Today is the beginning of a new uni semester. And it started with my room phone loudly ringing at 10am.
My friend ALWAYS does this to me. She prides herself on being the more efficient alarm clock even when I don’t need one— 8am on Saturday mornings, for instance. Anyway, this time she needed to gripe to someone about how she doesn’t want to go to uni anymore. A perfect start to my day.
I had two lectures from 11am to 1pm. In true Sarah fashion, I went in about 5-10 minutes late. Hey, I’m a usually punctual person but seriously, living 200 metres away from the university building itself does things to you. After the first hour of politics, Michel Foucault, left wing, right wing, liberal democracies…and the second hour of a rundown of what we can expect in regards to hypertexts, FTPs and Dreamweaver, I started to think; wow, I really need to get a hang of studying again.
I suddenly realized how different this year is compared to the FOB (fresh-off-the-boat…Aussie slang for newbies. PS: please do not use this just on anyone, it can be considered offensive for obvious reasons) first year student I was. I noticed that I bump into someone I know every hundred metres while walking around in campus (Note: this doesn’t happen very often, it’s just that it’s the first day of the new semester). The editor of the international student magazine chanced upon me and promptly summoned me to a meeting on Thursday and to go check my email.
After eager snatches of conversation here and there, catching up with people I haven’t seen for a few months, I had to rush off to a writer’s meeting for the University magazine and Media Club. I had this guilt trip going for the entire meeting because I had been Missing-In-Action for 3 months, and heck, I’m suppose to be the sub-editor. I had ABSOLUTELY no idea what was going on. To add salt to the injury, the editors kept referring people to me and my co-editor for information. One of the editors approached me to sniff up 5 international FOBs for an interview, to set up a new column. “By the way,” he says, “the deadline’s this Friday. Meet me in the office at 3pm later.”
Brilliant. I’m SO loving this.
A disheveled Indian man approached me today. He was carrying a stack of books from the Left Behind series and carried around this placard that said “I’m a Christian missionary. I can’t speak English properly. I need some funds bla bla…” I really hate situations like this, not because I despise the man, but because I don’t know what to do. Is he really what he says he is? Why is he here in Melbourne University? Why does he need the money? Why doesn’t he search for Christian organisations that can help him?
Not to sound antagonistic, but I really wonder what people think of God when they see him. Can’t God take care of His servants? But perhaps the same arguments could be made of Buddhist monks, but it seems that giving to them is like giving to God.
He wouldn’t leave me. And my conscience played tricks on me. So I gave him some spare change and took one of the books out curiosity.
What would you have done?
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Tssh, airports!
There is something about me and airports. We don't get along well with each other.
SO, why is that, you ask? Well, when I went to the airport to fly off to Melbourne last year, I brought my NEW passport. But the check-in counter people told me that I do not have a valid visa on the NEW passport so did I bring my OLD one? I didn't and so I was frantically running up and down KLIA trying to get them to call Canberra to tell them yes, I do have an e-visa and I'm not a terrorist. I got through.
This time, my crime was not bringing my NEW passport. I must have been dreaming when I picked up my OLD and expired passport (and can you believe it, I was actually staring at it wondering why it was chipped at the side) and off we went to the airport. Only to be told I was to show them my NEW passport. So I had no choice but to book the next flight to Melbourne while my family and I went home to look for my NEW passport. ARGH.
But when I got home, I thought, I need to do something to cheer myself up. So the first thing I did was to call my friend, TC. Needless to say, he was very very shocked and thought, what the hell did he do to warrant a call from my house phone and probably my parents. And of course, he couldn't stop laughing at me after I told my story.
THEN, I had another idea (Muahahaaa....). I decided to prank call my work collegue, M. This should work, I figured, since he 1) doesn't know my house phone number and 2) he is not familiar with my parents. SO I called his mobile and tuned my voice a few tones higher, complete with the auntie-like "ah" and "ohhh". It went something like this;
Me : Uhm, ahh, is this, uhm...(name)
M : Yes, yes?
Me : Oh hi, this is Suan Mei's mother ah. You are my daughter's work collegue right?
M : Oh! Uhm, yes. Hi...uhm...
Me : Sorry for calling so late ya...uhm (M: Oh no, auntie, its ok!) I just want to ask ah, I heard my daughter saying, about the job salary ah, has your boss paid you all yet?
M : No, uhm, we're in a bit of a difficult situation right now, just try to understand....
So anyway, I kept this up for like, 10- 15 minutes when finally I couldn't take it. I was like, "Oii, it's me." M was confused, "Sorry?"
"It's me la, Sarah..."
"What? Where are you now?"
"I'm at home"
"Who was that just now?"
"Me la!! hahaha..."
Silence for 3 to 4 seconds. And finally M finds the voice to speak.
"I HATE YOU!!!"
Hah. Mission complete. I mean, come on, since I have to endure such bad luck as I have mentioned, I might as well make the most of it.
SO, why is that, you ask? Well, when I went to the airport to fly off to Melbourne last year, I brought my NEW passport. But the check-in counter people told me that I do not have a valid visa on the NEW passport so did I bring my OLD one? I didn't and so I was frantically running up and down KLIA trying to get them to call Canberra to tell them yes, I do have an e-visa and I'm not a terrorist. I got through.
This time, my crime was not bringing my NEW passport. I must have been dreaming when I picked up my OLD and expired passport (and can you believe it, I was actually staring at it wondering why it was chipped at the side) and off we went to the airport. Only to be told I was to show them my NEW passport. So I had no choice but to book the next flight to Melbourne while my family and I went home to look for my NEW passport. ARGH.
But when I got home, I thought, I need to do something to cheer myself up. So the first thing I did was to call my friend, TC. Needless to say, he was very very shocked and thought, what the hell did he do to warrant a call from my house phone and probably my parents. And of course, he couldn't stop laughing at me after I told my story.
THEN, I had another idea (Muahahaaa....). I decided to prank call my work collegue, M. This should work, I figured, since he 1) doesn't know my house phone number and 2) he is not familiar with my parents. SO I called his mobile and tuned my voice a few tones higher, complete with the auntie-like "ah" and "ohhh". It went something like this;
Me : Uhm, ahh, is this, uhm...(name)
M : Yes, yes?
Me : Oh hi, this is Suan Mei's mother ah. You are my daughter's work collegue right?
M : Oh! Uhm, yes. Hi...uhm...
Me : Sorry for calling so late ya...uhm (M: Oh no, auntie, its ok!) I just want to ask ah, I heard my daughter saying, about the job salary ah, has your boss paid you all yet?
M : No, uhm, we're in a bit of a difficult situation right now, just try to understand....
So anyway, I kept this up for like, 10- 15 minutes when finally I couldn't take it. I was like, "Oii, it's me." M was confused, "Sorry?"
"It's me la, Sarah..."
"What? Where are you now?"
"I'm at home"
"Who was that just now?"
"Me la!! hahaha..."
Silence for 3 to 4 seconds. And finally M finds the voice to speak.
"I HATE YOU!!!"
Hah. Mission complete. I mean, come on, since I have to endure such bad luck as I have mentioned, I might as well make the most of it.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
He left
Mum's fussing over his bag and sorting out his shirts...does he have his passport? yup, check. His camera? Check. Air tickets? Check.
I'm standing around listlessly wondering what to do. Already both parents are trying to help him pack and having one more pair of hands to do the job seems ludicrious, but I ambled over to look through his electronic items anyway.
Mobile phone messages keep coming in. All these girls wishing him all the best with some sweet *ahems* in between. I shake my head. Gone are the days of his childhood when he used to vehemently declare he hated girls and would never marry. Heck, he can hardly get them off him now.
Today was a blur. We both slept late and struggled to keep awake in church. Friends gathered around to support him afterwards, the prayers and the usual slaps on the back...the laughter, the advice. Over lunch someone made a comment;
"You both are so close. Have you two ever fought?"
We look at each other. Amused. Oh yeah we fought when we were little--he used to throw toys at me and I remember slapping him once. And trying to hush his crying afterwards for fear of my parents' fury. I suddenly recall random events of the past. Like how our family drove to a Macdonalds drive-through on the way to church. All five of us happily ordered our meals through the microphone and drove round the other way to collect them and- of course, pay. Except we ALL (coincidentally, I assure you) did not bring our wallets/purses. SO we sheepishly told the woman at the counter that we didn't have any money. She took one glance at five of us in the Audi and raised her eyebrows, mouth slightly agape. Later that night, we had to borrow some money from Dad's friend to get us some dinner. AND we also got caught by a traffic policeman for speeding...but were not able to show any forms of identification. Heh :p
Hey, let's have a thumb war...'1, 2, 3, 4, I declare a thumb war!!'
The car rambled along on the familiar route to the airport. There we go again, playing this childish game since we were kids. But it'll be a number of months before we can poke each other in the ribs and play thumb wars in the car.
KLIA is a huge airport. We walk around, grab a light meal and a drink. People everywhere...with friends, with family, with special someones. I give him a run down of things to watch out for, things to keep in mind. Watch your back, I tell him, not everyone is trustworthy. And grow up, man!
He's leaving now. Waves, goodbyes, more prayers, and 'yes, I'll be fine, mum, it's just 6 months!'. I can't believe he's 18, we were kids a moment ago. Now we're all leaving the nest. I'll be the one saying my goodbyes in 3 days.
It's raining now outside the airport. He's left.
I'm standing around listlessly wondering what to do. Already both parents are trying to help him pack and having one more pair of hands to do the job seems ludicrious, but I ambled over to look through his electronic items anyway.
Mobile phone messages keep coming in. All these girls wishing him all the best with some sweet *ahems* in between. I shake my head. Gone are the days of his childhood when he used to vehemently declare he hated girls and would never marry. Heck, he can hardly get them off him now.
Today was a blur. We both slept late and struggled to keep awake in church. Friends gathered around to support him afterwards, the prayers and the usual slaps on the back...the laughter, the advice. Over lunch someone made a comment;
"You both are so close. Have you two ever fought?"
We look at each other. Amused. Oh yeah we fought when we were little--he used to throw toys at me and I remember slapping him once. And trying to hush his crying afterwards for fear of my parents' fury. I suddenly recall random events of the past. Like how our family drove to a Macdonalds drive-through on the way to church. All five of us happily ordered our meals through the microphone and drove round the other way to collect them and- of course, pay. Except we ALL (coincidentally, I assure you) did not bring our wallets/purses. SO we sheepishly told the woman at the counter that we didn't have any money. She took one glance at five of us in the Audi and raised her eyebrows, mouth slightly agape. Later that night, we had to borrow some money from Dad's friend to get us some dinner. AND we also got caught by a traffic policeman for speeding...but were not able to show any forms of identification. Heh :p
Hey, let's have a thumb war...'1, 2, 3, 4, I declare a thumb war!!'
The car rambled along on the familiar route to the airport. There we go again, playing this childish game since we were kids. But it'll be a number of months before we can poke each other in the ribs and play thumb wars in the car.
KLIA is a huge airport. We walk around, grab a light meal and a drink. People everywhere...with friends, with family, with special someones. I give him a run down of things to watch out for, things to keep in mind. Watch your back, I tell him, not everyone is trustworthy. And grow up, man!
He's leaving now. Waves, goodbyes, more prayers, and 'yes, I'll be fine, mum, it's just 6 months!'. I can't believe he's 18, we were kids a moment ago. Now we're all leaving the nest. I'll be the one saying my goodbyes in 3 days.
It's raining now outside the airport. He's left.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Forgive me. I've fallen.
When will I see him again?
It's great to have five senses. I'm very thankful.
It's great to have five senses. I'm very thankful.
But now when I hear that music, I can hear him humming in the background.
When I smell coffee, I can hear his spoon stirring in the cup.
I picked up a letter and saw that it was stamped. There was a stamp on his table too.
Go away go away go away.
He doesnt care anyway. So why should I?
I really can't stand myself sometimes....I thought I was stronger than this.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
The Underworld
I just heard a tape about a guy who got taken down to hell and came back to earth. "23 minutes of hell" is the title.
OK, now before you start getting cynical about whether this is just another proselytising material to scare people to conversion, hear my thoughts. I believe in heaven and hell and angels and demons and bla, I practically grew up with the Charismatic movement and exorcism (yes, people screaming and jumping around and all that), and looking at all the mediums and mysticism going on, there has to be some supernatural world. Perhaps if you grew up in my background, you'll understand. I saw heaven when I was 11, but that's another story altogether.
So anyway, this guy was talking about the stuff he experienced and saw in hell...and I kinda believe it wasn't a nightmare or anything. First of all, it took a year for him to get over the trauma--and hearing his story I can see why. It's absolutely horrifying times a thousand, and even that is an understatement. And secondly, it was described by 400+ verses existing in the Bible already about hell which these people (and I bet most of you) didnt previously know about. Thirdly, which provoked me to think deeply, was how other peoples' experiences of hell that I've heard or read before (and they have no connection with each other) were actually similar. Like, freakingly similar. Then last night by accident I saw some really old paintings on the net (must be like...16th century or something) depicting people in hell, and my gosh, the way it was so similar to all these accounts were quite scary. Right down to the torture method of the demons and how they looked like. And these paintings are not famous, it was some obscure middle east paintings and european paintings.
I was thinking of uploading it but now I cant find the picture. And besides, its *sensitive* material at the moment, I might get bombed for it, heh. Go figure.
But it's certainly food for thought.
OK, now before you start getting cynical about whether this is just another proselytising material to scare people to conversion, hear my thoughts. I believe in heaven and hell and angels and demons and bla, I practically grew up with the Charismatic movement and exorcism (yes, people screaming and jumping around and all that), and looking at all the mediums and mysticism going on, there has to be some supernatural world. Perhaps if you grew up in my background, you'll understand. I saw heaven when I was 11, but that's another story altogether.
So anyway, this guy was talking about the stuff he experienced and saw in hell...and I kinda believe it wasn't a nightmare or anything. First of all, it took a year for him to get over the trauma--and hearing his story I can see why. It's absolutely horrifying times a thousand, and even that is an understatement. And secondly, it was described by 400+ verses existing in the Bible already about hell which these people (and I bet most of you) didnt previously know about. Thirdly, which provoked me to think deeply, was how other peoples' experiences of hell that I've heard or read before (and they have no connection with each other) were actually similar. Like, freakingly similar. Then last night by accident I saw some really old paintings on the net (must be like...16th century or something) depicting people in hell, and my gosh, the way it was so similar to all these accounts were quite scary. Right down to the torture method of the demons and how they looked like. And these paintings are not famous, it was some obscure middle east paintings and european paintings.
I was thinking of uploading it but now I cant find the picture. And besides, its *sensitive* material at the moment, I might get bombed for it, heh. Go figure.
But it's certainly food for thought.
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