cycling

(Dear Toby, for the sake of writing I'll refer to you in third person because first person seems unreal.)


Saturday cycling with Toby was rejuvenating. I loved cycling behind him and listening to snatches of his descriptions of officer life and things he's learned. I especially loved the look on the faces of passers-by before they realised he wasn't talking to them he was talking to 1 metre behind me.

And the hill next to MOE was the best thing my suspension-less bike whizzed down it like a swimmer's breath after breaking the surface.

We got safely to Holland Village's Da Paolo and went in to get banana and toffee tart which lauded by the woman in front of us

and I quote

"That Tart Is Amazing!"

Conversation specifics i shall not disclose but I did feel relieved talking about PEOPLE and how perhaps we all are secretly mercenary and how process is always, always important.

Cycling back we went through the Koufu at commonwealth MRT which i haven;t cycled from since Reshem bought an ice kachang there and i watched him eat it since I don't like ice kachang.

Then we cycled round the neighbourhood and i silently marvelled at how lucky I am to live here and to have friends that spend their time with me.

sunday afternoons

The kids downstairs are singing

NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANTS INGONYAAAAAAAMAAAAAA BAGITHI BABAAAAAA

And my mum and I are rolling around on the bed trying to do ab exercises, pencil rolls and glute exercises

This week was slightly hellish

On top of my own existentialist musings about the validity of my religion, I had UCAS and COPA submissions and a Lit H3 to complete and hand in.

And I think the COPA application especially just made me feel wholly inadequate, unintelligent, ugly and small.

Who am I, I thought, To even try to enter Cambridge?

I struggled to explain my love for literature (When you are so used to loving something its hard to put into words why sometimes), and to explain my choice of Cambridge (wanting to live near my grandma while receiving a first class education and being overseas seemed rather childish suddenly), and my awkward smile and blemished face in the application photo just made me feel ugly (hence me attacking it with the windows photo editor thingy-erasing this erasing that and finally constructing a better me on screen while the off screen me still has scars and eye bags and discolorations and lumps and bumps)

Thankfully, everything began falling into place by the end of the week.

After editing my personal statement with Mum's help (my punctuation sigh), it got the green light (and well wishes) from Mrs Creffield which made me feel a lot safer, and then i finished my lit H3 but best of all my mum read through it and told me it was amazing, and so i printed 5 copies (excessive, you may think, but mum wanted to send grandma a copy aside from the one i was submitting, the one i was keeping for myself and the one i was saving for a possible interview with Cambridge or any other university)

On Friday night i had ballet and saw Emily again and laughed as usual (I am never forgetting your pronunciation of coupe EVER Miss Posh)

And this morning as I just lay in bed I looked out on the balcony and saw the 'komoreibi' (when sunlight filters through the trees) and marvelled at my creator God

And now I am going to bake a lemon drizzle cake 

in my head

Two nights ago I was trying to finish up my math homework and because its math hard, i stayed up till about 1 finishing as much as i could.

Those who know me will probably know that after 11.30, my brain completely shuts down.

And so it goes:

I would write a few equations and solve a few things (Or not) when suddenly into my head would pop things like:

An american voice saying "I'm just gonna check on the buttercream fra-aw-wsting"

(Context: I'd spent a large part of the afternoon watching cupcake wars)

Or my yellow polka dotted mug would morph into a red and white checkered mug with Simba printed on it (The mug of my childhood which broke my heart when it broke)

Or my foolscap paper would look like a receipt

Also last night I had an odd dream that i was in charge of a beautiful baby (child-dreams...no Jane Eyre references please)

It's a rather good thing i think that i took time off today to sleep in because i think fatigue was making me go slightly mad

Jane's Baptism

Yesterday evening I went over to St John's St Margaret's for Jane's baptism. I was so excited because honestly Jane has always been an inspiration to me in terms of how closely she walks with God and how gentle she is to the people around her.

So the service began with music and worship. The music was so loud i couldn't hear myself sing, which I liked because often even when I'm singing I feel conscious about my voice and how it sounds and i can't focus on worshipping 100% but it was a lot easier when i wasn't a voice anymore i was just part of a huge chorus.

They sang Mighty to save which has such meaningful words, words which spoke deeply to me in the second verse (So take me as you find me/ All my fears and failures/ Fill my life again) and also This is our God which was the youth camp 2013 song and it was nice to sing it again

The pastor spoke about the prodigal son and then they had a dance item and then THE BAPTISM!!!!

It was very different from our baptisms where you give your testimony first, because they had a whole throng of people getting baptised, and so there wasn't time, but the most beautiful part was after their baptism, when they all stood on stage and the congregation all prayed for them, and then everyone sang Oh! Happy Day! while they walked down the aisle and out of the sanctuary. It was so communal and symbolic and heartwarming, so celebratory.

I read Jane's testimony this morning, and i was so glad to know better her journey to baptism. Everyone has such a different road but I'm glad we all walk it all the same (Which reminds me of something i read this morning, about how the road may be difficult, but it's God that holds the map and lights the path, and therefore we know the pleasure of its destination)

It is incredible how creative-with-words one becomes when the word limit for your H3 is 3500 and you've written 4200 and you think its perfect

WORD

Kahlil Gibran

I wash my hands of those who imagine chattering to be knowledge, silence to be ignorance, and affection to be art.

Knowing when to say nothing often cleverer than saying nothing of consequence. I recently whatsapped Ellis about how i was surrounded by meaningless conversation (Irony: i was drowning in a sea of shallowness), and love so free i was afraid it had lost it intention and meaning.

After that i had one of the best conversations of the term.

But.

Sometimes i get very uncomfortable with the overwhelming affection i see around me. In AC there is a HUGE hugging culture. People hug after missing each other for one lesson, or two or three. And i can't help but think about people in Korea who long to hug their loved ones but are separated by the 38th parallel, or those in Gaza, who hug and wish they really never had to let go because separation means the possibility of dying apart. How can we claim our affection is justified when our separation is so trivial?

Then again.

The people in Korea probably wished they had hugged more when they were together. The Gazans too probably wish in each hug time would stand still. Perhaps affection is justified when we never know when it will be impeded.

All the same.

I feel that the hugging habit has become just that-habit. It has become a greeting just like Hi. Skin to skin contact isn't so electrifying anymore, it is everyday.

And then.

I have come to appreciate this girl in my class so much. She's called Sze hui and she's incredibly quiet. And i love spending time with her because we don't have to talk and i can feel safe in the knowledge that i will not be jolted out of my thoughts or my day dreams to (dare i say it/Stevens) banter.

At the same time.

Deep conversations with people like Ellis and Emily and Luk Ching still enthrall me.

It is 12.17 i.e incoherence time i.e this post has been but a mangled mess of WHAT I AM TRYING TO SAY

perhaps i should just not have said anything: Knowing when to say nothing often cleverer than saying nothing of consequence.

lunch

Stuff to pack in lunchboxes

Mini hamburger patties (http://vegetarian.about.com/od/veggieburgerrecipes/tp/bestburgers.htm)Bean, veggies and cheese quesadillaMini bagel with cream cheese (I can bake bagels!)
Pasta with tomato sauce and veggies (try smitten kitchen naked tomato sauce!!!)
Avocado slices with crackers
Tortilla with hummus/tzaziki
Leftovers from the night before (Indian food, pasta, rice...)
Pancakes
+
Sautéed zucchini or squash or any vegetable actually
Broccoli (my love, there's only you in my life...)
Cherry tomatoes (...the only thing that's right...)
Yellow and red peppers (...My first love...)
Carrots (...You're every breath that i take...)
Edamame (damn.)
Cheese cubes or string cheese
Hard-boiled egg
Yogurt
Mixed berries, grapes, kiwi, melon (kiwi is usually messy)
Orange slices
Half a banana
Apple slices with cinnamon (MY ENDLESS LOVE)

Cheese sandwich with tomato and/or avocado and/or egg
Soba with tofu, beansprouts and stuff
Ba na na
Apple and peanut butter sandwiches
+
chocolate cake
chocolate chip cookies
apple chips
kale chips
chips
banana cake
brownie
apple pie
Lemon Drizzle cake

I am ready for term 4.
I AM READDDDYYYYY

that school canteen's lack of veggie fare WILL NOT CONQUER ME

(oh did i mention? I am now vegetarian)

my not-dream job

I am completely and utterly convinced that i don't want any job that is a permutation of the teaching profession. Not therapy, not lecturing, not teaching.

I was telling my mother this.

And she pointed at the ceiling and said

'He (God) can hear you, you know.'

And so i threw my head back and cried

'Please PLEASE PLEASE let me NOT be a TEACHER.

PLEASE.'

And then i thought how Gideon didn't want to be a leader and then he was one and i shivered because you never know.