Moving

Am moving. For those who'd like to come, I'd love to have you. Just ask, but I won't post it here.

With open ears

I hear you. So clearly. So gently.

I trust you Lord, with all that I am,
from the very depths
of my soul.

I trust You.

From the rooftops :)

My heart is full.

Fishpies

We have holes in us we can't mend;

they are much too deep, much too wide

We try (but they hurt)

It. The hardest part of all,

the most difficult thing to perceive

It. That which moves us to try (again)

But stays our hand

Is the invisibility, ineffability, imperceptibility

of how -

I wish. I could come back to the place of almost there

I wish. (Of) almost bare

But some things broken cannot be mended;

Some things just break.

The Unspoken

Lately it seems as if words are too much.

What is spoken cannot be taken back; and this Christmas I realised that many things need not be said. It is actions that matter; it is change that counts. This holiday was about a marking of change and as per my usual inclination, I defaulted to words. Words mark occasions. But I saw something different. As I engaged with each person, family or friend, I saw each person in his or her own space, his or her own struggle, his or her own walk. I saw that there was no desire to communicate this experience, no desire to cross-talk; rather, what was resolved personally would soon come out in how he or she would live his or her life thereafter. Change in actions, in deeds, not in words.

So this holiday, the reticence between all of us, - all of the unspoken - I realised, was not about disengaging but about engaging in a new way. And in honesty, I'm struggling to make sense of the how. I struggle with the comparmentalised places in all of us; things now reserved and unable, perhaps unwise to share. I think I failed tonight. I put words to observations that should remain acknowledged only in our hearts; they need not be spoken aloud. For some seasons are too delicate, perhaps too painful (or uncomfortable) a transition, to be marked. Just as Fall passes into Winter by the mere sign of frost on a branch, we need not speak what will become so obvious, what time will reveal.

Two thousand and nine

And then one day you realise that you're not little girls anymore; and that everything - everything - has changed. A different season, but no less good.

London at the weekend

Date: Saturday, 13 December 2008
Time: 6:00 pm (photo taken after the play)
Event: 'August: Osage County' at the National Theatre (in the Lyttleton)
Preceded by: the most amazing lunch at Borough Market under London Bridge
Can't wait to show: Can and Dan when they come next year!!! Delicious!
Favorite character: the fishmonger I bought my lunch from
People: Seb, Chin Hwa, myself
Best purchase: our matching 'English umbrellas'
in a shoppe in Spitafields

Verdict: one very fine day