When God Slaps You

And the change continues.

Yesterday I went to a meeting with Pastor GT Lim and his group of talented young men, and the one thing that I will take away from it is this: these guys are so simple.

Now, the chaps from Oxford have another meaning for simple - it means stupid, but that is not what I mean here. Pastor Lim's ministry is music, and the group youths under him (who are launching an album in Viva today) are incredibly gifted. They speak Mandarin, and I don't, but music is a universal language.

To my point, they are so simple. Their love for Christ, and what He is, is just that.

But none of their lives have been simple, so how can it be? Their testimonies are so impactful due to the lives they've led, the struggles they've endured, and knowing how complicated it was and still could be, they still believe simply and easily.

It's freaking amazing.

For some time now, I've asked God, Lord, why is my Christian walk so powerless? I hear all these amazing things that You've done for other people. Where's mine?

And then last week, He reminded me of a story another pastor told me:

There was an orphanage in Africa that really needed money to pay their bills, and to continue feeding their orphans. The proprietors - a husband and wife team - are Christians, and daily they pray and fast and seek for a miracle, because come end of the month, they placed would be foreclosed. At the end of the month, on the day of payment itself, the wife prayed one simple prayer again, God, please help us..

And then, screeching around the corner, came a sportscar, who stopped right in front of the orphanage, and called out to them, here, for your bills, and dropped a bag of cash through the open window. It was exactly - not close, not more, exactly - what they needed.

The pastor, who is telling me the story, asked God, Lord, where is my screeching sportscar? Why not help me out too?

And God gave him a konk on the head and asked him, would you rather be the one who is fasting and praying day and night, worrying about finances, or do you want to be the one in the sportscar, screeching all over the place, helping people in need as I've called you?

For months now, I've asked God too, Lord, what about me? Where is my screeching sportscar? I get immensely jealous when I hear Him do such great things, but I never see anything like it. My Christian testimony is based on a theoretical understanding of the Bible; I've never had to pray for my next meal, because I am blessed with all I need.

And I ask God what about me?

Then He gave me a slap. I give you everything you need, so you can give it away and be a blessing, not to stand and ask for more. Be the person in the screeching sportscar, because I have given you everything you need to do it.

I mean, wow, what a rebuke. I have never heard God so clearly before in my life - and I know no one else in the world can slap you and make you feel so loved at the same time.

I know it's a simple message, but maybe we need to change our perception. Instead of looking askance at your brother and asking why give him and not me, Lord, ask, Lord, what can I give my brother today?

It's a simple message, but like life and loving God, simplicity is the key.

as

Echoes, Silence, Patience and Grace

Hello, dear Reader.

I've been gone for a while. I know, I know, I always disappear, leaving people and friends behind. It seems to be a recurring failure that I can't seem to shake. In this age of all-pervasive media, I think disappearing is in itself an achievement, although for those that care about me, my bouts of disappearance can really try friendships. It's a wonder, sometimes I think, that I have so many people around that care, and because of you, yes you, I shall endeavour to be a part of here and now, and not be apart from it.

So, before I begin, this is a small diversion from my usual writing - it's quite personal, so here goes.

Like I said, I disappear. It's what I do. In essence, it's not much different from running away. Even though I am in a great relationship now, last year, around this time, my previous relationship was going the way of Titanic, and I did what I did best - run away. I quit social media, I stopped meeting new people, and if I am being honest, I neglected a lot of things close to my heart. I was asked this question the other day: What matters to me?

Last year, I would have answered that question would a dozen or so passionate answers, coupled with some very long-winded explanations. This time around, my answer was this: nothing. Nothing matters. Sad, yes? Ask yourself this: What cannot you lose? The answer would be everything that matters to you. And for me, I have nothing I cannot lose.

And so, all at once, it seemed like everything was as Soloman said, 'a chasing of the wind'.

Through all that, it seemed even God was quite far away. I am sure even when I don't hear Him, He hears me, but like I said, I was running away from everything that made me, me. The sagacious wisdom of hindsight afforded that a relationship fails because one was not good enough, and since I was not good enough, I didn't like any part of who I was and stopped being it.

And so, only upon that realisation was I able to move forward, and now, forward I've moved - or maybe I am just back to where once was, and now am moving forward.

Echoes, silence, patience and grace. It's a line from Home by Foo Fighters and aptly, I am returning home. We all hear echoes of who we used to be, and compare it to who we are now. Sometimes all we have is silence. Some will try to fill the silence, but some, like me, let it consume us.

And when the silence has faded, we realise that patience and grace was afforded to us, sometimes by those who could ill afford it, but afforded nonetheless. It is amazing what these two can do for you, and to you.

It's been a long road, and finally, here I am, and I am sure I will eventually find something, or something will find me.

So, after the heavy period of self-reflection, a little update on my comings and goings.

I have been accepted as an Intern at autogridz, a motoring lifestyle magazine (if you're wondering what that means, hit me up, or you can check the website out), and I hope to be able to go into the industry full-time after this season.

Of course I'm excited - I have a dream, and I will tell you about it one day, but in essence, this is one step closer to it.

And to end this with an apt quote:

'Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more...'

as

You Die Every Seven Years

On average, the cells in your body will see seven summers.

This means that somewhere, under all the facade and the bluster and the talk and the walls, a little piece of the real you is dying. And as you read this, dies. Died. Dead.

It means that you are never who you were yesterday. No one ever stays the same. Nothing is as it were. Everything changes.

On average, a human being is only ever the same for seven years. After that seven years, that part of him dies.

A little piece of you dies every day. And every day, we just let it. Unstoppable, irrevocable.





But then again, new cells replace those that go every day. The old ones are no good. And so our body recycles what is old, using them for growing new ones.

We, each and every one, inherently, biologically, we're hard wired for change. And to grow. And to discard what is bad and to grow what is good.

We are wired for change. We are built to create what is good.

Believe it.
as

The Flailing Chicken

I've been away for months now. And partly, it's because I am afraid to put my thoughts into words. Imagine that, a writer with a fear of his own written word. I do not read blogs, I do not open myself to inspiration, because I am afraid of the feeling of inadequacy; not just because they write well - they do it with excellence - but because I don't want myself mirrored in their words.

Mostly, it's because they are so..inspired to make that change. To be better. To do better. To want better.

And I just don't. I find it so hard to care, to give anything worth a damn about anything that is not directly related to myself and my circumstance. It's a shitty way to live. And the worst part is, I know this is no way to live. The first step to solving a problem is to acknowledge the problem, but I barely think it's a problem anymore. And that's a problem.

No, nothing bad has happened in my life. My life is absurdly good; I have love, I have money, I have my little hobbies, I have a direction for the next couple of years. Sounds like I belong with octogenarians, but I'm not even 25 yet. No responsibilities worth mentioning, no hardships worth recalling.

You read this and you're thinking I'm blessed - yes I am, blessed thrice over. But I can't find it in me to want to be that change anymore. Where's that fire that was there 2, 3 years ago?

Really. The past couple of years - and I am not fishing for compliments or carrying myself in any kind of metaphorical straw basket - you tell me I've made a difference. That you look up to me and in my own way I've inspired and affected you. But I just don't see it. I don't see what I've done. Maybe a visionary can work without immediate, tangible fruits, but I am no visionary. I look back at my 23 years, and all I see are footprints on a shore. When the tide comes in, everything is washed away.

I went through a couple of episodes of One Tree Hill, and I remember who I was then: a little naive and wholly given over to music. I can barely find songs that speak to me these days. My soul is - without going into hyperboles - missing a rhythm. The tune it danced to has gone silent. No, more accurately, my soul has turned tone deaf and now dances like a chicken being chased by a farmer intent on making it supper.

Desperately flailing, trying to stay alive, but failing and then, dead.

Okay, so one hyperbole. I'll stop. Pinky swear.

My Dad told me that my generation (he could be just referring to me, but was being generous) is soft and too idealistic. I don't disagree. He said he became an engineer because he had to feed himself, and later, his family. He never gave a chickens arse (my words) about his calling, about fighting the good fight. He did what he had to and he did it honestly (really, I don't know a person more ethical). That's all. And after much hindsight, he loves it and he's good at it.

For some reason this struck me profoundly. Are we - or rather, am I - so idealistic that I can't just find a path and walk it righteously and be fulfilled? The answer is, no, no I can't, but then again, my calling came to me blindly as I read a book by Paulo Coelho, so who's to say?

But to my point. I guess, to put it bluntly, I can't find it in me to fight for my country anymore. I can't say for sure I'll stay here and forgo opportunities outside. Feels like the dreamer in me has been clobbered violently to death by the hyperbolic farmer.

as

For My Prettiest Friend

And so, I begin again.

A similar road, a different ending.

How does one mould two different parts of his being into one?

Because a part of me wants you to continue growing and learning and becoming the woman you can be.

And the other is selfish and obtuse and usually walks with his head in the clouds.

I wonder why here and why now. And I think to myself, that's not the right question. Why now is never the right question.

I don't have the right question. I don't have the answers to non-existing questions.

I just know that this is good. And right.

For the longest time, it seems that I had to remind people that life can be good, and life can be beautiful, and life can be more than what we think it could be.

And for the first time in my life, I am reminded of that. That life is beautiful and good and people can truly not have an agenda.

You remind me of purity, of hope and of second chances.

I don't know how the story will end, but you and I, we can find out together.

as

The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

As you would know by now, we (the team and I) have been working and writing and designing a report that features the youths of Malaysia. The report is finally now in the press, and, I can't say I don't feel a sense of loss that a chapter of my life is closing again. The journey has been so much of everything - experiences, new people, deadlines, sleepless nights. The journey has even been about just goofing around with a few friends and having fun with them while doing something that we are all passionate about.. But, above all, the journey has been about change.

Without giving any of the report away here, my editor, mentor, and above all, friend, closed the report with these words:

Instead explore and be open, because opportunity often presents itself in the least expected places, and who knows – that might be the beginning of our legacy.

How many people can point to one moment in life and say "That moment. That moment was the one that changed everything. That moment made me. That moment was the beginning of my legacy."

How many are blessed with this awareness?

This, this moment, wherever you are, whatever you are doing, whoever you are with, is no coincidence. It is correct and right.

You are meant to be in this exact spot, in this exact time, with this exact person, in this exact circumstance. Don't ever doubt that.

This, here, now, be it alone or with a person you love. This could be the first day of the rest of your life.
as

A Peck & A Pat

I stalked an old couple around the mall today.

I know, I know, everyone sees an old couple tottering around together and their first reaction is awww, how cute. I think mine went mostly along the same lines, although there was another reason why they piqued my interest.

Imagine this. A guy, old enough to be a great grandfather, pushing a lady of similar stature around a mall in a wheel chair, walking slowly, her hand over her shoulder to hold on to his as he wheels her about.

Every time he leaves her to go into a shop (not often, but the chair can't fit sometimes), he gives her a small peck on her white, fluffy hair and she will pat his hand. He goes in and comes out and again it repeats. A peck and a pat.

It was one of the sweetest scenes I have ever seen. They never passed a word between them, but she will hand him a bottle of water now and again and he will give it a sip and pass it back to her.

He had a twinkle in his eye all the time. Imagine that old grumpy guy from Up. Yes, he was very much like him, except in every single way. It was not a chore to wheel her about, he really, actually seemed to be enjoying it. Occasionally he would bend down slowly to whisper something into her ear and she would pat his face lovingly.

I don't know why this couple just..struck me. He came up to me to ask for directions, and thanked me in a toothy grin as I pointed him the right way.

I asked him, how long have you been married.

His immediate reply was all my life.

I don't cry much, or even easily, but that just brought a tear to my eye.

In a way, this reminded me of something. You know how, as a kid, all you ever needed was what was essential in life. Food, clothes, a few toys, love, and you're good to go. As we grow up, we accumulate stuff, we get more complicated. We eat strange and interesting foods, we have bigger and more expensive toys. Even love becomes more complicated.

And then, at 80, it's as if we are coming home from all that. Food, toys, everything becomes as they were, simple, uncomplicated. Even love. Love becomes a quiet peck on the head, and an affectionate pat on the hand.

In essence, maybe that's all everyone will ever possibly need out of another person. A hand to hold and a head full of hair to kiss.

as

There Is Always a Third Option

One of my favourite poems starts off like this:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood...

Two roads. And that's the crux of it, isn't it? Always there is a choice, a decision to be made, with ripples that you'll probable still see 20 years down the road. A T-junction.

I was faced with one of them this year. A choice, between shoving my anger into someone's face, or shoving my face into my anger. Two choices.

You may not realise this, but there is always a third choice as well. You have a choice of just, letting it go. That's it. No shoving anything anywhere.

There is always a third option, and with time and some perspective, it usually is, by far, the best road to take yet.
as

The Bricklayer

There was a big pile of bricks on the floor.

She looked at it, and without a word, started to arrange them. Brick by brick, she slowly arranged them neatly on the ground.

The new pile began to take shape, and passer bys would ask her what she was doing. She gave them a strange look and said I'm putting bricks together.

They asked her what it was. She replied with a shrug and continued.

Sometimes she threw away bricks that were broken, sometimes she kept them and added them to the pile. Layer by layer, it began to take shape, and after two years, she deemed it worthy.

They asked her why she stopped, why it is now worthy.

She said her job is complete. She only wanted to build a foundation.

A foundation to what, they asked her.

Another shrug. A foundation to whatever, she said. It can be anything, everything. Whatever it wants to be. It is now time for it to build itself.

It can be anything is wants to be. I believe it can. All it needs now is to believe in itself.
as

I Miss

Writing God-awfully long letters and emails.

Standing outside in the rain.

Making music.

Driving for hours.

The sun.

The sea.

Being somewhere else.

Writing news stories.

That feeling when a book writes itself.

Winter.

Random people, all around the world.

Coffee (not the stuff I make)

Running, Swimming, Hiking

Going somewhere new

Connection

You