Ps Tim

Today is Ps Tim's last day as the youth pastor of EFC GC. Seen here is a shot during his last meeting in Youth Connection last Sunday.

I wished money grew on trees too.

Blessed birthday, bro ^^

He might feel an age above the current retirement one, breaking into the rungs of a pensioner. He might feel that he’s not read his NST this morning. He might feel tired and worn out having to be out most evenings for meetings and such. He might be consoled that the rats and mice have another day to see daylight. He might, but he is 23 today. He is, a truly great brother and friend to have. Blessed birthday, Dutt. ^^

Holding back/on

Past experience serve as lessons to be learnt, either by not repeating them or by knowing that the results do not always repeat themselves everywhere. In either case, it helps us to be more careful and more certain of its possible outcomes. It also means a restrain if the experiences were not-so-good ones.

Comparing notes from my scrapbook of experiences (which happens not to be that much age-wise…), groping through a bitter journey and making it out somehow, does thrust many things upon the senses which, is often said that time heals. Time does heal, at least the memory part of it but when confronted once again, old wounds do bleed.

Finding some space between all the heavy scribbles too, I find that I am more and more confident to note that not all bad experiences act as an electric fence to guard us against impending danger if we didn’t learn the lesson well enough. Once bitten, twice shy gives little space for progress and confidence to grow. I’m not implying on legal matters or on things never to have been done in the first place. It is, only human to err after all. But hindsight and new experiences do inform, that timing is also essential. A failure and a shipwreck could mean that more time is needed for muscles to grow, more storms to come and more faith to be practiced before the winds could be gathered safely in the sails to guide the ship through.

Now, can I fully give myself to a worthwhile cause once again?

Scared

Japanese body art was the title of this forwarded e-mail from my ex-boss’ son. I don’t normally read forwarded mails, save for some which are sent by certain trusted individuals. Why then did I open this one? True enough, they were pictures of figures covered thickly in Japanese art. So thick was the art done that you might have thought it was on a canvas, though the outline of a female body reveals otherwise. And before I could click the delete button, a colleague walked past my workstation. Did she see what was on the screen? Maybe, maybe not. It wasn’t the feel of possible embarrassment which bothered me. I feel that I have dragged His image through the mud in me. Would I have felt so if there was no one around me? A poor testimony, I feel unsanctified, dirty and disgusted.

Eddy Kiu

Food was served and my colleague Alex was talking about going to Port Klang to collect some Shreik Shrek 3 tickets when the phone rang. The number was withheld and I assumed it to be David, my boss. He likes withholding his numbers though you can reach him at 012-2332…oh, never mind. It wasn’t him anyway. It was a call from Brisbane. To be specific, it was ADQ! Haha! Thanks for calling, bro. Now that I am certain my blogs are read by Malaysian immigrants…Fu Chow immigrants residing Down South, here’s to you…a tribute to Eddy, whose doors at Fort Foch St. were always opened to anyone and who could come out with innovative ice-breakers at a snap of the finger. Amazing…Haha! G’day, mate!

health check +

There has been a complain complaint that you've been too dead in here. Buck up please! Haha!

Nothing to blog about. Life has been pretty…stagnant, a little. Driving around in Jon K’s car now. Thanks Jon. Thanks Hon Ming and Shin Yee too. I would not be able to go to work and back without your (plural) kindness. Anyone with some good news…please share them with me. I’d like to borrow some cheer too...

What sustains me?

This I have been asking myself while seeking for its certainty. A break, some time away, legs in the sand and hair in the breeze? It has to be something within, sustained and untainted somehow by the fickleness and frictions of the external changing environments. It would then be a source of strength, and hope would seal itself against the uncertainties imposed even by the rituals of routine. So what’s my spinach was I a sailor man?