Crossing

It was dark along the river, quiet, with mist rolling in among the rustling reeds.

There was a boat, bumping gently against the pier it was tied to, with a ferryman sitting in its stern, who looked up as he saw a man walking along the river's shore.

The man was quite old, with wispy white hair surrounding a bald pate, a belly that showed he appreciated good food, and laugh lines around his eyes that showed a life characterised by joy.

Those eyes though, were now idly looking at the fireflies flitting among the reeds, their lights leaving little glowing trails through the misty air.

The ferryman did not want to disturb the man's reverie, but as the latter drew closer to the pier, he felt it would be impolite to not announce his presence, so he cleared his throat.

"You're early," the ferryman said.

The old man stopped, looked up, then smiled. "Ah! Hello!"

"I've been sent to pick you up," the ferryman continued, "but there's still some time, so there's no need to rush. I'll let you know when we need to leave."

"Thank you," the gentleman replied, as he moved towards the bench at the end of the pier. "That's very kind of you."

He settled down on the seat, then pulled out a small plastic bag which he hung from the corner of the bench.

They sat in silence for awhile, with the old man occasionally taking out some tissue paper to sneeze into, before dropping them in the bag.

Finally, the old man asked, "Where are you taking me?"

The ferryman indicated across the river with his hand. Then noticing the old man frowning as he tried to see what the ferryman was pointing at, he added, "You won't be able to see until it's time to go."

At that moment, there was a sudden patter of feet, and a crowd of people appeared beyond a low fence that blocked them from the river and the pier. The old man looked up, beamed, then got up from the bench and went over to greet them.

"It's the people I know," he explained to the ferryman, as he reached out to touch them and hold their hands.

They ranged in age from those in their teens all the way up to some who were older than him. Some came from far away; others he had not seen in a long time. But as he stopped to talk or touch any of them, scenes of the old man's life showing his time with them flickered into life in the air nearby. There was the childhood in the kampung, the holidays in Malaysia, the visits to his clansmen in Hainan, the dinners and golf trips and church outings... And the memories continued popping into existence.

Eventually though, only a small group of people, his family, were left. The old man reached out across to hold the hand of a slight, dark-haired woman, then turned and proudly proclaimed, "My wife!"

The ferryman nodded, smiled back, then tapped his wrist, as if pointing to a watch. The old man noticed the gesture, then shook his head. "Wait, someone's not here yet."

The mood was starting to get sombre, as all those around started to realise there was not much time left. Where it had previously been like a meeting between old friends, it was getting more and more melancholic.

It was then that there was the sound of someone's footsteps, and a well-built young man ran up to the fence.

When the old man saw him, his face lit up, and he reached out to grasp his arm. "Thank you for coming back again so fast," he said, of his favourite grandson.

Abruptly, the sky behind the old man started to brighten. The old man started, glanced furtively across the river, then tightly embraced his wife. The ferryman moved over to the old couple, who now had tears streaming down their faces.

"It's time to go," the ferryman said, but the old man did not move.

"It's time to go," he repeated, and still there was no response.

"Stop pretending you can't hear me. Your hearing here does not depend on hearing aids, so that excuse won't work."

At that, the old man straightened up and slowly, reluctantly released his wife, who was now crying openly. But even as he stepped back from the fence, with the sky getting brighter, the years seemed to fall away from the old man, so that he was no longer an old man. He felt strength return to his limbs, his hair grew back and darkened and his body started slimming down. And beyond the physical changes, he noticed that he no longer felt like he wanted to stay; the places he had gone to and where he had spent all his life did not hold any attraction to him and the only attachment he felt was to the few who were dear to him.

He now looked out across the river, and where once it was dark and misty, it was now clear. Another shore was now visible across the river, with what looked like a great, gleaming made of gold, with gates of pearl. And the sky, which was now almost as bright as mid-morning, drew its light not from the sun, but from a source, someone, the man realised, who was on the shore. And he suddenly sensed a great yearning to be on the other side, to bow before his lord and worship in His presence.

He stepped towards the boat, but a distraught sob checked him. He looked back, at the woman who had caught his eye as a young man, whom people thought was a poor match for someone of his status but who had turned out to be perfect for him; who had nagged him and scolded him, but had loved him and supported him...

He walked towards her, reached out to embrace again. Unlike before, she didn't seem to notice his touch, and he realised he was already leaving this world.

Leaning towards her, he gave her a kiss on her forehead, smelt her hair one last time, then whispered to her, "I'll be waiting for you."

Then he strode back to the boat and the ferryman, now with his eyes firmly fixed on the other shore, on the figure standing on the water's edge with open arms. He was going home.

*****

Goodbye Grandpa. Thank you for everything. We'll see you again on the other side.

O Captain, My Captain

News that former PM Lee Kuan Yew died in the middle of the night was both expected and unexpected.

Expected, in that he had been in the hospital for the past few weeks, and steadily deteriorating in the past few days.

Unexpected, in that it hit me harder than I would have thought.

I've never met the man, hardly listened to him giving speeches, lived most of my life after he had stepped down as PM.

But this is the man who shaped modern Singapore, from post-WWII British colony to modern metropolis. He may not have been a blood relation to most of us, but as Singaporeans (technically American, I know, but really Singaporean at heart), Mr Lee was very much a part of our lives, like a national grandfather, an analogy even more apt as he appeared to change from being a fiery speaker to becoming more like that stern old man who would smack you if you were misbehaving but whom you knew always had a soft spot for you.

My mom woke me up early in the morning to tell me that he passed away in the middle of the night. I was very much in a stupor when she told me the news, having worked late the night before, ironically, in case he had ceased to be earlier.

But then you finally wake up and think, hope even, that it may have just been a bad dream, and you go to check the Internet in case it really was some horrible figment of your imagination. But it's true; the website is in black livery, PM Lee Hsien Loong is making an emotional announcement of his father's passing, and you suddenly want to cry and feel empty, as if your world has been pulled out from under you.



But life will still go on. Contrary to the fears I've allowed to fester in the days before, chaos did not break out. Buses will run, people will go to work, children will go to school. The stock market will continue trading, as will the fishmonger in the market down the street. And the Government will function as before, in its oddly efficient yet occasionally inefficient way.

There is just one difference.

Singapore's Iron Man is gone.

Thank you for all you've done for us, Mr Lee. Rest in peace. You've earned it.

Iunctura

"Well, you certainly took your time coming here."

Her eyelids fluttered upon hearing the voice. She had been sleeping quite comfortably, for the first time in quite a long while, but she had been woken out of her slumber. It wasn't that the voice was loud, or particularly harsh, but there was something about it that she knew was not quite right, yet sounded strangely familiar...

Finally, her eyes opened and managed to focus on the sky high above her. That was another thing that was odd. She had fallen asleep in her bedroom, and she did not think she had been sleeping long enough for the sun to have started setting anyway. She reached out to her side for her glasses, then stopped in surprise. Her vision was completely fine, and she was able to see everything clearly, down to the finest detail, as the sun's rays gave an orange hue to everything.

She breathed deep, and the air, Such pure air, she thought, filled her with joy. It carried within it, the strong smell of the grass and the fields, and just a touch of fragrance from the wildflowers growing in the lee of some rocks behind her. She turned her head, and lifted her hands to touch a blade of grass, and felt its smooth surface, its fine edge, the way it connected to the stalk, and realized that she actually knew it.

She sat up straight, and her body responded easily like how it was like when she was still young and not weighed down by age or concerns. She marvelled at her arms; the skin was no longer wrinkled and sagging, but was as tight and smooth as when she was a schoolgirl, before the Occupation. She felt the strength in her limbs, the warmth on her face, and wanted to jump up and run about...

"It's also been too long since I've seen you with black hair," the voice said again from her other side.

She gave a short jump and twisted around. Lying on the ground next to her was a young man, arms behind his head, legs crossed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. He cocked an eyebrow when he saw that she was finally acknowledging him, then grinned. She stared at him. He definitely looked and sounded familiar, and the way he looked at her, those dark eyes... and in a burst of alacrity, she knew why she was no longer an old woman bed-ridden by pain, but someone much younger, much..better...

The man looked back up at the sky, which was filled with brilliant streaks of pink and orange and the white wisps of clouds, and said, "You should have been here earlier to set up the place, and arrange the meals and do the washing..."

She gaped at him incredulously as he closed his eyes to relax. She suddenly knew who he was, and her heart almost burst with joy at seeing him again, but she also wanted to reach out and smack him for his impudence and wipe that smug look of his face.

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she tried to think of ways to riposte, then finally said, "Well, if you were here so much earlier, why couldn't you have done it yourself?"

"It's a woman's job to do that," he replied without opening his eyes, but the growing smile on his face told her he was not being serious.

She rolled her eyes and groaned. "What did I do to have to endure this from you? I finally get here to be with you and that's the first thing you say to me. All you do is complain and demand things from me and waste our money on food that is too expensive and make me do all the housework..."

She stopped when he reached out for her hand. It had been too long since she felt him, and she fell silent as she soaked in the moment, and feeling happy and complete once again.

They sat in silence for a while, then a thought that had been nagging her at the back of her mind finally came to the forefront.

"How about the others? Will I be able to go back down to see them for a bit?"

He sat up and shrugged. "That's not up to me to decide. When I came up, they were willing to let me go down one last time to see the rest, but I don't have that sort of authority."

"Who does then?"

The man jerked his head at the rocks with the wildflowers. "He does."

She turned around, and realized for the first time, that the two of them were not alone.

"Hello grandmother," the boy started, then added, "Though I do not think you look very much like a grandmother anymore."

She looked closely at the boy. Like the man, she sensed she knew the boy, but in a different way. She peered into this clear, black eyes, and saw ancient wisdom and youthful enthusiasm, eternity and impermanence, past, present and future, and she instantly knew Him.

She bowed her head, and respectfully said, "Lord."

The boy giggled, his laugh a clear and pleasant sound, and he spoke again. "Welcome! It's been a long journey for you, always working and thinking of the needs of those around you, but now you can finally rest. No more worries or cares, just peace and joy with us."

She smiled at that. It was something her children, and her grandchildren had been saying to her. The though of them reminded her of her request, and she raised it up.

"Will I be allowed to go back down to see them again, Lord?"

The boy looked thoughtful for a minute, then looked at her with more sadness than she thought anyone that youthful-looking should be allowed to bear.

"They love you, you know. And naturally, they asked.  And I know how they are feeling too, much more than they could ever know themselves. But while I could do it for him last time, I cannot do it for you this time."

She looked downcast for a moment, but then knew that the decision had been made with thorough consideration, and she bowed to the infinite wisdom of the choice.

She looked around a bit, then heard a bell tolling in the distance. The boy jumped off the rocks, and reached out for her hand, then pulled both her and the man to their feet.

"Time for us to go back," he said, then started walking, hand still in hers.

She looked back wistfully for a minute, remembering all those she was leaving behind. But the boy continued to pull her along, and the man smiled at her reassuringly, and she knew that it was time to leave it all behind.

"Let's go," the boy urged again, and this time, she did not hesitate, as they walked towards the eternal city.

*   *   *

Good bye, grandma.

Rest in peace.

1926 - 17/08/2012

Mina

It came as somewhat of a shock when I heard that she passed away. I had known that she had been in and out of the hospital before I ever got to know her, and that she had been hospitalized again several months ago, but I still never quite realized how serious it was. I guess it was because the few times I had met her, she always seemed so full of energy.

I hardly knew her too. I go to know her husband because he came for the Coco's English Corner that Steve set up a couple years back, and which has now been taken over by Auntie Chris (I'm sorry Auntie Chris, I just can't not call you auntie). He was a history buff, which meant that we would talk about some historical stuff, and just as often butt heads over interpretation of said historical events. And though he said things about his wife like, "She's not Japanese. She's too noisy", it was also obvious he loved her and cared for her. And I guess it was because I had heard about her, that I knew her a little better than I would have.

She came to the Tokorozawa Housechurch when I was serving at CRASH's Tono Base in August last year. The ladies of the church, who also attended the Coco's English group, had finally gotten to meet her, and it seemed they had hit it off pretty well. She had also been rather interested in Christianity when she was younger, and though she didn't follow-up on it then, her interest had not dimmed in the years since, and she happily came to join the housechurch, which was where I got to meet her.

And like her husband had said, she certainly did not fit the common stereotype of the Japanese woman; quiet and demure. She seemed to be everywhere at once, talking to the ladies in Japanese, chattering away to Louis in Cantonese, testing me on my Mandarin... and even when she was sick with the flu one Sunday, she still came down to witness Yoshiko's baptism, and while definitely muted, you could still see the spark in her as she joked about and congratulated Yoshiko.

I heard she got hospitalized again a few weeks after I got back from Japan, but since this was not new, I didn't think much about it. A little later, Auntie Chris dropped me a message, to say that Mina had prayed to receive Christ while in the hospital, mainly due to the love that she felt from the housechurch members who regularly dropped by to visit her, and I rejoiced in knowing that she had finally taken the important step that had been prepared for her all those years ago when she first heard about Christ.

I found out that she passed away last Friday. And I do feel sad, sad that I won't be able to visit her in Japan again, sad for Hideki, her husband, who is undoubtedly distraught.. but I can also give thanks that she chose to give her life to Jesus, and that she is now with Him, probably chattering away in Japanese, Cantonese, and Mandarin, and being the spark of energy in heaven that she was here on earth.

So let us pray for her husband, that the grief will not be too much for him, and that he may also come to know God, but let us also give thanks to God, for another soul that is reunited with Him.

Prayer Stuff #17

Please pray for the Eby family, as their son, Ethan passed away yesterday morning. He was about 18 I think.

The Ebys were instrumental in helping set CRASH up in the days immediately after the quake, and Ethan served faithfully by clearing the rubbish out every morning and helping us get the supplies we needed in the office.

It was upsetting enough for me as I worked with him and know him, can't imagine what the family is going through, so please pray for them, especially for their mother.

Thank you.

引っ越し

I touched down in Tokyo 5 days ago. I started to clear out my house 4 days ago. I finished packing most of my stuff 3 days ago. And 2 days ago, I moved out of my house.

Now, generally speaking, I would say moving isn't exactly a very emotional event. Especially when you move to a place less than 200 metres away. And in the heat of Tokyo, it's a little hard to think when all your mind focuses on is that bottled drink you put in the fridge.

At the same time though, this was the place that I lived in, mostly by myself, for 2 years. It was the place I called home when I first came to Tokyo at the beginning of my initial year, and it remained home to me all the way till the end of last week. It was where I suffered through the heat of 2 summers, and the frigidness of 2 winters. It was where I learnt to cook food by myself (not just cup ramen and ochazuke), and where I could allow all my little foibles (ironing my clothes immediately after washing, not making my bed etc) to just come out.

Naturally, it also doesn't help when you have your special bowl, knife and spoon.

Yes, I had a special bowl. I used this bowl for rice. And noodles. And cereal too. This was actually my 2nd special bowl. I accidentally broke my original special bowl.

Yes, I also had a special knife and spoon. I always used that knife for breakfast (except when I was eating cereal), and I always used that spoon for my other meals. Strangely enough, I never had a special fork.

Staying with the Laus is a nice thing. They are pretty much the epitome of hospitality. It brings back a lot of memories, because this was where I stayed when I first came to Japan in 2005. And my room here is a lot cooler, because it's on the 3rd floor.

However, having to give up a place I called my own, that is not something I found easy.

So here's to my home at Kita-Akitsu Century, for all the memories I had, while I was living there.

Where I spent most of my time hiding.

17 Days Later

Prologue:
Almost immediately after the 'quake happened, I wanted to go up to help out in some way. When I heard that Crash (which is where I'm volunteering at now) was going to organize teams to send relief, I wanted to be on one of them. However the teams were meant to assess the situation, and they needed people who were familiar with the region, and were fluent in Japanese, both of which I was not, so I had to wait.

Then they started to send up work teams. And I wanted on. I thought, since I don't have any familial responsibilities, and I'm fairly able-bodied, I can go up and do some stuff. Then OMF told me I couldn't because as a short-term worker, I was to be treated even more 'importantly' than a child of a missionary worker.

So of course I was upset, and chafed under my circumstances, bemoaning my being stuck in Tokyo, and berating the lack of logic (illogicy? illogicity? unlogicity?) that would put me, a grown adult (who learnt how to kill people in the army) on a plane out of the country earlier than a 5-yr-old child, if the situation was to deteriorate.

But after considering some things (and getting a talking to by a few friends), I resigned myself to work hard in the Crash office, and not think too much about going to Tohoku. I guess part of it was because I may not have been ready to go up, or that even if I went, there would not be much I could do. And I will confess that pride in being able to say: "I'm doing something!" would probably have been a pretty big stumbling block for me. So I stopped thinking of ways to sneak up, and focused on the tasks at hand (and hanging out with friends at the office).

And that was when Doug called me, saying he was going up on a short trip for the OMF workers there, and asked if I wanted in.

* * *

The trip was fairly normal I guess. I had to stay the night at Tim's place because Doug wanted to leave from there at 6 in the morning, and I didn't trust myself to wake up and get over in time. We packed what they had bought the day before (thanks to funds from Saitama Intl), and then we headed over to the HQ at Ichikawa to meet up with the Jaes, and pick up more supplies that the Chapel of Adoration at provided.

Not quite overflowing, but it was pretty full of food, hygiene products, and clothes. It's hard to see from here, but we were stuffing vegetables into every nook and cranny we could find.

Moving up to Sendai was uneventful. We stopped a couple of times for rest and for petrol, and we didn't feel any different when we passed closest to the damaged reactors in Fukushima (about 80km away I think), but we opted not to hang around in that area too long anyway.

When we got into Sendai itself, the city looked very normal. There were some rather long lines at the petrol stations, but if not, you would not have thought anything was out of the ordinary...until we started to get nearer to the beach areas, and then we started to see some damage.

Just some of the evidence that this place was wrecked...and it wasn't the worse.

The roads were clear; it was more than two weeks since the earthquake and tsunami, but all the stuff was just piled up to the sides. Cars, trash, rubble, debris, there was just piles and piles of the stuff. Some of the buildings showed the aftereffects of the quake, but most of the damage was done by the tsunami I guess (and also when they just shoved everything out of the way for the relief convoys to get through).

We linked up with one of the OMF missionaries, Rod, who was actually next to the sea when the tsunami came in; his house was on high ground so him, his wife, and a few neighbours were safe, but his car got swept away. He brought us to one of the distribution centres, where we dropped off most of our supplies (it was good to finally be able to sit normally in the car), and then we went to pay a visit to his house. Along the way, he brought us through Shichigahama, which was one of the worst-hit areas.

There used to be houses here. Now it's just flat.

Think this was farmland. It got inundated with seawater, and they'll have to desalinate the fields before anything grows again I reckon.

This scene came out in several newspapers and stuff I think.

There used to be about 2 more meters of land beyond where Tim is standing. It fell off during the quake.

The next day, we helped to transport some stuff around, and then went to help Rod and his wife start doing some work near his place. We cleared a bit of trash, helped set a couple of fences back in place, and picked up some recyclable materiel that washed ashore. I realize now that my 'able-bodiedness' was not quite enough to do some of the heavy lifting there; I had to carry a 12-foot plank, and boy did I suffer carrying it.

We managed to get the fence in the picture to stand again.

While we were there doing repair work, Tim found an envelope with some photographs showing a childrens' play. The photos were dated 1988, and they were probably washed out from one of the houses. I also saw things on the beach that were clearly personal belongings; a shoe, a stuffed animal, a CD.. and you realize that this is not just 'stuff that was washed up', but that these things actually belonged to living people, who were in all likelihood killed during the disaster, and that's when the weight of it all starts to sink in on you.

Looks like some scene out of a disaster movie...except this is no movie set, and people did die here.

In the evening, we helped to move more supplies in one of the warehouses, and while we were doing it, some relief workers from Malaysia came by with a couple of trucks to deliver water. There was quite a bit of water, and my arms kept on feeling like they were about to drop out. It was kinda nice to hear people speaking English with the Malaysian accent, reminded me of Singapore. We went for dinner with another of the OMF missionaries, Jim, and his family. (Another odd facet of our trip there was that quite a few of the restaurants were open for business. The conbinis could be out of food like bentos and onigiri, while the restaurants were able to give you steak. Odd.)

Our third day was pretty much just packing up and going back, though we were able to meet up with the third missionary, Joel, and his family. Somehow, I ended up being the caretaker of his younger child, a boy named Leo (I think), who was about 3 (if I'm not wrong). Doug and Issac also got to experience waiting in line for fuel, as we were skittish about going on to the highway without enough petrol in the tanks, and though it took Doug two hours, and Isaac close to four, we were able to leave Sendai around noon, and head back to Tokyo.

* * *

Overall, it was a rather eye-opening trip. There was lots of physical damage everywhere, and the army was there helping to clear things up, but it seemed so atypical of a disaster zone; everyone was calm, you didn't sense there were any shortages, there was no screaming or crying. Maybe it was because it was two weeks old, but it still seemed too placid, too utterly 'normal' for a place that had such violence visited on it.

I guess it was eye-opening for me in the sense that I now know how little I can do to help. I don't have medical training, I can't do construction, I'm not able to help counsel people, and even if I did, my Japanese is not good enough to do so. Even removing debris, I realize is not as easy as I thought it would be (I didn't think it would be easy, but I didn't imagine it would be quite that hard either).

And while the people were going about as if this was all in a day's work, there's no telling how much damage they have inside them, that they are hiding and that we can't see. So I guess right now, we should pray for the people, that Jesus may be able to send His peace to them. Because in the end, food and clothing will not fill them, and will not be able to heal their hearts. Please pray that in this time of pain and suffering, the people may be able to find the One who loves them so much that He is hurting with them.

Seems so peaceful now...

Restore our fortunes, Lord,
Like streams in the Negev.
Those who sow in tears,
Will reap with songs of joy.
Those who go out weeping,
Carrying seed to sow,
Will return with songs of joy,
Carrying sheaves with them.
- Psalm 126:4-6

Earthquake

When the earthquake first struck, just before 3, I felt nothing. I was sleeping, you see. It didn't take long for me to wake up, because even through my unconscious state, I knew that the train had stopped some place it shouldn't be stopping at, so I woke up.

That's when I noticed the whole train was swaying left and right (meaning I was rocking forward and backward). It didn't bother me too much, since earthquakes had happened before. But as the shaking continued, and started to get worse, I started to feel just a tinge of concern...which became a lot more than a tinge when I noticed that the lamppost just next to the tracks was also swaying pretty drastically. And the tremors went on for much longer than normal.

The train managed to move into Nerima station after the initial round of tremors ceased, but while we were waiting there to see if it was safe to continue the journey, a second round of shocks hit, rocking the train, shaking the electric cables, and rattling the zinc roofing of the platform. An announcement was repeated over the station's PA system, and even though I'm not particularly good at understanding such announcements, it doesn't take much to realize that they were shutting down the trains because of the possibility of aftershocks.

All this was a bit of an inconvenience for me, but owing to the fact that it was a pretty serious earthquake, I wasn't too upset. So I started walking to Ikebukuro. Then I caught a bit of news in a shop window, and saw the fire at the Chiba plant.

Then, later on, I saw the full news reports, and while Tokyo had gotten tremors, it was nothing compared to what was happening in the north part of Honshu, closer to where the earthquake struck. I saw the pictures that everyone who has seen the news would have seen, of waves of muddy water sweeping over farmland, carrying boats into places boats should never be, houses floating past the roofs of other submerged structures, cars stacked carelessly on top of other cars, and the death toll, 60 when I first saw the news, 300 by the time I got home, over a thousand this morning. And I realized just how terrible this was.

And I want to rail at God sometimes, ask Him why this sort of thing has to happen, but I also know that what I really have to do is to come before Him in prayer, and give it all to Him.

So please pray for those who have been affected. Pray that rescue work can go on unimpeded. Pray that the weather will be good for finding people/dealing with emergencies. Pray for those who have lost family and friends. Pray for the Lord's mercy and healing.

Please.

Seriously?

So I'm reading in the news that some 'pastor' of a 'Christian church' somewhere in Florida has the intention of burning the Quran on the anniversary of the Sept 11 attacks. He wants to 'show' that America will not back down from terrorism, that by burning the books, he's doing the work of God, and that he is legally entitled to do so by the American Constitution.

What. The. $@(&.

Seriously. What. The. $@(&.

I don't even know what to say, as my mind is simply overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of this venture. There have been times when I was serving in the army where I really wanted to curse, but this trumps it all. It's so freaking STUPID that even cursing with all the fluency of my platoon sergeant in English and Hokkien would not be able to convey just how repulsed I am by this idea.

How is this Christian? I'll like to ask. How is taking the holy book of another religion and burning it contributing to the work of God? As Christians, we are called first to "Love the Lord your God, with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind," but the next part is to "love your neighbour as yourself" (Luke 10:27).

How is burning the Quran, which is the most important book for Muslims around the world, gonna show love for your neighbours? Doesn't Jesus love them as much as he loves us Christians? Would the Lord of Love be proud of you for burning the Quran?

I'm totally disgusted by the fact that he considers his actions similar to the work done by so many other real Christian workers who are showing true Christianity.

What are you trying to do you moron? Start the Crusades again?

Iustus

We paid a visit to a social service center in the west part of Singapore earlier this evening. While we were there, we met a man. His name is K, and he has a diploma in Electrical Engineering. He was a bit shy at first, but slowly opened up.

K really puts in a lot of effort for his work. On most weekdays, he starts work at 8 and leaves only after 7. When he has to do OT, he welcomes the opportunity to stay on and do more work. He has to work on Saturdays too, but he faces it with the same sentiment as whenever he's up for OT.

But K does all this only for $500 a month... because he's from Bangladesh. He lives with 13 other Bangladeshi workers in a cramped apartment somewhere in Jurong West. Every morning, for the past 5 years, K and his bunkmates wake up at 6.30, leave their home at 7.30, and work long hours for one of the many shipbuilding companies that makes millions of dollars for Singaporeans, but close to pittance for them.

We see these people everyday. They are the workers at the construction sites, the welders at the shipyards, the tired-looking men in dusty clothes packed into the back of Daihatsu pickup trucks along the CTE. They have been making Singapore the city that it is today. But we never notice them.

When we visited K today, he showed us to his apartment. The other 13 men inside were all unwinding after a long day of work, sitting around in the 'living' room, but the moment we stepped in, they quickly stood up and offered us the few chairs they had in their room. One of them wanted to get us drinks from their kitchen (which at $0.80 a can, would have been exorbitant for someone earning less than $600 a month), and it took all of our convincing to tell him that he didn't have to.

These men are poor. They paid a tremendous sum of money to go to a faraway land to work long hours for low pay. (I mean, honestly, can you imagine a Singaporean having to work under such conditions?) For all intents and purposes, they are getting exploited by people we call our countrymen. But when we step into their room, the first thing they want to do is to make us feel at home.

And these guys are the lucky ones, especially when you compare them with the ones in the video below.



There are the others in the documentary; the ones who have paid the agent's fee for coming to Singapore, and who after coming in, discover that there is no work for them. Companies who have extra quotas for workers use these quotas to generate money for themselves, without regard for the lives they are jerking around.

The Singapore government is trying it's best to prevent this. They have been taking steps to try and ensure that this does not happen, and I am glad that our government is alert to the problems that these workers face. But there is only so much they can do. And for all their efforts and policies they have implemented, there's nothing they can do about the workers who have already been cheated by Singaporean employers, and have had to return to their countries with nothing but a US$6000 debt.

Two semesters after I chose to retain my American citizenship, I sat for an American History class in NUS. And after that, I wished I hadn't chosen to remain American, as I discovered just how devious and twisted some of their foreign and domestic policies had been. I feel that same feeling now after hearing some of the stories about these workers. It pains me to know that there are Singaporeans who would take advantage of these foreign workers.

And as much as I rail against this injustice in Singapore, I know there's not much I can do for them. I'm a history major. Not a lawyer, or a politician. But what we can do as the Church in Singapore, at least, is to pray for these people. Pray that they will receive the justice they need. Pray that Singaporean employers will have greater regard for the lives of these people than the thickness of their wallets. Pray that the people in Singapore will see the unseen people group living among them.

We need to pray for our land.

I feel...

... a sudden urge to pray for Haiti, because they've just been hammered by another quake.

Even though it's 1.15 in the morning.

And I have to wake up early tomorrow.

I want to send money, but I don't have a lot, and even if I did send, would that really help?

I want to go over and help, but I can't, and even if I did, I think I might get in the way more than anything.

So since I am powerless to help the people of Haiti, I pray.

Won't you pray with me?

Fides

So as mentioned, I shall attempt to recollect the events of the past month and shall post it up.

1) V-Day event. Well, it was pretty much a blast. The music was good, the food was decent, and everyone seemed to be having pretty much a good time. Was mucking about in the kitchen, and didn't even have time to change, which was ok, since we were all still working inside the kitchen. Praise God, all that effort wasn't for naught, since some people did accept Christ, and I bet we at least managed to plant some seeds in others.

2) Well, the Bucks are pretty much done for the season. Seemed so promising at the beginning, when they beat the Cavs, Pistons, blah blah... But then they sort of self destructed... On a bright note in what has been a rather dark season, they won back to backs against the Knicks and the Wizards. Of course, one must realize that they also somehow managed to lose twice to the Heat last month. Lottery time!

3) So yeah, my iBook kinda died. Not sure how it happened, but the IT guy said it was cos the processor went down. Unfortunately for me, it had to happen on the Sunday before two of my papers were due. Fortunately for me, I hadn't really started writing either one of them, so I didn't feel too bad. But thanks to God who really helped me think through stuff clearly and allowed me to finish my essays on time. Managed to get my repaired iBook about 3 weeks later, after having to go through some admin issues cos I couldn't find my Apple iCare package.

4) Yeap, went for R&J's wedding. Know R from school, and she more or less invited the whole of VCF down. Couldn't even stay for the wedding cos of a CG snafu, and so I had to leave like after the short worship session. Bah. I don't even want to talk about the snafu. Reminds me too much of the time I got rained out on Commissioning Day. One good thing was that I managed to meet up with P again, and to talk a bit. One not so good thing is that R is my age. And she just got married. I'm not even attached. Bother it all sometimes I feel so lonely.

5) The interesting photo:



I just had to put this in. I titled it "Kiekie's Delivery Service", in relation to one of Miyazaki's anime.

So got more, maybe I'll post it up when I'm more in the mood.

On an aside, sometimes, I wonder if honor is overrated. I mean, quite a few times, I do things that seem 'right' to do, but I always end up losing out because of that. Not that doing the opposite is wrong, just that maybe it's not quite so honorable. Not that I'll start doing nasty things (God forbid!), but it's starting to irk me a little, that when I'm doing things that I think are decent, I end up with the short end of the stick. Bleah.

Ok back to studying for stupid test tmr.

Cheerio
(and yet, I don't feel terribly cheerful)

Verbum

As I mentioned earlier, I've discovered that I really like many of the Studio Ghibli shows. Strangely enough, however, I have also found that I rather like some of those that are shoujo. I mean like Nausicaa and Castle in the Sky are really good, but I also enjoyed watching like Ocean Waves and Whisper of the Heart.

So anyway, I got a little obsessed with getting music from those movies, so I toddled off to HMV like last Wednesday to go and browse about. By the way, they have some sort of sale, and many of the anime feature film DVDs are going at around SGD20. But anyway. As expected, most of the OSTs were like SGD60 apiece, since they were Japanese imports. But then I spotted what appeared to be a collection of Studio Ghibli music. And it was priced at SGD20! So I happily bought it before going back to listen to E's talk on terrorism.

When I went home however, I discovered that I was too impetuous. This was when I wanted to load the tracks into Starlight Express II that I realized the artiste was the Carl Orjje Piano Ensemble. Which meant it was all instrumental, while I had been hoping for the actual music from the shows. That put a bit of a dent into my joyous mood, until I started listening, cos the music is really nice. And I'm like almost addicted to it now. Haha.

Ok, and I have a marvelous quote from my friend Z during CG last week. She was talking about her lecture mate (or lecturer? Not too sure) in a Mathematics class.

"He's like so clever can? He can calculate pi. I can only eat pie!"

It totally cracked the lot of us up.

Cheerio

Valeas

When a whole bunch of my friends graduated last year, it didn't seem like a very big thing, from my perspective. I mean, it's not like they weren't close friends or anything; after all I did get to know some of them really well, especially my ALLO buddy Ad (who regularly steals food from others and who's greeting is now well known to arts people). But this year, after I went down to the UCC to say hi to some of the graduating peeps (today), it seemed so much different. Like it's a whole new beginning for them, to finally finish their university studies, and to start their working life, but at the same time, I can almost sense as if a whole generation of my friends left school.

It's really curious, because the feeling I got today was the sort I felt like after leaving OCS, or after I graduated from Sec. School. Except this time, I'm not the one graduating. And I'm guessing it's because I guess I have in the two years I've been at NUS, I have grown really close to this particular batch of seniors. And also I guess cos about half these people are also my age.

And I know for certain I will really miss them. People like my ex-CGL MS; when I first met her, I thought she was a Chinese exchange student, and who usually gets teased by us, who has made famous phrases like, "Wat!", "Laugh laugh", and "I'm gonna strangle you by the neck!".

Or Sh, who is smart enough to get first class honors, but whom we all watch to see if she trips over herself.

Like Wi, of whom I shall always remember the rides to school in the morning during exam time, and our hare-brained attempts to catch the Great Central Library Rush on video.

And whenever I'm in the library or at the green tables, there's C who will always come and say hi by clapping me on the shoulder.

Like Ad, who was the one who psyched (psychoed) me into joining CF.

Of P, who did her very best to push my proficiency of Japanese up just before my oral tests.

And of YF, whom I met in JC cos we both kept on failing our Chinese, and I regularly run into on campus.

Of course, there are so many more whom I have gotten to know (like Es, Ev, HS, SD, R, T, Ch, Eu, Be, J, eh really got alot, sorry if missed you out hor), and who will not be coming back to school next semester, and I definitely don't have the space (or time, since FOC is tmr and I haven't packed) to list all of them out. And I really regret not being able to see all of them one last time before they finally leave NUS. But I guess it's sufficient to say that I will remember you (at least, I'll do my best to), and that in Singapore, it's almost a given that I'll bump into you sooner or later.

Farewell friends



Kaoz.. so emo sia... almost as if this was an orbituary or something. Biang eh, show so much emotion, must be getting old...

Oh, and I thought this would be a good representation of F, since she has become a dino:



Haha. She wanted to bish me after that. Oh well

Memorium

In memory of the tragedy at Virginia Tech.

命の灯
狂気に切られ
早すぎて

They were sparks of life
But madness snuffed the light out
It was too early

May God be with you.

Demissum

Played a bit of basketball today, then went for dinner with Grandparents. Grandma's birthday celebration.

Just received some news from A over MSN about some stuff, and I dunno, just kinda made me feel a little down, and it's got quite a bit to do with me. Cos like, it's one thing when it happens because you've done your best, but it's another thing when you know you haven't. Even if this final result is for the best.

I guess listening to sad jazz music doesn't do very much to help dissipate the feeling.

Happy April Fools' Day.

Cheerio