walks and sightings ...
a wayside flower and petals on a dirt road
i wonder sometimes if an online journal faithfully helps to record one's actual thoughts and feelings. been known to so many necessitates some kind of 'distancing.' we watch every verb and noun being written and ensures a little private space remains. our actual selves are only known to a select few
whom we allow into our interior space. my closest friends have no need for blogs since our friendships are always marked by a deep regard for respect, mutuality and freedom. If there is a blog at all, it comes through in words and gestures sometimes even in silence; a noonday ride, a run in the park, bbq, some overseas trip, a dive or a walk by the beach...even a casual homecooked lunch, cosy dinners and the occasional sleepover does wonders to nurturing relationship.
over the years, we have been witness to more funerals, weddings and departure-calls any age group has known. karen, myself and ed have helped out and sung on countless occasions, first to liwei who left his fraternity at the close of his medical studies, then to fr frank, gloria, and my cousin. i remember matthew, charmaine and kevin who passed away at significant stages of our lives, from jc years right to the edge of young adulthood. i remember
viv's parents who hosted so many of our gatherings during our teenage years. there was friar roderick whose death left the biggest gap in my life; i was not quite able to find another spiritual director as candid and honest as him, who taught us to be gentle with our failings and be open in meeting God at every turn, nook and cranny of our lives. and to my dog bobby, whom i cradled as he whined to his last breath, shocked yet surrendering to the gentle hold of his master who had to make a decision to end his suffering. i was 24 then and remember being most rational in wanting to put him down only to be swept apart by my feelings like a child who just lost his closest and most faithful friend from the age of 10. ed stood aside and allowed me to crash.
have officiated as best man for about 5 weddings by now (6th upcoming), honoured by the trust my buddies placed in me and also the opportunity to part-take in the special sense of joy and pride in being there for them. departure-calls were more bearable. they remind me how time passes ever so quickly. greg and ed entered religious life here while michael left for the philippines to be a missionary. karen served briefly in wellington. on the academic front, kenneth to brisbane and north carolina for his masters and PhD, cons to sydney for her Msc. in all, life has returned full circle and the lot of us are back here in singapore having celebrated con's wedding most recently. we meet less often now, each busy with their own lives but move on assured that we'll always be in touch and pick up where we left off. that is how secure the relationships have been. we miss mike and greg most but meet in the eucharist each time mass is celebrated.
there is a flowering weed by the side of canossian convent where i pop by each weds and fri to help sr chris in volunteer work. it sits by a garbage dump, oblivious to the junk and waste neatly scattered around it. the plant blooms at its own pace, unassuming, unaffected by the mixed flow of hectic and quiet movements intruding its surroundings. are we able to will our spiritual lives in that direction? a certain posture, a certain outlook. not chasing, not haggling or attempting to control large chunks of our destiny which seems to seep by, with no end in sight. instead, i turned inwards into appreciating what i already have, within. i climbed the monastery's stairs that afternoon, delighting in the
unconscious harmony of my joints, with my hands casually grasping the rails, my feet gingerly avoiding the wet groud which ah sim had just cleaned and mopped over. i felt grateful that i could walk and not take it for granted, in a very real way. for a while, while seated in the chapel, i was equally amazed by the deep spectrum of colours splashed on bukit timah hill. the same can be seen outside high-rise flats in my estate. orange and sunset-reds stirred into whorls of cloud. i can see. and that form of seeing became another stream of knowledge. arriving unexpected, unknown, unseen. i was keenly aware my eyes, my hands, my legs, the joints and nerves made everything work and the spirit and soul of me that helped me to feel and see. a full sense of awareness. no clinging nor holding back but simply available to the moment, to the present. however big or incomplete the gaps i may be feeling within me that hour, seem to dissolve into white space. i was simply there. and alive. and free.
the scattered petals are taken from sungei buloh. death in its final glory, a final descent of beauty on trodden ground.
i don't normally take notice of flowers, being cumbered by the silly post-pubescent notion of their feminine attributes. however, i did so for these stretch of days. freed from the weary strings of immaturity traced all the way to the insensitive so-called macho-chunko age of 80s. becoming free and open enough to let my senses do the judging, and the spirit, in discerning. the scales have long fallen. i just did not have the time and the quiet courage to admit as it should.
a wayside flower and petals on a dirt road
i wonder sometimes if an online journal faithfully helps to record one's actual thoughts and feelings. been known to so many necessitates some kind of 'distancing.' we watch every verb and noun being written and ensures a little private space remains. our actual selves are only known to a select few
whom we allow into our interior space. my closest friends have no need for blogs since our friendships are always marked by a deep regard for respect, mutuality and freedom. If there is a blog at all, it comes through in words and gestures sometimes even in silence; a noonday ride, a run in the park, bbq, some overseas trip, a dive or a walk by the beach...even a casual homecooked lunch, cosy dinners and the occasional sleepover does wonders to nurturing relationship.over the years, we have been witness to more funerals, weddings and departure-calls any age group has known. karen, myself and ed have helped out and sung on countless occasions, first to liwei who left his fraternity at the close of his medical studies, then to fr frank, gloria, and my cousin. i remember matthew, charmaine and kevin who passed away at significant stages of our lives, from jc years right to the edge of young adulthood. i remember
viv's parents who hosted so many of our gatherings during our teenage years. there was friar roderick whose death left the biggest gap in my life; i was not quite able to find another spiritual director as candid and honest as him, who taught us to be gentle with our failings and be open in meeting God at every turn, nook and cranny of our lives. and to my dog bobby, whom i cradled as he whined to his last breath, shocked yet surrendering to the gentle hold of his master who had to make a decision to end his suffering. i was 24 then and remember being most rational in wanting to put him down only to be swept apart by my feelings like a child who just lost his closest and most faithful friend from the age of 10. ed stood aside and allowed me to crash.have officiated as best man for about 5 weddings by now (6th upcoming), honoured by the trust my buddies placed in me and also the opportunity to part-take in the special sense of joy and pride in being there for them. departure-calls were more bearable. they remind me how time passes ever so quickly. greg and ed entered religious life here while michael left for the philippines to be a missionary. karen served briefly in wellington. on the academic front, kenneth to brisbane and north carolina for his masters and PhD, cons to sydney for her Msc. in all, life has returned full circle and the lot of us are back here in singapore having celebrated con's wedding most recently. we meet less often now, each busy with their own lives but move on assured that we'll always be in touch and pick up where we left off. that is how secure the relationships have been. we miss mike and greg most but meet in the eucharist each time mass is celebrated.
there is a flowering weed by the side of canossian convent where i pop by each weds and fri to help sr chris in volunteer work. it sits by a garbage dump, oblivious to the junk and waste neatly scattered around it. the plant blooms at its own pace, unassuming, unaffected by the mixed flow of hectic and quiet movements intruding its surroundings. are we able to will our spiritual lives in that direction? a certain posture, a certain outlook. not chasing, not haggling or attempting to control large chunks of our destiny which seems to seep by, with no end in sight. instead, i turned inwards into appreciating what i already have, within. i climbed the monastery's stairs that afternoon, delighting in the
unconscious harmony of my joints, with my hands casually grasping the rails, my feet gingerly avoiding the wet groud which ah sim had just cleaned and mopped over. i felt grateful that i could walk and not take it for granted, in a very real way. for a while, while seated in the chapel, i was equally amazed by the deep spectrum of colours splashed on bukit timah hill. the same can be seen outside high-rise flats in my estate. orange and sunset-reds stirred into whorls of cloud. i can see. and that form of seeing became another stream of knowledge. arriving unexpected, unknown, unseen. i was keenly aware my eyes, my hands, my legs, the joints and nerves made everything work and the spirit and soul of me that helped me to feel and see. a full sense of awareness. no clinging nor holding back but simply available to the moment, to the present. however big or incomplete the gaps i may be feeling within me that hour, seem to dissolve into white space. i was simply there. and alive. and free.the scattered petals are taken from sungei buloh. death in its final glory, a final descent of beauty on trodden ground.
i don't normally take notice of flowers, being cumbered by the silly post-pubescent notion of their feminine attributes. however, i did so for these stretch of days. freed from the weary strings of immaturity traced all the way to the insensitive so-called macho-chunko age of 80s. becoming free and open enough to let my senses do the judging, and the spirit, in discerning. the scales have long fallen. i just did not have the time and the quiet courage to admit as it should.
