childhood..

I wonder why grownups are so much more stuffed up than kids?
They're so untouched and idealistic...
So we should be like that too right?
Is there something darkly appealing about allowing ourselves to hold on to that hurt inside..
And what if we hold on so long that when happiness comes we won't let it?
And children..children are just so beautiful (:
For long?
But then its okay, because there's always good in the world...there always is and always will be.
Though then I think I don't know anything..
And then, there's God.

Brooke's Arithmetic

I'm listening to Brooke Fraser's Arithmetic, I like it and its kind of like a little puzzle piece that fits on a biggg, baffling, intricate, amazing puzzleboard.

It's odd how I know that, because right now it seems like the puzzleboard's disappeared.

Anyway, the point is, this is a comment someone wrote to her song on youtube, i really like it. I know it's oh so true and I can feel it, I kinda just feel like I can't express it that way right now, I feel much too mellow and spent.

"Brooke's math adds up. God = Everything! Jesus is the greatest treasure in the universe. When you find Him, you find everything you need! "

Yeah. That's good. (:

Love to all (:

etherworld

Sometimes it seems to me that technology has no place in this world; when there is a time where technology and all its firm facts and cold metal seems to detract from the beauty that is around. Looking out a large glass window with white sparrows painted on at weathered brick buildings while wordless piano music lilts in the background...

People chatter occasionally, yet even they seem touched by the sultriness in the room - they only whisper. Silence prevails and the hum of the airconditioner is lulling, my table softly lit. I'm loathe to pull out headphones to listen to my own music. There is music all around..a complexity of undercurrents with nothing threatening to dominate. Rarely in life do we find such harmony...yet it is a paradoxical harmony because as peoples' talk fills in the wordless music, they fade into a mist behind my head, over my head, and at such times I hardly know what the focus of my mind is. When you don't want to shut your eyes but let them glaze...

when maybe if someone else were next to me, i wouldn't have been able to push past the drone in the walls, push it apart like they were heavy, heavy curtains. But i have and it's like landing in a place where there is nothing, but everything in background behind you. In front of you you know is a white wall of nothing, but oh, its such utter beauty because the white wall is like a meadow, then like the perfect swaft of colours, no angles, all flowing..everything is muted.

Peace. But peace not within..peace without. Peace without that doesn't allow you to think, doesn't allow you to feel. Nothing sad; happiness a distant memory; the times when you know eye contact can break your reverie...you couched in your solitude of stillness.

intricacy

Everyone has ideas and thoughts and dreams of their own that are so vulnerable and that are entirely deserving of being cherished and appreciated in the gentlest, sweetest manner. Delicate, feathery, fragile wishes floating around, maybe just under the surface of conscious current, surfacing occasionally. I'm astounded and ovewhelmed at the magnitude of it that you can see. People with heads bent, they're doing their work, but there, in that corner in the red shirt and headphones, can you see it simmering? Not one person can fully appreciate every other person's inner world; too unworthy to hold it, maybe we can try? I know God can, but also ... and I'm going to let this trail because completing it discovers something I might not want to know.

simplicity

What is simplicity?


Tell me.



I'm not sure what it is anymore (if I ever knew) and I want to find it to see if it will fit in my world.


Lots of love,
Me.

brimming over

I'm just wondering about the different worlds that people inhabit. Not imaginary worlds of our own creation, the different lifes people have. What is my world, my sphere, and what is yours? Am I living in life or is life living through us? There's a man with a cord jacket over there, a girl with knee high black boots and studs in her ear. Where is the similarity and common ground that we can find? If I look at you, what do you want me to see? Do you want me to make assumptions about the world you live in or would you rather tell me? Do you enjoy the anonimity moulds afford? What am I talking about? Where do i fit?

Questions questions that I don't bother to find the answer to. I'm looking for something and I have a faint idea, no maybe much stronger, of what I'm looking for. There is an Almighty God up there, in here. It's suddenly struck me in recent times it's the intangible and maybe the imagination that's so real, so much realer. I'm seeking for something, yearning for something and I can feel that longing. At the same time I'm brimming over. Brimming over with unspent and inexpressible somethings.

Life. Hold it tenously, lightly. When you float you experience the prettiest sensations. (:

three words

God is awesome.



<3<3<3<3

Stars, come back.

Dear God,

I know You can help me and I can turn to You, but I know that I resist resist resist, though finally I will succumb to Your mercy.

I love You...

----------------------

I want to turn myself over in bed and bury my head in the pillow and cry myself to sleep. A dark film passes across my mind and I moan because I know now it means I have to claw harder to find my way back into whatever is praiseworthy and excellent. A whirlpool of torment that I've possibly created for myself. I look at you and wonder if you can feel or know how deep one can fall within and soar without. But in return I smile because it's a beautiful form of disarmament. I want to be silent, remote and aloof. Yearning, yearning, each time brings death. I want to shut myself in and weep. It's inexplicable and comes with the darkness of night. The stars and the moon are normally there for me to remind me of that glimmer of light but tonight they fail. In their place is a hazy maroon sky that is precisely hazy and murky. Just like me inside. It bleeds red. Red that mixes with black, black darkness. Inky darkness that pulls out slowly from their circle edge.

But tomorrow when I wake with the morning the sky will be blue with the winking sun, and I'll wonder why once again I've let myself slip into the cracks of this selfchosen path. The path is framed with whimsical trees whose branches overhang, but there are cracks. Jagged cracks. Sometimes, if I skip fast and blissfully enough in the day, I might miss them in the night.

Dark night. Goodnight.

Poetry

Poetry for the title, because some german words don't sound nice enough :p

I realised that my mind tends to wander and springboard off the stuff lectures are about into different things...and i've decided this is the fault of the lecturer because when i only listen and not think it starts to happen :p because its only in my art lectures that it happens. Or maybe you could say arts are more capable of producing individual thought :p :p

I was in lit lecture...talking about Wilfred Owen's 'The Send-Off' (it's good and very nicely lyrical) and one of the lines in the poem just started me thinking...

Thinking that I want to write my own poem about lanes and gates wreathed with flowers and vines, and 'faces grimly gay'.

But poetry is more difficult because there are certain rules governing it..you can be ruled by it and create a poem with a message but maybe lacking lyricism, or you can grasp an understanding of the rules of structure and form poetry must have, and then exploit it to create an explosive poem.

For example, a sonnet has fourteen lines, two stanzas of four and two of three with each line having a set number of syllables. If I stuck to that I'd just be bound and frustrated (this applies to other things as well lol) but if i knew that, i could push a point by making a line with an aberrant number of syllables! Isn't that exciting! (:(: haha

On that note...is it order in chaos that structure gives? I don't know what I want to write...a poem where the form yells of order in chaos, or chaos and unbridled emotion restrained by order? Which is more powerful and for what purpose? And then, barely restrained, depressedly and brokenly restrained, or spilling, pushing and fighting over?

I don't know...I wish I could make a picture. Have you seen Nurofen for babies ad? I like the picture (: But, if I could make a picture, maybe then it would find some substance and give me something to hold. Doesn't it make things ten times more accessible to human emotion? I try hard to create and evoke with words and textures...but at best the result might be clear and sharp, but intangibly, and therefore unfulfilled. It leaves me with an expressed but unfulfilled desiring.

Dependant on subject and circumstance, I guess. I guess what I'm saying is...feelings I think are easier expressed in pictures, if you can create the right one. It can be expressed in words, but in the creation and stringing together of words, somehow the intangibility still remains. I create the picture in my mind and mould it into words, but because the perfect picture is in my mind, floating, it feels so unfulfilled and then there's this longing..because the words had to be so layered, so textured, so complicated to evoke that emotion. The picture could be succint.

Do i make sense to you?

I'm going to go get sushi now. (:

Liebe

I had a really nice weekend...slept over at Jiali's house with Nancy and Rowie, and then had lunch today with Ishen and Eunice.

The events are seemingly unrelated, but this weekend through them I realised again how much friends mean and what a great comfort they are. I learnt how important it is to be honest and open with them and how much it helps when we are, and that better relationships are built through them. So now I'm writing this not like my other posts. I doubt that anyone will understand what I said in my previous post - that was the point, i wasn't going on tangents...but I guess they can be really frustrating and pointless to read..sorry!

Well, holidays are over! I had a nice break, and uni should be fun too.

I love my friends very much! This is a direct thank you for being there and being so loveable and lovely, yes, you. (: (:

One more thing...just had to say that God is so absolutely and breathlessly beautiful. love, love, LOVE!

Über dem Garten

Fifty five times before, I made a decision. This fifty sixth time I set it in stone. It was heavy, and the stone got dropped. Now it lies in irreparable pieces.

I'm stepping back, I say my fifysixth goodbye, my first public one.


"His mercies never come to an end, they are new every morning." Me too, tomorrow.


The light shines still through the clouds.

Please catch me before I couch it.

People walk around the garden, a circle, each one possibly unaware of the webs that overhang and interlock them.



In choosing this, become seemingly unrelated.






Joyfulness underpins.

Die Charmeschule - Nelson DeMille

I just want to commemorate the most romantic gift i've heard of in my eighteen years...in

Nelson DeMille's 'The Charm School'

It's not what it sounds like - a prissy girls school thing, its a story of history and espionage, and rather intriuging.

The commemoration goes to Seth Alevy, who gave Lisa Rhodes "a string of amber beads in a satin box"...

If you read it, I hope you understand and think so too...its so very poignant.

...

Okay after leaving it for one night I couldn't bear that you wouldn't know the absolutely poignancy of this gift, so I'm going to undertake to retell it for you in a way that will spoil the subtlety of the mini saga. But i think the facts enough might be sufficient to persuade you...

Seth Alevy and Lisa Rhodes are old flames, and they both work in the American embassy in Russia. They're old flames, so in the book Lisa and a guy Sam Hollis fall in love. Seth is the CIA chief, Lisa a PR officer, Sam the head air attache (as in, spy). They're all working together to uncover the Russian Charm School.
Seth still loves Lisa, and "[Lisa] did love him. Or had once loved him. But somehow, being involved with him meant being involved with his world, and she didn't like that. It was too dangerous."
To get to the point, Lisa and Sam were captured, Seth and others went on a rescue. (Oh dear me in the story it was 50 times more tense and difficult.) Seth knowing he would probably die bought Lisa a string of amber beads, which he gave to her before he ran off to do his tactital operations etc. He did die, and I just feel so comforted knowing that he left Lisa something. It's also utterly romantic for the fact that he didn't ever once try to break them up, although he could have saved only Lisa and not Sam.

The love story was hardly hardly hardly at all the focus in this story, but I loved the fact that it was there. It made the entire thing so much more...humane and accessible - to me.

That's it. (: I hope you like it!

langweilig

Hello all, i love you (: you know what, i say it a lot but i still do mean it! i mean, i say it only because i mean it.

Anyway, i just wanted to let you know that I'm tired of airing my opinions on a blog, airing opinions in such an uninterrupted and lengthy manner...im not tired of writing, but i just personally feel that me airing my opinions is rather pithily opinionated. I really do appreciate you reading them and even more for responding, but in the meantime I'm feeling utterly inadequate to be musing on human life and the condition of it and presumptuous to have done so. Having said that, I love people and the life, actual life, i see around me. It's just getting slightly complicated and rather more difficult to reconcile to past and present ideals. It's as if each person had their ideals forged into pieces of parchment, each one neatly bordering another's, floating..mine's slightly frayed at the edges at the moment, charred that alluring blackbrown..maybe I should leave it as such...

That is a thought. I don't think it'll ever fit back into the same niche it had before though. Either way, I suppose, it's quite fine? Perhaps not, but we shall see. (: With that though, I must add that I adore reading your blogs, simply because they make me agree, make me laugh, make me wonder, and because I think words are such beautiful, truthful, yet manical things. And because I like you, of course.

I don't know if you understand what I say...not that you're dull, of course :P but because a friend of mine said that it was difficult to.

There's one thing I want to note, though. The other day, I saw a whole trail of ants. I was sitting there just watching them and realised there were two lines, one going one way, the other the opposite way. Each time an ant passed by another ant going the opposite way, it stopped to like, touch noses or talk or whatever them cute ants do - without fail! I was impressed (: And then I saw a black speck that was not moving, but all the ants stopped by it. Closer inspection showed it to be a dead ant...the poor thing. ): They were all stopping by to pay homage, and I really do wonder what they thought and what they felt. I felt so sorry for this one especial ant, that just stayed beside that dead ant for the entire time I was watching the ants...it really did look so sad. You might not have seen an ant look sad but I assure you that ant positively was drooping its little antennae things...if they have them. It was sad!! And it was so loyal. ): Poor ant. They really do make you think.

Anyway I think I'm curious about a great too many things that would probably not do to ask, and I think I finally do realise how curiousity could possibly kill the cat in a normal context for the idiom. You know, not like, I wonder where that gunshot came from but just generally in this universal, intricate world of ours.

After much of that random thinking, though, I have to add that no matter how much I think and muse and ponder, the only solution that I can find really is God..So simple, yet so intangible!

And there was this morning I got awoken early, and though I couldn't see the sky, I just absolutely felt and could see in my mind, a red morning with a purple overlay, an interwoven twig with two chirping birds. The birds really were chirping, and it was just such a cause for my soul to sing with the world. :D

Anyway, love to you all and respect if you get this far haha. (:

von meine Chinesischlehrerin

The passions of life and love that I wonder about as I look, really look at the people around me. The outward surely while at times an apt enough expression of the inner, cannot and must not be able to do justice to the multitude of emotions and depths of vulnerability in the human soul......

Yet maybe it's more advisable to remember and recount the happiness - in fields of grass against blue skies...

Either way, the masses around us are people, and they feel and laugh and hurt like you do.

in chinesisch klasse

I wonder what it'd be like to live in the days of cultural revolution - be it in Europe or China. Assuming I could read and write and think, what views would I have and what books would I write? As it is, now in our twentyfirst century, surely there exists something fresh to be written about, or at least something pertinent and able to ignite the dormant souls of civilised man...

Or are we so awakened and sensorially aware that it makes it so much easier for us to neglect or repress something deeper? So liberated and emotionally expressive that we mistake the tugs of the heartstrings?

I can't say I have answers...but I do think they might be found in history and the literature of times and upheavals past....with so many teachings and so capable of sparking intrigues. Of all the books I've read, though, only one can not only provoke thought as well as remain applicable perennially, and that's the logos word of God.

Bitte warten

Is there anything to be said for the passivity of waiting to be found or more for seeking to be found?

Someday I'll elaborate.

Der Ballon

I had an odd dream last night. It was long, but the main thing is that I was a green balloon with a string. Then towards the end, after jumping down a wall, I found myself with friends - who I don't know and there were two humans, a monkey with a long tail and some other friends who were not humans...animals of some kind. But cute, you know. - and we were being ushered into a room. We sat down and we were all worried because we had to find a solution to a problem - how to pump me back up with air because I was deflating. The dream continued but,

the point that struck a chord with me - a simple, plaintive, tumultous one - was the thing I felt while I was slowly fading away but seeing everyone around me.

Just a thought.

Gott und der Himmel

"Its just that I think God is so awesomely perfect, and its just something so indescribable."

Yesterday we were in Alexander Gardens just lazing in the sun...it was really pretty. Then that's what I realised.

<3

Valentinstag <3<3

Happy Valentine's Day (: (:

It's odd. I never knew, but i realise that i expected today, valentine's day, to be different from any other calendar day. Not different personally, but i think i was looking for the atmosphere in the whole of Melbourne to be different - brightened, you know? Filled with anticipation of the what if and excitement as people have little heart shaped dreams fulfilled. But from morning to afternoon while commuting to manyyy different places, i didn't see anything to convince me today was different; an alien would hardly have imagined that today was valentine's day. It is sad... (Apart from anna thang - you absolute darling.)

Then on the way home from chaddy, I saw lots of avila girls at the station and the busstop, and I couldn't help but smile and feel so, so happy! They were crossing the road, idling by the train station, standing in groups chatting; but the difference is that there were girls holding little bears, prettily wrapped flowers, longstemmed roses. Wrapped in red, it just couldn't help but catch attentions. It was absolutely charming. If I distance myself from them by the fact that I'm not in high school any longer, I have the 'right' to say this. :P

Valentine's day in one aspect is very, very commercialised, but even so, surely we can keep the spirit and tradition alive, personally? It's all very worthy to be anti-establishment as we grow older and more world-wise, but there's just something so very refreshing and happiness-inducing to see the high school kids get caught up in valentines day. Admittedly there are politics and competition involved in the high school world, and maybe it's not very nice if you didn't receive anything - there are always other years - but i do wonder why i see it less and less as people age. Is it done because it's the done thing of the day? Or is it childish?

Because I really do trust that at the heart of valentine's day, it is the simple profession of love from someone to another. It's just so, so sweet to see those girls carrying those longstemmed roses, and it just makes me feel warm and so fulfilled in an odd way inside (: I think it's such a time-treasured way. Maybe, only just maybe, we're too smart for our own good by being anti-establishment and anti-commercialism and anti-whatthereis, and maybe some things can be taken at face value? For the sweet nature they were given in, and for the simple delight they bring, and even if it's not so, maybe we can keep believing it. Because it does make me happy.

Der Traumbaum

Do you know when dreams mix with reality? It's like the dream plant grows a tendril that overhangs into the sweet, calm river. Then it grows so that the curly tendril with its furriness is dipped into the river, and as the river washes by with time, the vaguely bitter taste of that dream plant has flowed into the river and tints the taste of the water. I suppose there are times when it can be a sweet, pleasant fruit from the tree that has washed into the water, but what happens when the events in a dream leave such a lasting impact that it influences your feelings that need be used in real life?

The dream tree and its environment, the atmosphere created, is so sweet and mellow however. One cannot help but be gently seduced into trusting its fruit and accept the invitation to languish in the green grass. The entire dream garden is tinged with a faint, yellowed colour, the colour of pages in old books, and somehow that only seems to enhance its honesty.

How to seperate it and yourself, when in comparison life seems like the sun in your eyes, with the colour around faded and washed out?