairs, removing table cloths, keeping tables, stuff like that. After the whole tiring shebang, we went out and played bball!I was amazed that there wasn’t a single spot on my shirt. I have a dozen Ripplers that can vouch for me. Really.

Enough negativity though. It was an overall fun yet hectic experience that I would probably repeat for the money. Yea, and all this time you thought I was doing it for free? Fortunately, you’re gravely mistaken.

I suddenly noticed that the above narrative sounds somewhat like an old grandma reminiscing.

Yes, yes, that’s what I am.

An old grandma in a wedding gown.

Scabs

We pick the scab,
And let it bleed.
And bleed again
it will.

For the bleed dries,
And covers the wound,
Only to be picked at,
Again and again.

Much like tears,
Much like pain.

When on the brink
of being forgotten,
We pick the scab,
To bleed again.

And so it bleeds,
That merry pain.
That rawness of wounds,
We have come to love.

For we wallow,
We wallow willingly in hurts.

It is agony;
Unbearable pain.
But it justifies
and keeps us sane.

So pick the scab,
And let it bleed.
For bleed again,
It will.

Virginia Tech

Dedicated to Prof. Liviu Librescu,
Who gave his life in an act of selfless sacrifice.


Sand fell
In the hourglass;
Timeless,
Timed.

And eventually,
The last grain would fall,
And strike the mound of grains
Already there.

But not for him.

For a bullet
Would beat the grain,
And strike the mound of grains,
That was to be there.

The glass broke,
Shattering into
A thousand fragments,
Scattering the sand of his life.

But that day, everyone took home a grain sand with them.

And who were left behind,
They weep in thankful grief.
They still weep.
For there is no haste in grief.

Sand fell
In the hourglass;
Timeless,
Timed.

Intentions

For all my intentions to change,
They are all washed away in a single wave of fear.
A fear that I will be left outside,
In the cold solace of misunderstanding.

But for all my fears,
I am still misunderstood.
For a fear is no defense
against the object of fear.

And I fear to be alone in pain,
Though I know I am not.
But know, or not,
I am still left alone.

For all the attempts to change me,
For the haunting of my fears,
For the lack of cares to understand,
That I am misunderstood.

They are washed away.

Bubble

So little over a month ago I was planning to get a line, and endeavored on starting a blog. Writing my first post in Word, I figured I'd post it first chance I got. Unfortunately, neither did I get a line, nor start a blog. So forgotten was the idea, until I started frequenting my friends' houses. Oh sweet internet (fast too), I would be so pissed off without you. Which means I am pissed off... So here was that first post.


11:42 PM 8/22/2007

Why is it that the people who care the most are the ones who don't know the real me? Why is it that the ones who take the trouble to ask me how I feel, are the ones who don't know how I feel? why is it that every time I sink, there will always people to push me lower? Why is it that theres always someone who will seize the opportunity to push my head under the water? I'm already choking, and sinking, on all the grime of broken promises and hurts. Why cant you just let me get some air before I sink again? Cant the ones who really matter just come to me and say sorry, sorry for the hurt I've caused, maybe next time I'll go mess up someone else's life.

Why is it that the only people who don't fall into any of the categories above aren't around anymore?

My sister left for the united states today. I felt absolutely miserable and torn up over it, but I didn't cry. I didn't because I knew she'd be back and we'd always share the close bond we always had. After she left? Major fallout with my 'rents. Perfect timing. Left me feeling like the only one who truly cared about my feelings was in an airplane 500 miles away and only getting further. It was then that it hit me. All those times when I was hurt to bits the one person I'd run to would be my sister. There she'd give me a hug, and she'd care, really care. She wouldn't always side me, most of the time not actually. But she'd reason with me, and help me figure things out and get things straight in my head. She'd sometimes say things that hurt because I know they're true and all, but I'd always leave feeling much better than the previous shit-like condition. I'd always feel better because she'd care about my feelings, not about just me and what I'm doing. She'd treat me like a person, one who breaths, lives, and feels. Not a person who does actions with no intention. and thats what would make me feel better at the end of the day. So great, she's not around and I'm left staring at a vacant room filled with memories, happy and sad, while howling my eyes out... And in the time it took me to type this far, she's probably another 50 miles further.

Why is it the only people who care are the ones who cant?

I see now why its so easy to conform. I see why its so easy to be a blissful carefree person. Cause ignorance is bliss. all you have to do is keep your mind occupied enough to forget your troubles, forget that you're sinking, and you can eventually fool yourself into believing that you're happy.


So sink, sink in the imaginary shell of happiness you've created.
A shell so thick with delusion,
That even the deluded are unaware.
Yet a shell so fragile, that once easily broken,
Reality comes crashing down in all its entirety.
But why does that matter?
Why does the awareness of sinking matter?
After all, oh how very adept we have become
at deluding ourselves into rebuilding the shell,
Time,
After time,
After time,

And time again...


I refuse. i adamantly refuse. I will not fool myself into being unaware. So what if you think I'm a lonely kid who's plagued by more troubles than he can handle? At least I$'m dealing with my problems rather than ignoring them. So what if I chose to rain on a parade? Heck I do my best not to, but if I'm feeling down, don't expect me to pretend to be happy just so you wont be pissed. I do what I feel is right.

Deal with it.

I know I'm dealing with it... At least I'm trying... It gets harder. But It doesn't mean I'm going to stop. Whatever I do, I am not going to conform to something I don't agree with. Jeez you sheep, stick up for what you believe in. Screw peer pressure.

You can live in your self enclosed shell of self invented lies if you want. I'm not going to. Life is one hell of a ride and the only way your going to learn something is by going through every up and down and corkscrew bend triple half-loop deluxe insane quad upside down loop-de-loop there is. You come out fried, bumped up, and feeling like shit but if you pull through you become that much stronger than you were before. It ain't gonna happen in that bubble of yours though. You gotta let it down and rough it out. But if you chose to wallow in self pity and stay in that rut, fine, but your going to stay there all your life.

I'm so not going to.


Yea, so I miss you like heck sis... But have the best time of your life, learn everything you can, and come back a person who's seen more in life than before. I love you to absolute bits...


So pretty bubble, floating past,
Tell me your story.
How old are you?
Oh, two weeks?
*POP*
Opps...

Lol......