Making the Mark

I have this sinking feeling.

Like when I was sitting with all the other kids at the assembly hall in Primary 6, waiting for my PSLE results. They flashed transparencies of the overall pass rate, how many people would qualify for secondary school, the percentage rate of A*s for each subject (It wasn’t enough just to get an A, mind you), etc, etc. Then it came to the top students. They announced them one by one, slowly peeling back the paper to reveal the next honourable candidate, and the straight flush of A*s they garnered.

It’s okay, I mean I never thought I’d be one of them, but it still clutched at my throat every time.

And then came my brown envelope. I don’t remember opening it, or whether my parents were smiling at me in anticipation, or shuffling about nervously. I don’t remember whether my friends came to ask me how I did, or what I told them. I can’t remember what rushed through my mind or the feelings that welled up inside, when I saw the numbers stare blankly back at me -

2, 4, 8.

I can’t even remember if I cried.

I remember hopes swelling, and then being dashed. I remember anticipation rising, and then falling from a great height. I remember my mother not talking to me for 3 days. I remember being ferryed around to all the prime schools, using my choir background as barter in a trade, or more like collateral in a desperate plea for quality of education, no, status … hm, for what? I remember the patronising smiles and the weak consolatory pat-on-the-back’s and the “everything’s-going-to-be-alright’s”; all the while, seeing nothing but disappointment in their eyes.

My first brush with failure.

I’ve had plenty of time to redeem myself since then. I don’t believe I’ve faced another ’setback’ to that extent. Sure, I failed the occasional Chinese, and A Math, and Chemistry test in high school. Sure, I got the occasional H2B in Criminology, oh, and what about that P in Torts and Processes of Law … But they didn’t matter, it wouldn’t, it didn’t change the course of my life.  Somehow, I’ve narrowly escaped the clutches of my nemesis, Failure, time and again, when it came down to the crunch – by sheer bravado, by dumb luck, by the grace of God.

Funny, now I feel like I’m staring him in the eye again.

But I’m going to tell him, that some time in the future, I will look back on today – at this document, littered with comments demanding that I clarify this and explain that; at this email, seemingly nonchalant and uncomfortably curt (but highly prone to misinterpretation, in my anxious state); at that application checklist, which effectively seeks to deem how ‘good’ of a person I am in a matter of 3 documents  – and I’ll be able to say again:

It didn’t matter. It didn’t change the course of my life. I’m still where I want to be.

Even though today, it feels like I’m that little girl in a congested hall, with a brown envelope in my hands. Even though today, it feels like these 10,000 words are going to shape the rest of my professional career, determine the soil I walk on, the house I build, the future I cannot see…

It’s out of my hands, and into Yours.

Conviction

“I don’t know why, there’s no basis for this, but out of all people, I know you’ll be okay.”

People have said that to me on numerous occasions, in a variety of ways.

I wonder what compels them to make such a bold statement, it sounds almost like a proclamation. And I look intently at them, searching for truth, hoping to find tell-tale glimpses of honesty, a flash of genuineness in their eyes.

Maybe it would help me believe them more.

But I will not deny, the surge of strength that pulses through me. I feel my resolve firing up, preening its feathers, raring to make it all come to pass. It is strangely reassuring, this backless claim – but I find myself resting in the promise of it, couched in the intangible possibilities that could surmount from this single, daring, projection.

Perhaps, this is what faith is all about?

Thank you. I too, desperately want to believe that I will be more than fine.

On the Whole

I’m finding it extremely hard to reconcile.

I am torn between a myriad of conflicting selves, the cacophony of voices that fill the auditorium of my mind. They all pull this way and that. So much is at stake – pride and principles. They all seemed to emerge at once, shouting over each other, layer atop layer, clamouring to be heard -

The me that simply wants to be surrounded by people she can call friends on her 21st.

The me that seeks to achieve; that derives deep satisfaction from crafting an argument – feeling the words flow from my fingertips, and the sentences taking frame in my head. I strive for no less than excellence.

The me that is with you. Bright-eyed and eager, brimming with wonder and anticipation. I wonder what it would be like if I engaged every day and every person with this intensity and – Lapping up every moment in the glory of its fullness, documenting it in memories. And it is sad that I fail to realize, that the more I archive, the deeper I drive the knife into the wound.

The me that still wants to save the world. Friend, counselor, confidante, psychologist. I still wrestle with that picture. I need compassion and empathy as second nature, not as an afterthought. I take that back, I think I need to be love.

The me that longs to be Your child, to know You – to sit at Your feet, to wait upon the Lord, to experience the intensity of a first love. A part of me longs to earnestly learn what it means to truly worship, to sing songs of your salvation, to proclaim freedom . Teach me.

The me that struggles to fulfill the duties of a daughter, to rise above the pressures that have been bestowed upon the first-born. More so, something in me needs to move beyond obligation and to dig deep again, return to my roots, remember where I came from… to be grateful again.

The me that sorely wants to lash out at the world. To scream against the unfairness of it all and cry bitterly over the injustice that has been doled out to me. I wish I had the strength to shut out the noise and wall myself up. I used to take pride in standing alone.

It has come to a point where I can no longer find reason behind action. And really, it comes down to one very simple question:

Why?

Why do I go, knowing that I will leave? Why do I try, so damn, freaking hard for something that I can never get… maybe something I don’t even really want.

I will never fit in. I will never have fun. That will never be my scene. This is far from the best for me.

Will this ever feel like home?

Tonight, the bite of the cold brought comfort and freshness, and the tears brought shame instead of relief. I hear words echoing from the past, the rustle of ink-blotted pages and the smell of old things stored away and forgotten – journal entries, ad hoc messages scribbled under the influence of pure emotion, all those incoherent speeches that I’ve muttered in my head.

All these recurring themes.

I need to integrate, to choose a path and stick to it – taking the step forward and never looking back. One foot in front of the other, on and on and on; till the next thing stops me in my tracks.

Recovery

It took a good year to heal the last time.

I never thought it would be possible, but it was. I remember writing as if there would be no tomorrow, that there would be no future, that the days were doomed to be devoid of sunshine – perhaps much like how I’ve been writing of late.

I hope, there will come a day, when I have finally know bliss; that I will look back on today, and feel the way I do now, and maybe chuckle to myself at the silliness of it all.

Pooty’s 18th

To my dearest brother,

Happy 18^th, Pooty.

Eighteen is a milestone, and quite fittingly, you literally begin a new chapter in your life in a few weeks time.

I wait now for your arrival, nerves ticking, watching both in anxiousness and shivering anticipation at the same time, for what the future brings. Melbourne is going to be an eye-opener, it is going to be hard, it is going to be exciting, it is going to be challenging, it is going to be lonely, it is going to be exhausting, it is going to be emotional, it is going to be thrilling… it is going to be the worst and the best time of your life.

It will change you.

I pray with all my heart, that as you embark on this expedition, you do not let your past lock your feet or fear stop you in your tracks. No one can dictate to you who you are, or tell you what you cannot do.

May you breathe in the air afresh, and realize that this is your time to recreate yourself, your blank canvas to re-invent who you are into whoever you want to be. I pray that you will somehow discover more of yourself, call upon strengths you never knew you had, as you navigate your own way, blaze your own trail, in this strange new land.

Also, may God bless our household – may it abound with love, may it always be filled with the warmth of family, be our little pocket of home.

Most of all, I pray that I learn patience, may my words build up and not tear down, may He teach me how to teach, and guide me in the steps of all that a sister should be to you.