exercising my literacy: August 2004

Monday, August 30, 2004

Coffee with Dad.

My dad came home just then and asked if I wanted to go out for coffee.

Dad and I often go for coffee. When I mention that to friends, their usual first reaction is surprise, and then a remark of how nice it is that me and Dad do hang out together. I can usually hear a tinge of envy in their voices, and I don't blame them; I really enjoy spending time with him. Actually, one time I said that I was having coffee with my dad, the person asked if my parents were divorced, that was why I was meeting up with my dad. That made me really sad, because it was as though, the only logical reason I'd have coffee with my dad was if he didn't live with me anymore.

I was thinking about this as I was getting dressed to get going. My dad loves to go out for coffee -- and sometimes when he knocks on my door and asks, with that twinkly smile in his eyes, if I'd like to go, I think to myself, aiya, it's so cold outside, I have to get out of my warm pj's, it's going to take ages, I'll forget what I'm up to in my reading etc, and say no. But tonight I was thinking, how precious these moments are. Not everyone gets time to just sit, chat and chuckle with their dads. And, if I really think about it, this period of my life is only but a short window of opportunity when I can have coffee with my dad. Who knows how many more coffee opportunities we'll have.

So, instead of just chucking any old trackies and tee, I put on a skirt, and a spritz of my new perfume.

When I walked out, he remarked on how I dressed special. I smiled, with the twinkly smile in my eyes. I got that from my dad.

Friday, August 27, 2004

The scent of a rose.

I got an enchanting new bottle of perfume. The scent really captivates me. I was saying half-jokingly to my friend the other day that I've claimed this scent -- it's now "my" signature fragrance to which others would recognise me by.

But in fact, this scent isn't new at all. The reason why I have such an endearment to it is because this is my late grandmother's scent. Dusky, elegant rose.

As a child, I loved raiding my grandma's perfume cupboard. She was the only lady I knew who wore perfume, and certainly the only one who would let me play with her collection. She would let me keep some of the samples that came along with her new purchases -- a little vial to which I would treasure and keep always in my little "handbag". I would take it out occasionally, oh-so-carefully open the little plastic lid and lean closely to smell my grandma's scent, before quickly closing it again lest the smell should escape from my little vial.

Now, as I wear it again, it's like being in my grandma's bedroom, eyeing the exquisite bottles of glass again. I can almost hear my grandma calling me out because lunch was ready, calling me to put on a jumper before I caught a cold. I can almost hear the black and white Chinese soap opera playing in the background on the tv.

So as I told my friend about my "signature" scent, it occurred to me. If I were to keep wearing this scent, my granddaughter may also identify this dusky rose scent with me, her grandmother. And so the scent will be passed on, from my grandmother to me to my granddaughters and then onto theirs. Though as women, we may not pass on a family name, but we pass on our values, our morals, our sacrificing love, as my grandma showed me for the 20 years she was with me.

All of this encapsulated by this one scent. The scent of a rose.

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

The ones that "get" me.

Good friends, as they say, are hard to find.

I've been thinking about people. You meet many people in your life. Many of them are just lukewarm -- conversation runs along the lines of common circumstance -- the classes we take together, what we think of that tutor, etc. On a long train or bus trip, that may last half way, or if lots of things are happening within this "common circumstance", you might even make it 3/4 of the way. But inevitably there will be that "... hmmm...." and then.... silence.

When there is nothing to say, and both ppl are searching for other things in common that they can talk about. If that fails, then comes the really generic stuff, e.g. how's uni/church/your weekend; I dont' know what's more awkward: silence, or having to endure and sustain polite conversation. It's as though we desperately seek to fill the silence to maintain the denial of sober reality about how distant and foreign the other person really is, how circumstantial and superficial the friendship really is.

That's not to say that asking about uni/church/weekend is malignant in itself; rather it's the half-heartedness from which it's asked, and the tediousness of having to recant the standard response to someone who isn't really interested. When the conversation doesn't bring us closer, but only delineates our distance. Honestly I can't describe to you how much painful I find it.

Maybe that's why, when one day you talk to someone and you really "get" them, there's something about that that really makes you smile. Someone whom you can just verbalise your thoughts to, and you know they are interested and what they will have to say in response is of substance and interest. Both people will benefit from that conversation. When they ask me about my weekend, it really is because they care, and I can tell them all the silly or seemingly insignificant things at ease because I know that they are really listening. A friend of common understanding rather than common circumstance.

In my lifetime I have met a few, not too many, people that I really "get", and I think they really "get" me. We'll find the same things funny, we'll think along the same lines, and laugh about how we were thinking the same thing at the same time when something happened.

They are, without a doubt, up there in my top 10 blessings in my life. Probably even top 5.

My prayer is that they may remain my friends come rain or shine. That even when circumstances change, that our common understanding will remain. That 20 years from now, we will still be able to yak the afternoon away over coffee and baked goods and exclaim "OMG! I so know what you mean!!" and laugh about the whole thing.

Friends forever. More than anything I want to believe in that.

Friday, August 20, 2004

The biggest problem in the world.

Be warned: this is going to be a long one.

I don't particularly like reading long-winded blogs so I don't think they're a good idea but sometimes you just need to say what you need to say.

Over the course of this year, there's been one theme that I think God's really honed into me; time and time again something will come up, in a book, a verse, an idea discussed in bible study, something I read in the papers or talk over with friends.

More and more I've begun to notice that the world is so preoccupied with itself. If there is one detractor from God, it isn't money, possessions, sex or lust... it's self-worship. We are our own idols. We are obsessed with ourselves. Don't believe me?

We are obsessed with what we look like. Think about your local shopping centre. How many shops are dedicated to selling something to enhance your image? If not clothes, then cosmetics, jewellery; haircare, skincare, suncare, nailcare. The professional photography places make a fortune from giving you mini-makeovers and taking airbrushed pictures of yourself so that you can show everyone how photogenic you can be; you'll hang it loud and proud above the mantle in your living room. When we look at photos just taken on the digital camera, the first thing we look at is how we look in the photo -- we'll demand a re-take if we blinked, look fat, look ugly etc.

We are obsessed with what we "really" are like. Personality tests, IQ tests, EQ tests, psychometric tests, love quizzes, Cosmo quizzes, every type of quiz... we love to "discover" ourselves, we love hearing about what people think of us, we love to analyse everything about ourselves. No matter how many of these quizzes we've done, we still do more. We love to find particular adjectives to describe ourselves; "My name is ----- and I'm loyal, sincere, shy at first but once you get to know me I'm quite out-going..."

We are obsessed with the contents of our lives. We are consumed with thinking about our past, our present, our future. When we pray to God, how often are we just asking Him to smooth out the wrinkles that mar our "perfect plan" from now til 65? Our thoughts are constantly about how we can improve our own lives: buying things, going places, investing in things. We feel really ripped off by God if it doesn't go to plan as though God owed us to fulfill the blueprint which we've drawn up.

Even religion is self-focused. Most are about self-discovery, being in touch with yourself (whatever that means), self-enlightenment. I'm sad to say even Christianity feels self-orientated. When we say to Sunday School kids, God loves you, more and more we say 'God loves YOU!' instead of 'GOD! loves you'. We read the Bible looking for verses that has something to say about our situation, rather than looking for what it says about Him, how we can learn more about His qualities.

The best book I've read this year is Max Lucado's "It's Not About Me". There is really no better way to sum up what I've learnt this year than the title of that book.

Sometimes I am just so ashamed and I literally cringe at the way I've fallen into that trap. God must be so appalled at us -- we've turned away from almighty, all-powerful, majestic Him to what? God got replaced in my heart for... me? Sinful, corrupt, insignificant me. Oh the audacity. Can you imagine how much God would be thinking, "What nerve do you have, to think that you can replace me?!?"

God doesn't need us. It's not like He was a lonely heart until He made us (this awakening I got from John Piper's "The Pleasures of God", also def worth recommending). We are nothing.

And more and more I realise that this is why we are so screwed up. This is what we get for relying our ownselves, thinking that we can be satisfied in creating our own happiness, our own religion of "being who I really am". We get dissappointment. People think they are free, but I can't think of a greater burden in life than to rely on myself. It's all up to me. There's no one else to look to, no one else to blame. It's all me.

As with all long blogs, there should be a point somewhere otherwise it's just a waste of virtual space. My point is: the world is completely self-absorbed. I am no exception. And gosh that is so insulting to God.

Father please forgive me for taking Your place. Let me only seek Your glory, not mine.

Thursday, August 19, 2004

God's amazingness.

Hear that? It's the sound of... rain.

On Sunday the Council of Churches called for everyone to pray for rain to ease up the drought that our farmers are currently facing. The very next day the skies opened up, and it hasn't stopped raining since. God is so sovereign, prayer is so powerful.

I've also been revelling in God's wonderfulness on a much more microscopic level. The Olympic Games are on right now, and it took me back to 17 year old me watching the Sydney Games, talking about them with friends. So much has happened between now and then, countless blessings given so graciously; all of it icing to the cake of Him loving me and saving me. And it made me wonder what things would come between Athens and Beijing, 2008. And I smile, cos it's actually really exciting, to watch His plan unfold.

From the vast skies to little me, God is in control of it all.

Amen!

Monday, August 16, 2004

The old and the new.

Cleaning out my room, I began to throw out some old stuff. There were lots of things which were of no use at all - silver necklaces that had become tarnished and rusty, scratched keyrings I no longer used, handkerchiefs. Yet there was a story, a memory behind everything - the necklace a sweet 16 birthday present, the keyring held my school locker key for 6 years, the handkerchief... that I remember well. It was one of the first presents I got after immigrating here, from my 3rd grade friend, as a Christmas present. I didn't even know her that well, but I still remember her smile when she handed it to me and said, Merry Christmas!

Whenever I attempt to clean my room, I am always faced with this dilemma. Every single thing in my room brings back a piece of my past. Perhaps my memory is sharper than most, but I can remember everything. And lately I've come to think perhaps that's not such a good thing. At least if my memory were more average, I could bear to throw more things out, as I would have forgotten the meaning to these now-redundant objects.

Sentimentality. There's something about it that just compells me to keep things. To remember the past that God's blessed me with. Whenever I pick up the piece of junk, all rusty/broken/dirty, my instantaneous reaction is to smile at it as the memory comes back. Then logic cries, "But you'll never use this again and it's just taking up space! Don't you want a nice neat room?" Then comes the hard part.... I have often thrown something out, only to fish it out of the bin again, only to throw it out again a few years later when I've finally mustered the courage to let go.

Perhaps I've allowed myself to indulge in nostalgia too much - the more I keep these old things, the less I have room to make for new things to come. This revelation being applicable to me in more ways than one...

"That" blue and white box.

In my lifetime, I've had the luxury of opening 'that' blue and white box twice. You know, the one that every girl in the Western world (and then some) sqeals at no end at. Tiffanys baby.

My latest addition was given to me two days ago. As I took the unwrapped box out again and lingered my eyes on the silky white ribbon, I just kept thinking: what is it about this blue and white box that has such an effect on people (read: girls)?

The way I reacted (i.e. typical girly squealing) made me think: is this right?

It's scary how much love for the things of the world is regarded as normal, even between Christians. Is it really harmless to eye longingly at blue and white boxes? On the surface one would think I might be scrutinising myself too much for my 'natural' reaction; perhaps I'm even looking a gift horse in the mouth by being so critical of a gift. But I'm not criticising the gift, only my reaction to it.

Materialism is everywhere, permeated in every idea. How much is acceptable for a Christian? How much can you like something before it gets to be too much? People say, as long as it doesn't take over your life then it's ok, and it's not like I think about Tiffanys' all day so I'll be 'right. The danger though is that things are never as clearcut. The cunningness of sin is that it creeps up on you, with every little loosening of a grip, every inch towards complacency.

Goal this week: closely examine how much value I place on things.

Preface.

I have a blog.

One day after me and my friends had a laugh about sad ppl that blog. (sorry)

So then why?

I want to 'exercise my literacy'. Been missing the opportunity to write down, in meaningful construct, things which I notice or find fascinating. Things that should be written down for I fear that I will otherwise not remember that I once pondered on such matters, deep and meaningful or otherwise.

Some things I vow not to do - these rules I make moreso for myself than anything else so that I will keep on the correct focus, should I later on fumble and turn this into something I don't want it to be, i.e.

- A blog where I just talk about me all the time
- A blog where someone gains nothing from having read it
- Basically, a blog that ceases to point all glory to Him, and begins to point it to myself (yuck).

So that's it! Let's see how long I'll keep this up for...

exercising my literacy