Every time I read about a story regarding people overcoming the odds, I'm filled with awe, respect and amazement.
Fighting against debiliating diseases, fighting an overwhelming army that outnumbered yours by hundreds of times, fighting against the emotional pain, shame and anguish...Something that Jesus did.
"How did they do it?", I would wonder. It's true they were smart, capable, confident...But how did thye arrive at that? Out of so many people who failed, how were they able to overcome it, rise above the circumstances and situations, and conquer at the very end?
Perhaps it is indeed as I assumed: Resilience.
Then again, they probably knew what was going to happen if they pressed on. Or rather, they knew what was going to happen if they did not press on, especially in the case of wars and great battles. States will crumble. Nations would be defeated. The cause, their cause they had been fighting so hard for, would be for naught.
I wonder...What would have happened if the cancer survivors gave up the ghost?
What would have happened if Winston Churchill decided to wave a white flag, knowing that Britain was the last Europe state that was yet to be occupied by the Axis army in World War II?
Most importantly, what would have happened if Jesus gave up God's will and did not die on the cross for us?
I shudder to think of the possibilities.
The thing is, in almost every situation, God loves to turn things around. Even though it seems like my efforts are fruitless in certain things, that my faith in his visions sometimes seems to be on the brink, God would be there to turn things around.
But you know what? How timely the message had been just two days ago. Trials were designed not to weaken, but to strengthen us. As Pastor Phil puts it, there are many different kinds of trials. As a friend puts it, God compliments us with trials.
As I believe it, God gives us trials because he can't wait for us to grow stronger.
Amidst all the "Why, why why?!?" whining and crying from myself and from others, I realised that clinging on is more important. I realisd that when you always want this and that, it isn't always for the best. I realised that even though there are times where you really, really feel horribly down and need to just let everything out to God, in the end, the heart is important. Staying true to yourself, staying true to God is essential.
Who knows? When you pray to him, when you cry out to him, you need to believe that he heard it, because he hears everyone. And when you stay true to him, he will actually grant you the things you want. Even if he doesn't, somehow, if you just trust in him, things might actually turn out for the better. A greater blessing, similar in nature, might be even there, ready to pop out of the giant birthday cake and shout "Surprise!"
So that's what I believe. That's what I need to confess. Just like the other day, on the way to church. Mired in some conundrums, all I could see was black fog ahead, no matter how I visualised it. I looked up at the grey sky and wondered if I would be having the same, wistful expression, eyes threatening to tear, smile tightening when that time comes.
Then somehow, he spoke and I turned around. Amazingly, the other half of the sky was bright, clear, beautiful, and immediately there was a lifting of the veil over my eyes.
That's where we are at times. In the middle of light and darkness, all we need is to take that step. Make that decision to turn away from despair and darkness to look at the light. Make that decision to stop harping on the past. Make that decision to see that perhaps the situation isn't as gloomy as you see it...All you need is a change in perspective. And action that comes with your faith.
Let's be thankful for all the blessings, all the people, all the revelations...All the trials he has placed in your life. In my life.
Knowing that there are so many trials now, at least I know that he cares so much to want to see me grow.
He really, really does.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Chronicles of Iridescence, Chapter 23: Stagnant Waters
Irritated at the lack of pace. The lack of change.
Seems like there can be so much more that I can do. Should be doing. Supposed to be doing. But all I do is stay at home, attempt to write certain things, fail miserably and spend my time attempting to talk to friends (most of the time successfully on the whole).
Not that it was all fruitless. I love talking to those people, even if the sentiment might not be shared amongst every single person. I love finding out things about people's lives and try to maintain a distance when it gets to sensitive topics.
Which is why sometimes I find myself fumbling about for a nice topic whenever I attempt to initiate conversation or at least maintain it. The end result usually bombed, though, except for a few magical moments where I could hardly believe that it was me typing out all those light-hearted comments.
So in a sense, the waters are stagnant in the relationship I have with several people. Ripples are seen everytime I move, or the other party (friend/acquaintance) moves, but the distance doesn't seem like it has shortened.
But maybe I'm either over-imagining things, or it's just me. I remember that the closest friendships I forged in the past were done over a period of four years. Four years before I could even feel comfortable enough to talk about things closer to the heart. And that was done with friends that I had been in contact with constantly, from Monday to Friday.
Maybe that's the root cause of it. I'm all good with being a friend in the third circle, a 'Hi-Bye' kind of acquaintance, a guy who helps with the little, mundane things like opening doors for people, guiding a group of friends to a nice eatery, providing tissues whenever they needed...You know, those little gestures.
But when it gets to the second circle and sometimes even the first, I can't break through.
Sure, it takes a lot of time, but now that I think about it, others have done it way easier than I do. The simple reasoning boils down, of course, to social awkwardness and my lack of good features and prominent talents (Jack-of-all-trades all have this problem, I think). Those may not be the most important factor (the heart, duh), but they are ingredients as essential as oil is to chicken rice. You can still eat it without the oil, of course, but it definitely won't taste as nice.
Furthermore, stagnant waters breed mosquitoes. A lack of action, progress or whatsoever would see these things coming out to suck the drive out of you, thus increasing the difficulty of those attempting to close the distance.
But you know what? I ain't givin' up just becaus of a few lil' irritating bloodsuckers. More importantly, I need to focus on the King, because that's the way to go since he lights my path.
I'll feel down at times, of course...But I really hope that I'll be able to bounce back even more quickly than ever, till a time where I won't even feel the need to feel down and instead have it as only a natural reaction.
Embrace the fire, and the Fourth Man will come forth with you.
Seems like there can be so much more that I can do. Should be doing. Supposed to be doing. But all I do is stay at home, attempt to write certain things, fail miserably and spend my time attempting to talk to friends (most of the time successfully on the whole).
Not that it was all fruitless. I love talking to those people, even if the sentiment might not be shared amongst every single person. I love finding out things about people's lives and try to maintain a distance when it gets to sensitive topics.
Which is why sometimes I find myself fumbling about for a nice topic whenever I attempt to initiate conversation or at least maintain it. The end result usually bombed, though, except for a few magical moments where I could hardly believe that it was me typing out all those light-hearted comments.
So in a sense, the waters are stagnant in the relationship I have with several people. Ripples are seen everytime I move, or the other party (friend/acquaintance) moves, but the distance doesn't seem like it has shortened.
But maybe I'm either over-imagining things, or it's just me. I remember that the closest friendships I forged in the past were done over a period of four years. Four years before I could even feel comfortable enough to talk about things closer to the heart. And that was done with friends that I had been in contact with constantly, from Monday to Friday.
Maybe that's the root cause of it. I'm all good with being a friend in the third circle, a 'Hi-Bye' kind of acquaintance, a guy who helps with the little, mundane things like opening doors for people, guiding a group of friends to a nice eatery, providing tissues whenever they needed...You know, those little gestures.
But when it gets to the second circle and sometimes even the first, I can't break through.
Sure, it takes a lot of time, but now that I think about it, others have done it way easier than I do. The simple reasoning boils down, of course, to social awkwardness and my lack of good features and prominent talents (Jack-of-all-trades all have this problem, I think). Those may not be the most important factor (the heart, duh), but they are ingredients as essential as oil is to chicken rice. You can still eat it without the oil, of course, but it definitely won't taste as nice.
Furthermore, stagnant waters breed mosquitoes. A lack of action, progress or whatsoever would see these things coming out to suck the drive out of you, thus increasing the difficulty of those attempting to close the distance.
But you know what? I ain't givin' up just becaus of a few lil' irritating bloodsuckers. More importantly, I need to focus on the King, because that's the way to go since he lights my path.
I'll feel down at times, of course...But I really hope that I'll be able to bounce back even more quickly than ever, till a time where I won't even feel the need to feel down and instead have it as only a natural reaction.
Embrace the fire, and the Fourth Man will come forth with you.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Writing Iridescence: A little Busking, a little Helping and a little Salt.
"Wouldn't you be so kind, sir...?"
The man quickly walked away, pretending that Gavin's voice had never reached him. The young man sat down heavily, feeling as though his legs had gave way, allowing the guitar to barely stay on his lap. It felt as though the invisible burden he carried upon his shoulders increased with every rejection he faced.
Weeks have passed since the first time he had done this. Gavin had listened to different opinions before deciding on such a course of action prior to this. The group of friends he had at school sympathised with him and though doing little else, encouraged him all the same. Another group told him to join their brotherhood, where they would take care of him and even his living expenses, even though no mention of how they would get the money was made.
Gavin was starting to think that he should have taken the offer of the latter.
Sighing, he began to wonder why they had fallen to such a state. While not well-off, they were at least able to make ends' meet by selling homemade cakes and desserts on the streets. Even though it was considered illegal and Gavin always feared that he would be seen by someone from his school, he had to admit there were fun times too. He loved seeing the customers enjoying the snacks on the spot and praising his mother for her culinary skills. He loved seeing old faces coming back again and again. He even secretly loved the thrill of running helter-skelter from the cops who happened to patrol the area and took a fancy to grabbing two street hawkers off the pavements and slap hefty fines, just so he could fill up a little emptiness in those dark blue pockets.
But yet...The world had been cruel.
The man who had left them so many years ago came back, out of money, out of luck, out of love with the woman he had ran away with several years ago, when Gavin was but a hapless babe. The brightest memories he had of those days were when that man was not around, with his breath reeking of an unpleasant odor and his temper as foul and sudden as a flash thunderstorm. Ironically, the ruckus at home made him a little more immune to the sudden booming of thunder, his reactions to the particularly loud ones eerily like that of one who was deaf.
Yet as he returned, Gavin had already understood that that man certainly did not come back on bent knees, crying and prostrating himself before them, asking for their forgiveness for the hurt he had caused. Instead, he had burst into the home, shattering that precious peace mother and child had for three years like a stone launched into glass, trying his hardest to ask for more money.
The beating one fine day was the last straw for Mom, and she finally called up the police, unleashing her pent-up frustration, anger and hatred towards the poor officer on the other line. That man was 'put behind bars', as Mom had sniffled, probably wondering why she had not waited a little later to choose a suitor that was a little behind in the Looks department and at the top of the list in the Caring section.
Gavin wondered too, and hoped that his own looks (as confirmed by some of his envious friends) had no real corelation to temperament. More than that, the sudden invasion of that man had strickened Mom mentally and emotionally, and she could only lie in a charity hospital bed while her son could do nothing but try to support himself and attempt to make ends' meet with the only skill he had ever learned from his late uncle: Playing the guitar.
A well-dressed lady passed by and Gavin rose, only to sit down upon seeing the customary hand stretched out towards him. Once again, he flirted with the thought of going along with his chain-smoking, vulgarity-spewing friends, but quickly rejected it before its tentacles wounded around his mind. Mom had already spoke against following them, and he had made the same decision not to become the same kind of person that man was.
"Excuse me..."
An English accent...Gavin looked up disinterestingly, thinking to see a tourist, looking very much like a hopelessly lost sheep, separated from his tour group flock.
The youthful voice belonged to a girl that looked about the same age as he was. With silky, jet-black hair reaching to the middle of her back, a pretty oval-shaped face, almond-shaped eyes long eyelashes and full lips, it was hard not to take a second glance at her. Gavin, however, was more interested in what the girl wanted...And whether he could get another person to give him enough for him to take his first lunch in three days.
"Would it be fine if I get back to you later?"
"....What?"
"I'd like to hear you playing first though...A friend of mine who lived nearby told me it's a pity that the guitarist isn't able to showcase his talent on a bigger stage."
The smile looked genuine. Felt genuine. Gavin refused to be swayed by the buoyant feeling he felt upon hearing such direct praise from the beautiful stranger.
But yet...He felt as though she could be trusted as he took in the words. It was a strange feeling, especially when he still felt extremely untrusting of attractive people.
"If that's what you want....I can keep playing till you come back." He offered and suddenly felt stupid for doing so. Had he not done the same for others before her, only to face rejection, only to see no one returning and in some severe cases, only to see them turning back and laughing at him while throwing a handful of five-cent coins at him?
Yet as the girl smiled and hurried away, his fingers began to move. They felt stiff at first, like the joints of a rusty robot that had been in disrepair for so long, but slowly he began to get into the flow. Soon, he was singing along even, long forgotten lyrics coming almost naturally from his lips.
As he performed, however, Gavin began to feel a little uncomfortable. People had slowed down-stopped even-to stare at him. It took all his willpower to ignore them and continue playing as though it was the only thing that brought him joy in a world that sought to take everything away from him.
A medley and two ballads later, He had no idea how much time had passed. Fifteen? Twenty? Half an hour perhaps? Yet there was no sign of the girl. Gaving smiled bitterly and wondered when would he stop being so naive. Two more years and he would be an adult, and yet here he was, getting manipulated and tricked as though he was but a two day-old calf that could not differentiate left from right.
"There he is!" The voice rang out and like a timely helping hand, grabbed his as he sank into the darkness of despair and self-loathing. He looked up expectantly.
The was walking quickly towards him with a few people, some of them snappily dressed in the latest fashions and sporting colored hair that only the most audacious people would think of having. The strumming slowed a little as Gavin watched tentatively, ready to bolt at the very first hint of danger.
Yet as the girl came to a stop before him, it was then he realised how shapely her legs were. And the bright expressions her companions carried on their faces.
What really stood out, however, was how...real their smiles looked. And felt.
"Isn't he the guy you've been talking about?" She spoke first to the tallest male in the group, a bespectacled man in his 20s. With a decent haircut and large-rimmed glasses, he would look the perfect scholar.
The printed T-shirt with bright colors, his spiked ash-green hair and Adidas sneakers gave him a totally different image, though.
"Yeah. I saw him playing the other day." With a grin on his face, he turned and approached. If he had seen Gavin shying away slightly, there was no indication of it on his smiling expression. "Hi. I'm Richard. Hope you don't mind if I ask for your name...?"
"...Gavin." He shook the outstretched hand tentatively, pulling his back a little too quickly. Instead of looking offended, Richard laughed sheepishly.
"Finally got to talk to you like this."
"...Huh?"
"You have no idea how nervous I still am approaching strangers sometimes, even if they were the friends of my friends." The man turned to the girl. "Anyway, this little cutie here-"
"Stop it, Rich!"
"-Is Lillian, in case you don't know yet."
"Uh...Hi." Gavin suddenly felt nervous, wondering if he was going to be seeing this many people around for a while.
"I'll leave the other introductions for later. Anyway, I wanted to ask if you're interested in a competition?"
"What...kind of competition?" Gavin was immediately on his guard, nasty memories of the tricksters he had encountered once still fresh in his mind as though it only happened yesterday. Instead of describing it, Richard produced a booklet from his crumpler and gave it to him.
"It's all listed there, with the official company. Do look over it."
Gavin did so and his eyes widened at the prize money. It could be enough to last him for weeks, even months. Heck, he might even be able to pay off a portion of Mom's hospital fees! But as his eyes landed on the registration fees...
Gavin felt hope slipping away from his grasp again and made a mental note to curse the world for giving him hope and snatching it away as though it was done on a whim. "Take it back. I can't afford-"
"We'll help."
"That's very nice, but-You'll what?" He looked up in disbelief, wondering if all that despair had made him gone mad-or senile. Instead, he saw the cheerful countenances of the five people in front of him.
"We'll help." This time, Lillian answered.
"But why? Why would you help a stranger? Why would you do so much for someone like me?"
"Because that's what we like to do." Lillian replied with a bright smile. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever saw since...his first memory of being held in the warm embrace of his smiling parents as he wailed and screamed in his baby language.
"I....don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything...till you think you're ready to go for the auditions, of course."
Gavin nodded numbly, though it was more of a warm feeling than the cold barrel of reality pressed against his emotions he had felt so many times. As Lillian left her number, Gavin looked up and managed to squeeze out two words that he never thought he would ever use in his lifetime.
"....Th-Thank you."
A smile, a wave and they were gone.
It was only when they had disappeared into the crowd did Gavin realise that there was moisture on his cheeks. He touched it with a finger and tasted it.
Salty.
The man quickly walked away, pretending that Gavin's voice had never reached him. The young man sat down heavily, feeling as though his legs had gave way, allowing the guitar to barely stay on his lap. It felt as though the invisible burden he carried upon his shoulders increased with every rejection he faced.
Weeks have passed since the first time he had done this. Gavin had listened to different opinions before deciding on such a course of action prior to this. The group of friends he had at school sympathised with him and though doing little else, encouraged him all the same. Another group told him to join their brotherhood, where they would take care of him and even his living expenses, even though no mention of how they would get the money was made.
Gavin was starting to think that he should have taken the offer of the latter.
Sighing, he began to wonder why they had fallen to such a state. While not well-off, they were at least able to make ends' meet by selling homemade cakes and desserts on the streets. Even though it was considered illegal and Gavin always feared that he would be seen by someone from his school, he had to admit there were fun times too. He loved seeing the customers enjoying the snacks on the spot and praising his mother for her culinary skills. He loved seeing old faces coming back again and again. He even secretly loved the thrill of running helter-skelter from the cops who happened to patrol the area and took a fancy to grabbing two street hawkers off the pavements and slap hefty fines, just so he could fill up a little emptiness in those dark blue pockets.
But yet...The world had been cruel.
The man who had left them so many years ago came back, out of money, out of luck, out of love with the woman he had ran away with several years ago, when Gavin was but a hapless babe. The brightest memories he had of those days were when that man was not around, with his breath reeking of an unpleasant odor and his temper as foul and sudden as a flash thunderstorm. Ironically, the ruckus at home made him a little more immune to the sudden booming of thunder, his reactions to the particularly loud ones eerily like that of one who was deaf.
Yet as he returned, Gavin had already understood that that man certainly did not come back on bent knees, crying and prostrating himself before them, asking for their forgiveness for the hurt he had caused. Instead, he had burst into the home, shattering that precious peace mother and child had for three years like a stone launched into glass, trying his hardest to ask for more money.
The beating one fine day was the last straw for Mom, and she finally called up the police, unleashing her pent-up frustration, anger and hatred towards the poor officer on the other line. That man was 'put behind bars', as Mom had sniffled, probably wondering why she had not waited a little later to choose a suitor that was a little behind in the Looks department and at the top of the list in the Caring section.
Gavin wondered too, and hoped that his own looks (as confirmed by some of his envious friends) had no real corelation to temperament. More than that, the sudden invasion of that man had strickened Mom mentally and emotionally, and she could only lie in a charity hospital bed while her son could do nothing but try to support himself and attempt to make ends' meet with the only skill he had ever learned from his late uncle: Playing the guitar.
A well-dressed lady passed by and Gavin rose, only to sit down upon seeing the customary hand stretched out towards him. Once again, he flirted with the thought of going along with his chain-smoking, vulgarity-spewing friends, but quickly rejected it before its tentacles wounded around his mind. Mom had already spoke against following them, and he had made the same decision not to become the same kind of person that man was.
"Excuse me..."
An English accent...Gavin looked up disinterestingly, thinking to see a tourist, looking very much like a hopelessly lost sheep, separated from his tour group flock.
The youthful voice belonged to a girl that looked about the same age as he was. With silky, jet-black hair reaching to the middle of her back, a pretty oval-shaped face, almond-shaped eyes long eyelashes and full lips, it was hard not to take a second glance at her. Gavin, however, was more interested in what the girl wanted...And whether he could get another person to give him enough for him to take his first lunch in three days.
"Would it be fine if I get back to you later?"
"....What?"
"I'd like to hear you playing first though...A friend of mine who lived nearby told me it's a pity that the guitarist isn't able to showcase his talent on a bigger stage."
The smile looked genuine. Felt genuine. Gavin refused to be swayed by the buoyant feeling he felt upon hearing such direct praise from the beautiful stranger.
But yet...He felt as though she could be trusted as he took in the words. It was a strange feeling, especially when he still felt extremely untrusting of attractive people.
"If that's what you want....I can keep playing till you come back." He offered and suddenly felt stupid for doing so. Had he not done the same for others before her, only to face rejection, only to see no one returning and in some severe cases, only to see them turning back and laughing at him while throwing a handful of five-cent coins at him?
Yet as the girl smiled and hurried away, his fingers began to move. They felt stiff at first, like the joints of a rusty robot that had been in disrepair for so long, but slowly he began to get into the flow. Soon, he was singing along even, long forgotten lyrics coming almost naturally from his lips.
As he performed, however, Gavin began to feel a little uncomfortable. People had slowed down-stopped even-to stare at him. It took all his willpower to ignore them and continue playing as though it was the only thing that brought him joy in a world that sought to take everything away from him.
A medley and two ballads later, He had no idea how much time had passed. Fifteen? Twenty? Half an hour perhaps? Yet there was no sign of the girl. Gaving smiled bitterly and wondered when would he stop being so naive. Two more years and he would be an adult, and yet here he was, getting manipulated and tricked as though he was but a two day-old calf that could not differentiate left from right.
"There he is!" The voice rang out and like a timely helping hand, grabbed his as he sank into the darkness of despair and self-loathing. He looked up expectantly.
The was walking quickly towards him with a few people, some of them snappily dressed in the latest fashions and sporting colored hair that only the most audacious people would think of having. The strumming slowed a little as Gavin watched tentatively, ready to bolt at the very first hint of danger.
Yet as the girl came to a stop before him, it was then he realised how shapely her legs were. And the bright expressions her companions carried on their faces.
What really stood out, however, was how...real their smiles looked. And felt.
"Isn't he the guy you've been talking about?" She spoke first to the tallest male in the group, a bespectacled man in his 20s. With a decent haircut and large-rimmed glasses, he would look the perfect scholar.
The printed T-shirt with bright colors, his spiked ash-green hair and Adidas sneakers gave him a totally different image, though.
"Yeah. I saw him playing the other day." With a grin on his face, he turned and approached. If he had seen Gavin shying away slightly, there was no indication of it on his smiling expression. "Hi. I'm Richard. Hope you don't mind if I ask for your name...?"
"...Gavin." He shook the outstretched hand tentatively, pulling his back a little too quickly. Instead of looking offended, Richard laughed sheepishly.
"Finally got to talk to you like this."
"...Huh?"
"You have no idea how nervous I still am approaching strangers sometimes, even if they were the friends of my friends." The man turned to the girl. "Anyway, this little cutie here-"
"Stop it, Rich!"
"-Is Lillian, in case you don't know yet."
"Uh...Hi." Gavin suddenly felt nervous, wondering if he was going to be seeing this many people around for a while.
"I'll leave the other introductions for later. Anyway, I wanted to ask if you're interested in a competition?"
"What...kind of competition?" Gavin was immediately on his guard, nasty memories of the tricksters he had encountered once still fresh in his mind as though it only happened yesterday. Instead of describing it, Richard produced a booklet from his crumpler and gave it to him.
"It's all listed there, with the official company. Do look over it."
Gavin did so and his eyes widened at the prize money. It could be enough to last him for weeks, even months. Heck, he might even be able to pay off a portion of Mom's hospital fees! But as his eyes landed on the registration fees...
Gavin felt hope slipping away from his grasp again and made a mental note to curse the world for giving him hope and snatching it away as though it was done on a whim. "Take it back. I can't afford-"
"We'll help."
"That's very nice, but-You'll what?" He looked up in disbelief, wondering if all that despair had made him gone mad-or senile. Instead, he saw the cheerful countenances of the five people in front of him.
"We'll help." This time, Lillian answered.
"But why? Why would you help a stranger? Why would you do so much for someone like me?"
"Because that's what we like to do." Lillian replied with a bright smile. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever saw since...his first memory of being held in the warm embrace of his smiling parents as he wailed and screamed in his baby language.
"I....don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything...till you think you're ready to go for the auditions, of course."
Gavin nodded numbly, though it was more of a warm feeling than the cold barrel of reality pressed against his emotions he had felt so many times. As Lillian left her number, Gavin looked up and managed to squeeze out two words that he never thought he would ever use in his lifetime.
"....Th-Thank you."
A smile, a wave and they were gone.
It was only when they had disappeared into the crowd did Gavin realise that there was moisture on his cheeks. He touched it with a finger and tasted it.
Salty.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Poetic Iridescence: Hope
My bones grow weary;
I can barely lift myself up.
My soul feels heavy;
I can barely drink from His cup.
But hark! What is that?
Something my drooping eyelids see?
Something more beautiful than the sunset?
What exactly could it be?
The light of the dawn beckon;
After the seemingly eternal twilight.
Nothing mortal Man could reckon;
After passing through the dark night.
It comes suddenly to us;
So swiftly, so unexpectedly.
It allows us once more to trust;
And pour our hearts out so freely.
Hark! You who are in despair;
Hear the great roar resound.
Rejoice! You who take on more than you can bear;
For the joy of Hope is abound.
After the darkest of nights;
Take heart and cheer!
For there shall now be light;
And Hope is now here.
I can barely lift myself up.
My soul feels heavy;
I can barely drink from His cup.
But hark! What is that?
Something my drooping eyelids see?
Something more beautiful than the sunset?
What exactly could it be?
The light of the dawn beckon;
After the seemingly eternal twilight.
Nothing mortal Man could reckon;
After passing through the dark night.
It comes suddenly to us;
So swiftly, so unexpectedly.
It allows us once more to trust;
And pour our hearts out so freely.
Hark! You who are in despair;
Hear the great roar resound.
Rejoice! You who take on more than you can bear;
For the joy of Hope is abound.
After the darkest of nights;
Take heart and cheer!
For there shall now be light;
And Hope is now here.
Chronicles of Iridescence, Chapter 22: The meaning of Victory
Victory.
What does it mean to be victorious? To win? To be on top?
I've been wondering all the time, and recently, perhaps only recently have I finally plucked up the courage to admit that I had probably been wrong for the past 10 years about the meaning of winning.
It isn't easy, of course. Not when an idea is so deeply rooted in your mind. I realised that perhaps it might have been the driving force behind my way of thinking for so long until I did not even realise that making decisions based on that mindset wasn't done in a conscious realm.
It might not even be that long, though, considering the first time I ever wanted to win and be better than others so badly was when I was in secondary school, in the badminton team. Training harder than anyone could, putting in more effort than anyone did, being more obedient than anyone could, all to make the team, be better than others and have something that was at least commendable.
But to what end? It could well be that training too much had been my downfall. It had probably been the reason why my fitness was diminishing every single day after my secondary and JC days. It probably was the reason why I partially tore my left cruciate knee ligament, leaving me in despair and hopelessness at that time.
During that time, when I kept striving to become better than certain people who outshone me one way or another, to become more worthy in the eyes of others, I had become selfish, hurting my own body to achieve what I wanted.
Just a few months ago, I felt no different. The anger, the frustration felt was due to that, and I realised it only because some good friends had pointed that out to me. While evaluating my behavior, I was horrified.
Had I changed so much? I had delved so much into it that hatred had actually overtaken my thoughts. Thank the King for my friends. For hope. For the joy in which I can find when I sought him.
What was before was that I had to be better. I had to stand out so that certain people would notice me. I had to view everyone and everything that could potentially be my rival with friendliness yet also with a certain degree of wariness, and whatever they did, I had to keep track and do better.
And in doing so, it drained me. I couldn't focus on myself, nor on the original goal that I wanted to chase. Instead, I got obsessed with winning and tried to find ways to win whenever I could. If I hit a dead end, I would cry out in frustration, take my anger out on things or people near me or just simply break down, refusing to listen to anything or anyone for days on end.
The most costly consequence was that it limited my creativity. I couldn't write like I wanted to. Perhaps that was the reason why I'm doing so badly in university right now. Everyone's competing, comparing how many As or Bs they got. Many conversations are steered towards results, and that made me more crazy about fighting it out. The more I thought about it, the more my creativity was restricted and in turn, I couldn't write what I had in mind. No story idea came out properly. No essay outline came out clearly.
But now, I think I've finally began to toss that away. I don't want to suffer again like I did before. I don't want to let go of the possibility of something good coming out of a desire that might seem hard to reach. I don't want to lose this calmness that I've been feeling in my heart.
Most of all, I don't want to cause any more suffering because of my self-centered want to sate my ego of winning and being better than others.
I still need to work hard, of course, but no longer do I set a target because of others, but because of what I truly want and who I truly am. I want to grasp that feeling when I cared little for the opinions of others, about society's whims on how one should be dressed, be speaking, be knowledgeable about certain subjects or even be a so-called real man.
I'll go at my own pace, along with the King. In work. In dreams. In studies. In friendship. In love.
And once I manage that comfortably, perhaps I can grasp real victory with my own hands.
What does it mean to be victorious? To win? To be on top?
I've been wondering all the time, and recently, perhaps only recently have I finally plucked up the courage to admit that I had probably been wrong for the past 10 years about the meaning of winning.
It isn't easy, of course. Not when an idea is so deeply rooted in your mind. I realised that perhaps it might have been the driving force behind my way of thinking for so long until I did not even realise that making decisions based on that mindset wasn't done in a conscious realm.
It might not even be that long, though, considering the first time I ever wanted to win and be better than others so badly was when I was in secondary school, in the badminton team. Training harder than anyone could, putting in more effort than anyone did, being more obedient than anyone could, all to make the team, be better than others and have something that was at least commendable.
But to what end? It could well be that training too much had been my downfall. It had probably been the reason why my fitness was diminishing every single day after my secondary and JC days. It probably was the reason why I partially tore my left cruciate knee ligament, leaving me in despair and hopelessness at that time.
During that time, when I kept striving to become better than certain people who outshone me one way or another, to become more worthy in the eyes of others, I had become selfish, hurting my own body to achieve what I wanted.
Just a few months ago, I felt no different. The anger, the frustration felt was due to that, and I realised it only because some good friends had pointed that out to me. While evaluating my behavior, I was horrified.
Had I changed so much? I had delved so much into it that hatred had actually overtaken my thoughts. Thank the King for my friends. For hope. For the joy in which I can find when I sought him.
What was before was that I had to be better. I had to stand out so that certain people would notice me. I had to view everyone and everything that could potentially be my rival with friendliness yet also with a certain degree of wariness, and whatever they did, I had to keep track and do better.
And in doing so, it drained me. I couldn't focus on myself, nor on the original goal that I wanted to chase. Instead, I got obsessed with winning and tried to find ways to win whenever I could. If I hit a dead end, I would cry out in frustration, take my anger out on things or people near me or just simply break down, refusing to listen to anything or anyone for days on end.
The most costly consequence was that it limited my creativity. I couldn't write like I wanted to. Perhaps that was the reason why I'm doing so badly in university right now. Everyone's competing, comparing how many As or Bs they got. Many conversations are steered towards results, and that made me more crazy about fighting it out. The more I thought about it, the more my creativity was restricted and in turn, I couldn't write what I had in mind. No story idea came out properly. No essay outline came out clearly.
But now, I think I've finally began to toss that away. I don't want to suffer again like I did before. I don't want to let go of the possibility of something good coming out of a desire that might seem hard to reach. I don't want to lose this calmness that I've been feeling in my heart.
Most of all, I don't want to cause any more suffering because of my self-centered want to sate my ego of winning and being better than others.
I still need to work hard, of course, but no longer do I set a target because of others, but because of what I truly want and who I truly am. I want to grasp that feeling when I cared little for the opinions of others, about society's whims on how one should be dressed, be speaking, be knowledgeable about certain subjects or even be a so-called real man.
I'll go at my own pace, along with the King. In work. In dreams. In studies. In friendship. In love.
And once I manage that comfortably, perhaps I can grasp real victory with my own hands.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Chronicles of Iridescence, Chapter 21: Restarting from the Beginning
Been waking up too early these past few days.
Just by the timing of this post, it is wayyy too early. I barely slept enough.
I have no idea why. Perhaps its the seriousness of the flu that refused to let me lie down and take a good rest. Perhaps it's the chill of the room when I turn on the air-conditioner, even at 26-27 degrees. Perhaps I just have too many thoughts on my mind, which shouldn't be the case, ever since I found the calm I've been searching for a few days back.
The third one seemed the more likely, though, since I have a brief history about such occurrences: Waking up because of thoughts.
No idea why, but I'm still woozy, as though I had stayed up all night like those rightfully worried husbands/boyfriends/buddies of a girl who got into an accident and had to be operated on overnight. It felt as though there was an unlifted burden, yet I could not pinpoint what it was, even after praying.
The next answer then, came unbidden to me: Was it because there was actually NO burden at all that I felt uneasy, or that the burden actually felt like it wasn't really one?
For someone who is suspected (self-diagnosed based on habits) to have a mild form of OCD, that notion was as alien as E.T. was to any other Earthling. How could that be? There were things going on, so where did this idea come from?
Not long after, I did realise there were burdens after all, just that I was able to take them apart and analyze them easily, just as a kid takes apart a LEGO structure, fascinated with it's framework.
This has happened? Perhaps it's because of this and that. Let's do better the next time.
And another simple prayer, of course, for restoration came into place.
Ultimately, perhaps it was due to the restart that the King has given me. The visions and dreams came again, a little more clearly, to confirm what I've been praying about.
Who knows...Maybe it's the elation at which I could finally see them again as though I had seen a long-lost lover, that my brain simply rejected the notion of sleeping for too long...Even if it meant having longer dreams.
But whatever it is, here I am. Though very certain that I'm going to suffer the consequences of a lack of sleep later, at the very least, I feel a little better, a little calmer, a little happier, knowing that I could sow my seeds once again.
This time, I WILL NOT LET the mistake of reaping them too hastily happen again.
Just by the timing of this post, it is wayyy too early. I barely slept enough.
I have no idea why. Perhaps its the seriousness of the flu that refused to let me lie down and take a good rest. Perhaps it's the chill of the room when I turn on the air-conditioner, even at 26-27 degrees. Perhaps I just have too many thoughts on my mind, which shouldn't be the case, ever since I found the calm I've been searching for a few days back.
The third one seemed the more likely, though, since I have a brief history about such occurrences: Waking up because of thoughts.
No idea why, but I'm still woozy, as though I had stayed up all night like those rightfully worried husbands/boyfriends/buddies of a girl who got into an accident and had to be operated on overnight. It felt as though there was an unlifted burden, yet I could not pinpoint what it was, even after praying.
The next answer then, came unbidden to me: Was it because there was actually NO burden at all that I felt uneasy, or that the burden actually felt like it wasn't really one?
For someone who is suspected (self-diagnosed based on habits) to have a mild form of OCD, that notion was as alien as E.T. was to any other Earthling. How could that be? There were things going on, so where did this idea come from?
Not long after, I did realise there were burdens after all, just that I was able to take them apart and analyze them easily, just as a kid takes apart a LEGO structure, fascinated with it's framework.
This has happened? Perhaps it's because of this and that. Let's do better the next time.
And another simple prayer, of course, for restoration came into place.
Ultimately, perhaps it was due to the restart that the King has given me. The visions and dreams came again, a little more clearly, to confirm what I've been praying about.
Who knows...Maybe it's the elation at which I could finally see them again as though I had seen a long-lost lover, that my brain simply rejected the notion of sleeping for too long...Even if it meant having longer dreams.
But whatever it is, here I am. Though very certain that I'm going to suffer the consequences of a lack of sleep later, at the very least, I feel a little better, a little calmer, a little happier, knowing that I could sow my seeds once again.
This time, I WILL NOT LET the mistake of reaping them too hastily happen again.
Should I...?
Should I, or should I not?
Fanfiction is sometimes embarrassing, even more so when you haven't touched it for, what, four years++? Sometimes it shows that you're just another dreamer, waiting for orange-tinged paper with our good First President's face printed on it to fall from the sky. Some would consider you a geek, because you obviously have too much time on your hands and too little inspiration elsewhere.
There are other things, of course, but I've been making decisions, so it should all turn out fine. My king is behind me on this. =)
So should I, or should I not? Post a link up, that is. It's been years since I updated too.
Maybe it might give me more incentive to continue the discontinued stuff, because every now and then I get surprised by one or two reviews, or having my half-assed, half completed stories favorited. The author being favorited, of course, is another story, but we'll get to that much later.
Maybe I should try posting it now, and see if there's anyone who would actually comment despite not knowing the context behind my half-assed works. It's blatant advertising, I know, but what the heck. Not that anything aside from my pride is going to get hurt (And it should learn to get hurt too, so it can taste the pain of rejection and then grow even stronger, since rejection's a big part of writing.)
So should I...?
Fanfiction is sometimes embarrassing, even more so when you haven't touched it for, what, four years++? Sometimes it shows that you're just another dreamer, waiting for orange-tinged paper with our good First President's face printed on it to fall from the sky. Some would consider you a geek, because you obviously have too much time on your hands and too little inspiration elsewhere.
There are other things, of course, but I've been making decisions, so it should all turn out fine. My king is behind me on this. =)
So should I, or should I not? Post a link up, that is. It's been years since I updated too.
Maybe it might give me more incentive to continue the discontinued stuff, because every now and then I get surprised by one or two reviews, or having my half-assed, half completed stories favorited. The author being favorited, of course, is another story, but we'll get to that much later.
Maybe I should try posting it now, and see if there's anyone who would actually comment despite not knowing the context behind my half-assed works. It's blatant advertising, I know, but what the heck. Not that anything aside from my pride is going to get hurt (And it should learn to get hurt too, so it can taste the pain of rejection and then grow even stronger, since rejection's a big part of writing.)
So should I...?
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