Sunday 17 February 2008


I was seriously considering going to Australia. Fly away, and join my siblings in Adelaide. I was serious about it. Life is good there. You work three clients a year (compared to my five in about two months), and don't have to work over time. You get a nice office space. You get people speaking to you in English, and not in some ching-chong-chiang. You get people dedicated to what they're doing, and in doing it right. So they say.

But somehow, it feels wrong.
It feels like I'm running away again.
Running from work that can never be finished. Running from my ministry, or from my failure thereof. Running from the boy I thought I could love, but who couldn't love me the way I needed. Running from the character that God's trying to build in me.
But that's all I'm good at - running away. Escapism in its finest form.

So it doesn't feel right to go.
Not now.

I hope I'm not wrong about this.

Saturday 9 February 2008


Maybe it's time to stop looking for the man of your dreams, but to strive to become the woman of his dreams.
Except maybe if he's looking for a gourmet chef.

Thursday 7 February 2008

"so as soon as he can cope with a situation, you move him to one he can't cope with. Doesn't he get any rest?"
---Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card.



And so is the only way to break this result-oriented mindset to make nothing ever work out?
Drive home the point that it isn't the results that matter. I believe you.
But sometimes I need to see that it's worth doing in the end.
The words aren't coming out the way I intended them, but then again they never do. I don't know why I'm so good with words, but only when it doesn't really matter.

I am afraid of failure - so you let me fail.
Just so you can tell me that it isn't such an issue, and all you want is who I am, that all I can do is nothing compared to all you can.
And it doesn't matter.
Only it still matters to me.
Because sometimes I feel that praying hard doesn't work when all I hoped for doesn't come through in the end.

So I need you to hold my hand.
Because I'm slipping where I should not fall.
And all I've expected of myself is shattered where I cannot find the pieces.
In the dark.

Not tried more than I can bear, but I can't find the exit for this one.
It's like a never-ending maze.
I can't find where you begin.
And every time I piece it together, it slips apart again.

Haven't found you.
Not yet.

I don't know what I'm doing wrong.

So drive home the point that results don't matter.
Because I'm feeling you, and somewhere, something's right.