This trip has been, quite simply, perfect. There are many things left to be desired, of course - like healing a couple of broken relationships, and extending this vacation to say... forever. But nonetheless, there is perfection here, in its simplicity, humility and gentleness. I am so easy to please.
I think that this has been an important trip for me. This restfulness has been purposeful and almost solemn in the silent, contemplative way I've held the view from the bus and car windows. Many windows, many journeys, all within this ridiculously tiny city. The colours are bright in the sunshine and the neon lights scream out from the dead of night. But the nights are never actually dead. Here is a country, a region, that cannot sleep for its excitable youth, with all its angst in identity formation, self-determination and otherization. Still beautiful in its youth with an unbelievable array of perennially blooming flowers and endless coats of fresh paint, she's ridiculous.
Then there's Christmas - and this is why I miss Singapore, every decorative ornament during the capitalist season is classy. No chunky plastic Santa towering on a drunken slant by a decrepit sidewalk of chalky grey. The trees are proudly wreathed with lights trinkets and glamour - in vogue, and not merely humbly laced with a flaccid trail of lights, leaving more nakedness then cheer shining through. Even the fountain of wealth at Suntec has been girdled with fairy lights like a luminous caterpillar, giving it the air of an aristocratic child dressed in starched lace (macam tat glam, actually).
And I have been quite silent, letting defenses fall to receive lots of chicken soup, curry, prawn mee, portraits and love. But beneath the surfacial bubbles of contended consumption I'm preparing for the return to Vancouver. I sometimes feel like a baby swapped at birth, returned to my real parents at the politically ripe age of 21. While being here, I've developed a sense of purpose - I'm here, not just to be here, but to prepare to go back. I am very much here now, that I may be very much there when I'm back. I'm at that stage in life when I can no longer live parallel lives 16 hours apart. I will need to devote my current state of being into building something strong, present and sufficient.
Sufficiency beyond me. I prayed for God's heart and found myself in a constant state of tears this year. I am now praying for... his hands? Well whatever it is, the means to carry out whatever task I've been called to do, that He might bless the work of my hands, allowing me to find favour, and success. I'm really not sure what that might mean. But it sure as hell has taken a lot of weight off my shoulders.
So I'm simply going to sit back, relax, eat more food, put on some flesh, laugh and bask in the endless wealth and comfort that Singapore has to offer. Only 11 more days before I return to battling the cold, and my anger.
I pray for grace, and while I do so, I pray for strength and direction to understand justice.
I think that this has been an important trip for me. This restfulness has been purposeful and almost solemn in the silent, contemplative way I've held the view from the bus and car windows. Many windows, many journeys, all within this ridiculously tiny city. The colours are bright in the sunshine and the neon lights scream out from the dead of night. But the nights are never actually dead. Here is a country, a region, that cannot sleep for its excitable youth, with all its angst in identity formation, self-determination and otherization. Still beautiful in its youth with an unbelievable array of perennially blooming flowers and endless coats of fresh paint, she's ridiculous.
Then there's Christmas - and this is why I miss Singapore, every decorative ornament during the capitalist season is classy. No chunky plastic Santa towering on a drunken slant by a decrepit sidewalk of chalky grey. The trees are proudly wreathed with lights trinkets and glamour - in vogue, and not merely humbly laced with a flaccid trail of lights, leaving more nakedness then cheer shining through. Even the fountain of wealth at Suntec has been girdled with fairy lights like a luminous caterpillar, giving it the air of an aristocratic child dressed in starched lace (macam tat glam, actually).
And I have been quite silent, letting defenses fall to receive lots of chicken soup, curry, prawn mee, portraits and love. But beneath the surfacial bubbles of contended consumption I'm preparing for the return to Vancouver. I sometimes feel like a baby swapped at birth, returned to my real parents at the politically ripe age of 21. While being here, I've developed a sense of purpose - I'm here, not just to be here, but to prepare to go back. I am very much here now, that I may be very much there when I'm back. I'm at that stage in life when I can no longer live parallel lives 16 hours apart. I will need to devote my current state of being into building something strong, present and sufficient.
Sufficiency beyond me. I prayed for God's heart and found myself in a constant state of tears this year. I am now praying for... his hands? Well whatever it is, the means to carry out whatever task I've been called to do, that He might bless the work of my hands, allowing me to find favour, and success. I'm really not sure what that might mean. But it sure as hell has taken a lot of weight off my shoulders.
So I'm simply going to sit back, relax, eat more food, put on some flesh, laugh and bask in the endless wealth and comfort that Singapore has to offer. Only 11 more days before I return to battling the cold, and my anger.
I pray for grace, and while I do so, I pray for strength and direction to understand justice.
No comments:
Post a Comment