Youngest kid of six with an inferiority and black sheep complex, but determined that God saves not just his soul to heaven but the remainder of his manic-depressive life, so others won't say he became a Christian and remained a jerk.
i won't be transparent before i'm opaque. and you'll get to know me starting from the small things: who my favourite bands are. what kind of movies i like. who are my heroes.
I’m convinced that when confronted with sincere, real love, the Jesus factor will become obvious. But let’s not plant the cross before we carry it. I’m not trying to con you.
Some dreams are meant to be achieved. I know that. But maybe other dreams are meant to drive us, privately. Never known to anyone but ourselves.
It is a sadness that, when choosing between crying and sighing, will choose sighing. I'd almost say that melancholy is being sad about sadness itself.
On memory and nostalgia
It saddens me when life moves forward and people decide that certain things are worth forgetting.
I've learnt that the word irregardless is filed as a non-standard word in the English language. That's a lexicographer's way of saying it's not a real word.
Crowds are fickle things. So when we stand in the thousands and cry against the present government, do we know who we're actually crying for?
People always want the best for themselves. But I want to sometimes take second or third or fourth best, just so that the loser down the road doesn't always have to come in last. It must feel like shit to always come in last.
On growing old
Leasehold property make me feel sad. It doesn't matter how old the family photos are that you put on your wall. It's your family but it's not really your wall.
I ask you, if God loves everyone, and if God is also incapable of loving evil, how can there be such a thing as an evil man?
On a daily basis
One line quips, like this.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
ON PARTICIPATING IN HISTORY
Maybe i've just witnessed history in the making. history, i guess, is the kind of thing you don't know you're participating in until it's over. but it felt like history ... in the making.
it felt like one day, i could tell my kids that i was in that very kelana jaya stadium when anwar ibrahim announced he was ready to take over the government. maybe one day, if "916" becomes something of a landmark, people will look at that 20,000 strong meeting and say that it all started happening again there. i could tell my kids that i was in that crowd, waving the malaysia flag whenever i heard something i agreed, clapping when i heard something worth clapping for, and keeing quiet either when nothing moved me or when something moved me deeply.
i don't know if 916 will be fondly remembered, like the berlin wall or march 8, or if it will become another piece of recyclable in the trashbin of miscellaneous history. in that sense, attending rallies for story-telling value is a bit like betting on blackjack.
i'm glad i wasn't just there for story-telling value. and i never play blackjack.
Labels: growing old, politics
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