Young Forever- BTS

usually we fear, hate, dread 

transitions

but there are some,

I wait for them

it is not that they were smooth

they were strong and unrefined

so dramatic

it holds your breath 

as you see it coming

I close my eyes

stop what I'm doing

and listen for those bridges

Happy...?

I have come. Here am I.

But silence replies me, echoing the empty wooden room.

I have come after checking my degree results. I have come with tears in bitterness in my heart, I have fallen short. I searched in my heart, catalogues of people, acquaintances and friends, there is no one I can tell my true feelings to and take it well. This result is a shocking blow to me, though I had expected it, I can still hardly accept it. Looking at the list of marks, I saw this assignment which I could have done better, and that low mark for the paper which I thought I did really well for.

Ashamed, shame and awfulness fills the heart. Can this result be hidden? How can the bearer of such numbers face people when she has hoped for and experienced so much more. She thought she had tried her best, but maybe not. She franctically tries to go down the memory lane, to search out when and where it all went wrong. But nothing comes out.

The invisible wall

It is like a drawing a horizontal straight line, and at some point it dips downwards, forming a bulb and you come up again, on par with the level of the line drawn previously, almost touching the starting point of the indentation. And you draw straight across horizontally again, as if nothing has ever happened.

So it forms. A line, a bulb with a very narrow opening, and the line going straight on.

It is like a heart, the depth of the heart of someone intensely private. The forced smile, the unreplied message, the way she couldn't hold your gaze for more than 5 secs even though you thought you guys were having a good time talking about that party last week. You want to get close, but do not know how, and on the other hand, you are not that committed as to knock the fourth time. 

How do I know what is inside the bulb? I cannot force my massive hand through that purposefully small hole. 

The bulb whispered, "Pour, pour into me, fill me up, and the water will swirl with my essence and bring my sweetness to you as it overflows". It also said apologetically, "If the opening was bigger, people might think I was flat ground and walk over me. Is it too much to ask?"

Missing Voice

Now I know what is missing.

I find it hard to study in University. I wonder in occasional daydreams and frequent serious thoughts of why so.

Suddenly, just like 2 minutes ago, I think this may be one of the reasons.

The voice of teachers telling me it will be okay is not there.

Of course, tutors and friends say that always, but it just feels different. Teachers know my progress, my every step of the way. They know what I have been through and what I can or cannot do, and what is ahead.

Weigh your answers - Proverbs.

The bus stop/shed boy

Is it an old guy? From my experience, usually older guys who stare at anything like that are either drunk or high.
No he is wearing headphones, he is a young guy.

As I approached the bus stop, a 192 swooped pass. I cringed, why did I not turn my head and look two seconds before.

I walked into the bus stop shed so I won't be in the rain. Shuffling my feet not really sure whether to sit or stand, I finally decided to lean against the advertisement board, facing the row of closed shops opposite. I studied the shops because I didn't know where else to look. It is just the social awkwardness of not knowing what to do.  I wonder how the inhabitants of the house by the shops sleep at night. Won't they be restless like I am because of the traffic?

I stole a look at the guy. He has his face turned towards the oncoming traffic, presumably waiting for his bus, evidently not 192. When he turned forward towards the shops, his face caught the light from the street lamps. I quickly turned my head back. He is much taller than I am from the looks of his bulk but he has the face of a boy, definitely younger than I am. Funny how age is written on our faces, but we can't pinpoint where and what is it in a moment.

In that bus stop/shed, there is just two of us. Two human beings. Under the rain but not in it. The sound of cars rushing by filled the air. Suddenly, I have a strong urge to sit beside him and ask him: "Hi, who are you?", and let him tell me about his life the way he wants to say it. It feels right to do so and it would be wonderful, talking to a stranger without restrain. No pressure of having to give an opinion about he says (I just met him I don't know about him enough anyway), or to maintain the relationship, or to or not to say hi when we meet again on the street, because we won't remember each other anyway. No strings attached at all. I feel happy just thinking about it. Maybe it is the quiet rainy evening, because I haven't felt so gloriously happy and free for some time.

But I didn't budge. Or sit down. Or say hi.

I looked at the shops, he looked at the street. That's it.

Time passed. He flicked out his phone. He was cautious to glance at the traffic every now and then. But slowly, he became engrossed in his phone.

A bus is coming. 205. It is emerging from the bend in the road into this short stretch of road.

My mind suddenly snapped into action.

Oh no. I glanced at him, he is still looking at his phone. Is it his bus?

I glanced at the approaching bus, and him, and the bus. Should I call to him and ask?

At that moment, he looked up, stayed still for a moment as he read the bus number, then sprang up flinging his arms to hail the bus.

It was too late, the bus was already in front of us, and then beyond us. His back looked frustrated. His shoulders hung back in defeat. He must have been here a long time.

A pang of guilt hit me hard. My mind and then my heart. Why oh why did I not stop the bus, or call out to him?

He turned to me and gave me a look. I couldn't decipher it as I held out my hand to stop 192 which came right after. My arm hung limply, half-ashamed I got to ride before him. Realistically, it was either a look of resentment thinking why on earth did I not let him know, or he is checking if I saw his defeat in hailing the bus. But only if he cares for me would he think the latter, which is like 5% of the chance where one would care for a complete stranger who is not homeless, or British, or pretty.

I still feel remorseful as I board the bus. I couldn't bear to look out of the window at him. I have a feeling he will need to wait quite a long time for the next one again. I felt horrid. I wished I could just have thought fast enough to pretend it was my bus and hail it. Then he would be thanking me and not hating me right now.

Walking home, the scene kept replaying in my head. I figured I could not have thought fast enough if I were to calculate all the risks of getting embarrassed or rejected if that was not his bus. I just did not have enough time. Or speed. I could only have done it if I knew it was the right thing to do, and done it at once because it was right. There was no time for drawing up back up plans. Maybe there was truth when people said 'kind people are stupid, stupid people are kind'. Giving an outstretched hand is sometimes way less complicated than you would think.

The cold night air caressed my hair as the wind rose.

Fashion sense

Finally I've worked out how to describe how I like to dress myself.

I like to dress/do my hair slightly crazy but normal enough for people who see me to allow a little possibility that it might be the newest fashion.

Expiry date

I stripped open the plastic of the tofuhua container. It proved more difficult than I thought as it split towards the end. As I tried to take the whole piece off, it struck me just how reluctant I was to eat it yesterday, but now I open it without hesitation. Why? because it is expiring today.

Deadlines, expiry dates. I have a thing for them. Not sure if it is a good thing though.

It always amazes me how I could finish 3 pages assignment in a day when the deadline is just a week away, but couldn't squeeze half a page out of my brain when it is still a month till it's due. Even though I know the results would definitely be better if I started writing earlier.

Why? because I had the choice. Today or tomorrow. Before or after an episode of drama. To do or not to do.

It is always when I had no choice, when I had to try my best, then I will. It is almost as if I had to be forced to do it. Don't get me wrong, I want to do it, but wanting is not a strong enough incentive for me to give my best. It is almost as if I am addicted to the adrenaline rush. Am I? I hope not.

Trash

120 comments on his post. He is going to Malta soon. He is in South Korea doing his placement in a prestigious university hospital. Congratulatory messages filled up the screen. People are happy for him. So happy. There is a saying that when people want you to succeed and succeed together with you, you are a successful person.

Here I am, laying on the couch in our student house with an impending 20-pages report to write but all I have done is watch variety shows this morning. It is 3pm now but I haven't eaten anything. I am not hungry, at least I don't feel it. I feel so tired but I can't sleep, guess lyrics are really from personal experiences sometimes.

Maybe he chose the right course to study. People love medics. Not only you have to be from a financially well-off family or you have to be brilliant enough for someone to fund your course which is double the length and annual fees compared to other courses, you need to have the brains and resilience to go through the gruelling medic school years. Well, or you don't. He does everything so well, he speaks Korean, plays the cello, runs etc. besides doing med school, it is almost as if he doesn't struggle at all. Stable job, good pay to come, what's to worry? If you think of life as an exam, he is a soaring unicorn oozing rainbow-colored poo.

So don't tell me it ain't true that whether I succeed or not matters to people. Because it doesn't. I could die right now and have a handful of people weeping, forgotten after a week or two. I see no hope in my country and no opportunity to stay. I thought companies here would appreciate me more but hey, no replies from BBC instinctively makes me withdraw my outstretched hand- perhaps I was wrong?

Summary brings Solace?

1. Cambridge/ JP Morgan/ Central Saint Martins/ Charity?
2. God is real/ an illusion to comfort?
3. Work aim: to feed myself/ push my limits, see how far I can go?
4. Is God pleased with me doing a mediocre job, helping the church, not wanting more/ passionately pursuing my interests and dreams, joining but not helping church?

Because I only have one heart
Conflicted, contradicted and inexpressible, it is at a standstill

26.03.18- London

Urban - Napped - Late - 14.24 - Assessment - Questions - Survival - Questions - Hyde Park -  Blood - Underground - Muffin - Phantom - Bagel - Busking - 'I See Fire' - Luxurious - Underground - Astor - Friends - Rejected - Finite Element Analysis - Sleep

Muses in Muriel Stott

1. 'Mini Beast' is raging outside the long window. The icy snowflakes whooshes past each other in pacts, forming crisscrosses in mid-air. Is this how one sees the path of the wind?



2. Monologue.

*Thumps down phone after scrolling on it even though it is 5 minutes past my break (5 minutes is a proportionally long time when you've got 1 hour left to complete your assessment)*

*Now I am going to collect my thoughts just like I fold a pink handkerchief inside a white gift box. Like this, this and this and this (I actually did fold that imaginary handkerchief. You just have to be discreet in a library when doing this kind of things.)




3. The guy is really good looking. He looks like... he is the friend of Harry Styles.

Estranged

Staring at the seventh page of 'The Rosenberg File', I wonder why am I not working hard.

First, why would I want to work hard? To gain success and earn money, to please God. But does success and money really please God? If they do not, why do I do it? If in both writing my assignment and watching BTS on YouTube, God loves me the same, why don't I just watch videos? Isn't working hard in something giving a chance for someone to say I am not focusing on God but on my work too much and I should repent and do less of it? At least, that is often the case of what I see when successful Christian people are perceived and confronted by others. If all these working hard talk is just a way for God to draw people into things, make them committed to them, and tearing them out of what they are used to at the end, then isn't it better if I don't fall into it in the beginning?

Because surely when one works hard in something, his heart and mind must be, to a certain extent, committed to it, to learn about it, persevere in researching it over and over again, not giving up when it fails until he accomplishes his goal in that industry. Surely, surely God and all Christian people know this sheer effort of working hard needs commitment of time, energy and interest. How then can it be expected that successful Christian people not be less passionate or knowledgeable about the Bible than non-working Christians, because their passions and time are divided? It is not saying that non-working Christians are less respected but that each has its job, one to work hard in this world and another in the God-things in life, both with God at the centre of their lives. Surely the latter cannot criticise the former for caring too much for the world, for wanting to excel in this world? Because otherwise, no one would be excited to work hard.

Contradicting questions in my mind exposed. Lord I believe, help my unbelief.
There is something, choking my heart and then my throat. Help!; for I cannot wriggle out of this web myself.

TEDx Manchester and Platts

TEDx Manchester
1. behaviourkit.com/ durastudio/ behaviouraldesign
2. Mayor Andy. Lincoln of Manchester: "sublime Christian heroism", because it refused to have anything to do with slavery-associated cotton when itself is the biggest cotton industry. This helped end the American Civil War.
3. Will Storr. Eudaemonic happiness = happiness when you (try to) achieve  meaningful but difficult goal. Flow of a story: change- cause & effect- moral courage- eudaemonic- the God moment.
4. Sheena Cruickshank. Poo.
5. Liv Boeree. A fair chance. Of rain. And of winning a war. What is exactly do you mean by average?
6. Jamie Barlett. Psychedelic science. Liberland (newest 'country') between Croatia and Serbia.
7. Lucinda Belle. Yungas Road, the most dangerous road in the world.
8. Rasmus Ankersen. Newcastle football team. Conversion rates (probability of converting a shoot into a goal) = Cisse, Messi (33%, 20%). Success turns luck into genius. Football is a low-scoring game, more affected by chances.
10. Max Joseph. TMZ Celebrity Tour, a.k.a. celebrity safari. The veil of celebrity is very thin, the fans want to say things to you, not the other way round. They want the veil to remain, not for you to be their friend.


Platts
Steve on Calvin.
Born 1509. Protestant (c.1530). Geneva (1533). Published 5 editions of the 'Institutes of the Christian Religion' (1538-1559). Died: to die is gain, for I am with Christ (1564). Predestination casts a shadow on God's integrity. True knowledge of self comes from knowledge of God. Comparing God and us, we see our true self. Q: how does the bread and wine represent Jesus' body and blood? A: Why do you ask this question? The bible does not question this. The bible also did not question how Mary gave birth to the Son of God and how was Jesus resurrected. These unscriptural questions will only lead to division.

Popo

I sat down on the hospital bed beside popo. The time I feel most like I'm 33 not 23 is when I help her wear pampers before she goes to sleep. When I talk to her, I'm met with a blank stare peering out from her saggy diminished eyes. Unlike the guys with such quiet eyes, her eyes hinted tire and despondency but everything else about her is quiet and she doesn't talk to us a lot, much less tell. The building of an invisible wall between us and her has been accelerated from the last times I have seen her in the past year, so much that it takes us aback, literally. But I thank God for my strong family who though deeply distressed, are honest and encourages one another with actions and cheers up the mood with jokes, especially my younger brother who is at home. The lyrics below from Adele's song is one I resonate with when I think about popo now.

Hello from the other side
I must have called a thousand times
To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done
But when I call you never seem to be home
Hello from the outside
At least I can say that I've tried
To tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart
But it don't matter, it clearly doesn't tear you apart
Anymore

Hello, how are you?
It's so typical of me to talk about myself, I'm sorry
I hope that you're well
Did you ever make it out of that town
Where nothing ever happened?

It's no secret that the both of us
Are running out of time