The Rules and the Truth.
[okay I'm bored out of my mind from studying path... the inward guilt is enough already so none of you start on why I'm blogging one week before exams... and exactly what are you doing reading my blog instead of reading about Federal Constitution or Erikson's behaviour models or... damn and I think I'm getting sick too *whinge whinge moan moan*]
The paper today had something on "The Rules". If you've never heard of it before, it was this book written in the early 90s which claimed that if you followed their 35 rules, you were sure to land your Prince Charming who would treat you like the princess you deserve to be. It was a best-seller and is now printed in 20-something languages. Having looked at a few of the rules, I can only say that the success of the book says much more about the state of the world than any astounding revelations conjured up by its authors.
To be fair, there is some good common sense in the book (I find #7 particularly amusing: "If he does not call, he is not that interested. Period."). And I agree with their recurring theme about men taking the initiative. But I have a problem with the overall premise of the book: that women must follow rules, play aloof and hard to get ("Responding once for every four of his emails is a good rule of thumb"), whilst cunningly strategising each move like a game of chess ("Close the deal -- Rules women don't date men for more than two years") until "Checkmate!", er I mean, "I do!" is triumphantly proclaimed.
Their justification for such game-playing is that "men are born to respond to challenge. Take away challenge and their interest wanes." Thus in order to keep your man desiring you, you have to keep playing elusive and unattainable. The founding feminists must be turning in their graves (okay no just in their easy chairs, they're not old enough to be dead yet, I think =Þ).
Seriously though, to me it says a lot about the way things are now. We need 'rules' to play the game of love because we feel like there is no control in anything. We need rules about dieting, parenting, how to be successful, how to win friends and influence others. This explains the self-help book section taking up half the floor space in the bookstore I used to work at. We work hard to come out on top, we make deliberate actions to get what we want.
Maybe they all felt like me in the last post. They want to know the answers, they want the instruction manual. But the people that write these books, who's to say they are right? Who's to say (and I doubt it very much) that if you followed these 35 rules that you will be eternally blissful in your love life? That's the thing, there is no certainty. Give it time and someone else will write another book. And another, and another. All opinions but no answer.
Except there are instructions to this life. It's called the Bible. He made us, so I reckon He'd know what He's talking about when He says something, huh? So even though I feel lost sometimes, I know that on the important stuff what is right and what is wrong. And with the other stuff, I know that He will take care of that too; I just need to trust His timing.
Like Jesus said, He is the way and the truth and the life (John 14:6). I guess He is the ultimate B.O.B.
Where art thou B.O.B?
Everyone has a curly question up their sleeve. You know, those lateral brain-teaser/IQ questions. "There's a scale, 12 eggs, some are bad, some are good..." or "Using only two lines, divide a.... " Generally speaking I hate hearing those questions. Sure I feel great if I can get the answer, but most of the time all it does is gnaw my brain as I go into problem-solving overtime. Usually it doesn't take me very long before I let out a huge sigh and demand for the answer.
I always want to know the answer.
It drives me completely up the wall when I know a problem and I don't know the answer. Like when the person who's asked the IQ question won't tell me, or says him/herself that he/she doesn't know. Or like now when I'm doing the past papers in preparation for my exams. They're all photocopied, passed down from one year to the next; thus many of them are answerless, as lazy people forget to photocopy the answers at the back of the stack to save them a few cents. So here I am, wondering if 1-2-3, 1-3, 2-4, 4 only, or all of them are correct (stupid K-code) and frantically looking through every single one of my textbooks in order to establish the correct answer with certainty.
At least with IQ questions and even clinical MCQs, there is ultimately an answer. If I dig hard enough, ask enough people, look through enough textbooks, I will finally know. There is such a cathartic sense of relief and calm from knowing the answer. Knowing that I am wrong is still a million times better than not knowing if I'm right or wrong.
But some things don't come with an answer. My tutor used to say when I wanted to know the answer of a 4u question, "Ask Bob". I'd go, "Who's Bob?" and he would go "Back of book... B.O.B! Hahaha" (to which I'd roll my eyes a lot). But sometimes Bob is nowhere to be found. It could be right, it could be wrong, it's all "contextual" (I hate that word). Ask 10 people and get 10 different answers. I don't know what's worse -- talking to myself and going looney in the process, or talking to other people and getting potential answers that I never even fathomed, thus leaving me with even more question marks than before.
I know I know, life is not black and white, it's all different shades of grey (and other miscellanous well-trodden cliches). That's what makes life a journey (okay I'll stop with the cliches here before I make you all sick). But interesting is also insanity-inducing.
And damnit, I just want to know.
Everyone's best friend: Ms Sue D'Barstus
Nearly choked on my coffee this morning reading this.
"Parents may be able to sue private schools over poor results" (SMH today)
I don't have time to blog about this... but hey, leave a comment. I'd like to hear what you think. Thanks beautifuls.
Public announcement.
I had to reformat my computer. =(
If you have any e-photos (esp of my 21st) that you'd like to donate to me, I will be eternally grateful.
It's been a generally crap week. But one thing I have learnt though, even when things suck, when I talk it over with friends I feel good. Constant reminder that I am very blessed to have them, giving me good advice and genuine concern. So even from the bad something good comes out -- I feel closer to you guys now than before this week started. So thanks for hearing me whinge these last couple of days.
Alas, the pathophysiological mechanism of decompression sickness and other such intricate joys await.
Post-script: So Hanson is coming to town? And I thought they'd be deep in the heart of Oklahoma somewhere frying chips at the local golden arches... weird.
His amazing Grace.
There are a lot of diseases out there.
My clinical medicine book stands at 1445 pages and that only covers the basic common stuff. There are books of a similar size on the diseases of just one organ. Even before our noses catch the first whiff of earthly air, there are so many problems that we could have already in utero, before we get a chance to screw up our bodies by doing dumb things like smoke, drink, eat bad food. It completely astounds me that I am... healthy.
I remember when I was studying embryology, I was so awestruck, given how many congenital abnormalities can form, that I came out normal. I have all my fingers and toes, all my organs are in the right place, my brain and nerves function, my lungs take in air and my heart pumps blood without leaking through the holes that existed when I was in my mum's tummy. When we learn about how cancer forms, we're told that lots of cellular mutations occur unbeknownst to us -- accumulate enough and cancer will form. But I used to be one cell big only -- just sperm + egg. If I had caught a mutation when I was one cell big, two cells big, or even 16 cells big, there would be 1/16th of me that would be abnormal! I probably wouldn't have made it through, I would have been a miscarriage. So how come there aren't miscarriages all over the world? How did I make it from one cell big to 10 billion cells big unscathed? And all over the world, babies coming out normal is the rule rather than the exception? Amazing!
Which is why, in the midst of my studies now, I feel compelled to make a post.
God is so amazing! He knitted me while I was in my mum's belly (Psalm 139). Without Him, the world left to itself would be chaotic. He created us to have DNA repair mechanisms to fight all the genetic assaults, he created homeostatic mechanisms to ensure our bodies are resilient to trauma, infection, malnutrition and all the other injurious things we face. If there was no God who created all this, how can so many beautiful intricate things on earth hold together and flourish, whereas all our next door neighbours (Mars, Venus, Jupiter) are all desert, harsh and barren?
The best part? I feel like I am, as I breathe, talk, think, function, a living testament to His amazing handiwork. My parents gave me a good name. Only by His grace.
"For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well." - Psalm 139:13-14
Gongs and cymbals?
I was almost going to delete the last post. Not because I wanted to hide a particular aspect of me, but just because I didn't think it was very helpful to anyone (read the 'Preface' right at the beginning of the blog if you don't know what I mean).
But anyhow, I was reading through 1 Cor 13 last night.
"And now I will show you the most excellent way. If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing."
I love it how sometimes when I'm struggling with something, God provides me with an answer right there. I don't even know how I got to be reading this passage, but it switched on the metaphorical lightbulb upstairs in my head. It occurred to me that that's what I felt like: a resounding gong, a clanging cymbal. I might have all this skill/knowledge etc but I felt so awful about having it because it was missing something -- I think I lacked love in my servanthood. I mean, it's not like I don't love people, I just think I have yet to really grasp what it means to serve out of godly love.
And without it, that's what I am -- an irritating noise. Assertive, dominating, purposeless.
The trick is now to learn to turn that sound into notes for His symphony.
[P.S. to whoever that posted that last comment: I appreciate the thought... thankyou muchly. =) ]
Shadowboxing.
Last night at bible study we did this exercise where we identify each other's strengths or gifts for ministry. Most of the responses from people were something along the lines of assertiveness, speaking my mind, leadership etc. Ironic then, that I consider that one of my greatest flaws, one of the biggest detriment to my serving.
Sometimes I really feel like I am shadowboxing, fighting something I can't get rid of. To me, being assertive is ugly. To assert yourself is to make your stand, say what *you* think like it's so damn important and worthy of recognition, it's dominating... it's just yuck. Leadership is even more confusing -- I despise being in charge of anything, because everytime that I am I come across criticism and people grumbling. And then there's that whole bossing everyone around thing.
The weird thing is that I admire leaders. I think they do a great job. But I just don't want to be seen as one, because it means that people see character traits in me that I would rather not have. I would love to be that person who can sit through a whole debate silently, listening to what people are saying. I would love to be the person who people say is a great listener, someone who will always hear them out. Not someone who always has something to say. I would love for my list of 'gifts for ministry' to have things like compassion, care for others, patience, sisterly love. That would be what I am remembered for, not my leadership.
And so I continue to fight my shadow. And I'm getting really tired.
An allegory.
The ship is going to sink. At first I don't even know it's hit an iceberg, I'm just merrily dancing away to the quartet. But if I pull myself from the dancing and merriment for a second, I myself can feel the ship sinking, ever so slowly. Someone offers me a place into a lifeboat and I quickly climb in. There are still people dancing away, drinking, living it up. Oblivious to it all. You see them have a good time, laughing. The ship is going to sink, you shout up from the little dinghy. Get in the boat before it's too late! Of course not, they say, the music is still playing, everyone is enjoying themselves, don't be such a worry wart. You can believe what you want to believe but don't intrude on my fun and spoil the evening for me. This ship couldn't possibly sink. But it is.
Surely if I cared about the people on the sinking ship, I would continue to warn them despite their dismissal of my warnings. I would keep screaming at the top of my lungs to talk reason into them because the water was filling in rapidly as we spoke, every second was crucial and I had no idea when the ship would finally give way and they will be swallowed up by the darkness of the sea. No matter how much they laughed off my suggestions, or even laughed at me, I would continue and persevere because time was running out. My heart would flutter at every jerk and groan of the ship, fearing that this was when it would finally snap, and it would be too late.
Yet after one or two warnings, I seem to give up. If they don't want to listen, let them drown. Hey, I warned them didn't I? I shrug and just sit with the others on the boat. Peering on to the sinking ship, I start to sing along to the music on the ship, tap to the beat of the rhythm. I look on to the circus acts and even laugh and applaud, from my little boat. I forget that I am on a boat which will save me, and they are on a ship which will kill them.
For the sake of my credibility, acceptance and fear of rejection, I have stopped my warnings and just sat on the boat silently. When the ship finally dips into oblivion, can I live with that?
