Fic: If music be the food of love..

Sorry, couldn't resist..=D

If music be the food of love..

How can anyone describe the euphoria, the passion, the longing that is so easily set into music?

It was just another day, at least for the streams of people that swarmed by. For them, it meant a day of routine, of toil, of struggle; it was another day of work and labour, of a lifelong blood toil. And in a sense, for the violist, it was the same.

This day would be when her years of effort would be put to test. How unfair, one may cry, that immeasurable hardwork be judged - be commended or negated - by a few mere minutes' performance. But this was how things worked.

Music can be a lonely affair. It meant long hours spent hidden in practice studios, trying to perfect those fancy upbow staccato scales written by that sadistic composer. It meant turning down people when they call you a week before your exam and say, "Hey, let's go for a movie and spend the rest of the day shopping". And, as she looked over at her viola, she knew it meant being alone.

Everyone had their music to be busy about. Anyone else would never understand what music was about. That was the way things went. Even today, the one who would accompany her on the piano for the examination would not be able to stay with her before her turn, nor leave the venue with her after the examination. Somehow, that rejection seemed to mean a lot to her, even though she was sure he did not mean it that way and whichever the case, he had no obligation towards her - after all, they had only met a month ago and truth be told, they barely knew each other.

The wind rustled the trees around her. The small yellow leaves rained down on the street, carried further by the wind. Beside her, a couple was brushing the leaves off each other's shoulders. She sighed and absent-mindedly brushed away the few that landed on her viola case. This was yet another traffic junction where scores of people waited impatiently -- people, most of whom would not mean anything to each other; people all more concerned with reaching home for that good stretch after work, or perhaps with reaching the pub before that friend started complaining.

She walked on against the general flow of the crowd.

The pre-examination registration was a simple and quick process, and she spent the rest of the time looking around the area. There was a reception area just beside the lift, and although there were comfortable chairs placed in the area, she did not feel at ease with them. They seemed too big and imposing. Further on were some music studios. Someone was playing an organ. She thought it sounded rather tense, almost worried. From the opposite room, some piano playing filtered out. Apparently the person had been working on that section for quite a while; the impatience was there in the music. She tried to peek into the rooms, but expectedly, saw nothing of interest. There was a poster on an otherwise empty wall, but that was all.

She went over to the registration area again. The person slated to go before her was taking her final piano exam. Her boyfriend was talking to her, trying to help her calm her nerves, placing his hand on hers. She watched on as he leaned closer, then she looked embarrassedly away.

People nowadays, she thought.

But her thoughts kept straying, moving emotionally into the realm of feelings, remembering the moment when he had looked at her as he played a short piece on the piano, remembering the waltz where he raised his eyebrows in an almost teasing manner as they tried to play in time with each other. She had grown rather fond of that piece. It was playful, and she loved the challenge of chemistry especially as they added those quirky little changes in tempo. They did not spend much time together in the way non-musicians did, but the connection between them as they played, the smiles and nods, the shared music...

Today would be the seventh, and most likely the last, time they played this set of examination pieces together. Even more than ever, she wished he were here now.

She wandered over to the registration counter and started a conversation with the rather enthusiastic assistant, who seemed very willing to share about her children. Her son was in the army, and her daughter was busy in university.

"I wish my daughter were like you," the assistant concluded, "you spare a thought for others and understand so much."

She looked at her viola and blushed, because in her heart, she knew how untrue it was.

"You'd better call to check where your accompanist is," the assistant went on, "it won't be good if he's late."

She looked at her mobile phone, feeling her heart beat faster. Her phone rang.

"Is it him? Go on, pick it up. Maybe he's here."

Her fingers almost tingled with excitement as she answered his call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, I'm facing the carpark now. How do I find you?"

She almost laughed. "Just take the lift up! It's behind you."

"Ok," He laughed in his cheery way, "see you in a bit."

"He's here?" The assistant asked.

"Yes, he's on the way up," she said, "I'll go over and wait."

The lift seemed to move so slowly. 1... 2... 3... There was a soft chime as the door opened. She smiled.

"I didn't expect you to be so early," she said, noting how breathless he was.

"Neither did I," he said as he adjusted his collar, "you've settled everything?"

"Yes."

Somehow they had walked over to the music studios and they leaned on either side of the corridor.

"Wrong note," he remarked, humming what the organist should have played. His fingers twitched in time with the music.

She laughed softly at the mischievous face he gave.

"You know, I've always wanted to play the organ," she said.

"I think you're too small," he grinned, "you won't be able to reach the pedals!"

She gave him an amused look and pointed to a book on the shelf: So what do I do with my feet? A Pianist's Guide to the Organ.

They laughed.

The assistant came by, informing them that she was to standby to enter the examination room. She would go in first to complete the other components of the examination, after which he would join her for the pieces.

"All the best," He whispered.

She turned, surprised to find that he had followed behind. She smiled and nodded gratefully.

It went badly, though she knew she would pass. Before long, the examiner stood up, and went over to the door to call for him.

He entered, nodding encouragingly at her. She adjusted her music stand slightly so they could see each other while playing.

The piano was at such an awkward position, she thought, the room must have been set up for the piano examinations.

And then, the music began.

There was no way she could describe it. She felt herself struggling with the technical demands of the piece, but almost suddenly, she was struck with the realisation -- this might well be the last time they played together -- and nothing else mattered. Nevermind that she had not done as well as expected for the other components. Nevermind that she was getting quite some notes wrong.

She poured out her soul, and she knew he felt it, for he responded and she felt their music being driven to greater intensity. This opening piece was fertile ground for emotional passions and she let it all be. She only knew, it was a tale of longing, of wishing someone were there, a tale in which loneliness was overcome by sweet companionship, in which she had a glimpse of heaven.

She closed her eyes as the last note resounded. She looked over and they ended together. She realised that she was almost panting.

He gave her time to compose herself before they started on the waltz. It was brilliant fun, she reflected. Somehow, she felt every nuance more acutely than before, more meaningfully than ever. The rest of the examination went by in a blur and he left quickly for his next engagement.

She wiped the viola slowly, meditatively. She could remember the mistakes she had made, but above all, was the memory of the first two pieces. In those fleeting moments, so much seemed to have taken place. She wondered if he felt the same, but she knew he would be well exposed to these, possibly even to the extent of being jaded.

She walked out of the building, over to the bus stop, resting her arms gently on the viola case. It was probably too short to be truly comfortable, but it offered an unexplainable form of support.

A text message came in on her phone.

"Thank you for your gift and sincere words," he wrote, referring to the small box she had rather awkwardly handed to him earlier, "I will keep them well."

She did not know how to respond.

"Thank you, for everything," she finally managed.

How could she be able to convey everything that went through her? How could she thank him for bringing joy and lightness back into her life, for being the one who would stop and not walk by, even for the briefest second of time; for showing her what it meant to share musically, emotionally? How could she say that she already missed the times they shared?

Some puzzles can never be solved. Because music is lonely. You are in it, on your own. You might find fellowship, but in the end, you would still be on your own, alone. It was the way things work.

If music be the food of love, play on...

The Bible in our World

It was a dark, dreary winter. The blizzard showed no signs of slowing, and blew relentlessly across the empty streets. Two men walked, bodies bent against the wind, struggling, struggling to plod on. They knew that after they endured through this deserted land, they would reach their hometown. There, they would find food for their starved bodies; there would be warmth for their shivering fingers and chattering teeth. There would be love of family and friends.

One wrapped his coat tighter around himself, making as though he would have stopped for a rest. The other promptly laid a gloved hand on his shoulder. They could not afford any form of pause or they may be overwhelmed by the bitter elements. Much as they would like a break from all the toil, they knew deep down that after their rest, they would not persevere on with the same determined spirit again. They gritted their teeth and forced their feet a step forward, and another step onward.

It had been too long since they truly knew joy; it had been too long since they had rest. Now, all they could remember was their labouring to reach home. The snow mocked them, the winds laughed and howled. Why would they want to return home when their country could offer them everything they could ever ask for? Why should they undertake such a perilous journey?

But they were adamant.

In their mind’s eye, they could see warm lights welcoming them back. They could hear the music of dances and revel in the merriment that they knew existed back home. And they walked on.

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Do we not find ourselves in a similar situation? We are ever beset with problems after problems. We are ever facing temptations from all over us. The feeling of wanting to give in, wanting to give up is just so strong that so often, we are too close to doing it. The longing for rest from all our troubles, all our cares is just so great that we feel we would go to any extent just for it. But we have a hope. No matter how dire things can get, we can find comfort in the Bible.

The Bible gives us guidelines for living; it acts as a yardstick in our lives, but it does far more than that. The Bible paints a picture of heaven. Often as we read, we are seemingly brought into another realm that is so perfect. Like fantasy fiction, we find something we can almost escape into – only that this is real; we are escaping into the future reality.

The Bible tells us what our heavenly home is like. Vivid descriptions easily help us visualise something of its glory and splendour. When we look at our shabby homes, when we observe all the cracks in our paintwork, the uneven walls, the hollow tiles, we remember that there is a home which will be perfect, and this home is waiting for us. This home is made especially for us, constructed by our Father Himself. He who is the master architect who created heaven and earth, can He not ready equally magnificent homes for us?

The Bible shows us the love in this home. We learn of God’s love, how when Adam sinned, He provided a way of salvation, how He sent Jesus to die for us, how Jesus died willingly for us, and how He chose us, how He encourages us as we travel back home. And we know, when we enter heaven, He will be no different. The loneliest person will find companionship there; the sobbing child will find his Father, and this Father will wipe away all his tears, embrace him, and make everything perfectly well.

Most importantly, all these fill us with hope and strength. We know that we are not going through trials and temptations for nothing. We know that at the end of all these, we can discard all our burdens and return home. We know that everything bad will come to an end. We know that we will understand God’s plan completely and see that all things worked out for the best. Even in the bleakest of all times, we can see beyond the physical; we can see light and joy and warmth ahead. When we think of heaven, we see the paradise waiting just beyond the shadows.

The Bible gives us a foretaste of heaven. And with this hope, we can go on.

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It was a bitterly cold and hard winter. The storm showed no signs of abating, and piled layers of thick snow relentlessly across the otherwise empty streets. Two men walked, hand in hand – the other hand shielding their eyes – struggling, struggling to take those few more steps. They knew very clearly that after they survived this wilderness, they would reach their home. There, they would surely find food, warmth and love. And there, they would laugh again.

Fic: A Father's Love

I love my Daddy; do you? ;)
(originally posted on my personal blog)
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The young child lay in the darkest corner of her room, sobbing into her pillow. Though she hid under her blanket, the thick sheet of wool gave no warmth to her icy heart. Grief had claimed her, and she was numbed to all else. Beside her lay an open journal with a half-written entry, a weathered guitar and a handphone. Writing, music and friends, these used to be her source of comfort, but now, all else failed, and she was left alone in the dark.

How could this happen, she asked the ceiling pointlessly. She had spent half her life and all her energy creating this perfect world, this personal utopia had that caved in overnight, leaving her as broken as her sanctuary. Her fingernails clawed her chest as though trying to rip away the pain from her heart. Tears flowed free as the rain, but they could not wash away all that has happened, or would happen. Let me die now, she screamed soundlessly into her pillow. Sorrow had hijacked her body; she would leave this world of pain and loneliness now. Nothing could change her mind...

Except...

The door opened so soundlessly that the girl, so absorbed in her pain, did not hear, nor did she see the light-source, a single candle burning bright, chase away the blackness that swallowed her. He who held the candle walked into the room with such grace He seemed to glide. He set the candle at her bedside and sat on the edge of her bed, stroking her once glossy, smooth hair. He sighed; it hurt Him to see His child in pain. The little girl looked up with an expression of mixed joy and surprise on her face wet with tears.

"Papa!" she cried, releasing the pillow she was holding on tightly to and flinging herself into His open arms.

"Papa... I... Oh Papa! It hurts so much!"

"Hush, child," the Father whispered, His voice gentle as the summer breeze. "I understand. It's alright, it's alright."

"But Papa! How can You know? How can You understand?" The child's eyes brimmed once more with tears, two fat crystal dewdrops rolling down her cheeks.

"Trust Me, My child, I know. I have seen you suffer from afar. Now, precious one, will you be willing to let Me help you?"

In reply, the girl clutched her Father's shirt, her arms being too short to circle His chest. She held nothing back, her Father's shirt slowly growing wet with tears. He held her tight in those arms that never grew tired of comforting His children. His breath, sweet and warm, melted her hardened heart, thawing the numbness in her body, giving her strength and love...

Finally the girl looked up to gaze into her Father's kind eyes, her heart lightened, her small frame so filled with joy she hardly dared to open her mouth for fear that the happiness within would empty out of her.

"Thank You, Papa! I feel better now..." She managed a small smile, her eyes alight once more with joy.

He smiled in return and gently pushed her back onto her bed, tucking her in under the blankets.
"You're welcome, dear child," He whispered, the words floating above her into the night air. "You're always welcome. I am always here for you. But now, rest well, my child."

He kissed her on her forehead, took up the still-burning candle, and left her room, pausing only to watch her sleep with a smile on her lips and utter peace in her heart.


"Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." - Matthew 11:28

God bless~

Ficlet: Peace

It was cold. The young girl hugged herself more tightly as she walked the lonely streets alone. The wind blew persistently upon her face, and she felt that cold, bitter sting against her pale flesh, that chilling rush in her ears. It would rain soon, she knew, and when that happened, the streaks of stained water would hammer down onto the hard, stony pavement. It would pour down as a sheet from heaven, veiling her sight, obstructing her way. It would flood the only path home. The gale was seemingly pulling her dark hair away from her face, flattening her thin dress against her body. Against the elements of nature, she was so vulnerable, so weak. And she was so weary of forging ahead.

But she was not afraid. No matter how cruel conditions were, her footsteps did not quicken; her heart was a peaceful lake. Amidst the turbulent waves of life, she had hope in a Father who would never leave her alone; a Father who would always be there, ready to help her. And she smiled. There was nothing to worry about.

*sigh*

Be strong...

What does it really mean to be strong in the Lord? Do we recover completely and forget all our sorrow in that instance? How do we even "draw" God's strength?

God is all-powerful; He created the universe, He created us from dust.. He is omniscient; He knows everything we do, everything we feel, and there is nothing hidden from Him.. If we should need financial help, the most natural thing for most humans would be to talk to a close friend or relative who has the financial means to help and rely on him or her totally.. But if we need God's help, why don't we talk to Him, since He has the means.. Or why don't we just leave everything to Him?

Humans are only human.. We are dust, dust with the breath of God in us.. What can dust do? We have to learn to submit to God.. True, we have our own desires and such, and often, it is hard to say if they are for our good, simply because we can't predict the future.. But God can, and He knows what is best for His children.. Which father would harm his child? How much more will our heavenly Father care for us! (Matthew 7:9-11)..

The problem lies in that we still want our own way.. We have never given up on our desires.. We can carry our burdens to God; we tell Him, "God, take these away", and then we take up those burdens away.. God promises us that we can cast all our cares and worries on Him, because He cares for us (1 Peter 5:7).. But how do we expect God to help us if we will not let Him help?

And very often, we make things worse by listening to worldly advice for self-consolation.. Psychologists have a whole slew of terms and such that make us feel that what we feel is normal and accepted, even if it is sin in God's sight.. What is human knowledge as compared to what God knows? If God tells us that something is good for us, do we act smart and say that we know better? Imagine a kid trying to persuade his mother that roasting his hand in the oven for entertainment is good..

So easy to say, but so hard to do.. Let us try to learn..

Fic: It is Over

Some random study that I did while on the bus.. I can't help it if inspiration decides to hit me! And well, to set the record straight, this is a work of fiction.. It may represent my feelings in some other matter(s), but it should not be taken that literally.. Enjoy and give some feedback..;)

I tread the familiar route again; alright from the bus, go through the gate, up a slope, up some stairs, up another slope…

My school, I think, and haltingly add, but not for long.

An ocean of tumultuous thoughts engulf me. Is this right? This is my last chance to turn back. Should I go on? Or should I retreat? And with each step I take, the hesitation grows overwhelmingly strong. What am I doing this for? Who am I doing this for? No, don’t think; just enter the lift, go to the seventh floor…

This familiar place; familiar sights, familiar smells… I shall never see it again. But I still have a chance; I can always turn back… No, I must go on. Why? I do not know; just go on…

My footsteps grow heavier as I pace the office floor, waiting to be interviewed. Soon, the questions come. I smile, I shut off the distracting thoughts.

“Yes, I am sure of my decision”, I say and nod my head firmly.

But in me, my heart is hammering hard.

Why? It asks.

And the final verdict comes, “You seem sure of what you want to do; go and we wish you all the best. Should you decide to return, we welcome you with open arms.”

I leave the room numbly. Yes, I am relieved, but why? What for? A familiar face comes to fhat; a friendly conversation, but I can barely remember it. I only remember her arm pulling me close to her and that voice saying “all the best”. I wish it were someone else doing that, but it does not matter. It is over.

It is over.

Go down, I remember, third floor; settle the last of the administrative work. The last…

My heart is near its breaking point.

The door is closed, locked shut, unwelcoming and cold. As I wait, the thoughts return hauntingly. Don’t think, don’t think! It is too late, too late now…

And something salty escapes my eye.

It is over, it is over…

I look at the time. There is still a little left for final goodbyes. And the finality of it all hits me hard – there is no turning back. Perhaps I should go ahead with the farewells.

Back down the slope, up a flight of stairs, but there is no one. I gently push open the door; the very door I had pushed and walked past so often without thinking twice. I see myself in the full-length mirror. Who is that staring back at me? A lost sheep, which found its way but is still lost? I hear no answer.

A heap of lack stands in a corner; cases of memories… We used to pile them around as unobtrusively as possible, but someone would always find his way blocked by them, and this was always followed by mock arguments or apologetic smiles. And the laughter we shared, the little whispers, the feeling of togetherness, of working together towards a common goal… No, don’t think anymore; I have just forfeited my right to return to this place. It will no longer be “we”; it is now “they”.

That choking sensation forms in my throat again – no, I am merely thirsty. Something moist flows from behind my eyes – no, it’s the weather irritating my eyes.

Leave now, leave before anyone sees. I quickly shut the door. Will this be the last time? No, don’t think just leave, just leave… Leave…

Down the stairs; let me just be curious and enter another room. No familiar faces… Wait; just one, but no, don’t go over. Leave before everyone else sees. Pass the message to this someone; wish her all the best, bid her farewell, say goodbye and leave.

Don’t crack here; don’t break here, don’t let the tears fall!

Down more stairs, down the slope, back to the bust stop. Safe, for now. Safe from what? I do not know; I do not care. I am only staring ahead; there is nothing for me to see. The voices of those around me sound so distant; but what does it matter if I hear? I can no longer return to the places I once held dear and still do. It is over.

Who can understand melancholy? No, this is not sorrow; there is no cause for grief. This is merely self-pity. This is wrong; everything is wrong, everything that I have ever done is wrong! I only cause those around me more grief, more heart-break. I only hurt everyone. So, why am I here? What am I alive for? To make this world a terrible place?

But the sun will set, the moon will shine, the stars will appear, and before long, the sun will rise again, and everything will be forgotten… Just that the heart never forgets and will still grieve.

Emmanuel

Hihi! Just thought I'll share a little of yesterday's sermon.. For the first time in countless years, we went to the Chinese Service.. Wah.. Really miss the whole feeling and the 親切感.. Hahaz.. Anyway, the topic was "Is God among us" or something close to that.. The answer: Emmanuel..

Emmanuel ("God with us") means:
1) God is always with His people..
2) God will never forsake His people..
3) We need not feel 恐怕 (fearful) or 惊惶 (dismayed) no matter what happens..

Can't exactly remember the other points, but I'll add a few more:
4) God will always take care of us.. When we are tempted, He will always provide a way out..
5) We will be with Him in heaven one day..
6) God is always faithful to His word; He will do what He has promised..

Emmanuel is a comfort and encouragement to us at any time of the year, not only Christmas.. During Christmas, we celebrate the physical presence of God among men, but are we aware that He is constantly with us, every step of the way? Do we live for Him, or are we behaving as though He is not around?