goodness.

griipes. just been to www.mda.gov.sg to check out their FirstTimeWriters initiative. Thought it would be real fun being a children's book writer. of course along with the fun its a lot of work, but work i cant imagine myself not enjoying. [right now i have a silent pregnant fear that some internet spy will pick up on the 'mda' keyword and thus i have to mince my words.] plausible? maybe not. possible? definitely. if im speaking to a blogger- wont you be disgusted to wake up and find your blog inerts splashed out on TheStraitsTimes? its a good paper really [not to mention the only.. well sort of. -the evasive syndrome kicks in again.] but i'd like to be selective about my audience actually. you may think its impossible, since anyone can just Google and locate you. but that group of 'anyone' would be really small unless you're some.. superstar. For now im content disclosing this address to anyone i am happy with and just pretending that it doesn't - i mean neglecting that it does- exist with those im not close to! is that wrong?

and id really like to write a children's book.
but the fresh untainted enthusiasm just dies a little with each application guideline i read.

Mr P. told us that the reason we love movies so much is that we yearn to be other than we are. to experience other than this. and in some sense i agree with him. some movies are better for imagining with than others. i'd love to dwell in the Elizabethan era for a while, or observe in the moulin rouge atmosphere, or study in a castle. And while i am imagining, the critical part of me, the part that stutters to be heard, yet is viciously silenced- logic- is swept under the carpet.

i am happy for now. happiness arrives in spurts. and that's what's good and spontaneous about it. if it were constant, i would go mad, i think. it would be like a pond- pretty, but also stagnant- mossy, algae-strewn, musky. i would rather an unpredictable brook- they always say that brooks bubble- doesnt the very nature of bubbles tell you that its whole and shiny for one full moment, but it will burst, it cant do anything but burst, in the next?

But Joy. Joy is something solid, like a prism underground. it is connected with Hope. The demise of hope cuts off all links to joy. Joy runs on, even if its surface is scratched or covered by dust- it is a sustained hope that the jewel's gleam will one day emerge, the dirt will one day be rubbed off, someone will walk pass and pick it up, handle it, and know it is of worth. Ah, joy is knowledge that you are of deeper worth. Is that true? Whether that worth comes to you in the form of God, or of confidence, or tenacity- of course everything else pales in the light of God-given meaning.

Task this week:
1. Say things are good when they are.

whenever i ask my brother if something i made is nice- he'd go..'ok, But..' and sometimes im like that too, always OKBut-ing. always too quick to criticise rather than appreciate. Maybe it runs in our Singaporean culture. Do we say the Merlion is good? There's always something fundamentally unbalanced, awkward about it. But its embedded somewhere in our consciousness as part of Singapore i suppose, so in that sense, it is good. Funny that in Lit we do Critical Appreciation. i shall critically appreciate life now. would you, too?

mm. fountain pens are good. so is my mother. she is better than good, though worse than perfect. swimming pools are good. the Good Book.

God. is. Good. and better than perfect.