Monthly Archives: November 2011

These hands He made

Fell sick on the last day of my exams.

Falling sick makes me feel like a kid all over again. I lie in bed and complain that nose is blocked, my throat’s sore, my head’s throbbing, my tummy hurts and I feel feverish. My family will check in on me and make sure I’m as comfortable as can be. You realise that in the eyes of your parents and grandparents, you never really grow up. Etched in their minds, I’m just a kid that still needs to be taken care of. Amidst the rush to grow up—especially since I’m just about 6 months shy of graduating—being at home with my family relieves me of the need to act like a ‘grown-up’.

Since I was young, I always had this occasional pain in my tummy. It’ll come out of nowhere and it’ll hurt too much to walk. Everytime I got it, my grandma would make me lie down and rub ointment on my tummy. I’d feel better almost immediately, though I don’t know if it was because of the ointment or the love and care of the act itself. As I grew older, whenever I had the usual pain, my grandma would offer to rub ointment on my tummy, but I would decline, giving reasons like: it’ll get better on its own; I don’t like the smell; so troublesome.

Yesterday, I got up early and complained of a tummy ache. Again, grandma asked me if I wanted to put ointment on my tummy. I declined, yet again. But she insisted that it’ll make me feel better. After much persuasion, I finally relented.

As I lay down and she rubbed my tummy with ointment, I looked my my grandma’s hands, and realised just how much she’s aged. These were the very hands that prepared so many meals, carried me when I was a child, soothed me when I cried and caned me when I was disobedient. These were also the hands that shaped me into the person I am today. Over and above all the things these hands have done, there you find love. Being at the receiving end of these hands is a blessing and privilege, and I thank God everyday for the gift of my grandma.

The scent of the ointment was familiar, soothing, and no longer ‘smelly’ like I used to think it was.

These hands He made, for love, not hate.

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Something that mummy sent to me this morning:

There comes a point in your life when you realise who matters, who never did, who won’t anymore, and who always will.
So, don’t worry about people from your past, There’s a reason why they didn’t make it to your future :]

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It’s in the little things

Oh my baby don’t be so distressed,
We’re done with politesse.
It’s time to be so brutally honest about the way we know we long for something fine
When we pine for higher ceilings and bourgeois happy feelings.

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As things go awry

This age of technology has paved the way for so much unnecessary communication and information. We’re too connected, and sometimes, we know too much for our own good and we get too involved in the lives of others—their problems, emotional struggles, etc. It’s hard to ‘simply forget’ this or that, because social media has this artful way of getting information to us—well, fine, sometimes we go snooping around because it’s just ‘there’. Last night, I decided that it was high time to build some walls around me. I went on an ‘unsubscribing’ spree on Facebook—in the hope that I can spare my newsfeed from certain activities of ‘friends’.

My life needs some purging.

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Comfort Zone

I was speaking to a friend about how some people just refuse to get out of their hell hole, although they jolly well can. They cry, wallow in self-pity, engage in activities that make them, well, even more emotional than they already are, sit around moping, etc. I’m not saying that crying is wrong. By all means, cry as much as you want, but know that at the end of the day, you need to have the conviction to get out of it—to get better. Why do things to worsen your condition—listening to emo songs (which inevitably makes you emotional)?

What my friend said struck me: Being in this emotional state will start becoming the person’s comfort zone. I thought it strange at first, but it’s true to a large degree. Being emotional is hard, but it’s even harder to want to get out of it—to do something about it. It takes courage. It’s okay to feel your emotions, but adding fuel to the fire doesn’t help at all!

Why do you speak to people who can empathise with you? Because you want to know how they got through it—because you want to learn. But what’s the point of hearing what they’ve to say and not taking it to heart?

Getting out of your hell hole is a choice. You either want it, or you don’t—there’s no middle ground.

When life knock you on your knees, you’re in the perfect position to pray.

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Practice What You Preach

So, it’s been two months since I started this journey of self-discovery. I’ve reflected, prayed, read, etc. And through it all, I’ve gained a plethora of ‘shoulds’ and ‘should nots’. I know what I’m supposed to do, what’s right, what’s wrong. But actually doing what’s right and good is a different task altogether. I give my friends advice on what they ought to do—draw strength from God, and trust Him. But when things are going dandy on my end, doing what’s right seems so distant. I’ve come to realise the importance of trials and obstacles in my life.

Thank God for the problems in our lives, because that’s what makes us human—coming to terms with our insignificance and unworthiness. And knowing that we can entrust ourselves to a higher authority. In all honesty, I wish my life were problem-free, then I would be happy. But would I really? Would I truly be happy chasing my dreams, earning lots of money, travelling the world, etc, only to come home to nothingness—to be disjointed from my creator, who made all these possible?

Dear God, help me to find joy in my suffering.

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