The dearth of updates lately is not because nothing interesting has occured, but rather the result of a struggle to find reasons to carry on blogging.
It has been a wonderful journey. Because of blogging I discovered an outlet for writing, developed a passion for photography and became exposed to many great thinkers and artists through this amazing and creative platform.
But for reasons I do not wish to get into, I feel my time here is up. In this final post, I wish to thank all those who have been kind and generous enough to comment on and interact with my sharing and muses these past 16 months.
God bless you all.
Beautiful day. Marina Bay. Frisbee Tournament. 'Nuff said!
Here is our very own team from SMU! Yay! You can see Debbie in high action as she chases any opponents off her turf. Scram! Beat it! 
At tournament level, frisbee is not the relaxing pastime you might think it is. It's fast, unpredictable and rough. There's lots of sprinting and sliding on the grass. When you're holding on to the frisbee, your opponent can't touch you. But after you let it fly... be prepared for some body slams! 
Just because it's a sport and you badly want to win doesn't mean you shouldn't look good doing it, right? Jumping and catching is a popular and cool-points earning manoeuvre (if you actually catch the frisbee, that is). Dangling it in front of an opponent is also a good way to rile them up and get them to lose their cool. There are also lots of ways to fake your throws in order to mess with your opponent's timing.
Here are more stances you have to know if you want to be serious about frisbee-ing. Most involve bending of knees (the lower you go, the cooler it looks!) and a devil-may-care expression on your face. Do practice at home before attempting them in public. It's hard to look nonchalant when a tendon is ripping somewhere in your body... 
But why go with the flow when you can stand out with unorthodox methodologies (and outfits)? For example, wearing a sheer skirt and asking for a tango is bound to unnerve some guys. Or if you're bored with throwing already? Well, it makes a decent football, too! Trying out your Bruce Lee poses can also strike fear (and hopefully paralysis) in the hearts of your opponents. And finally, nothing says chic like a good straw hat to block out the sun.Hot on the heels of the anniversary musical comes another project to prevent my vocal cords from getting flabby. The Celebration Chorus began rehearsals today for its year-end performance of famed French composer Gabriel Faure's wistful Requiem in D minor.
I have never had the opportunity to sing in this beloved work so it was a privilege I really wanted to grasp. Also, observing and learning from Tom Anderson, the accolade-laden conductor of the Celebration Chorus, was a strong motivating factor as well.
One of the aspects of music which most people don't realize is how quickly inspiration to perform, pursue or even practice can evaporate and dissipate. Music making is at its most powerful when it is a two-way street; the process has to communicate with something or react to some sort of emotional input. What it shouldn't be, though, is dutiful replication from hours of mindless drills.
As it stands, I have been trudging through a dry spell musically for a fair bit of time now. Churning the songs out for the musical was, in all honesty, like wringing water from stone. The melodies were not difficult to compose, but the content of the songs had to clawed and hauled out from deep within me. Hopefully, this new project will restore some passion and get new ideas budding as well.
The Celebration Chorus is a non-profit organization formed in 2000 for the express purpose of promoting and performing sacred works. Members of this chorus (and orchestra) are volunteers who hail from different denominations and are united by the goal of bringing God's Word through music to the people. Do check out their site for more information.
And I'm finally back.
The anniversary musical is now a memory; a fond kind that curls the edges of your lips upwards as the thoughts run. Up till the final moments, I couldn't be sure if it would all turn out. There were so many things that could have gone awry, but they didn't, and for that I'm so grateful. That the general reaction towards it was unexpectedly back-thumpingly positive is merely icing on the cake. God works in wonderous ways, indeed, far beyond what my little measure of faith would even dare to envision.
Along the way, though, real life deigned to mimic art. Some themes put forth in the musical came alarmingly to life. There were flared tempers, heated exchanges and angry tears of frustration. I supposed it would be naive to be shocked, or even surprised. Afterall, the script meant to reflect real struggles and challenges which could potentially afflict anyone at anytime. So at the risk of sounding jaded and cynical, why should it not have occured in the context that it did?
We are only human, aren't we?
But it's not my intention to dwell on our evident fragility. The success of the presentation was God's doing, who worked through the tenacity of the cast and crew, as well as faithful support from many others. Here is a big thank you to all of them.
I didn't take very many pictures during the course of the rehearsals (there's the mark of a tenth-rate photographer right there! *heavy sigh*), save for the first time we rehearsed in the sanctuary last week. Here are some of those captured moments with rather liberal (but hopefully humorous) embellishments.
"Napping while the rest of us are slaving away?!?"
"This is how you own the catwalk, ladies! Are you taking notes?"
Some people obviously don't know the meaning of 'a-TEN-shun!'
I'm out of good captions for the next 3. Anyone can help?
With the realization that it's all over finally hitting home, I'm a jumbled mis-mash of opposing emotions right about now. It's a strange sensation; sort of like finally getting something you've craved longingly for, only to find it wasn't all you imagined it would be.
Oh well, I suppose I have lots of time ahead to get this knot untangled. But before I start on that, the bedroom kinda looks like it needs work. *groan*
What a mess.
My frame of mind is reflected acutely by the dismal state of my room, my closet, my work desk and generally any space that I have access to. Everything is in stormy disarray as I sieve frantically through the sky-high stacks of stuff and more stuff. Where on earth did all this come from, I wonder in fearful bewilderment as I stand in the eye of the furor, attempting to hold on to any last shreds of sanity and dignity. As it is, my body clock is majorly out of whack, I've not had an ounce of energy to exercise, I'm irritable, I'm tensed, and the dreaded to-do list keeps bloating up.
Somebody, anybody, please wake me up from the horror!
The silver lining, though, is that the end is already in plain view. With the anniversary weekend just 11 short days away, however, the things that require attention are also clamoring incessantly to be seen and heard. There are still so many details to take care of and each one comes with its own set of clauses, demands and the occasional humbling slap in the face.
What, exactly, have I been doing the past 6 months to have allowed affairs to bottleneck so dangerously at this crucial juncture? Well, in my flimsy defense, I can only say, with great remorse, that I've not handled this project well and I'm completely to blame for not seeking assistance and counsel earlier.
Thank God, then, for the highly-capable team that has been assembled over the past several weeks. They have banded together to see this through and have done a marvelous job in ensuring that things are moving crisply along now in order that we make it to the finish line on time. What would I do without them?
I will say that I've learnt (the hard way) a valuable lesson from the ignorant months of flying solo. While the view, sense of accomplishment and ego-boost can be phenomenal, I've realized with no one to bail me out if bad weather hits, I’m going down in a flaming ball of lonely screams anyway.
When all this is over, I have a lot of people to thank. And a very messy room to organize!
I stumbled across this touching video and after watching it through tear-brimmed eyes, I knew I had to share it.
Dick and Rick Hoyt are a father and son team of marathon competitors. To date, they have competed in almost 1000 events together. This is all the more staggering when you realize that Rick can't walk or talk.
In 1962, as Rick was born, the umbilical cord cut off the oxygen to his brain and caused severe damage. Doctors predicted he would be in a vegetative state the rest of his life. Rick's parents, however, decided to raise Rick in a normal and loving environment, eventually developing a computer system that could help Rick to communicate by tapping letters to form sentances.
In 1975, Rick asked his father if he could participate in a local 5-mile benefit for someone who had been paralysed in an accident. Dick Hoyt agreed to push Rick in his wheelchair for the event. From then on, their world changed and Team Hoyt was born. Eventually, their inspirational appearances became a moving symbol of inclusion for society's outcasts as well as a father's steadfast and unfailing love.
"The message of Team Hoyt is that everybody should be included in everyday life" Rick Hoyt
For more infomation on Team Hoyt, check out their offical site here.
Fresh from the high of birthday wishes and wanton piggery, a horrible thing had to happen to zap that fuzzy vibe.
I realized the battery charger for my camera wouldn't work properly. The unit would charge for all of 5 seconds before the charge light would go abruptly off. I tried using it at different power outlets around the house and office but the result was always the same.
Hmmm, I mused, it's not even been a year and this is already giving me trouble. Sigh, guess it's time to give the friendly folk at the service center a buzz.
Service Center Gal (SCG): Hello?
Me: Good morning, is this the KM service center?
SCG: Yes.
Me: I'd like make an inquiry. How do I go about repairing or replacing a faulty battery charger?
SCG: Well, the charger can't be repaired. I'll transfer you to the spare parts center.
Me: Oh, er, ok, thank you.
*ear-bleeing being-transferred-music starts up*
'Spare parts center' sounds like they deal with pig innards and such, I thought while glaring at my useless charger.
SCG 2: Hello?
Me: Oh yes, good morning, is this the spare parts center? (rolling my eyes)
SCG 2: Yes.
Me: I have a faulty battery charger that I need to either repair or replace. Can you help me?
SCG 2: Oh, the charger can't be repaired. You'll have to replace it. What is the model number?
Me: It's BC-400 for the KM 5D.
SCG 2: Hold on, let me check, ok?
Me: Sure.
I continue staring daggers at the charger sitting undeservedly on my desk.
SCG 2: Hello? Well, the charger has been discontinued. It's a really old model.
Me: What? The 5D was released just last year!
SCG 2: I'm sorry, but we don't carry stocks of it anymore.
Me: Then what I am supposed to do with my camera? Throw it away?
SCG 2: Er, please hold on a moment, I'll check with the engineers.
Ok, so I admit I sounded quite sharp here and instantly regretted my tone as soon as I blurted it out, but I was just caught by surprise by her ridiculous answer. I mean, seriously, the camera is less than a year old and I'm never to use it again because there's no way to charge the battery? You'd be appalled, too, right?
SCG 2: Ok, you'll have to bring your charger down to the service center. Just ask for Sylvia or Donna. They know about your case. We will place an order for the charger for you.
Me: I see, ok, thank you very much for your help.
I got the rest of the details from her. What worried me was that Sylvia and/or Donna were going to know me as the freaky-guy-who-overreacted. Maybe they wanted me to come down in person so they could take pictures of me for the company's annual D&D where they'll showcase mean customers for a good laugh. For the sake of my camera I suppose I could live with that bad rep. The good news, though, was that the center, which had previously been located in a galaxy far, far away in Commonwealth, had been relocated to the more convenient Wisma Atria in town. 
So I guess it wasn't all bad afterall, but I'm crossing my fingers that this will be all I need to blog about it...
My special day of being isn't till tomorrow, but already the celebrations have been in high gear.
I usually don't like to make a big fuss out of birthdays (especially my own) but it was nice to be appreciated, especially by the members of the music ministry and my CEF group, all of whom I have great fondness for. After yesterday's church service, I sat in my CEF class punctually but only one other person was there with me. I truly harbored no suspicions as I innocently believed the entire class happened to be busy and absent from church at the same time. That just shows how cluelessly himbotic I can be at times (ok, most of the time) and how this episode proves beyond a doubt I'm really not the ruthlessly evil despot that my friends make me out to be.
Since this is my birthday post everyone should just stifle their chokes and nod in agreement.
Anyway, the class 'absentees' and other friends poured unexpectedly into the room with a cake and enough finger food to feed a small country. They sang a birthday song with original lyrics written specially for the occasion. It was such a nice surprise that left me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. My only regret was that I forgot to take pictures of the magnificent spread that had been lovingly prepared. What the heck is that 2mp phone camera for?
*smacks myself on forehead*
My new birthday resolution is therefore to understand the mind-bogglingly difficult concept that a phone camera can be used when the big camera is not close by.
What I do have, though, are pictures from the staff lunch last Thursday since the big camera was fortuitously by my side. We were at Zambuca, a classy Italian restaurant at the Pan Pacific. It was a fancy treat for all the birthday boys which included Leonard and Jason. All three of us had to make a little speech after the luncheon about deep philosophical issues pertaining to life and the such (needless to say, marriage was a hot topic). I suppose we had to earn that meal somehow, haha. I didn't mind, though, since the food, ambience and company was so stellar.
Anyhoo, pictures of the lunch are presented below for your mouth-watering pleasure. 
It all began with a creamy clam chowder that was...[Wait, you exclaim, but you're allergic to shellfish!] Well, yes, dear astute readers, I am but it looked so delicious I didn't have the heart to pass it up. I am paying for it now, though, so maybe it wasn't such a great idea in hindsight. Just ignore my frantic scratching and let's move along, shall we? The salad that was served after had a variety of leafy greens, baby potatoes and a strip of crispy bacon. It was tossed in a fairly typical cream-based dressing but it had what I thought were fennel seeds which added a fragrant bite to it.
I chose the grilled dory as my main and it was beautifully presented when it arrived on the table. The slab of fish looked grilled to perfection. It perched atop of vegetables and a bed of fluffy cous-cous while the tomato-based sauce just oozed down one end artfully. I'm a big fan of fish and cous-cous so I savored every bite of that combination. Dessert turned out to be a light marshmallow-textured cake/puff concoction with boysenberry compote. It was different but unfortunately somewhat flat. So that turned out to be a little disappointing.
Just when I thought it was over, the birthday cake arrived. It was the best chocolate mousse cake I'd ever tasted and more than made up for the so-so caliber dessert on the set lunch. Usually mousse cakes are hard to appreciate becase they are so runny and soft. It's tough to get the texture right so it qualifies as a cake. This decadent delight was firm but crumbly, and, oh, so sinfully rich. It's one of those rare things which really taste exactly as it looks - fantabulous.
So, yay, it's been really nice to enjoy the food and company. It's helped to boost my mood a little since I've been bordering on the blues because of the upcoming church anniversary prep. I won't ruin the positive vibe on this post with gruesome details about hair loss, eye bags and developing a permanantly sour disposition (but for those of you who absolutely live for tragedy, perhaps after the event?).
To one and all who have helped to make the moment leading up to turning 35 a little less horrifying, thank you.
This little dead leaf caught my eye one evening as it struggled against the wind, a stark contrast within the green blades of the grass it was trapped in. As I extricated it carefully from its prison, I marveled at how the intricate network of veins had hardened and remained almost entirely intact even though its life had long been over.
With the careful manipulation of light and shadow, this seemingly worthless carcass of a leaf is now able to elevate its status into the lofty realm of *fine art. The unexpected beauty of its skeletal form comes to life as we admire its delicately brittle disposition and simple, yet complex structure. With a camera's eye, this once-obscure little leaf has been bestowed the gift of immortality.
*fine art (faux) in my world of delusion does not equate with the fine art (bona fide) found in the regular world normal folk reside in.
The seashore used to be my respite; a welcome hideaway from the maddening cycle of life.
I remember biking to the beach early in the morning before school in order to catch the sunrise. Arriving while it was still dark, I'd relish in the changing hues of the chilly surroundings as the sleepy sun slowly rose over the horizon, infusing the world with color and light of growing intensity as I deeply inhaled the salty sea air.
I remember there were innumerable treasures to be discovered as the tide receded. In its wake, a soft and damp surface tracked my bare feet as I trod carefully, hunched over slightly, seeking shells and unusually-colored stones for my collection. The sun would glitter off the water and blind me, even as it beat gloriously on my tanned back.
I remember laughter could be heard; there were gladsome faces and joined hands of families, couples and friends. Schedules, deadlines and to-do lists had no place here. Everything slowed down to keep time with nature's pulse at the seashore.
I remember going for late night jogs and would end up there again. Sitting on a weathered wooden bench I would face the blackness of the night and close my eyes to hear the rush of foamy waves on the sand, the whispering hush of rustling foliage and listen to what my heart could finally say to me in this moment of quiet solitude.
It was paradise. Well, to me it was.
These days, after becoming a responsible and contributing member of respectable society, that paradise has somewhat been forgotten. Why do we lose the best parts of who we are when we grow up? Was it swept away by the waves of adulthood, or did it simply perish naturally?
What is the secret to holding on to the simple delight childhood imagination afforded us all? Perhaps it is to never have the burden of life placed upon our shoulders? But the deed is done, isn't it? So we just have to make the best of it day by day, hour by hour and to gratefully cherish the little moments of paradise that we remember to create.
I guess that's all we can do.
Tucked away in Portsdown Road, surrounded by wide open fields and towering trees, Colbar is a bohemian dive with a long history. In 2003, the laid-back restaurant had been the center of a much ballyhooed and forceful drive to save it when it lounged smack in the middle of a proposed highway.
Today, Colbar, short for Colonial Bar, has been lovingly relocated within the same area. Taken apart and carefully rebuilt in the new spot, it retains much of its original rustic and casual charm.
Despite the pulsing energy of the AYE just minutes away, there is much to enjoy within the peaceful surroundings.
I caught sight of this baby lizard sunning itself on a discarded deck chair that was propped up in a flower bed. The unusual and vibrant blooms attracted the attention of a flitting butterfly. A sandy patch beneath the stoic trees, framed by gnarled and undulating roots, was the unofficial playground for kids (or kid-wannabes) where an old tyre creaked gently in the grip of a hefty rope. A broken pathway from the main road meanders towards the restaurant entrance. I let the cleansing breese run through me; I felt mellow and relaxed.
It was like being transported to a whole different country altogether. 
Colbar serves mostly homely British fare, although they have local favs on the menu as well. Their curry chicken is well-known among regular customers. I had the tomato soup (seen above), followed by a simple fried egg sandwich. The pork chop was apparantly quite good, too. This is more comfort food rather than gourmet and I enjoyed the whole experience there tremendously.
Nostalgic and laid-back, this eatery represents a dying facet of our fast-changing country. Try to visit before it truly disappears forever.
Colbar is located at 9A Whitchurch Road, Wessex Estate.
Tel: 6779 4859
Open Tues to Sun, 11am to 8:30pm
I was chatting with a friend last night about his work which requires him to travel extensively. One thing led to another and before long the conversation wandered towards his dependance upon technology, particularly his beloved Blackberry device. And, no, that does not refer to a fruit-producing machine, but a nifty little gadget that gets all your emails routed to you on the go.
So anyway, the friend was relating an adventure about how he left this little technological marvel at home recently because of a duh moment. When he realized his soul wasn't in his pocket, he was already at the airport. After several heart-stopping moments contemplating going away on that working trip without his trusted companion, he decided he could not and would not heartlessly betray little Blackberry friend. So he raced home, retrieved it and cabbed back to the airport with mere minutes to spare.
There is a certain strange comfort resting in the knowledge that the people you know are nearly instantly accessible via technology. From email to do-it-all cellphones to internet chat programs, it is next to impossible to be totally 'all by myself', as Celine Dion belts so wretchedly. Nosey aliens astutely observing our little globe of blue and green would be forgiven for thinking loneliness has been effectively relagated 'extinct' status (I wish the same could be said for cheap waxy chocolates but I'll save that thought for another day).
Cellphone maker giant Nokia's slogan is 'Connecting People'. I think that's a pretty clever statement because it attributes to the company's technological savvy the one element that circuit boards and micro chips cannot replicate: humanity.
But can humanity be transmitted over a vast network of cables, servers and computer programs at the input of a button? Is there a difference between an SMS and a face to face greeting? Will the ever-growing library of cute emoticons in chat programs one day feel just like a real smile? Does it matter to us that we are connected to one another more by a contact list, than by ideals, values, blood, or love? But most of all, will we erode our ability to geniunely relate to one another in person when the prefered methods of communication are through keyboards or keypads?
Despite the admission to how impersonal much of our daily interaction could potentially become, I still have to confess, though, that I have great fondness for what technology unabatedly rolls out. The geek in me loves hanging out at IT superstores, tech forums and reading up about the latest sleeker and smarter innovation. It's superficial, I admit, but I just can't logically explain my penchant for shiny gadgetry and new computer applications to play with. I guess you could call it my Achilles' heel. 
Having said that, this would then be a good time as any to announce that in the course of browsing through the aforementioned forums, I was able to recently acquire a Creative Zen Vision:M, music and video player extraodinaire. It was a used unit, of course, and expertly parlayed out of countless desperate hands into my possession at a very good price which I shall not reveal online to avoid jealously frenzied backlashes of any form.
Alright, in the sobering and just-1-minute-ago light of tech-bashing, I know this latest twist will appear akin to a swift punch in the face for those of you who value coherence in your literature, but I must ultimately confess (yet again) that I'm a tech geek. However, I do believe that my new-found love for this award-winning toy with the dangerous curves is also grounded in the reality that it's just an object of modern science; and nothing more.
Which conveniently (and finally!) brings me to my closing point in today's extra lengthy post: technology can aid us if we know precisely what it can be used for, and thereby not grant it any more power than it should naturally possess. In other words, technology is merely a tool. And like all tools, learn to use it in the way it should be used, or something might get broken.
Hmmmm... methinks it would be very good indeed for myself to remember my own words.
Needless Commercial: For additional controlled gushing and/or drooling over the abovementioned devices please click here for yummy Blackberries and here for more Zen living.
One fine morning last week, I had just enjoyed an equally fine breakfast of crunchy gourmet museli in smooth strawberry yogurt when this hungry little fly came a'buzzing and settled itself down into the empty bowl. I was on the verge of shooing it away instinctively when my fledging photograper-sensibilites kicked in and screamed,
"PHOTO-OP!"
I sprinted to my room, grabbed the camera and raced back to the dining table. Thankfully it was still blissfully foraging about by the side of the bowl. I took one shot and it fled the scene. The photo-op was over.
I think everyone possesses numerous 'instinctive' behaviors that are exhibited frequently with nary a thought. Some of these might probably be classified as prejudices. Sadly, no one naturally gravitates towards perceiving themselves as (gasp!) unenlightenedly prejudiced.
Judgment of shortcomings and/or traits of others (whether existant or otherwise) has unfortunately become a convenient and speedy method of self-validation. Acceptance of a fellow human being is contingent upon similarity while diversity and all its accompanying richness is a disdainful nemesis to be crushed.
What can you possibly lose in embracing others with differing worldviews and vaster horizons? But more importantly, what can you possibly gain in contentedly admiring what your own vision limits you to?
Operas are the original dramatic weepy soaps. The difference is operas last about 3 hrs (which includes a thoughtful 20 min intermission to stretch, sprint to the washrooms, and/or purchase more tissue paper), while modern-day soaps string hypnotized viewers along for months or years while brain-washing them into bi-polar depression and into accepting impossible standards of attractiveness.
That's one of the reasons why I've not watched television for years now; but I will gladly attend an opera. And last night, I did.
'Le nozze di Figaro ossia la folle giornata', better known to English-speaking audiences as 'The Marriage of Figaro' is a comic opera by W. A. Mozart that was first performed in 1786. The premise is built upon the very real and human emotions of love and lust, honor and deceit, power and submission, jealousy and forgiveness. In a rather obese nutshell, boy loves girl and girl loves boy, but boy's boss likes girl, while boss's wife pines for him; boss's servant likes boss's wife while evil woman likes boy and plots to steal him from girl. The journey of the lovers is littered with subterfuge and shady plans as each character tries to outwit each other in order to attain their own desires while upholding a virtous facade.
200 years on and we haven't really changed much, have we? I dare say this is how we've always been from the beginning; just read the book of Genesis to find out.
Being a comedy, the outcome of 'The Marriage of Figaro' is fortunately sweet and maybe even trite, but we are uplifted by the overwhelming power of love and forgiveness in the delightful 3 hours of song and drama.
'The Marriage of Figaro' ended its successful 4-night run yesterday at the Esplanade Theater. The competent cast included Nancy Yuen, Rachelle Gerodias, Andrew Fernando and Teppei Kono as the title character Figaro. They were complimented by the Singapore Lyric Opera Chorus and the Philharmonic Chamber Orchestra under the baton of Lim Yau.
For everything else you'd ever want to know about this popular opera, click here.
It's official. Singaporeans are the least happy people in Asia.
The Straits Times relegated a small strip in its 'World' segment for this not-especially-revelatory news. Out of a total of 178 nations that were surveyed, our prosperous little island nation of eternal summer came in 131st, the lowest of all Asean and Asian nations ranked.
When one has been accorded much, you'd always expect and desire more. The problem is that more is never quite enough; that's just how homosapians are in general. The irony of our keenly cultivated worldview is that we doggedly and desperately cling onto tangible materialism and achievement to be the glittering key to our happiness and well-being; but we never ever arrive at our intended Nirvana.
So let's take stock of what we've been striving towards and breathe in the fragrance of the proverbial roses, shall we? Contentment is an acquired discipline afterall, not a natural state of being.
That's perhaps too important a truth to ever forget.
Even the most rabidly-ardent of cat-lovers have to admit that the felines they adore unquestioningly can be inscrutably annoying at times.
Gemma has one such habit which drives me up the wall. As far as cats go, she is not known for her affection or need for much attention. She pretty much keeps her dainty white paws to herself and appears perfectly content to do so; except during one specific occasion.
When she sees me putting my socks and shoes on (which is when I'm preparing to head out), THAT'S when she decides she wants to play. She'll do the circle 8s cats are famous for and use her emerald green eyes to great pleading effect. I always have to harden my heart and give her a quick pat on the head and scratch under the chin before dashing out the front door.
It's not like she doesn't know what happens when the sock/shoe routine occurs. I wonder if she's doing it with devious intention (oh well, she probably is)? Or maybe she thinks I might go MIA again for another 5 years?
We can't really communicate, Gemma and I. I lack the intellect to understand Meowish, and Gemma wouldn't debase herself to learn human speech. So we can only hazard a guess at each other's intentions through non-verbal cues such as baring of fangs and vehement hissing. She usually gets the picture when I do that.
So it's really no excuse, then, for us humans to not be able to communicate effectively with each other when we have, at our disposal, a vast ocean of words to select from. Yet, so much remains unspoken and misunderstood, even with those we profess to hold near and dear to our very hearts.
Why are the right words always so reluctant to fall from our lips when they should simply flow from honesty and love?
Cats are known to speak only for very precise reasons; no more and no less. Do they know something about commnication that we don't? Maybe they're more than just a walking ball of fluff after all.
This is a common weed that's found nearly everywhere. It's a tall and slender plant that grows in grassy areas and can be usually seen spiking from the greenary beside roads and paths.
When meandering home yesterday, I decided to take a macro shot of the tiny bloom that grows atop the gangly stem. It took me several tries because the dratted weed sways mockingly in even the slightest breeze.
Upon downloading the picture when I got home, it occured to me how unexpectedly beautiful this oft-overlooked and maybe despised weed can be when contemplated in the best light and angle.
There is beauty found everywhere; even in the most unusual of places then! We just have to condition our eyes and mind to pierce beneath the mundane and obvious; and to deliberately cast the best light onto our subject. How else can we fervently hold fast to hope when the going gets rough, or unconditionally believe in the inherent goodness of even our worst oppressors?
Oh, how much growing do we ourselves need to first do in order to come to that eden!
The next time I see this little weed, I will remember its quiet but powerful reminder to make time for stillness with God in my maddening cycle of being; and to humbly let those moments heal my fractured spirit and weary heart.
The following fern close-ups reflect my primary interest in digital photography - macro work. However I'm reminded that it's been a long time since I've actually set out on a planned macro shoot.
These shots are actually cropped from larger pics after I realized their potential as macro 'art'. I would love to go back to re-shoot them with the proper lens, but the ferns were located in Malacca, so I guess that's that then. 
The following isn't technically macro, but I thought it turned out rather interesting after I experimented with some 'artistic' ideas on the comp.
It was a sunny morning, but the news that greeted me was dark and cheerless. Adrian Hooi, the convicted cat-killer who was jailed earlier this year, has struck again. The latest victim, a 5 month old kitten discovered outside his home, was found bleeding from the nostrils and eyes as a result of extensive head trauma.
The only option the doctors had was to put it to sleep out of mercy.
Why are we capable of such atrocities? Is the human nature so inherently shattered beyond recognition and repair?
It boggles my mind to imagine what goes on inside his head when the tiny and helpless kitten was in his hands. In fact, the ability to wantonly and intentionally end a life, whether human or animal, is nearly inconcievable to me, except we read and hear about it happening way too frequently.
To what depths of fear or rage do we have to sink to before murder becomes a viable option? Is it intrinsic to our human nature? Will I do the same if pushed far enough?
And yet, this same human nature is also capable of great feats of emotional connection and unhesitating sacrifice. The capacity to love and embrace life in its intangible beauty is a gift that's uniquely endowed upon Mankind. But this gift is a double-edged sword for where the greatest all-encompassing love is, violent hatred is, sadly, never too far away.
So what can we do? I think in recognizing our human condition, it should propel us to find healing and respite in that which our spirit cannot taint.
In thoughtful but turbulent moments like these, I experience a deeply acute and desperate longing for God and His peace. Maybe it's just a cowardly form of escapism to avoid slamming head on into reality in all its stark brutality; or it could be, I would like to think, for the comforting reminder that hope is present for us even when I can't see or sense it.
During the week prior to the camp earlier this month, I realized that I was running on less than 700mb of space on my laptop's harddrive. That was definitely not enough to store the award-winning pictures that I was intending to take for the camp. As it turned out, I took over 3gb worth of blurry and closed-eyed pictures.
So I had acquired a slim 40gb portable harddrive to move all my pictures into. That way I could free up space on the laptop. After which, I was able to download the camp pics onto the laptop and all my pictures from the past 6 months were safe and snug in the new portable harddrive. So all is well, right?
Wrong.
The spanking new harddrive has decided to cease working after approximately a week of usage. I guess it was too disgusting to have to house my hideous and ghastly pictures so it simply gave up the ghost. Even portable harddrives have feelings, I've learnt. So other than the camp pictures, all my other pictures, all 15gb worth, are basically in oblivion.
That's a fancy way of saying, *sob*, they're gone.
I suppose I should be glad that the slate has been wiped almost clean and I can start my photography 'collection' all over again with greater understanding of what I'm doing. Don't you wish life could be like that at times? Or maybe, most of the time? Don't you wish that all of your disasterous decisions, hateful words and stupid mistakes could be eradicated when they occured, and you could live that moment again with a choice to do the right thing?
It's nice to dream. But of course, that wouldn't be life as we know it. Instead, real life occurs sans the rewind button. So be very aware of the choices you make in order to minimize baggage in your Room of Regret. I know mine is pretty much filled.
And it's of no use to be found moping about what cannot be undone; especially when the future beckons.
A road lies ahead; so I'll stop looking back now.
I haven't the faintest idea what just transpired but my blog layout mysteriously decided to act up. I logged in today to update the recent events column and after I thought I was done some codes somewhere got seriously messed up. The end result wasn't pretty.
I could have sworn I didn't touch anything I shouldn't have; maybe it's a cyber tantrum after my 2 weeks of absence?
Anyway, that just means I have to get off my butt and do some poking around the codes, which is a horribly frustrating affair akin to flagging down a cab 10 mins before midnight. So rather than try to fix it, I've decided to just go skin-hunting instead; here's a temporary solution till I find one I simply have to have.
The firefox users should be happy since my previous skin couldn't work in their hallowed browser (I'm assuming, of course, that this one will).
So. The blog facade is now officially in transition. Stay tuned.
After the previous week of emotional harassment by the church camp preparations, it was almost a guilty pleasure to see the actual event wafting through the days like a balmy Hawaiian sea breeze.
From the time the program kicked off on Monday evening till the reluctant departure on Thursday, every element fell into its rightful place. It was all God's grace, of course, and I ended up feeling a little silly, though majorly relieved, when it finally became evident there wasn't going to be a violent mutiny or bubonic plague outbreak.
The only blip in an otherwise smooth-sailing camp was my Tuesday morning session with the children. The lesson began well enough, but halfway through I made a catastrophic request, to put it mildly, for them to form discussion groups. What was I thinking? Needless to say, any semblence of order could not be restored and I could only soak helplessly in the maniacal madness that ensued. I felt rather lousy after the ordeal because of my ineffectiveness but I guess it was a learning experience I would do well to remember forever.
Our camp speaker, the gregarious Dr Robert Nienhuis, delivered thought-provoking messages which appealed to both the young and old. He and his lovely wife, Bette Jo, were also very game in participating throughout the various activities and being a warm and friendly presence to the campers. 
The various games held in the evenings provoked much mirth and laughter; it was a wonderful to have everyone letting their hair down in a vastly different and relaxing environment. The spouse id via their feet and hands deserves special mention for the trauma that was inflicted on those who failed to pick the right spouse!
Not everyone was keen on the ostrich farm visit, but upon arrival, it turned out to be a real blast. Riding and racing ostriches were the major highlights with some of our brave members falling unglamorously on their behinds. Haha. Also there was ostrich meat prepared into satay and burgers for us at the end of the visit. 
Thank God for the leaders in our church who dedicate themselves to the well-being of Shalom. It's tough to be a leader whom everyone watches and forms opinions of; it's especially difficult to do the right thing when it isn't always the most popular choice. Our leaders have proven to be resilient and consistent so that's a good thing we should all be grateful for.
Here is the whole gang posing by the hotel's grand marble stairway. I believe everyone enjoyed themselves and it sure made my frenzied prep all worthwhile. Responsibility can be a stick in the proverbial mud, but this privilege makes perfect sense at the end of it when people are edified and able to learn and grow.* * * * *
After the camp officially ended and the campers were safely on their way home, the church leaders and their families headed down to Malacca for a 2 day retreat. Although there were many outstanding issues to be discussed, we ended up spending the bulk of our time on team building exercises and understanding each other's working styles with the aid of the DiSC profiling exercise. Despite our tired bodies and minds working against us, we were able to have a few good sessions of sharing and prayer. Do continue to uphold us in your prayers as well for we need all the help that we can get!
'A' for Awesome! God is good and His watchful eye over the camp proceedings surely made it a real pleasure for the camp comm. How quickly the week has gone by! Having forged new friendships and found new memories, I know I am looking eagerly ahead to next year's camp experience.
I usually review and delete unusable pics on the spot, but when taking multiple shots in succession for certain events, it becomes impossible to stop and check every shot taken. Here are some of the less glamorous shots of some wonderful people that collectively made the camp experience so memorable and fun! Here's to more unglam shots and unwitting subjects! Cheers.