and the Lord provides...

these good offerings came from cheery emily from cafe romana downstairs. the shop was clearing its fresh food for the weekend. these yummies could last till sunday. they came free; smoked salmon bagels, curry rice with chicken and cashew nuts and ricotta with tomato pesto, basil and fetta. goodness gracious me. honestly, i was already thinking of drawing her a card & giving her some fresh flowers before i leave. her goodwill is amazing, not forgetting the generous discounts she gives for the mocha cuppa i order from her on most mornings. you meet these kind souls on the road of life.














......................................................................................recovering as i reclined on my armchair. feet on the table, the setting sun and its glow. grace was never far away

remedy to the flu-blues

it fell on a monday nite. sam was already sick on the sunday of his profession. the bug probably got into me by then. monday nite was mild and warm. perfect for a swim. uni pool brewing at 27 degrees and i dipped into it. 30 laps. dried-clean and emerged out, against the evening. just berms, singlet and a thin pullover. cycled home for tofu and salmon.



nothing but arrrcheewww the morning after. nosey-waterfalls, giddy spells and the alien sense of heaviness, body speaking the language of sickness right to the marrows of bones. i switched to self-imposed quarantine. tried to hitch for one lesson but the autumn wind sent more arrrcheewwws bellowing from one despondent nose. even my bicycle shook from the unsteady gait brought forth from that legendary arrrcheewww. the body and its tenor of resistance. i too must obey.

to see a doctor here would be crazy. unnecessary referrals and always, the long queues. i have a stockpile of medicines with me. decolgen, clarinase, night and day. once, twice double-shots and plenty of forced rest. i only wrote 3 paras or 2 for that gross piece of essay i'm working on. still, they were good paragraphs. the mind has a way of distilling its best thoughts even though the rest of the body moves into shut-down mode. something has to get moving- tapping other sources of energy to keep the Self breathing.

i cooked the healthiest meal as yet. thanks to the internet's 'how to counter the flu with natural food' websites. i made the best of what i had in the kitchen. like a scene of yoda from tatootine. soon had my brown-rice porridge with dollops of coriander, mint, ginger, sweet potatoes, tumeric and almonds all in one. a side dish of salted cucumber, olive vegetables and anchovies as accompaniments. reminiscent of alexander hospital in the early 80s when i was warded for severe asthma, as a kid. a broth choked full of memories. the comfort-food which the chinese sage spoke about while prescribing traditional remedies to peasants from afar.



here i was, peasant of a different breed. locked into the tight premises of a studio-apartment. away from a tropical homeland. body learns to adapt, to the cold draught that makes people sick. ying-yang body topsy-turvey. as i unlearn the lore of that healing memory.

study out-breaks

down windy alleys and minutes to go before another makan spree






kinship and silence on a far-off vineyard



scrimping on meals during study breaks with cheapo but damn-nice bag of chips





by the window, spotting baby spiders spinning dizzy webs on sprigs of aging mints

postgrad monologue

all my hard-won references for the essay. get-them-done-get-them-DONE...spare my brains for the actual crux. time now to make links between theories. make visible and illuminate case studies. a gorgeous list of biblio. just beyond one hundred and thirteen. superior bulwark of sorts. armed escorts for my essay in stark defense against a prof who might soon tear everything apart. my soon-to-be-attained M.Ed pales in comparison to her PhD. that p otent and highly d angerous degree . she seems a nice lady. germanic intelligence all merged in one. her suits are all smart cuts and neat tucks. philo-trained consultant in educational leadership. scores of papers published in worldwide journals. recommends her own 'biblical' text, perhaps the only one she wrote for constant referencing. 'read this and you'd be fine', says she. nah. i know the tricks of these academics. cite and critique their works and some glow like crazy. intellectual puffery. let's take the less trodden way. i have my own sources for confirmation. re-vision and re-imagine. i dig from corners unseen. those creative energies are excavating...and these lines will march in unison. O Lord, bless my work that it may make good difference to bodies of knowledge long-exhausted.




---------------------------
Kissen, R. (2002). Getting ready for Benjamin: Preparing teachers for sexual diversity in the classroom. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield.

Lakomski, G. (2005). Managing without leadership. Amsterdam: Elsevier.

Leithwood, K. & Duke, D. (1999). A century’s quest to understand school leadership. In Murphy, J. & Louis, K. Handbook of Research on Educational Administration. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass Publishers.

Lethwood, K., Jantzi, D., Steinbach, R. (1999). Changing leadership for changing times. Buckingham: Open University Press.

Lewis, M. (2000). Exploring paradox: A comprehensive guide. The Academy of Management Review. 25 (4). 760-776.

Macdonald, B. (1995). Theory as a prayerful act. New York: Peter Lang.
----------------------

i like the final title...more to come...

a lifetime's consecration (luke 24: 13-35)

we find joy on a journey. sensing faith, flowering into fidelity. that hard-won road, down a monk's humble quiet ways; sharing Christ's solitude and silence as your lifelong listening to the Word commits you to the backwaters of a changing world. led from nowwhere and finding your love for place on the plains. here at tarrawarra.

The Lord has blessed you with many more families today, graces your sacrifice for leaving another faraway home. no turning of the plough and leaving the dead to bury their own; lifetimes of an unforgotten past and the dreams you must let go, as yet untouched. your brothers' embrace; a hopeful sign of faithful love for the community you've chosen to be. until death.

your solemn profession and monastic consecration bears a stark witness of trust and love for God and his call. a willed intersection on the road of life, even as we gather & find him with you today and everyday, at the breaking of bread.

solemn profession and monastic consecration: april 14.2007

to bros samuel & joseph ocso, with love & blessings from all of us...your friends and families from singapore, korea, malaysia and most of australia!

celebrating our Faith and Gift of Life, in Christ, always....

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

letter at 55

i have a friend who celebrated her 55th birthday recently. we have known each other for years, since i was 15. godma, soul-friend, spiritual-companion, sister...someone i trust completely. she has seen me thru' many crises in life and has never wavered in her support and faithfulness to our friendship.

she has given me permission to share this. a letter she penned in her journal on her birthday.

thank you, hele.




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As I passed through 0100 hrs on 29 March this year, I cried out my deep sadness of being born into a life without my birth-mother. The vocabulary of raw loneliness and savage fear were the first experiences I was taught indirectly in my psyche as I was pushed into life through her birth-canal. And as I caught my first breath of life, grief was in the air for in three hours, my birth-mother died. Her death sealed in my soul the seeds of sadness and grief.

Today@55, I recognize my first wounds at birth. I know and accept that these wounds lay deep in my psyche and from these wounds, the root of all that I have thought, said and done – these first wounds rooted my being.

Today@55, it is not my purpose to explain, or even to excuse, my behavior but to throw my whole self into the arms of Jesus to hold me firmly and lovingly so that I can really feel His Love transforming me to the person I was created to be in God’s plan.

Thank you, Heavenly Father, for revealing this moment so that I can name the seeds of deep sadness, raw loneliness and savage fear that have grown and rooted my behavior today at 55. I do not want to explain or excuse my sinful acts but I want to understand my inner being (which I been dodging like Jonah!).

So from the seeds of deep sadness, raw loneliness and savage fear, the experiences of nurture and my evolving nature have managed me in small measures of hope and loving and in large measures of pain. Today@55, I lift the veil with the loving and merciful grace of God. With His grace of courage, I will leave the veil lifted so that I can see in His Light, my thoughts, my words, my deeds of pain willfully given to others. My giving is bitter and sour (if truth were to be told) and I desire much to cease Today@55, so help me God. Yes, I desire to walk the journey to understand WHY my thoughts, my words, my actions were so but this is another situation. What I want to surrender Today@55 is my wounded pride which is the root of my sinfulness. What I want to do Today@55 is to repent and to seek forgiveness from those I have wounded by my thoughts, my words and my deeds (though they may not know because I have not been direct and honest with them). Today@55, I will surrender all to God and beg Him to repair my fragmented being. I will repent to Him Today@55 at The Penitential Service for I dearly need to be held and to be healed by our Heavenly Father tonight.

Today@55, I want to be transformed by Love to love. Simple! How simply foolish of me to have fudged IT ALL!

Jesus, please be my ALL in ALL. Amen.

the last time i cried...

Tears

"You never know what may cause them. The sight of the Atlantic Ocean can do it, or a piece of music, or face you've never seen before. A pair of somebody's old shoes can do it...a movie, a horse cantering across the meadow, the college basketball team running out into the court at the start of a game. You can never be sure. But of this, you can be sure. Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention.

They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not, God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where, if your soul is to be saved, you should go next"

-adapted from frederick buechner: whistling in the dark

and suddenly, the morning sun

*once again, feeling foolish, remembering the miles of loss i've wandered. there is a tinkle in the sky today as morning stares back at me through its door and beyond , a flash of blinding trees...

*

i write myself to sleep then turned to look deep into this photograph. finding you there, still hidden, untouched.

*

i get used to silence, turn home on a blue day where streets are numbed with noise and you can no longer be heard. i wanted it this way. keeping you distant. far away.