Between Gold and God

Both of them were popular and famous. Both were adored, highly looked upon, favoured by many, company enjoyed by all. He was smart and witty, good looks and height. She was the princess many desired to be, the beauty with the brawns. A match made in heaven, friends agreed. Simply perfect, the others chimed.

And both of them were debaters. The best in the college and state. Representing their college at national and international tournaments, they were more often than not paired together in the same team. The chemistry between them is simply amazing, almost magical. Where one compliments the other, and each one a master of their own field. He reads widely and is knowledgeable in a wide spectrum of motions, she is quick and her mind spins without making her dizzy. The golden pair of the college, even debaters from foreign land know of their partnership on and off the debate arena.

Beneath still waters there will always currents that those who admire the still surface will never see. Currents, precisely, can never be seen. It's only felt. By those who dive into the waters of their relationship and experience the currents. The current is from him. A current of jealousy, a current of vengeance. Even towards the one he loves the most.

He was made for war and from war. Man, after all, are either made for war, if not from war. He was made for both. He's a fighter, a soldier, and he never loses. What he wants, he gets it. If not, he grabs it. In the instance if both the earlier and latter fails, he fights for it. His fuel is not motivation or determination, and certainly not the desire to be better. It is the green in his eyes that burns with anger of being the loser, fury that pushes him to never lose.

The thing that he'll never understand, is why she would be getting higher speaker scores than him. While he's the one that strategizes their case, trashes out the points and spearheads their team, she was getting the greater glory than him. After every debate, the praises heaped on her far exceeded those he could remember. Adjudicators speak highly of her, and in contrast of him.

What's wrong? He asked. Was it that he was lesser charming than her? Was it because her voice sounded much sweeter than his?

He was angry. Frustrated.

Jealous.

And jealousy, like poison, seeped into his blood. Carrying the venom into the deepest chambers of his heart, he turned love into hatret, allowed passion for debates to evolve into a competition of who's the better speaker. He distanced away from her, secretly doing 'training' of his own, furiously reading up as much as he could, so one day he could beat her in the arena again.

Then I'll be invincible! The edges of his lips curved into an evil looking smile. Wiping it away quickly, afraid that anyone would see it, he turned back to his books.

There was, however, one particular thing that really left him peculiar. She never spent that much time in training, or engaging in debates, or reading. Instead she spent most of her time in church activities. She was a worship leader - an awesome singer with the voice of an angel - and a musician at the same time. She invited him to church before, and he enjoyed the service. Soon he was part of the worship team - he too was a musician by training - and they enjoyed worshipping together.

Until the venom striked. He started to utilize church time for reading and training. He taught that those lost time in church can be replaced back after he wins a tournament. Besides, he'll be in the college for a while - what's the big deal of skipping church for 2 months?

Days before the Worlds debate, which was the largest debate tournament in the world, the college held its selection competition. He did his best, he was proud at his performance, but the results sent shivers to his spine.

Your points were utterly disappointing. Almost irrelevant
Were brought forth by the opening houses, no new extensions presented
We sensed a slight shaft in your case

His scores fell even below some of his juniors'. He fell from the usual top team to almost the last team, barely making the cut. She on the other hand, was comfortably at the top. This time, another guy took his spot.

He couldn't accept it. He was fuming. How could he have beaten me?

It was by God's grace, that both her and his team made it to the semi-finals. His partner, though junior, wasn't as bad as what he expected. Beating tougher opponents from Australia and England, they were finally at the Everest of the debate arena. A first appearance in a major international tournament. Thus far, their achievement is something worth shouting about.

He, on the other hand, had an agenda in mind.

Beat her team. Trash them. Devastate them!

He turned to an evil scheme. While they were preparing their cases for their semi-finals, he sat close to their team and eavesdropped. Taking down notes as if as he was preparing his own case, he laughed in his heart knowing that his victory and her defeat was sealed. Another evil smile carved his face, and he smirked at the very thought of the looks on their faces when the results would be later announced.

And indeed, her team lost, and his won. He was jubilant. He was proud.

I did it!

Joyfully trotting past her team, he tried to be compassionate and sympathized their defeat, but he failed to somehow cover up his evil look. She look right into his eyes, and suddenly he was convicted. Fear suddenly floated from the depth of his heart, and he shivered. For a long time, he thought that he had nothing to be fearful of. And suddenly, that look from her eyes, and he was scared. Cold sweat.

Trying to walk off, an announcement came over the PA.

"Semi-finals room 1, may the opening government and the closing opposition approach the front desk to meet the adjudicators please."

It was his and her team. They both silently went up to the table. A sombre look on the face of the chief adjudicator. He was not in a mood to fool around anymore.

"You cheated didn't you?" the CA asked. I didn't! Why should I?

"We have witnesses claiming that you eavesdropped on her team while they were preparing. There's no room for forgiveness or leniency here. Your team has been disqualified and the victory goes to the opening government." Looking to her, the CA went on. "Congratulations, I'm very proud of you. You were the truly deserving winner. All the best in the finals."

The adjudicators left almost as quickly as the news were delivered. He was left, stunned. How short the victory, how hollow the win. What happened?

"I couldn't believed you actually cheated," she blurted out. He refused to look at her, but he knew that she was crying. She ran off to the toilet, her nicely straightened hair plopping up and down her back. He felt so ashamed of himself, he felt so disappointed, he felt dejected.

And all at that moment, he realized that his labour went all in vain. He was now reduced to nothing. Once the high flying and proud riding debater who partnered the girl he loved, now disqualified because he cheated. Not able to bear the burden of his shameful exit, he walked out of the debate arena and headed towards the open space.

A bonfire was set up. It was supposed to be for the grand closing ceremony later the evening. He sat there, looking at the fire, watching the sparks fly around. He grabbed a stick, poked at some ashes, and then threw it into the fire. The dry stick burned and was turned into a black carbon. He sighed. How simple can life be, yet how painful.

Burying his head into his bent knees, he sobbed. The fighter now cries, not because the pain is too great, but because he lost. Not just a defeat in the debate, but a defeat in morale and emotions. He reflected at his own action and himself. He turned into a monster, a blood-sucking creature that no longer loves even the person he was supposed to love.

Is there any hope left for me? He silently asked.

A hand wrapped around his shoulders. It was a familiar touch, and he knew for sure. It was a touch that he could never forget, despite the fact that it now seems so foreign and alien.

"I still love you, you know," she said softly as she took her spot beside him and tightened her hands around him. "Nothing has changed that."

From behind her, she pulled out a gold trophy. He looked fondly at the gold trophy, one that he has so badly wanted to win, so badly wanted to fight for, yet failed to get it.

"I've won this, but it doesn't mean anything to me. Now you can choose, whether you want this or not." She handed the trophy to him. Something tugged him in his heart to stretch forth his arms and take it, but he refused to. It no longer was ego that held him back, it was remorse. Gold, is now meaningless.

And she threw the gold trophy into the flames, and it burned slowly. The gold resisted the heat, but soon succumbed to it. Slowly losing its original shape, the gold trophy now looked no different from the other pieces of wood burning in the flames.

"The day I picked up debate, was the day I learned that gold was in a grasp's reach," she said. "Gold, and I refused to pick it up. I never allowed it to take first place in my heart, because it already belonged to God.

"Gold and God, and I chose God. I chose Him, and with that choice came the privilege of Gold. Gold, without God, is meaningless. The 'l' between the alphabets O and D, is merely a stick, another piece of wood that eventually dries up and burns up in the flames.

But God, always remains there. Is always more valuable than Gold. That choice I made, made all the difference between me, the champion, and you, the disqualified one."

He knew that she was right all this while. He left God for the gold, he left the heaven for the world. He left, and the blessings left him to. She stayed on with God, dwelling in His presence, and the blessings just kept flowing into her life.

At that crossroad of his carrier, he made his decision. It was a makeover, and a comeback. A comeback in the debate arena - as a consequence of his cheating act, he was suspended from all international debates for 6 months - and a return to the heavenly family. He turned back to God, and with that came the blessings he longed for. Blessings he could have never received. He became a champion again, the speaker he always wanted, he once again made top rankings with her, and both of them once again worship God happily in church. The currents were dealt with, other than occasional recurrence, he is back on the track, walking down the road that was long paved for him.

From there, he learned that when the gold may seem more lucrative than God, it is, at the end of the day, only God that has the power to give the gold to anyone He wants to. Only by putting Him first, will gold come much later in life. He chose God from Gold, what would your choice be?

And The Reyarps Fell

Prologue
It was, arguably, an unusual day for an ordinary weekday. The hustle and bustle of the city remained the same. The cars, the buses, the cyclists, the pedestrians; the traffic, the jam, the long wait.

What was noticably different, was the traffic jam without the honkings and noise. Instead of staying in the make-comfort of the air conditioning of the cars, drivers and passengers started winding down their windows. Heads popped from the cars, all looking uniformly towards a similar target. One by one, people got down from their vehicles, ignoring the jams or traffics. Slowly but steadily, no heads turned, more and more congregated at Liberty Square, a huge open area in the heart of Zanotopia's capital.

The fingers pointed accurately at the number 5 on the ancient clock high on the Liberty tower. Right below it was a huge television screen, which coincidentally became the prime focus of the congregation. It was the evening news, and conventionally the screen would be telecasting live from Zan Network, the republic's premier cable.

That could probably mark a historic rate of viewers. Twenty thousand gathering in front of Liberty's screen, with millions more staring at the same time all across the nation. But it wasn't something the network wished to report. The celebration was at deficit, and the ratings were now hollow. Juxtaposting with the weight the news carried, there was almost nothing that now mattered more.

It was a nation at stake. First was images of the enemy camp in the Kalanis region, 100km away from the republic. Quickly following it was a recorded video from the enemy. Evil laughter, threats of destroying the republic with nuclear, more threats of taking all citizens as hostages and turning them slaves.

Then came the real blow.

"The reyarps, 12 of them in total, failed to infiltrate enemy's camp in a neutralization attempt." the people gasped. Caught between disbelief and shock, there were hushes and whispers all around. How could the reyarps have failed? Weren't they invincible? What happened?

Fear gripped the nation, tighter than a man choking another by the neck. National security was now at stake. The republic's sovereignity was now on the line. The reyarps were the epitome of the nation's modern defense, the elite of the elites. Now that the strongest have failed, what is left to protect them?

Even before the people have overcame their fears and anguish, yet another shocking news came.

"One of the 12 captured is the son of the General, Sergeant Reinzer, the commander and leader of the elite reyarp squad."

Dumbfounded, those watching turned to one another, with no words slipping from their lips and no questions exchanged, there was only one thing on their mind:

What's going to happen to us now?

If there was anyone who knew the whole story, who could vividly recall the events that slowly unfolded in the cells of our captivity, it would be me. This is the true story of what happened, what the reyarps went through for the next 72 hours, the struggle we endured as one nation waited in fear as hope of survival and victory slowly faded.

The Grand Finale of the Zanotopian series
-coming soon-

The Ghost

Suddenly, a tear caught my eye. I knew it wasn't the rain - couldn't even feel it - and it landed nicely on the edge of my eye. It was just a single tear, yet unmistakable. Straining to know what is going on, I held my breath, waiting for something else. And it came.

A sob. Soft, as if as she was fearful of someone overhearing that sob while passing by. Swimming into her emotions, I identified that as a struggle. She was trying to hold her tears back, so hard, yet it fell. Struggling to not cry, but she still sobbed.

I knew what needed to be done. I wasn't created with abilities to understand the human emotion without a purpose. More than just being able to understand humans, I could also move to and fro in time, into the past and the future. The power to look past the physical barriers of humans - walls, buildings, obstructions - and the power to dwell in a being that invites me in.

But somehow, I never like being what I am. Despite all these abilities I have, I will never be seen. Nobody can see me, minus the heavenly beings. Not anyone can sense my presence, though some will and had before. When I was made, I was made differently. Unlike my other 'friends' in heaven, I wasn't made with 3 pairs of wings or with a with white sparkling apparal. Only ordinary, with no shape or form, only me.

And I was often picked at.

"No wings!" Laughter. Mockery. "How is it that you're not wearing clothes?" More laughter. More mockery.

What's wrong with not having wings? What's the matter about not having a form? I am made as what I am, not what I wanted to be.

Not enjoying the company of those heavenly but rather unheavenly beings, I roamed in the Man's world. Moving between cities and nature, floating around, listening to the laughter of happy families, smiling at the cries of a new born, cheering at the victories scored by people who never gave up.

And occasionally, like in such an instance, to help wipe some tears away from a crying person.

I knew where I had to go. In no time, I was staring at that young lady. Swollen red eyes, she stared into blank space. Stains of dried tears smeared her otherwise lovely and rosy cheeks, eyes that could sparkle had it not be for the crying, and a face that no one couldn't love anymore. She was, indeed, a fine young lady. And at first sight, had almost no reason at all to even cry.

Her past was stained with the harshness of this unforgiving world. She never had enough to eat - her dad was a poor worker - and never had the love of a family - her mother died of tuberculosis while she was still little. Struggling to survive, she walked into the world of thieves and bandits, washing dishes in a dark pub, with whatever the meager wages in return of her labour, place bread on the table for her younger siblings. Social welfare gave her a scholarship, while studying she stinged on every single penny and sent it back home, knowing that it would help elevate the burdens of her dad.

The longer I looked into her past, the more my heart sank. Her dad, being the good man and the loving husband, developed a staph infection while working in the recycling factory. The boss refused to send him to hospital, and one day he fainted and bled from his nostrils and ears. It was just too late. The girl was crushed. Gave up her scholarship, and for the second time, walked back into the arms of the world itself and selled her soul in a light deficit corporation. Lies, deception, backstabbing became her wounds and scars. Battling against people of similar nature, she was deceived by a man who seemingly loved her yet betrayed her for the flesh. And now, she lied motionless at the corner of her little apartment in a slum, accompanied by grief, anguish, bitterness, anger, and despise.

I saw the spirit of despise and the spirit of grief encircling her. Every time it revolves around her, it left a black mist of doubt and anger around her. I knew this dirty scheme. It blurs her sight and vision. It leaves her disillusioned. It makes her depressed. It condemns her and herself. I've seen enough of this. Too many people have fell prey to this mist. Too many families torn apart, too many lives lost, and too many went astray. In me, fury raged. A fiery anger that could not tolerate black and darkness. And I knew what had to be done.

With a loud cry, I charged at the spirits. Tearing them into pieces, I didn't leave them with a chance. They were no match against me. With me was a secret weapon, a small knife made of light that allowed me to use it freely against darkness, and I had no hesitation against them. They vanished into thin air along with the dark mists, but the girl was still crying.

Wrapping my form around her, it was my turn to encircle her now. Instead of leaving behind dark black mists, I left her with warmth and light. Moving my 'hands' to wipe her tears away, I whispered into her ears.

Hang on! You're not alone!

She looked up, not knowing that I was closer than what she thought I was. Her last drop of tear fell, and as it fell she allowed these words to slip her lips:

"Lord, what must I do now?"

With mixed feelings - relief, frustration and a tinge of disappointment - I marched up to my Father. The One who created me. He knew I was approaching, because even before I saw Him, I already heard His question.

Why are you angry? Funny isn't it, I'm supposed to be the one that's asking, and instead He asks me first.

First come first serve. You know the answer, don't You?

He motioned me to step into his arms. Thus far, only He can hug me because no one else could. Again I felt encouraged, felt at home and comfortable, at least, while the other beings are not around to tease me about not having any wings or white apparels.

"Why are bad things happening to good people?"
"Why are darkness shadowing the light?"
"Why are people suffering and crying?"

Paused. The most important question took a while to come out. Reluctantly, I blurted out,

"Why am I just a ghost?"

Looking down at me, the same loving Dad He has always been, He pointed in front. I looked up, and saw a glimpse of the world.

A huge auditorium, with thousands of people dressed in smart suits and beautiful night gowns. Resembling an award ceremony. They were standing, applauding a young lady clad in an awesome red dress that was slowly making her way to the stage to receive a little trophy. And I looked closer.

It's her!

"Look on."

She walked to the microphone, beaming with pride and flashing her million dollar smile. Compared to the her I saw moments ago, it was a complete transformation, a stark difference, a total makeover. From the shriveled girl that was hiding at the corner of the room to the proud and tall lady in a night of acknowledgement and appreciation.

"I walked through life with nothing more than a torn pair of sandals. My dad was too poor to purchase proper shoes for me. I started work at the age of 10, with nothing but my bare hands to wash dishes. I entered the corporate world at 19, because my father died and left me responsible for the welfare of my 3 younger siblings.

"Journeys, my friends, may be tough. Punishing. Disappointing. Sometimes you'll never get what you want. I once wanted a man, and when I thought I met the right guy, he left me after having a rough time on the bed with me." Stopping, there was a mixed response from the crowd. Some laughed, thinking it was a joke. Some gasped, holding back doubts and disbeliefs that all that she said about herself was true.

Clearing her throat, she continued. "People, in times of trouble, hang on to things. We all need something to hang on to. I won't know what you would hang on to, but I knew one promise that I've always hung on to faithfully, despite not knowing what the future holds, even though I may not see things changing, I have walked through the last 15 years of my life, seeing God's goodness in my life, experiencing His grace in my walk with Him, and constantly amazed at what He has done in my life.

"That promise is simple. It is a promise that He will never let me walk alone. A promise that no matter how tough the road ahead can be, He's there. And if you ever doubted that, I stand before you, a witness, a testimony, of how God has been such a wonderful companion in my darkest nights."

I was held breathless. Lost for words. Could this be true?

"You see," He finally said. "You were never a ghost. Ghost, is simply a name the rest give to you."

"You are a representative of me. A messenger of my promises. You don't need to do anything, but just be with them and in them. You know who needs you most. You know what needs to be done."

Go do it!

I smiled. Satisfied with what I heard. In front of me, is the girl. She's still at the corner of the room, she's still crying, she's still in pain. I saw what I know will come true, and I did what I had to do. I stayed on with her, for a long time, with that vision at the back of my mine, and for once never minded about what the other beings made fun of me. It takes more than just wings or a white gown to make a difference in people's life. Or maybe, you don't need to be an angel to be more than the angel that people need.

Where is Your Rider?

Being a strong and powerful horse of a breed well known to Man, she always hated to be rode around. Her muscles, her power, her torque, was never meant for a human being, so insignificant and so useless - due to the idea that they can't run - thus the thought of getting a human rider over her back, to kick her by the side often got to her nerves.

She wanted to be free. She wanted to run in the wild like a beast. She wanted animals and creatures to see her in awe, and not see the rider over her back. She wanted to be seen and not be sat on, she wanted to be what she was.

One day, her opportunity came. As the rider, again, as usual, kicked her by the side as she was trying to make a jump over a little boulder, this time she flicked her hind legs hard and wide, lifted her whole back up to the sky and shook violently. The rider, taken aback by her sudden response, lost control and balance, and in a split second was off on the ground. She galloped away with the wind, swiftly without looking back, thrilled by her new found freedom.

Crossing the many miles of grass and fields, the stepping across rivers and streams, she was filled with pride and a sense of dignity. Now, she's the wild horse that Man cannot tame. The proud stallion that people will admire and dream of catching to no avail. She was strong and powerful, the beast that the forest has never seen!

But soon enough, she realized that this new found freedom of hers wasn't really freedom. She wandered around the open fields and meadows. After a while, she got bored with the grass and scenes. It wasn't like she never saw those kind of things before. She saw plenty of it while she was still carrying her rider wherever she went.

Now, she lost her sense of meaning and direction. The evening sun came and set behind the dark mouintains, and she knew not where to rest her head. Still strolling, she slowly missed her rider. The rider will usually give her a nice warm rub every evening, and tie her to something so that she can rest comfortably. No more were there any warm rubs, she didn't even know where to go and rest for the night.

She was what she was, because of what the rider gave her. Losing the rider, and she lost what she is.

The tears of a horse are tears that Man never sees, yet she was crying and sobbing. A horse that was once a symbol of power and might, suddenly reduced to emptiness and direction-less. She wished that she didn't kick her rider off. She wished she wasn't so arrogant and so strong-willed. She was ready to give up anything now, even her own life, to get the rider back on her self.

Still caught in her tears, her eyes caught the dim light at the corner of her horizon. She tilted her head, wondering the source of the light. Soon, a familiar voice called from a distance, getting louder and louder.

She didn't have to wait for the rider to find her. She knew that if she lost this opportunity, she will never get it back again. She got up to her legs, and again, carried by the wind, back to the feet of the rider. The rider ran to the horse, and gave his beloved carrier a warm hug and a nice rub on the back.

"Where have you been?" he asked with so much warmth and love. She so wanted to tell him how much she missed him, how sorry she was for leaving and kicking him off, and her promise of never going away again, but all that could come out from her were the mere grunts of a typical beast.

"You'll never go again would you?" Never.

A rider, brings meaning to the flying of a horse, and the rider is the heartbeat of the horse. The rider makes the horse what it is, and the rider makes the horse a magnificent creature that both Man and creatures will read, see and hear. Where is your rider, and what have you done with him?

"Give Me Back What is Mine" 2

Suddenly images of waiting at a bus stop - God knows why - led me to the thought of what happened shortly after I surrendered the handkerchief back to my dad.


My dad, being the wise and kind one, as he gave me the handkerchief, was clearly aware that I will never be able to fully utilize it. Not able to understand the value of that silk handkerchief, he decided to keep it and give it back to me later when I'm slightly older and 'more mature' to handle it wisely.


A small kid I was, and a small mind I had. The whole idea of having to 'wait for the handkerchief' wasn't something I actually liked. My mother spent many many weeks of having to painfully explain to me why I couldn't have the handkerchief yet, and why I had to wait for it, so that I won't tear the handkerchief, so that I won't simply lose it, so I won't destroy it or use it wrongly and stuff...


.. but the hard part came, when I suddenly saw the old handkerchief I used to have.

And this time, it was in the hands of a kid of my age, that I actually - and seriously - disliked.

My jaw dropped as I saw him pulling out that handkerchief from his pocket. What on earth is that handkerchief doing with him?!? And as he drew it out, he shaked it so hard and flapped it open without giving it much thought of 'what would happen to the poor handkerchief'. Anger started to rise in me, and I could feel the heat all over my face.

After some vigorous shaking and flapping of the handkerchief, he wiped his nose. Blowing hard into the handkerchief, I could see strains of the utterly disgusting mucus coming out from his nose, and he wiped harder than ever.


That was the last straw. Breathing fury and inhaling fumes, I charged right up to him. I was almost running with my fist clenched tightly. For a small kid back then, I sure was mad and angry. My eyes were burning at the sight of him, and I saw him burning and bleeding in my anger as I approached him. He's going to pay for it, he will.


At the nick of time, luckily, my mother stopped me. Holding me back with one hand on my shoulder and the other hand on my head with her back facing the boy, she pushed me all the way back to a little corner and carried me up from there. I wasn't prepared to give up at all. I was so close to socking him for treating my beloved handkerchief in such unruly and inhumane manner, with no sense of responsibility or awareness towards the value of that handkerchief he was holding. Fighting my mom, I was kicking and pushing her hands away to almost no avail. Slowly, as I realized that I could never outdo my mother, the struggle faded slowly.


No more did I fight my mother. That time, the anger and fury made me weary and tired. I was then devastated, a soldier lost in nowhere, a pilgrim without a compass. Sadness overwhelming me, I cried and sobbed softly. In the middle of a grand function, I would be really shy if other people saw me crying, and I was careful not to let anyone see those tears of mine. Sobbing, I finally fell face first into the strong shoulders of my mother, and wrapped my little hands over her neck.


Patting me on the back gently, she carried me out into the garden for a walk. I was still crying, but only the tears were left on my face. My mom's shirt was almost drenched in my tears. She hummed the song "Give Thanks" softly into my ears, and that really did calm me down.


But the sadness, the frustration, the struggle..


My handkerchief, once everything I only had then, now in the hands of an idiot that didn't appreciate it..


Why?


"Why is it with him?" choking on those tears, I finally asked.


"It's dad's to give darling," my mom sad softly. For a little boy, I thought I could sense the sadness in her tone and voice. "But I'm sure dad knows what he's doing ok? He loves you darling, I promise.."


"You know that too don't you?" she continued.


I nodded my head slowly. Back then, I couldn't understand why would he ever allow such an obnoxious kid to hold the once favourite handkerchief of mine, and until now I still don't. All that I could remember now, is that after I nodded my head while rested comfortably on my mother's shoulders, I still cried, in my heart, for a long time. I cried, and cried, and was left to cry. My dad, I thought, would never have seen me cry back then.


But somehow, later as I grew up, even if I never actually knew why he gave him the handkerchief, I had this strong inkling, that he knew exactly when I cried, and why I did. After all, he's the dad.

Punctuations of Life (Have You?)

Have you ever heard, the voices of the night?
In the loneliness and darkness, I've heard the call of solitude.

Have you ever seen, the pot of gold on the edge of the rainbow?
Legend says, those that places their hands in it, will come out blessed and great.

Have you ever smelt, the scent of the morning winds?
It carries the fragrance of your loved ones, it reminds you of people that care for you.

Have you ever tasted, the honey in the bittergourd?
Its sweetness is magnified, its taste no one can forget.

Have you ever ran a thousand miles to catch a leopard?
The leopard mocks the fools that chases it, and the dust is all it leaves behind.

Have you ever swam the seven seas to hunt for a mermaid?
It's a dream that keeps you swimming, and the storms that makes the catch worth millions.

Have you ever felt the strength of a lame man?
He is strongest when he tries to stand up, greatest when he hangs on.

Have you ever touched the palms of a labourer?
Amid the cleavages of his hard hands, are the valleys of his family and his love.

Have you ever held a fish in your hand?
Soft to your senses, yet a struggle to its survival.

Have you look up into the skies and marvelled the stars that paint the night?
To stand in awe, the mysteries of the universe, yet the simplicity of its brightness.

Have you heard the works of a disabled musician?
In his weaknesses, he produces the greatest pieces; in his struggles, he creates the most amazing music.

Have you seen the light at the end of a tunnel?
More than just unmistakable or bright, it is the one thing that keeps you going.



No man is ever left alone, and the storm has a lesson of blessing at its end.
Nobody is ever left unloved, and the obstacles in life has a beautiful story for people to hear.

The pace of the world was never meant to be chased, but the dreams of the heart is left to be pursued.
The greatest strength is always seen in utter weaknesses, and amid the tough, the soft is never forgotten.

Somethings are never meant to be, the rest will always be.
Somethings are best in its worst, but in its worst, the light always prevails.




Walk towards that light, for that light will neither dim, nor fade. I know, coz I've once walked to and through that light.

The Final Lady of Peace - A Night to Remember

I must confess that this post, is by far and large, the hardest post I have ever written. Coz as I type, unlike other posts where ideas just flow on and on, here I am, stuck, figuring word for word, piecing pictures and images and memories together, to come up with a last post about her. Significantly marking a little end to a close partnership I have enjoyed with her while working together for the Lord.

It's more than a year since I first met her. From that first hand shake as related in the first post about her, we have came a long way. Partners in Christ, workers of His kingdom, servants of the Lord.

People look at us, close, laughing, talking together so much, little do they know what are the conversations that take place between us. It is easily perceived that we're nothing more or less of a couple in love, youths in a relationship that decide to spend time together. It's easy for the side that's doing the assumption and stuff.

It's not.

One weekend, I casually invited her out for dinner at Subang. Had a long talk, a short talk, and a nice - but costly - dinner. After that was a small talk about CA. What has happened throughout the year, what we have went through, how we dealt with problems and crisises, how far has it went..

And I realized, that was it. There it is, a job completed, a completed work, a term that we all ran and finished together, minus some last preparations before a complete handover can take place.

I sighed. Caught in a dilemma of relief and sadness. Relieved because we managed to pull through, because the dedicated team of people that were always behind and beside us slogged harder than anyone else, because of the things we went through together, the whole team is now closer together. Amanda once promised us, "Believe it or not, CA will be your family, CA will be your closest friends, CA is your home." Reflecting on those words of wisdom, I couldn't have said it any better.

And sad, because a great partnership has officially ended.Over my many years of service to the school or to my bosses that I've worked for, I always work with a partner. I always perform better when with a great partner. Worked with great emcees for major events, I've worked with awesome debaters in tournaments like Sathya, Deenish and most recently Rachel, had great teams of people working on projects like with Wei Li..

...but really, nothing beats working with her. Behind the scenes of CA, where business is business and God's work is real serious, there are little things that God puts along the way to help us grow and learn, and have some joy out of it. This partner is one of it.

And reflecting on things, I have came a long way with her. Many might not know that the reason why I enjoy working with her is not because it's easy to get along with her. I won't disagree if anyone tells me that she's the nicest person to be with - because it's true at times - but at the same time, it's not.

Maybe one of the reasons why I enjoyed my 1 year period of working with her, was because of the many partners I've worked with, I never had such an opportunity to know them as much as I knew her. And other bonuses too were similar family background, a history of once being rejected and isolated, never enjoyed material luxury, but more importantly, same passion and same love for God.

But maybe, the greatest reason was because she taught me how to be a better person for myself, for other people, for God.

She taught me how to not judge people. Like anyone, we have our own past. A past of being condemned, judged and deemed unworthy. A history of not being accepted, being secluded and being isolated. Knowing how it feels like to be in that position is one thing, but being in a position to make a change is another thing. And altogether, we were together placed in a position to make that change, she taught me how to not make the same mistakes others did.

She taught me that no one is perfect. No matter how nice you can be, there will always be a time where you make mistakes or piss someone off. At least, she made me realize the number of times I pissed her off. She never reserved her comments on me, and one thing for sure, she never lied. She never hide her anger and her fury when I made her feel so. She reminded me that it's ok to be angry and to quarrel. We quarreled a lot, and after the quarrel I'd be the remorseful one that feels like a total asshole for making her angry in the first place.

More importantly, she showed me that though you may have screwed things up so badly where people are concern, there can always be a second chance. She was always forgiving, and she taught me how to say sorry by first saying it.

The day she said she was sorry, was the day that she made me cry. Amazingly, I am a person that will almost cry for nothing, and yet she made me cry. It wasn't anything big or major or important, instead it was over a small comment that she made about a photo I took. Hurt, especially when an undesirable comment came from someone that meant so much to you. Tears that fell, were like a river washing through a dry bank. For the first time in my life, I thank God for putting those tears in me.

Earlier the year, I almost allowed myself to believe that after all that I've went through, I have no more tears left to shed. Yet God could use a partner to prove otherwise. Probably God was laughing and mocking me when He made me cry, but I thank God that He again made me realize that there will always be no end to tears, because as long as there are tears, there is hope of a someone that will wipe it away.

For as much as I have seen her tears, so has she seen mine. Not the physical tears, but she the tears in the heart that no one sees unless you open it up for them. And as usual, she being the sensible one may not wipe it away, but she'll help me get over and along with other things ahead.

"Let it go."

That night, as I talk to her, somehow I was just overwhelmed with sadness and a tinge of fear. Sad because I know I probably won't lose a great and loving friend, but because I've lost opportunities to work with her. A lil fearful, worried about whether I'll ever be able to meet someone as wonderful as her.

"Thank you," I finally blurted out, "For that fantastic partnership that you've given me."

"Uh, not me boy," she replied. "It came from God." I smiled. That was just her. Never taking the credit for herself, always giving it back to where it truly deserved.

I stretched out my hand, almost the same way I stretched it out one and a half years ago. That time, it was a show of new friendship, now the end of an almost magical year of working and laughing and crying.

She replied similarly, the same handshake. Holding her hand, I could feel the cleavages along her palm. Hard, from the labour of her past and history, and yet warm, from the sincerity and the trueness of a friend that is often lacking in a world of competition and business.

Somehow, something in me told me to not let go. Something in me prompted me to just hang on and hold on. I wanted to. Dearly. But I know that the time will eventually come where you must let go of what is in front of you for something ahead of you that you may not see.
Still, I'll never like the idea of memories. Memories are mere symbols of the past. I hate to be reminded of the past. I wished I never had memories, but rather be in the presence of beautiful things. Where memories are only things that you can recall and wish it was happening, I want to be in the midst of real beautiful things that happen.

Never liking it though, won't change the fact that memories now are all that is left with me now. This is the last and final post, no more will anyone read about her. A promise that must be kept, a word I gave her that will be fulfilled. A magical partnership, a splendid year, a great friend I will remember. Beautiful not in what she looks like, not in what she has, but simply in what she is. A lady of peace that I won't ever forget. Not especially that night, and certainly not that last handshake.