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.