Birthday Blessings

Instead of counting candles,
Or tallying the years,
I contemplate my blessings,
As my birthday nears.

I consider the special people
Who love me, and who care,
And others who’ve enriched my life
Just by being there.

I think about the memories
Passing years that never mar,
Experiences great and small
That have made me who I am.

Another year is a happy gift,
And instead of counting birthdays,
I count my blessings every day.

Adapted from Joanna Fuchs' Birthday Blessings


Happy Birthday to me...

Evening Solace

The human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed;­
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.
And days may pass in gay confusion,
And nights in rosy riot fly,
While, lost in Fame's or
Wealth's illusion,
The memory of the Past may die.

But, there are hours of lonely musing,
Such as in evening silence come,
When, soft as birds their pinions closing,
The heart's best feelings gather home.
Then in our souls there seems to languish
A tender grief that is not woe;
And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish,
Now cause but some mild tears to flow.

And feelings, once as strong as passions,
Float softly back ­a faded dream;
Our own sharp griefs and wild sensations,
The tale of others' sufferings seem.
Oh ! when the heart is freshly bleeding,
How longs it for that time to be,
When, through the mist of years receding,
Its woes but live in reverie!

And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer,
On evening shade and loneliness;
And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer,
Feel no untold and strange distress­
Only a deeper impulse given
By lonely hour and darkened room,
To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven,
Seeking a life and world to come.

~ Charlotte Bronte

PS: Previously a Jo's Thoughts fixture, this is one poem that speaks so much to me...

Freezing time...

Somehow, I'd really hoped the rumours were true, that the Nikon D90 (the improved version of the D80, left) will be launched in early July, if not late June.

My love for photography stems from the year I turned 17. But somehow, and strangely if I might add, it was like a best-kept secret for many people I'd known were surprised at this skill (I was even asked, "Huh? You mean you're good at this?" when I volunteered to check their camera setting after their photographs turned out disappointing and no, I didn't make this up). Sure, I don't produce images fit for the salon, but to me, they're good enough.

At a time and space where change is the only constant, I searched the reason for the love that has never waned. I figured it's like this: Photography allows me to capture the moment and freeze it in time, where it will never change. Be it a smile on my best friend's face, a melting ice-cream cone in the summer heat, a flower in bloom, or balloons in the air. Once frozen with a click, they'll always be the way I first saw them. And it's probably the only constant I can grasp in life.

Poet James Metcalfe puts photography in words beautifully:

A photograph is more than just
A gift to bring or send.
And more than just the likeness of
A relative or friend.

It is a kindly greeting and
A memory to hold.
Of happy times and pleasant things.
However new or old.

It is a mirror that reflects
Companionship and cheer.
And now and then the wistfulness
That turns into a tear.

A photograph is something to
Adorn a desk or wall.
Or carry in a pocket and
Display to one and all.

It is a faithful portrait
The smile that friendship shares
To add its sunshine and to show
That someone really cares.

Leaving

Correct me if I"m wrong, but I figured that most of us have had experienced, or excused our fair share on PMS or IMS (Irritable Male Syndrome) - a socially accepted reason for being emo. And it's unexplainable how this oh-not-so-good feeling found its way inside our heads, hearts and lives.

However, sometimes, feeling emo comes about because of the so-called Leaving Home Syndrome. It's like this: With change as the only constant in the world today, many of us are on the move, be it going on a 3-week holiday in the US, or moving to Australia for a while. And despite its temporality, one can't help but feel a little lost, and perhaps even a little sad amid an indescribable turmoil of feelings.

And this poem I chanced upon randomly speaks of every resonance of the heart...

On a day like today,
a young lady arrived
at the airport,
with family and friends.

Her heart was heavy,
and she was sad.
For she knew the time has come
to leave this Heaven
and return to
the far lonely world
elsewhere.

Unsettling feeling in her heart,
a kind of longing
to stay back forever.
A kind of familiar loneliness
that she was acquainted with,
comes to her again.

And she sighed,
wistfully,
forlornly,
hoping again hope,
to stay in this limbo
of joy
and belonging
forever.

"Oh no, I'm leaving again",
she murmured,
hot tears threatening
to well in her eyes.

Bravely,
she forced a smile
at her loved ones.
Without much of a second look,
she bid them farewell.

In the plane,
the girl sat,
with eyes closed,
reliving those
wonderful and fond memories
she left behind,
and those sweet voices
and carefree laughter
that accompanied
every single image
that went fleeting pass.

Unconsciously,
a faint smile ghosted at her mouth.

"I'll see them again soon.
Take care, my loved ones,
I'll be back."

~ Melvin Lee, 1999

Stars

How countlessly they congregate

O'er our tumultuous snow,

Which flows in shapes as tall as trees

When wintry winds do blow!--

As if with keeness for our fate,

Our faltering few steps on

To white rest, and a place of rest

Invisible at dawn,--

And yet with neither love nor hate,

Those starts like some snow-white

Minerva's snow-white marble eyes

Without the gift of sight.

~ Robert Frost, 1913

And I cannot help but wonder, when the skies are dark and the city sleeps and as we gaze upon the stars, are we wishing on the same thing too?

Rethinking Nationalism

It beckons me to look yonder
what the world is made up of.

Go, Walk, Feel
That quest for knowledge so thirsty
Their way of life so different
Intense culture, rich architecture
Oh, and that history!

Leave, Run, Fly
In pursuit of what's out there -
wandering, searching
yet, not quite a vagabond make.

But when the earth meets the sun
Who would be there when I turn around?

An article I came across by chance just now - Rethinking Singaporean Nationalism - is the inspiration to this poem. Did you know that about 1000 educated Singaporeans leave every year, some for good? Or that Singapore welcomed 14,600 new citizens in 2007? In other words, for every Singaporean who leaves, 14 others come to permanently take his place.

On a [twisted] note, this pragmatic solution seems perfectly sound until alas, one is [once again] reminded of the familiar labels like "quitters" and people who are "rootless" bandied on emigrating Singaporeans by my favourite Uncle Goh in 2002.

On a personal note, I'm not about to deny that my heart isn't flighty too, but that doesn't mean that I don't love Singapore enough. Nationalism is, but a socio-political construct; [the concept of] perennial nationalism should not be epitomised by 'the willingness' to stay within the nation's boundaries.

D.R.E.A.M.S

I just found out the meaning of the jazzy French number I've been humming this past month - la saison des pluies. It means the rain season. Ahhhh...rain. Somehow, I was just drawn to it (though I didn't understand a single word in the lyrics). All of a sudden, it seems less than coincidental that my destiny should be intertwined with the rain. Rainy days - I remember them all too well. And perhaps too, that being Piscean has something to do with it, I [always] thought.

Pisceans, according to Astrology studies, are imaginative and sensitive, compassionate and kind, selfless and unworldly, intuitive and sympathetic, yet [an] escapist and idealistic, secretive and vague, weak-willed and easily led. Hmmm, how true, I thought.

So over coffee (in replacement of a BD cake) and a birthday song (way in advance) at CH this afternoon, but it wasn't helpful to know that I (still) am one of the youngest as I suddenly froze at the idea of getting old(er). What does the coming of age entail? Amid the anticipation (being 30 is supposed to be a good thing), I can't help but feel stiffled by the tacit expectations that perhaps, society may impose. After all, most girls my age are married with a tot in tow; and me, still chasing my faraway dream.

Which probably explains why I love this Langston Hughes poem so much...

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.

Elementary, my dear Watson.

And so she had a phone call from halfway around the world last night. She should be pleased, but not really.

Apparently, Mr Caller can't help but rattled on about how the 2 students he'd tutored for the national exams had attained distinctions in both Math papers, yadda yadda yadda, and the ang-pow money that she has gotten this Lunar New Year was (quote and unquote) "SO little" and how work was (quote and unquote) sian while emphasising worry over her bread and butter yet again, blah blah blah...

Ahhhh...an ego trip, she thought.

Nevertheless, she obliged; the thought (of even dialling up) was sweet. Stopping short at snubbing Mr Caller, she smiled to herself as she suddenly realised what actually was going on. After all, she too has been on this road before....

*****

"Little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth.
For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures,
and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love."
- Francis Bacon

An Immorality

9pm

As the earth meets the sun
and the hustle and the bustle of the city
comes to a halt,
a glass of wine, and cherry glacé dessert
and lovers' kisses
under the dimly-lit sky
one, and two, and three,
wishing a moment if only time would stop.

Whispers of sweet nothings
a song in their ears
I wonder as I wander
if they knew
the tears of the night and the day
the fainting scent of a rose so red
the flickering light in the starless night
the uncertainties of the unknown
of what tomorrow holds...

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost, 1920

等待蓝天

雨季又到了。

雨声唤起了藏在心底的那份回忆。

偶然间也想起了十五岁那年念过的诗：

“寻寻觅觅，
冷冷清清，
凄凄惨惨戚戚。
乍暖还寒时候，
最难将息。
三杯两盏淡酒，
怎敌他、晚来风急？
雁过也，
正伤心，
却是旧时相识。

满地黄花堆积。
憔悴损，
如今有谁堪摘？
守著窗儿，
独自怎生得黑？
梧桐更兼细雨，
到黄昏、点点滴滴。
这次第，
怎一个、愁字了得！”

想念

心中那远在澳大利亚的你，

却也怕思念会悄悄地随风而逝。

不自觉的望着那灰暗的天空，

静静地等待着蓝天。

Scribblings

Today's another one of my sleepless starless Sunday night among the many tens of thousands who's still awake at this hour. Intrigued by what makes a sleepless night, this is what I came up with.

~~~~~

Against Your steadfast shoulders
I leaned,
burdened.

Perplexity
Blankness

Silhouette
Solitude

Lifted
You do understand.

Light
Hope

Comforted,
for You are with me.

Through your eyes

Heartache
keeps people awake
in the dead of night.

Memories
keeps people alive
after everything turns into dust.

Time
keeps people moving
when the world seems to have stopped.

Life
keeps people breathing
even though it hurts so much to be alive.