flux capacitor

i could think of a few people in the periphery of my mind and physical world that i could give this song to right now. there is something about this time that is so much in flux. and elusive. it is one week till june - half the year is almost here. it is my 234th day back home. seven months and twenty-two days. granted i don't think i could have ever imagined to be where i am right now, eight months ago. maybe to an extent i didn't really know what to expect.

everything in flux. and everything so full and so fast. is this what it is like to be living out the life you are meant to live? not to say that right now is the ideal - but perhaps i can say that it feels like i am where i am meant to be. i am not content with the implications of that but i trust that as long as i stay the course, God will not disappoint.

hurt is worth it if it means you live a life without regret. i found this line coming from me in conversation with m recently. and that moment i realised how true it was and how much gravity it has as a lesson from all that has happened of late, being back home and back with a spiritual family. i want to live by this from now on. because pain... is always something that i can get through, for Jesus took all the hits before i could even see them coming.

z had a very good nightcap with g last thursday, being the only people on the team who could stay later. it was good to have us all be a little more transparent, a little more candid, a little more real.

lately the message feels like an urge to live right now. the past doesn't exist, and neither does the future, said g. and right now feels like it can hold me. and i am grateful for it. or perhaps it isn't so much the right now, but the omnipresent and timeless God that can hold me.

and it's not that i do not see anything but Right Now. because well i am one of the last people to be dismissive of the past. and i am one of the last people to not have dreams and hopes aching in my heart and soul. maybe i am learning to feed all that energy into living in hope in the now. because where everything is in flux, something's gotta be real and has gotta stay the same.

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[i wrote this last weekend and somehow ended up not finishing it because maybe i forgot my point in writing. i miss not needing a point in writing other than to actually write.]



buzzed with alcohol i didn't sleep till past 3AM this morning. i think in a way i feel like i live double the life because of having parts of my heart across seas, existing in sun and moon light at the same time. there is no true time for slumber. it makes me feel small in this world, and at the same time makes my world small, reachable in seconds of typing. m is at work having a breakfast burrito while i nightcap with k, my sister l is preparing dinner while i'm deep into the night. Lord, there is so much life and you have so much love that you had to keep earth spinning, alive, like this, never missing a beat.

i read an interview with brandon boyd today and it gave me a moving image of the struggle of collaborative creativity, and the dark periods of art-making. interesting to note how the art they made reflected what they were going through as a band, and as individuals. how easily we as consumers can tear that apart, throwing some kind of witty insult at it just because it may not completely empathise with our needs and wants and preferences. what about consumers empathising with the makers?

reading that interview, the one thing that made sense to do next was to listen to Drive. i send it to v because i feel it mirrors her right now.

then i spent a bit more of the night delving into other music that i haven't heard in years. i waded through rock in my early teenage years - it was rock that saw me through my first pursuit of some kind of self-identity.

tonight the music is new and old at the same time, fresh with beats that i usually do not come across in my choice of music nowadays, and familiar enough to allow me to write while listening to it. i even sing along sometimes.

the past week has been alive. it has been about getting down to business (and hopefully quickly getting better at it). it has been about being honest with feelings, and owning them, and sitting with them, learning to live with them, and growing from them in the best direction possible. because these feelings, they pass. even the good ones. what matters is what we know about what we feel, and how we transform our existence with it. that's what stays.

crust

the week has been long and hard-pressed and too fast all at the same time. the previous weekend feels like ages ago with everything that has happened during the week. through everything the one memory that keeps me is the singing at the edge, looking on at infinity. the heart of praise being thrown out into the vast expanse of air and sea in front of us. well, the whole time is a memory that keeps me. but that most especially.

notes from that weekend:

1 may, 0752.
en route to a weekend away from the city lights sounds words rhythm.

the season's soundtrack plays as the kapitan gracefully weaves through gradually-building-up morning traffic.

as buildings turn into mountains, these three souls are recharging, feeling the weight of their own as well as those they hold close and carry along the uphill path. we are quiet, mostly. allowing music to permeate and envelope. verbal communication is terse and concise. but our silence sits together, close and knowing.

2 may, 2221.
the last evening. it has been a blessed weekend. the company i brought sits mostly untouched - my laptop, a book - except for this little notebook. these are the days that make all that is painful and difficult worthwhile. i think i would like heaven to feel like this. a quiet family life. perhaps in heaven there would be no need for muni muni time and everything will just be praise. praise God for the good food we can cook and draw nourishment and fellowship from, that we are able to in a small way serve k by taking care of food. praise God for waters that cool and suspend our weight. praise God for the moon at dusk and the colours of the sky. praise God for rain that envelops and blesses through the heat of the day, for the promises it holds.

i wonder if there is some kind of relic of pain in heaven because it is after all the vessel of the passion. and because here on earth i can thank God for the pain that draws us near to him, to each other. thank God for sadness that can be the strongest bridges through words, and music, through touch.

what is it about the human condition that makes sadness and pain such a powerful reminder of life. all the earth is groaning. waiting and clawing to go back home.


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better a dry crust with peace and quiet
than a house full of feasting, with strife.
(proverbs 17:1)

but what about a dry crust with strife? when sadness and pain are unable to present itself a reminder of life? when there seems to be no juxtaposition to hope in?

we are saved by trusting. and trusting means looking forward to getting something we don't yet have - for a man who already has something doesn't need to hope and trust that he will get it.
(romans 8:24)

are we still asking the right questions, Lord, are we seeking you and following you the way you want, the way we ought. because some of these times looking forward is impossible to do. these dry bones are weathered raw by time. by its long stretch, its hasty disappearance, its subjectiveness.

i want to be able to ask like Mary did, and ask in faith, in belief. how shall this be? how shall this be, since all odds are against? how shall this be, when we are so far apart in running speeds? how shall this be, when we can't seem to kick upwards from under the wave of anxiety?

and then there are the butterflies. i haven't seen one this season yet. but i drew a chrysalis. hope is the thing with wings. perhaps they carry hope in the times we are not able to.