WITH HEAPS OF THANKS

i don't know what to say or how to begin..... aahem..anyway...

to ALL who so kindly responded to my request for help, THANKS SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSO MUCH for the multitude of questionaires that are pouring in even as i am typing this! am overwhelmed by your generous support and rally call for my SOS! you are making heaps of difference to my project and trust me, your views and suggestions will take me to lala land and more importantly add value to our collective goodwill for the college all of us grew up with/ in.

special thanks to those who responded to mr yeo's online tag...esp those whom i've never seen or taught (class of 2005/2006 esp). your input means alot to me.

and to the rest of you; class of 2000 all the way to 2006.... you're the BEST!!!!

i like to thank people with portraits and imagery. my apologies if i can't record all your faces on every pic. i will try to, at a later date, k? whatever it is, i hope these pictures tell you alot more than what they are supposed to convey. go unpack them...with blasts of blessings from days of old...still shining today.

p/s: can somebody do the pioneer cheer for me? pioneer pioneer poom cheeka cheeka , errr, was it?

p/s: i know some of u are struggling with exam or other trial preps for now...(j2/nus/bmt/sim/working world - i dun care)...hang in there. all will be well. dun forget you've walked a bumpier road before. am there, no, here myself! we will get thru.

Today

It is a moment of light surrounded on all sides by darkness and oblivion. In the entire history of the universe, let alone in your own history, there has never been another like it and there will never be another just like it again. It is the point to which all your yesterdays have been leading since the hour of your birth. It is the point from which all your tomorrows will proceed until the hour of your death. If you were aware of how precious it is, you could hardly live through it. Unless you are aware of how precious it is, you can hardly be said to be living at all.

"This is the day which the Lord has made," says the 118th psalm. "Let us rejoice and be glad in it." Or weep and be sad in it for that matter. The point is to see it for what it is because it will be gone before you know it. If you waste it, it is your life you are wasting. If you look the other way, it may be the moment you've been waiting for always that you're missing.


All other days have either disappeared into darknes and oblivion and not yet emerged from it. Today is the only day there is.

frederick buechner: Whistling in the Dark

times, peoples and continental wonders

the folks i've met briefly, some only once but all in common act to do individuals who bumped into each other on our overseas stint...

Indi from Indonesia, Kenneth from Uganda, Kariell and vik from Trinidad and Tobago and Malaysia respectively...we didn't quite like the pathetic show of marauding tourists who snap and poke at the poor penguins on 'parade' at philip island. don't go there. that is the best way to reject this kind of pseudo eco-'tourism'. the winds were freezing. our conscience became inoperable. grampians; its waterfall and tuff of rainbow were far better sights.

that hoard of shopping fans whom we brought to camberwell flea market.... souls in pursuit of merchandise who hail from lands as far as S Korea, Hong Kong and Vietnam. Some have been naturalised as Australians. We travel the road...

my own prized-catch: about 10 or was it 15 pieces (?) of ripcurl, industrie, stussey, fcuk and quicksilver tees for less than $30!!! it is very hard to find imitation-brands over here due to the strict laws. my eyes are on track. all hail the flea market!

with fr thinh, dennis and deacon-t0-be binh on geelong (pronounced G-long NOT cheena pong GEE-LONG!!!). blue spans of sea and a white necked pier peering to the edge of another horizon. we shared about our lives, pondered our commitments and to ethics. the broken Church and what it means to remain faithful. heavy topics for the day until we sunk our fingers and teeth into an oily pack of fish and chips (with hake, blue grenadier, jumbo prawns, cod and spears of fries) by the chilly shade of a sycamore tree. warmth again.

Folks... i need HELP!

dear people, silent observers, reticent readers and occasional drop-ins of my little blog

ESPECIALLY past and present students / colleagues of pjc, i will be embarking on my final essay soon, to do with marketing in education.

will need your help to fill in an open-ended questionaire. essentially, it's to do with your experiences and perceptions of your time in college. your input is extremely valuable to my work so please help me. will contact each of you separately via msn and send you the document from there... confidentiality assured and please write as much as you wish! am looking for honest, detailed and constructive comments. you won't disappoint me eh? due acknowledgement will be given.

feel free to pass questionaire to 5 other ex/present pjcians who are serious about it. i will include a direct return email so you won't be overwhelmed by their bugging.

eternal thanks!

that easter trail

"Christmas has a large and colourful cast of characters including not only the 3 principals themselves but the Angel Gabriel, the Innkeeper, the Shepherds, 3 Wise Men, King Herod, Star of Bethlehem, and even the animals kneeling on the straw. In one form or another, we have seen them represented so often we would recognise them anywhere. We have made a major production of it and as minor attractions, have also added the carols, presents and trees. With Easter, it is entirely different.

The Gospels are far from clear as to just what happened. It began in the dark. The stone had been rolled aside. Matthew alone speaks of an earthquake. In the tomb, there were 2 white-clad figures or possibly just one. Mary Magdalen seems to have gotten there before anyone else. There was a man she thought at first was a gardener. Perhaps Mary the mother of James was with her and another woman named Joanna. One account says Peter came too with one of the other disciples. Elsewhere the suggestion is that there were only the women and that the disciples, who were somewhere else, didn't believe the women's story when they heard it. There was the sound of people running, of voices. Matthew speaks of 'fear and great joy.' Confusion was everywhere. There is no agreement even as to the role of Jesus himself. Did he appear at the tomb or only later? Where? To whom did he appear? What did he say? What exactly did he do?

This is not a major production at all, and the minor attractions we have created around it, the bunnies, eggs and hot-cross buns - have so little to do with what it's all about that they neither add much or subtract much. It is not really even much of a story when you come right down to it, and that is of course the power of it. It doesn't have the ring of great drama. It has the ring of truth. If the gospel writers had wanted to tell it in a way to convince the world that Jesus indeed rose from the dead, they would presumably have done it with all the skill and fanfare they could muster. Here there is no skill, no fanfare. They seem to be telling it simply the way it was. The narrative is as fragmented, shadowy, incomplete as life itself. When it comes to just what happened, there can be no certainty. That something unimaginable happened, there can be no doubt.

The symbol of Easter is simply the empty tomb. You can't depict or domesticate emptiness. You can't make it into pageants and string it with lights. It doesn't move people to give presents to each other or sing old songs. It ebbs and flows all around us, the Eastertide. Even the great choruses of Handel's Messiah sound a little like a handful of crickets chirping under the moon.

He rose. A few saw him briefly and talked to him. If it is true, there is nothing left to say. If it is not true, there is nothing left to say. For believers and unbelievers both, life has never been the same again. For some neither has death. What is left now is the emptiness. There are those who, like Magdalen, will never stop searching it till they find his face.

adapted from frederick buechner: Whistling in the Dark