Sunday, January 31, 2016

Don't cry over spilt milk


Leo asked us to write a sestina each for next week's practical criticism class. A sestina has very specific rules on form, consisting of 6 stanzas of 6 lines with a three line stanza at the end, and a strange permutation of end words which change their positions based on a set order. Notoriously hard to write, and always having the tension of form and freedom, artifice and sincerity within them, I don't know how I shall manage to produce one that is even a smidge as good as the one I read on Friday:

Sestina -Ian Patterson

Autumn as chill as rising water laps
and files us away under former stuff
thinly disguised and thrown up on a screen;
one turn of the key lifts a brass tumbler -
another disaster probably averted, just,
while the cadence drifts in dark and old.

Voices of authority are burning an old
car on the cobbles, hands on their laps,
as if there was a life where just
men slept and didn't strut their stuff
on stage. I reach out for the tumbler
and pour half a pint behind the screen.

The whole body is in pieces. Screen
memories are not always as sharp as old
noir phenomena. The child is like a tumbler
doing back-flips out of mothers' laps
into all that dark sexual stuff
permanently hurt that nothing is just.

I'm telling you this just
because I dream of watching you behind a screen
taking your clothes off for me: the stuff
of dreams, of course. Tell me the old, old
story, real and forgetful. Time simply laps
us up, like milk from a broken tumbler.

A silent figure on the stage, the tumbler
stands, leaps and twists. He's just
a figure of speech that won't collapse
like the march of time and the silver screen;
like Max Wall finally revealing he was old
and then tarting again in that Beckett stuff,

I'd like to take my sense of the real and stuff
it. There's a kind of pigeon called a tumbler
that turns over backwards as it flies, old
and having fun; sometimes I think that's just
what I want to do, but I can't cut or screen
out the lucid drift of memory that laps

my brittle attention just off screen
away from the comfortable laps and the velvety stuff
I spilled a tumbler of milk over before I was old.

Saturday, January 30, 2016

Thoughts: When abortion suddenly stopped making sense

I remember having a conversation with Hannah about feminism, where I said I was a feminist. She told me to be careful with all the other connotations also attached to feminism apart from its basic tenet of equality between men and women, which I didn't quite understand at the time, but now have a better grasp of. Often, being pro-choice in the abortion debate is seen as the feminist standpoint, because it gives the woman autonomy of choice. However, I've never been able to accept abortion, because in my mind it has always been an act of violence to an innocent. Basically, I was defending the baby. Recently I read this article, which gave such compelling evidence to why abortion is also a worry for the woman. It may seem like a quick solution but it in fact speaks of deeper injustices, inequalities, and perspective problems within our society, where the act of ending the life of a child is in fact stemming from the same oppressive forces that prevent equality between men and women, namely perspectives where something is considered less worthy than another based on humanly constructed notions of worth. Ultimately, it is a systemic disease that has turned mother against child - one of the most unnatural things imaginable.

"[Abortion] gets presented as if it’s a tug of war between the woman and the baby. We see them as mortal enemies, locked in a fight to the death. But that’s a strange idea, isn’t it? It must be the first time in history when mothers and their own children have been assumed to be at war. We’re supposed to picture the child attacking her, trying to destroy her hopes and plans, and picture the woman grateful for the abortion, since it rescued her from the clutches of her child. If you were in charge of a nature preserve and you noticed that the pregnant female mammals were trying to miscarry their pregnancies, eating poisonous plants or injuring themselves, what would you do? Would you think of it as a battle between the pregnant female and her unborn and find ways to help those pregnant animals miscarry? No, of course not. You would immediately think, “Something must be really wrong in this environment.” Something is creating intolerable stress, so much so that animals would rather destroy their own offspring than bring them into the world. You would strive to identify and correct whatever factors were causing this stress in the animals. The same thing goes for the human animal. 

Because abortion is a product of a merciless system that pushes mothers into a corner with no recourse, the idea of 'pro-choice' becomes an ironic one, because it is supporting a decision that is forced and helplessness, which is incidentally antithetical to choice itself which is meant, like feminism, to be empowering. It seems to me utterly natural then, to be a feminist and also to be pro-life.

“No one wants an abortion as she wants an ice cream cone or a Porsche. She wants an abortion as an animal, caught in a trap, wants to gnaw off its own leg.” 

Adult, child, infant, foetus, animal, plant, or earth, everything deserves the respect of being created by an all-powerful, all-loving God, being touched by his hand and called his own.

Friday, January 29, 2016

A little bit about bananas



People say I have a calming aura or a calm disposition (for those who are less inclined to the spiritual).

Yesterday a girl in my ballet class told me that eating a banana before nerve-wracking things like a dance performance or a political speech, or just the terror that is going out and facing the world and its strangers every day, has been proven to calm people down.

I think I see the method behind my supposed 'aura'.

(In other news, today I caved and ate my last ripe banana and I have three bunches all unripe. I feel like poor Tantalus)

28/01/16


Yesterday I watched two swans parachute down onto the water, their wings out wide.

My lecturer spoke at a million miles an hour on Milton and Regicide.

I bought ballet clothes, two post cards, gloves, and a sweater that reminded me of a speckled egg from a hospice charity shop. (Although the ballet wear was from Attitude)

During ballet class I held my wrist with my hand and wondered if, since we all have different finger prints, different sensory ridges that convey touch, do things feel subtly different to different people? Things like 'clammy' and 'rough' and 'smooth' would feel the same but what about the presence of the person through their skin, would I feel just as me to someone else as I feel to me? Do I convey different messages to different people through my skin, like some sort of dermatology morse code?

'...may your strength match the length of your days' Deuteronomy 33:25

small acts


Every time I cycle back from Focus, or ballet, or CG, or anything that ends at night, as I huff and puff my way up the hill I pass the Castle Street Methodist Church.

On my first day back in Cambridge for second term, Auntie Sarah and I noticed a sweet felt nativity scene in the window display of the church - tender Mary and peaceful Joseph and the shepherds and wise men and stable animals and angels over a slumbering baby Jesus.

Last week when I cycled back, I noticed the church window again. There was a peaceful slumberer in its windows, but it wasn't baby Jesus. It was a homeless person, booted feet sticking out from the edge of a light blue fleece blanket.

To some extent we all are homeless people looking for our home in God, all broken, people battered by the world looking for rest in his almighty arms.

“The church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.” ― Abigail Van Buren

On my first Saturday afternoon back in Cambridge, I went for a Foodcycle Lunch at St Paul's Church. Foodcycle is a group that recycles unwanted food from supermarkets (which throw away tonnes of edible but un-eye-appealing food) and uses the meals it creates from the unwanted food to provide a free lunch to homeless and other vulnerable people.

I got there early, walked in - and then walked out. I couldn't see anyone I knew there felt embarrassed about my privelege and didn't know how to connect with a strata of society that I'd never had real contact with. I sat outside for a little while, reprimanded my cowardice, and went back in and sat down at a table.

I sat next to a man called Terry who has only been homeless for 15 months. But that is a long time when you realise it means 15 months of sleeping on church floors rather than beds (he avoids the homeless shelters because he says many of the homeless in there are drug addicts and he doesn't want to get mixed up in that) and 15 months of days not having proper activity to fill your time, it seems an age. He told me about his sister who has Alzheimer's but no one to care for her (he tried to, but couldn't handle her which was one reason why he ended up homeless), he told me about how he used to like Indian food but it got too much for his stomach so now he likes Chinese food, he asked about politics in Singapore, and told me the origin of the phrase 'rule of thumb'. He was interesting, amiable, and asked for second helpings of soup, although he didn't eat his veggies in the main course, and hid them under his napkin, telling me 'I'm a meat-eater'. Before he left, he said, "I'm going to have to go now, but before I go I have to ask you one question: Do I look like Sean Connery?"

I didn't know who Sean Connery was so I told him "Yes, if you want to, and no if you don't!" To which he laughed and left.

Then I got talking to a woman who seemed a little mentally unsound, because she kept going on about how angry she was at vets, "the scourge of this earth" she called them, because they had been unable to save her two Yorkshire Terriers. I felt really sad listening to her, because  could tell she had so much anger, bitterness and sadness wrapped up inside her like a painful pulsating ball. I tried to tell her that the vets would have done what they thought best for the dogs, but she silenced me and told me about how she couldn't stop crying after they died, how they were 'only this big', and how she bought them individual coats to wear when they were outside so they wouldn't get cold. When I had to leave she said 'Thank you for listening,' and gave me a hug, and maybe that's all she needed Even though I couldn't untangle her hurt, hopefully just speaking about t would make her grief a little more manageable.

“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.” 
― Leo Buscaglia

When I went for the Celidh a week ago, as I was parking my bicycle, a man came  up to me and said, 'Please don't judge me, but I'm in a very bad place, and my leg is ___ing painful, it's got two screws, do you have any cash to spare?' I told him I'd have a look after I locked my bike, and then realised as I rummaged in my purse that all I had were coins, really nothing. I gave the coins to him anyway and felt useless, and told him I was so sorry I couldn't help more, but would he like to come inside the church where it was warm and there was somewhere for him to sit down?

After the Ceilidh, I came out with Tim and Andre and saw the same man, sitting down with a pizza which we found out that the church women had bought him. I went over and asked how his leg was feeling, he told me it still hurt badly, and that someone had stolen his shoe. I could see his foot, which was swollen and rough, and asked if he had anywhere to stay that night. He didn't, because you needed money to get into a homeless shelter (I don't understand that logic), and so Tim gave him some money, and also tried to give him his shoe but he was a size too small.

I had to leave then, but Tim said he would go back to him, and the next day I found out that Tim had gotten him to a hospital to have his leg looked at and to give him some place to rest and recover.

'I pray that you will understand the words of Jesus, “Love one another as I have loved you.” Ask yourself “How has he loved me? Do I really love others in the same way?” ' -Mother Theresa

Improvement



Three punks cycled past my window whooping and talking loudly, one looked up into my room and blew a cheeky kiss.

I got back to writing my essay on the Forest in the Faerie Queene, and imagined the kiss bouncing off the glass window like a bird that didn't see the glass. My essay, if anyone is interested in knowing, was inspired by a Taylor Swift song and so I am praying that my supervisor is a swiftie.

I finished it 2 hours before its deadline.

God painted a really good sunrise today, a perfect balance of pink, which I watched as I settled into my second bowl of muesli.

This was a much better Tuesday.

Saturday, January 23, 2016

18/1-22/1


For my birthday last year, Christy gave me a time capsule. It's a little book, which asks me a question a day for the next five years, so that when I look back over my answers, I'll be able to see how much my answers have changed based on where I am in life when I answer that question. Yesterday's questions was 'Are you seeing security or adventure?'

And I could confidently answer: adventure.

On Monday, I went for a vegan dinner with mostly people I didn't know, and ended up laughing so much I thought I'd get another cheek dimple.

On Tuesday, I went for the Hulsean lecture, and gained new understanding on what the term 'In Christ' means. To the people who wrote the Bible (in the words we translated to become 'In Christ' in English') to be 'In Christ' is based on the idea that someone is an ancestor, who contains your identity and your source of life. Another biblical example would be Adam - 'For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive.' 1 Corinthians 15:22. Adam, as ancestor of the human race, is their source of inheritance. Since we receive what Adam receives, we also do what Adam does. Therefore, since Adam sinned and received the penalty of death, we too sin 'in Adam', and 'in Adam' we die. And that makes the reversal that follows Christ's death all the more significant. Christ followed the 'in Adam' pattern - he did receive the inheritance of death, but then he set into motion a new dynamic - life.  By rising from the grave on the third day after his burial, Christ ensured that his lineage, those who believe in his name, would 'in Christ' inherit life.

And the amazing thing is, with the promise of being 'in Christ', we not only inherit life - we occupy the same space as Jesus, have the same relations he did. And when we realise that Jesus' activity is our activity, and his prayer 'Abba Father' is our prayer, we come to the conclusion that Jesus not only gave us life forevermore 'in Christ' but also the overwhelming grace of becoming children of God with the same access and intimacy with him as Christ had. I had the image of Lucy from the Narnia books running up and hugging Aslan.

On Wednesday, I tried out a new recipe for a lentil dahl which was easy and so delicious. I also picked up a mesh strainer from a student who was moving out and needed to give away her kitchen things, and used it and a tea towel to strain and make my own rice milk. After dinner I realised something was missing from my life, and realised - granola. And so I whipped up some chocolate and hazelnut granola and ate as much of it as couldn't fit into my container.

On Thursday, I had my second ballet lesson, and the choreography for 'The Dance of the Knights' got so much more interesting, although I kept forgetting to include chaine turns in one of the enchainments...next week is the last rehearsal exclusively for that dance so everything will have to be perfect then!

On Friday, I went for my first ever ceilidh (a gaelic dance party, pronounced kay-lee) I was going with Andre and Tim from Justlove, but since we all came at different times and I was surprisingly there first, I began dancing with another lady who didn't have a partner. After that first dance I was already flushed and happy, and Tim and Andre had both arrived. They bought raffle tickets, and we talked for a while before beginning on the next dance which was arranged in a big circle. The dance involved moving from one partner to the next, working your way around the circle. 



It was interesting to dance with so many different partners, because from the feel of their hands and the position of their bodies you knew who understood the dance and who, well, didn't. There were some who held you too tightly to enjoy the dance - I think they were really stressed about getting the steps right. There were others who didn't really hold you at all, and sort of just flopped their hands into yours - I think they were too afraid to really get into the dance. And then there were (the best kind) the ones who held you just tight enough to support you as you whirled around but not so tight that your fingers lost all feeling - and you knew instinctively that they were enjoying the dance just as much as you were. Sort of like how people approach life really.

I was a bit of a mess for my first two partners but soon got the hang of it, and one of my partners, when he held my hands, immediately said 'Good, you know what you're doing!' Being my first ceildh, I replied 'I really don't!' and he laughed and said 'You do!'

It was incredibly fun, and as Tim said 'transcendent' - you can't help but smile and forget anything that worries you as you dance to a Scottish reel. (Also N.B One of my partners was an Irish guy and so I heard a proper Irish accent!)

I Leave This at Your Ear


We did this poem for practical criticism yesterday and its quiet restrained love made my heart swell.

I Leave This at Your Ear

For Nessie Dunsmuir

I leave this at your ear for when you wake,
A creature in its abstract cage asleep.
Your dreams blindfold you by the light they make.

The owl called from the naked-woman tree
As I came down by the Kyle farm to hear
Your house silent by the speaking sea.

I have come late but I have come before
Later with slaked steps from stone to stone
To hope to find you listening for the door.

I stand in the ticking room.  My dear, I take
A moth kiss from your breath.  The shore gulls cry.
I leave this at your ear for when you wake.

W. S. Graham

Bl-uesday



Tuesday was my down day this week. Mostly because it was my essay deadline and I was completely unprepared and uninspired for it.

Apart from the not-so-hot essay, I had two not-so-hot lectures, a not-so-hot lunch, and another fall off my bicycle (knees this time, but I am now better equipped with plasters)

I did manage to get to the Hulsean lecture I had been rushing to when I fell off my bicycle, slightly shocked and shaky, and sat down on the floor since there were no more spaces on seats, and squirmed inwardly as my foot slowly fell asleep.

And on the way home from Focus, a taxi beeped at me aggressively, which in my mind was the worst possible thing that could happen after a day of nerves and not-being-enough, and I when I got back to my room I had a little cry - and then, the verse from Lamentations 3:22-23 floated into my head 'The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.' 

I changed into clean pajamas, wrapped my feet in the snuggly socks from Nat, and thanked God for making night as a natural closure to bad days, and morning as the natural beginning of a new one.

Looking out of my window



One of my new favourite things this week is sitting on my floor. It sounds odd, I know, but when I have breakfast or lunch, I like holding my warm bowl (or, more often than not, my saucepan) on my lap with a spoon in hand, sitting and looking out of the window. There is a big tree outside my window which  has lost all of its leaves, so you can see the moss on its branches.

Yesterday I watched the people walking along the footpath my room overlooks, and realised I didn't see a single person walking who looked as if they enjoyed walking. They all looked like they were in a hurry to get their bodies where their minds already were. I certainly know how that feels.

Another day, my eyes followed the cloud-tail of (what I suppose was) a jet plane in the sky, trying to see how long it took to get from its place in the sky to the outer rim of tree branches. I lost it in another cloud before it touched the tree, but the arc it left was more beautiful than anything I have ever drawn with a curve ruler.

Sitting with my head tilted slightly upwards this morning, looking at the naked tree patiently waiting for its leaves to come back, I happy-sighed and realised how content I am. I am awashed in love.

Saturday, January 16, 2016

15/1/2016


Yesterday I woke up to sunshine and ice-y puddles in the carpark on the way to lectures. As I cycled, I noticed a man, probably older than myself, slowly and deliberately place his foot through the thin layer of ice, and receiving that satisfying 'crunch' in return.

In my lecture, the row of girls in front of me were wearing a blue and white stripy jumper, a maroon blouse, a dark blue denim jacket, and a mustard yellow sweater, all in a row. Their respective and relational colours made me so happy. It's the small things, friends.

I had muesli again for lunch because I only had 15 minutes to eat before going for a talk in church on 'How can we trust when we are so disillusioned with the world today?'

As I was walking back to my room, I peeked into my pigeonhole and saw a brown package from savesomegreen. Now, there is a funny story behind this. At the end of last year, I decided to order bamboo toothbrushes so that I wouldn't use plastic toothbrushes and essentially so I would cut down on my plastic waste. I ordered 12 toothbrushes, because when you do that the postage is free. On my first day back in college, I found a brown package with my toothbrushes inside, and I was so excited, and opened them, to find - 11 toothbrushes! I was confused - where was the last one? So I emailed the company, and they apologised and promised to send me the last toothbrush as well as a 'little extra something' for my trouble.

I expected something like a tea infuser or a bamboo fork or a discount voucher or something trivial like that.

But yesterday when I opened the brown paper package I was so amazed. Out came my missing toothbrush - and then 11 more! They had sent me 12 toothbrushes to make up for my missing one! So essentially I had ordered 12 toothbrushes, and now I have 23, which will last me all of university plus probably a significant part of my bond with NHB. I don't know how toothbrushes can make me so excited but well. They can.

Later on in the day one of the maintenance people came to fix my bathroom light, which means no more showers in the dark!

In the evening I lead worship for my cell group. I began with the prayer I'd heard in Rougham Church, which I thought was apt for the beginning of the New Year and the beginning of a new busy term:

I am no longer my own, but yours.
Put me to what you will, rank me with whom you will;
put me to doing, put me to suffering;
let me be employed for you, or laid aside for you,
exalted for you, or brought low for you;
let me be full, let me be empty,
let me have all things, let me have nothing:
I freely and wholeheartedly yield all things
to your pleasure and disposal.
And now, glorious and blessed God,
Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
you are mine and I am yours. So be it.
Amen.

The study that night was on 2 Corinthians 1:1-14, on how God comforts us in our suffering because Jesus shared in our suffering - we have divine empathy (which is amazing because unlike humans who can never fully understand each others' pain, God can), and also Jesus rose above suffering to give us the divine hope of salvation. The study also reminded us about how this comfort is given to us, and we are able to share it with others, through the good news of the gospel, as well as through prayer. Although I often pray for my family and friends, I rarely pray for more distant figures like church leaders who obviously face suffering, as they are normal human beings, and yet have to find the strength every week to go up and preach God's word. I didn't have any concrete New year Resolutions this year, and this will probably be one - to pray consistently and faithfully for church leaders and ministry workers.

Friday, January 15, 2016

The beginning of Lent term


This morning I woke up and didn't put my alarm on snooze before curling up on my knees under my duvet, and then slowly unfolding myself out of bed. It was a bad idea not to wear socks, and my feet got a shock on the cold bathroom tiles, and so i ran back under the covers, warmed up, and then faced the bathroom again.

I went to the Friday morning college prayer meeting, where the leader read Romans 5:6-8, and now I'm back in my warm room with my second bowl of muesli and bananas. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the roof of the coach house is tinted gold and I have this perfect music playing.

I've decided that this term is my carpe diem term. It's my term for doing everything I can, possibly exhausting myself, but in the best possible way. I've signed up for two dances in the ballet society's production of Romeo and Juliet, made a commitment to go for college prayer meetings every Friday, to go for at least two rambles this term, to volunteer for Twilight at the museums, possibly sign up for the committee, apply to work in a May Ball, go for Yoga every Wednesday, and attend the Hulsean lectures on Tuesday evenings before FOCUS in church.

Muesli is one way I am coping with all of this since it means I don't have to make porridge in the mornings, and besides, there's something pretty wonderful about the cool, sogginess of museli - so comforting that I had it for dinner on my second night back because I couldn't be bothered to cook.

So far, I'm loving it. Yesterday, after my first rehearsal for 'The Dance of the Knights', I cycled back through the raw cold so happy, and caught a beautiful sight of a clear black sky with stars as I wheeled my bike to the bike rack. My first two lectures have considerably improved my opinion of (and interest in) the Renaissance as well as given me a rough plan for my essay (which I should be writing right now)

On Tuesday, I went for a long walk with Alex, just discussing how things have been and how things will be. We dropped into an art gallery where I bought a postcard of a woman diving. If you turn the postcard, it seems as if she is flying. Endless possibility. We also stopped in a chocolate shop because why not? It was a very posh chocolate shop with the kind of chocolate bars that look like nuts, fruit, honeycomb, praline, or citrus got overtaken by a pyroclastic flow of chocolate. I picked up a bottle of Potter's Herbals Catarrh mixture to hopefully cure my bad throat by Friday evening when I am leading worship in cell group.

Thank you God, for arms and legs that move, for music, for dance, for life, for sunshine in winter. Thank you for your biggest gift of all, for saving us, though we were sinners, through the grace of Jesus' death on the cross. Please let us use every breath to worship you in thought, deed and action. Let us be kind to others as you were kind to us, to love others with the same selfless love you gave to us and lavish upon us every day of our lives. Help us comfort those in pain and sadness with the words you give us which are better than any 'It's going to be okay' and 'Don't worry'. We give our days to you, our circumstances and our cares and fears to you, to weave into your marvelous plan, for your glory's sake. In Jesus' name, Amen.

Reducing waste


Ever since I heard about the mason jar girl, I've been thinking about ways to reduce my waste as well.

Some things I've found easy (and also fun)

1. Swapping liquid body and hair shampoo for solid soap and shampoo. The first time I bought solid shampoo from Lush, half of me was excited because it smelt so good, looked gorgeous, and of course, didn't come in plastic packaging. However, the other half of me was aghast that a little bar of soap would have cost twice as much as I would spend on shampoo normally. 3 months on from buying that shampoo, I'm a firm solid shampoo convert. It has lasted all this while, and I've probably used just a quarter of it, and so it's definitely going to last me till the summer break at least. And so while it was a big spend initially, it's definitely worth it. This Sunday I went back to Lush and bought body soap, to replace my usual liquid body shampoo.

2. Buying local fruits and vegetables from the market. In Cambridge we have a market every day of the week in market square, and when I have time I often frequent the vegetable stand. In each pile of veggies they write where the vegetable has come from, and I buy what I need from local sources. (In Singapore you can go to the wet market!) For fruits and veggies that I can't find local in the market (like bananas) I go to Sainsburys and get them - and purposely choose the loose ones rather than the ones wrapped in plastic. I don't even understand why fruits and veggies have to be wrapped in plastic.

3. Bring a bag. During fresher's week they handed out quite  a few free tote bags, and now I use those regularly when I shop to pack my groceries into them. Most retail and grocery shops here charge 5p per plastic bag you use, and so there's a financial incentive to use your own bags too! I wish they'd start that in Singapore.

4. Buy a bamboo toothbrush. This is a little but easy thing to do. Certainly, a bamboo toothbrush is more expensive than a plastic one, and lasts the same amount of time so it definitely is more expensive in the long run, but as a present it's quite a sweet gift. I bought mine from this website, since the postage was free in the UK for a certain amount bought. I basically bought enough toothbrushes to last me my whole university life through. And as eco-friendly oral hygiene goes, it certainly beats oil-pullling (which feels so gross eugh)

5. Takeaway in your own containers. Going to the college cafeteria and putting 2 baked potatoes, rice and curry into my old-ice-cream-boxes-turned-into-tupperware was a little awkward when I asked the server if he could spoon the curry into them rather than on a plate or into the styrofoam takeaway containers the college provides. However, after a couple more times, I've gotten used to it.

6. Recycle recycle recycle. Recycling should be the last resort, since the aim is to not accumulate any trash at all, but I admit, its really tough and inevitably you will generate some sort of rubbish. I keep a cardboard box under my bed, where I stuff any recyclable trash I have, and at the end of a week I take it to the college recycling bins and sort it into them.

7. Make soup with food leftovers and over ripe vegetables. It sounds slightly gross but I'm pretty sure it's what mothers everywhere have been doing for all of time, plus soup is always great. (Especially now when it's so cold)

8. Be creative and do research! There are so many other ways to reduce trash, starting with figuring out what trash you generate and then creatively thinking of ways to reduce/remove that. I have so many other areas I need to improve on as well, but maybe one day I'll finally walk the earth without leaving a trail of mess behind me.

Monday, January 11, 2016

Loving strangers


Twice this week when I was with my cousin Renny, I told him 'She's so beautiful!', referring to strangers: a waitress, and a picture of Queen Pema of Bhutan. Both times he gave me a weird look, but I think it is a pity that we don't appreciate and celebrate the beauty of people in general, not just people we feel safe enough to compliment.

As I was running today, I felt like I was falling in love with every single person I ran past. They were all made so specially, and they had all come out to enjoy the sunshine, like desert flowers opening after rain.

(Also not completely unrelated happenstance today: In church, I almost burst out laughing during the song of response, because a mother walked past me, carrying her baby, and her baby had the most 'shocked' face I'd seen on a baby, eyebrows up and slightly drawn together, eyes huge and round, and it just looked like that the whole time she carried him, as if he could not understand why so many people would join together to worship the God who made weird and wonderful humans)

Saturday, January 9, 2016

Looking back on 2015



A first: My first EVER concert (not orchestra or choir) experience, in January, with Bastille.

A brave choice: To stay in England over the winter break. I missed everyone at home so dearly, but in my heart of hearts I knew that to spend this window of time with Grandma would be so precious. It was also a test to myself, to see if I could hold out. I missed Singaporean Christmas, and the reflectiveness of Watch night, and the excitement of Youth Camp, but I got to meet family, see God gently shake the last leaves off the trees, fly to Poland, hug Grandma every day, and learn patience and contentment with where I am and where I’m going.

A reckless choice: THE BREAKFAST PROJECT I don’t know how I even got the notion to somehow wake up every day for a school week when I was no longer in school, run, or be driven, or take the bus to ACJC with a warm Tupperware in my hand to deliver breakfast to Emily. But it was so fun, and so worth it.

Someone I held on to: Throughout this year, Ching has somehow been by my side every step of the way. In the beginning of the year we both worked together in the café, and therefore stepped out of the neat glass jars we’d inhabited in JC to become just someones serving plates of food and wiping tables. Someones who also had good laughs and serious conversations and sneaky waffle scraps. And then Ching was one of the last people I met before Auntie Sheila died - in fact I went for a run with her when she was still alive and when we came back she had slipped away. And Ching came to the leaving party and wrote a most heartfelt note as she always does. And I have one of the letters she wrote me when I was going through a tough patch in JC up on my pin board, to look at when things get tough over here.

Someone I met new: Family in Bath

Crying moment: That earth tremor, face holding feeling in the car on the way to the airport.

Laughing moment: Days in the cafe - when Debbie said 'Forks' strangely, when a boy came in holding leaves, when Kai Jing crowned me 'Queen of Dragonfruit', when Shak visited and sang along to the Taylor Swift songs...

Golden moment: So so many - but the most recent one I can remember was this beautiful cycle back from a Polly supervision

Grey moment: A Monday and Tuesday in my room in college when I was gripped with the irrational fear that my friends would forget me and I would be rootless.

Good Meal: The completely vegan meal that one group cooked during the Chinese Christian Fellowship retreat. I was the only vegan in the camp, and so in each meal there was always a plate set out for me that wouldn't have the meat dish on it. However, the person who was planning his group's meal had misunderstood that there was one vegan in the camp, and instead thought he had to cook vegan. And he just happened to be the best cook in the whole camp, and so we were served vegan cream of mushroom soup, tomato, mushroom and aubergine pasta, and...a vegan chocolate mousse and raspberry tart! Having a dessert at all was unusual, and it being vegan made it oh so perfect. It was especially nice, because Eunice, my room mate who is gluten intolerant, could also have the dessert, which is something she can't often indulge in! We both took seconds.

A defining song: Satisfied in You, by The Sing Team. Ben introduced this song to me ages ago, and I used to listen to it when doing savasana at the end of a Yoga session.

‘Like a bed of rest for my fainting flesh - I am satisfied in You.’

After Auntie Sheila passed away and I was grieving, I listened to that song too.

‘Let my sighs give way to songs that sing about your faithfulness…’

And when I was lonely and scared and tired in Cambridge, curled up in bed and wondering if I’d have the strength to finish my essay or go to a lecture the next day - that song came back and sat me up and made me wipe my tears away and face what I had to do.

‘Why are you downcast O my soul? Why so disturbed within me?... I am satisfied in You.’

Good book: Shackleton's Journey  A Tale of Two Cities  Great House I can't choose just one

Good movie: Suffragette or Far From the Madding Crowd, vastly different, same leading lady.

Gain: So much knowledge through my lecturers and lessons and books. I think one of the things I love most about Cambridge is that I feel like I’m learning something, every single day. I love learning, I love being challenged and having my wells of ignorance slowly but surely filled up by the wisdom and collected anthologies of brain stuff in my lecturers heads.


A last: My last ballet lesson, when we pleaded Mrs Chong to let us do 'The Happy Dance', which is something we used to do in the lower grades to the tune of 'The Lonely Goatherd' from The Sound of Music. She was reluctant at first, saying we were all too old for it, but everyone said it was so important to do it, and so she relented. Then we realised we had forgotten so much of it, so we tried various permutations of it, and just laughed and laughed at how wonderful it was to do a dance which had so many happy memories, as well as laughing at ourselves at how ungainly we were in our uncertainty and old-ness - it isn't so easy to skip under a bridge made of hands when you are 1.67m rather than 1.2m!

Three trivial things:

1) Threading your eyebrows is a good idea (was so tempted to write 'good eye-dea' but I could just see Emily rolling her eyes and then laughing)

2) Don't ride down a hill on a new bicycle and brake suddenly at the bottom if you aren't wearing a helmet. Even if you are wearing a helmet think twice about it.

3) Rye/Rice Crackers with Chocolate Ice cream and Almond butter and Bananas on top is actually the bee’s knees.

Three important things:

1) When I asked my Dad what his greatest achievement was in life, he said ‘Being a Dad to you three’ which touched my heart - how wonderful when your greatest source of pride is in loving service. Dad, you’re a great Dad and you should definitely be proud of that.

2) Time with yourself, to learn how to appreciate yourself and find it within yourself to give thanks for what God has surrounded you with is so important.


3) The world is so much more than your own 'needs', and God calls us to live beyond ourselves.

The last morning before I go back to Cambridge. I'm sitting in Grandma's lounge, in an arm chair.

When I can't think of what to write I bite my thumbnail and slide my other hand into the warm spot beneath my robe, just under my right clavicle.

We watched Amelie (which is a masterpiece)this morning, and I polished off half a packet of rice crackers. (I love the sound of the 'crunch' of a rice cracker, like the sound of a sharp knife slicing through coriander stems, or the 'crack' when you break the top sugar layer of creme brulee with a teaspoon)

I've wrapped a set of willow pattern crockery to take back with me, first in newspaper then in clothes.

Last night I baked a chocolate and banana cake without following a recipe, and I prayed for a sunny day yesterday and God’s smile broke through the clouds in the morning, and so I went for a lovely leisurely run, stopping often to rest my ankles and just bask in the sunlight.

Friday, January 8, 2016

Tick



I've finished my entire reading list! As I turned the last page of 'The Changeling' and then lay back in bed happily, Grandma came up the stairs.

'Grandma, I've finished my reading list!'

'Darling! How wonderful!' she said, 'What are you going to have as a treat?'

She looked around and spied the big cardboard box which belongs to a ladder, which has been living beside my bed since Christmas.

'Do you want to jump into that box?'

'Grandma!'

Later on, I was about to walk down to the village shop to pick up some tomatoes for our falafel wraps which I was making that night (Grandma really liked the falafel, and asked what was in 'this green wodge') Grandma sidled up conspiratorially, and handed me some money. 'You'll need that,' she said.

'I think I have enough in my purse, Grandma, don't worry.'

'No, you see I need another...'

'Another what?'

And, like a shady drug dealer she whispered her guilty pleasure.

'Cadbury's dairy milk.'

I laughed, because I knew she already had two bars stashed in the side cupboard. So opened the cupboard and took one out for her.

'Ah,' she said, snapping off a square, 'I think I'm addicted.'

Because it was mildly windy, she made me wear three layers and tried to persuade me into a hat which looked a bit like a knitting experiment gone awry. I refused the hat but relented on the layers, and as a result it was a very tight fit getting my coat on! I felt a bit like a butterfly trying to wriggle out of its cocoon.

Thursday, January 7, 2016

7/1/2016


I woke up today and it was grey and raining, perfect staying in bed weather, and wished I had my Mum in the next room to curl up with like I used to in the not yet sunlit mornings.

In my need to finish my 16-book reading list (I had 8 books and 7 days to complete it on Sunday) my days have largely been spent curled up in the arm chair in Grandma's lounge, with some snack on hand, hair in a bun and almost always in my pajamas and a dressing gown. Lunch is usually leftovers from dinner or a canned soup and bread (aka the most delicious pillowy softness EVER which I bought from Bury's market place yesterday) I haven't washed my hair for days but then again I haven't been doing anything physical, apart from the occasional headstand.

Today, floating to my reading place absent-mindedly, I sat down and felt the very soft pillow MOVE and escape, and then an arrow of grey streak across the floor. I had sat on the cat by accident!

When my mind very often drifts while I read, I usually create lists in my head space. This was one I created yesterday.

Why Grandma and I would be really good house mates:

1) I like cooking and she doesn't.

2) She showers in the morning and I shower at night.

3) She likes engaging in the same strange things I do, like wildly lip syncing along to 'Tonight' from West side story or 'I could've danced all night' from My fair lady.

4) I help her to remember/find critical things like 'pay the milkman' and 'where's my cheque book/hat/blue card/magnifying glass?'

5) We're both porridge eaters.

6) She is my #goals for bed time, since I want to start sleeping at about 10pm but usually end up sleeping at 11pm.

7) I help her read small print.

8) She helps me remember to give thanks for the small things, like a working oven even when the power in the rest of the house is pretty much kaput.

9) I make her go on small-time adventures to Bury or trying a new spread combination on her brioche or a face mask

10) And she makes me slow down when I'm going at a mental 896 km/h

The cat keeps giving me reproachful looks. And refuses to come back down to the lounge because now I am pretty much 'Undesirable #1'.

New Year and family


There was a laden apple tree along the drive from Bury to Bath, and I sat in Auntie Sarah's trusty red Fiat, with a box of sweet peppers and orange slices balanced on one thigh and 'Faerie Queene' on the other. Suffolk was bathed in sunshine - the pond was almost white with scintillation as we drove past, and I couldn't believe York and Leeds were flooding.

About three quarters through the journey, I could believe it though, as we were stuck in rain so heavy it was difficult to see the car before us, or to judge how quickly it was going. We crawled along at a snail's pace. Quite quickly, however, the rain slackened, and we began breathing again. I never thought I would see Singapore's silver-sheet rain all the way up here, but the rain on that highway was certainly reminiscent.

Bath is gorgeous, less flat than suffolk and with flat stone walls snaking this way and that. As we drove into the city, I immediately thought someone must have named it after a Bath tub, since its houses slope up the steep slopes of a bowl-shaped valley. However, I discovered that (it seems so obvious now but) it was named after the Roman baths which still exist there, and was first called Aquae Sulis c. AD 60. Auntie Sarah and I did want to bathe in the Roman baths, and I had visions of plunging into the hot pool and then the cold pool and then being scraped like Flavia in the Roman Mystery Series. However, we discovered that the Roman Baths, though open for viewing, can't be bathed in for Health and Safety reasons. Instead, there is a spa nearby which people go to instead for a similar experience, but unless you pay extra for a massage package, it really is just swimming in a beautiful pool with a view of the city and costs quite a hefty amount.

We got to Uncle Peter's house, and gratefully tumbled out, after having been in the car for about four hours. Through the window I saw two girls screaming in excitement and rushing to the door, and when we got there - Jemima (Mima) and Tabitha (Tabsy)! The last time I saw them was probably more than 5 years ago, since we don't regularly see our Crabtree cousins, who are our second cousins. (I used to get so confused about this until I saw this very useful diagram!)

Inside, we met Auntie Carol and Uncle Bill, Mima and Tabsy's parents, Uncle Peter (Auntie Carol's Dad), Auntie Rachel (his other daughter) and her husband Keith and their children Phemie (short for Euphemia, who also plays the Euphonium!) and Robert. Uncle Peter is the husband of my grandfather's sister. Don't worry, it took me 19 years to figure it out.

We had something to eat first and then headed to the lounge to open Christmas presents. (Uncle Peter kept asking if I needed anything else - later Phemie told me that in the process of explaining to him that I am vegan they had to convince him that I am not a delicate flower that is allergic to everything ever, just that I have made a conscious decision not to eat animals and their byproducts, and henceforth they entered a deep discussion about the fundamentals of vegetarianism) I was so touched that the families had thought to get me presents, and was so glad that Auntie Sarah had bought them all something too, although she had to hastily wrap it in the discarded wrapping paper from presents already opened!

Auntie Rachel is amazing at creating things - she sewed Uncle Peter a very lovely apron which I, at first sight, was convinced was from Cath Kidston or of that ilk. She also felted a tiny little pouch for Tabsy, which had a small dog attached. Both Mima and Tabsy were breathless with excitement when it came to their presents, and whenever they opened one they sort of melted with gratitude and breathed an awestruck 'Thank you, oh, thank you' which would make any givers heart warm.

I was so amused at what Auntie Carol's family got Robert - a 'U kick', which is actually just a Chap teh!

After that, we played Categories, and the Poetry Game, and the Introduction Game, which made me cry from laughing (as did Mima). I was also just so happy to be so included. Despite not seeing them all for so long, they just let me in with such ease, and loved me as one of their own. I suppose that is what family is for, and I felt it so wonderfully warmly. (Also, it was literally very warm in that little lounge, because Uncle Peter gets cold quite easily, and puts the fire on, whilst the rest of us are just boiling. But being Uncle Peter, the oldest and therefore the one whose will is law, we let him keep his fire on, and escape to the kitchen for a glass of water when the heat gets unbearable.)

It was nearing the New Year countdown, and most of us drove to Auntie Carol's place to watch the fireworks from her balcony. The sky was incredibly clear, and I could see Orion's belt straight away, as well as numerous other stars I have no names for. It is almost unbelievable to think that God knows the names of every star, past, present, and future, and that he called each one into being, and flung them into their positions with a WORD.

The fireworks began, and we watched, open mouthed and breath steaming. when it got to 10 seconds to, we all counted down together, and then everyone hugged each other and said Happy New Year.

The next day we took a long walked up and down the sides of the 'bath tub'. It was quite muddy and Tabsy had worn patent leather mary janes, which Auntie Carol and Uncle Bill only found out to their dismay after it was too late to turn back. Tabsy was my main conversation partner, telling me about her favourite books, how hard it was for her to buy shoes especially because she hates shopping, and how she wants to be a missionary when she grows up. I was surprised to hear that, since it isn't common for an 11 year old girl to know she wants to serve God in China and North Korea. (which is where she said, with great conviction, she was to be a missionary) I asked her how she knew she wanted to be a missionary and she told me she feels God calling her to be one. That's something I hear adults say, but never a child. Perhaps as a child, without the layers of crud and cynicism that the world plasters onto you, the still small voice of God finds its way into your heart more easily. Tabsy prays for the missionaries and people of North Korea and China every night, which is something I've only started doing last year, and certainly haven't been as faithful with it as I want to be. Tabsy inspires me so much with her wisdom, childlike faith, and overflowing love for the people around her in all the far fling corners of the world. And yet, she still has her cheeky 11 year old moments, such as when we were running down a hill and she stepped into a particularly muddy puddle.

'Daddy,' she said with a wicked grin, 'I stepped in a puddle!'

Back in the house, after a wonderful christmas lunch (more crispy roast potatoes!), we went to visit Auntie Brenda, Uncle Peter's wife and my Grandad's sister. Auntie Brenda has dementia and now lives in a care home since she no longer recognises anyone, can't speak, and needs special care. She looks very soft and fluffy, in a white night gown and with her very big eyes, which occasionally quizzically look at you, and her mouth breaks into a half smile. Auntie Sarah brought her Ukelele and we sang hymns and gospel music to her, and she smiled several times (which is rare) and even laughed when Uncle Peter kissed her hand! When we left, I kissed her softly, a kiss from Grandma who was her best friend in school, and from Mum who Auntie Sarah tells me was very like her, and from me, who can't help but love her gentle, smiling, soul, no matter how age and disease has clouded it.

More games that night, including listening to Tabsy recite the who first part of 'The Lady of Shalot' (my cousins are all geniuses) and Mima recite a poem about a mad dog, complete with dramatic accompanying actions! Before we played we watched the finale of the University Challenge, which Oxford convincingly won. And before that, we had a tickle fight, with Phemie and Tabsy attacking poor Robert, while Mima and I looked on in laughter. Robert was eventually overcome and had to submit to being kissed by Tabsy (he said 'I'm fine with you kissing me, but only on the cheek!' - Tabsy was surprised to find out that neither Robert nor I kiss our siblings on the lips) Robert is such a gentleman for a fifteen year old boy, which is usually the age where silence and sullen-ness settles in. But Robert actively makes conversation (and opens conversations - miracle!), helps with washing up and setting the table, and indulges in Mima and Tabsy's affections, and still manages to remain really cool with his huaraches and hair and love for sport and french. May all fifteen year old boys learn from this.

During our round of categories, Uncle Peter had a very naughty answer. The category was 'Clothing' and the letter was 'F'. Most people said Fur wrap or Fedora or something. Uncle Peter, after laughing so hard I thought his dentures might come out, chortled out,

'French knickers'

The whole room erupted in either laughter or opposition - how are french knickers different to english knickers or singaporean knickers? But we let him have it, purely out of just how funny his answer was!

Before the games, Uncle Peter had been trying to persuade us all to use less paper and re-use paper we had used the previous night for 'economy's sake'. Uncle Bill commented how odd that the word economy means both the entire system on which our society is premised and survives, as well as 'lack'. In others words, we live in, and live off, a system of lack. There are the obvious 'lacks' - lack of food, clean water, healthcare, education. And there are the 'lacks' which even the most materially satisfied face - loneliness, bitterness, jealousy, fear. 'In heaven there will be no lack,' he said, smiling, 'God doesn't stint, he has abundance in abundance.' I suppose we lack, and have lacked, and will continue to lack, because there is a God shaped hole that will not be fulfilled completely until we meet God face to face in heaven.

'If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.' — C.S. Lewis

Since it was my last night, I bid a very sad goodbye to Tabsy and Mima, Auntie Carol and Uncle Bill as they left the house and I stayed on with Auntie Rachel's family to sleep in Uncle Peter's house. We left early the next morning, happy and full of love, and light, and cheer from the Crabtrees.

I have bought a railcard.

Wednesday, January 6, 2016

Christmas

Christmas began when, in the early hours of the 25th December, I felt my foot push something off the bed, and felt a thump, and thought 'I've killed the cat!' who often curls onto my bed. I sat up to survey my crime and found instead a full stocking, a wrapped present, and an orange on the floor instead of a cat. Happy, but still in a sleeping house and therefore unable to make a happy sound or do a thump-y happy dance, I went quietly into the kitchen, smiling all the while, and continued smiling as I started cooking up the apples in cinnamon for Grandma and my own porridge.

Nic woke up next, and I asked him of he'd got a stocking too. He'd actually been having a nightmare, and had woken up whilst Auntie Sarah was creeping around the house giving first Grandma and then me our stockings. When she got to Nic's room (with him just woken from his nightmare), she had to first shuffle open the plastic sliding door which is impossible to do quietly, and she entered to find him sitting up awake, obviously completely confused as to what on earth was happening. She sort of whisper-explained-apologised a garbled 'sorry! sorry! Father Christmas! sorry! Father Christmas!' and put his stocking down and left. This story was told multiple times during the day to various family/friends.

After breakfast we emptied out our stockings, and I was so so pleased with the thoughtful gifts Auntie Sarah had chosen. I saved the wrapped present for boxing day since I don't like opening all my presents in one go, and I had plenty to be thankful for from that stocking, which contained:

2 satsumas
a little packet of cacao powder
a little packet of hemp powder
a badge from the Ai wei wei exhibition
a little pot with eidelweiss seeds in it, for me to grow on my balconey in college

Then I went over to Auntie Sarah's place where all the ivy was still up decorating the walls after the previous nights christmas eve curry dinner. I managed to skype my family, as well as what seemed like half the church youth, all piled into our back room. It was so precious to see familiar faces, most of whom I haven't skyped at all since leaving.

It can't have been four hours since we'd eaten breakfast but we soon piled into Digger's car to go to Kate's house for Christmas lunch. (Cue crispy roast potatoes!!!) I understand now what Auntie Sarah means when she describes Christmas here as a very Walker family Christmas, since it is dominated by eating with the Walker family. They are a clan of a family, presided over by Jill and Digger, and finally over Christmas I began putting faces to the names I'd just heard of previously.

Other things I did over Christmas:

-finally watched The Great Gatsby
-played Kolejka (or as we all call it now, 'The Polish Game') which I had bought as a present for Auntie Sarah and family
-thought muchly of home
-enjoyed a silent car ride after a whole lunch time of talking

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Picturebooks


I have a new obsession with picture books. It all started with 'I have a right to be a child', which depicts the United Nations Convention on the rights of a child in language children can understand. A page that said something along the lines of 'I have the right to special protection, safety and freedom from war, it makes me scared when bombs and shells fall' made me sad, when I thought of the ongoing conflict in the middle east and the refugee children washed up on Turkey's shores. We fail tragically.

After that book, I searched for lists of 'The best picture books 2015' and found more treasures, including 'Sidewalk Flowers', 'The Girl who loved Wild Horses', 'Miss Rumphius', 'Singing away the dark', 'Extra Yarn', ,and of course ALL Keri Smith books.

One of my favourite picture books as a child was Percy the Park keeper stories, especially the one with the giant fold out picture of an oak tree house which all the animals lived in. The detail was incredible, slides cut in grooves on the tree trunk, little cubby holes and verandas built along the branches and inhabitants peeking out here and there, or sailing along the pond in rafts made of twigs and leaf sails... I also loved the aboriginal story 'When the snake bites the sun' and 'The kangaroo and the porpoise' and their animist dreamtime strangeness.

A couple of days ago I read the picture book 'Shackleton's Journey' which has become a favourite. I think I'm storing up all these books so that if I have children of my own I'll know exactly what to buy on Amazon. Stories of weirdness and wildness and imagination and ingenuity and kindness and compassion and creation and culture and adventure and bravery and simplicity and joy and exploration.

Picturebooks are also, as I have discovered, a good antidote to the heaviness of Spenser's Faerie Queene.

Pericles


The sound that trains make when they pull out of stations reminds me of whale sounds.

Auntie Sarah and I only just caught our train from Cambridge to London, sitting down about thirty seconds before it began pulling out of the station. We made out way through dark and drippy London streets, including the by then deserted Borough Market, to get to Shakespeare's Globe.

The theater itself was a work of art - swinging candelabras and a ceiling painted with cherubs, the sky, and other mythic creatures (mostly human) We sat in seats with such a good view - I had not known what to expect since it was Mandy who had got the tickets and given them to us when she and her intended guests couldn't make it - and watched the actors emerge, humming, talking, before they entered the opening song.

Pericles is one of Shakespeare's later plays, and one I hadn't heard of before. It follows the sea journey of Pericles, Prince of Tyre, as he is likewise tossed by the waves of fortune. (a symbol made plain throughout the play in setting and dialogue) The young man who played Mercutio during the globe's 2015 tour appeared again in Pericles, and one of the other actors was recognised as Auntie Sarah as someone who had fallen and broken his leg in a production she had watched about 30 years ago when the Globe just opened.

I was so happy to see two young boys sitting across from me. Theater-going in England seems a lot more ingrained in the culture here as a habit to be cultivated from young. I would be surprised if the  two boys understood all of the play, but to be there and see the set, the slapstick, the costumes and emotion would suffice, I think, to give them a good show. I laughed, and I cried, and I enjoyed a critical review of the play from an elderly couple I sat across from during the interval, as I munched on my satsumas and banana.

It was perhaps the best Shakespeare I have seen (in my limited list of shows I have seen), and though (as usual) I thought the tragic hero over-acted, I still cried when Pericles was reunited with his daughter in the final act, after so long a separation.

As we drove back from the train station, the headlights caught so many rabbits grazing beside the highway, their eyes flashing red when they caught a beam of light. There were so many stars in the sky, which I could see even through the dusty window, I wish I could name them. Sometimes when I look at the sky, my mind wonders if it can pick out the oceans of faint stars behind the ones plain to our eyes, or if that is just my imagination compensating for light pollution. How wonderful that the light of stars that we see on earth has travelled through billion and millions of years to reach our eyes. When we gaze into space then we are truly travelling through infinity.

The headlights caught a sign saying something like 'You've just missed out on...' and I sat back in my seat and thought, I actually really haven't, I am so content.

4/1/2016



Today I finished 2 books (SUCCESS! and 6 more to go!) as well as the last of my almond butter (6 days without almond butter oh horrors!), discovered old stamp albums belonging to my Grandfather, Mum and Auntie Sarah, as well as one of Mum's old dolls and quite a few of her old diaries.

In the same cupboard was a large metal tin which had the year '2005' written on it, and when I opened it I found a large honey comb, dry by now of course, some of its perfect hexagons still with dead bees nestled inside. It rustled as it slid along the metal as I tried to balance on the bed, and when I softly touched one hexagon I felt a slight crumble under my fingers and hastily withdrew.

I also found a box of trinkets, including tiny glazed pottery vases, two pearl necklaces, a large clump of very soft and long grey hair (I wonder whose? I wonder why?), some buttons and school badges, and a hospital wristlet which had 'David H Chandler' and 'Silver Birches' written on it, which must have been from when he was sick in 1998 (to me, my grandfather never died because I can't remember him dying - his death happened but he did not die)

The cat scratched grandma, and it made my heart hurt to see the two plasters on the back of her hand and arm. But that didn't stop her from dramatically singing along to 'I could have danced all night' as we ate dinner.

I probably lay in bed most of the day, including lunch which I ate out of the rice cooker pot.

I was quite glad when my phone ran out of battery after dinner and might not recharge it until I finish the 'Faerie Queene'.

I still have no New Year Resolutions.

An early christmas present


Having my breath knocked completely out of my body by weixin-in-winter-wonderland (I sang that to the tune of 'Walking in a Winter Wonderland' as I typed it) felt more wonderful than anything - finally finally a short break in this long distance relationship!!

We trailed the Winter Wonderland Christmas Market in Hyde Park, the Christmas Market along Southbank, and then we went back to Borough market, where I bought the most delicious noodles I've had so far in England (although if I had to say the best noodles I've had in the world I'd probably say something along a street in Burma or Laos or Vietnam) 

Weixin had just come back from a medical service trip in Cambodia with her university, and despite not enjoying it as much as she had hoped, she said something that really inspired me, that went along the lines of: Just because you don't find something fun, or you don't see yourself being joyful in it, that does not mean God is not calling you to serve there.

I often adopt quite a utilitarian perspective towards service. You serve because it brings you joy to serve and because it brings joy or aid or comfort to those you serve, and these two combined bring glory to God. Everyone is happy, and right, and ideal. After all, with so many varied personalities and perspectives there must be one person adept at and agreeable towards one job on every scale.
But of course I forgot the fallibility of human faithfulness. God does indeed call us to be joyful in our service, but fundamentally, He calls us to serve: 

As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace (1 Peter 4:10)

With the sin that lives in us, the selfishness, fatigue, frustration, pride which often overcomes pure intentions of service, it is no surprise that we find it difficult to serve with complete love and goodwill. But the very ability to continue serving, to wrestle with our own whims and desires, shows an obedience to God and also His power working through us to help us live with perspective and priority which is greater than ourselves. 

“At the end of life we will not be judged by how many diplomas we have received, how much money we have made, how many great things we have done.
We will be judged by "I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was naked and you clothed me. I was homeless, and you took me in.” 
― Mother Teresa

Therefore to strive to serve is an act of worship to God, which calls out for help because of our own weakness, and our desire to do his will. And if as we persevere, we find joy in service, it is a gift from God, who takes away the scales of sin from our eyes and lets us see the beauty of love and grace which exists when one person helps another.