Your Love is King
So old school, but that said... Sade is timeless :)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1cd5zSxElbM
Words: Sade Adu
Music: Sade Adu and Stuart Matthewman
Your love is king,
crown you in my heart.
Your love is king,
never need to part.
Your kisses ring,
round and round and round my head.
Touching the very part of me.
It's making my soul sing.
Tearing the very heart of me.
I'm crying out for more.
Your love is king,
crown you in my heart.
Your love is king.
You're the ruler of my heart.
Your kisses ring,
round and round and round my head.
Touching the very part of me.
It's making my soul sing.
I'm crying out for more.
Your love is king.
This is no blind faith
This is no sad and sorry dream.
This is no blind faith
Your love...
your love is real... gotta crown me with your heart,
never, never need to part,
touch me.
Never letting go,
never letting go,
never going to give it up.
I'm coming,
you're making me dance...
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The Crux of Faith
One week left from departure, and a mere three days after a heart-wrenching interview with them, I received an email from Trailblazers telling me
"that after due consideration, Trailblazer has decided that it is unable to provide you with the requested sponsorship."
It was surprisingly quick--considering I was told that they would take approximately two weeks to respond because they had to write an report to the executive board to argue for my case. Instead, it took them just three days to reply.
I'm not sure how I feel. On one level, I feel like a battered animal. On another, maybe sometimes life really isn't about living by feelings--but knowing we are the beloved of the Lord.
-----
A Youtube clip I saw on Facebook. Especially poignant from 6:00 mins onwards: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YShtFyjsU
One week left from departure, and a mere three days after a heart-wrenching interview with them, I received an email from Trailblazers telling me
"that after due consideration, Trailblazer has decided that it is unable to provide you with the requested sponsorship."
It was surprisingly quick--considering I was told that they would take approximately two weeks to respond because they had to write an report to the executive board to argue for my case. Instead, it took them just three days to reply.
I'm not sure how I feel. On one level, I feel like a battered animal. On another, maybe sometimes life really isn't about living by feelings--but knowing we are the beloved of the Lord.
-----
A Youtube clip I saw on Facebook. Especially poignant from 6:00 mins onwards: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YShtFyjsU
Monday, June 14, 2010
Dissing Demons, Talking Angels
Good interview? Yes. Wonderful in too many ways.
After a 50 minute wait in a chilly foyer, the initial steps I took into the interview room were tired, weary ones. I swiveled slightly in my chair as I sat down--and immediately was greeted with the cold blast of air from above. A unit hovered right behind their heads, pegged to the wall above, and another swooped down from the centre of the room. Right from the get go, I could feel my forehead tighten against the cold air shooting down. Their smiles--a panel of two--were equally tight, just as cold. Silently, above, the arrows continued shooting. Numbing my thoughts, stalling my processes. "Wonderful." I thought. "Let's play."
Add nervousness, a truly skeptical party, difficult questions and an aggressive interviewer who kept on talking over me--it was extremely trying, terrifically unforgiving. Nothing of the willingness to listen or openness to consideration that I so hoped from a foundation that described itself to be truly different from the rest.
It wasn't just in the way the questions were asked, but the spirit in which they were asked. Claudio a good friend of mine told me that I was being unrealistic in expecting them to molly-coddle me through the interview. Instead, it was a good thing that they were constantly challenging me, constantly on my back talking down and asking more about my game, my intentions, and exclaiming "it's going to be very hard, very hard" probably about fifteen times over. Everything lasted for nearly an hour.
While I grew so cold my body started convulsing and my voice started quivering, what bugged me most was also the manner in which the questions were asked. I am grateful that they asked only hard questions--but it was the inexplicable spirit in which they was asked. The gaze, the dismissive hand gesture, the unflinching, cold hard pressed mouth-line told me it knew its answers and conclusions before I could proffer any. The gaze told me it had learnt, earned and heard it all before any words came from my lips. I lost my train of though so many times, left a number of sentences halfway unsaid--mainly because it felt like it had reached its conclusions before I even began.
Given, this attitude may have been a interview tactic to see how far I would bend--and true enough, I felt like walking out of the room towards the end. But instead, I kept quiet, continued smiling while the dismissing and my lack "of a proper CV" was being thrown in my face. I saved those bolting moments to the last, as I firmly shook their hands, thanked them for their time, and walked out to the well of tears stinging my eyes and a deep, heart-wrenching hole quickly boring into my chest.
I needed to breath--I needed to think. And it's ironic that the only space that afforded me those alarming moments of privacy was a toilet cubicle. Even the instant reflex to dial for a trusted friend like Vince or Calvin failed. I stood instead chest-high in a cacophony of hoots and jeers. "This interview was not meant to be like this." I thought. "It was not supposed to have turned out this way." I sat on the toilet seat nursing the wound. The only thing that spoke back were the silent speckles on the toilet's grey marble wall.
That's why I think it so strange though, that when I finally stepped out of that dingy office building, all I could see, was how bright the day truly was. Heavy heart included, yes. But somehow, the day seemed to stand for so much more.
Good interview? Yes. Wonderful in too many ways.
After a 50 minute wait in a chilly foyer, the initial steps I took into the interview room were tired, weary ones. I swiveled slightly in my chair as I sat down--and immediately was greeted with the cold blast of air from above. A unit hovered right behind their heads, pegged to the wall above, and another swooped down from the centre of the room. Right from the get go, I could feel my forehead tighten against the cold air shooting down. Their smiles--a panel of two--were equally tight, just as cold. Silently, above, the arrows continued shooting. Numbing my thoughts, stalling my processes. "Wonderful." I thought. "Let's play."
Add nervousness, a truly skeptical party, difficult questions and an aggressive interviewer who kept on talking over me--it was extremely trying, terrifically unforgiving. Nothing of the willingness to listen or openness to consideration that I so hoped from a foundation that described itself to be truly different from the rest.
It wasn't just in the way the questions were asked, but the spirit in which they were asked. Claudio a good friend of mine told me that I was being unrealistic in expecting them to molly-coddle me through the interview. Instead, it was a good thing that they were constantly challenging me, constantly on my back talking down and asking more about my game, my intentions, and exclaiming "it's going to be very hard, very hard" probably about fifteen times over. Everything lasted for nearly an hour.
While I grew so cold my body started convulsing and my voice started quivering, what bugged me most was also the manner in which the questions were asked. I am grateful that they asked only hard questions--but it was the inexplicable spirit in which they was asked. The gaze, the dismissive hand gesture, the unflinching, cold hard pressed mouth-line told me it knew its answers and conclusions before I could proffer any. The gaze told me it had learnt, earned and heard it all before any words came from my lips. I lost my train of though so many times, left a number of sentences halfway unsaid--mainly because it felt like it had reached its conclusions before I even began.
Given, this attitude may have been a interview tactic to see how far I would bend--and true enough, I felt like walking out of the room towards the end. But instead, I kept quiet, continued smiling while the dismissing and my lack "of a proper CV" was being thrown in my face. I saved those bolting moments to the last, as I firmly shook their hands, thanked them for their time, and walked out to the well of tears stinging my eyes and a deep, heart-wrenching hole quickly boring into my chest.
I needed to breath--I needed to think. And it's ironic that the only space that afforded me those alarming moments of privacy was a toilet cubicle. Even the instant reflex to dial for a trusted friend like Vince or Calvin failed. I stood instead chest-high in a cacophony of hoots and jeers. "This interview was not meant to be like this." I thought. "It was not supposed to have turned out this way." I sat on the toilet seat nursing the wound. The only thing that spoke back were the silent speckles on the toilet's grey marble wall.
That's why I think it so strange though, that when I finally stepped out of that dingy office building, all I could see, was how bright the day truly was. Heavy heart included, yes. But somehow, the day seemed to stand for so much more.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Return to Spain--Quest #25
It's sometimes funny how at different times of the same day, we say such different things. My mind can mentally start a blog post in one moment with a firm sentence, an absolute exclamation. But when I finally sit down and stare at this screen, an entirely different tune comes to play.
Still, the notes, the crochets, the semibreves, the minims stay the same. They remain the same instruments we use to weave our songs of life together.
So I have decided to return to Spain, with or without funding. In many ways, it is a great leap of faith. And I am aware, that this is also an act filled with foolishness in the eyes of many skeptics. But still, I have decided to cast all cynicism aside, and look to God as the source of my strength.
Much of this decision came birthed from a break I took in Kuantan, Malaysia last week. A friend of mine, Siau Ling (aka my "tennis mother") invited me to join her family on an all-expenses paid trip up to a beach side resort along West Malaysia. They had an extra space in their car, an extra bed at the hotel, and a super generous heart to bless me. "Just come and relax" was her persistent persuasion--and I relented.
I'm glad I did go. I took the trip as a blessing of a retreat with God, and spent more than half my free time curled up in bed in my room, reading my bible. During those moments, Isaiah 64 and Psalms 46 became the building blocks that broke into my spirit to build me up again. I will share again one day, how those two chapters came to life--but needless to say, I came back to Singapore better renewed, charged with greater direction. Here is Kuantan, in pictures.
It's sometimes funny how at different times of the same day, we say such different things. My mind can mentally start a blog post in one moment with a firm sentence, an absolute exclamation. But when I finally sit down and stare at this screen, an entirely different tune comes to play.
Still, the notes, the crochets, the semibreves, the minims stay the same. They remain the same instruments we use to weave our songs of life together.
So I have decided to return to Spain, with or without funding. In many ways, it is a great leap of faith. And I am aware, that this is also an act filled with foolishness in the eyes of many skeptics. But still, I have decided to cast all cynicism aside, and look to God as the source of my strength.
Much of this decision came birthed from a break I took in Kuantan, Malaysia last week. A friend of mine, Siau Ling (aka my "tennis mother") invited me to join her family on an all-expenses paid trip up to a beach side resort along West Malaysia. They had an extra space in their car, an extra bed at the hotel, and a super generous heart to bless me. "Just come and relax" was her persistent persuasion--and I relented.
I'm glad I did go. I took the trip as a blessing of a retreat with God, and spent more than half my free time curled up in bed in my room, reading my bible. During those moments, Isaiah 64 and Psalms 46 became the building blocks that broke into my spirit to build me up again. I will share again one day, how those two chapters came to life--but needless to say, I came back to Singapore better renewed, charged with greater direction. Here is Kuantan, in pictures.
8am Lor Mai Kai (Steamed Chicken with Glutinous Rice) breakfast en route to Kuantan
Breathtaking South China Sea, en route to Kuantan
A litter of lanterns hanging outside the coffeeshop we had lunch at, in Kuantan.
Yong tau foo--it looks better than it actually tasted. Shun Li yong tau foo at Bukit Merah tastes better any day.
Kick-ass century egg pork porridge. It had different bits and sizes of pork in it--some lean some minced, some rolled into balls. Topped with crackalicious youtiao and just the right sprinkling of parsley and chong--I ditched my yong tau foo and went for this instead.
I like this shot. The symmetry of legs and the calm colour scheme captures the chill sentiments everyone had during check in.
Random coffeeside roadstore. Lovely pink and purple, unfortunately putrid food. The mee rebus that was supposed to have thick, flavorsome peanut-filled gravy came instead, as a watery swill with an all-ambiguous layer of yellow greasing its top :P
Disgruntled, I walked out from the coffeeshop looking for alternative eats. I found a ramli burger store.
Much, much better. Strangely too, they taste more organic than Macs--I think it because they actually use real ingredients (like fresh cucumber, onions, this one had pineapple in it too). So at the end of the day, it's much more palatable.
Lovebirds
And you too....!
Roadside chendol store. The owner's son (second from right) had one of the most peculiar noses I've ever seen. Think of a hybrid between a parrot and a hawk's merged into one.
The chendol, though, was pret-ty good. Slurpilicious, though it would have been great topped with red beans.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Memories from Yesteryear
Srikanth, my good tennis friend from India forwarded me an email I'd sent him wayyy back in 2007 when I was still an undergraduate at NUS, learning how to play the game:
---------
From: Sarah Pang
Sent: Monday, February 12, 2007 10:26AM
To: Srikanth Vendantam
Subject: Tennis
Hi Srikanth,
---------
From: Sarah Pang
Sent: Monday, February 12, 2007 10:26AM
To: Srikanth Vendantam
Subject: Tennis
Hi Srikanth,
I don't know if you remember me, but I'm a tennis player you rallied with a really long time ago on the courts of NUS. I'm a rather tall, I was wearing longs and playing with my dad. You passed me your name card and said you were looking for someone to play tennis on a consistent basis. I have been intending to email you as I am also looking for people to rally with, but lost your namecard. I just found it!
Would you be interested in hitting the NUS courts sometime round?
Best,
Sarah
Sarah
----------
I remember I was practicing with my dad that morning when he very lackadaisically strolled by our court. It was a hot weekday and he had his tennis racquet in one hand and a big red plastic bag with a few old tennis balls in the other.
Being the goofball I was, I immediately became very self-conscious about what I saw as my ridiculous tennis outfit. I was in a tatty long-sleeved shirt, coupled with baggy long pants and an oh-biang cap. The garb was "sponsored" by my neurotic dad, who insisted that I had to protect my skin from the terrible sun.
My dad ended up inviting him to hit with me (father's neuroticism also translates to a certain charm at times, which he uses whenever he sees fit). Srikanth very sportily agreed, I sheepishly got onto the other end, and the rest, as they say, is history :)
It never fails to amaze me how the game of tennis gives us such wonderful opportunities to make many friends. In some cases, they become good ones, and Srikanth has, over the years at NUS, become one of them. One thing that made me like him from the start was how easy going he was. He never minded my ridiculous baggy, long outfits, or that we used only old balls and ratty racquets. What he did mind was treating others well and refraining from passing judgement on others. Match that with conversations about tennis technique, mechanical engineering and literature, Saturday morning tennis sessions during my Undergraduate days were made that much less awkward, and a lot more enjoyable!
Unfortunately, as training revved up, we started hitting less often. And recently, Srikanth just returned to India for good, with tenure to teach in Chennai. He and his lovely wife Aparna invited me over to their place for a kick-ass goodbye dinner--and it was such good fun just talking and chowing with them, I couldn't help but wish we had stayed in contact more frequently after I graduated. I mean, I could've had chance to eat more of Aparna's kick-ass Indian food!! ;) Still, as we said our parting goodbyes, Srikanth grinned and told me that if I ever reached the 3rd (or was it 4th?) round of any Grand Slam, he would def. fly over to come watch me play.
I laughed out loud and grinned back, big time :D Have a great time back home, dude! We'll keep in touch for sure :)
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