On seasons

You could see it in their eyes: what it feels to be normal, to be kicked out of routine- a routine of twelve hour shifts, thirty consecutive days at a time, living on a floating vessel a (few) hundred miles from land. Coming from an upper middle class society, I’ve been spared from much physical labour and I find it strangely enchanting to watch the labourers at rest, and in watching them, too, be at rest. Half-days off for Raya has done all of us a lot of good in becoming more human (albeit, not so good for project progress). 

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I’ve always found seasons one of the most  brilliant of God’s abundant creation, and found it rather unfortunate that we don’t get seasons in tropical countries. Brilliant mainly because: 

• I love how seasons give different flavours to the same scenery. 
• I love the diversity in the way people dress and look- there are ways the weather can help us look pleasant, but being a one-season nation, we have not understood this- we are a nation of shorts and tees and slippers and jeans. We will never understand summer dresses and we will never understand cardigans. 
• I love snow. A lot. 

Apart from the immediate foreseeable benefits - there’s the added benefit of time keeping. I mean that life, when measured by yardstick of days, could easily spiral out of control and leave us in a rut. And what’s to stop us from doing so? 

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It’s crossed my mind, that the closest thing we might have to seasons (in Malaysia), is the month of Ramadhan (that happens once or twice each year, depending on the Hijrah calendar). Obviously, its a whole lot different from seasons as understood in temperate countries, but it bears some resemblance in the fact that it imposes a change to life (as it normally is), for a certain duration each year for the fasting muslimeen. But for the kuffars like myself, it is all bazaars, rendang, ketupat, ayam percik and serunding. 

Still so much practice to notice God in each and every season. 

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Disclaimer: Second bullet point does not absolve the reader’s responsibility to practice grace in addressing my lack of taste and fashion sense.

On returning

Took me by surprise- internet usage is being regulated on the barge: website filters on facebook, whatsapp, etc. It feels weird to be so disconnected. Just imagine, about a decade ago, none of these existed- I wonder how they survived. But they did, and I suspect that I will too. 

So, it’s back to the books for me (too many movies- they’re starting to wear me out). Thank God I brought along some of my favourites- Lewis, Morrison. And I guess, there’s writing; haven’t been writing (and journaling) much, as you can see from the blog (maybe I’ll finish up a short piece on my trip to Burma earlier this year). And there’s hanging out and chatting with colleagues. And there’s day dreaming, just like in the old days. So I guess, there’s plenty to do. 

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Spent a greater part of the past two months offshore which is quite new for me. Juggling commitments that I’ve made outside of work is significantly harder due to limited resources (connectivity for example), and the fact that I cannot be physically present elsewhere since I’m- here. And though I try very hard to be present at significant events, alas, I can’t. So I’m beginning to understand the thrill of sailors returning home, military personnel from lengthy missions, Ulysses from his odyssey. But our citizenship is in heaven. And here is Lewis to say what I came here to say. 

Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy

 and crown, stand firm thus in the Lord, my beloved. – Phil 4:1

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Read the rest of Lewis' weight of glory here.

elections for all

For the pessimist:

   

For the optimist:

   

For the Christian:

As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go to the village ahead of you, and at once you will find a donkey tied there, with her colt by her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, say that the Lord needs them, and he will send them right away.” This took place to fulfil what was spoken through the prophet: “Say to Daughter Zion, ‘See, your king comes to you, gentle and riding on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’” The disciples went and did as Jesus had instructed them. They brought the donkey and the colt and placed their cloaks on them for Jesus to sit on. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, while others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and those that followed shouted, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” “Hosanna in the highest heaven!” When Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred and asked, “Who is this?” The crowds answered, “This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee.” 

For those observing:

  

For those involved: I have a dream

funky town

I played Archer in the closing paragraphs, and looking up, I walked up the stairs instead- all five flights. Archer, oh Archer, you had it all wrong- it would've been as real as you imagined!

I guess, London is home too in some ways and this reminds me that the best is yet to be!

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Words to describe my recent UK shindig (in no particular order):

• Fellowship 
• Friends 
• Gospel 
• Luther 
• Lion King 
• Tube 
• Warrington 
• Jacket potatoes 
• English breakfasts 
• Old Trafford 
• Crosby Beach 
• Cold 
• Trains 
• Coffee 
• Plan

Went without a plan, did nothing, and ended up doing everything I went there for. Priceless.

why we should read the OT

Reblogged from and all 10 got eaten by a werewolf

This is my favorite scene. 

If you’ve read the Silmarillion, you know who Fëanor was. If you don’t, Fëanor was the great elf who created the Silmarils: three indescribably beautiful and magical jewels that contained the light and essence of the world before it became flawed. They were the catatlyst for basically every important thing that happened in the First Age of Middle Earth. 

It is thought that the inspiration for the Silmarils came to Fëanor from the sight of Galadriel’s shining, silver-gold hair. 

He begged her three times for single strand of her beautiful hair. And every time, Galadriel refused him. Even when she was young, Galadriel’s ability to see into other’s hearts was very strong, and she knew that Fëanor was filled with nothing but fire and greed. 

Fast forward to the end of the Third Age. 

Gimli, visiting Lorien, is also struck by Galadriel’s beauty. During the scene where she’s passing out her parting gifts to the Fellowship, Galadriel stops empty-handed in front of Gimli, because she doesn’t know what to offer a Dwarf. Gimli tells her: no gold, no treasure… just a single strand of hair to remember her beauty by. 

She gives him three. Three. 

And this is why Gimli gets to be an Elf Friend, people. Because Galadriel looks at him and thinks he deserves what she refused the greatest Elf who ever lived—- and then twice that. And because he has no idea of the significance of what she’s just given him, but he’s going to treasure it the rest of his life anyway. 

Just look at that smile on Legolas’s face in the last panel. He gets it. He knows the backstory. And I’m pretty sure this is the moment he reconsiders whether Elves and Dwarves can’t be friends after all.

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Sometimes I feel like Legolas when I discover hidden meanings in the NT when reading it in light of the OT- reasons why we should get a balanced diet of OT and NT. You know what they say: a text without a context is a pre-text for a proof-text. Dive in.