it was a lovely christmas dinner, for the third time at derrick's. i think we may be able to do this for a long time because we never run out of things to say. i love all of you: chit, laine, gra, shar, joo, derrick, chang. love love love. t5 whoosh.




this is the riot brothers that i adore to bits.




falalalala lala la.

This christmas, I spent it mostly barfing.

It was pretty anti-climax, seeing how there were many good things to happen. Just before leaving for church, I was not even sure if I was going to be able to make it to the stage. There were six songs in total to be sung, and my rate of barfing was once an hour (yes the details!); I was starting to question God why today.

Through His grace, I didn’t puke on stage (woohoo...) though there were many precautionary measures taken to preempt that. I think the girls sang beautifully. At one point in the song, I thought I was going to cry. It’s the Christmas thing and also there were a million and one emotions rushing through my head, my body. A million and one or more I’m not quite sure I was a little woozy.

And the good news that caroling went well was also a joy to hear. Someone messaged me on the eve that maybe it’s time for me to rest. And even though I didn’t think the timing was apt, I think Jesus wanted me to rest on His day. To be still for a moment and enjoy the rainy weather, enjoy the people that I love so much in my life, enjoy just being home for Christmas.

I almost cried, (in between barfing yes), when the churchies called from the caroling bus to sing the ping pong ball song and our song. I love me churchies with all my heart and I will love them forever and ever and ever.

So anyway, I’m recovering now. Slowly eating (so much for putting on the pounds I was looking forward to that!) and hopefully ready for the gatherings to come starting tomorrow.

I had this entry (below) written in my purple diary dated 23/12/2006. I thought I would write a bit here because it's almost like a summing up of the year. And I don't normally write the stuff I write in my purple diary here because they are lo-ong, but because I'm entitled to one long entry a year, I'm going to use it up today:

***

I think we got our beach escapade: lodging by the sea front, so much space surrounding the villa we can set up hammocks and fall asleep to the waves crashing by our side, tossing frisbee outside while rhythms del mundo played loudly from inside, our nirwana indonesian massage, lounging by the different pools but never getting burnt.

All these good things aside, more importantly, it was the time spent with the six other, who were great company, great cooks, great game masters: fantastic people. Past the 27th’s days, I’m glad we still get to do this.

Forget the ferry rides from hell.

***

53A at wala’s + cosy meet up with the weis.



this is gisele. she’s going to be our next star.

***

the saddest part
of a broken heart
isn't the ending
so much as the start
the tragedy starts
from the very first spark
losing your mind
for the sake of your heart

beckythinkofprettythings.blogspot.com is two years old.

To think that we have moved past the geocities days five years back, to the blogger days now, and have erm pretty much stayed put (no cool flash stuff, web improvements or whatever as you can see). The layout underwent no changes ever, not because I am an ardent Apple maniac, but just because I’m not a web saavy ghiz whiz kid, and those times that I tried, I wish I didn’t.

The truth is, Becky's just another one of the millions riding on this web 2.0 fever, allowing herself to take short cuts in communication with friends, sometimes whoring herself online (regrettably), taking advantage of this platform to be cryptic in disseminating messages, and talking in the third person, oh it has been much fun.

Thank you for staying tune, despite this site offering you nothing whatsoever. You’ve been a true friend, now let’s go for coffee!

totally unrelated, this is my finger with holes in it; there can only be one reason.

i cut my hair. short. it's weird. and my ah ma forced a jade bangle down my hand, using soap. it's stuck.

reeds driftin' on by you know how I feel, I'm feeling good. Glaciers melting in the dead of night, and the superstars sucked into. Tasting the air you're breathing in, I know I won't forget a thing. You would say anything, you could be my unintended, together we're invincible, hoodoo. Look to the stars, I think our lives have just begun. Sing for absolution: I want the peace and joy in your mind. I only dream of you, my beautiful. Hopelessly, love you endlessly. Dark shines, fully loaded satellites, black holes and revelations – city of delusion.

i'm doing really good without you.
yeap.

These nights have been clear but still suffused with thoughts, some grandiose ones; I do not know how to pen. Catching up with old friends like candice love, doing things that have to be done, being surprised by sad and happy things, indeed to understand is a joy, but only if it comes with effort. Abraham being mentioned too many times in a week is as clear as God speaking, knocking some sense into this stubborn mind. If God leads, just go, if He doesn’t show where, still go forth with faith. If God gives, take, if He doesn’t, still rejoice, for while men see things in a lifetime, He sees things in eternity.

I love SBBC with all my heart.
Take baby steps and just keep fighting, He will do the rest.

compensation for being underpaid, i've got prof buns as my PI sup.

Tonight, with all sincerity,

I want to thank God for my family. For its perfection in the six imperfect lives, I will never want another.

I want to thank God for our humble home. For this little mansionette that has housed us and kept us safe even though we do not clean up all the time.

I want to thank God for placing us in the heartlands, and for teaching us to enjoy the spirit of the heartlands.

I want to thank God for my education. For Galilee, Fairfield, Acjc and SCI.

I want to thank God for SBBC. Through all its ups and downs, it’s truly been the second home.

I want to thank God for good things like seth, and joe the organ, and all those years of learning music so that I can appreciate.

I want to thank God for all the most amazing friends that I believe I do not deserve to have.

I want to thank God for the acquaintances. The people who have come into my lives, who have said hello while looking me in the eye.

I want to thank God for good msn conversations, such as the one I had with leb tonight

caleb_yap@hotmail.com says:
but that's faith isn't it.
caleb_yap@hotmail.com says:
when god calls abraham to leave his home
caleb_yap@hotmail.com says:
he doesn't say go where
caleb_yap@hotmail.com says:
he just says go

I want to thank God for Singapore, really.

I want to thank God for single hood, really really.

I want to thank God for keeping us physically fit, in good health, so that we can appreciate all of His creation.

I want to thank God for all the in betweens, for the details that I have, but should not have, forgotten, the littlest things that have made this life what it is.

I want to thank God, because I can never thank Him enough. But I have to start somewhere, so tonight.

i know i've been linking a lot lately, but this is the postmodern world of hypertextuality, so here's another! http://dorothyho.com/?p=330 it's a lovely read.

http://www.rhythmsdelmundo.com

the album to have.

Why the elite envy: Insight's article (Sat, 9 Dec) on elitism in Singapore has been cut out, and stored.

The cause of this recent uproar, even wiki-ed. and tube-d.

I was hoping the article would provide some sort of resolution, ideally. This has been a concern that has been bugging me way before the wee-wee saga but I've never quite been able to articulate the thoughts. It was great, at first, to see a whole page dedicated to this issue in Straits Times.

But my question is, will/can anything change?

Jb always means waking up very early, packing the cooler box, grocery shopping by nine a.m. and pushing the trolley really fast down the aisles, zig zag allowed. Mee Goreng at the macik’s store, pump petrol, trying out 5-in-1 coffee mixes, goreng pisang by Domino’s, letting pops run his routine plan for this part of Malaysia, which he enters once every two weeks, is his playground.

Things look better behind shades.

remember.

more photos here. courtesy of fried

"NTU president Su Guaning said that the university had decided to honour Mr Wee's contributions by developing 'the best school of journalism, unique to the world and particularly suited to Asia'." - December 6, The Straits Times.

I think it's great that the renaming took place in honour of one of our greatest presidents.

But SCI turning into journ school is as good as telling the rest of us that we can now roll in shit.

It does seem like the case: best faculty members from the other divisions leaving, less platforms for the other students in the divisions of electronic broadcast/public promo comm/research as compared to journ div - it's not rocket science; turning into a journ school means more resources for the journ department, and less for the others. So many signs pointed towards such a development, why was this never addressed with the students when we raised the query?

It does also seem that SCI has very little say in how this is all happening. NTU decides, yet again, making up minds, doing its panopticon things. Last I heard, our dean was not seated at the VIP table at Istana. How can? The changes are happening, with no consultation, no dialogue, hmm, as always.

If you (and this i mean NTU) want to brand the school as a journalism school, say it! Why so shy. Why let the Straits Times tell us. There’s nothing wrong with priding yourself in something that you believe you can be strong in, but don’t short change the rest of your students who are not aspiring journalists. Not all of us entered SCI wanting to be journalists because it was never a journ school, so it is only fair that all of us who entered before 2007 be granted equal opportunities, especially if we are good at what we do.

As if this institution’s (and this i mean NTU) public relations internally and externally isn’t appalling enough, this event has caused internal PR to minus a further 1000 points.

some images of our island. Pictures courtesy of Fried. I can’t wait to get my hands on the 600 other photos this Sunday. The anticipation is killing me.

Back to the daily holiday laze. I don’t like indulging but it is becoming a daily affair. We’re having tea in a bit at Foster’s and shopping with Mei Shi later in the evening for the Christmas things. The past few days since returning from the island have been a tad too luxurious, too many nice things, so much so that I had to hit the tarmac for the first time in a long time with pops last night// This morning, the rain came down while I was still under the covers. And I didn’t have to budge, it was a favorite moment// Last night after showering, I sat by mommy on her bed, cross-legged, and asked her what was on her mind. Sometimes, I think our folks just need to tell someone.

Interpreter of Maladies shows one how to observe, the most intricate details. The collection of short stories was a collection of stories about waiting, and not getting; about finding your place in displacement. It was about the Indian culture that I know so little of: the marigolds, the dipping into chutney, the scent of cloves, spices, and more than that.

Every page turned, I think of how to tell the story of you. I want to tell you in the way I have observed you, on the rare occasions we have had time together. I want to tell of how I have had to wait, and not get; find a place to settle while you’re not around. I want to tell a story of you, from the little that I know. And after this, I think I will forget better.

29 nov: Returning to St John’s Island is always a familiar journey. Although today we had a much smaller ride in the form of an orange mini-ferry, the strong scent of sea water immediately summoned memories fourteen-years-worth strong.

Then upon reaching, we walk the paths, as if we know it by hard; across the jetty, along the sea, and up the hill to the old yet oddly endearing one-storey camp site.

I had to tell the kids what this island means to us, how our parents were already here in 1976, how the generations created their generation’s worth of memories right here in one of the southern islands. Strangely enough, they suddenly turn wide-eyed and curious. Perhaps they were trying to locate themselves in this rich tradition; they wanted to know how they could be part of this special event that we have every year. And while they seemed hopeful, I wish that those hopes will not die. Because as kids ourselves, we were full of hope, but along the way something made us question. How many of us return to share tales of good times with young ones who need to know of it more than ever.


1 Dec: Someone awful is in the process of constructing a road to connect the island to Singapore. What used to be a scenic view of ships and blue sea is now replaced with an interruptive highway built on reclaimed land that cut across the sea. Then when we walked further into the island’s centre, we found the tropical marine institute, a complete mismatch as it stood out starkly amongst the old fashioned architecture of the rest of the island. Fortunately for us, there was consolation amidst the news of industrialization happening on our island: the colour of the sky this morning was nothing I have seen before, in Singapore at least. Orange yellow fade with blue, something funky-crazy-beautiful.

Where else so close to home can we come to healthy blue skies and puffy clouds; not be bothered by weird looking bugs flying into your face; watch butterflies fly between the grass blades, walk bare feet anywhere: sand-grass-sand, amazing therapy. Never mind the one-inch thick mattress because waking up to this island makes us sleep sweet.

By the third day, we don’t want to leave.

We just played hopscotch by the sea, at a time when the tide was coming up so the crashing of waves came up to our toes. Simple fun like the other things we do, I want more of these. These past few days have been filled with special moments, albeit some bugger ones. From the night outside the campsite where the most unlikely four of us had a heart-to-heart talk about our spiritual walk and we shared about the struggles, to the tiny moments where Alex or Joshua, our littlest kids, say something so innocently hilarious, we roll in laughter for a minute too long.

I say again, there is something about this place that magically takes our mind off our lives that are a half an hour ride away. I think it’s the fact that there is nothing here, and we create, appreciate and bask in the beauty of His creation.

More importantly, watching the kids grow. To hear the quiver in the voices when they pray, their yearning to want to be closer to Him, hear them say they have learnt, they have enjoyed, and they will miss it.

As much as it was tough with the shortage of workers, as long as the campers were happy, I am. But our work is not done, we must look forward to the next, and keep this beautiful thing going.

I love the island life and it will take me a while to recover like always. Till then, I pray that God show us what the next step is. We want to make things better, and through prayer, I know He will allow us to see it.