Saturday, June 20, 2009


I'm graduating. I knew it was always a problem in the coming, but I had not anticipated the degree of backlash that I am to face at the present. Four years in the coming, and now it comes. I forgot, somewhere in the middle, about the gravity of this issue, and I saw it as no more than another day. Ordinarily, it would not be a big deal at all. Ordinarily, one's parents would come to the city of study, meet with the graduand, exchange pleasantries, throw a couple hats, take some photographs, and proceed to move on with their lives. But I have always been aware that I do not belong in the ordinary.

It's not unusual to have divorced parents. It's certainly not unusual for situations between the divorced couple to be tense or awkward. This is not the issue. The deadly equation is one where divorce meets continual pain and mental disorder under threat of suicide. I only wish that I am dramatising. The scars of years of violence, tears, pain, and abuse between my parents are all too fresh for me, so that I no longer see them as being able to partake in the same events or indeed exist at the same time in any given point of my life. Indeed, the amount of lies and deception that I am made to use in interactions between them (don't tell your father this! don't tell your mother that!) has exhausted and grieved me to the point that I am extremely tense at times when I need to contact one party about the other. My individual relationships with my mother and father has taken on this pressure, and I have only learned how to manage them better in recent years.

Over the years I agonised at the prospect of either of my parents not being there at my graduation, and soon I accepted that this was to be so. At present, I'm not sure whether this is going to turn out well or not, but I'm adopting a 'come what may' attitude. And prayer. Lots of prayer.

I've always known that university and seeing me graduate is one of my father's greatest dreams. The very fact that he himself never had the opportunity to is one of the greatest regrets of his life, and in this way, I am not averse to the idea of him living vicariously through me. Year after year has been robbed of him since I was 14, when we no longer lived under the same roof, and I wanted one thing for him. Something that is of actual importance and memory for the two of us, apart from brief meetings of some hours over the course of every few weeks. I know and knew that this was important for my mother as well, but the chance that this might provoke intense emotional turmoil for her and also the fact that in my mind, they cannot co-exist, I did believe that this was a hard decision to make but one that I had to.

By the mercy of God I actually ended up having a conversation with my mother during my Christmas break, where we spoke quite frankly of the obstacles in the way, and it appeared to me that we had made a definitive decision as to the graduation. She was not going to come, and I thought of alternative means for her to 'take part' (there will be, apparently, a live broadcast of it on the internet). It was a pity, but in the face of the circumstances, that was the choice that we made.

It was such a relief to me. Finally, after dwelling on this for four years. After all that fear and wondering. It was sorted. Somehow.

I knew that it wasn't going to be some fanciful affair. That's not my father's style. I never imagined some sort of grand display of joy and affection. Our relationship's degenerated from that long ago. It wasn't going to be fairytales and rainbows with my father. But I did enjoy the idea of spending some time with my father. Perhaps it may further our relationship a bit more.

About a week ago, I received a phone call that I was not able to pick up. I thought that it was my mother, so I called her, whereupon I heard the familiar tone of grievous sadness and depression in her voice. She asked me whether I had called because of what she had written on her blog. I had absolutely no idea what she was referring to, but before I could ask, she had already hung up the phone.

It took me several hours before I could access her blog. When I read it, it was as if I was struck in the face. It was a tirade directed straight at me, speaking of my cruelty and rejection of my mother, about how I am abandoning her at my graduation. This was to continue in email form for the whole of last week, writing about my lack of love for her, about how I never welcomed her presence at any of my birthday parties, how I choose my friends over her.

I was sapped of any strength to reply. I tried the best that I could, explaining to her that it wasn't for the lack of love that I did what I did, and I tried my best to explain that we had already discussed this in December. What she had thought to be signs of rejection (i.e. not 'formally' inviting her to my graduation) may have just been the fact that I thought that this was sorted and therefore never made any advances to the contrary. How was I to choose between my parents? I could never really choose to love one over the other. For me, it was seen as a balance. She had been invited with all my heart, to virtually every performance, every thing of great importance to me in highschool when formalities were still of great great meaning to me. I had put my heart and soul into everything that I did then, especially dramatic performances where there were times that I had written or directed the plays. Singing performances as well are still memories that I hold on to with such fervency. It's still a pride and joy to me. And although there were times where I would be so happy to know that my mother was there to support me, I would often be so heartbroken by the complete lack of response or support at some events where she attended. Some of my most important events, she was not even there due to the fact that she was going through an episode or we were arguing in some way. This is of deep regret to me, and I'm not blaming her, since it wasn't anybody's fault really. The pain, however, endures.

It was a balance, that my father could come to something that he might care more about than I, that he could finally attend some 'event' in itself is meaningful to me. By now, I care little about academic formalities and events, and I prize personal growth, especially spiritual growth more than these. I'd rather be a better person in Christ than be lauded with ceremony. I've simply forgotten to place myself in my mother's shoes with regards to this. I forgot that deep down, my mother cares about ceremony. Where do I split? What do I listen to? Concern for my mother or concern for myself? My living has not taught me to find balance between the two. It's either all or nothing. All of her and nothing of me, or the other way around. Self-preservation.

All at once, my grievances, experiences, and pain over all the years came flooding back. Yesterday was critical to me. I was so gripped in agony that I could barely think, or hear from other people, let alone pray. I was slumped at my desk because I could not lift myself up from it, and my head was clenched in tension as if it would indeed explode. I just could not receive God's love for me. Or anybody else's, for that matter. I knew I was pushing it away in my pain. I rejected it all.

My pastor's prayer and prophecy kept coming back to me: God knows about the fact that you've not had a good relationship with your dad, and you've had to be strong for yourself. God wants to tell you that He's there for you as the Father, you can lean on Him. You just need to lean back.

But I couldn't.

I was fighting it. I was scared, and I was doubtful. Years and years of protecting myself from the pain of living with someone with Borderline Personality Disorder finally hit boiling point where a problem within me was made known: I am having great difficulty with receiving love.

Day after day during this week it's been difficult to reach that place of peace in my heart, where I am so overwhelmed by God's love for me, the meaning of Jesus' sacrifice for me that I just can't deny it. I've not been letting God in, and I lost my way. I just didn't know how to. So I kept crying out. There were moments of great clarity, where I was so filled with God's Spirit and love. And then I'd recede into chaos.

Yesterday was chaos.

I found rest after last night. Matters had been somewhat resolved. My mother is coming. Along with my aunt and uncle. Deep down, I know that God is sorting this out for me, but I'm still sticking my head into the pain, rooting around in it, hoping for some compassion for something that I really just need to receive God's healing for. I'm scared of their time here being worse than what this week has been: more shouting at me for making the wrong decision, more nit-picking and making me feel worthless, more of manipulating me to do that which I truly do not want to. I'm scared that I'll lose more of myself in the throes of other people's demands. I want to go to my relatives and say: This is what I've experienced. This is how I feel! Listen to me. Why won't you understand?

But I've got to let it go.

I slept last night, having prayed beforehand and reaching some peace within my heart. I awoke today with a phone call from my mother, with a much calmer and restored tone, which subsequently has resolved some tension in my heart. I'm very grateful for this, but my heart still urged me to pray.

As I prayed, I was finally able to let go and let God's love into my heart. I was amazed by it. I really truly felt His tenderness and kindness towards me. He urged me to read of the story of the Prodigal Son in the Bible, and I teared up again, but in joy. He restored me, and just as I was ending my time of prayer, I received a vision.

I saw this beautiful pink peony tinged with indigo to one side. It came at me, flowering before the vision vanished. The vision took my breath away, and at once I knew in my heart that it was from God. I sensed that it was an answering to something that I've prayed long and hard about: God, show me how you see me, please, because I can barely understand or 'see' myself right now. I care to know how you see me, God.

The irony is, I've never really liked peonies that much. I thought that they were a bit garish, a bit too much, and thus a bit ugly. But as if all at once, I immediately thought it was beautiful. I guess I could see all those qualities as being a part of me. But I'm just overwhelmed at the fact that God thinks that I'm beautiful, lively, and strong.

I researched the Peony on wikipedia, and I thought that this was rather apt:

"Once planted the Peony likes to be left alone and punishes those who try to move it by not flowering again for several years. Once established, however, it produces splendid blooms each year for decades (Taken from The Language of Flowers, edited by Sheila Pickles, 1990)"

God sees me, just as I am, without embellishment, and He wants to see the best in me.

I'm amazed by that.

In Christ,

Christina.

Sunday, June 14, 2009



心如刀割

2 Corinthians 4
Treasures in Jars of Clay
1Therefore, since through God's mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart. 2Rather, we have renounced secret and shameful ways; we do not use deception, nor do we distort the word of God. On the contrary, by setting forth the truth plainly we commend ourselves to every man's conscience in the sight of God. 3And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. 4The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. 5For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus' sake. 6For God, who said, "Let light shine out of darkness,"[a]made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.

7But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. 8We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 10We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. 11For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. 12So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

13It is written: "I believed; therefore I have spoken."[b]With that same spirit of faith we also believe and therefore speak, 14because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you in his presence. 15All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God.

16Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 17For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 18So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

Saturday, April 25, 2009


Sunny side up with a side dish of Macabre.

Friday, April 24, 2009



I admit it. I do want to make money so that I can buy crazy-ass things.

Saturday, April 04, 2009



How quickly the light wanes.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009



Vanity Fair.

I have been sold to the American Dream. My eyes have glowed hopeful to the thought that one day, I'd rise up in the ranks. Some rank, somewhere. But when does the American dream become the American Nightmare?

Why does something so appealing grow to be so nauseating? I once read in Alain de Botton's book, Status Anxiety, that it is precisely because of increasing social mobility throughout the ages that we now have such intense cases of status anxiety pervading every stage of our lives. Children are beauty queens, movie stars, singers, auteurs and savants. Teenagers are writers, thinkers, movers and shakers. Adults are fighting tooth and claw to make it to the top where there is finally fresh air; a piece of sky. When once we resigned ourselves to what status, what rank, and what vocation we were born into, we now each have a gargantuan task at hand. To discover the inward sea, and then to eke out the path that we are to walk upon. Each baby, with such promise, such weight.

It didn't start out this way for me. I believed, as a little girl, that one could only be one of three things: a doctor, a teacher, or a lawyer. This came from the flash cards that we were shown in pre-school. I ruled out the doctor option from the get-go, which only left the teacher and lawyer option for me. And actually, for the longest time, I held onto this. I only discarded the idea of being a lawyer when I went into highschool.

I was never fed the idea that you can be anything that you want to be, you can do anything that you want as long as you put your mind to it. My later misspent youth before the television is where I source the origin of these ideas. The American Dream, blaring across to Asian minds, thousands of miles away.

And now, at this point in my life, where my university career is at its imminent end, I feel as an actor would, just as they are about to perform. The trouble is, I have not rehearsed any of my lines, I do not know which play I am acting in, and I haven't met any of my co-stars. I know not my rank or place. In present or future.

I am only ever ill at ease, however, when I hear of the movements of my peers. Although none of our lives are and will ever be comparable, society has us believing that we're all on the same ladder anyways, and it is precisely this feeling that brings me any anxiety. Am I not trying hard enough? Am I not applying myself? What can I do to 'make it'? What can I do to 'get there'? What is the expected position that I am meant to be in at this stage? How does my life compare? Despite my supposed reputation of being outré and indifferent to social status or money, I am given to bouts of such vanity.

The chorus of my different selves are all singing at once. And they're not harmonising.

In answer to the previous questions, I retort: How would one know if they're 'there' anyways? What is 'there'? What are my values based upon? What is precious, and what is worth applying yourself to? How can people of different backgrounds, goals, and positions ever be compared? Who is looking at you, and what are you doing this for? What is your joy? Will money, power, and position make you happy? What is it that you're running towards, and do you know which way you're running?

Meanwhile, hiphop bootyshaker rappers are rhyming on.

Let me upgrade u.

I see the seeds of my faith flower into fruit, and that is my joy. I see people worshipping, and that is precious and above all, beautiful. I see people getting saved, pulled out of darkness, and that is worthy. I see people being loved and shown their true worth, and that is good. I see my life amongst others, and as much as other lives are unreachable, so is mine so lonely, unique, and defined.

My faith calls for me to radically re-evaluate everything that I have ever placed my hope in. Where I've made a wrong investment in a blue chip stock and everything's crashing down. My faith tells me that the one that I have given my life to was a carpenter for 33 years despite who He actually was, being fully God as well as fully man, and then to become the greatest preacher ever known but still humiliated unto death. Jesus Himself waited for 33 years, and although His sacrifice for us is the greatest thing that has happened in all of history, although that one moment defined everything past, present, and future, it still does not reflect fully who He actually is and nothing on earth truly encompassed the full glory of who He is. He is that, He is the sacrifice, He is the cross, He is love, but that's not all. That's not all.

Where then, is the value of being oneself in amidst the din of the American Dream? In the spirit and words of Fight Club, you are not your job, you are not your furniture, you are not your relationships, and you are not the clothes that you wear. At the end of the movie however, you find out that you're not even yourself. This hope falls short. My hope does not. I look back at the Bible, and it can't be clearer that thoughts of the American Dream is utterly contrary to Jesus.

My faith is not perfect, and I am by no means comparable to Christ, but it is at this moment that I am reminded of living for something greater.

Something more.

Friday, March 06, 2009


The Aesthete.

There is a fundamental need to duck away from the harsh glare of the world. Whilst my deadline is so blindingly obvious and frightfully close, I daren't say that I have the nerve to really face it upfront at the moment. I'd rather be in that imaginary place. I'd rather be dreaming about photography projects and little stories to write. Televsion shows to live vicariously through, and books... I miss when reading didn't have such ominous meaning behind it.

I'm supposed to go out today, but I'd rather stay in. I can't wait for idleness.