Badass Literary Treatise

Materialism i0i

For the longest time, I held off getting an MP3 player.

Whenever I needed to travel with my extensive music collection, I always lugged it in a notebook. I installed an MP3 capable player in my car and burned CDs with 160 tracks. I even made sure that my car system had an Auxilliary input so that I can plug the notebook in if 160 songs wasn't enough. 4 generations of 'iPod' and 3 types of 'Zen' could not sway my resolve.

And then one day, I opened a box of chocolates and, instead of munchie treats, found myself staring at the 5G iPod Video. Ooh-la-la.

And we all know that getting a new gadget is like having a baby. It never stops there. You have to accessorise the damn thing or folks might question your committment as a parent/ gadget owner.

"What? no protection of any kind for gadgetbaby?"

"Doesn't that colour just look spiffy on gadgetbaby?"

"To bring the best out of your gadgetbaby, you simply must have one of these wingwangs!"

The paradox of this generation arises from the juxtaposition of mass production/ consumption against an increasingly individualistic worldview. Where self is determined and distinguished by choice, accessories are the key to being a unique individual. Like Joey Bling Doh, we want to be different, just like everyone else. The unaccessorised iPod is an icon of irony.

There is plapable pressure to get my gadgetbaby the bestest coolest thing money can buy. After all, it doesn't matter the least bit to the gadgetbaby what brand of rags he just pooped on. It is all about what the accessories say about the gadgetbaby owner. We are like the Borg - we assimilate objects into our identities.

My newly modified behaviour includes walking into Apple outlets, checking out sites like ilounge and actually using iTunes. To date, I think I have been rather moderate in my expenditure

1. St Martin's iPod Video Protective Shield - $28.00

2. Griffin's iPod Wireless Remote Control - $69.00

But that could change with the most tempting Apple of them all: The Altec Lansing IM7

Totally Portable. Incredibly snug iPod Dock. Sub-Woofer. Tweeters. Remote control. $399.00 price tag.

Just the thing for beach parties, picnics and church camps.

I try to tell myself that the color doesn't match my black iPod Video. And that seems to be working for now. Let us pray that Altec Lansing doesn't decide to release the IM7 in black.

postscript: This is not a 'look the gift horse in the mouth' whine about the iPod I recieved. I love it to the kazoo. I am just rather alarmed at the behavior modification that came along with it.

I'll Cry Too

The tears streaming from behind purple spectacles mingled with leaking mucus and the delectable mixture threatened to dribble into the yawning mouth from which gasping cries were being emitted.

I broke off the conversation with the teacher, hurried over and crouched down next to the pudgy little boy. The name tag sewn into his uniform gave his name as Ping Shi.

"Hey there! Why are you crying?"

He looked at me and fresh tears brimmed. OK, time to try another tack.

"Those are nice glasses, make sure you dry them later OK?"

Teary eyes turned and focused on me. Ah Ha!

"Do you like your glasses"

"Ye.. Yes... I chose them myself"

"It is a nice colour. Is purple your favourite colour?"

"Yes it is"

"You mean your mum and dad actually let you choose your glasses?"

"Yes"

"That is so cool! When I had to wear glasses, mum and dad didn't let me decide at all. I wouldn't want you to see how silly I looked in my old photos"

He laughed. Yes!

In another minute he was telling me about his best friend that he made since day one of school and was prattling along until his teacher claimed him.

When we were small, our problems seemed huge, and we forget about them so quickly. Were that it was so easy to dry the eyes and take away the pain of those close to me.

I'll Cry Too by Nouveaux

Candlelight contains the night
Heaven lends an ear
and I lift you to the throne
Sending empathy on a summer breeze
To brush the window sill
Where you sit alone
Ooh, the silence whispers your name
Echoing tears with the rain

Chorus
Something told me you might be crying
Lying with your smile, alone
Something told me yours may be troubled eyes
Broken windows to your soul
For every tear that you cry I promise you, I'll cry too

I have seen the hearts of queens
Broken now and then
One of them is yours
I won't lie if you ask me
Why it's gotta be this way
But I may not have much to say
Ooh, the moon reminds me of your face
As I pray your heart finds grace

Unpacking Old Poetry

Bear with me as I shamelessly post further evidence of my incapacity as a literary genius. This time I have chosen to declassify stuff written many years ago. Two months into a relationship and she realises that the man she loved could not be found in the man that I was and called it off. And so I wrote. My favourite line in bold :)

Cruel fate tempts me with happy hopes
But leave me only with Clarity
Born of tragic experience.
From such is the mortar for cynical bricks formed.

I accept for now,
That sweet love shall not be our draught,
Rather to drink the bitter medicine of life's lessons
Or to take refuge in the heady mead of merriment and forgetful toil
Hold not our tongue from tasting the bitter
Pledge thus to learn much from this episode
And faintly hope that it will steer our hearts
Towards gentler seas and safer harbors

For to love true and to love deep
Requires of us courage that exceeds Reason's realms
But let no one say 'coward'
Or even cast a shadow on my earnest
You that have checked my resolve
For you accept none safe
that which costs nothing
that which is packaged conveniently
that which is already shaped and honed

Know that even for friends
The genius of our age have failed
To produce them made-to-order
For in the good book, it spells clear
That a friend sharpens another
Even as iron sharpens iron
That love is foremost patient
Even as the Lord is patient
In the shaping of our lives
That perfection is a goal attained by love
Not a requirement thereof

Surely many fail at this awesome venture
Not for lack of compatibility
But of attempt
So many stop at the foot of the Mountain
Consorting with cowardly Despair
Instead of being counted with noble Courage

Do you seek the broad and easy path to love?
Fortuitous are those that find such a way
But pity them that know not
The true worth of the treasure they have

Grow wise, dear heart
For all my earnest desiring
And all the courage that love may lend me
Shall not overcome the clarity
That I am but two short months known to you
Yet in this time, that for which you had affection
Was merely an illusion
And the contrasting truth prompts you to hope
That the next will be more perfectly matched
In illusion and reality.

You desire an orchard of sweet apples
But give no time for it to grow from an ugly discarded core
Even a farmer lovingly and patiently tends his fields
Knowing well that they will not always be full of weeds and rocks.
Grow wise, sweet love
And learn that the dearest in life
Are rarely chanced upon
But oft are the result of loving toil

Irreducible Complexity and Intelligent Design

Here's a little something I wrote a few months ago because it cropped up during cell group discussion. Not sure why I didn't post it. :)

There is a war going on for the classrooms of middle America. Evolutionists are shocked that despite 3 centuries of Enlightenment and Scientific progress, a good 70% of people in America still believe that the world was created by some god. You won't read about cool stuff like that in our local papers.

Intelligent Design offers, as an alternative, that complex systems emerged as a result of purposeful intervention, rather than random chance. One of the banners they march under is the idea of Irreducible Complexity which says this:

The component parts of certain systems are meaningless in and of themselves. And yet, taking away even one of these components renders the system non-functional. The only way these systems can exist is if they were intelligently put together.

All said and done, Intelligent Design falls short as the magic bullet that Christian apologists are looking for to prove the existence of the God of Paul, Abraham and Moses. It does not tell us Who, or Why or How. And in a way I am glad for that. My God makes himself know via revelation, not  investigative proof.

Despite its glaring inadequacies in answering the real questions of the meaning of life, it has nonetheless proven to be a real bugbear for Evolutionism. I would suggest Intelligent Design as a more credible poke at Evolutionary Theory than a comeback that goes "So how come the monkeys in the Zoo don't evolve?"

Santa's Elf Finalists

Presenting the finalists for Santa's Elf 2005. Please submit all votes before 31st January.

Contestant number 20 "Fork Me in 'er Head Man" has been disqualified due to an unusually high sugar ratio detected from the random drug test.

Death of a Rummy

Gin Rummy was a game played by the aunts and uncs on the maternal side of my family every Chinese New Year.

After a hearty meal of chicken porridge and 'yu shang', the table will be cleared and three or four decks of playing cards will be brought out along with wooden bowls and cashboxes. All the grandchildren will form an outer circle behind the adults and watch them play. Occassionally, we will be allowed to count the winnings, but could not play the game. Our annual supplications to be initiated were drowned out by the boisterous evidence of a close knit extended family.

When I turned 16, my brother, 2 other cousins and I were finally allowed to 'Rummy' with the adults. We gleefully traded our crisp dollar bills from the Ang Paos for 'shillings' and at our first outing, garnered a net profit of $26.00, which we divided into four parts.

The older generation tried to use these opportunities to teach us about being gracious in winning and losing, but what we really learnt was that the value of money is relative to how much of it you have. And I imagine that if a young Mrs Goh had learnt a similar lesson, she could have well avoided the faux pas of Peanut-gate.

Things changed when I was taught that gambling is sinful. I was indignant that a Christian family like mine, where nearly every uncle and aunt was a congregational lay leader, should persist in such indulgences. I did not say it in words, but protested by making a big show of not wanting to Rummy with them. My 'righteous zeal' had the effect of diminishing the family's enthusiasm for Rummy and in a short while, a great tradition yielded to the suggestion of heading home after dinner.

I no longer have the satisfaction of the belief that I saved my family from sin. If anything, I only regret that my theological understanding of what constitutes sin was so warped that I inflicted an unecessary burden of guilt on Christians and deprived my family of a great opportunity to interact.

Perhaps this New Year, I shall try to reverse the Curse of the Rummy.

The Missing Month

Although it was only slightly more than a week that we were serenading a polite audience with carols, that particular episode seems like a lifetime ago.

I feel like I have been far away for a very long time.

While everyone is contemplating the milestone that just passed, I'm groping to even find the road!I suppose having your routine interrupted by 3 weeks of reservist and one week in Brisbane can have that kind of effect.

To say the least, 2006 looks like a year where I cannot see beyond the next month. Where am I headed career-wise? And how do I adjust to the new patterns of sharing my life with another whose life is also in a flux? How will all this affect ministry goals laid down while I was still single? It wouldn't be this bad if I could deal with changes one at a time, but right now, It feels like every constant has been tossed into the air simultaneously.

This current state of affairs is not always comforting. As I start the new year, I would like to make this song my prayer.

I Know Who Holds My Hand

I don't know about tomorrow,
I just live from day to day.
I don't borrow from it's sunshine,
For it's skies may turn to gray.
I don't worry o'er the future,
For I know what Jesus said,
And today I'll walk beside Him,
For He knows what is ahead.

I don't know about tomorrow,
It may bring me poverty;
But the One Who feeds the sparrow,
Is the One Who stands by me.
And the path that be my portion,
May be through the flame or flood,
But His presence goes before me,
And I'm covered with His blood.

Refrain
Many things about tomorrow,
I don't seem to understand;
But I know Who holds tomorrow,
And I know Who holds my hand.