Toilet conversations

Do you ever talk to yourself in the toilet? I do.

Sometimes I revisit and tweak answers that I should have given people. Other times, and mostly too, I imagine scenarios and rehearse my lines as if the scenarios were really happening.

Just last night, while I was showering, I imagined myself giving a talk to an audience, explaining why I went into social work. It all started with a question that an audience member posed me: "You are from an elite school. How would you relate to students of neighbourhood schools?"

I found myself saying that you had to discover what moves you, because that thing that moves you would give you a sense of purpose in doing that branch of social work, and give you reason to carry on. As I talked about what moved me, I found the tears coming.

We are all more alike in our human-ness than we think we are. We have universal desires and yearnings, and therefore what moves us is merely a representation of these universal themes that happen in human life. Connection, loss, acceptance, meaning, love, achievement, belonging... I may have grown up different from you, but really, I am alike with you than different.

Do you have conversations with yourself in the toilet? Start one today, and you may learn something new about yourself.

(Then again, maybe you might just think I'm crazy.)

Birthday

Today I turn 31. As I lay in bed, sick with a bout of what I think should be gastric flu, I turn contemplative. Last night I received a surprise bouquet of flowers from two friends, and I was so touched I almost cried. Four years ago, I would have commented that the flowers were a waste of money because they would simply wilt and die in a matter of days. Practical me, with practical wants. Today, my heart leaps at embracing that short moment of beauty and spontaneity. A moment in time that words cannot capture, but only the heart can feel and appreciate. Sick with gastric flu, yes. I still couldn't resist the urge to walk over and smell the scent of the white lilies. I hope it lingers a while more...

Midbar

Midbar - the hebrew word for "wilderness". A desolate and uninhabited place where you have nothing to cling on. And because of that, it is where you can hear His voice the clearest. The wilderness experience for Moses was intimate...

So the Lord spoke to Moses face to face, as a man speaks with his friend...

And He said, "My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest." Then he said to Him, "If Your presence does not go with us, do not bring us up from here...

Exodus: 33: 11... 14, 15

The wilderness brings with it a complex mix of frustration, waiting and longing. But may I never forget to cling on to your presence, O Lord. If Your presence doesn't follow me, I don't want to go there.

*Note: The beautiful picture is taken in the US, courtesy of Kartaly's KT. Thank you dear, for allowing me to use it. I love it.

The History of Love

Recently, thanks to dsd and olduvai, I borrowed The History of Love (by Nicole Krauss) from the library. And I totally fell in love with the book. Olduvai decided to recommend another book, Love Begins in Winter (by Simon Van Booy), which I will definitely try to get my hands on. In the meantime, olduvai sends me a link to a really sweet article written by him on his relationship with his daughter.

What touched me was this line he wrote:

"...we sometimes have to manufacture our own kind of happiness, because the world’s idea of it is out of sync with our reality."

I do that quite a bit.

.........................................................................

June 28, 2009 (NYT)

MODERN LOVE

Raising a Princess Single-Handedly

By SIMON VAN BOOY

IT was about 6:30 on Thursday morning, and I was cooking breakfast in my pajamas. My daughter, Madeleine, 4, was helping by transferring eggs from the cardboard carton into the refrigerator egg box. It’s one of the things she does, like pressing the button on the elevator, and licking the cake spoon.

That morning we were both performing our duties with sleepy devotion. Then I put down my whisk and asked Madeleine to throw me an egg.

She peered up curiously from her work. “One of these eggs?”

I nodded.

“But it might break.”

“Just throw it, Madeleine. I’ll catch it.”

She looked at the egg in her small hand, and for reasons known only to her, she began to carefully inspect the shell.

What at first was a trifling culinary request — another egg for the mixture — quickly became something more significant: an unscripted moment of trust between a father and daughter. I wanted her to trust that if she threw something delicate, I would save it. Her mother had died a year earlier. It was sudden — an undiagnosed disorder, a suspected case of Marfan syndrome. Most people I know have never heard of it.

Sometimes Madeleine and I talk about that day. It’s something very private between us. I nod and listen. I want her to know I’ll take anything she wants to share, even if I don’t have an answer, which is most of the time.

Another subtle exchange occurred last week when I was making dinner. I noticed Madeleine leafing through a fashion magazine. Later that evening, she said, “So I think I’ve found someone for you to marry.” I almost choked. She retrieved the magazine and opened it to a page featuring a catwalk model in a blue dress with a yellow cape that she had circled in blue crayon.

“She looks a little bit like Snow White,” I said.

“Oh yes, I know,” came the answer.

It wasn’t the first time Disney princesses had played an important part in our lives. The night after her mother died, Madeleine begged me to stay up and watch “Sleeping Beauty.” We sat together on the couch under a blanket. It would have been like any other night except for the fact that we were both living in a world we could not have imagined.

That was the first of hundreds of nights we would simply have to fake normalcy and hope it felt the same. Madeleine fell asleep during the film. She missed the part where the Prince brings Sleeping Beauty back to life with a kiss, and everything returns to normal. I wondered whether she fell asleep on purpose.

At the end of “Sleeping Beauty,” with my daughter asleep on my lap, I was remembering stories about World War II I’d heard from my elderly neighbors and grandparents during my British childhood. I remembered one about a restaurant in Paris full of people in beautiful clothes seemingly enjoying fine food and wine.

Paris was then occupied by Nazi soldiers, and it was one of the coldest winters in memory. To people passing the chic bistro, the scene was unthinkable: the city’s social elite sitting down to luxurious suppers when so many were cold and starving.

But a closer look revealed the truth. The waiters brought menus, patrons asked what was especially good that night. Wine was ordered by the bottle; Champagne was shouted for by businessmen in black ties. Ladies complimented one another on their clothes.

But for the duration of the night, all that emerged from the kitchen was water. No food, no wine, no Champagne. Just bottle after bottle of water, on trays, in Champagne buckets, in bowls, and in glasses. It was a night like any other, yet unlike any other.

In a world marked by the absence of someone so irreplaceable, Madeleine’s and my lives are the same, but also completely different. I’m a father who makes bumbling attempts at motherly things. My in-laws, who live on Long Island, are unfailingly kind; they overlook my mistakes and are always available to Madeleine and me.

But in my day-to-day life, I’ve developed a kinship with full-time mothers. I ask them questions on the subway, in the supermarket, at the park. Buy this kind of mop, they say. Use iron-on labels, they say. Feed her by 5 p.m. and she’ll be tired by 7:30, they say.

The ethnic diversity of New York is working for me; after taking advice from two Hispanic women on the subway, I now cook rice in chicken broth. I buy store-brand cereal and put it in the box with cartoon characters on it. How could a man ever have thought that up?

I now hide all fashion magazines, not because I’m against Disney-inspired couture, but because I’m worried Madeleine will think those models are what she is supposed to look like as a woman.

What I mean to say is: I think differently now about everything.

Around Christmas I searched for a single-fathers group on Craigslist. I even placed an ad. I wanted Madeleine to know she’s not alone in this situation, that there are other girls living with their fathers. I also think I did it for myself, to find some sort of community for men like me. Alas, I didn’t get even one response.

But for Madeleine, as if by some miracle, we soon discovered Hannah Montana (another Disney invention), who lives with her father because — in the show at least — her mother is dead. We don’t have television, so Hannah Montana entered our lives on a DVD purchased because Madeleine had somehow found out about her through that underground toy-smuggling and gossip network also known as nursery school.

I did try to interest Madeleine in the Jeremy Irons version of “Brideshead Revisited,” but it annoyed her so much that she went to her room and quietly closed the door. We eventually learned how to compromise our movie nights with films starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers — though we may be watching them too often, as Madeleine has started “dressing” for dinner, and in mid-meal extending her hand to me for a dance.

On New Year’s Eve (spent in our apartment), she asked me to put on a black bow tie and dinner jacket. Our end-of-year countdown began at 8 o’clock. I found Internet footage of revelers in Trafalgar Square, and my parents calling from southwest England only added to the effect. Madeleine and I clinked our wineglasses full of sparkling apple cider, made resolutions and went to bed. Three hours later, when we were fast asleep, New York erupted with cheers and fireworks.

Living together means that we sometimes have to manufacture our own kind of happiness, because the world’s idea of it is out of sync with our reality.

Besides learning how to fake New Year’s parties and sew buttons, I’ve learned about myself. The other day when I was brushing my cheeks with shaving cream, Madeleine came into my bathroom. Surprisingly, she was already dressed for school.

I’m rather a messy shaver. Afraid I might get shaving cream on her dress, I said: “Please keep me company, Madeleine. But don’t get too close.” Then I laughed, realizing that what I’d said characterizes the nature of my adult relationships. Madeleine smiled up at me, and in my heart, I thought, “Get as close as you like.”

The hardest moments are when I feel as if I’m losing control. One night it was past 9 and Madeleine was still awake. She also needed a bath, and the toilet was leaking. On top of this, I suspected we had a mouse, and thus I was worried about the deadly hantavirus.

Madeleine asked me for some hot milk, but on nights like this, you open the refrigerator to find that you’ve run out. I thought the end was near when I dropped the last overnight pull-up diaper into the slowly filling bathtub next to the leaking toilet. Earlier that afternoon, the amazing part-time nanny had told me she was quitting because she had found a photography job.

But somehow, by the next day, everything worked out. The nanny had a roommate who was even more experienced with children, I discovered Fresh Direct delivery, it took Raoul (the super) two minutes to adjust the toilet — and there’s never been one reported case of hantavirus in New York City.

Madeleine and I have a groove now. I always wake up before she does, and we take turns picking restaurants, outfits and movies. When we do have a crisis, it seems like the end of the world only for a few minutes.

The other morning I was frying bacon, drinking coffee and trying to scramble Madeleine’s eggs. In a single moment of craziness, the bacon turned black, which triggered the smoke alarm. The eggs began welding themselves to the pan; the garbage bag I was tying split open at the bottom, covering my slippers in three-day-old linguine and rice pudding.

As I fanned the smoke detector furiously with a towel, Madeleine rushed off the couch to see what was going on, tripped and spilled her orange juice on herself and the floor. From the corner of the kitchen, a little girl covered in juice looked up at her father and said, “We’re like clowns!”

I think it was Charlie Chaplin who said that close up, human life is tragic, but from a distance, it’s funny.

SO on that recent morning, when Madeleine was still clutching the egg that I had asked her to throw, I leaned across the counter toward her and softly said: “Just throw it, Madeleine. I promise it won’t break.”

“O.K., Dad.” And in one quick motion she flung a single perfect egg at her father.

Every day there is an egg to catch. But my one great hope is that my daughter will always trust me enough to throw it — and that in her growing heart she will see the world as a place where more eggs are caught than broken.

Simon Van Booy, who lives in New York City, is the author of “Love Begins in Winter.”

up UP and away

For the record, I'm not the only person who cried while watching Disney-Pixar's lastest cartoon Up. My colleague KQ cried, my Melby friend Sooty cried, AND an 8 Days writer cried. Can I pls add that this writer I am referring to is a guy (refer to Page 24 of this week's issue). So, I remember KQ bumbling into office one day and telling me that she watched the movie, and she had this really happily thoughtful expression on her face. I asked her what the theme was, and she said after some more thought: "Adventure." And I was just thinking to myself, oh...it's just one of those Indiana Jones type movies, just that it's animated this time. But anyhows, I watched it, and I cried.

I cried because I thought the movie was really about unfulfilled dreams and love. When unfulfilled dreams are chased with love, the journey - more often than not - turns out to be better than expected. When old man Carl flipped his late wife's "My Adventure Book", and found unexpected photos she had pasted of their marriage life, he was surprised that she called their years together an adventure of her life, instead of her childhood dream to build their house on Paradise Falls. 

Encouraging him to seek out his new adventure after her death, she gave him permission to branch out from his old life. And I feel, with that, he gave himself permission to do so as well. And what a great adventure he had, with a renewed connection with a strange chubby 8-year-old called Russell - and a talking dog.

++++++

Well, I know not what possibilities there are for me now, because I only know what I know now. I hope that too, I will find my new adventure, with love as my intent and inspiration always, even if love doesn't turn out to be quite what I expected. May I open my eyes to see my floating house.

Slice of life - Day 1 & Day 2

Day 1:

Before 18, the world was a rigid place.

Now, the world is a flexible place, with space for differentness - my differentness.

++++++

Day 2:

When three becomes two, and there's just her and me, I know I can feel whole and free.

The weight that was from before has lightened.

I can be close, and I can enjoy that.

And we can be two.

When three becomes two, and there's just him and me, I don't know how to feel.

The distance is there, and I am afraid to be far.

It would essentially mean that...I would just be one.

And so would he, right?

Wonderful women

Ever since I've gotten to know three wonderful women in the counselling field, all into their 50s, I will never take "experience" lightly again. Their life and work experiences, coupled with their high level of self-awareness and candour, have given me so much insight into myself and how I relate to the important people in my life.

Today's therapeutic discussion as we huddled in the cubicle, touched on grief. Grieving over the estrangement and loss, something I had never been aware of before. When old birds provide clarity, their words can hit the cry button and the tears never stop flowing. Burdened love indeed. If you love, you get hurt. If you don't love, he gets hurt. It's a situation of tension - you move in, and then you move out when it gets too close for comfort.

Yet, she gave me hope when she said that as the years pass, and the tension continues, the relationship only gets stronger. She is the old bird, she should know right? Hope is good, hope fits for me.

I just hope I don't wake up with swollen eyes tomorrow.

Happiness [You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown]

"Happiness is being alone every now and then."

Dedicated to all who love life, especially Neo for her intersubjective response :)

Bliss

After a really hot and tiring morning kite-flying at Marina Barrage, Neo and I set out on our way for a thirst quencher. It had to have bubbles and all that pizazz, provide enough sugary sweetness and give the kick that parched throats were begging for.

She said, coke.

I said, no, root beer!!!

She said, yes! Or vanilla iced earl grey.

To which, I replied huh? Then realised it was my beverage of choice from Coffee Club - iced earl grey tea topped with vanilla ice-cream. Ooo...yum. I felt like I was soaking in a huge cool lake in Autumny Scotland just thinking of it.

So, we reached KFC, and we decided to share one regular root beer. I paid half - just 90 cents - and asked for an empty cup. She split the drink into two cups, popped the straws in and we took our first precious sip at a table in the fast-food restaurant.

AAAHHHHHHHHHH...

I had to stroke my chest while saying it.

We both looked at each other and laughed.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted a middle-aged mother looking at us bemusedly.

That moment was pure bliss. Unimagined, and random. Life would be more liveable if it had more such moments, wouldn't it?

+++++++++++++

Bliss-ful moments are different for everyone. But they sure make living worth living. Here is good friend dsd's moment of bliss.

How To: Install Love

Way too cute. It helps.

How to Install LOVE 

Tech Support: Hello … how can I help you? 

Customer: Well, after much consideration, I’ve decided to install
Love. Can you guide me through the process? 

Tech Support: Yes. I can help you. Are you ready to proceed?

Customer: Well, I’m not very technical, but I think I’m ready. What do I do first? 

Tech Support: The first step is to open your Heart. Have you
located your Heart? 

Customer: Yes, but there are several other programs running now.
Is it okay to install Love while they are running? 

Tech Support: What programs are running ? 

Customer: Let’s see, I have Past Hurt, Low Self-Esteem, Grudge
and Resentment running right now. 

Tech Support: No problem, Love will gradually erase Past Hurt
from your current operating system. It may remain in your permanent
memory but it will no longer disrupt other programs. Love will
eventually override Low Self-Esteem with a module of its own called High
Self-Esteem. However, you have to completely turn off Grudge and
Resentment. Those programs prevent Love from being properly installed.
Can you turn those off ? 

Customer: I don’t know how to turn them off. Can you tell me how?

Tech Support: With pleasure. Go to your start menu and invoke
Forgiveness. Do this as many times as necessary until Grudge and
Resentment have been completely erased. 

Customer: Okay, done! Love has started installing itself. Is that
normal?

Tech Support: Yes, but remember that you have only the base
program. You need to begin connecting to other Hearts in order to get
the upgrades. 

Customer: Oops! I have an error message already. It says, “Error
- Program not run on external components.” What should I do?

Tech Support: Don’t worry. It means that the Love program is set
up to run on Internal Hearts, but has not yet been run on your Heart. In
non-technical terms, it simply means you have to Love yourself before
you can Love others. 

Customer: So, what should I do? 

Tech Support: Pull down Self-Acceptance; then click on the
following files: Forgive-Self; Realize Your Worth; and Acknowledge your
Limitations.

Customer: Okay, done.

Tech Support: Now, copy them to the “My Heart” directory. The
system will overwrite any conflicting files and begin patching faulty
programming. Also, you need to delete Verbose Self-Criticism from all
directories and empty your Recycle Bin to make sure it is completely
gone and never comes back. 

Customer: Got it. Hey! My heart is filling up with new files.
Smile is playing on my monitor and Peace and Contentment are copying
themselves all over My Heart. Is this normal? 

Tech Support: Sometimes. For others it takes awhile, but
eventually everything gets it at the proper time. So Love is installed
and running. One more thing before we hang up. Love is Freeware. Be sure
to give it and its various modules to everyone you meet. They will in
turn share it with others and return some cool modules back to you. 

Customer: Thank you, God.

There's something about turning 30

I feel funny about turning 30, which is soon. Well, make that turning 30, having yet to find a partner and still having my clothes washed by mom. I suddenly feel like a teenager all again, struggling between finding independence and wanting - still - that connection with a parent. Then again, maybe struggling is not the right word to use, because I don't think I really struggle. It's more like, there's a funny kind of tension. It makes me feel like I want to pack my bags and leave for another country, yet I'm thinking how is that independence when my heart still loves being right here at home. It would be so much easier and normal to step out of home because I need to start life anew with another person, with whom I would build a new home. So how do people like me find a balance between these two seemingly opposing forces? Or can they co-exist? Well, for starters, in a weird sort of way, learning to cook from mom seems to make me feel all grown-up. Appreciating the weekly trips to the wet market in Pasir Ris, memorising the shapes of leafy vegetables there, trying to understand what chia bah (lean pork) is, and recognising this particular uncle at Kovan market who sells the cheapest chicken wings in town.... They are all strangely therapeutic, and for some reason, help me to find some balance.

Life in progress

Clearing my book cabinet is somewhat like leafing through the pages of my life, again. I could have come across the same yellowing bookmark a year back, or thumbed through the same Christian literature my dad left behind, but the feelings and thoughts, though familiar, are never really the same. I know I will probably never read the Christian books my dad loved buying, but I always put them back in the same place - just in case. I know I will probably never re-read the Chinese books I'd bought back in my teen years, but I still keep them - just in case. Then there are the books that I wonder why I never just threw them out 2 years back. Because, today, when I look at them again, I don't even hesitate to dump them in the waiting plastic bag - to be given away. And then, there are the precious mementoes I have collected over the years. Lyrics of songs I'd written; beautiful handwritten letters penned to me by an old man who loved travelling the world and whom I'd interviewed during my days as a journo; and an old programme booklet of a photography exhibition held at The Substation by a dear friend, when we were all wide-eyed journalism students at university. Looking at these keepsakes, I am amazed that my nondescript brown cabinet stores items of value that can stir up such strong feelings within me. I think I am feeling restless again. I wonder what the future holds? 

half of me

Half of me wants you to acknowledge, even if you can't see.

Half of me thinks for you, and all that you want to see.

All of me sees the outside that supposedly protects.

Some of me sees the inside that surely hopes the outside would never crack,

Crack and reveal, but perhaps heals.

I think, I can only wait. And carry on to feel.

For Cement Boy.

The Genesis Project - A Christian Songwriting Festival

Every time I hear people say "I wrote this song after a breakup", I always think it's so darn cheesy. I mean, get a life dude. But now, I'm going to say the same. Yet at the same time, it's also not really the same. You know how when you say something and there's that uncomfortable nudge that presses against your heart? Yeah, that's how I feel when I say "I wrote this song after a breakup". I did write it after, but NOT because. And that's the difference. I wrote it because I was beginning to realise that I didn't need to belong to anyone except God my Father. Man was created to have a companion, and therefore it is only natural for us to yearn for one. However, I am starting to understand that I can only really "settle down" when I know ultimately that God is the one to whom I belong - no one else. On earth, I am only on loan to my partner, and this nugget of wisdom I gained from Darren and Mel's wedding sermon by that Methodist lady pastor (how out of the blue, but it only proves that God was speaking to me)...

And hence, this song started out with this verse that Chye Aik shared at a sermon...
"I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." Psalm 27:13 (NKJV)

I Belong
V1
I'm just a sentimental freak
Standing at the crossroad of hello and goodbye
The further I walk the deeper I'm lost
Where do I begin
Where do I begin

V2
Give me a home where I belong
Somewhere this wild heart can stop running and breath
I need a place to end this insanity
Bring me back again
To where you begin

Chorus
Cos I belong, I belong to you
I belong, I belong to you
You've given me the sweetest hope that I could hold on to
You've given me eternity in my heart
In my heart

V3
I've found a place to lay my head
A sweet salvation for this darkest hour
I would have lost heart unless I'd believed
In your loving goodness
In this broken world

Bridge
I had to throw my faith in something I could not see
When I believed in what seemed like emptiness
You gave me security

My Soul Sings

Wayne and Libby Huirua, pioneers of New Zealand's Parachute Band, visited my church again to conduct worship workshops. I had the privilege to play the synthesiser with them, as they lead worship for the congregation. But really, what ministered to me most was Libby's sharing about the song she wrote when she had to undergo an operation some weeks back, to remove 3 cysts from her throat. Being a singer (and a real good one), she was really afraid that she would lose her voice as a result of the operation. It was during that period that God spoke to her, and asked if she could still worship Him even if she could not sing anymore. In a situation like that, worship can only rise from deep within - in silence. And, it is a choice to worship. I've been wondering lately how it is even possible to shift my focus from myself to the others around me, when things have been so difficult that I feel quite overwhelmed. Frankly, I've been trying very hard to be less self-centred. And Libby's song really sums up all I've been trying to say, even if it's just so hard. This theme of worshipping God for who He is, and not what He has done, really seems to run through my life. And may probably run the course of my life.

My Soul Sings
(By Libby Huirua)

Words are not enough to describe the majesty of God
There’s a sound of worship rising up from deep within my heart
In the place of silence
I find a way to praise you
In the place of silence
I find a way to praise you still

It’s a new place from a new heart
It’s a new day
My soul sings
My soul sings
As I reach to God-alive

Beyond the words
Beyond the songs
My soul sings
My soul sings

I will be still and know
You are God
I will be still and know
You are God

Live

I run.

And the world rushes by in a frenzied blur.

I look for the end, but it seems slow in arriving. Too slow.

Or is it, that I'm running away, and not towards?

I stop.

I pant.

I heave a sigh of relief.

I look up.

And the world stops, almost.

I look around.

And the world releases its sights, its smells.

And the world reaches out to touch me.

Or, do I reach out to touch it?

The occasional stranger walks by.

Smiles awkwardly, chats about the weather and walks on.

I linger at that moment. Smile, and I walk on.

Light chat is nice.

Yes, I'm back at the crossroad.

Or, is it a different crossroad?

This time, I want to take it slow.

For Lord, you will lead me beside the still waters.

And lay me down on green pastures.

Amen.

Release, relief

Title: eye peering out of blue egg shell


Title: jack in a box

Over the three-day experiential and creative arts therapy course, we had produced art pieces of seemingly ordinary experiences. The topmost one (Title: eye peering out of blue egg shell) was a response to having to move to a piece of music played. The one below it (Title: jack in a box) was a response to a 15-minute wordless stroll with a fellow participant at Fort Canning Park.

At the end of the three days, we were told to look over our artwork to find common themes. I remembered what F said about my drawings being about "boxes", and how she would not have thought about drawing "boxes", and I went hmm... Interestingly, yes.

And after much thought, one theme emerged and fit for me: When I release my grief and fear, then I experience relief and comfort.

I've been such a closed up person all my life, afraid to let others know how I really feel. If I could describe myself, I would be a bottle with a tight cap. It was the need to be strong for myself, and for the people I love, that I refused to be opened. I was afraid to imagine what it would be like to be vulnerable, and how that would affect those close to my heart. So I remained closed.

But. Now, I'm glad. Glad that I'm releasing. Because I'm finding relief. And the best part is, I find that I'm not hurting myself or those I love. And I'm healing. Great stuff.

Title: boy and girl

Title: boy and girl

Crossroads

I'm currently attending a course on experiential and creative arts therapy. Today, a very brave participant volunteered to be the client, so that the trainer could conduct a counselling session to show us how a session could be conducted using creative arts therapy. We, as the viewers, were asked to do different tasks as we watched the session going on. I was one of those who was supposed to draw whatever key images came to our minds as we observed the client.

I found myself connecting with her in a way I could not verbalise, and it was a really powerful experience for me. As I watched her draw her beginning experiences of her current relationship, and tell stories from her drawing, I resonated with her at certain points.

And, I found myself picking up my crayons and start sketching the night he asked me to be his girlfriend. With a vague grey crayon, I drew the bridge and the full moon. With a dark blue crayon, I sketched the ripples of the water. And on the embankment, I filled in two almost invisible stick figures - one boy, one girl - holding hands. And, I held my heart tight.

When the counselling session ended and the viewers were asked to volunteer the responses they would like to share with the client, a fellow participant recited a poem she'd written for the client. And, one word, "crossroads", hit me. Pretty hard.

As I walked home later, I couldn't stop my tears. It has been one major crossroad for me this year. It was either one or the other, and my heart broke when I had to choose. Now, as I picture myself at the crossroad, I know I only had one way to walk. And I took that step. But I had to leave a part of me behind. If you ask me how big that part is, I really don't know. Nevertheless, a part is still a part. And it hurts.

As an important person told me, rest in the Lord like how you need a rest at night. I am resting because it is not hard. But when the tears flow (and they haven't flowed much at all), my heart clenches up again. I want to rest, till my heart releases that grip and can only ache that little bit.