Little Asterisk*

a personal catalogue of inspirations and current likings, light-hearted stuff and things of note.

beautiful things in a broken world

a nus-to-home bus journey’s worth of thoughts.

1.

“I love studying.”

This strange thought flickered across my mind as I packed my bag for the day, ready to leave for home. What was it exactly I was feeling? Excitement? Thrill? I had just watched the film trailer for the documentary “Urbanized”, and was struck with wonder (the rail shot at 0:58 of the video? amazing.) Intentional design. Design thinking. Product design. Good design. My heart was really pumping now, by all the possibly amazing design that exists in life - so crazy amazing and beautiful. And now I was really really itching to catch the documentary, and other documentaries/shows about design. No, scratch that, I want to contribute to design even, if only I was smarter! 

Thoughts spun through my head in all sorts of direction as I headed to the bus-stop. It had been another fairly amazing semester, with crazy interesting modules. Inspiring professors who light-heartedly unravel the social fabric (A/P Volker Schmidt!!! I am still wondering why I didn’t take a photo with him…), thought-provoking films… especially films about religion. In being exposed to so, so, very much, and realising how some films were essentially providing an opinion/making claims that went against my beliefs, I found myself having to consciously think more often, to reiterate my views in my own head, at least, to reconsider matters I have never thought of before, to make coherent sense of my views. 

The excitement of learning more about the world - the thrill of seeing good design, uncovering good design, the feeling of having glimpsed a vision, a beautiful dream, a beautiful thing, of wanting to learn more, of wanting to contribute, of wanting to be part of this better, beautiful change, of intentional careful empowering design - what little I know of this world, what many wonderful things I can look forward to, what many crazy amazing things to discover, it’s all so inspiring!

In all this happy haze, of honest infatuation with beautiful things of this world, a little voice pulled me back and asked, “if you are feeling so so in love and inspired with the things in this world, how can you still say “Lord, Your kingdom  come”? Where is your desire for the second coming of Christ?”

A second of doubt.

Minutes of reflection.

Many minutes of reflection. 

I spent much time mentally checking off what I felt and think about this inspiration and passion. Did I feel guilt about it? No. Was it something shameful, something I would not share about? No either. Has it been stated in the bible that you can’t feel passion and interest? Most certainly not. Do the things I think to be beautiful have true beauty as measured by the bible? Well, yes. Good design for all, to make the quality of life better, to empower the weak - that is beautiful. 

But how, how do I make sense of it then? If there are so so many things I want to do in this world, so many things I want to learn about, will I not want to die? In fact, do I even want to die soon? Currently… well. No, not really… Do I expect to die soon? Well./. not really too. Then…? How can I claim my greatest desire is for God? But do I want to meet God? Yes! Do I still want His kingdom to come? Yes! Will I actually have regrets if I do die tomorrow? No! Will I be fine with dying tomorrow? Yes! Will I actually be joyful to die? Yes!

Huh…. what’s going on….

As I walked, I uttered a quick “breath prayer”, for wisdom and guidance, for an alignment of desires, for my top desire to still be for God. And got onto the bus, and sat, still thinking, still pondering.

2.

If I can find things that seem so amazingly beautiful now in this world, how much more mind-blowing and amazing would heaven be? In fact, how incredibly unimaginable it would be! Everything of beauty now is still a fractured broken reflection of reality, of simple beauty, glory and radiance. 


It has always been a question mark how exactly the “lifestyle”, for lack of a better word, would be in heaven, but a few things I know - no pain, no tears, no struggle or conflict, amazing, amazing joy. The happiness and joy I feel now and then again is but a fragment of the joy that lies in wait. Also, crazy amazingly, we will still work - meaningfully and productively.

My brain may be kinda worn out for recording this at night, but this sudden thought just struck me… Marx’s vision of man as meaningful producers is sounding a lot like the vision of heaven. Perhaps a superficial similarity, but, hmm. 

As I walked back home from the bus-stop, I saw an old crippled man buying bread. And then things came together. For every beautiful thing in this world, for every new vision to make things better, for every desire to make things beautiful, there is something fractured, there is a broken wish, an unfulfilled dream. There is pain, and there is suffering. And I may want to change certain things, and I may change certain things, but until Jesus comes, this world will remain broken and fallen, an imperfect mirror of what could be.

A short trip home, a long convoluted train(s) of thought, a sober reminder to not lose sight of His kingdom in enjoying and celebrating the positive beautiful things of life. In the lift up I sing a new song at the top of my voice to lift the heaviness of my heart.

And then entered home with quiet gratitude, thoughts quelled for now. 

strange joy

This is a period of mugging, of cramming, of looking at all the multiple readings with one solitary grey mass of brain matter, and wondering if there are enough niches and space at all to remember every. single. little. thing.

This is the time where emails come in and you sorta, kinda, want to, almost, freak out a little, and you pray, oh dear Lord, help me remember to put YOU first, not my exams, not my revision, not my papers, not my silly pride that wishes to be validated. Every moment I wonder if there’s a chance of me getting onto the dean’s list I have to check myself and say, hey hey, that’s not the real measure of your worth, that’s not the sum of your worth at all, that’s not what you should be looking to at all.

So it goes, a strange struggle, an internal monologue that goes on and on, human fear and panic against whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable.

And yet it is, precisely, times like this, of struggle and anxiety and worries, that joy comes bursting forth, that the little things seem all that much more precious - phone calls at night, a listening ear, a sharing, many sharings, being able to wake up in the early morning, breathing, the blue sky with streaks of white clouds, the cool playful wind, the security and certainty of a welcoming seat in the cvcf study group, packing, leaving house, settling into a cosy chair and staking out a space, materials sprawling waiting for you to tidy them up physically, as you tidy up all the loose ends of information that threatens to spiral out of control, but actually, never really does, not now, not today at least. A little small bowl of potato salad, warm water, peacefulness, pleasant music, surprisingly interesting facets of information flashing now and then again in the readings, illuminative and engaging. 

So I sit up straighter, quell the silly fears of my heart, and go on, as diligently as I can muster, chipping away like a miner at the cold hard rocks of data and knowledge, hoping to uncover a full gem of wisdom, and experience the scope of a vision. 

And write of course, now and then again, to release pressure.

(:

昨天，是应毕生感恩祷告分享会。坐在椅子上安静地听着学长们的分享，就是有那么一个感觉，“eh, 你所说的是真的吗？你以前真的如此吗？现在的你好不同哦！”

原来，三四年，一个人真的能变很多。今天早上，就带着那么一个期待的心，花点小时间，重新回顾以前的我，也盼望着未来来临的成长，今天的挑战。

顿时，重新感受到兴奋。

“为此我提醒你，使你将神藉我按手所给你的恩赐再如火挑旺起来。因为神赐给我们，不是胆怯的心，乃是刚强、仁爱、谨守的心。” - 提摩太后书 1:7-8

the sun likes coffee-   It was a curious state of affairs, she admitted, but it was true nevertheless. Somehow, in the wee hours of morning, before the sun ever showed its face across the horizon, a little bit of the sun had somehow been swallowed, inhaled, absorbed into her body.   “But that’s impossible!” the ever strict rational Madam of reason in her mind said while sternly wagging her finger at all the fanciful whims in her head, like winged keys, fluttering around. Madam, was not pleased. “And get back down to ground, all of you! Keys are not supposed to have wings!”   But oh, oh! The keys of imagination flew even higher, away from Madam’s snatching hands, rising and zooming to greet and embrace the sunlight that filled the whole mind and heart - so warm, so full… She laid in bed and wondered if her body would just burst already from the joy of it all, as playful keys tugged her tights lips into a big bright brilliant broad beaming smile. How glorious is the sun! The sky outside the window flickered gently, a clear blue, as the sun within her rose up similarly with the sun outside. She aroused herself, and got out of bed, letting the sun tugged her to activity.   But as quickly as the sun rose, so did the clouds come, dark and heavy slumberness, dull and grey weariness, as though the sun itself had not enough rest from last night’s sleep. It moved slower, more lazily. She spent a few minutes doing her quiet time, but seemingly already resigned to the facts that the dark clouds would soon obscure what was once bright and glowing. So minutes passed as she ran her errands - reading emails, replying emails, catching up on Tumblr, printing out notes. Her eyelids were heavy, weighed down and sore all around.     A little conversation on facebook, a few minutes of care and concern from a friend. The girl shared about her tiredness, “should I have coffee?”. “Go have a shower! It helps me,” he says. So off the girl went into the shower room. Droplets of water rained down, as though the clouds had finally broken into rain, a warm tropical storm, wetting and refreshing. But still, the dark clouds of lethargy hovered as the rain stopped, persistent, and the sun laid buried deep within the clouds, refusing to show even a little peek of its face.    No rainbows, the girl mourned a little, as she headed off to school, with her own personal storm cloud hovering about her. No rainbows. But at this moment, the sun seemingly heard her call, and led her eyes to recognise a friend at the bus-stop. Pleasant conversation, a little spring added to her step, as the wheels of the bus went round and round, on to school.    But even as she walked to class, she knew the battle could not be won so simply. What was left? Coffee perhaps, not the best of options, but a last resort nevertheless. She got a cup from the deck - a mixed up concotion of Milo, coffee without milk, coffee with milk. As she took her first few sips in class however, it seemed like the dark clouds were simply too dense - this was it, she will not break out of the fog. Her mind skipped around with random thoughts, unable to focus to the lecturer.    A few minutes passed, and out of the blue, there was a change. Seemingly fueled by the caffeine in the coffee, the sun suddenly shone ablaze, dispersing the black clouds with its big golden rays! She found herself sitting up straight, her mind suddenly clear, not foggy, her eyes bright and gleaming, full of life and energy. Glorious glorious caffeine seemingly galloped effortlessly through her blood, saying, shoo black dark grey dull clouds, shoo shoo shoo! It zipped with speed throughout, breaking through the dense and heavy fogs, sending her heart a-pumping. Work it heart, work it! The heart beat happily to the rhythm of wakefulness that coursed through her body.   Who knew, the girl found herself thinking aloud, who knew the sun liked coffee so?

the sun likes coffee-
 
It was a curious state of affairs, she admitted, but it was true nevertheless. Somehow, in the wee hours of morning, before the sun ever showed its face across the horizon, a little bit of the sun had somehow been swallowed, inhaled, absorbed into her body.
 
“But that’s impossible!” the ever strict rational Madam of reason in her mind said while sternly wagging her finger at all the fanciful whims in her head, like winged keys, fluttering around. Madam, was not pleased. “And get back down to ground, all of you! Keys are not supposed to have wings!”
 
But oh, oh! The keys of imagination flew even higher, away from Madam’s snatching hands, rising and zooming to greet and embrace the sunlight that filled the whole mind and heart - so warm, so full… She laid in bed and wondered if her body would just burst already from the joy of it all, as playful keys tugged her tights lips into a big bright brilliant broad beaming smile. How glorious is the sun! The sky outside the window flickered gently, a clear blue, as the sun within her rose up similarly with the sun outside. She aroused herself, and got out of bed, letting the sun tugged her to activity.
 
But as quickly as the sun rose, so did the clouds come, dark and heavy slumberness, dull and grey weariness, as though the sun itself had not enough rest from last night’s sleep. It moved slower, more lazily. She spent a few minutes doing her quiet time, but seemingly already resigned to the facts that the dark clouds would soon obscure what was once bright and glowing. So minutes passed as she ran her errands - reading emails, replying emails, catching up on Tumblr, printing out notes. Her eyelids were heavy, weighed down and sore all around.  
 
A little conversation on facebook, a few minutes of care and concern from a friend. The girl shared about her tiredness, “should I have coffee?”. “Go have a shower! It helps me,” he says. So off the girl went into the shower room. Droplets of water rained down, as though the clouds had finally broken into rain, a warm tropical storm, wetting and refreshing. But still, the dark clouds of lethargy hovered as the rain stopped, persistent, and the sun laid buried deep within the clouds, refusing to show even a little peek of its face. 
 
No rainbows, the girl mourned a little, as she headed off to school, with her own personal storm cloud hovering about her. No rainbows. But at this moment, the sun seemingly heard her call, and led her eyes to recognise a friend at the bus-stop. Pleasant conversation, a little spring added to her step, as the wheels of the bus went round and round, on to school. 
 
But even as she walked to class, she knew the battle could not be won so simply. What was left? Coffee perhaps, not the best of options, but a last resort nevertheless. She got a cup from the deck - a mixed up concotion of Milo, coffee without milk, coffee with milk. As she took her first few sips in class however, it seemed like the dark clouds were simply too dense - this was it, she will not break out of the fog. Her mind skipped around with random thoughts, unable to focus to the lecturer. 
 
A few minutes passed, and out of the blue, there was a change. Seemingly fueled by the caffeine in the coffee, the sun suddenly shone ablaze, dispersing the black clouds with its big golden rays! She found herself sitting up straight, her mind suddenly clear, not foggy, her eyes bright and gleaming, full of life and energy. Glorious glorious caffeine seemingly galloped effortlessly through her blood, saying, shoo black dark grey dull clouds, shoo shoo shoo! It zipped with speed throughout, breaking through the dense and heavy fogs, sending her heart a-pumping. Work it heart, work it! The heart beat happily to the rhythm of wakefulness that coursed through her body.
 
Who knew, the girl found herself thinking aloud, who knew the sun liked coffee so?

exorcising

Some days I go back to those few old page on the interwebs, that old web log, the most secret of diaries, the most public of places, the seven-years shelter. The virtual space where black pixels come together, forming prose and poetry, with all their convoluted half-formed codes. There lies the written record of the deepest of thoughts and emotions, of sadness and fear, of excitement and elation.  Words weaved, words typed, words formed, words captured.. capture..? Words, words are not enough.

I’m happier, I tell myself. There’s no longer need for that digital corner of text that strove to capture fickle fantasies, late-night sleepless hours wrung dry into threading words that paraded, no, masqueraded indulgent pity as art. No more, no more being a limp rag doll on a raft crashing with the waves of my emotions. Life now is simpler, brighter, clearer, and every morning I find myself waking up, offering new thanks to a beautiful God. 

And yet, some days, just some days, I wake up with a start calling your name, vivid fresh nightmares coursing through my head, past emotions haunting me like ghosts that would never leave. It is early morning, 4.34am, and the night is dark and cold, and my phone is beside me, an instrument that promises so much hope, of a possible connection, of past communication. And yet, all that was precious is now no more. 

I lie in bed yearning, yearning with a sore aching heart, for the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind I know I never will have.

But, I choose to fight on.     

:D

:D

old sturdy.

There was a small pocket of time in the morning today. Enough, I thought, as I tried to tidy and keep my old spoilt umbrella, enough time for me to run to the “jumbled goods shop” behind the food market to get a new umbrella if I wanted to. “Oh.. dang it all,” I thought, and left the rumpled unfolded umbrella on the floor before grabbing my bag and things. “I’m going to school now!” I announced to my bro. Threw my things onto the seat by the door, sat down ungracefully on the floor, pulled on socks and shoes, stood up, bundled things together, fussed with the lock, went out. 

I barely noticed anything as I thought about my destination, and walked with light steps towards the place. The shop was filled with everything… lotions, soaps, grandma’s slippers out at the front, hangers, pails. I looked for umbrellas among the shelves. None. I pranced around, from one end to the other. “Strange,” I thought to myself, “where are the umbrellas? I’m running out of time”. 

Somehow I did not feel like opening my mouth to ask. Instead my eyes went in all directions - oh! There it was, a bunch of tall and short umbrellas hanging from metal s-hooks from the ceiling. You go girl. I stepped forward to examine them. The auntie looked up at me from the chair she sat on, a vigilant eye, just to make sure I don’t mess anything up. “小妹，你要什么？雨伞啊？那些是长的，特大”

“这些呢？” I asked about the plaid ones, knowing deep within my heart my sis will chide me for being old-fashioned and declare them ugly, but unable to stop myself still. They were quaint, in their own way, old-fashioned single-tone uncle plaid. 

“我拿下来给你看” I pointed to the dark blue one immediately as she took them down, and she took it out for me while going on with her sales pitch. Heavier umbrellas are better, she remarked, as though sensing my reluctance to carry around something heavy. More sturdy, better in rainy windy weather like Singapore. She opens the umbrella, see, it’s good. 

That’s fine, I replied. As she closed the umbrella, I spotted a light blue plaid umbrella hiding at the back, and knew my sister would approve of that colourway way more. “Auntie, 这浅蓝色的呢？” I asked. The auntie took it out - it was younger looking, in a pretty light blue that faintly echoed the light blue sky. “我开给你看,” the auntie insisted on opening it to show me. She pushes it open - at the last joint, the umbrella resisted, and the auntie had to push hard to force it open. Xiao mei, she said, take the dark blue one, better. This one a bit stiff. 

“Let me try, Auntie” I took the umbrella from her, and experienced that stiffness at the before the final push, pushing out hard to force it open. Pretty, but seemingly so very unreliable too. Auntie, I’ll take the dark blue one.

As I walked to the bus-stop for school, I kept glancing at the umbrella in my hand. It was dark blue and yellowish grey. One could almost imagine that the clouds from dark rainy sky themselves had become sketches and folded itself up to form it. I realised I had picked a very masculine “uncle” umbrella. But it was a nice solid weight in my hand, comfortingly so. You’ll be protected, I thought, under a normal looking umbrella that’ll magically fade into the canopy of the stormy skies, under an umbrella that would camouflaged you from lightning, walking as though invisible, unhindered by rain and wind. You’ll be secure.

And that’s when I knew. Old sturdy, that’s what he will be.

I held old sturdy tighter as I ran for my bus.  

in present tense

“Here. Take the balloon,” he says.

“Why?” I ask.

The balloon was bigger than any balloon I had ever seen, nearly a perfect sphere. It pulled against its string and swayed with the wind, a big round orb of the prettiest light orange. I give it a little experimental jab. It springs away from my finger, before swinging back. Back and forth, back and forth. “It’s so big,” I say.

“Yea. Take it.” He thrusts his hand out at me. I laugh, struck by how comic he seems, standing up so stiffly, like a traffic policeman directing traffic rather than giving a present. And then I laugh again, as I wonder how a policeman would direct traffic with something as free-moving as a balloon. “To the left!” he would think, as he yanks the balloon to the left, but the wind, oh the wind, would keep blowing it right, and all the cars would get confused… In all the thoughts and images that flashes across my mind, I realise I still have not taken the balloon. 

“Why,” I ask again, slight insistent, but mainly teasing. “What for?”

“Take it. You can hold it, tie it to your hand, or something. Then no matter how far away you run, I’ll still be able to see where you are”

“Aw..” I reply. “But but, you do realise the balloon will deflate after a while! And then it’ll stop floating in the sky, and droop down. And how are you going to to dispose of it later anyway?? And it’s made from plastic no. That’s bad, bad for animals..”

He cuts me off. “Are you taking it?”

I take the offered string, tie it to my right hand, and walk along with him. The balloon followed, a buoyant bubble, bouncing and bobbing with every swing of my hand as I walk; a soft circle gently breaking up the blue blue sky, like a little baby sun yearning to rise. 

a hundred prismatic hues

Today, I’ll tell you I love you.
Please accept these words I’m offering to you,
Bottle them up. 
Nurture them with your own glow of love, and perhaps, 
It might result in gentle but fascinating blooms
Shades of iridescent rainbows, the glow of a hundred prismatic hues.
Take it, these words. 
You see, you might never hear them again. 
So take it, and bottle them. 
One day they might be dusty, and you could take them down and reflect.
Shatter them if you feel bitter.
But it would be something, something you can vent your feelings on. 
Be they anger or regret. Nostalgia or perhaps even 
Joy - if it was joy those bottles would be bright and a-sparkling.
They would be beautiful.