perhaps perhaps perhaps

been feeling paradoxically deeply empty, as if i had voluntarily ebbed away my youth sitting around feeling empty on weekends and doing nothing active about it. the worst part of it isn't the emptiness, but the looming belief that i'd chosen wrongly to cut people, dreams, activities and things away from my life. i wish to think that they were right choices; a honing of academic skills, an enrichment of my inner life, a guarding of time and energy, an investment towards my calling into the future but all signs point to a lack. a lack of activity now that fulfills my emotional and social needs.

if i had been more rebellious i'd have packed my bags and left home to see the world when i was 18. Perhaps if i had done that i'd have a deeper understanding of what it means to choose and to live.

if i had been more directed i'd have left my studies to pursue my inclination towards music and the arts. Perhaps i'd have met people who inspired me to create works of beauty that transcended the mundane.

if i were a more determined person i'd have mastered all the skills i've learnt but never acquired. Perhaps i'd have done something useful with my time and daydreaming.

if i were a less contradictory person i'd just follow my heart instead of sit down and hear the heated exchange between my mind and my heart; with the moralising mind admonishing the weak-willed whimpers of my heart. Perhaps i'd have had seen more of the world and forged a path for myself.

but i had done none of that. i am me and that's no me in that parallel universe of "Perhaps".

i can't see God in the picture but i know He's there somewhere, leading me down this path. I just wish that I could see what He sees. because from my vantage point, it does seem that i've wasted much of my youth and killed too many premature dreams.

i'd always thought the most unrealised and unfulfilled the people in the world are those who don't know where they're going and why they're living when they're 50. the wanderers and the bummers, the people who drift along life with no apparent purpose or destination. then stories entered my life and it seemed that they were perhaps the people who are the true romantics who defied the dictates of a tyrannical "society". by and by i learnt that 'conventions' and 'doing the right thing' by going through school, meeting a passable someone and dating and getting married and have kids and grow old, losing one's looks and security and love in marriage is downright sad and 'brainwashed' way of living life. i was truly depressed with the lack of meaning in my life then and with the meaningless existence i was convinced i had to follow. i was more than convinced that i was trapped in a body and a life that was designed to constrict and suffocate me.

i then met God. it seemed to me then that He showed me that life was much more than the drab existence i was doomed for. i experienced a glimmer of hope in the word Salvation. it was a word i never knew and a concept even more remote. it's been coming close to 3 years, this life of Salvation i've been living. And i have readjusted my outlook on life, grappling with the Christian faith and Christian conception of life purpose and marriage. i gained much hope, i was putting on the new self that i found in Christ. it seemed to me that i was created for happiness, purposefulness, godliness and LIFE to the full. but these months, i am starting to fear once again. i fear that my transformation in Christ had been regressing, for i confront a familiar past packed with deadening emptiness and disconcerting anxiety that time is slipping away and i am being sedated into a living-dead status.

whatever is happening to me? did i do something wrong?

Youth without Youth (2007)

i watched a Surrealist film today. i didn't understand a minute of it. i can't believe it. i finally have to concede that there are films that COMPLETELY elude me. i'm stunned. the reviews were all bad, which i'm guessing because the top critics at Rotten Tomatoes are mere mortals like me. I found a mini surrealist treatise on the film and wow, it STILL eludes me big time. NO more Picturehouse for me for a while.

broken cisterns.

it hit me that the first impression God gave me when i first stepped into His House 2 years ago that i could freely drink from the river that flows before His throne. it hit me today when i was listening to a random evangelical sermon podcast that I am collecting water in broken cisterns in a dry and thirsty land when God says to seek His unending river.

"My people have committed 2 sins: They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water."

Jeremiah 2:13.

I feel my own desperation in collecting remnants of mirages of oasis in broken glassware very much recently. As if seized by an unknown, looming fear, i could not smile as readily, walked as reassuringly, talked as openly about my struggles. I need to repair some shameful brokenness and i have to weld the brokenness with much meticulousness to mask that hysterical fear of being abandoned to fend for myself. an irrational dread pervades. I tried telling myself that this too would pass, but my parched tongue constantly torments me that i am in need of refreshing water. i am very much afraid of being left behind as people around me move on to find their loves. how juvenile huh. but I really need to believe that I am not wasting away.

the day i manage to consolidate all my blog posts from 04 till now, is the day of convocation of the amateur poet-writer. perhaps the convocation of amateur political scientist will come first, even.

what America needs now

Calm, Methodical Obama

vs.

Angry, Ungracious McCain

Friday's unique free-form debate format offered the best insights so far into the vast differences, values and style of Barack Obama and John McCain, and how they would approach the challenges that only a president can decide. It was the stunning contrast in personal behavior, not their answers, that was most revealing.

Given the time spent on the economic crisis, Jim Lehrer had time for only five "lead" questions on national security--on Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran, Russia, and homeland security. Other major issues will have to await later debates. But there was enough time for many intense and revealing exchanges. With a command of both the facts and the underlying issues, and a reassuring manner, Obama convincingly passed the key test of the debate--is he qualified to be Commander-in-Chief? But the real insights came in the revelations about the way each man thinks under pressure, and the way they interacted.

First, note a recurring pattern: With the exception of Iraq, where the disagreement began with Obama's opening sentence, Obama usually began by laying out broad themes, often mentioning instances of agreement with McCain--frequently using phrases like "John is absolutely right"--before going on to stress their differences. This is unusual, and part of what makes Obama a unique leader; I do not recall any previous major party candidate in a debate volunteering so many instances of common ground with his opponent. McCain's response struck me as odd and even ungracious; he has often proclaimed he would work across the partisan divide, but he undermined his own claim by completely ignoring Obama and his comments. Instead, he attacked Obama repeatedly, using phrases such as "Senator Obama just doesn't understand. . ." at least ten times.

The manner in which each man approached problems was strikingly different. McCain understandably emphasized his own personal experiences, but almost never made clear what he thought was the larger purpose of policy. Each problem was treated on its own, and McCain's proposed policies were invariably confrontational. John McCain's world focuses almost entirely on threats. Obama usually agreed with McCain on the nature of these threats, but his proposals for action were more insightful, sophisticated, and comprehensive, and, unlike McCain's, included the use of diplomatic and economic and moral power.

These striking differences were not simply debate tactics; they highlighted differences between the two men that are in their DNA. One is the product of the brawling traditions of the United States Navy, and survival under unimaginable conditions in a Hanoi prison. John McCain has prevailed in life not by seeking common ground (ironically, the most notable exception was his historic voyages of forgiveness to Vietnam). What has kept him energized (and alive) is his enormously combative style, which he proudly calls "maverick," and his quick, sometimes pre-emptive attacks on opponents. It is not a criticism to say that he is a gambler; he said so himself in his memoirs and in the debate.

Although Barack Obama articulates his positions in a calm, methodical, and understated way, he is clearly just as tough as McCain, or he would never have come this far in life, against unbelievable odds. But he thinks about how to solve problems in a manner much more conducive to successful governance than McCain. While he made clear he is ready to use military force if necessary, his life and career embodies the search for common ground between peoples of different backgrounds, different races, different points of view. During the debate he often emphasized the non-military aspects of American power--including diplomacy backed by American muscle, the restoration of respect for the nation, and the direct link between America's economic strength and its national security.

Astonishingly, McCain had virtually nothing to say on any of these issues--yet these are the tools that must be precisely balanced and deployed with skill if the nation is to regain its leadership position in the world.

This difference was reinforced by the much-noted failure of McCain to look in Obama's direction or address him directly during the debate, and by the grim looks that left many viewers with the impression McCain was just plain angry.

The overall effect was exactly the opposite of what McCain hoped to achieve: Obama showed that he could handle the frontal assaults of an aggressive and seasoned senator-war hero in the very area McCain was perceived to be strongest. Obama offered the larger vision for the nation--and a reassuring sense he would approach issues with the seriousness they required. The gambling, brawling style of John McCain has its attractive side to Americans, but it is not what we need in the White House in these troubled times.

surrealism

The Persistence of Memory (1931)
Salvador Dali

The Enigma is on a quest to peel through the mysteries of Surrealism and the works of Salvador Dali for her Art course. because his melting clocks enrapture her imagination; from the first time she set her eyes on that monumental sculpture downtown one september night to almost 2 years later, as the same imagery encounters her again.

*

I was pleasantly surprised to be reminded by the "melting clocks" in The Persistence of Memory that one cool night in 2006 I was roaming Orchard and peering at these sculptures, intrigued by the symbolism which remained thinly veiled to me; it stirred such a curiosity but i lacked the vocabulary to describe it, the language to organize my thoughts, the lens through which i could understand and interpret it as a piece of art. To finally recognize that I was in such close proximity to art that i now know the significance is such a serendipity.

Profile of Time

Alice in Wonderland

*

Primarily a French movement in the 1920s, Surrealism is more than an art movement, but an entire philosophical movement; a way of feeling, a way of living, a way of loving. Like all movements, threads break off and branch out into different forms, into artists depicting fetishes and perversions, but the spirit of surrealism at its inception was more basic and less particular:

"Si vous aimez l'amour, vous amierez le surrealism." >- André Breton, 1924

Breton once said thatin love it was not happiness he sought, but love itself. It was a statement that expressed the combination of hope and despair that fuelled the movement's unwavering engagement with the theme of love.

“I think of nothing but love. The continual amusement I derive from intellectual pursuits, for which I am always being reproached as it it were a crime, finds its very justification in this singular and unceasing taste for love. For me there is no idea that is not eclipsed by love. It if were up to me, everything opposed to love would be abolished. That is roughly what I mean when I claimed to be an anarchist.”- Louis Aragon, 1924

I am still in the process of being acquitted with my new love. Surrealism. The name even leaves a satisfying aftertaste on my tongue. It seems to put into concrete being the inner world which i have resided in for most of my life, the way i see the world, the way i feel my dulating emotions, and finally now, the way i choose to live.

If Surrealism were a person, it would be a seeker of dreams, the one hopelessly afflicted with wanderlust, with his redeeming factor the courage to give in to his whims and leaving all else behind, pack his bags and go, leaving the constricting world which he knew all his life with his idealistic paradigm intact. Songs and poems to keep his spirit sweet in the lonely days, the fire against conventionality to keep him warm by night.

If Surrealism were to be represented by a single image, i would choose the "melting clock" for the instrumentality of a clock as a time-keeper in this image can only be contrasted with its more ethereal destiny to highlight the futility of time itself. What you thought was the resolute march of time and memory is more fluid and indecisive than you think.

If Surrealism were a song, it would be a lone piano piece by the moonlight, full of the languid sweetness of undying idealism in one movement, and bursting with the gallop of angst against the constricting "real" world it so deplores in another. The contradictions disrupt the synchronization, but it was meant to be 2 entities anyway.

If Surrealism were a lover, it would be one willing to open up his chest and show his pulsating heart to the doubting lover. Gory yes, but such is the unabashed dreaminess yet boldness of Surrealism.

reckless, careless, thoughtless.

we used the term "dematerialize" alot in art history class to mean moving up into the realm of the spiritual, but its alternative meaning can be lived it out as a degeneration into a state of carelessness, recklessness, thoughtlessness. Feeling responsible and good are no longer burdens, but dematerialized into irritants to a hot and bothered soul. going where the heart dictates and doing what the mind concocts. empty hours creep past and I look on in amazement that I am unfazed. past days blend into a meaningless blur and many faces merging into a moving picture. ceasing to think or to be in tune with higher purposes are such easy endeavours that they suck you in; time starts to trot and gallop. I've no desire to be responsible for anyone's life, and perhaps, not even my own.

and yes, i got my new ipod nanochromatic.

toeing the line

Just a little detox from technology and email can leave me disorientated and a tad disconnected. It's as if i overslept and awake to find that it's mid-spring and the first dew and first breathe of fresh air has been enjoyed by the world and I've since lost out on that utility. See, a modern woman attempts to return to her rustic roots but is still constrained to think in deep-set utilitarian fashion. why should it matter that i have half the spring left when there is summer to look forward to. rest days are good. I appreciate just drifting into and out of sleep and consciousness on a hot afternoon in the comfort of my abode. human rights and non-violence fill my thoughts these days and i feel fulfilled in learning more about a subject i so instinctively gravitate towards but never found the motivation to know it as more than a familiar silhouette. Now it's taking form and i'm excited of how knowing it better will push me upwards, towards a higher calling as a crusader. in which area and for what issue i don't know. but i know i have to be a voice amidst the chaos.

Other issues dominated my thoughts as well. it was a little shocking to find that my suspicions of my presence evoking averted gazes and stumbling words was true. I was a little afraid that someone else would notice it, but I guess everyone was too frantically taking notes which i should be thankful for. once again, the tempest rages and i am shocked to find myself toeing the line between staying within friendly grounds and venturing into the wild. There is such a wild African lion residing in me that i'm afraid of one day releasing it that it'll be completely untame-able. roars.

Homer, Aristotle, Alexander

Rembrandt,
Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer
Metropolitan Museum of Art, NY

portraying an inner meaning

The idea of rhetoric is that an orator speaks in public to an audience, but with Rembrandt one does not sense that the painting is a highly public statement. When John Stuart Mill wrote in the early 19th century that "eloquence is to be heard, poetry is to be overheard", he might almost have had Rembrandt's paintings in mind. We seem to happen upon an event and eavesdrop a little, observing something private and confidential. The painting has long carried a title that identifies the bearded man in floppy hat with gold chain slung from shoulder to hip, as the Greek philosopher Artistotle, who greatly admired the blind poet Homer. The face on the medallion hanging from his chain is Alexander the Great, Aristotle most famous pupil.

excerpted from Baroque & Rococo, Vernon Hyde Minor

I was first drawn to this painting because of the mystical dialogue between the eyes of Aristotle and the un-seeing Homer. Not to mention the fact that the painting was wrong in every sense of the word, with Aristotle in an ostentatious outfit and gaudy gold chain around him. Undoubtedly, Rembrandt was projecting himself in the image of Aristotle; if Aristotle was the philosopher-teacher who lost the favour of Alexander the Great, Rembrandt was the artist who was estranged from his patrons and contemporaries by the time he painted this.

I've a friend who believes all films are just a selfish production of directors, but i believe the beauty of art laid in the very roots of self absorption in a private world projected to a larger existence, be it films, paintings, writings, sculptures. Art has always been a private love affair of the artist and his creation, and great works of art merely love affairs made public.If you watch a romantic movie and swoon, you are but a voyeur in the literal sense, caught up in the romance that is of someone else's concotion, but it is art, because it appeals to universal emotions that cut across time, space and era. And this painting does precisely that, except that the time, space and era has been laid out literally, so in-your-face that anyone who knows Aristotle, Homer and Alexander will be amused.

rants.

the tension between having things her way and believing in my judgment that it shouldn't have to be that ONLY way characterized the conclusion of a double birthday celebration this evening. We didn't talk over it but I overheard complaining that she was the one ra-raing people and is always frustrated when things don't go according to her plan.

The story goes that I was supposed to lead Part B of a birthday surprise by sneaking into J's apartment to decorate it. Watching the hours go by and with no one being able to confirm whether they will indeed raid J's apartment, I made the decision to call the house party off, so that we might hold the destiny in our hands instead of the whims of the stars, and bring the party to where the birthday girl was.

Although my plan worked out more than fine, I was intensely frustrated by the fact that I was given a task to execute and not the flexibility to alter it for a better and more controllable outcome. Maybe cox both me and her have an overwhelming sense of responsibility to tasks we have to do and in that process inevitably have to step on each other's toes alot.

*

On this note, I noticed in a fair number of my friends a certain impervious-ness to comments, suggestions, last-minute flexibility. Set in their mode of thinking of how things to be done, they get easily frustrated when things don't go according to what they envision to be, if only temporally. Yet, they refuse to (or can't) see how what they conceive of as the "best laid plan" is really impractical and exists only in their ideal conception. Why can't they just see that suggestions are really opportunities for positive improvements? Why do they necessarily think that they are just inconvenient impediments to the execution of their grandiose plans? I am not saying I don't have my stubborn episodes. But to have that built-in as an auto-mechanism does test my patience. And like what Therie and I talked about today, patience is something i realise i have to learn as well. we all have our character flaws and as iron sharpens iron, so does one man sharpen another.

*

rants aside, today is a fine day.


I love to be giving my presentation on the Renaissance and Baroque, exchanging small talk with the other presenters, standing there on the podium and analyzing the figure of David. I love to satisfy my grandiose love of the arts, to bask in the feeling of being transported to Rome and Greece intellectually. I love to complete a quiz in fractions of minutes and translate what I learn into words and grades. I love to be handed a copy of essay questions as i mentally mark off the various deadlines that i might embark on my assignment early.

I love to be walking through the bazaar and to have someone hand me a free bound book of poetry. I love to be entering the Central Library with the gust of cold dry air greeting an overly zealous me with my too-elevated body temperature. I love to be talking a tad too loudly and a tad too animately as I gush to a friend like a bubbling brook. I love to be bumping into random people as i cruise down the corridors and weave through the mass of lunch crowd.I love to be sitting alone at a table at The Deck with the chattering as my background music as i sat there for an hour reading politics of non-violence.

i love to have time to hangout with various friends over the course of a day, starting with late lunch with Tzing, later lunch with Therie, hanging out with Tim, conspiring with the Nav gang. I treasure these spontaneous moments where i can take charge of my time and attention without the rigidites of worklife that will eventually consume me when I end my undergraduate life. I grew up wanting to be in my 20s and in university. I'm living out my dream. it feels surreal and happy each day to be in school doing what i'm doing.

the question is, what next? but perhaps there's too early a question.
i'd better start dreaming first.

whine.

hedonistic part of me wants a black 16Gb Ipod Nano.

i want more time and undivided attention with family. but it seems like all of us in our busy-ness (of all of us, me most afflicted) are caught in attention-deficit order. i can't hold a conversation with my sisters long enough without my thoughts floating to some readings i have to do for my next class. and the next presentation. and the next paper. terrible way to live i tell you. and it's not even workaholic season yet.

i wanna do more French!!

sigh.

fatiguee

there hasn't been a time when i've felt more purposeful about school, yet yearn more to sleep at home. what a dichotomy of desires raging in me. i seem to have no energy left for trivial pursuits like dramas and enrichment endeavours like French. Establishing alot of new friendships with the advent of year 4 but increasingly lacklustre in attending outings with old pals. honestly tired. seem so much like an excuse but physically i just can't pull myself out of the restful refuge i found at home. i never could sleep more than 8 hours a day, now 8 hours leave me feeling lethargic. O God make me more like Superwoman, with as vibrant a social life as an intellectual one. More friends to jio for outrageous fun, less desire and energy to execute. is it a good thing?

but i confess part of the problem definitely has to do with the fact that the workaholic in me never died. between senseless fun and understanding Roman Rhetoric, you know which i'll choose. it's not that i'm used to being a geek, but knowledge nourishes and refreshes me more than fun. sigh. i hope i don't die of overwork. it wouldn't be a very good testimony.

it is done.

i finally finished my paper on Clausewitz and Sun Tzu satisfactorily. Although at the expense of sleep and health. What a nightmare. I'm glad i persevered though. Thank you Lord that I didn't drop dead. really.

I can't imagine writing a thesis and having to struggle with a paper thrice at long?

layering on brick by brick

writing a 5000-word paper is like building a wall, you come up with a good stable structure upon which to hold your ideas and structure them into a coherent argument, but you're always a little unsure and open to shifting parts of the structure in order that you change the face of your architecture to be a little more indestructible. a constant low-level trepidation tugs at you to stretch yourself a bit further intellectually; to consider tearing down the structure as you go along to consider more factors like weather-proof metal and noise-canceling devices to insert into that structure, or in more dramatic instances to uproot those structures to build a firmer foundation first.. and yet you must come to a point when you decide in your heart that enough improvisation and improvement is enough and you will now concentrate your efforts to start layering on the bricks one by one. because, the most sturdy structure will always remain nothing more than an awe-inspiring structure at best and until you overcome your sense of inadequacy to step out and start on the next process of labouring, your learning cannot be complete and your skills unsharpened. When you finally end the laborious work at the end of it, you will then go away with a full appreciation that a wall is meant to provide a tangible fortress within which your ideas can stand for eternity.

Godsend.

Greetings to you from South Asian Connection. Words are powerful. Words have the power of life and death. Never underestimate the power of your words. With one small word, you can change a person’s life for better or for worse. The Bible says, “The tongu e has the power of life and death, and they who indulge in it shall eat the fruit or consequences of it - either for death or life. Proverbs 18:21.

Words have authority and can become a self-fulfilling prophecy over a person’s life. The word power used in the context of Proverbs 18:21 is a Hebrew word ‘yad’ with a word picture meaning of a physica l hand, to deliver something into someone’s hands. It is to delegate authority by what you speak and say.

Stop delegating authority through cutting poi sonous words from the pit of hell - words of death, bitterness and condemnation. With our negative words, we bind people. With our words of condemnation, we put people into emotional and psychological prisons, scarring them for life. With our words of death, we kil l people’s spirit.

Start today and decide right now to speak life giving words at all times. Positive life giving words take a life of its own in the soul of a person. The revelational word of God has got creative power to breathe life, to build and to edify. Speak life giving words of the Holy Spirit. Speak life giving words into your situation and into the lives of others. Speak hope. Speak confidence. Speak encouragement. Speak inspiration. Speak with boldness. Speak the truth.

Words can be your salvation. Words can also be your damnation. Our words and actions are powerful beyond our comprehension. Words can kil l, words can give life. They're either poiso n or fruit—you choose.

Watch your thoughts; they become your words.
Watch your words; they become your actions.
Watch your actions; they become your habits.
Watch your habits; they become your character.
Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.

Make the most of every opportunit y. Be gracious in your speech. The goa l is to bring out the best in others in a conversation, not to put them down or cut them out. Let your conversation be always full of grace seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone. We are called to inherit a blessing. Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult, but with blessing because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.

I am responsible for what I say. You are responsible for what you say. God holds us responsible for what we say. There will be a time of reckoning when every one of these careless words is going to come back to haunt you and me unless there is forgiveness, true repentance and healing reconciliation.

I learnt alot about the power of the tongue through the traumatic few weeks, even if my hope to silence another's doesn't seem to have worked at all. I think for the time being, i made my stand very clear and that's good enough. I have come to realize that as a Christian, i sometimes have to stand alone, in order to stand up for what i believe in. I don't hope to convince the world that what i believe is superior or better, because it's not up to me to prove whether my beliefs stand or fall, but I do it because they are my beliefs and i appeal to another to respect them, because they have no right over my life to trample upon them like they're not worth a thing in the world. They might not matter to you but I have the right to hang on to mine and request that you steer clear of invading on my personal space to worship a God i believe in. I'm very tired to hear of everything as having a "utilitarian value" in the here and now. shortsightedness might be your state of existence but i appreciate my eternal vision very much.

philospher kings.

Socrates and Phaedrus gets into a philosophical debate about erotic love in an attempt to seduce one another. Plato records it faithfully, but they are really just surrogates for his elicit love affair with ideas.

* * *

I can be an excitable colt in the likes of Polus in Gorgias to do this and that. excitably i suggest this and that, and then realising that it's all no more than reactions to actions directed not at moi. i chuckle at myself, the irrational and reactional part of me that ceases to think in that gap of 5 seconds. Perhaps i'm still chronically hallucinating and making up stories in my head that doesn't even exist in the metaphysical realm. if only the characters would be a little more real.

Needing some space to pause to smell the flowers and do a little quirky dance.

more rants

i heart my blog. because it's so beautiful i feel inspired to write very often, even if they are just rants about everyday mundane things like how i feel and who i met.

i met doe-eyed Ralph Lauren boy today with his sleek new look. Btw I like how Therie and I are having a different look this semester as well. injects visual excitation to the semester don't you think ;) He looks less lost in school now and as charming as ever. I think he can melt an ice mountain with the warmth radiating from his smile when we parted ways today. i'm not exactly the ice queen on the block but i melted a little. Btw I got a very hot Teaching Assistant for one of my modules. I usually think it's crude to say someone is as hot as a hot potato but he really is. I sit in class observing the perfect geometry of his face. argh. iamsuchapsycho.

Guys can be such enigmatic creatures. Girls can get so easily wowed over by beauty. hmm was that a feminist-postmodern-deconstructivist statement or what?!?

study of war

Amidst lingering fatigue and a shroud of uncertainty, i continue the dance of my fingers across the keyboard. I am happily working on my Study of War essay, comparing the relative priority assigned by Clausewitz and Sun Tzu to the role of intelligence and information in preparation for war. I am pleased to say that it looks set to be an engaging and exciting paper; am going to discuss The Korean War (1950-1953) and the role of propaganda as a "non-lethal" weapon, amidst other case studies. The more i dive into the wealth of research, the more intrigued I am by the role of communications in warfare.

perhaps it's my own inclinations that determined the course of my Study of War essay, but i'm 1/2 hoping that this is the Lord's way of showing me that my thesis can be an extension of the level4k essay i am working on now. Talk about chronic laziness. bah.

I am still in labour pains with regards to trying to deliver my baby thesis idea. only few words (not concepts or ideas mind you) floating around: communications and media, politics, north korea. I am officially daunted by my first wild idea of positing the link between democracy and media in North Korea because data and information don't seem to be readily available.The silence of God and non-progress of my thesis research is deafening, in contrast to the bustle of those around me, all set to go with their topics. I'm not particularly striving to write a thesis, honestly! I think i will be quite happy to give it up if God will just tell me. But it is the lingering sense that perhaps God does have a topic for me to write on and i am to wait patiently even as i go about doing literature review.

God has been reminding me OVER and OVER and OVER these past months that He will provide water for me from a rock in the midst of the desert. It has been happening in many "small" ways like getting my modules and even orchestrating Putterman's 2 week hiatus with my paper writing for Study of War. Like how i can feel so unsure before the paper presentation but Dr Chong saying that it's a superb presentation with a good argument after that. I nearly broke down right there and then knowing that my God fought that battle for me. but I get this hunch that "the big break" is yet to come. He's going to fight even more amazing battles for me and i know i will literally just "stop and stare".

i so badly want to be right smack in the middle of God's will. I hope that's where i am. I know there's where I am :) i just wait for God to lead.

cleaner slate.

Ed called me at midnight to check out i'm doing and i started unleashing unglam spasms of sobbing across the airwaves of the Indian Ocean to the other end of Asia. I didn't realize that the gaping emptiness of Friday night masked layers of stress that I've been suppressing unconsciously. For the first time in a long time i cried and talked and sobbed some more and sniffed to make sense of all these emotions erupting finally. My heart had been protesting for the longest time to the throngs of people who have been making demands on my time and my ears: Stop urging me we should do this or do that. Stop calling me. Stop smsing me. Stop telling me we are meeting up this week or next. I just want to be left alone to think and feel for myself.

Ed was full of love and godly wisdom as usual and i woke up this morning feeling clean somehow, having spoken to a wise brother in Christ who made my thoughts and motivations clearer and less clouded by fear and uncertainty. But I know that I am still very tired emotionally and physically. I feel like I could really take sometime off for a retreat of sorts. dreaming of Taipei; the throngs of friendly, chatty, Chinese-speaking faces; the clear blue beaches and crisp clear mountain breeze; the bustling nightlife.. . make it happen, Lord.

rest in God alone.

August 20, 2008

Christ-Awareness

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. . . and I will give you rest —Matthew 11:28

Whenever anything begins to disintegrate your life with Jesus Christ, turn to Him at once, asking Him to re-establish your rest. Never allow anything to remain in your life that is causing the unrest. Think of every detail of your life that is causing the disintegration as something to fight against, not as something you should allow to remain. Ask the Lord to put awareness of Himself in you, and your self-awareness will disappear. Then He will be your all in all. Beware of allowing your self-awareness to continue, because slowly but surely it will awaken self-pity, and self-pity is satanic. Don’t allow yourself to say, "Well, they have just misunderstood me, and this is something over which they should be apologizing to me; I’m sure I must have this cleared up with them already." Learn to leave others alone regarding this. Simply ask the Lord to give you Christ-awareness, and He will steady you until your completeness in Him is absolute.

A complete life is the life of a child. When I am fully conscious of my awareness of Christ, there is something wrong. It is the sick person who really knows what health is. A child of God is not aware of the will of God because he is the will of God. When we have deviated even slightly from the will of God, we begin to ask, "Lord, what is your will?" A child of God never prays to be made aware of the fact that God answers prayer, because he is so restfully certain that God always answers prayer.

If we try to overcome our self-awareness through any of our own commonsense methods, we will only serve to strengthen our self-awareness tremendously. Jesus says, "Come to Me . . . and I will give you rest," that is, Christ-awareness will take the place of self-awareness. Wherever Jesus comes He establishes rest— the rest of the completion of activity in our lives that is never aware of itself.

God says to me, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30)