The Re-creation of Memories

Malay Village at Geylang Serai is a flop. A piece of history recreated only to be forgotten again. Left to decay, to rot, in plain sight of hundred of thousands of commuters who pass it by each day on their way to slog away their lives of mundane existence. In trains, in cars, in buses, on foot. Everyone moves forward. Move backwards, and you see neither where you are going, nor where you are coming from (the horizon devours the road from which you came, relentlessly). Where are you going ? Traditions, cultures, memories, they all die and fade away for a reason. People, places, come into and go out of your life for a purpose. Neccessity brings people together, cause wars, brings peace, parts lives, breaks hearts, tell stories... and makes one forget them.

Bringing back that which has gone quietly into the night of space and time serves no meaningful purpose. Building a house builds you a home as much as holding a girl's hand makes you her beloved. For all the cream that the government is supposed to be made off, I wonder what was going thru their minds when they built a shell, marvelled at their own ingenuity, and waited for the chick to move in. It never did, and what a brilliant waste of space in land scarce Singapore. Heck, at least you know where you can go to be alone.

You cannot buy culture. You can spend millions of dollars building a sprawling arts complex, but you cannot buy culture. You spend millions of dollars trying to recreate the memories that were, but shoot yourself in the feet when you import the culture that you have failed to nurture. Your glaring failure stares at you in the face everyday, everywhere. The fairer skinned among us monkeying their cousins from Japan and Korea, while the dark skinned ones ape their still darker skinned relations from the West. Heck, the only local thing about our culture is that it's pretty much Rojak.

Can you take parts of songs, string them up, and call it a new song ?

I need to go take a shower and stone some. Been feeling too lucid for my own liking.

Woof

This was supposed to be a poem, but I'm too lucid to write poetry. Too lucid, but drunk enough on the happenings of the day to be writing this.

It was perfect in it's ordinary-ness. This is the way that life is meant to be lived. This is the way I am created to live. This is the day that He has planned for me and I rejoice in His love, for me.

I left my life to God, and He did everything He promised and so, so much more. Thank you, thank you, thank you...

The difference between the faithful and the blind is choice.

Where the faithful chooses God in spite of everything else that he sees, the blind chooses instead not to see.


It is sad sometimes though, to see Christians robbed of the joy of knowing the full extent of His love because of their misguided faith. It is painful to know that beneath the layers of delusion that they wrap themselves in to keep themselves 'happy', they do not know joy anymore.

Hell does not exist where there is no God, it exists where one feels compelled to convince oneself of His existence where all there is to do is to accept that He simply is, has been, and always will be.

The Devil does not always come packaged with horns and a forked tongue, he also takes the form of the god that you have made up.