Sigh, I come online and find my blogger posting totally changed. No more adding pictures or changing font sizes on this page. Or maybe its just maintenance. Please let it be so.
As a discipleship group, we decided to take on a spiritual habit challenge, our series of talks being about spiritual habits and growing closer to God. So, from now until 31st December i have to make two journal entries per week, inclusive of thanksgiving and lessons learnt.
Okay, I'm thankful that my cramps aren't exactly crippling but I learnt (or rather confirmed) that my body has become immune to a rather strong pain-killer.
Alright, to the more serious things. Tomorrow I'll be performing a short segment in a production by me and a number of other girls about what we would do if we only had 18 minutes to live life all over again. I'll post the poem on this blog soon. The course was five days during the holidays, 9a.m to 4p.m, and conducted by a wonderful instructer Nirmala Seshadri.
Yesterday, I signed a policy which involves a vast amount of saving to a spender like me. I'm bonded to it for ten years. Imagine that. And my parents wanted me to take 25 years. God bless me, I hope I can fork out the required sum each year.
After tuition last night, we went for a desert-supper treat. While finding a place to seat, or rather hovering around a potential seat, I could only stand watching an aged cleaner wipe and take a way the remains of the last party's plates and drinks. He did it so slowly, it was really horrible to see it. My parents said to let them clear it up but I can't help but think that I wouldn't mind clearing my own plate but clearing another's is rather gross. It makes one feel like the scum of the Earth when you see yourself, well fed and well off, standing around while someone clears your table. I know these men and women are paid but it doesn't make me feel any better.
Then again today. My parents had bought packs of tissue from to a man with an amputated arm who was asking us to buy tissues from him. But he came back again asking them to buy some more. It is a common sight in Singapore but sometimes one feels inclined to give to these sort of causes. I feel fine giving to baskers and the occasional aged man in a wheelchair. But some of them have a lot of pluck, as though they have been so desentisied by their way of life. I pray to God that I won't find myself in that condition. When it comes to age and proverty, I think that if someone sped up my life in a twinkle and I found myself with arthritis, I would even consider ending my life by mercy killing or euthanasia.
My tolerance for pain and suffering is really very limited. Menstrual cramps have me doubled over and wanting to curl up and never step foot outside the house. Outward pain like a car running over my foot is still more tolerable to the walls of a woman's womb breaking down.
But, God, why did you have to make Eve's puishment the pain of childbirth? Isn't it enough for humans to suffer age, neglect, temptation, loss of love and the loss of hope? I suppose someone has to do it. But sometimes I wonder why it had to be this. Jesus, thankfully, wasn't on Earth as a woman. One thing most writers forget is the heroine having her time of the month. Surely most women aren't as lucky as that to keep on slaying villians and working at the factory every day, hard as that is from the labour involved, and yet not happen to suffer a tweak from the bleeding?
Only Catheine Lim, an author I don't exactly like, used it as a weapon against an idol.
Sorry, I was ranting.
We're doing the book of Jonah now for sermons. It's quite amazing how much background there is that isn't written in the bible. I guess the best imaginations can be tested in picturing the actual feelings of the men in those times.
Here's to human endeavour and the completion of this accountability test!
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