power

"Power unchecked leads to moral tyranny."

William Blake, as quoted by Tracy Chevalier in Burning Bright

This statement, that I just read from the aforementioned novel, had me sit up, alert. It stirred up the political in me. I remember reading from George Orwell's Why I Write, saying that one of the four reasons why writers do what they do, is because of their political opinion. By political he did not mean necessarily partisan or political revolutionary, nor dissension of any kind. But he meant that all writers are political in their opinion, always taking a point of view, or the other point of view, or preferring to stand in the middle - that being in itself a point of view.

I am definitely political in Orwell's sense of the word. I respect democracy and the justice it represents. I abhor elitism and present-day aristocracies, disguised in forms that may no longer be recognisable. Working on closing the income gap is close to my heart, which is why I choose to work with the poor and serve them, for them to achieve their hierarchy of needs. Power should be checked by justice and the ongoing right for others to choose. I desire principle and character over the economical and the material. Tempting man with the material makes him selfish, inspiring him with your character makes him emulate your principles and follow you. All these statements of belief apply between people anywhere and everywhere: in business relationships, in our leadership of others, in our acquaintances with people, in our extended families, in our friendships. It doesn't even have to relate to the government. Being political can really mean nothing in one's take on partisan politics.

Which is why even though I just like to write a lot here, a political statement like Blake's, really made me sit up. It made me take out my pen. It made my heart beat faster. It made me think about the crazies in the French Revolution and how the people must have felt, both the royal family and the commoners alike. No one should be killing or imprisoning anyone just because they represent an ethos or an echelon of society abhorred. It would be similar to the Myanmar government house-arresting Aung San Suu Kyi simply because she stood for democracy, or the jihad-ists killing themselves and others along it simply because they needed to make an anti-American point to the world. Power unchecked leads to moral tyranny. Be it whether the power is held by the ruling party, the people, or terrorists. It is all one and the same.

books!

The past couple of times I went into a bookstore to find materials for my teaching, I got hijacked by books on sale that I could devour myself. I have ended up taking entire duvet days just reading, and have already finished two books since Tuesday.

I remember when I stepped into Times at Marina Square, which I found after some calls to their office and some hobbling around, heavily laden with shopping, I felt such a surge of comfort. It was like an invisible air curtain that I stepped through at the bookshop's doorway, blowing comfort, safety and relief, telling me that I am in a safe haven now, at my favourite public place.

While bookshop aisles sometimes give me my claustrophobic stomachaches, stores these days are thankfully more spaced out, and a weekday crowd is less menacing, if not inviting for their shared love of books.

I intended, and successfully managed, to get some children's stories for my classes. After paying for them, at which I had happily flaunted my discount card, I got hijacked by the 3 for 2 book displayed, and promptly selected three books to pay for and bring home eagerly.

I am happy that my voracious reading appetite has returned.

still scared

I am still scared, but moving along with shreds and bursts of my inner self that seems stronger than I think it to be. Sometimes my new work seems easy, my ideas and ability to work on them somewhat reminiscent of my former capabilities, even if the work is new and foreign. Other times I keep thinking of how I can postpone my going to Batam, how I can start later and do less, because I feel I am not going to make it in time.

Today my small burst of work came from seemingly nowhere: I thought of the two shirts I bought for my dad and how I will see him later today, and suddenly I felt happy at the prospect because I hope he will like them. Then I got going on my computer while sharing my chair with Slinky, simply typing away at my work. I am not one for forming analytic patterns but it seems I got today going because I thought of small things I will be doing with or for my loved ones. Small enjoyments.

I feel like I have spent most of my working life in a mental breakdown, being in this depressive episode since maybe late 2006/early 2007, till now. This episode seems so much worse than my first one, my first episode seems merely like a bad stomachache. I know I cannot break down again, which is why it is vitally important for me to get better, to deal with all of my residual emotional issues that stem from my childhood. Doc says we still have 'so much to work on', and though it has been more than half a year since I started psychotherapy, all we have been doing is 'moving from crisis to crisis'. (I agree).

I hope I work everything out, and these niggling fears I have of work will not hinder me from doing what I love, which is still first and foremost, serving the basic needs of those who need it most.

I am now very fat E

takut

From being in a confused hardcore-recreationalist/workaholic state I am in a limbo they call procrastination. I have shit-loads of things to do before I leave for Batam again in September. But apart from dumping my clothes in the washing machine and taking out my notebook to plan my to-do list, I have done nothing. Na-da.

I am afraid of work. Takut. I am afraid I will not do well. So I procrastinate. Yet I know I should not be over-indulging in my gaming/sleeping/watching of films and playing with J. So this morning I sit stunned after I make him breakfast, while I smoke and write here. Stunned. No amount of coffee seems to jolt me into motivated action.

I have been having frustrating dreams of small irritating non-fictional events. Like yesterday, I dreamt of a room full of people talking at the same time, stressing me out. I scream and cry in my dream from the stress of a situation like that. I wake up feeling irritable, so much that I scream out loud, so much that I need a X*anax to calm me down. I sleep again after. Another day is gone, nearing my time towards 1 September.

I will be gone for three to four days a week by then, living in Indonesia. I need to get my lesson plans and classroom material ready by then, and yet while I know I can do it, I seem to also feel like I cannot. Hence my confused state.

Like Jesus said before he went to the cross, "Let this cup pass from me..." because he was sorrowful to the point of death for having to be betrayed and crucified. Yet he wanted Father God's will to be done. So he prayed

My work is my ministry, supernaturally fuelled, God-led. I shall go. Even if I am not fully recovered, I shall go. The best players play hurt.

I can't seem to find a balance between pure rest and recreation, and workaholism. My pending return to full-time work (almost) scares me and even though I try not to give my 200% I still feel stressed out and I know not how to be good at my work yet enjoy my life in terms of my hobbies and friends.

sekarang balik, tapi akan pergi ke Indonesia lagi

Excuse my broken Bahasa, but I really like Indonesia, and Batam is the gateway for me.

Alas, I am not a camera person; I have no pictures to document this second reconnaissance trip I just returned from. Only thoughts, words, and a decision.

I will write more soon, meanwhile, I need a rest.

i'm coming

I nudged my room door ajar and saw him through the crack. He looked worn out, inside and out. He had his Tag Heuer glasses off and was wiping his face, and was dressed in his work garb as he was for the entire day.

"You look shack," I said to him, myself just freshly out of the shower.

"Of course, it's Monday."

But I knew it wasn't just the Monday blues or the heavy Singaporean heat that made him look more tired than usual. J smiles even when he is sleepy.

He tried to sound cheery. "So, tell me everything that happened today, I wanna know!"

Today was a defining moment for my career. I might really be spending most of my every week in Batam, Indonesia, very soon. For how long, and for how semi-permanently, the plans are still unfolding.

I am excited. I worry about having to keep paying for this flat. I wonder about how much I will earn while I will save lots staying there. I think about Slinky. And I think about J.

"Don't worry, I will take care of myself," he says.

His countenance remains torn. I tell him he is acting really strong and supportive about my dreams, but I know inside he will be lonely without me. My words cut through his heart, because no matter how he tries to remain brave on the outside, I read his heart and mind completely.

There is a peace in my heart about J.

There is a definitive unction in my heart about going to Indonesia.

I just have to believe that God will allow both my career and my lover to co-exist as they never really have before.

useless

Too awake to sleep, too sleepy to be fully awake - that is the state I am now constantly in. I am sometimes too unwell, too tired, to fulfill obligations. Small setbacks send me drinking, and while I no longer drink to oblivion or knock myself out with medication, I control my angst and bitterness with writing and cigs. At least I am sober and calm.

On Tuesday I received my rejection letter from Brit Council regarding my course. My 'Language Awareness' and 'Written English' is not up to par.

But I am still going to that school in Batam for a reconnaissance trip next week.

I just hope I stay awake enough, and have enough energy to actually do anything useful again. The old E is a figment of the past and I am not even sure if she really ever existed, anymore.

What if I stay broken down forever, however hard I try? I have been scaling this rocky path for so long that even Chaco sandals will wear out on terrain like this.

I can't even go back to remove the ghosts in my past, because my relationship with my parents is my ghost. I can't bring up the ghost with them, because it would drive the ghost even further forlorn. The root of my depression is even more depressing than depression itself.

delusional

I suddenly have this feeling that everything is very unreal. Suddenly I am doubting that whatever companionship I have experienced in the couple of weeks was a fabrication on my part, a figment of my imagination. I can find physical clues to prove me wrong, but I could have bought and placed those clues myself all over my room. I have a feeling I really made this guy up. Like in that Audrey Tautou movie ( was it A la folie? Pardon my French).

I am not even sure I am real. Everything seems delusional, only instead of making up things that aren't there, I am under the pretension that I am making up things that are actually, probably, really there, but I don't believe my own sense of reality. Does that make any sense?

Probably not. I probably just cannot accept when good things happen to me, I believe the bad but not the good, which is why I make bad things happen all the time, at least I know those are real.

J, you are too good to be true.