光良 + 品冠 - 朋友

a friend introduced me to this song. its lyrics describe what some images at the heart of every friendship must look like: a simple rudder, a boat...you...us...the distance travelled...the directions made...our meeting...and parting, and the vocation you've taught me to carry for the path ahead...

i shall miss you, my friend...

night song

advent nears. i've replayed this song many times as a prayer before bed. it deepens its connection to me these days, when i return to school each day to pack...feeling the cold coming and the faithful assurance from God that he walks ahead me, on the path he sets before me...

----song arranged by corrinne may----



In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
in the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold him, nor earth sustain;
heaven and earth shall flee away when he comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
the Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
but his mother only, in her maiden bliss,
worshiped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
if I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
yet what I can I give him: give my heart.

Text: Christina G. Rossetti, 1830-1894
Music: Gustav Holst, 1874-1934

letters from faraway

i am a hoarder.

i needed 3 days

...get myself exorcised of spirits...from irreverent memoirs and sentimental junk hiding in my cupboard.

here was a compartmentalised Past that needed release.

i never knew i could do it but i did.

i threw away-

1. several kgs of econs, hist and lit notes from my JC days(!!!)

2. 2 kg of theories, case studies and hypotheses from 4 years at uni

3. aged stuff such old lamp-stands, sweet bookmarks and oblique toys

4. unmentionable stacks of photo-albums (dumped with kitchen vegetables and wrapped with translucent plastic to prevent possible resales of my past on the quaint and collectibles market)

and

5. most shocking of all: letters, xmas cards and birthday notes from secondary friends whose whereabouts remain unknown & untouched.

still, i re-read as much as i could...shocked by the present transformation of desire and reality, the blighted outlook to what some parts of the past can mean to me today- half my body was spaced out 10 or even 15 years back to the schools i've attended...even as my eyes tried to make sense of ruins and apparitions from armydays . ahead of me, a trail of wonder is left behind by several snapshots taken at countless uni retreats and camps.

i feel dislocated with a few.

the optimist in me wants to remember the stark and honest textures in these letters; clauses, words and sentences that impart a deep blessing, waiting to be read, received and embraced again.

for every album / 'journal' that was discarded, i selected about 5-15 peculiar moments that captured the essence of an incident/ relationship or encounter...simple notes that ought to jolt my memory home should i be struck down with alzheimers in future. as always, some things resist the bin...a memory of landscapes, yellowed letters and messages that lift a weary heart. there was a reason why i kept them the last time i organised them into existence. many were handwritten, a handful were typed. had to remind myself that those were written on days when digital cameras and emails were practically non-existent; stamped simply with old stamps and dispatched from the same island, while others were mailed from distant lands & oceans away. you don't get such a feeling everyday when parts of your soul stays lodged in the past while another strains forth to stay connected to the present.

i saw in the letters kept, a sense of giving, care and effort between friends. they were articles of truth that mirrored what i appreciated most in my friends, or a span of time when we were privileged to be there. i note the way these letters were penned...a doddle (an occasional cactus, sketches of winged destinies, one sad clown or jabs of lightsabers) dabbled on a corner. on another, cursive words that still retain an eager spring of feeling or hope for something more to our narrow lives... i intent to return some to their authors, so we may have the pleasure of renewing our loss and lost dreams one long evening, someday.

this is my latest installation in my room. a $500 chestnut-oak shelf that will stop me from buying another book for the next 6 months / years (try me?). i was stunned to realise, only now, that my throwing, sorting and packing of junk and gems amount to more than just finding fresh & physical storage space- to sift the contents of one single life, making a choice to illuminate what is dead, and what remains.

--------------------------------------------

Another place, another life, another book,

we go on without a return ticket, on the trail

of the vanished song, the elusive lines unlocking

a whole library of meaing, our lives shelved

in comprehensive order, for us who will arrive

clothed in dust and dusk, to sit at the appointed desks

and pore over the pages, search out the tread

stringing together all arrivals and departures

which our hands will tell, over and over,

as if in prayer, as if in peace.

boey kim cheng: 'another place'

second home

i never knew it was so hard to say goodbye...

i read the notes you've written-

on bright cardboards and binded reports

embracing the long hours we spent, hammering knowledge into shape

and the tedious research that revealed more about you

than the technical data you tried to understand.

unknown to you, each line seals these eight years whole.

and i think how long this journey's been-

to walk a trail i was confident i could never be lost.

these days i still find myself pretending

that a simple act of will
may hold back time,

distracting me from feeling afraid

to leave the common ground we shared.

be it false or honest dreaming

this constant affection will keep alive these years we shared,

help us revisit once more, the moment when courage taught us to find our separate freedoms again.

the remaining months will be strangely peaceful.

i pray we may soon find our own light,

to shine on each other for life,

even as the years draw close.

going after

"The most terrifying loneliness is not experienced by everyone and can be understood by only a few. I compare the panic in this kind of loneliness to the dog we see running frantically down the road, pursuing the family car. He is not really being left behind, for the family knows it is to return, but for the moment in his limited understanding, he is being left alone, forever, and he has to run and run to survive..."

charles schulz

leaving, unsaid

rilke writes that 'departures create a burden within our emotions.' i sensed traces of it today, attending the last mc retreat for the year. the pictures we've taken, perhaps for the last time, captured a moment we would remember forever; our laughter locked in recognition and lost again, in our hour of forgetfulness...

there are more words to be said. words i can't get right. that morning beside labrador beach ends too quickly...and we walk away, still looking for meanings which make us whole.

waylaid

What is divinity if it can come

Only in silent shadows and in dreams?

...Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?

Divinity must have within herself:
Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;

Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued

Elations when the forest blooms; gusty

Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;

All pleasures and all pains, remembering

The bough of summer and the winter branch.

These are the measures destined for her soul.

wallace stevens: 'sunday morning'

1997

rummaged through my old shelves and retrieved a note book from the past. written in 1997, the years spent in university... learning the taste of first loves and its sight and touch. the long yet fleeting hours which tranced and haunted me from the start...cummings echoes its tenderness best when he scripts it against the scentfalls of flower and rain and the hands that held the precious little left from those days... something still remains...



(i do not know what it is about you that closes
or opens: only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody:
not even the rain has such small hands...

e.e.cummings:
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

a trace of your life

You are always there above me, and I rise toward you in my mind. I shall go beyond even this force which is in me, this force which we call memory, longing to reach out to you by the only possible means to to cling to you in the only way it is possible to cling to you...But where will the search lead me? Where am I to find you? If I find you beyond my memory, it means I have no memory of you. How, then, am I to find you, if I have no memory of you?

st augustine

writing within, from afar...

i must, before i die, find some way to say the essential thing that is in me, that i have never said yet --- a thing that is not love or hate or pity or scorn, but the very breath of life, fierce and coming from far away, bringing into human life the vastness and fearful passionless force of non-human things...

bertrand russell (1888-1914)~ selected letters

october after

when was the last time i said goodbye? i learnt as a child, when mom cried at grandpa's wake. years later, i returned to the cemetery for my uncle's burial. i stood, numbed in grief when cousin's body was brought to mandai last october. my aunts lean with their hands on the glass which separate our lives from his'. i never forget the wails that pierced the air, when his coffin moved to the furnance, never to be seen again. at sixteen, blackie was hauled to the pound. and no one told me so. i promised not to let bobby undergo the same fate. he lived his last life, riddled with cataract & paw cancer. at twenty-four, i put bobby to sleep. he never knew why. i held bobby tight even as he lay shocked...the whines...his cry... asking, why? at twenty-four, i wept bitterly as bobby laid limp on my arms. i allowed my own friend to die.

i visited my grandma who lived alone. a week before i left for melbourne. i remembered how she waved her wrinkled hands from the fifth floor even as her tired eyes strained to see me go. i walked and left a part of my soul behind...a trail re-opened within my heart to retrieve our past when she walked the kampung dirt road at six in the morning and boarded the schoolbus with me. the empty lessons went but she waited patiently in the canteen as i finished my paltry food and carried me home.

a different kind of death and parting lies ahead. eight years in waiting... like late autumn leaves falling, near the edge of winter. every leaf has a life and story. a single chair sits in the corner of this poem. behind, a setting sun. it waits for meaning. an unmarked hour, another chance, to say goodbye.

to pioneer alumni....

dear folks...we have not forgotten you. you bear within you many personal chapters of college history and your own experiences ........do participate in this and help us complete our tapestry if keen....i trust in your support

Student Handbook 2009 will feature quotes and photos from our students, alumni and staff. This will help archive our thoughts and memories as we approach our 10th year. The quote could be your personal life philosophy, advice you want to give to pioneers, a memory from your JC days, what you learnt or gained from your life at PJC etc. You do not need to restrict yourself to one quote as you may want to share a memorable moment and an inspiring quote etc. For the photo, please submit a moment captured of your PJC days -- something unusual, funny, cute or expresses something -- a moment, a scene, an artistic piece -- rather than the usual 'class-group' photos. The photos will be printed in black-and-white or sepia and not in colour. Please submit your photo/quote with your FULL NAME AND CLASS and (if you are alumni) WHAT YOU ARE DOING NOW (e.g. university, year and course of study OR occupation/company to pioneersh10@gmail.com. We reserve the right to edit your quote or crop your photo depending on the layout of the page.

refuge

If we were not so single-minded

about keeping our lives moving

and for once could do nothing,

perhaps a huge silence

might interrupt this sadness

of never understanding ourselves

and of threatening ourselves

with death.

Perhaps the earth can teach us

as when everything seems dead in winter

and later proves to be alive.

Now I'll count to twelve

and you keep quiet and I will go.

pablo neruda

meant to be

Each man is haunted until his humanity awakens...

william blake

5th canticle in song

5th Canticle Choir...

Church of St Mary's of the Angels, Singapore

http://www.stmary.sg/

in dedication to adeline and adrian on their birthdays...

hey...i wasn't joking when i said i'll sing with all of you till the day i drop dead and die. it's been close to 8 years. i joined way back in 2000. freshly enslaved in work...withdrawn and cornered myself in church. grew cynical of empty alleluias and 'praise till the break of day' jolly molly emotionally invincible groups. somehow, i led myself forth with your music...not knowing why but for certain, moved by your quiet devotion to Christ.many have come and gone, rejected the routines of every passing year. i looked back, still shocked and surprised i stayed behind. by the way, we were down to 3 at one stage. but we hung on, prayed like crazy, asked God to send more members to grace his harvest of song....there was little to disappoint us. in time, several trodded by. started with law and jo and many more of you. we now become captives of our own joy...taste and see the goodness of simple friendship, lost in moments especially when we gather for easter feast. ..... you know something? i learn to laugh again at the silliest little things around corners of my bright forgotten world. together, you help awaken the last flush of light from person to person, once unnoticed, now rekindled.every sunday becomes quite complete by itself. you turned my voice home. and the memory of age-old hymns learns to shine like an unspoken prayer...our hands joining, our choral breaking, our common bread at the close of day.

the only life you could save

i like to think this poem precedes the previous entry...ziz, kristy, shang, astro, jolene, regina, john loh (any more?) who have gone overseas for their tertiary studies...

for you :)

The Journey

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice --though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers at the very foundations,

though their melancholy was terrible.

It was already late enough,

and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen branches

and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly recognized

as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do the only thing you could do

-determined to save

the only life you could save.

~ mary oliver ~dream work

2 former students...doing law in london

i remember them for different reasons.

shang chatted non-stop when he visited the college library back in 2000. amused me with his highly articulate, somewhat stubborn relentless pursuit of knowledge and stinging critique of singapore's education system. he knew what he was in for though he was only 16 then. one of my finest students who kept discussions going even though the entire class was dead like a mortuary. incidentally, shang always topped gp and escaped certain execution when he admitted writing close to 10 pages on the possibility of the 3rd world war in the a-levels gp exam. obtained a rare distinction for that innocent stunt. his intellectual passion must have got him away. he applied for law , got rejected twice but grew to understand he will never be happy with ntu's mass com. he would not settle for less. fought one more time and entered law on his third try. now tackling comparative legal studies on an exchange programme in London. his blog http://shangjun.blogspot.com/ details his journey.

i know he's happy :)

aziz didn't quite fit into his arts class. some judged that he was arrogant. but none knew he was diving into in a zillion community involvement projects which were not even accredited by the college. like me, he loved the outdoors and mastered rock-climbing, diving, mountain trekking and other height-defying stunts straight after his As. never knew him well till we met up for drinks and runs separately after the exams. discovered he was a much misunderstood soul who was far too mature for his peers. ziz was the top arts student that year but still, did not manage to get a place in law (what is wrong with our law faculty?!?). well, he just left for better shores, this time to UCL (ironically better ranked, i was told!) for legal studies. he said he will change. i know that will be (delightfully) inevitable. and it is good.

2 lawyers in the making....and many many others whose lives i've been privileged to share and know. having taught them was only a fraction of the story. .. being a part of their formative search helps me experience a deeper sense of pride for what what they will eventually discover in another land... letting themselves be found along the way.

There is only the fight to recover what has been lost

And found and lost again and again; and now, under conditions

That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.

For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business..

t.s eliot: east coker

regional animalities

the above title came from a paper which was featured in Focas (2007); a forum on contemporary art and society. many papers presented in this journal catered to issues and topics dealing with the role of fauna and its socio-political representations in asian societies. it took a leap of faith to turn back the clock and recall the exact period my association with animals first began...it started with keeping pets which took on an insatiable pace whenever i have enough place or space to call my own...

these are among the various spendid (exotic, for want of a better word) creatures i've kept as pets since i was a child...i could have been a low-brow curator if i had my way. you'll never catch me alive with goldfish or guppies...i think they lack personality. the ones who have left the deepest impression...

any dogs will do (feral, pedigree, mongrel), an uncommon cat, soft-balled rabbits, incestuous hamsters, tiny white mice, earthy earthworms, vegan beetles, temperamental lungfish, wasteful piranhas, bloated electric catfish, stunning swamp eel, albino african clawed frogs, siamese fighting fish, elegant water stick insects, paddling water boatman, mandarin salamander, japanese newts, chirpy budgies, arrogant mynah, bright golden oriole, praying mantis, grey doves, bullfrogs, red crabs, adaptable mudskippers (mine lived on fresh water for over a month!), slimy caecilians, and tens of hundreds of other aquarium fish species...except for each of my dogs, it never struck me to record a picture of them each time they arrive, live, die or go away (my first hamster is still listed in the missing rodents list since 1984!)...

other wild ambitious hopes have since colonised my dreams-

volunteering at the zoo rekindles my deep-seated interest (from young) to further explore the lives and habitats of animals. if there is a way to understand our animal archetypes, i wonder what will our choice of favourite animals reveal about the aspirations, values or personalities we live by? manatees, sloth, giraffes and hippos are among my favourites so far. common traits; slow, languid, gentle unless provoked (except manatees). selective of the company they keep, they value their solitude and don't quite believe in taking life on the fast lane.. i caught the sloth for the first time during practice training at the zoo last weekend. it came so close the divisons parted and i saw it up close...tussling with the malayan flying foxes in their eager jostle for long beans, bananas, carrots and fruits...inexplicable moves... and i was in awe.

a poem by w.s merwin celebrates this sacred kinship witnessed that day.

witness

I want to tell what the forests were like

I will have to speak

in a forgotten language