I look in front of me and there’s clothes spinning on a fixed rotary line hanger. You know the ones where you can hang four blankets and you still have space. Under the clear blue skies, a massive tree overarches into my backyard and shadows the freshly mowed grass. Lots and lots of grass.

I smell wooden floors and a hint of fresh paint. White paint to be exact. It just smells a little more, well, white.

I try to hear for a sound. Nothing.

No cars. No noise. No disruptions.

It’s a seismic shift from where I used to be. There were a lot more going on. The air frequently reverberates with the thud sounds of tyres going across potholes and bumps; the honking; the melodic tunes of a budding pianist; the sawing of wood to build birdhouses at midnight and the pressure washing of roads (also hilariously at midnight and somehow authorised by the council).

My apartment also smells a little peculiar sometimes, a crossover between poor ventilation, cheap carpet material, curries and the massive tree in front of the balcony.

But that’s Campsie for you.

I discovered this little suburb a long time ago when I caught up with a friend. It wasn’t until I realised how close it is to my work that I started going there more often with my colleague to have Malaysian food lunches. My non-Malaysian colleague was even more excited than me at times.

I think it is a more unique suburb of Sydney. There are heaps of restaurants, bakeries, hairdressers, butchers, fruit and vegetable stalls, and sundry shops. Within a 5 -walk, I have access to all of that plus the train station and a pau place. It was pleasantly convenient.

It is also more catered towards the working-class community with some shops opening as early as 5:30am, getting ready to sell packed lunches to construction workers. When you go to the train station at that time, it’s literally a sea of fluorescent orange and yellow jackets roaming around.

When my wife and I were looking for a place to live in after marriage, we looked at many places but always circled back to Campsie. The one thing that deterred us was the safety concern which are not unfounded but I think slightly exaggerated. The reputation probably came about due to a higher crime rate and also, it’s a poorer suburb. You can see it in the more rugged roads, the upkeep of the shophouses, the old apartments and 8-dollar haircuts on offer. But this also meant there was more simplicity to life and a necessity to live mainly on essentials.

After much deliberation, we decided to take the plunge because of its affordability and convenience. I say that but there were other suburbs that offered the same two items but this one felt a little familiar and a little more known. It was a little like old parts of Malaysia, in spirit at the very least.

And I really enjoyed being there amidst the noise, flaws and all. It’s a little like that vintage third hand dining table you get from Marketplace with all the little dents and scratches, otherwise known as ‘character’ but still great, and still exudes beauty. It’s little like that.

It was a place where I could see my wife and I live in till we are old. I can be one of the old uncles watching other old uncles playing Chinese chess. My wife and I will be dragging one of the old square trolley bags to fill it with groceries. Maybe we will open a restaurant together and sell some curry chicken. Our kids would have experienced the simple urban life and some Asian culture before going off to dominate the world and becoming leaders in their profession. Our children will always come back from their exotic places to get their cheap bowl-shaped haircuts and tell us to leave the Campsie apartment to move to their big mansions. We will say no as we like it here in the little apartment and it’s too convenient. Just give us cash to use and we will be fine.

It would be nice.

But my wife and I also want a backyard for them to run around in. To not be surrounded by the hustle and bustle too much because life already is full of them. To each have a room to themselves. To not have to fight with the local sounds to say something and to talk. To love the silence. To have the space to just be.

We also yearn for financial stability and to be able to grow our portfolio, to provide for ourselves and for our children. To help them get their own house next time.

Maybe we could have done all of that at Campsie but it would have taken us longer and when it comes to these things, there’s really no time to waste. And so, we have to leave and move much further away to achieve our goals. It requires sacrifice and hard work but it will be worth it. We may be leaving something that reminds us of our childhood home but in return we literally get to build our own one.

For my wife and I, Campsie represents the phase of our lives where it was just us two. It was the place my groomsmen and I prepared for my wedding. It was the place I brought my wife back to for my side of the tea ceremony. We built our first year of married life here and experienced the great joys and sometimes challenging moments of marriage. We hosted our first dinners here together and had our little nephew and godson running around.

On the last day of my lease, with a heavy heart, I went in to the apartment to see the place for one more time. Everything has already been cleared out. All that was there were the indentation and marks on the carpet left behind by the TV stand, tables, sofa and two beds – our memories kind of etched into the place.

In time, even these marks from the more permanent things of life will be gone. It will be replaced by different things, or perhaps just decompress when a more powerful steam cleaner comes along. Different marks will be left by others in different locations. Our memories will no longer be written in the ground and walls. But it has already been written in time.

And we will remember them fondly. We will miss you little Campsie. You have been good to us.

Thank you for the memories.

For the longest time, ‘Who is the greatest footballer of all time?’ was the most popular debate in the ethers of football. Was it Cristiano Ronaldo or was it Lionel Messi? Throw in Pelé and Maradona into the mix and the parameters for discussion becomes unquantifiable – the need to frame the past in today’s standards, the quality variation across different leagues in different times and the quality of their teammates (poorer teammates needs a greater maverick). The debate becomes almost pointless as it launches into hypothetical space.

Why do we care about who is the greatest?

And as we edged closer and closer to the final on Sunday, the main narrative was, ‘If Lionel Messi wins this, surely he is the greatest footballer of all time. Surely. It would be put to bed once and for all.’ For he would have won everything for club and country. For he would have equal and perhaps surpassed Maradona’s achievements. Cristiano at the age of 37 surely had his last World Cup and wouldn’t be able to emulate Argentinian maestro anymore. Messi was on the brink of immortality.

For and against, arguable every football fan was invested in this. And as Argentina went 2-0 up against France in 36 minutes out of 90, we felt the we could finally put a full stop on the troublesome and tiring discussion. We can have closure. And so does Messi.

And in a way, it fits into the prism on how we see things these days. A movie is either good or bad. Once a person is outed as doing something wrong or deemed not socially appropriate, the person is ‘cancelled’ with no way back. The iPhone must be better than Android because it just is. We want the best places and the best things. There is hardly room for in between, to navigate between the two extremes, to contextualise and to accept that there are caveats and asterisks. To give room for healthy discussion and growth. All is for certain and nothing is in doubt.

Life is already full of it. Why the need to put anything not directly affecting our lives into the grey? We wouldn’t need to ask if the sun shines this Thursday, if we are going to get that job, when the world is going to end or if God exist, because we already know.

And wouldn’t that be nice? Argentinian fans sure wished they knew when France suddenly brought the score to 2-2. Dreams of elation and closure all but evaporated. What was going to happen?

It shouldn’t be this way. Life says that if we work hard enough to make it happen, it would happen. And surely at the fifth time of asking, of being asked to carry the hope of a nation, to emulate another footballing deity and to bend football to his will, Messi can finally get the crowning glory after 20 years. He has already won everything and was only missing the final elusive piece, the World Cup.

At 2-2, it looked like it wasn’t meant to be. Even as Messi score again, France came back to bring it to 3-3 after a handball from Gonzalo Montiel and Mbappe scoring the penalty. And in that moment, the world related to Messi. We have all been in situations where we hoped for the best and it didn’t work out. As Joe Devine from Tifo Football puts it, “it’s something as simple as you know you have a romantic interest in, something with someone, you go on a date, you think it’s gone really well turns out it hasn’t, they don’t like you, they in fact hate you and they wish you were dead, you know those sort of things.’

So in some respects, perhaps it’s fitting if Messi don’t get the World Cup because life is not a fairy tale. Art imitates life.

But perhaps the suffering is necessary to taste a sweeter victory. That life is a process of trial and error. If at first we don’t succeed, try again. If at second you don’t succeed, try again. The third, the fourth, the fifth. You learn from your mistakes in each one and recalibrate yourself. Each marginal improvement leading to something better, something grander.

And that there is wonder in wandering, to grow in unwavering faith in the divine. The love we have for others is only great because we don’t know for sure that they will love us back. That there is profound joy in unearthing the quirkiness and beauty from your spouse each day. To love those around us even more as they love us through the nadir.

And as great as we are, no achievement is a product of only one person. All achievements are a sum of those the came before, those around the achiever and the person himself.

And maybe that’s why Messi won in the end. The team changed over the 20 years. With his talent ever effervescent, the pieces got put together. The manager changed and the support multipled. His wife and children by his side. The team giving all their all to help country and Messi achieve the ultimate sporting dream. It wasn’t Messi that scored the last decisive penalty. It was Gonzalo Montiel, his humble teammate, the guy that was responsible for the handball. The left-footed genius did need a little help after all.

Maybe we care about who is the greatest because it’s a great story to get behind, to see someone who persisted and suffered so much to finally come out of on top at the very end. It gives us hope that at the end of it all, we ourselves can make it. That in spite of the circumstances we find ourselves in, we can make the best life we can. That in the strangest of ways, we can emulate Messi.

It’s a fitting end to a remarkable career. What a player. What a story. For the rest of us, there is hope just yet.

“Do you have more pounds in the bank or more Instagram followers?”

Cristiano Ronaldo ponders seriously for a second, then smirks and responds half jokingly, “It’s a good question. Probably similar. I don’t know. Probably similar.”

Last I checked, the man has 506 million followers. That’s a lot of followers. And a lot of pounds.

It may seem like a lot but I should add the caveat for those who are not familiar with football is that he was arguably one of the best players in the world alongside Lionel Messi. What is that old adage? Never do something that you are good at for free. He may or may not have half a billion pounds but he’s certainly a very wealthy individual. Sponsorships, endorsements, modelling and his actual salary all contributing to an overflowing portfolio.

People might balk at the amount but he works hard for it. You don’t get to the top by being lazy. Even at age 37, he remains an elite athlete and that’s a testament of his talent, training and competitiveness. He is still very much sought after and recently news emerged that Saudi Arabia wanted him for 350 million euros.

Some might question, ‘should footballers be paid that much?’ but no one forced clubs and owners to pay that much. The market decided that it is the right amount. Getting a famous footballer means more eyeballs on their televised matches, more shirt sales, better sponsors and of course, improvement to the team itself. Before you know it, 350 million is recouped and reinvested into recruiting other players and the cycle continues. It is all a calculated investment.

Football is a lucrative industry and we are partially contributors to this. Football is supplied because there’s a high demand for it. The World Cup is arguably the most famous sports tournament of all time. There is nothing quite like it. The English Premier League attracts a few billion viewers each season. When I was younger, I used to buy an Arsenal jersey every season even if they cost about 100 dollars. Some days, I stayed up till 2am to watch them play. After university, a lot of working professionals live that grandpa and grandma life in which they go to bed at 9am and wake up at 6am. Well, football will pull you out from that.

Such is the appeal. Such is the stronghold.

As lucrative as football is, it does not translate across the whole industry. It is very much a pyramidal structure and those at the bottom barely get anything. The FIFA 2022 Qatar World Cup shed a light on that, on how migrant workers are absolutely getting the short end of the stick as they are tied down by the kafala system.

Kafala is a system that is practiced by some companies and individuals in the Gulf states. The first iteration of Kafala can be traced back to Sir Charles Dalrymple Belgrave who was protecting British interest in Bahrain during the period of 1926 to 1957 and was effectively the island’s chief executive and first prime minister. Kafala meaning sponsorship, is a system whereby local individual or companies bear responsibility for the foreign workers. In return, the companies pay for travel expenses and accommodation. I say sponsor but the company effectively seem to ‘own’ the workers. It started as a way to control migrant workers in the pearling industry, but it grew to become a complex legal process compounded by nationalism and state-building.

Some workers have to take up debt to travel their way to the Gulf and they often stay in cramped and tight quarters. The renewal and termination of their visas is completely at the behest of the sponsors. Workers cannot change jobs without the permission of the employers. If you leave without permission, it is an offense that may result in beating, imprisonment or deportation, even with legitimate and substantial reasons such as abuse and mistreatment. In the cases of Saudi Arabia and Qatar, workers can’t even leave the country without permission. The worst part is the sponsors have so much power over the workers that they are forced to work under very harsh conditions and temperatures, sometimes as high as 50 degrees.

Some of these workers earn less in a month than the cost of a standard hotel room for a night in Qatar. The even sadder reality is that workers from South Asia and Africa chose to work in these conditions because it still pays higher than their salaries back home.

Due to the harsh conditions and mistreatment, it was reported that at least 6,500 migrant workers have died in Qatar since the World Cup was awarded, not necessarily from building the stadiums themselves but also roads, airport, hotels and a new city. The Secretary General of the Qatar World Cup Organising Committee clarified in a recent interview that the deaths related to the building of stadiums is not 6,500 but 400 and that he’s not in control of everything else that happened with other private companies. When asked if 400 is too big a price to pay, he responded, ‘One death is a death too many’.

I should say that this is not unique to Qatar only. China with the 2008 Olympics and Russia with the 2018 World Cup also had lots of human right issues that were not as scrutinised, probably because those countries do not have same level of access or openness when it comes to investigative journalism. And Kafala isn’t just in Qatar but in all the Gulf States except Iraq.

But regardless of precedence and commonality, the situation isn’t right and football just shone a spotlight on it. And for the first time, I find myself wondering if I should watch this World Cup. And it’s not because I got it all figured out and that boycotting it is the best option to do. It is because I haven’t figured it out and having trouble to rectify and connect all of this. I’m not the biggest football fan in the world but it’s one of my fondest ways of escapism and I trust it is for many others too. We shouldn’t have to struggle with the question of watching a sports tournament. We shouldn’t have to deal with sports washing, human rights issues and corruption.

Many people are able to compartmentalise the issues and focus on the game instead. Many people tried to ignore it. And I can understand. Football at its best takes us away to another reality for 90 minutes, to escape, to be passionate and to just be. And now, the game is used as a totem to represent life and morality issues, looming over the spectacles taking place. But I would argue we shouldn’t run away from this and that it is okay to grasp with these questions. We can afford to.

Just as football evolved from route one to possession based and counter pressing, from man-marking to zonal marking, from getting the ball to feet to getting the ball to space, so must we as football fans evolve and take this on. So must the players and the managers.

When Ronaldo was asked in the same interview ‘Do you think all the morality, debates and stuff; should that be left aside for now?’ He responded ‘100%’ and mentioned the debate should have been held before awarding the tournament to Qatar. He added that all the people and national teams should concentrate on the competition.

These are all valid points. It’s water under the bridge now. What can we really do? Focus on the games. Enjoy the tournament. But I wished he said more for the cause because for someone of his influence and standing, his words go a long way to add fuel to the fight for human rights and to increase awareness. He can afford the time to say a few things on it.

This would also make Saudi Arabia, one of the countries that has the Kafala system sit up and pay attention. After all, they want to pay 350 million euros for Ronaldo to come. Could 10 million not be taken off that amount and redistributed to the migrant workers, to improve oversight of the sponsors and to increase the resources to better manage and protect the workers? They can afford to.

As fans, we are the foundation of football. Investors buy football clubs because people pay to watch the matches. Players have a reason to play because fans are supporting them. Without fans, football becomes soulless, joyous and carried out for the sake of it. At the core of football experience is the shared joy between people in victories and the shared consolation in defeat. We have the power to change things for the better. And we have shown that. Qatar is said to abolish or at least introduce reforms to improve working conditions. If anything were to come out of this World Cup, at least there will be this legacy. But we shouldn’t stop there.

Football often brushes against political powers, discrimination, racism, injustice and various other issues. And for the period they brush against each other, football will shine a spotlight brighter than any star. Let’s make that time count. Let’s keep ourselves informed and speak out against these injustices. We can do our research and discern what best to do.

When we were young, the best time of our lives was to play football. And the funny thing was it didn’t have to be a football. It could be a crumpled piece of paper or a plastic bottle. And it didn’t have to be on grass. It could be a hard surface or sand. As long as there was something to kick on somewhere with space, football was there.

Life isn’t as simple as that anymore. We get older. We have jobs, mortgages and families. We have our baggage. And when we watch football, the last thing we want to worry about are these political issues. We yearn for the simplicity of halcyon days. But that’s part of life. It’s time we grow up together. Caring about it will help others and protect the integrity of the sport to be passed on to the next generation, to our children. So that they too can enjoy the simple things. To enjoy football the way we once did, and every once in a while, still do.

We can afford to. Let’s fight for it.

Three weeks ago, I finally had a chance to go back to my hometown. It was our first time going back after 3 years and our first, being back as husband and wife. I’ve always imagined what it would feel like. Would I cry? Would I be overwhelmed? Would everything change?

It turns out that the speed that time moved at was a lot faster than the time we feel has passed because when I stepped into the airplane, it felt normal and routine. It almost felt not too long ago that I travelled back home. My eyes did well up a bit but only for a moment.

Two hours before landing, the air stewardess came to our seats and asked if we wanted “Malaysia’s Breakfast” for our in-flight meal. I felt a bit cringed hearing the name of the meal but of course I opted for it. Let’s see what is this Malaysia’s breakfast all about. It was amaz…appointing. It wasn’t quite nasi lemak as it was more butter chicken and rice with a sad egg. It’s not Air Asia’s Pak Nasser Nasi Lemak I can tell you that. But anyways, the important thing was the flight was relatively smooth and we arrived safely.

We did get our proper Malaysia breakfast at KL Sentral prior to taking the train back to my parents’ place. The meal consisted of kopi, half-boiled eggs, kaya toast and nasi lemak. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Upon arriving at my hometown, one of the first things my dad asked me was, “What do I want to eat?” I told him maybe we can go back, put our baggage down and freshen up first. I don’t know what happened but we ended up at my favourite wanton mee place shortly after saying that! I used to come here as a kid, and every time I come I would order three bowls. Okay, first of all, let me stop you right there from thinking that I am a pig. One bowl is really small. My wife who usually eats only 1 spoon of rice for carbs can vouch for me and even she thinks it’s small.

I managed to say hi to the uncle who sells the noodles. He’s gotten a lot more grey hair since I last saw him and was limping a lot more. It was still comforting to see a familiar face, one that I have known for over twenty years. He doesn’t know me personally and vice versa. But I know he sells good food and he knows I treasure it. He was quick to inform me that they don’t open on Mondays and Tuesdays. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was not staying for long and that it would be a long while before I see him again.

After that we went home and it turned out that my mum had already made beancurd sheet soup and red bean soup for us. I suspected she stayed up all night to cook them so that we can have them the moment we come back. I also found out that she pre-ordered some mini chicken pies for us too. So what’s next on the adventure? You guessed it. More food.

Beef ball noodles by an 80 year old lady (who I believe have done this for over 50 years!). Coffee and kaya puffs. Hotpot with pork intestine soup. I also did attend mass in between the coffee and hotpot and y’all know that mass is technically a feast (Don’t worry, I fasted for an hour before mass in case you were wondering). After all of that, my parents asked us if we wanted to have ice cream and waffles at this new place. I replied, “Uhh, uhh, maybe we can do that another day?”

Anyways, the food journey was more or less like that over the week. It continued at my wife’s hometown too. My father-in-law already had a plan of where to take us to eat for breakfast every day and what to buy for us. One day, he travelled for an hour to get roasted pork and otak-otak back for us. Another day, he waited for half an hour to buy some very delicious fried bee hoon. On the day I was about to leave my wife’s hometown, I recalled still needing to eat a box of frozen durian, papayas and dragon fruits, all of which were provided by my father-in-law. I woke up at 7:00 in the morning and going “Okay, I need to eat finish this papaya which my father-in-law has prepared for me. I can do this. It’s go time Augie.” I took a spoon and was going to dig in. My wife is like, “Just eat half. What are you doing? Are you really going to eat the whole thing?”

Oh, he also made red bean soup with barley for us as well.

So, that’s my food diary. A lot of the usual stores were still around. Of course, some had to go due to Covid. Some got taken over by their children. After not being back for so long, I just thought that things would have changed drastically. It didn’t but hawker centers were now taking e-pay though. Everywhere you go, there’s QR codes that you can scan to pay through your phone. There were a lot of fancy cafes that popped up too; the kind that purposefully exposes bricks in the wall for décor and not because they can’t afford to patch it up. Some serve the same food as hawker centers but in a nicer setting with better ambience. I guess it’s all part of the evolution process of the food industry.

My parents were very keen to take me to all these new places and cafes to eat. I was less inclined to try them as I always think of my hometown as the place to visit the old favourites, while they are still there, you know? And to have that familiar taste, the very same from when I was a child. Sometimes, I think that’s the beauty of hawker food. It’s that one person who always does it. The food is forged from old recipes and daily routine. Twenty years later, the food taste the same as when I first had it and amazingly, you don’t get sick of it or bored of it. If you like to eat a particular dish, even when you’re 80 years old, I think you would still look forward to it. Sometimes, people wish they can watch a great movie for the first time again, to relive that initial experience of emotion, enjoyment and growth. With food especially simple and flavourful dishes, it’s the first time every time. With mum’s food, that’s just magic that you can never figure out how the trick is done.

Initially, I struggled to understand why my parents want to take me to new places to try or wanted to get all of these food. Surely they know I eat less now and trying to stay a little healthier. But I realised that this was their way of saying ‘I love you’.

As I grow older and now married, I am becoming more and more independent. As

children, we used to rely on our parents all the time, for them to take us to trips, to buy us toys, to take us to eat food, to watch movies and persuade them to spend time with us. Now that we become adults and and our parents grow older, they become proud of us for being able to do all these things that we were unable to. They become happy for our success, achievements and milestones. But maybe they think, ‘What can I give to my children now that they have everything?’

One of the things that they feel they can still give to us is food. It’s somehow a timeless language that keeps going. Taking us to a new restaurant is like a little trip, a mini holiday. Eating over hotpot allows for more time spent together. Seeing us enjoy what we eat is them providing happiness to us. There’s excitement with trying new food or new places. As famous or rich or successful we become, we will never say no to a good plate of nasi lemak. Food brings us back to our roots, to our childhood.

Some of my favourite memories in this trip was hearing my father-in-law talk about the food he enjoys. I don’t really speak Mandarin but hearing him talking about it made me smile. And he always ask me, ‘Is the food delicious?’ to which I always respond, ‘Yes’. And even if we don’t talk much to each other, that simple exchange spoke volumes to me.

I have to say this trip flew by. Time as always moves forward and faster than we can imagine. I looked at the hawker stores I went to and sometimes think this may be the very last time I have their food. When will be the next time I can have mum’s food? When is the next new place my parents are bringing me to? I shudder to think of the day all these things are gone.

The power of food is that it is entrenched in our memories. I’ll remember how my mum did it and cook the same things for my children (God willing). My wife and I will bring our kids to all these places we use to go to and new ones too. Maybe it will be the children of the owners that are doing it now and carrying the legacy of the parents.

Some way and somehow, that familiar first taste will be in some other iteration at another place. It will remain. Maybe not in the way we know but it will be there. Love perseveres.

And one day, I’ll remember to ask my kids,

‘What do you want to eat?’

‘Nasi lemak!’

‘Okay! Here you go.’

‘Yay. Let’s eat’

‘Does it taste good?’

‘Yes.’

I pondered if I should write this from a perspective of an object, you know like how we used to do it at school. You know the ones where we go, “Hi, I am a pen. My name is Pilot. I come from a long line of Japanese Kamikaze ink warriors. I have always wanted to fly a plane but apparently people didn’t trust a pen flying an aircraft. Weird humans.” And by the way, now that I think about it, how macabre were those assignments for an 8-year old. We needed to write an autobiography of an object, contemplate its existential crisis and write about the impending death of the object – all from the perspective of the object! I think I rather not do that.

So where do I start? I guess it all began 8 years ago, when I needed a new laptop. I still remembered I had a goal to learn more about PCs then (about RAM, SSD, HDD, CPU, GPU, etc…). I basically wanted to study how a computer comes together. I think. I had so many consultation sessions with my friend about this. And I did a ton of research before buying my laptop. I went to a few shops to check things out. I struggled with requirements versus aesthetic versus functionality versus price. Eventually, I settled down. Eventually, I got it from an Acer shop in Mid Valley, KL.

It felt really good because I think I have not done so much research and study before buying something. It had a touch screen which was quite a novelty for a laptop at that time. It looked nice. It was light. It pretty much fit everything I wanted – an ideal companion to the university lab computers.

It was on this laptop that I wrote my best stuff on the blog, or started writing my best stuff rather. It carried me through the toughest periods of my uni life – through the final year project, the thesis chaos and everything in between. All the agenda and minutes in my CASS committee years were typed on this laptop of mine.

As I expected at the point of purchase, I wasn’t going to use it much after uni. The laptops at work and my phone were always going to supersede my personal laptop. There wasn’t really a need to do much on it. Every now again, I will say hi, you know, to print some flight tickets, do my taxes, write on my blog and do some presentations for the church youth group.

Then, of course the pandemic hit last year. And suddenly, it got a new lease of life. It was doing so many more Zoom sessions. I used it to livestream mass at church too. I could feel it slowing down but I didn’t mind it. It did what it needed to do. Then of course, another lockdown happened this year in Sydney and it went through even more Zooms and livestreams.

One day, I wanted to open my laptop to prepare some slides but it wouldn’t start. So, I took out all the screws, battery and press the power button for 30 seconds to ‘discharge’ it. Don’t ask me why it works. I just know it does. And it did! So thankfully, that solved it and I was able to use it again for the penultimate livestream of the mass before lockdown was lifted.

I thought my old pal and I still had the best years ahead of us.

But alas it wasn’t meant to be. For the very last livestream of the mass before congregations were allowed back into church, my laptop died. I did the 30 second CPR thing multiple times to no avail. It was gone. As Thanos said after crushing Loki, “no resurrections this time” (not sure if it’s the best metaphor because Loki did somewhat resurrect through a whole time variant thing but that’s a story for another time).

I was very frustrated by the whole situation because I had a savings goal that I wanted to meet every month. And I never accounted for a laptop breaking down. Even if it doesn’t set me back by a lot, it’s still money. I was frustrated that I wasn’t in control of the situation. I couldn’t just muscle my way out of this and just keep defibrillate the circumstances to get better. I guess this is why people get insurance or have another rainy day fund.

Life is crazy and it’s wild. Just when you think something will happen as per the script you set, there’s always going to be something or someone that comes in and turns the script upside down. I think everyone in New South Wales is somewhat experiencing this at the moment.

As upset as I was in losing my ‘old pal’, my fiancée put things in perspective and told me that I had the old laptop for 8 years now. And that it has served me well. Things don’t last forever. Some goodbyes come sooner than expected. Some goodbyes come later. For my old pal, I think it came just about time. And for that, I am grateful.

On that note, I know it feels a bit random to write about my laptop but I thought maybe I squeeze in one post for the year after not writing in forever. I had this in the backlog for a while now so thought I dust it and have a little something for people (if you all are still reading this). I hope the year has been good for you despite everything that is still happening. Even if the year as a whole may seem bad, find the moments that made you content. And if nothing else, at least we have those. And maybe, it wasn’t that bad after all.

As for my old pal, thank you for the past 8 years of accompaniment. Thank you for holding on through the times I needed you the most. Take care.

It was the FA Cup final yesterday.

It’s the oldest national football competition in the world. One of English’s most prestigious cups, or at least it was, with people now much more focused on Champions League qualification due to the financial stability it brings. The FA Cup was and maybe still is highly regarded because of the rich history behind it. But often, people will tell you it’s because of the magic, the FA Cup magic.

Where the unlikeliest comebacks can happen, Where the Davids take down the Goliaths.

6 years back, I wrote about the same exact competition where Arsenal were going to take on Hull City, in an attempt to end its trophy drought of 9 years. Thankfully, we did. And thankfully, we went on to win another 2 more. 1 in 2015 and 1 in 2017.

And every single time, my two friends and I will get together at my friend’s place. The pre-game ritual has always been simple, almost as if it was designed by the stars.

It’s possible dinner, definitely FIFA on the Playstation, most likely McDonald’s chicken nuggets and some form of alcohol. Do we need to wear Arsenal jerseys? Optional. Do we need the chicken nuggets? Yes.

So when Arsenal advanced to the FA Cup final for 2020, I texted my friend about it, whom is now married by the way. So, things have changed. He can’t really have chicken nuggets now as his wife is trying to get him to slim down, which is a good thing. Anyway, I asked him, “So same time and place then with chicken nuggets?” To which he replied, “Hahaha yes! But have to ask my wife” I said, “I know, I know.”

1 day later, he texted in the group, “Green light, green light!!!!”

I was really looking forward to this. It felt like a much needed break with the “boys”. I have been so busy at work that I don’t even know what day it is and sometimes, I have to work the weekends as well.

But a few days ago, my friend texted me to say his wife wasn’t feeling well. As a precaution, we called the thing off and there was that.

No FIFA, no chicken nuggets and no hangout.

Guess what I ended up doing. Yes, working. I actually didn’t even know if I wanted to watch it. I just felt tired and it’s just so much better to watch with friends. Anyway, I ended turning on the TV 10 minutes before the game started. I wanted to watch a bit of the pre-game build up.

I have to be honest. I have not watched much football lately, especially since the restart (it’s what we called the time from when the football competition commenced after all the Covid-19 lockdowns). It feels like a lifetime ago now that players were scared to play football due to the pandemic. There were talk about ensuring the football players all staying together and basically live in a bubble throughout the remaining of the competition, like as if they were puppets and we were the marionettes.

After all the safety protocols and complications were resolved, football restarted again. And of course, no fans were allowed to the stadium. These players were all playing in 40,000 to 70,000 seater stadiums in front of no one. Yesterday, one of the England’s most recognised stadium, Wembly had no one other than staff management, reporters and players. In an attempt to make football look normal, they put huge posters to cover the seats so that it wouldn’t be so jarring to look at an empty stadium. When you watch it on television, the broadcasters have introduced artificial “crowd” noise to dampen the incongruity.

I am glad that football is back. And I get that it is a form of escapism from our current pandemic stricken timeline. But the reality couldn’t be any clearer.

Football was being played in an empty stadium. No seat wrapping or artificial noise can conceal that.

Anyway, the game soon started. And 5 minutes into the match, Arsenal already went behind. Great. Perfect start. Thankfully, we grew into the game, caught up and drew level after scoring a penalty. We were playing some good football too, controlling the game well and were switched on.

7 yellow cards, 1 red card, 1 goal, questionable referee decisions and a gazillion agonizing minutes of extra time later, Arsenal won the FA Cup!

And of course, Arsenal’s number 14 talisman, Aubameyang, scored what eventually turned out to be the winner to win Arsenal their 14th FA Cup in history.

Back when Arsenal won this competition in 2014, I almost cried. After having gone through 9 years of not winning anything, it was such a sweet sweet feeling. And when Arsenal won yesterday, I can’t say I feel that exact same way but I was definitely very happy. It saddens me that the fans can’t be there to celebrate with the players and I wonder if the players feel the same way. And maybe that’s why I didn’t feel as excited or overjoyed. I wasn’t watching it with my friends. I wasn’t watching the fans reacting to the game. With only my own euphoria to draw from, it felt a little flat.

But when I saw the manager running towards the players, when I saw our backup goalkeeper in tears, our talisman fumbling while trying to lift the trophy, and the whole team dancing around in champagne, I am reminded that Arsenal have indeed done something special. In what is our worst season in years after managerial changes, players threatening to leave, our manager becoming one of the first to be tested positive for Covid-19 in the Premier League, football shutdown, numerous losses and just plain 2020 madness and craziness, somehow, we have managed to win a trophy.

What was flat turned into pride for the team, the manager and the players.

And when I was praying at mass just now, I thanked God that we won. I know some might think I am silly. It’s just football after all.

And football can be nasty at times especially when footballers make career ending tackles on each other, when lower league clubs are being bullied by the more famous and influential, when fans get squeezed dry out of their pocket and when people betray each other.

But football in its purest form can be bliss and happiness. Against a backdrop of empty stadiums, seat wrappings, artifical noise and Zoom display of the fans, football can still enable us to “escape” from reality even if it is for just one moment. And even more so now.

It’s already August and we are still in the midst of the pandemic. Everywhere we go, we are reminded of this. The huge amount of space between people, the sanitizers, the QR check ins and the masks. All these forming our depressing backdrop of “when the heck is this pandemic going to end?’ But let’s face it, we are right in the thick of it, there’s no escaping from it. It is the reality that we are living in.

But every now and then, life gives us its purest form. When we seat for dinner with our loved ones. When we call our families more often to check in on them. When we get our morning coffee. When we still have work. When someone makes you laugh. When we funnily try to “blow” our birthday candles without wanting to actually blow them. When the guy in the Zoom call starts lagging and making funny noises. When your partner stuffs up in preparing a home cooked meal. When your favourite restaurant opens again. When your favourite football team wins a match. When we are able to go to church and attend mass.

Just like a trophy, they don’t come nearly as often as we want them to especially during this time. But when they do, we savour them, remember them all the more; these moments of incandescence.

We learn to be more content.

And even though I didn’t manage to watch the match with my friends yesterday and eat all the nuggets we want; we were still able to share a moment of bliss together, when Arsenal won the trophy.

And that for now, is more than enough.

I was scratching my head at this conundrum that I was facing.

How do I actually pack a suit for travel? I could carry it in its dedicated bag but realised what a chore it was to do that. I would have had to carry my suitcase, my backpack and a suit bag all together as I travel around from place to place.

I decided to research on how to fold a suit correctly as to not leave any creases and make sure the padding is still well maintained. After trying several times and spending almost half an hour, I finally got it. Folded it perfectly and chucked it into the suitcase. I was now ready to fly to Singapore.

As it was mid September, flight prices were reasonable but regardless, I think a good friend’s wedding is more important than the price anyway. On the way there, I stopped by Malaysia for a day so that I can see my parents and hopefully able to see my uncle for a bit.

Earlier in the year, my dad broke the news to my sister and I that our uncle was diagnosed with nose cancer, and that it has spread to the spine. I thought it might be good to visit him.

My parents and I waited in one of the Nyonya dessert restaurants in Mid Valley for a bit and soon after, my uncle and aunty arrived. I have to say he didn’t look too different at first. Maybe a little slower in movement, and a little fatigued, but looked relatively fine for someone who has already been through three chemotherapy sessions. I think it’s the alternating between recovery and chemo that gets to you. You have to recover and make sure your body is ready before doing chemo, but after doing chemo, your body gets tired and the cycle repeats all over again.

Nevertheless, I was glad to see him and actually made the trip. I don’t have that many uncles and aunties. And maybe that’s why I’m more appreciative of the time I have with any of them. I never got to see my paternal grandfather and uncle as they passed away before I was born. Over my life, my grandmothers, grandfather and another uncle have also passed. As my extended family becomes smaller and smaller, I feel that any time being able to spent with them is precious.

The next day, I flew to Singapore and joined up with my friends. There were about 11 of us from Sydney attending our friend’s wedding, which is crazily massive! Needless to say, we had a really good time at the wedding. It was like a weekend getaway with some good friends.

It was a simpler time then. A time where we didn’t have to think twice before flying to another country and able to visit our families freely.

Because as of 31st December 2019, everything changed.

News broke out of China that there was a new virus, labelled the coronavirus. There were dozens of people affected. The situation escalated quickly, with multiple carriers leaving Wuhan to other places, transmitting the virus in the process, prompting the lockdown of Wuhan and a global emergency.

Suddenly, the world had a new enemy. Anyone with black hair, dark eyes and yellow skin was now considered a potential carrier or transmitter. Each cough or sneeze sent trembles up people’s spines.

Don’t go to Chinese restaurants. Don’t go Chinatown. Don’t go to Chinese suburbs.

But it didn’t stop there. More and more cases started popping up globally.

Philippines, Japan, France, South Korea, Singapore, Iran, Italy, United States to name a few.

Stock markets suffered huge significant losses. Supermarkets were cleared out. People were fighting over toilet rolls.

The world became its own enemy.

I would be lying to you if I told you I didn’t fear at all or thought about this. That I didn’t ask my sister to buy some non-perishable foods. That I’m not washing my hands everywhere I go. That I’m not scared of a potential pandemic. Because I am.

I too, am scared.

But as I’m sitting here with these thoughts of fear running through my head, I ask myself, why am I exactly scared? Why are people in a panic?

Perhaps it’s a combination of disinformation, social media outbursts, social proof and fragile mortality that has created this concoction of chaos and hysteria. And maybe, it’s because we fear the unknown, that uncomfortable and haunting feeling where you do not know what is going to happen.

But we are never going to solve this problem by becoming more selfish or by having a “every man for himself” mentality. In a period of Brexit and Trump-isms, where messages of bigotry and hate fuels the common rhetoric, we shouldn’t distance ourselves apart even more. If anything, it calls for more compassion, more kindness and more empathy. And that doesn’t require you shaking hands or hugging each other. Love is boundless and it will find a way to diffuse through in spite of physical distances.

And yes, the pandemic will happen sooner or later and that it’s just a matter of time but until it happens to you, it hasn’t. We are overly worrying about something that has yet to happen when there are so many people already struggling so much in the present.

People lost their homes and loved ones in the recent bushfires. Pensioners are losing money as we speak from the superannuation because of the market crash. Mental health illness is still prevalent. Kids don’t have homes. We still face issues of racism and sexism.

My uncle is still battling with his nose cancer, still trying to make it one day at a time.

And yet, we worry about tomorrow when we should be valuing any time we have with our families and friends. When we should care for them. To not take things like being able to fly back home or attending a friend’s wedding for granted.

As Jon Foreman said, ‘maybe fear is love’s true opposite’. Maybe we should wash our hands regularly not because we are scared of other people’s germs but because we are scared others will get our germs. Let love guide you through this.

It’s an extraordinary situation in an extraordinary time.

Stand up.

Be brave.

And hope.

Hope and trust in the medical professionals who are putting themselves on the front lines every single day for us.

Hope that a vaccine may be found.

Hope that our humanity may thrive in this adversity.

Hope for simpler times to return again where the most worrying thing about travelling, was how to pack a suit.

Friday – 11:45 pm (close to midnight)

I sat down at my table in my Airbnb room, scratching my head, wondering what to write for my best man’s speech. You would think that writing speeches would be easy if you had known the couple for a long time, but I think the longer you know someone, the harder is it to find the right words to say, to complement the occasion, to give them a small gift and in some ways, to truly appreciate what a beautiful friendship I have with the groom amidst the words spoken.

Slowly, I gathered my ideas. I figured the best place to start was how I first met the groom and how we became close friends. The common interests, background and faith quickly forge a close bond, and although we live 40,000 km apart, we’re still the best of friends.

I always thought more of him: one that has so much compassion, kindness, attuned sensitivity and loyalty. I remembered there was one time that I was going to catch up with him and I was running late. As I approached the restaurant, I saw him crouching down next to a homeless lady, just listening closely in conversation. How many of us have walked past a homeless person without thinking twice? Some of us might be inclined to give a few dollars, the spare change we have in our pockets. But to lend a listening heart? That’s something special, something most of us can’t say we do.

I think the things that really stayed with me was in how he treats his then girlfriend, now wife. There are the little things like calling her every night, walking her to the bus stop, cooking for her and giving up winning on FIFA to pick up her calls. Then, there are things like switching jobs to Perth so that he can be closer to her while she completes her med studies, patiently waiting for her to finish before marrying her.

Having remembered all of that, I tried turning those sentiments into a speech and managed to deliver it on the night, much to my relief. Now, it was the groom’s turn to give his speech, starting off by quoting Jon Foreman’s commentary on Switchfoot’s song ‘Love Alone Is Worth the Fight’, to remind us about what love truly is, that it is the true antithesis of fear.

He continued, “It would be a shame if we all do is get married, have our family, settled down in a nice little 3 by 2 and stopped there. We need to do more.” And that we need to help them. That we need to continue supporting them. That they need us, to help him and his wife fight the good fight. The fight of love.

The speech ended to a raucous applause. Probably because it resonated with lots of people too, providing us with a much needed tonic in today’s times.

As the night ended, I go to bed exhausted, relieved, joyous and excited because of the wedding and also the fact that my girlfriend and I are going to Singapore for our holidays the next day.

* * *

Sunday – 8:00 am

The next day began as normal with Sunday mass. Our flight wasn’t till night so we had some time to spare but because of all the business, we didn’t actually plan until this far and wasn’t sure what to do.

Thankfully, there was a married couple we knew that were going to go to Swan Valley. Without any hesitation, they told us to tag along, which was great!

They then send us back to a friend’s house after and we waited for our friend to fetch us to the airport. We were going to eat at the airport but our friend’s parents told us to join them for a home cooked dinner instead. Feeling shy, we kindly refused but they insisted. So, we joined them, feeling touched by the generosity given to us.

My friend fetched us to the airport. Normally, he would drop and leave. Instead, he parked his car close by as he wanted to send us off at the departure gates.

That was probably heaven in disguise as both my girlfriend and I were told we couldn’t fly to Singapore by the person at the check in counter. My girlfriend’s passport was expiring next month. As a general rule, your passport needs to have 6 months or more if you want to fly anywhere else other than your home country.

We were a little shocked. Regaining as much composure as I could, I told my girlfriend and our friend to find some place to have a seat first to calm ourselves down and see what to do. Looking up flights to Malaysia (that’s where we are from), we thought the best course of action was to book the 6:50 am flight on the next day. Then, we realised we have no place to stay at for the night. Of course, we could have found a hotel nearby or an inn but for a brief moment, we didn’t know what to do and were without a home.

Our friend said, don’t worry and to go back to his house first. He suggested for us to stay at his place but we didn’t want to intrude his family. Already, there’s his brother, sister-in-law, nephews, father and mother living in the same house. It was crazy for us to crash there, even if it’s just for the night. But our friend insisted.

His family, especially his parents welcomed us with open arms and said not to worry. We would have been fine just sleeping on the couches in the living room, awaiting our flight but instead, they set up sleeping bags in the children’s play room so that it was more comfortable for us.

Grateful for a place to stay, we showered and tried to rest as much as we could.

* * *

Monday – 4:00 am

We got up, still reeling from the aftermath. To my surprise, his parents woke up at the same time too. My friend’s dad said that he will fetch us instead. He even made some coffee for my girlfriend and I, knowing how little sleep we got. We got ready, drank the coffee, got our bags and left. My friend’s mum accompanied us as well to send us off.

We got to the airport, said our goodbyes and thank yous. Frustratingly, there was a long line at the check-in counters. Feeling a little distraught the night before, I forgot to check in and so we couldn’t go to the baggage drop counters instead.

At this stage, I was still trying to process what has happened. We have planned the trip for a while now and were really looking forward to it. Suddenly, we couldn’t fly, due to a passport mishap which was apparently general knowledge. Suddenly, we had to cancel everything. I don’t even know where to go and what to do next after arriving in Malaysia.

As we waited in line, I didn’t speak to my girlfriend, because I was angry. She got even more upset than she already was because she thought I was angry at her but I wasn’t. Maybe a little as it was her passport but I should have picked it up too. I should have known this. I was also responsible. I was more frustrated by the whole situation, angered by the helplessness of it all.

People might say it’s only a trip and it’s only money loss. But in the immediate aftermath, it’s hard to look at things that way.

As we boarded the plane and took off, I was able to calm down. I looked to my right and knew my girlfriend was really upset, largely because of me. Clearing my thoughts, I was finally able to think and realised the trip can still happen. Maybe in a different order. Maybe in a different way than envisaged but still a possible reality.

The trip can and will happen.

I remembered my friend’s advice (the groom that just got married) from the night before after I called him about this. He said, “Be easy on her”. He was right. I had no right to be angry at all.

I apologised to my girlfriend.

And we started talking again.

* * *

We sometimes forget or don’t realise that the love of others plays an important role in the way we love others. That love can cause a chain reaction. That it builds upon each other. That love remembers.

I remembered someone telling me that before but I never quite understood what it meant then. How can love remember? Love doesn’t have a soul. Nor does it have a memory.

Oh but it does.

Each time we love, our love carries the past memories of affection and sacrifice with it. It is because we were loved in the past, that we love now. Love remembers love.

I learned very early on from my friend (the groom), that when I have a girlfriend, I’ll make sure to talk to her every night, even if it’s just a short phone call, it will be worth it. Some of my ideas of love are influenced by his perspectives and experiences of it as well.

When my girlfriend and I next meet a hopeless couple whose passports are expiring the next month, we will offer them shelter and make them coffee in the morning. Heck, we will warm up some cakes for them too before fetching them to the airport.

All the relationships of before and all the love I have received reminded me how important my girlfriend is. It made me remember to put my ego aside, to apologise and to talk about things no matter how bad they may be.

And the love that we all have and share with each other? That stems from the firmaments above, from the One source. Whenever we love, it remembers His love, the sacrifice of Christ. The patient, kind, humble, selfless, merciful and sacrificial love.

Our love is a remembrance of His love.

Eventually, my girlfriend and I did go to Singapore, a little miraculously might I add. We’re glad we managed to make the trip happen and it’s these little acts of kindness along the way that has helped make it a reality. We will always be grateful for this.

Perhaps it’s apt to end this with what my friend quoted in his speech:

“‘Love Alone is Worth The Fight.’ For me this title sums up the past 15 years of our time as a band- nothing else is worth the fight, worth the struggle, worth the scars,” Foreman added. “Nothing else even comes close. Not sex, not drugs, not even rock and roll. From time to time we all come to those difficult moments of struggle- when life becomes a fight. Maybe we are depressed and can’t seem to find a way out. Or maybe we’re dealing with the loss of someone we love. And maybe in that existential moment we begin to wonder what we’re living for, what we’re aiming for, what we’re struggling for.”

“Yes, there are dark times when I fear the unknown. I fear pain, I fear humiliation, I’m afraid of the unknown within myself.,” he continued. “But reacting blindly, driven by our fears leads us to horrible places. Maybe fear is love’s true opposite. Racism, genocide, religious wars- these are fueled by fear. Most of my worst decisions, including hatred, are fueled by fear. But perfect love casts out fears. Perfect love brings us to a place of strength where we can accept the people and situation around us rather than fear it or deny it.”

Love alone is always worth the fight.

Hi.

It’s been a while since I wrote here. This is definitely the longest I have gone without writing anything. I am pretty sure any fans of the blog have gone away with the wind. When I wrote the last post, Epilogue, I can’t say that I thought I would stop writing but at the same time, I probably titled the way it is just in case it was going to be the last one.

At least, it would have ended with a fitting and poignant title.

That’s the thing sometimes, isn’t it. We read a story to get to the resolution. We watch a movie to get to the end credits. The end is what makes things makes sense. People want to retire early. People want to have a goal to work towards to. For example, Quentin Tarantino have always wanted to stop film making after 10 movies. He has said that since the beginning.

Knowing the tunnel has an end, you know that at least every step you take will take you somewhere, that eventual crescendo . It gives your strides purpose and your footprints meaning.

So, perhaps, after such a long time of writing here, maybe sometimes, the end just makes sense, giving it a sort of fufilment

I say that as though I’m a top contributor of high quality journalism and refreshing insights of the modern world, only to be ached and tired by the incessant chaos and destruction we see around us. And that my virtual pen is starting to give way with all its ink almost dried up. All that’s left is the shell of a pen decorated by heavy scratches and fades of colour, writing itself towards its own eventual end.

But of course, I am not. I am only a blogger who just wants to make sense of life. I stopped writing for so long because I stopped writing. I know it sounds silly but writing needs practice. The longer you stop, the harder is it to get back to it. You don’t have to write well all the time but you just have to keep going and eventually, that persistence will bear fruit.

So I guess you and I are overdue for a catch up. What’s been happening?

I would like to reply nothing much but I can’t really say that, can I? Since it’s you and I, let’s be honest to each other.

Well, I started taking driving lessons this year. I know. I’m like 26 and I still can’t drive. But yer know. It’s never too late to start. I think. It doesn’t help that I have a Chinese uncle who is teaching me. From the way he teaches me, it is possible he was in the army and he probably survived for five days in the wilderness just eating bugs. I mean this guy labelled me a young cow that is afraid of a tiger when I first started! A young cow! But he’s probably just passionate about road safety.

It is super annoying because I feel like I can drive well but I keep making silly mistakes here and there, like not checking my blind spot when I turn left. Or not looking left and right at the intersection when I drive through. I have lapses of concentration too. After clocking so many hours, I still feel as though I’m getting no where.

It’s frustrating because I know it comes easily to so many people, just not to me.

Another thing has been work. My friends know this. That has been tough: having to deal with staff changes, project challenges and different roles. Actually, not just for me. But for my girlfriend as well. She’s into her first year of full time being a nurse and some days do really get to us and I know a lot of you out there are affected too.

I try to work hard. When I first started. I had this zeal about work and I wrote about this too. I said:

We all have our dream jobs, of places you want to go and things you want to do. It doesn’t matter what they are. When you have a job, you have a job. You do it well and you pour everything you are into it. We are made to love. How then do I love when I’m at work all day? I love by putting the most effort I can possibly give and try the best I can. Every document and every line I type is something I want to be formed a result of my love. If that also means staying back after normal working hours, then so be it.

And you know what. It’s really really hard to do that sometimes. It’s really hard to do even the basics. Some days are especially harder, compounded by isolation, challenging clients and difference in expectations. Perhaps it is not my blogging pen that is wearing out, it’s my ball bearings and composite wings.

As my girlfriend said to me, “You know, life is hard.”

And it’s not just work related. All of us are facing our own challenges and battles.

It could be that you can’t get pregnant even after trying for five years. It could be that your parents want you to be in an arranged marriage but you really don’t want to but you probably will out of respect and obedience. It could be you lost your job, or having difficulty in finding one. It could be that you have nose cancer and need to do so many chemotherapy sessions. It could be that your dates and relationships doesn’t seem to work because of your past baggage, that you’re divorced and have a daughter.

If they sound like really specific examples, it’s because they are actual things that are happening to people around me.

And honestly, these examples are scary for the people facing them because you don’t know when it will end or how it would end. It’s not even about worrying about purpose or meaning anymore, you just become worried.

What do you do?

I guess all that’s left is to keep trying. And try harder. Perhaps look at what’s not working and see what you can improve on. Perhaps work twice as hard.

And when all is said and done, sometimes you just have to let go and trust it will work out.

That’s all you can do.

And I’ll end with a little something from an unlikeliest of sources, someone that I follow on Instagram for her eco-awareness. She wrote:

I pose a simple thought: What if we learned to navigate through every doubt and closed door with the confidence that all good things will happen in its own time? Maybe, it shouldn’t be as difficult as we make it to be. Maybe, the key is gratefulness. Maybe, every heartache and bit of uncertainty is leading us to exactly where we’re made to be. Maybe, we just need to trust the process.

Hi everyone, it’s the beginning of 2019. Happy New Year! It’s always unbelievable as to how fast time flies. Where did all the time go to? It reinforces that saying by Plato, ‘A life not examined is a life not worth living’. If you don’t reflect on what you done, can you truly grow?

I have been wanting to write this post for a long while now. It’s kind of a behind the scenes look at my writing and the inspiration for this year’s posts (only if you’re interested in that sort of thing). This blog probably still has the number of readers equivalent to the amount of people that use Friendster. Ha. But thank you for staying and reading anyway although I update infrequently, make unfunny jokes, and don’t notify you personally.

I’ve written quite a few the past year. More than I thought I would since I thought I will be hanging my keyboard up but life still surprises me (as it should) and so there are stories to be written.

Bright | Stars | Home | History | Two Eggs | Compass

In total, I wrote six posts last year. There was going to be a History Pt. 2 post, a piece about relationships and opportune time. About how in time, our previous romantic relationships, infatuation and crushes will become a memento that we carry with us. About how that bittersweet history becomes a beautiful memory. I don’t think I quite have all the ingredients for that one yet, so that will have to be in storage for now. One day, I probably will dust it off and finish the piece.

I think that’s the way I normally approach my blog writing. I have a lot of drafts. Like a lot. Most of the ideas never quite make it to the surface though because

1. The idea doesn’t have much room to grow into a piece. It can only serve two to three paragraphs at most.
2. I don’t have enough life experiences to lend the piece more substance. Otherwise, it’s very abstract and not grounded enough in reality, which makes it unrelatable.
3. I felt like I have written something similar before.

I think it’s very important that I feel strongly or passionate about what I write, and not just write it out of obligation or for popularity sake. In addition, I also want to write it well which requires patience. So more often than not, I wait for the idea to grow and only release it when it’s ready to fly. It could potentially lie in the cage for a few weeks or even months.

Bright was an example of that. I wanted to write it almost immediately when my girlfriend and I started dating. It goes without saying that the whole post was inspired by her. The trouble I had was connecting the introduction to the middle. It felt natural to start from the very beginning, from when I was first shy to how I got into a relationship. I could have done it linearly going from A to B but I felt it was very boring and there was too much to say to get from A to B (so much so that it would have been a piece itself) . I took a while to find the best vehicle to tell the story. In the end, I realised I had to take two steps back to make the leap forward. I revisited one of my post, A New Hope, to create the bridge from A to B. It captured the struggle I felt and at the same time, vindicated my hope and faith. Once I had that, the rest kind of just wrote itself.

Stars was something that came up because I thought one of the pieces I wrote a long time ago could be looked at again and be seen under a different light. Having written so much and growing older, it felt like the right time to self-reference my previous pieces and revisit them again. Terry Pratchett once said, ‘Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.’ Till today, I think I should have removed that Stephen Hawking quote at the very end for a more impactful ending but I still left it in there because it was what inspired the structure of the whole piece.

Once in a blue moon, I have a piece that can be written in one seating whereby you don’t have to think too hard about it and that inspiration just comes a little easier. Home was one of them. Having received permanent residency, I already have a cause and inspiration for writing. Coincidentally, I had a draft from a while back about the parallels between flight and life, in which I used my experience of my first flight as my opening. I thought it would be cool to use that as my opening here and just work my way through it chronologically as well. Again, this post was a long time coming as I often think about the impact of a nomadic shifting across cities on a person’s faith and character. So this was right up in that alley. This probably took 7 years in the making, as it finally sank in after much struggle and conflict that Sydney too is my home.

History was really one of the most challenging posts I had to write because I had so many directions I wanted to take with this and it was deeply personal. Initially, the idea I had for it was about accepting the past romantic relationships of oneself and others with grace and love but I didn’t quite know how to write that at the time because I felt I didn’t quite have a consolation from that reflection. If I had written it, it would have been very unsatisfying to the reader as it would have been like you read a story without a proper ending. One day, Kina Grannis released a song called, you guessed it, ‘History’ and after listening to it, I started thinking about the lyrics more and more. This last line of the chorus in particular resonated with me, ‘I’d rather be right here than falling off the pages of history’. It was such a beautifully composed song that I felt inspired to write my own acceptance of my history and how I came to grow from the tough pages.

The opening for History was an interesting one. If you read it, you will remember that I wrote about a Japanese clock. I have to admit this is one opening that I am pretty proud of just because I don’t think I have written a more beautiful analogy. Again, it wasn’t like I looked at the clock and went, ‘I got it’. The opening definitely took time (no pun intended) to be born. Because it was a clock and I am writing about history, it felt appropriate to link them. I don’t think I will ever know how exactly it came together. Like with any creative project, sometimes, all you need is a spark and the mind just connects things together.

The next one was Two Eggs. Keen observers will realise that this was the first time in the year that my title has more than 1 word, breaking the sort of plan that I had, which was to only have 1 word titles for 2018. I used to scratch my head a lot when I tried to think of titles and sometimes, come up with the weirdest things like Face of a Keyboard but I wanted to keep it uniform across the board and try to really capture the essence of the blog piece in one word. Two Eggs was never part of the plan but I realised there is a meaningful story about food to tell here and that was more important than any other plan. Why did I call it two eggs? It reminded me of younger days where two eggs was all I need in my meal. No fancy brunches. No fancy restaurants. Just eggs and rice.

Compass was something that came out of the blue and was written rather hastily in wanting to close the year off with something light but at the same time, raises questions to the reader (also because I haven’t written anything in donkey ages). In the article, I wrote about our over reliance on technology and reviews in going about our day but really, I was trying to convey that it is okay when your life compass breaks. Although things may seem impossible at times and we can get lost, we will be just fine. Breathe. Let go.

Eventually, you will get there. I didn’t want to hammer this in as I wanted it to be sort of a metaphor for life without being obvious about it. Looking back, I think I could have made it more obvious and plan better but hey, you learn from it.

I’ve published 91 posts and I’m still learning. This would be 92. One of the hardest parts I find about writing is to trim your favourite parts and ideas off for more coherence, conciseness and impact. Some days, I still struggle with that and I leave some parts or anecdotes in knowing full well it wouldn’t fit in terms of the larger picture. Either way, thank you to all of you that stopped by every once in a while. Few as you are, I’m always grateful that you stayed and found a connection to my feelings and stories.

Thank you to my girlfriend as well for being so supportive and always reading every single thing I post. If you haven’t noticed, she is in every single one of my post last year, mostly by design but really because of her love for me.

Last but not the least, thank you God for the gift of writing and the grace you continue to give to me.

Thank you.