Nine days into the new year, and I'm already swamped with work. If I wrote the previous statement just last week, it should be read in a dead, complaining voice. But as I'm writing it now, excitement fills me.
Just seven days ago I remember my cheeks being damp from the overwhelming expectations that came with this particular semester. Just seven days ago I was on the verge of letting it all go, meeting the most minimal of requirements and craving for a way to quit. And heck, it was only the second day of 2017.
Hustling culture is very real now, in this age of idealistic millennials. Bombarded with messages on facing the grind, on working for your goals, and on visualizing your wanderlust has filled the social media as my peers started to enter university while older friends began to arrive in the workforce. It's all good and inspiring when you're in the get-up-and-go mood, but hustling culture punches you real hard when you're just... not feeling up to it.
It's superficial, I feel. It's all goals and tasks and wins and money and success and dreams. It's so easy to lose sight of what's important, especially as a person who follows Christ. Hustling culture sugarcoats itself in the wonders of working hard for what you want. It presents itself as a solid, foundational purpose on which youths can base their lives on, because it's a win-win situation for everybody. Working hard pleases your boss, gets you a raise, makes your parents proud, and ideally gets you to where you want to be. Friends are envious, siblings beg for your help and seniors praise you for your hustle. It's inspiring and exciting, until you realise that the novelty of achieving a goal satisfies only one person: yourself. Being self-centred is a dangerous (and very likely) problem when hustling.
When you hustle, are you taking time to rest intentionally? When you hustle, are you hustling so that your parents can retire comfortably? When you hustle, did you use your life to appreciate the huge bulk of fees your parents paid for you to study in the UK? When you hustle, did you make sure you are celebrating your friends' successes genuinely? And for my brothers and sisters in Christ, are you hustling with God by your side? Has hustling become more important than the One who saved you?
My first paragraph mentions my excitement. I am excited because having stuff to do is good. Having projects to work on and assignments to complete is good. But above all, I love the fact that it is now more than ever that I feel the genuine concern and love from those around me. It is now more than ever that I'm placing my trust in the One who blessed me with opportunities to study, to serve and to impact society. It is now more than ever that I'm learning to hustle, in a way that pleases my Father.
9.1.17
20.12.16
convicted.
noun
a firmly held opinion or belief
*
Conviction is a scary thing. It is also beautiful. I am, of course, speaking of it in the context of my faith.
I just came home from our church's teens camp, in which I was a facilitator (called 'Handler', in our lingo). Handlers were there to facilitate group discussions, to follow up on the teens' lives and to be an all-round lookout for the physical/emotional/spiritual safety & well-being of our campers.
I went to camp with the expectation to serve. My mindset was pretty firm on getting to know the teens a little better, guiding them closer to Christ through my words and actions, and to contribute to the camp the best that I could. Boy, was I in for a surprise.
It was the third day, and we had an hour of silence. We had this hour to meditate on Psalm 139, a passage in which King David speaks about God being all-knowing, all-present and all-powerful. These verses hit me like a ton of bricks:
Search me, O God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
Point out anything in me that offends you,
and lead me along the path of everlasting life.
[Psalm 139:23-24]
Without going too much into private detail, let's just say I broke down. Privately, and in front of the group of teens I led as I shared what I experienced. I was vulnerable and totally pierced by the force of God's whispers. He spoke to me in ways I never imagined; so much so that I lost track of time and returned to the hall half an hour later than the others.
I didn't know how a conviction felt till that hour. I never felt so strongly about something; something that I couldn't structure into a tangible, audible sentence. My perspective has never been this new, this fresh, that everything I see now is tinted with something indescribable, something of Christ. I was securely held by the still voice of God, and I had my guard down for the rest of the camp. I was open and I was strong, and yet I felt weak, too. It's complex, but I now understand.
Revelation after revelation followed, and it left me in awe. It felt like I got to know an old friend much better than I've ever had; but yet, I was in complete reverence of this King who came down to embrace me. I felt safe in His arms, and yet I trembled with respect for the God who created me. It was a completely new feeling, and yet it's like I came home to the place I grew up in.
Thank You, Father. Thank You for Your love, Your mercies and Your grace so undeserving.
24.10.16
screens and dandelions
She smiles to herself as she watches another heart-warming video of a soldier coming home. She gives a small snort as another meme appropriately describes a friend's story. She rolls her eyes as another PPAP parody blares out of the speakers on her phone.
And after what seems like an endless conveyor-belt of stories on her Facebook news feed, she finds herself looking at something she already saw, and realises that she has been on Facebook for way too long. With two clicks and a press, she finds herself on Snapchat.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Her thumb mindlessly wades through hours of Snapchat stories, documented in noisy clubs, hipster cafes and college campuses. Her eyes take in frame after frame of badly-taken food photos, pretty faces of girls with dog snouts on them and distorted facial expressions. She puts filters on her own face, and amuses herself.
And soon enough, with two clicks and a press, she has wandered into the world of blue, blue Twitter. She scrolls through hundreds of mini blog posts that seem to amuse, offend, and interest her all at the same time. She taps on the little hearts, inviting a burst of red to symbolize her approval for a friend's funny thought. But as the swish of the timeline reveals zero new tweets, she moves on.
She teleports to Instagram, the vast world of visual images, moving and non-moving. Perfectly edited and symmetrical, she indulges in pictures of architecture, art and culture. And the food pictures, oh! What a stark contrast to the grainy cuisines on Snapchat. Other girls sweetly tucking their hair behind their ears, looking down at the ants on the gravel, being photographed by a compliant boyfriend admiring her beauty in a square frame. She wonders if she will ever experience the same thing.
Then a breeze moves across her face, and the voice of her baby brother chimes: "Look! Look what I found!" He holds up a bright, white dandelion, a brilliant grin plastered across his rosy cheeks.
She smiles, sets down her precious screen, and joins her brother in the warm, sunny backyard.
"That's a dandelion!" she tells him.
And after what seems like an endless conveyor-belt of stories on her Facebook news feed, she finds herself looking at something she already saw, and realises that she has been on Facebook for way too long. With two clicks and a press, she finds herself on Snapchat.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Her thumb mindlessly wades through hours of Snapchat stories, documented in noisy clubs, hipster cafes and college campuses. Her eyes take in frame after frame of badly-taken food photos, pretty faces of girls with dog snouts on them and distorted facial expressions. She puts filters on her own face, and amuses herself.
And soon enough, with two clicks and a press, she has wandered into the world of blue, blue Twitter. She scrolls through hundreds of mini blog posts that seem to amuse, offend, and interest her all at the same time. She taps on the little hearts, inviting a burst of red to symbolize her approval for a friend's funny thought. But as the swish of the timeline reveals zero new tweets, she moves on.
She teleports to Instagram, the vast world of visual images, moving and non-moving. Perfectly edited and symmetrical, she indulges in pictures of architecture, art and culture. And the food pictures, oh! What a stark contrast to the grainy cuisines on Snapchat. Other girls sweetly tucking their hair behind their ears, looking down at the ants on the gravel, being photographed by a compliant boyfriend admiring her beauty in a square frame. She wonders if she will ever experience the same thing.
Then a breeze moves across her face, and the voice of her baby brother chimes: "Look! Look what I found!" He holds up a bright, white dandelion, a brilliant grin plastered across his rosy cheeks.
She smiles, sets down her precious screen, and joins her brother in the warm, sunny backyard.
"That's a dandelion!" she tells him.
*
15.10.16
prayer.
God,
You hear my pleas for change
the thoughts becoming strange
i long to turn the page
of memories engraved
God,
poison and toxic build
tension, bitterness, guilt
i want my soul refilled
align me with Your will
God,
save this soul from sorrow
for the sake of tomorrow
Your light i will follow
my heart sinks although hollow
God,
Your will, not mine, be done
to Your eternal love i run
may i emulate Your Son
in His death, all battles won
God,
i rest in Your embrace
grace me with Your grace
wipe the tears off my face
as i live through these days
amen
5.9.16
bubbles and sunshine
She takes a deep breath as she picks up her pen, all ready to let her thoughts flow. A short story is brewing, taking form in her busy brain. It is threatening to spill out onto lined paper. The empty journal is hungry, thirsty to be soaked with the black ink from a Faber-Castell pen.
"A sad story. That gets people real good."
She is going to write a sad one. One with dramatic descriptions, a long-winded story line and an epic punchline. She is going to make herself cry with this story.
She starts to write. She pours every sorrow she has into make-believe characters. She digs up past hurts and bitterness, only to be buried again in fiction. Arguments, tears and death takes place in her created universe. Flourishing entrances, dramatic exits. You can almost hear the symphony and its mourning.
But then she stops. Her pen hovers over a dying mother. She thinks twice, thrice, four times. The world has enough sadness, does it not?
With a rude scratch, the pen flies across her precious storytelling. It is now null and void, invalid. Officially unfinished.
"Maybe I'll write happiness instead."
And so her pages begin to fill up with bubbles and sunshine.
"A sad story. That gets people real good."
She is going to write a sad one. One with dramatic descriptions, a long-winded story line and an epic punchline. She is going to make herself cry with this story.
She starts to write. She pours every sorrow she has into make-believe characters. She digs up past hurts and bitterness, only to be buried again in fiction. Arguments, tears and death takes place in her created universe. Flourishing entrances, dramatic exits. You can almost hear the symphony and its mourning.
But then she stops. Her pen hovers over a dying mother. She thinks twice, thrice, four times. The world has enough sadness, does it not?
With a rude scratch, the pen flies across her precious storytelling. It is now null and void, invalid. Officially unfinished.
"Maybe I'll write happiness instead."
And so her pages begin to fill up with bubbles and sunshine.
*
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