Time is ticking away, tick, tick, ticking away...

Sorry for not writing for so long. Writer's block is a terrible evil that afflicts me very often. Have yet to find an effective antidote for it. :p

Today I came to the frightening realization that one month of this year has already passed me by. 5 weeks, 31 days, 744 hours. ALL GONE. No way of reclaiming any of those lost minutes. Not a chance of stealing back that wasted afternoon in front of the telly. Wish I had done this, or this, or some of that that day, instead of...
Wishful thinking. Have I mentioned that those days, hours, minutes, and moments are ALL GONE? Makes me think of the poignant lyrics of Switchfoot:

Gone, like yesterday is gone
Like history is gone
The world keeps spinning on
You're going, going, gone
Like summer break is gone,
Like saturday is gone
Just try to prove me wrong
You pretend like you're immortal.

We are not infinite
We are not permanent
Nothing is immediate
We're so confident
In our accomplishments
Look at our decadence

Gone, like Frank Sinatra,
like Elvis and his mom,
Like Al Pachino's cash,
nothing lasts in this life
Gone, my high school dreams are gone,
my childhood sweets are gone
Life is a day that doesn't last for long.

Sounds a lot like what another songsmith wrote more than 2 millenia ago:
So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.

Sober words. Wish I could get them from my head to my heart to my hands. Talk is cheap. Really cheap. I do so much less than I say that I figure those around me aren't hearing much, since actions are supposed to speak louder than words. Can't hear much of ol' Hand. It's drowned by the vociferous Lip. Talk, talk, talk. Yak, yak, yak. Not easy for Hand to out-shout Lip.
I think that if a study and in-depth moment-by-moment analysis of my typical day were to be done, it's quite likely that the results would not be very far from the following:
% of day intentionally spent with God - 5
% of day sleeping - 40
% of day spent meaningfully (e.g. homework, studying, blogging, heart-to-heart talks, chores, planning, etc.) - 15
% of day utterly wasted on meaningless drifting, lazing, and assorted lepak activities - 40
Check it out. A whopping EIGHTY percent of each typical day is WASTED. Gone. Lost. Out of reach forever.
Something's gotta give. I can't keep doing this. Time is precious, especially at this crucial turning point in my life. The chapters of my life that I write today will have a bearing on the rest of my life. Gotta start writing in earnest.
Let me start with tomorrow morning. Write: out of bed, up and at 'em at 7 a.m. Did you hear that? That was the Lip. Lip says Joel is going to get up at 7 a.m. Hand raises his hand (?? no pun intended :P) and waves it frantically, going, "Me too, me too! I think he's going to wake up at 7 too!".
Let's see if Hand can shout as loud as Lip tomorrow morning. I'll report my success tomorrow. I'd better go sleep now, get enough rest, recharge so I can jump out of the sack at 7 a.m. tomorrow morning. Nite!

Half-baked Gripe

I'm writing this in a vain attempt to extricate myself from the soft, cruel tentacles of boredom. This was not how it was supposed to end up. We had such gloriously exciting plans for the afternoon...board games, trivia, a movie or two, FUN. How did it come to this?
My vision is blurred and foggy, and my eyelids feel as heavy as lead. I can barely keep my eyes open. My mind is trapped in a downward spiral of atrophy. I can barely even remember who I am, what I'm here for, what I did in the last few hours. Everything is so hazy, so vague...a thick grey cloud covering everything in a dark cloud of fuzziness and apathy.
This was supposed to be a FAMILY vacation. We went away, we traveled so that we could have time together...spend quality time, talk, eat, relax, enjoy each other's company. But I guess that, without conscious effort, it's just too easy to drift apart into our own worlds, each doing their own thing. Like chemical suspensions separate into their constituent parts over time without external influence, so our family has disassociated in the past few hours. The parents have gone to visit an ill friend, the sister is engrossed in her personal online universe, and the bored brother is here typing this, frantically fending off the slow, subtle, creeping assault of crippling boredom.
But having an afternoon with no fixed agenda does afford one much time to spend in one's thoughts; a valuable asset for aspiring writers, musicians and artists. Reflection and contemplation are the wellsprings of creative thought.
(Ed - This piece ended in a miscarriage...it incubated in my mind for too long. Certain unforeseen circumstances cut off the supply of life-giving blood to the maturing embryo (I stopped being bored, because I was writing this piece. :p So the emotional charge was lost d la). Thus cut off from it's only source of life, the partially-formed composition withered away and was quietly expelled from my system)

Er...dunno wat to call it.

After reading with much interest the slew of articles and comments that have been flying around lately concerning certain rude and undesirable habits of Malaysians, including a pointed and witty one by a friend of mine, I have been with difficulty resisting the urge to scratch the itch to respond with my own 2-sen worth.
Unfortunately, I have failed. The very words that you are now reading attest to the strength, or lack thereof, of my willpower. I have, regrettably, yielded to the near-irresistible itch to speak.
The recent week-long survey/contest run by the Star newspaper that invited readers nationwide to vote the top 10 Rudest Malaysian Habits made for some interesting and thought-provoking reading. The list included such gems as inconsiderate driving and parking (DEFINITELY top on my list), spitting in public, littering, asking people how much they earn in public, jumping queues, and even taking too much food from buffet lines.
Sad though it is, it’s undeniable that every single item on the list was far from far-fetched. Every listed habit was an inseparable part of the daily Malaysian experience. Road users will gladly (hmm…maybe not gladly, but nonetheless) corroborate this statement with their own personal horror stories. Which Malaysian driver has not been overtaken on the left lane (for the uninitiated, we drive on the left side of the road) or harassed by wannabe Max Biaggis and Valentino Rossis? Who hasn’t inched slowly through a narrow back lane lined on each side with parked cars whose drivers seem to lack critical grey matter? Or who hasn’t had to swerve to avoid cars that indiscriminately switch lanes without signaling their intentions? (For a few specific examples, try angelinespage.blogspot.com) Hmm…perhaps someone should consider compiling these horror stories and producing a best-seller, I don’t know, Malaysian True Horror Stories: Tales from the Road? (Ya, go ahead and laugh. It's lame, I know)
Maybe this habit of ours should be short-listed to appear on the Top 10 Things that Aggravate Your Nervous System and Significantly Diminish Your Lifespan and Quality of Life. I’m sure it would fare pretty well, maybe make it to the Top 3 at least, along with Dirtying and Defacing Public Toilets, and Having Absolutely No Regard for Other People’s Time.
Let's face it, driving on Malaysian roads, particularly in Penang, is definitely not for the faint of heart. Doctors should advise those who have weak hearts, high blood pressure, etc. against driving. Driving here should be classified as a high-risk extreme sport, like vertical wall-climbing or aggressive in-line skating. There is a very real possibility of permanent physiological or psychological damage. Seriously. I cringe every time I get behind the wheel, knowing very well that the next few moments could be my last here on earth. The road is filled with evil motorists out to mutilate and murder me in the most horrible ways imaginable. Eh-heh heh. *Accidentally bites tongue in cheek*
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hold any bitter grudges against God for placing me in this country. I consider myself every bit a Malaysian, and I’m definitely grateful to God for choosing Malaysia as my birthplace. I’m just tickled that it’s taken us so long to bring our quirks out into the open for honest discussion and satire. Mature people know not to take themselves too seriously. They admit and laugh at their own mistakes and shortcomings. Ditto mature societies. I laud the genius that thought up this Rude Malaysian survey/contest thingy. I think it’s just fantastic that we Malaysians are finally looking at ourselves in the mirror, looking at our pimples and potbellies and blemishes, and still loving ourselves for who we are, every pimply bit, even if the zits stay after a vigorous facial, and the belly refuses to succumb to hours of sweat on the treadmill.
We Christians should take our cue from what’s happening and do some frank self-evaluation too. Go ahead. Look yourself in the mirror. Got any laugh-out-loud quirky habits or downright embarrassing bad habits that you like to sweep under the carpet? Any ugly habits that you just can’t bring yourself to mention? Self-examination’s cathartic you know. Scriptural, even. The way to do it, friends, is to look into the perfect law of liberty, like a man observing his natural face in a mirror. (Give James 1:22-25 a look) Can’t say it’ll be flattering or make you feel good about yourself, but it’ll definitely do you good to see that spot on your chin so you can go wash it off.
No use hiding it or trying to cover it up with make-up. Just go ahead and acknowledge the cracks in your wall so you can fix them. That’s the whole purpose of self-examination: self-improvement. Listen to this: “But he who looks into the perfect law of liberty and continues in it, and is not a forgetful hearer, but a doer of the word, this one will be blessed in what he does.”
I read with satisfaction the report in today’s Star about the large number of responses from the public to the Rude Malaysian issue, both in print and on the radio shows. Many of these responses included practical suggestions on how to rectify these problems, and some even professed undying love for the country and its citizens regardless of their quirks and shortcomings. (Ed – you seem to like the word “quirk”, huh. ;p)
I think that much good can come from this seemingly insignificant exercise. I hope that the media will continue this positive trend of honest self-examination, and that the public will follow suit and perhaps even take steps to address the problems and issues raised. I’m sure that Malaysia will become a better place to live, work and play in. Just like the church will be a much nicer place to be in if Christians do the same. “This one will be blessed in what he does.”

Exhortation to love for the savior and creator of all

It is truly a wonderful thing to observe the positive effects that nature in all its glory can have on a person. The lush, verdant greens of the rolling estate landscape offer a pleasing alternative to the eye so accustomed to hard concrete and miles of tar. The fresh highland air and towering mounts revitalize and refresh, bringing strength to tired hands and hope to weary limbs. In such surroundings as one finds oneself in the beautiful Cameron Highlands, one feels a song of praise to the Almighty Creator welling up from within, bursting forth in the joyous songs of the cricket, the thrush, the sparrow, and the rushing streams and waterfalls.
O how I love the Creator! How I marvel at His precision, His unsurpassed creativity, His vastness and majestic greatness revealed in the splendid grandeur of the highlands! When I consider Thy creation, O Lord, and the heavens, which Thou hast ordained with Thine very hands, what is man that Thou art mindful of Him? And the son of man, that Thou visitest him?My heart is filled with love and awe for my Lord, the Almighty, who formed and fashioned all these wonders, and yet, came to the earth He created to suffer and die and the hands of His creation to redeem them from the curse of sin and death. How great the sacrifice, how deep the love of the Father, that He would send His only begotten Son to die for such as us!
How can I run after vain glories when my Savior left the matchless glories of Paradise for the lowly dwellings of men, mere hovels in comparison with the smallest mansion in heaven? How can I hold back anything from the One who gave His all for me? How can I indulge in the evil passions of sin, when it was for those very things that He endured the scourge, the crown-of-thorns, and the nails?
Take me as I am, dear Lord, my life is all Thine. Break me, mould me, fashion me, O Master Craftsman, into Your likeness, into an instrument of Your glory. Then use me to proclaim the splendor of Your glorious Name, and the mighty works of Your right arm. All glory and honor and wisdom and strength to Him who sits upon the throne, crowned in mercy and truth, and unto the Lamb forever and ever amen!

Tandoori delight

The glorious sounds and sights and smells attack Mr. M as he cautiously edges into the crowded shophouse. The exquisite fragrances of freshly baked naan, sizzling tandoori chickens, and exotic varieties of curries and gravies transport him into aromatic bliss. The bustling crowd eating, drinking, talking, laughing, and the pounding rhythms and ethereal melodies of traditional Indian music tease and pamper his ears, playing his mind into fantasies of sweltering India, where spices and culinary pleasures abound.
A friendly worker balances a plate of steaming chapatti as he ushers this awestruck gentleman up a steep, narrow flight of stairs to an empty table by a window. Makan (What would you like to eat, sir?) ? The able, earnest-faced worker speaks almost no English. Er...tandoori satu, garlic naan dua, bagi daging dada (One tandoori, two garlic naan, breast meat please).
The worker shakes his head in recognition and rushes off to attend to another customer.
Our quiet gentleman removes his silk tie, loosens his starched collar, and carefully rolls up his sleeves. He walks over to a nearby sink and meticulously washes his hands, a must for those intending to fully indulge in the North Indian dining experience. He returns to his seat and waits expectantly.
Presently another dark-faced, bright-eyed worker hands him a cup of cold water and a banana leaf to eat out of.
The earnest-faced worker returns, this time armed with a plate of tandoori chicken and a basket of steaming naan. The succulent chunks of chicken are dyed a deep red, framed by shreds of onion and carrot. Mr. M thanks the earnest-faced worker, says a quick prayer of thanksgiving over the victuals and sets to. From the curry pot on his table, he scoops generous helpings of dhall curry onto his banana leaf.
Ever so slowly, he downs the naan, a tender chunk of chicken nestled in the fold of each curry-soaked piece. The powerful aroma fills his nostrils with each bite, enveloping him, carrying him to heights of gastronomic ecstasy.
All too soon, the meal is over. His empty banana leaf stares mournfully back at him. His digestive system cries out for mercy as it struggles to digest the mountain of food that has just been sent down the tracks. Leaning back, he contentedly rubs his full belly and partially stifles a deep belch. Satisfaction...

She's back.

I peer through the sparse crowd huddling around the pillars, waiting for their loved ones to emerge from the immigration chamber. She was scheduled to arrive at 10 past 11, but it's already a quarter past 11. My eyes are beginning to brim with tears, not borne of expectancy or deep emotion, but caused by the chilling bite of the overadequate air conditioners. A sleepy family is chatting around the waiting area, some standing, some hugging themselves to keep warm, some carelessly sprawled over the rows of empty chairs. The cavernous arrival area of the Penang International Airport, usually bustling with activity and sights and sounds, now threatens to engulf you in its ominous silence.
I blink back the tears and pull my arms around myself, trying to stop my teeth from chattering.
My mind flashes back to the last time I saw her. Would she still be the same? She was fair, with a waist-long sheet of hair that shimmered in the sun. 3 years Down Under had deeply colored her fashion sense. Sleeveless tank tops and low-waist miniskirts had become the vogue in her wardrobe.
I move closer to the glass partition in an attempt to distance myself from the cold blast of the air conditioners.
Finally, I see some weary travelers trickling in through the immigrations. The chairs in the waiting area are now empty, as the sleepy family is now crowding the arrival exit, each member craning their neck in wakeful anticipation of the arrival of their loved one.
Then I see her. It's unmistakeable, that walk of hers. She walks with the same intensity with which she lives her fast-paced life. There is an edge and confidence in her gait, regardless of her speed. The long flight has somewhat abated that edge, though. Her shoulders sag as she pushes her luggage into the immigrations counter.
She has changed. Her once fair skin is now sunkissed. Her sleeveless top proudly displays her exotically tanned arms. Brown as a berry. I lean against the glass, my face fixed in a dreamy grin as I watch her clear immigrations and make her way to the exit. Our eyes meet. She returns the smile.
I can't believe she's finally back. I look back at my mother, and we both rush to meet her at the exit. We fall into each others' arms. The world around me dims. She's back. My sister is finally back.

Of fears, doubts, and an ever present Help in trouble

Uncertainties, fears, indecision, doubts…plaguing me, dogging my every step...frustration extends its noose around my neck. The lights and sounds of the world beckon, they grab me by the head and force my gaze upon their wares: fame, prestige, renown, safety and security…they turn my face away from the patiently waiting Father, still standing by my side, waiting for me to turn my ear toward His counsel. I flounder in an ocean of questions. Which college? Which course? Which career? What are you doing now? Working? Studying? Where will you be going? So, going overseas this year, ar? Where, America ar? Took A-levels d ar? Oh yar, you din take SPM hor. So how? How? When? Where? What?
Still, He waits patiently by my side. Still, He waits patiently for me to turn my ear toward Him. If I would just stop, ask and listen. And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left.
When I said, My foot slippeth, Thy mercy, O Lord, held me up. In the multitude of my thoughts within me Thy comforts delight my soul.
If it had not been the LORD who was on our side, now may Israel say; If it had not been the LORD who was on our side, when men rose up against us: Then they had swallowed us up quick, when their wrath was kindled against us: Then the waters had overwhelmed us, the stream had gone over our soul:  Then the proud waters had gone over our soul. 
Blessed be the LORD, who hath not given us as a prey to their teeth.  Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers: the snare is broken, and we are escaped.  Our help is in the name of the LORD, who made heaven and earth. 
Stop. Quiet your soul, dear child. Look to me. Be still and know that I am God. But, so many questions. O God, why are You so silent? Why do those who do not call on Your name have infinitely more direction, more purpose, and so much less doubt and uncertainties, seemingly, than I do? Show me the way; all I want is to do exactly, unerringly, what You want me to do. All I want is to be in the center of Your will, to be aligned perfectly with your plans and purposes for me. All I want…Quiet your soul, dear child. Be still and know that I am God.
But yet, I know that You are with me. Even now, You are directing me, whispering softly in my ear. This is the way, walk ye in it. A lamp, a light, sure and faithful are Your words, O God. When ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left.
I know that You order my steps O God, even when I cannot know it with my mind and emotions, even when my soul screams within me for confirmation that You are indeed with me. Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child.  Let Israel hope in the LORD from henceforth and for ever. 
O how I love Your law, O Lord! Your word is faithful, and Your hand never fails those who put their trust in You. I trust in You, O God my strength, my shield and deliverer. My hope is anchored on the Rock of Ages. Blessed be Your name O Lord of Hosts! Let all the peoples declare your glory!
Let Israel hope in the LORD from henceforth and for ever.
Yes. My hope is in the LORD, Yahweh, from henceforth and for ever.

About the New Year

It's 2005 already. I can't believe it. It just won't register in my head, the fact that 2004 has passed, and that the new year has arrived.
As I look back on the year that has just passed, I’m just so grateful to God for once again faithfully carrying me right through, thick and thin. This year was truly a year of new beginnings for me. I made so many new friends, deepened friendships like I never knew I could, experienced God in real ways that I never imagined possible, acquired new skills, dropped bad habits, started new good habits, and slaughtered a few sacred cows and white elephants along the way, including the hallowed television. (Gasp! :p) I feel that I’ve grown tremendously this past year, but it’s definitely not a reason for me to boast. There is absolutely no basis for pride, as I know without a doubt that the advances I’ve made this year are a result of the patient work of the Holy Spirit, the sovereign hand of God, the steadfast guidance of my parents, and the good influence of my close friends and family.
A greatly significant milestone of the year was that I was, by the grace of God and the irrepressible power of His resurrection, set free from a 6-year bondage to a particular secret sin. I now enter the coming year clean, and free realize the potential that God has placed in me and to fulfill his plans and purposes for me this year. The devil lost a prisoner this year, and that prisoner is going to cause him a lifetime of grief, beginning with this year. :p
Also, I feel that I have matured emotionally over the past year. I am no longer as insecure in my relationships with others as I once was. I’ve learnt not to depend so much on people, and through a particular close friend, I learnt how to be more sensitive to the often unspoken needs of others.
Yes, 2004 was a good year that will be difficult to top. But I’m also looking forward to 2005.
The thought that thrills me is that I've got a clean slate in front of me. No chinks, no rough edges, no stains from previous mistakes. Clean. Ready to be chiseled and crafted. Ready for me to write the next chapter of my life's story.
The prospect of making that first mark on this slate is at once tantalizing and intimidating. Well, I guess I won’t have to worry too much about that clean slate anymore. The first day of the new year has already passed, and many marks have been made on that still fresh slate, most unconsciously chiseled in. Now I’ve got only tomorrow to worry about, and the day after, and the day after that, and the day after that, and…you get the picture.
It’s going to be an interesting year, with more major changes in store for me. I’ll be going to college this year, and I’ll also probably get a taste of working life for a short period. I’ll be “leaving the nest” for the first time, and I’ll have to learn to be more independent and responsible as part of my continued transition into adulthood.
Yes, 2005 holds many things in store for me, and together with God, my family, and my faithful buddies, I hope to fly through this year like I flew through the last. Happy new year, everyone!