journey
haven't posted lyrics in a long while, but sometimes it's just easier to use someone else's wordsJourneyMusic and lyrics by Corrine MayIt's a long, long journey Till I know where I'm supposed to be It's a long, long journey and I don't know if I can believe When shadows fall and block my eyes I am lost and know that I must hide It's a long, long journey Till I find my way home to you Many days I've spent Drifting on through empty shores Wondering what's my purpose Wondering how to make me strong I know I will falter I know I will cry I know you'll be standing by my side It's a long long journey And I need to be close to you Sometimes it seems no one understands I don't even know why I do the things I do When pride builds me up till I can't see my soul Will you break down these walls and pull me through? 'Cause it's a long, long journey Till I feel that I am worth the price You paid for me on calvary Beneath those stormy skies When Satan mocks and friends turn to foes It feels like everything is out to make me lose control It's a long, long journey Till I find my way home to you
like a wineskin in the smoke
Psalm 119 is beautiful.
The Matthew Henry commentary describes it so, "This is a psalm by itself, like none of the rest; it excels them all, and shines brightest in this constellation. It is much longer than any of them more than twice as long as any of them. it is not making long prayers that Christ censures, but making them for a pretence, which intimates that they are in themselves good and commendable. It seems to me to be a collection of David's pious and devout ejaculations, the short and sudden breathings and elevations of his soul to God, which he wrote down as they occurred, and, towards the latter end of his time, gathered out of his daybook where they lay scattered, added to them many like words, and digested them into this psalm, in which there is seldom any coherence between the verses, but, like Solomon's proverbs, it is a chest of gold rings, not a chain of gold links."
I don't know why its beauty only struck me last night, but I think it has something to do with the power of this verse.
"Though I am like a wineskin in the smoke, I do not forget your decrees." Psalm 119:83
I didn't know what a wineskin in the smoke really was, no clue as to its significance, only that it seemed to capture what I'm feeling like right now. A wineskin in the smoke. So anyway, this morning I decided to find out, again from Matthew Henry commentary-
"David begs God would make haste to comfort him. Lord, make haste to help me, for I have become like
a bottle in the smoke,
a leathern bottle, which if it hung any while in the smoke, was not only blackened with soot, but dried, and parched, and shrivelled up. David was thus wasted by age, and sickness, and sorrow. "
Not really something I can identify with, though aging I'm still young, still healthy, not sorrowful. But the later lines leapt out at me. "A bottle, when it is thus wrinkled with smoke, is thrown by, and there is no more use of it.
Who will put wine into such old bottles? Thus was David, in his low estate, looked upon as
a despised broken vessel, and as
a vessel in which there was no pleasure."
My affliction is hardly as great but perhaps what's struck me is something like that described in this line, "Good men, when they are drooping and melancholy, sometimes think themselves more slighted than really they are". Sigh. Still David never cooled in his affection to the word of God, never let His precepts, His statues slip his mind. I shall endeavour to do the same, praying that this empty vessel may be filled again.
Lord, let me set my heart and mind on things above whatever my outward condition.
betrayal
Many thanks to Uma, I got to watch Harold Pinter's
Betrayal on Friday.
I'm really glad I did too. Amazing script from a brilliant playwright aside, it brought back floods of memories of A-level lit, Tom Stoppard-Rosencrantz & Guildenstern, of HC's drama productions, so that I must admit I wasn't fully appreciating the play for itself.
I think there's value in watching that sort of "verbal tennis" being played out on stage, feeling the heaviness of each weighted line, noting all the layers behind each line, being conscious of the us knowing and them on stage not having a clue bit... all this lit essay stuff kept coming up! It was in the first scene where jerry and emma meet that that tension, from not quite knowing where they're going and repeating perfunctory how-are-yous, was so palpable it reminded right away of R&G. and the jerry-robert scenes as well! and the actor playing jerry reminded me of mr perry. haha.
Shall read the play soon. Uma's right, I don't support and appreciate enough the arts scene in Singapore to be able to criticise it at all.
The play got me wondering about betrayal as well. Betrayal in a marriage, in a friendship, in a working relationship, of youthful ambition/passion maybe, what else? Is it possible to betray yourself? Anyway, haven't watched a play in ages (yes, what have I been doing in London?!?) so, a milestone to record.
missing london
ucl portico and blue skies
Originally uploaded by incandescere.Even though I've so much left to do here at home, I really want to get back to London. To a new home in Maiden Lane, to new housemates, to the grand old portico and pretty autumnal colours and blue skies, to charing cross borders and the big waterstones, and yummy sainsbury's taste the difference cookies. And lots more...
I think it's mostly because I've been reading too many london-related things. like www.londonist.com and www.timeout.com/london/ (in the office too- guilty).
For example, I realised that I'm missing the BBC Proms, for which the cheapest tickets to some quality performances are just four pounds each!
holiday
Today's National Day break was more than welcome. Got to spend time with sisters - we can finally play a four-player Scrabble game! haha, now that min's wise enough. :) Watched half of a Series of Unfortunate Events (my second time, it's such a brilliant show) before being whisked off to catch the fireworks with the family, from Esplanade Bay. It was great, really magnificent, colourful, bright, noisy, and we were so close we could touch the fireworks! Falling sparks landed on our shoulders and in our hair. :)
I especially adored the two little Malay boys standing on a bench in front of us. They wore red shirts and had flags which they'd wave enthusiastically each time planes/helicopters flew past, holding them stretched up as high as their stubby little hands could go and screaming themselves hoarse, as if hoping the pilots would see them! They were kind of bouncing non-stop atop their bench to the blaring music too, so cute. Bryan, who was in uniform over at City Hall, told me how other little children waved at him (policeman, policeman!) as their parents dragged them through the crowds into the MRT station. I found that so funny, maybe little boys still want to become policemen when they grow up!
It was a welcome break, and today I read about thanksgiving. I certainly have much to give thanks for, though I've difficulty "giving thanks continually" and "always" and for "everything" For example, I can't feel thankful for the dilemma I have currently. Even though I might vaguely say I'm thankful because I know I'm learning something from it or will in the near future, it's too confusing for me to truly feel gratitude. Most of my "prayers and petitions" are hardly put forth "in thanksgiving" either, to be honest. (Phil 4:6) How??
Send some rain, would You send some rain? 'Cause the earth is dry and needs to drink againAnyway, the dilemma: Where am I now?- expecting too much, setting unattainable ideals or compromising ideals and settling for too little. Which is more important when?- heart over head, because cold hard intellectualism often destroys humanity and feeling, even faith, or head over heart, because "the heart is deceitful above all things" and one shouldn't let emotions rule. How to discern my inner self?- am I wanting what I do not need, am I tossing aside what I do need, am I willing myself down a path that is wrong, doing so because I desire it for myself and with no consideration for higher and perfect plans? How to tell?
Oh the differences that often are between Everything we want and what we needIt's tough. I'm glad I got this nice day's break to think about it. But I guess in most circumstances (bad ones included) and for most things (bad ones included too), I still feel an overwhelming sense of wonder at the grace so astounding that has found me.
But maybe not, not today Maybe You'll provide in other ways And if that's the case... We'll give thanks to You with gratitude For lessons learned in how to thirst for You How to bless the very sun that warms our face If You never send us rain
- lyrics from Gratitude, by Nichole Nordeman
stories
A bad day, is when everything, right from the very beginning of the day, goes wrong... and then even when it looks like things are brightening up, will suddenly go even more wrong than before, so that it ends up just being all wrong. sigh. My day's now ending with a very stuffed nose, a sandpaper throat, and a searching heart.
On Saturday night I think, I watched "The Story of Us" on tv. Under a different set of circumstances, in fact I think under any other circumstances than the ones I was in that night, I would have found it extremely banal, contrived, full of bad writing and maybe even painful.
But that night, I caught myself tearing over parts of this silly show, and sat watching it to the end. After that, getting ready for bed, I wondered why I was being so foolish. And remembered what John Connolly said at Goodwood Park Hotel last week. (I thought he was absolutely charming! Not at all intimidating even though he'd been a journalist before writing his books, and had himself interviewed authors so interviewing him was kind of surreal. And nothing like what I'd imagined from his books, or rather book since I'd only read a bit of The Black Angel, and full of these funny little stories. but back to what he said...)
He was recounting the time in his youth after that "first real break-up: the one that everyone goes through and thinks their broken heart will never heal from, and really your heart might mend but is never quite the same way again". So anyway he was talking about being all down and out, working as a barman at some Irish pub in a small Irish town full of bachelors (workers who'd come down from the mountains) and spinsters (from all over), and stuck there with "the desperate and the lovelorn", he was reading a book called "The Sportswriter". (I recall the title because it struck me as unusual) And a line from the epilogue jumped out at him. It was something about love, but I didn't catch it. What I recalled on Saturday night, was what he said about how sometimes when reading, a line just stares you in the face, and there's the sudden feeling of: I'm not alone.
But sometimes the exact opposite happens, I read something and think, why am I not like that. Or I read something and think, I can't believe this person is like that. Though I still agree with him when he says that he doesn't like people who look down on fiction reading. :)
Anyway, the reason why what he said last week popped up, was that in some ways watching films, even the worst ones, can sometimes be like that. And I found little things in Katie (the story of us character) I could identify with. Trying to solve crosswords to answer the little questions amidst bigger ones, feeling rightly or wrongly that every burden in the world rested on her weak shoulders alone, flaring up over the tiniest comment etc. Of course it didn't help that (I thought) she was made to look like the ultimate villain!
But in the end, it's just a show right? And in trying to portray all the mundane facts of a relationship, they couldn't have been entirely honest either. How futile to watch a bunch of lies and stupid jokes (like: hey your butt's not a butt it's just the fatty extension of your thighs and so in the same way life and love is just what you make of it. cringe.) and then cry!
Still, there's too much to learn, too much to perfect, too much to accept that sometimes you can't help but grow weary right? So what's the harm in crying and laughing over something meaningless once in awhile, no harm done. :)
Back to my bad day: a little pondering has shown that it wasn't all bad. Just the phonecalls and sms-es to a single annoying individual, and the taxi driver who almost got me into an accident and still swore at the rest of the world including me, and I couldn't even tell him not too because of my sorethroat. But other than that, it was mostly good.
I've got less than two weeks less at the new paper, have got wasted about six already, so I must must must make the most of the remaining time.
