confronted

This last week has confronted me with all manner of conducts of the arguably good and arguably bad.  My moral mind has been inundated with alarming shades of gray, without warning.  So it seems as though the present is as good a time as any to re-assess what moral I’d previously leaned upon, and how much of it really does require adjustment.  I’m not who I was 6 months ago, one year ago, three years ago… and the yardsticks I used to measure my life by have weathered much – some still standing, others barely, a few buried.

There is nothing stable enough to establish my life by, that I can think of that isn’t elements of unbalanced, misguided or selfish from every other source. The only solid, grounded and rather selfless statements of philosophy and practice I have found are from the Bible. And so, it would be non-sensical for me, having come to that conclusion, to starve myself of the stuff. For if I’m sure of it, why am I not more familiar with it than I am.

I’ve just bought the “Greater Melbourne 2012/2013 Entertainment Book” – a book of vouchers that discount the array of lifestyle indulgences one might engage in the name of entertainment and leisure. Now, although I bought it a few weeks ago, I assumed I needn’t look through it until July as it would only be valid then, as I knew the previous 2011/2012 book became invalid at the end of this financial year.  To my surprise, after a casual flick through the thick book (in search of junk food discounts – shame), I read Valid now through 1 June, 2013.  The sensible thought provoking me to explore the book’s contents was, “I need to know what’s in the book so I’ll know how it’ll benefit me; and I need to familiarise myself with the different outlets it applies to, so it can save me money in as many areas of my life”. But it was the profound transposition of this statement from The Entertainment Book to The Good Book that made me release an insightful ”OHH!” [delete "money" from statement in transposition].

Mm, life is all over the place. And as honest, hard and wonderful as it is, I need an anchor, I need truth (don’t give me that “everything is relative, truth is interpretive” nonsense).  I need a steady, rock-solid, non-negotiable truth which applies to everyone (pretty or not) that is above the standard of colourful, unreliable, selfish humanity.  The gray areas get dealt with because I get dealt with through scripture. My motivations, my heart, my intentions were in the constant state of review and renewal when I was reading the Bible more regularly.  The Word was my most consistent reminder of how much I needed to get over myself, and how much (much more) I needed to live for others and to God.  It was confronting, but I liked that sort of confrontation better than those I’ve met with of late.  So, again with scripture, everyday.

I much rather be confronted by what I trust as truth than uneasy, unpredictable circumstances.

Funny how the very obvious things just don’t compute until, well, a considerably time later.

little care, vision impaired.

Aghast at her more recent frequency to short-sighted impaired vision, she caught herself rolling her eyes more.  Looking further than the immediate had blurred considerably, so that the balance she knew was important had somewhat been forgotten.  The bigger picture was not a vision she could appreciate with shallow sight… and she wondered how soon she would wear tired of hearing descriptions of what she seemed less able to view (what she cared less to view).  But she knew her depth perception was skewed and the last few falls had been the result of tripping over potentially dangerous obstacles which were not successfully navigated around.

Throwing her vision further required practice… and it tired her.  Not to mention it warranting confusion – it is one thing to know what it is one expects to see and another entirely different to begin to make out outlines and have absolutely no idea how it assembles into any sort of sensible picture.

The last few days have been tiring.  I’ve flirted too often with stupid thoughts of mild consequence.  I’ve entertained how to indulge in yet escape my sin – and I know it’s impossible, I just humour myself.  I think the main road block in my indulgent stupidity is not my own wellbeing (that seems negligible, currently), but whoever elses I might effect - because as apathetic and short-sighted as I can reduce myself to, I think even the thought of ruining another’s vision has same effect as smelling salts on the sleepy.

Oh, and how’s this for wonderful – I thought that every little victory would have me see every star twinkle with a little more sparkle, or at least provoke me to skip a couple of metres – but it has yet to.  I get to sigh or roll my eyes as some rhetoric persona in my mind congratulates me with Pharisaic mock for my small refrain.  But I suppose I can’t complain, I’m sure there are others who resist worse temptations than mine, with less support and who feel more dull than I (and how disturbing is it that this thought is mildly satisfying).

I’ll tell you all about it when again my vision is restored (to better than before).
The procedures are less than pleasurable, that’s for sure.

none without the other

I saw my life
It looked quite thin
Was that how I
Had always been?

Then looking closer
I saw the fat
I wondered how
I’d accumulated that

There appeared an imbalance
Quite clearly quite strange
My life was a mix of
Too conflicting a range

I loved it at times
I’d skipped through rhyme
Though times of despair
Where occasionally there

But for the most part, I know
I’d forgotten I lived
A life that I barely
Could stand to live in

For my life is just small
If I’d only remembered,
I’d have saved all those people
From facing my tempers

Still my life is large enough
To create a dent
If only I’d realised,
The ripples I’d sent

I would no sooner have bid
To better my conduct
For life was the strange thing
I wasn’t sure if I’d mucked

See, I think it matters
What life we live
For hearts scream injustice
When others misgive

The only measure I have
For the importance of life,
Is the power to love
Without thinking twice

If life is a breath
And love is forever
Yet love is not possible
without life whatsoever

Then love will not let
If life is so weak
And life will not want
If love is so bleak

as if she knew

“What do you want?” has been the slightly aggressive enquiry of late.  As if to assume everyone knows this. They look at me and wait, as though it was second grade math and a response should’ve come swifter.  So I stutter or shrug my shoulders or try subtly to change the topic.  It’s not my favourite question at all! I am indecisive, see.  Especially in matters of material negligibles.  Hence the question fails to tickle my fancy.  And although I understand and appreciate the thoughtfulness of being asked, it’s a rough question and a demanding reveal, which I would faster meet with defensive humour than answer honestly.

I’m a gifts and words person, so you can imagine my cringe at obligatory pleasantries.  I don’t think many of my friends understand the concept of giving or gifting. There is much less thought about it nowadays, yet so much more expectation, so much more material about it.

To be frank, it makes me a little uncomfortable.

I suppose my somewhat nonchalant manner about birthdays has come across as laziness. But it’s a combination of two things: firstly, I don’t want to make as big a deal of myself when really I’m no more qualified to be doted upon than the next person; and secondly, I fear the shallow death of meaningful words or gifts.  I think the best gifts are given without cliché or expected date, and merely for the occasion that Love thought of another.

Having said this, I believe in petty little occasions to celebrate life and lives surrounding. I see celebrations as occasions of joy, encouragement and praise, for both the person(s) and in thanks to God.  I think one day of special treatment can do the world of good for somebody who just needed a reminder that they are indeed loved, to boost them away from edging loneliness… and sometimes, birthdays serve to remind us to love others and be grateful in a day with a tad more significance.

I don’t know what my point is… again. I just wanted to say something about birthdays because they confuse me.  There seems to be considerable portions of amplified emotion in these annual events particularly.  It’s unnerving.

good to me

Sometimes all I can do is whisper “thank you”, and watch a tiny breath and a couple of measely words disperse invisibly between the addressed and myself.  There is so much I still can’t believe I’m blessed with. And still, despite my foolish banter, unsatisfied sighs, selfish actions, in my self-inflicted hardships and my own lack of understanding/organisation, I am still much too loved.

It seems that for almost twenty three years, everyone has become increasingly good to me.

Thank you, God.
The first, forever.

the nights get colder

The distant street light was the warmest thing in sight and still it offered little comfort.  Her shoulders had cemented into what felt like one hugely unkind knot and she couldn’t remember the last time her toes felt warm.  Her nose was a damp cold tap and eyes were tired of being restless.  The last night she’d been in a shelter was too long ago – any time unsheltered is too long; and around this time of the year, you had to be in early to get a spot.  And the loneliness – that was the worst.  She missed being hopeful.  The cold was wearing her thinner, faster than she knew what to do.

It’s been colder at night of late.  Every time I spend a decent amount of time outside in the cold, especially at night, especially in winter, I feel sad that there are people who have to sleep in it.  I can only imagine what it might be like being homeless in Melbourne’s cruel winter.  I don’t know what I would do without the support that I’ve always had – I have an incredible family, accepting friends and a supportive church – and they are the warmest parts of my life.  No doubt, my imagination would pale in the comparison with someone else’s reality.  It pains me not knowing what to do about it. I have a few spare warm clothes and I don’t know how to share them.  I don’t know how to help in my own limited capacity, but I want to.

Nobody should ever be homeless. Nobody. Ever.

And those who are are stronger than they know.

When was the last time you admired a homeless person? What? Admire?

(Please remember, it’s possible/healthy to admire the character of those in highly undesirable circumstances.  It’s possible/healthy to remember we are not above the homeless/poor/addicted/vulnerable/love-less/traumatised/ unglorified others)

http://www.macarthuradvertiser.com.au/news/local/news/general/fighting-youth-homelessness/2533773.aspx

shifting desire

There’s a hole in your heart
Begging for adventure
Play yourself a new track
Set traps for the future

On your own. Can you do it?
The unknown. Can you face it?

Rules of conformity
Heavy clouds of reason
They’re hiding the beauty
Of your free distortions

methinks

“The task is not so much to see what no one else has yet seen.  It is to think what no one has yet thought of, about that which everyone has seen.”

-Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1866)

suave in shadows

Think:
Licorice icecream. Night rain. Intentional speechlessness. Him. Serious face.

happy blank

As though one had just put handfuls of sunshine in every pocket, only to pat at pockets a second later, think of sunshine but not know much about what happened after sunhine had apparently been obtained. Mm. That.

Every complication in life, at this moment, I can visualise in this little car.

the same kind of different

I had it this afternoon. It’s a chinese medicinal soup made essentially of ginseng, dried goji berries and red dates. A perculiar concoction that smells comforting, ends bitter, and has a middle hint of sweet and salty.  As I child I used to scrunch up my face at the smell of it, wait til the soup had cooled and hold my breath (and or nose) as I gulped down a mouthful and a half at a time - cupping the bowl to my mouth.  Amusingly, I’d heave in a deep gasp after each swallow as though the stuff nearly drowned me and once finished, shiver dramatically, knock back a glass of water to rinse the liquid from my memory and leave in haste.

Now, I’ll admit the stuff has grown on me. Sort of like most of the things that are good for us in life – the good stuff grows on us as though repetition beat down our resistance because we realised that what we were adversed to was simply preferential, but the essence of it was healthy.  I’ll name a few – none of which I am claiming at all to practice regularly or be good at, but it’s something that I think we need to realise is rather healthy: talking listening to stubborn people, trying to convince a selfish kid not to be selfish without getting frustrated, doing what your parents nag about at a really inconvenient time, taking the onus over a shared disappointment, defending a person you don’t agree with just because it wasn’t right for them to spoken of at the time, giving that other person the last of the best dessert, encouraging a person when you knew both them and you could’ve done better had an ounce of thought be invested in preparation, forgiving the person immediately who took too long to forgive you of the lesser offense… the list goes on.

And the funny thing is… that the more we do it, the less annoying it gets and the more it intrigues and the more it goes down well.  I took the time to observe the soup today.  I’ve never done it before, really sat down, exploring it purposefully and slowly.  One might observe of pattern: the more it fascinates, the more one’s inclined to like it.  I’ll use the first example, I used to find talking to old people… annoying – because they never understood.  I forced myself to hold conversation when spoken to (because Asian culture is big on respect), and little by little I learned – that the case was quite probably difficult because I never understood.  So once I figured that out, I tried to understand and it made old and/or stubborn people so much more intriguing.  Not as subjects of a study that one pities, but as different and beautiful people that we are expected to accept – because we are all the same, kind of different.

forgetting

If for some reason, you forgot. Just forgot – something, anything, everything… would you be sad that you no longer knew which way to go/how it worked/what their response would be? Or would you be excited about getting to discover something new (whether it was or wasn’t new)?

Like amnesia.

I’m forgetting.

So I feel very much like the hypothetical above is my current headspace.  I get to decide whether I feel sad about my recent uncertainty of – something, anything, everything or embrace my love for (re)discovery.  Because really, the perception I wear changes everything.  Suddenly I need vision.  Suddenly the taken-for-granted assumptions about life and the relationships I have, have been coated in a fresh layer of unfamiliarity – which is sort of wonderful.  And though rehabilitating that know-it-all-(mostly) confidence sunk a considerable portion of pride, and sometimes I just keep quiet in my consumption of the massive servings of humble pie than nobody else knows I eat… I think it’s a huge relief forgetting that I’ve been pretending to know everything, and actually knowing that I don’t.

From where I am now, I suppose I recommend a healthy amount of forgetting.

Sometimes we need to forget what we used to always do to discover what we can also do. Yes?

prejudice

A great confusion had just occured in the Fong house.  Upon greeting the small inhabitants of Pantry World one morning, I saw an unfamiliar individual and came closer to ask its name (for I like to make acquaintances with those of the edible family).  I knew this one, sort of. He looked very alike others I’d come to know and love. So you can imagine my surprise when I picked him up with smile, and then having realised who he was, put him down, confused. He introduced himself to me as ”Smooth” and I wasn’t sure if I agreed.

Later on, I asked the two older occupants of our dear household of their involvement with him.  ”Which of you invited Smooth to be here?” I asked, with as little tone of judgement as I could manage.  Both replies informed me they were as confused as I.  So, by process of illimination, this “openness” was the decision of our youngest.  Being judgemental, I avoided him every time I opened the pantry, not affording him any sort of welcome.

It took me a couple of weeks, actually to wear down my defenses over why I should perhaps give him a chance to prove himself.  And honest to goodness, I’m glad that I did.  I had missed the dance that PB&J had usually grooved over my palate, but I wasn’t one for any Smooth waltz.  I had grown up on and was especially inclined to favour the lively and bumpy jazz that I’d only ever experienced.  But compromise.  I decided to allow Smooth to spread himself over the crisp stage while a familiar lady swirled her red presence over the remaining area.  Call me cruel but I smiled a wry smile and left to find the one thing that I knew would make me love this, in a whole new experience that might just rock my world.  And it did, I was right.

I confess, I am a crunch-ist. I have little tolerance or acceptance for smooth foods.  There is nothing more entertaining than interactive edibles and the smooth ones go down too quietly, with a sigh if anything.  But give me something with personality, something I can chew the fat with.  Ah, entertain me, humour me – I’m nuts for a good crunch.  Smooth, I cannot bring myself to accept you for what you are.

And no, I’m not sorry for it.

for sandra

      …to (hopefully) be continued.

my friends this morning