My Title. My Profession. Not my Name.

I've been saying this the past months while gearing up to start Phd.  When friends start to call me Dr Nelma.  That I don't want to be named after my qualification.

I have the names given to me at birth.  And I have my self included few additional ones too.  There are already six of them.  That's already one too many names.  Only four of them are official.  Meaning they are written on my passport and other IDs.  Still too long.  Not to mention my Chinese name that's written and stamped on most important documents.

The title of 'Dr' can stay in my certificates where it belongs.  In official documents where I need it.  And be used to address me during official gatherings and functions.

Other than that, please call me by my first and middle names when the time comes.  Use my Chinese name if you wish.  I love my Chinese name.  Address me by my numerous nicknames.  Given to me by my very many friends back home and overseas.  Ny, Nelo, Nelco, Tigs, Nigel, and others. Every one of my name is special in its own way.  I didn't work hard in school to get them.  They are mine.  They represent me.  They are me.

It's true that I work hard in school and work.  I thrive there.  And for this very reason, whatever titles I earn while in school or work will stay there.  Where they belong.

Yes. Of course.  I'd always love me some acknowledgements.  Sure.  Just do it at the right time.  In the right place.

My title(s).  My Profession.  Not my Name.

Love, Ny.

Untimely longings

Yebo.  I get that a lot.  In season and out of season.

At times they are deep.  Other times shallow.

At times they are being met.  More often than not they are just passing by and caused or forced to move on.

Fleeting emotions.  At the pace of the minute hands of my living room clock.

My yearning feeling doth wait.  At times.  Yes.  Only at times.

I right a lot of things.  I also wrong a lot of them.  Ok probably much more than the things I right.

I right a lot of people.  And wrong a whole lot more.

I put the blame on those untimely longings.  They feel good.  But undesirable and unwelcomed when weirdness results.  I get restless.  Uptight and not loosened up.

Untimely longings.  They lead to doing without first thinking.  Humiliation follows.  Shame.  Awkwardness.

Untimely longings.

I shake my head in disgust.  I run out of things to say.  I pull back, go red and shut myself down.  Then I bow and escape.

I'm gone.

Love, Ny.

Lamingtons. The good stuff

The good stuff in life.  They come once in a while.  Just like lamingtons.

Coming from a lower middle class family, lamingtons used to be a bit expensive in primary school.  I go hungry just so I could have a piece during recess.  Then I'd have nothing for lunch.  And this actually happens like more than once a week. 

I learned my lesson and upon leaving primary school, I'd have lamingtons only on occasion.

Lamingtons are always good treats.  They represent the good stuff.  The stuff that we don't get all the time.  The special things.  The good times.  The treats in life.

Truth is, lamingtons will get eaten up eventually.  They go mold if left uneaten.  They are too sweet and would attract unwanted insects.  They don't linger long.  New ones have to be made every time.

Sad to say, lamingtons are temporary.

Good times are like lamingtons.  They don't stick around.  They leave, sometimes too soon.  Sometimes so unexpected.  Good people don't always stick around too.  They leave.  They depart.

Alas!  Good times, just like lamingtons, are momentary.

Savor the good times.  Appreciate the beauty of your present situation.  Every situation whether good or bad has its own beauty.  There's always a good in everyone you meet.  One just has to have the eye for it.

Be grateful for the people around you.  People matter.   Put family first.  Prioritise.

Life goes on.  Tomorrow will always come.  A new day.  A different time.  A change.

I still look forward to eating lamingtons whenever the chance arises.  I look foward to good times. Times of enjoyment.  I live for these times.  I spend my money on little temporary pleasures and lamingtons are still my faves. 

I am learning though.

I'm learning to have my own lamingtons.  They come in all situations, shapes and sizes.  I'm learning to learn from every situation I'm in.  Good or bad.  I'm learning from every encounter I have with every person I meet.  To accept that there's a reason for every meeting.  Whether long or short.

I'm learning to love my type of lamingtons.  The good stuff in life. 

My good stuff. They come every once in a while.  Seldom.  Other types quite often.  Still other types more often than expected.  More regular than I would have welcomed.  More bad than good.  More lows than highs.  More gloom than light.  But they are my good stuff in life.  They are my type of lamingtons.

I'm learning to speak beauty into my situation.  My highs and my lows.  My good stuff.  My lamingtons.  I love.

Love, Ny.

The in-betweens

Those moments in between moments of non-consciousness.  Those are the moments that bring back the most regrettable and most recent of dramas.  Dramas that have been caused by none other but the profoundly stupid persuasive me.
My regrets are always of things that I say and do that I think puts the other party off.
Why do I do stuff like that?  Why can't I take my time with non-pressing matters?  Why do I make a fool of myself?  Why am I always stupid with such things?  Why do I allow small things like that to stress me out?  Why am I annoying?  Why why why??????
I get on with my daily school work then hang out with friends.  But in between those major events, the moments in between seem to still control my days and nights.
Stolen moments change my attitude, make or break my days and take me back to embarrassingly crazy times.
I hate myself for those times.  Thinking about those times make me literally just wanna die right here.
The moments in betweens.  Please. Kill me.
......., Ny.

Degree of Master of Science!!!!

Got my Master's Degree Certificate today!!!!!

I'm speechless.

THANK YOU LORD!!!!!

Love, Ny.

Powerful Things

Powerful.  Touching.  Heart-rending.  Tear-jerking.  Stirring.  Powerful things.

Things that are not seen.  Things that are out of sight.  Out of the public eye.  But when manifested, the results are just so powerful.

So touching they bring tears.  They make the strong weak.  The weak strong.  They open one's eyes to possibilities never been disclosed before.  They open up the heavens.  Raining down miracles to the believer.  To those with open arms.

Preparation.

That's what it takes for someone to go up on stage, sing their heart out, belt the song, and touch their audience to the very core of their beings.

That was exactly what a favorite singer of mine did to me today.

Tears welled up in my heart and overflowed into my eyes as she beautifully sang her heart out.  It was a quiet, serene atmosphere and the crowd was a lovely passionate group of fans.  She took her time giving out a totally raw but very refined performance with her acoustic guitar.  An acoustic guitar player of her band stood three meters to her right, skillfully playing along with her.

It was heavenly.

It's true that a song can take you everywhere in time.  Back to the past digging up old memories.  Fast forward to the future where imaginations run wild and could even stop the hands of time.

This, however, was different.

This particular singer pushes me onward.  She inspires and motivates me towards every good work.  She makes me know that good things come to those who work.  Good luck really does go after hard work.

When in the silence and no one is in sight, time given to preparation and practice boosts energy.  Good things accumulate.  Powerful stuff grow wings.  Powerful wings so strong they break through every obstacle in the way.

When in the silence and no one is looking, construction and training puts everything in order.  Dreams take form and gradually make their way into the dreamer's waking reality.

Anything truly is possible when one puts his/her mind, heart and soul into his/her passion.

I gazed with my heart open, breathing in and absorbing every word, sight and emotion as she delivers an awesome masterpiece of bare emotive soulful sounds.  Her eyes were closed as she feels every single word, diffuses those feelings into the yearning listener's heart and effortlessly driving the song home.

Preparation and passion, with all honesty, devotion and persistence, without a doubt, sure does bring forth powerful things.

Unquestionable.  Powerful.  Things.

Love, Ny.

Did I say I loved the noise in the house?

Did I just say I loved the noise in the house?

Well my neighbors weren't in the same page with me.  We got scolded today.  Told off and told to keep the noise level down so people can sleep.

Happy people right?  Nah, just happy islanders.  The usual cheers of laughter cracking up our lungs.

We do really need to be located in some isolated island where no one will hear us.  Where we can burst our bronchitis or whatever those things are in our lungs.  Every hour in the house is noise-related.

But hey, we have good music too.  Good music cannot be called noise.  Ok maybe,  if everyone else in the house is humming along sounding like fierce roars of a group of wild lions attacking their prey.

Oh well.  Islanders.  More like crazy islanders.

What's new? It's the same everywhere and anywhere you find islanders grouping together.

Hand in hand we move quietly.  Moving in slow motion and silent rhythms.  Slow beats at very low volumes.

NOT.

We love you neighbors.  And we love ourselves too.

Love, Ny.