the chase

It's risky to be close friends with the opposite sex, especially when there's attraction involved. Going with the flow and riding the chemistry is no longer fun; we're teetering on the edge of dangerous territory, and all this built-up tension can only spell trouble.

I'm sick of the chase. Sure, it can be amusing and exciting, but it's also confusing, frustrating, and ultimately unsatisfying. Time has never been a friend of mine - we're rarely on the same page because life is full of interruptions. I'm tired of this dance; flirting and teasing, waiting and wondering, analysing and rationalising. The uncertainty is unbearable. I'm dying to ask the right questions but too afraid to hear the wrong answers.

In the end, all this could just be in my head. To keep my sanity, maybe I should skip this page and close this whole ambiguous chapter.

undercover

Half a decade ago...

I was napping at his house while he ran some errands. His little sister burst into his room to use the computer, blissfully unaware that I was cocooned under the blanket. It felt too awkward to suddenly say hello after five minutes of stealthy silence. I waited for her to leave, but soon the call of nature became too insistent to ignore. Desperate, I texted him from my hiding spot, pleading for rescue. He promised he'd handle it.

The phone in his room rang, and from her side of the conversation, all I could hear was, "Ok… Uh huh… Yeah." Suddenly, the blanket was yanked away, and we both screamed. He had told her to check under the blanket for something he had forgotten, neglecting to mention that it was, in fact, his girlfriend! I called him afterward, and he laughed.

My first. Merry Christmas, you.

read the book before you meet the author

Someone asked me why I am a Christian. I didn't appreciate his mocking tone, and because of some personal issues I had with him, I let them overtake me, and it became ugly. I wasn't a good witness, and I really regret how I handled the situation.

To answer his question: why am I a Christian? I'm a Christian because I believe that I'm a pretty bad person, and instead of kicking me off this world as I deserved, God allowed His son Jesus to suffer and die for my sins so that I'd be let off the hook.

Trying to explain Christian doctrine to people who don't believe in God is almost like dancing in the street. People think you're crazy. Or worse, they assume you're ignorant—that if you'd sat through a philosophy class or maybe even thought logically, then you'd come to your senses and figure out that God doesn't exist.

Fair enough. Everyone thought that Jesus was crazy. Even His own disciples felt that He was a bit nuts at the end. The disciple Peter wanted Jesus to pick up swords and fight off the Jewish leaders and Roman soldiers. But Jesus was willing to die for what He believed in, and He did. And according to scriptures, He resurrected.

Now, I know that some people don't take the Bible as fact. There are claims that the disciples recorded a bunch of biased fiction just to trick people into following this Jesus dude. I guess it's likely. But who do you know that would be prepared to die for lies? Almost all of the disciples were brutally executed despite having the option to backpedal on their beliefs to survive.

I think that the scriptures are amazing, but that's just my opinion. I love reading the prophecies that were recorded thousands of years before Jesus existed and then seeing how they are fulfilled on the cross where Jesus died. It's incredible how God's plan follows through from start to finish—and then begins Its work in me. I believe in Jesus Christ because my life has been transformed, and when I talk to God, I know that He is listening to my prayers and will answer them in His own time. If you don't believe me, just go and ask God for yourself.

Oh, I'm still not perfect. Just ask my ex-boyfriends. In fact, I can guarantee that I will never be perfect on this Earth. It's a pity that Jesus is judged by His fan club because most of us are idiots and we tend to do really stupid things and then act self-righteous about it.

So to end this entry, I just want to apologise for not being a better representation of Christ. I'm sorry for the times that I've acted in the name of Jesus when I was really just following my own will, for preaching the word of God and then disobeying it myself.

a lot like love

What I miss most about having a boyfriend is having someone special to call anytime, anywhere. Whether I'm stuck in traffic, waking up from a nightmare at 3 AM, or just can't sleep, a significant other would always have his phone by his bedside, just in case. I miss knowing someone would willingly wake up just to keep me company, not because he's being polite, but just because.

Friends are great and all, but it's not the same. I've got friends who don't mind the occasional 3 AM call, but I still feel guilty for waking them. Plus, eventually, they'll find their own partners and I’ll be back to counting sheep alone.

I know this sounds a bit selfish, but I miss being there for someone special too. I like feeling needed and knowing I can be there for someone just as much as they are for me.

Man isn’t meant to be alone. I'm not afraid of being alone—I’d rather have no company than bad company. It’s the loneliness that bothers me. It's not about being with just anyone; it’s about being with the right one.

empty void

The world is becoming very superficial, and, sadly, I'm a part of it. Lately, I've been wrestling with personal issues, impersonal issues, and issues that aren't even mine. Everyone's got their own problems, and life seems to get more complicated with age. When bad things happen to people you know, you can't help but feel angry at people you don't know. I can only offer my ears to listen and my shoulder to lean on, but at the end of the day, we each have to fix our own issues. Sometimes my troubles feel so intense that I just want to unload this heavy burden onto someone else.

I know it's wrong to be materialistic, and I've tried to fight the temptations, but sometimes a little retail therapy doesn't hurt, right? I don't like shopping; I just like having new things. The whole shopping experience can be tedious. I'm an impulsive shopper—I don't stand around feeling the fabric, trying on clothes, or parading around the changing room. When you want something and can afford it, just buy it. Hesitating and stressing over it just takes away the pleasure of having the item. I mostly buy clothes that are displayed on mannequins; they're such good models to look up to when you don't have the patience to venture inside the shops to hunt for clothes.

When you're not feeling good on the inside, what can you do but decorate your outside? I visited the beautician yesterday to have a facial and to reshape my eyebrows (those things were getting out of control, again).

Beautician: Who shaped your eyebrows for you? (in a disgusted tone) Me: Umm... that would be me. Beautician: I see. Don't do that anymore.

My ego couldn't help but feel that she was just trying to make money from me. I also got a haircut, which was intended to be a trim. But since I get my haircuts at this guy’s garage, I can't really complain about his services, considering it only costs me $14 each time I go there. For that amount, I get the works—hair wash, cut, and blow dry. The fact that he doesn't speak much English probably contributes to why he cuts about 20 cm off my hair whenever I ask for a trim. I'm beginning to suspect that he doesn't understand the term "trim." Too bad I don't speak any Cantonese.

After all that pampering, I'm still feeling this empty void.

"Casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you." - 1 Peter 5:7

love and marriage

I really like this poem.

His hello was the end of her endings.
Her laugh was their first step down the aisle.
His hand would be hers to hold forever,
His forever was as simple as her smile.
He said she was what was missing,
She said instantly she knew.
She was a question to be answered,
And his answer was I do.

:: Carrie Bradshaw, SATC.

One of my best friends got engaged last night! Love is definitely in the air this winter—my sister got engaged recently too. I belong to a diamond. The four of us are a tight-knit group with similar yet distinct personalities. Spending so much time together has intertwined our traits, but our differences add spice, making our foursome oh-so-awesome.

A few years ago, we jokingly predicted who among us would be the first down the aisle and who would be the last. The one who got engaged last night was voted most likely to be last. She protested, reminding us that she was single while the rest of us had long-term boyfriends at the time. The twist? She’s only been with her fiancé for under a year. She sure showed us that when it comes to love and security, time means nothing.

My best friend's engagement has reignited my old debate about the importance of timing in relationships. It’s pretty inspiring to see two people who are confident they want to spend the rest of their lives together—especially after dating for just nine months (though he did buy the ring at the six-month mark). There are so many factors to consider before taking the plunge: mutual faith, age, length of dating, financial stability—these all intertwine with work, family, and other commitments. Do we really need to tick off every box before committing? Maybe, just this once, we should toss the checklist and follow our hearts.

winter blues

I'm starting to feel winter's icy grip; the chills are creeping in. For the past month, I've had that warm and fuzzy feeling to wake me up every morning. This week, though, hasn't been so peachy; the giddiness and butterflies have vanished, leaving me with an empty void. Maybe I should just chalk these feelings up to PMS.

The BF is lucky to be out of town, dodging the storm, and how convenient that his phone battery went flat right in the middle of my PMS meltdown!

full in a box

Anthony gets a ton of text messages every day. I know, because I’m the one sending them. Every time I have a thought, a funny idea, or read something interesting, I drop everything and shoot him a message. Vodafone must love me.

He’s received gems like: “My throat is sore,” “I just bought a slurpy drink. Is it normal to crave sugar this early?” and “I’m falling asleep at work.” Most of my texts are brief, but occasionally, I’ll send him quotes or Bible verses. Despite the barrage, he claims my dozens of texts per hour don’t bother him. Either he really likes me, or he finds it comforting to know someone is constantly thinking about him.

I’m starting to miss his face. He’s gone interstate for a scout camp and won’t be back for another eight days. To keep myself distracted (not that it's hard, given my 12-hour shifts at a mind-numbing job), I reminisce about our time together. Unfortunately, my timing for daydreaming is terrible. My mind always seems to drift when I’m driving at night. The other night, I was on the road, replaying a conversation we had, and I laughed so hard I nearly crashed my car. So, if you ever see a black hatchback with someone laughing behind the wheel, it’s probably yours truly.

bum chums

Yesterday, Anthony and I were watching our favourite show, Friends. The episode was about the different stages of a relationship. I looked at him and asked if our honeymoon period was over, wondering if we’d become too comfortable. He assured me we were still fun and happening.

This, of course, after he’d spent his day teaching Sunday school and furniture shopping with his family, while I was slogging away at work. We met up after church for dinner at a local restaurant because driving too far would delay the eating process.

He was sitting next to me watching TV while I listened to a sermon on my laptop. The only things missing were knitting needles, a rocking chair, and some false teeth. That’s when we realised our lives were truly riveting.

I could wallow in despair, wishing we were suddenly more interesting people, but at some point, you have to embrace who you are. Anthony and I have crazy work schedules, and as insane as it sounds, we like to spend our free time doing my favourite activity (eating) or watching DVDs together.

I was perfectly content with this arrangement, but he thought we needed to pick up a sport as a new hobby, trying to convince me that a bit of exercise wouldn’t kill us. After all, he was a fit person before meeting me, so I’m guessing he’s starting to miss the outdoors. I have a talent for turning perfectly healthy and athletic people into couch potatoes.

promises

Disappointment is one of the worst feelings I can experience. It usually stems from high expectations and broken promises. A promise can be defined as a declaration assuring that a person will or will not do something, to afford a basis for expectation, or just a hint that something favourable may come.

I always make promises to myself to remind myself to do certain things. It's a way of setting the bar higher, and if I fail to meet my own promises, I let myself down. When someone promises me something, I expect them to follow through. If they fail to deliver, I will definitely be disappointed. I've learned that people can and will let you down. Some take my trust for granted and make empty promises just to shut me up, or they make promises as a form of trading. All of my ex-boyfriends promised that they'd love me forever; I guess that promise had an expiry date I wasn't aware of.

Many of us make promises to God to act in certain ways if He'll grant our requests. Do you realise these promises are often driven by selfish motives, rather than a desire to please God or improve ourselves? It's tough to be good all the time and to make unselfish prayers, but if these wishes are driven by genuine purposes, God has promised He will answer them, and His promises are never broken.

memory box

Going through your old MP3 folder is like flicking through an old photo album; every song has its own story, a piece of memory tucked away in every note. You can't help but listen to these songs again, even though each one pricks your heart like sharp thorns.

Nostalgia has visited once again.

I have a box full of old letters under my bed, a few boxes of old presents from former boyfriends, and several boxes of junk from primary and high school ranging from class notes and Christmas cards to Sailor Moon tapes and the Spice Girls album. I've contemplated throwing these things out as they are of the past, but I'm quite sentimental, so I haven't had the heart to dispose of them yet.

A person's bedroom, or what's under their bed, can reflect the type of person they are. Take a quick scan. You glance at your possessions and see your whole life right in front of you. Can you see that these material items are still with you, yet certain people have left your life?

Don't throw away the things that people have given you because, like the old Spice Girls CD or those embarrassing pictures you took with your friends in the photo booth, they too deserve a place in your shoebox.

wasted talent

I have a confession to make: I'm a closet Hilary Duff fan. Her songs are catchy, even if the lyrics are terrible. And while I’m at it, I might as well admit I also like The Veronicas. Right now, I’m listening to their new song “When It Falls Apart” and debating whether to google the lyrics… just so I can sing along at work. LN will not be thrilled—she says my “singing” scares the customers.

Today, while I was in the office (aka the storeroom) doing magazine returns, I thought I’d be considerate by closing the door so I could sing my heart out. When I emerged, I asked LN if she heard me, and she nodded with a look of sheer disgust. I noticed a magazine left outside the door… I guess she didn’t want to interrupt my one-person karaoke session.

Clearly, I’m in the wrong industry.

opposites attract

"He wanted to lie in an ecstasy of peace, I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would only be half-alive, he said mine would be drunk. I said I shall fall asleep in his, and he said he wouldnt breathe in mine."

:: Wuthering Heights, By Emily Bronte

changes

Recently, I started noticing some peculiar things about myself. Most of you have probably already picked up on a few of my quirks. That's mostly because I'm a weird person in general. The latest strange thing I’ve noticed is my sudden fascination with properties and home decorating.

Oh, it gets worse, folks.

I began to realise that my nesting instincts have somehow swallowed the little tomboy who used to look a lot like me—the one who thought it would be fun to climb the blackberry tree and who once intentionally scraped her knee against the pavement just to see it bleed. The little tomboy who talked tough, tore herself on barbed wire fences for the sake of adventure, and climbed over the neighbour's yard just to be chased by their vicious dog.

When did that little girl suddenly realise that maybe scars weren't the coolest things in the world and there was more to life than challenging fear and tempting fate? How did she turn into such a girly girl?
Now, instead of fantasising about catching grasshoppers in jars, I dream about decorating my house one day. Instead of searching for ladybirds in the garden, I search my heart to see if I have what it takes to be a mother someday.