wolf & francis

kieran shared 2 paintings with me. am reminded of the life of st francis of assisi (1182-1226) who influenced my early understandings about creation, God and humanity during the childhood years...

banished and feared. you walked untouched among people. the villagers ready to greet you with clubs, spikes and spears. your grey fur catching the remnant-cold of country rain as you hide among cliffs. bruised by hunger, you wonder why created order became so cruel when you merely hunted what you sought and ate what you could. the fire people threatened the forest with greater rage. the growl hides your helplessness. your cornered curl of lips and sharp jawed inner pain.

one day, a brown man came. browned by the sun and earth, his garments a torn reflection of God-given joyful poverty. francis his name. francis, a name bearing the scent of pine and humble humid soil, in letters so near to Christ's. he bent low, those eyes you can't forget. utter trust. a freeing vulnerability before Creator-Lord who brought us into being. a simple heart that reaches out to your own. unafraid. he stayed the night with me. metres away. humble lowly francis couched among the trees, praying. smiling from a distance as he looked into me. renaming my savagery.

the villagers departed that day, content to let me be. i was only a fractured reflection of their own absence, abusive cruelty. francis came back and touched me. and i licked his warm calloused hand. the morning light bearing grace. presence of life made whole. i ran back to the far forests of my food and dream. and looked back one final time and saw one villager with francis. the browned friar always knew. he turned and blessed my name.
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----from the life of st francis of assisi (1182-1226)

www.conservation.catholic.org/st_francis_of_assisi.html

water-colour paintings by kieran choy, singapore. first icon from website.

unlike any other pears

french pear. sweet as sin. sinfully sweet. two for AUD one fifty. sold exclusively.

dr octavius and magneto

dr octavius and magneto confront the alien object that had just landed on earth's tabletops. octavius's near adamantium claws pince and nudge the foreign substance for any sign of ultimate threat while magneto discovers that he cannot lift the organic lifeform because it possesses no metallic properties at all.

the two villains will soon depart for singapore. joining the battle with omega-red, ultron, bullseye, sabretooth, loki and blackheart against hulk-maestro and the sentinel. the x-men and avengers have since joined the fray. watch this space...the confrontations to come-

x-men roll call: angel, beast & nightcrawler

avengers roll-call: dr strange, hawkeye, captain america & thor

to 04A02...artwork by seok.

parenting these ashes

hele who attended james' funeral penned this reflection when she had to scatter her parents' ashes to the sea, days after...



Today, my family sent the remains of our parents into the waters. It rained today but stopped when we were at Marina Pier at 3pm. It was a short ride out to the waters off Katong. A part of me felt I let my parents “down” for not caring enough to place them in the church columbarium. And yet, another part of me felt it was best for their remains to return to the waters …

I revealed to my family today of the purchase of my home. No reaction from them except a sense of relief that I have found my apartment. I begin to see that my sister has no perception of the hurt she has rendered … a possibility that she does not have the intention to hurt as I perceived or she is so self-centered that her consciousness is veiled. Eddie, I see that my life still goes on, with or without their understanding … but my acceptance is the first base of surviving through a grief. To wait and to want an apology … but how can that be if the person is not even aware of how the words spoken were hurtful … is utterly useless way to live my life. God has worked within me to realize that no matter who is the giver or the receiver of a hurt...the one given the grace of insight and of reflection must accept and move on … with God's given grace to forgive. So I did, today … Much that is given by Him, Much is to given to the other … I see today for me the suffering, the death, and the resurrection movements of my being in these episodes with my family … I was reluctant and yet He poured silent graces to help me through … to see this: my salvation from Him. In all, my purification journey moves on … As I carried the remains of my mother which was wrapped in a white cloth and then placed in an ordinary medium-sized plastic bag … This was a person of whom I still have memories of … “not so good ones” … feelings for … “not so good ones too” … reduced to bones to be emptied into the waters. The two funerals of Irene and James also reflected to me how “little” I gave to my father and my mother for their funerals … how “rich” was the giving of the communities of Irene and James because of the friendship which bonded the people. Today, I felt the poverty between my parents and my self. Today, I see my own poverty and am ready to surrender all, indeed all, to God.

---- published with permission---

a quiet space - for matthew

your names came before the memories; charmaine, kevin, momo. james. tricia-gloria. uncles ric & adrian. grandfather. roderick. matthew. uncle & aunty yee. you're that one life, waking. entwined among other lives. the gentle hold of faith, breaking its hands. the sudden death and illness that took you away.

i remember my jc classmate, matthew whom we had to carry on wheelchair. there were 6 boys in the class. 5 of us held up your chair, and you, thin and frail but present in spirit. too weak to retort, still you fought forever to be irreverent , cheerful. relishing the good memory of sports and games we once played... our indulgent selves then- competing for history, your eventual bated curse that i had the same grade in econs as you. that fateful day in march. we no longer know how exactly to relate home to someone who used to call the shots. our smiles were warm but heavy. the 5 of us carrying your wheechair, then laying you on your bed. feebly, you took the straw. rosemary helped you with soup. if friendship has a sound to its name, these drops of silence would have echoed the presence and sharings we kept; a quiet bond, beyond compassion... we stood before your coffin months later, disbelief, before you who left us for good. you were the one who kept the class together, free car-rides in every gathering, way before we got our license. you squeezed as many of us into your car before u sped us from city to home. that was how important class reunions are, for you. everyone mattered. especially our gang. on the day of your funeral, we stood awashed, renewed in rain and memory. edgar read the euology. 'asshole...bastard...shakespeare, moonie-moons, prom and wrestlemania, my f9 in chinese, LA gear, winnie's ostrich legs, mindy oh so confusing, that walking pimple, imagining scotty saunders spouting hokkien expletives, anybodee wanna slap de costa(?), wang mang the play, gp debates. your fav ms tan chee chian (!!!), indus valley, manbir's pose, pe with ms 'ecstasy' , 6pm captain balls then KFC and other more than perfect competitions' - terms and words u used to called us all into being, into affection, never sounded so painful the hour that day. later, i saw your coffin enter the furnance. we were only 24 then. we walked out, speechless, empty. guowei kicked a tuft of grass that stood in his way, preferring to walk back on his own. still, 2 other cars drove us home. you wouldn't want us to be stranded or lost.
we still recollect u, matthew... when we gather these days, rare as it seems: ms yeow, tiansin, eddie, guowei, edgar, yuanbiao. 3 teachers, 1 VP, another in foreign service, your best pal in consultancy. you missing, among the gathering. made present when we smile & claim back your name.

as i speak, the ashes in air scatter, then gather, becoming whole & white again, like doves soaring, beyond the plains and grass we once played, near once more, on heaven's shore.

lao zi puo chan & tio or kong

puo chan: bankrupt

tio or kong: kena fine (hokkien, vernacular)

not my day.

sun ( i forgot the date): found myself locked out of my apartment. key inside. either i bunk over at friend's place or wait till the next day. but pc was on and there was work to be done. called locksmith. $AUD99, just to open the *^%$##$^%^ door. no thanks, mate! put down the phone. paced the corridor. called again. negotiate. but it's a sun rate. no change. sorry mate. came in half an hour. wallet burnt. paid. now finding ways to graft keys permanently to my sssskinnnn.

tues (today): cycled to church. cycled on footpath. locked my bike. 2 policemen came. asked for my id. i gave. against the rules to cycle on footpaths. then there were others who were doing so. footpath, definitions please? huh. is it? but, i never saw a rule about that, mate. A &**^%^$&*((%$%%!! exchange. i kinda lost. may be issued a fine. i will wait. return to police HQ. no, i won't pay that kind of fine.

tues (again): typing this and quoting some book. a freshly brewed cup of coffee. placed my texts on a nook. down they fell. coffee spilled. on my jeans, on my notes,on the carpet, staining the tabletops. and the smell. G^%$$&*(()()))$$####%$%%%%%%^&!!@#@. the whole corridor could hear me f......................errrrm....frown. just not my day. wah lao ehhhh......................be still. be still. all is good. all shall be well...be still...................peace.................................

wo de jia

another bout of autumn rain quenching the drought, recalling...

i see these pictures of a faraway home and think of kit chan's song.

jalan remaja, hillview ave.

tracks, mrt. jurong east.

pioneer fields

a college running track

p/s: is anyone able to email me an mp3 file of her english & mandarin versions?

fog in the morning

it was the same sight i saw when i first arrived last july. the heart of urban winter, the start of a journey. it comes full circle today. the near-beginning of winter, the coming end of the same journey. tilting at nine degrees.



it takes awhile to befriend the fog. the grey whorls of unclarity hides what's merely metres ahead. familiar sights are blocked from view and sometimes one has little access to what we yearn to see. but wait a while longer and the fog takes on its own beauty. an invitation to wrap oneself in cosy blankets or to cusp a warm cup of aromatic coffee. the streaks of black birds cutting the citylines. a single drop of dew on single leaves. wetness on the morning sky. the heavy yoke and gentle smoke of fog. rest in the guise of perplexity, loss, and its witness to new births.

untitled

Me

As in me first and gimme, the pronoun has gotten a bad name over the years. It's other people we're told we should be thinking about. It's giving to them. But taken all by itself - just me - there's something rather poignant about it. Only 2 letters long. Barely one syllable. It looks as though it needs all the help it can get.

"Love your neighbour as yourself", we're told. Maybe before I can love my neighbour very effectively, I have to love me - not in the sense of blind passion but in the sense of looking after, of wishing well, of forgiving when necessary, of being my own friend.

f. buechner: whistling in the dark

-pictures from pjcodac mount kinabalu expedition nov.2005

remembering james

a small tribute to our brother james. written by tony.

He sat at the forecorner of our class;

Quiet, peaceful and with a welcoming smile;

He did not speak much but when he was asked to share he shared his

thoughts of God and his wonders, that moved me;

I watched him and one day when i talked to him in person I came to the

light to know that he was a man of God, who was living his life in

simplicity and love;

He never brushed down a request nor did he complain;

He showed me life of how a christian should live;

I became his friend and brother;

We met up many times, drove in his car, laughed over home made juices

and meals;

He used to advice me many times to take care of my health by living a

healthy and holy life;

The last I spoke to him, he never ceased to empower me with words of

encouragement, he never complained,  never sighed even when he was under

medical attention.

Today a good brother has left me and us;

But he is dearly remembered by all of us for the life he lived among

us;

We know brother, you are with God and we are happy that God is with

you... you will always be with us as a brother friend till we meet you one

day.

james quah & irene momo

james and irene...who passed away yesterday and today. both after a long battle with cancer.

generous, loving & gentle people who love God and life. you loved and helped me, as you do with countless others, along the way.

i give thanks to all that we have laughed, loved and shared.

our prayers & support remain with the ones you leave behind.

eternal rest grant unto them O Lord and let Your perpetual light shine on them.
they rest in peace, amen.

doings: four in the morning

after a night of procrastinated constipated work. the plain idling. can't sleep. to sublimate my energies, i cooked bak kut teh at 4 in the morning. so good it rivals balestair street's.

picnic at edfac

one of those once a month mornings where one of the modules we're taking stretches from 5-8pm on friday nights and 9-5pm on saturday. colossal seminars. tutor's a nice guy. barry woolhead lookalike dr drysdale provides us with tubs of biscuits, bottles of milk and ready-made coffee and tea for the helping. feeding restless postgrad kids who can't sit still even at that age.

lunch was 1.5 hours long. we might as well bring our own -

each brings a dish. dynas with chips boiled egg and presvien, with her grapefruit salads. xing yee's chickenroast and kit nam witha lump of pure green grapes. simple. i kay-kiang. woke at 6. boiled rice the night before, chopped garlic and onion and dumped them onto pan with wodges of olive veges and anchovies. homemade branded goodness plus 6 cobs of corn to add a much-needed dash of sunshine to some darkbrown dish. i snipped the fried egg too for garnish. and don't forget the spanish oilves. tang of the morning.

sat on the grass. made easy. something we never did in s'pore (perhaps only in botanic gardens). s'pore grass makes backside itchy. aussie grass, luxuriant and soft. we were able to scatter and play with fallen maple too. the kind u see on posters about maine and yellowstone. a longheld dream. the same leaves of sun coming through.

deep root

If Judaism is the religion of hope

and Islam, a religion of faith, then

Christianity is the religion of love...

6th sunday of easter. sermon.

newman chapel

spiderman 3... wowww...wheeeei

utterly thrilled and what a wallop of a movie! the audience here clapped in unison after the film was over and all left the cinema satiated... and satisfied...intellectually. bloody-good end to a movie, the sum of all 3. I think it's the best of the trilogies offered. It even surpassed x-men in terms of the themes explored and issues probed. psyche. ethics. the greyzones of morality. i felt much empathy for sandman from the start and glad my intuitions proved me right to the end. him holding his daughter's picture in a brooch constantly, signified the stubborn thread of humanity even in the worse of criminals. and some say we are saved by whatever little love we hold on to the end. it's true.

spiderman leaping across the american flag was a colossal let-down. a show of mythic american heroism at a time when bush is the main pollutant to much of the globe. toby skimming the city streets cruising with rogue mannerisms brought the laughs. and that naughty hairstyle. still why should the female gender be portrayed as hapless and hopeless all the time? there's spiderwoman in marvel's archives somewhere. bring her in. mj shows a remarkable sense of resilience. she should be the mother of all mascots for kiwi bungee-jumpin. many people would have fainted 101 times the moment they fall from multiple storeys from on high but mj smiles and survives. pigs do fly in hollywood.

the subtexts of male friendship was a rare inclusion towards the end of the film. so is the image of spidey confronting a severed conscience beneath the steeple of the cross. an obsessive return to clear christian themes. a little more subtlety would have helped. the audience laughed in response on the gay subtext in the butler's statements to goblin junior towards the end of the film. they should laugh at the bible too when 'love' repeats itself, sometimes between a male preacher and a bunch of roughshod fishermen. moans of regret when dark peter pushes mj to the floor. muddied male chivalry. intelligence gone wrong.

still, can somebody say why venom is repelled by sound of toll bells and mentallic audio poles?

can't wait for fantastic 4...after the silver surfer, hope galactus shows his bright cold face and slams cocky human torch to the depths of earth's concrete floor. invisible gal and mr fantastic. their nuptial chamber. great. teasers galore. one may not see the other and the other not knowing what to stretch and hold! pshaw!

postscript

i write at 5 am believing night

must give way

to morning....

lady chapel

newman jesuit college, off campus, a ride away. i cycle there, daily for mass. a community of not more than 12, most times. an enclosed intimate space, worlds slightly apart from the seemingly impersonal city parishes i've been. the pews, altar and pulpit are made from disused railway tracks, lodged metaphors of something larger than life. why we kneel, why we pray. journeys without end. dependence & humility. from unfreedom to freedom. from self-love to greater love for jesus and the conflicted redeeming world he asks us to live. within, not without. loss transformed. faith challenged. a wandering road, to the still points of silence. bread broken. shared among. many i've left behind. many i've met. i gather you, on the altar of this prayer. our common sacrifice.