Does it have to start with a broken heart? Life begins at the intersection.

In this world of news, I’ve found nothing new
I’ve found nothing pure
Maybe I’m just idealistic to assume that truth
Could be fact and form
That love could be a verb
Maybe I’m just a little misinformed

As the dead moon rises, and the freeways sigh
Let the trains watch over the tides and the mist
Spinning circles in our skies tonight
Let the trucks roll in from Los Angeles
Maybe our stars are unanimously tired

Let your love be strong, and I don’t care what goes down
Let your love be strong enough to weather through the thunder cloud
Fury and thunder clap like stealing the fire from your eyes
All of my world hanging on your love

Let the wars begin, let my strength wear thin
Let my fingers crack, let my world fall apart
Train the monkeys on my back to fight
Let it start tonight
When my world explodes, when my stars touch the ground
Falling down like broken satellites

All of my world resting on your love

- Switchfoot -

Lately

nowhere feels more comforting than home.

I miss direction most in all this desperation

(Note: please forgive my incoherent train of thought[s])

There was something about this twentysomething girl I met on Friday who did a degree in Social Work and is now working in mental health. I found that a lot of the things she said were very profound and wise yet so natural at the same time, as if it was learned from experience, through the passage of time and the coming of age, of becoming and beholding. I’m not one to remember exact words that people say, but one of the things she said that really stuck to me was how we have to throw away some of the ideals we have and decide which ones we need to keep. (Semi-sort-of: It’s The Real World, And It’s Not That Ideal).

I told her I was thinking of taking up an undergrad in Social Work later on if I see fit, but am still vacillating because I’m uncertain about my capacity to deal with the kind of people you have to deal with in social work (I know it’s a wide range, but still – no one said it’s easy). She encouraged me to face my fears (whatever it may be), because in confronting her greatest fear – “crazy people” – she found her greatest passion. Ironic, but doesn’t God like to work that way?

I watched The Last Kiss last night, which was about how this twenty-nine-year-old man saw his life all planned out since he was a kid and he’s afraid that his life will have no more surprises because he’s getting married to a beautiful girl who is having his baby. I don’t know what I’ll be doing five, ten, fifteen years from today, but I like not knowing; and wondering what the future holds for me. I only see a blank canvas and no ideals; just a hope that I can make a difference in somebody’s life, even if it takes me twenty years. (I am far too bloody idealistic).

polaroids please

Haven’t taken photos in such a long time, except for the occasional snapshot (Smile For The Camera Because It’s Rude If You Don’t). It’s freeing in many ways, not having to lug a camera around and worry about looking nice in the next photo or trying very hard to capture the ‘moment’, which takes away the ability to live in the moment. But then sooner or later you half-wistfully regret not having some sort of memorabilia to remember the night (or day) by.

I think I live too much in the past.

I’m seeing red everywhere

and suddenly I feel like becoming a fucking red-head.

The distance of a shout (quote, unquote)

I’m beginning to favour stay-at-home over spontaneity, which half-explains why I’m whittling my Sunday afternoon away attempting to do my readings. Wen Shu’s laptop comes in handy when I need a break (every 15 minutes, unfortunately). My sister and I watched five episodes of Prison Break yesterday, reminding me why people watch television, especially American shows. I think I’m getting slightly addicted already! And because it ate up some of my ’study time’ (ahem), I try to justify this prisonbreaking business as being related to the study of my first-year criminology subject: From Graffiti to Terrorism.

I’m currently listening to the 1994 Pink Floyd album The Division Bell, which I first heard at Jo’s house. My father first told me about Pink Floyd when Coldplay’s X&Y came out two years ago and my sister played it everysingleday. I made a note to go find some of their music but knowing me, I never got around to it. So when Jo started playing their album, I had no idea who was playing. But it caught my attention, and here I am. I like Jo’s eclectic taste in music, except for all those techno&trance songs, simply because it tends to evoke a certain image in my mind for guys who listen to that kind of music. I guess we tend to associate people by the music they listen to, like ‘punk’, ‘emo’, ‘hiphop’ et cetera. In other words, stereotyping – something that really irks me, but subconsciously that’s what we all do. Makes it easier for our mind to process information about the people we meet or observe.

I think a lot of the idealistic notions I had about university and being eighteen is fading. Cynicism comes with age, but I never want to get to that stage where I remain a stubborn pessimist – because frankly, those people just make me feel so damn naiive. (Which I most probably am, to say the least).

In other news, today in Sunday School, I took a small packet of chips from the winning tribe and gave it to Lydia (a ten-year-old kid from my tribe) because I saw that she didn’t manage to snatch one. She gave me the biggest smile and said: ”Thanks Rachel! I really appreciate it. Thank you!”. It’s true what Jesus said, about how it is more blessed to give than to receive (Acts 20:35). And no matter how idealistic I sound, I do hope to make a difference in at least one child’s life in my Blue Retarded Man-Eating Monkeys Go Crazy tribe.

What would you say if I wanted to drink my sorrows away tonight

I don’t care that flowers grow for you,
And me, and me
You don’t know what love is till you see,
Her standing there
A web of skin and nails and hair
A web of skin and nails and hair
And bones and bones,
And thorns
Rushing in, out her hair
You think you are alive, but you are dead
You keep, on driving in your car asleep
I’m driving in your car
I dont know why flowers grow in winter time
The sky turns gray the sun don’t shine
And people rush to be on time
For warmth they wrap themselves in woollen cloaks
And hats and scarves
Like larva in their incubators
And drive and drive
And drive and drive and drive
Until they get away

- Regina Spektor , Lounge

I want to cry and hug and scream and shake and stomp and collapse and squish these days away.

I want to run away from everything I know, everything I ever knew: my fears, my dreams, my hopes, my promises, my wants, my needs, my desires, my passions, my faults, my flaws, my iniquities, my joys, my sorrows, my attitutes, my values, my beliefs, my mindsets, my strengths, my weaknesses, my principles…

I feel irrational and on the brink of doing something irrational.

I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. Bittersweet, bittersweet. I’m slowly growing fond of Southern Cross Station.

Too many shadows, too little light. I can’t live in grey areas because I only want to see black & white.

Caught between madness and gladness of flight.

Please. Don’t bother.