If Love Were All

Fate may often treat me meanly
But I keenly pursue
A little mirage in the blue,
Determination helps me through.

Though I never really grumble,
Life's a jumble indeed
And in my efforts to succeed
I've had to formulate a creed.

I believe in doing what I can
In crying when I must
In laughing when I choose
Hey ho, if love were all
I should be lonely.

I believe the more you love a man,
The more you give your trust,
The more you're bound to lose.
Although when shadows fall
I think if only
Somebody splendid really needed me
Someone affectionate and dear
Cares would be ended if I knew that he
Wanted to have me near.

But I believe that since my life began
The most I've had is just a talent to amuse.
Hey ho, if love were all.
Hey ho, if love were all.

Music & Lyrics: Noel Coward

Blue Beauty

How lovely it'd be to wake up each morning to such delightful things!

Story of the Candy Canes

A Christmas gathering wouldn't be Chrismassy enough without them, so there were plentiful. Though I am not exactly a candy person, I can never resist when someone hands me one. So, there we were - food and candy canes aplenty.

"The very design of this candy has meaning," he who is knowledgeable said. He went on to explain that its shape looks like the staff of the shepherd, representing the Lord being mankind's shepherd. The thick red strip represents the blood of Jesus on the cross while the thin ones the whipping He endured. Even the flavour of the candy - mint - meant something.


We were quite impressed, for never before had we known that the simple festive treat could carry in it such profound symbols of Christianity.

"I thought they were just for fun," she said.

"No," he smiled, "This red one isn't. Now, this green and red one is just for fun."

And he laughed.


This post would have ended beautifully here, but I had to find out that Snopes.com had labeled this claim as false. Bummer.

Regardless, I think they're lovely and very becoming of this season they're a part of. After all, they're pretty, and they're sweet -

Your Unconditional Love

You profess your love - you say you love me not for how I look, but for who I am. Good looks will one day fade, but your love will not fade with them, you insist. You pledge to love me wholly and unconditionally beyond when I turn old and grey.

You give your word with much ease, for I am young, hearty, cheerful and care-free; I amuse you with entertaining narration and stories; I make you laugh with witty remarks and light-hearted jokes; I fill your days with love, passion and delightful conversations. I lift your spirits when you're down, share your glee when you're joyful, and hold you close when you're discouraged. No, I do not doubt your sincerity when you gave your promise of unconditional love.

Yet, would you still love me when I am down, disheartened and passing my days in perpetual gloom? Would you still love me when I tire and no longer have the desire nor zest to constantly fill the silence between us? Would you still love me when I grumble, fret, cry, demand, scold or am being difficult? Would you still love me when you find that you cannot see any reasons I should be unhappy, yet I dwell continuously in senseless despair and disappointment? Would you still love me when I demand more than you are willing to give, ever? Would you? Could you honestly say your love would remain as strong and unwavering?

Is not then, my pleasant and buoyant disposition a condition for your love? My being always happy, content and agreeable? My never being weary of initiating and preserving communication? How then, is your love unconditional?

Do not profess, unless you are certain, for my heart would break.

Awful Songs

On the way back from dinner, I heard on the radio, an a cappella version of a well-known, well-loved song. Perhaps I haven't learned to appreciate this particular kind of music, but I found it really terrible - the vocals on the melody were boring, and the background singing of bah-dum-dum-dummms were sort of too much, kind of messy, and rather noisy. It is pretty incredible how this group of people managed to make a song bland and over-done at the same time. At the end of it, the DJ came on and said something along the lines of "... an amazing rendition of ..."

That was sooo far from amazing, I complained. Was she trying too hard to be politically-correct, polite, and/or courteous, or was she plain *ahem*... non-clever?

He laughed.

No, seriously, I insisted. If I had a radio station, I'd play all the awful songs there are out there, then have the DJs explain which aspects are bad, and why.

Still laughing, he said, in that case, no record labels would want me to play anything from them.

Then, I said, keeping themselves from getting airtime on my station ought to be strong motivation for them to release only the good stuff!

At that instant, the songs gave way to a commercial break.

An idea dawned to me! On my station, I said, I'd have commercials that tell listeners which products are bad, so the consumers can stop buying them! I'd also tell which products' official commercials are sneakily, deliberately misleading and why.

He laughed again.

What's so funny? Hmmmph!

Rain

It is pouring, and we've had heavy rain nearly every day for the past few weeks. It puts me in the mood for reminiscence and story-telling. I have in mind a rain-related one. So, here goes:

We were 17 years old when we organized our very own camping trip. There were just a handful of us in the committee, and nearly 40 girls under our care. I suppose being in an all-girls school made us believe we are every bit as good as the boys (and much better academically) and could handle the outdoors every bit as well. We managed the planning almost entirely on our own - the booking of the campsite in the middle of a forest reserve, the transportation to bring us there and back, the renting of tents, the preparation of food, and well, activities. We were excited; the girls were excited; and well, the excursion sort of turned out disastrous but in an extremely enjoyable manner. However, I hadn't planned to write about the entire two-day adventure (the post might get too long) - just one amusing part.

The campsite was a little clearing in the forest, just large enough. Some of us had, prior to that trip, learned to pitch tents - actually learned from professionals, while we were in another jungle the year or so before. We had four-man tents, so it was four girls pitching up each tent. Grappling with the frames and layers of fabric in the bright and sunny early afternoon was immensely fun. Amidst all the laughing and frolicking, (do not imagine cute, girly cadets, Reader, for girls who didn't go to school with boys never cared to appear feminine nor poised), some of my friends and I, the seniors, recalled that in addition to making sure the tents were secure and sturdy, we're supposed to dig trenches around them. I can't remember if anyone mentioned - but I remember clearly no one bothered. We were just content that the girls were cheery and obedient and the tents were properly erected, and went on to take care of lunch.

Then, it rained. It didn't just rain, it poured like the sky's been saving up just to amuse itself watching us scamper like frightened puppies into our tents. But something wasn't quite right inside - water collected all around us, and underneath the floor of the tents, so it was all soft, squishy and damp. As the ground turned soggier and the water level rose higher, it was evident that unless we did something, our tents with all our stuff in them would soon be flooded! It was then that we realised that that was the reason we're supposed to dig them trenches - so that when it rains, the water goes into the trench instead of into the tent!

We hurried our juniors into the shaded part of the campsite - a minimally-paved area with a roof - while we went to work. We didn't have any hoes, so we hacked at the ground around each tent the best we could using bits of twigs and whatever we could scavenge from the woods around us. It was still raining. We were panicky, anxious and excited all at once. Although we managed to save all the tents from being flooded, we were absolutely drenched and extremely dirty. In fact, we looked no better than a herd of buffaloes right after rolling about in mud, and we never had a better time in the entire trip. Somehow, there was a time in our lives when making mistakes, then working hard and getting soiled making things right was fun. We even felt sorry for the juniors because we enjoyed ourselves so tremendously while they stayed dry, out of the rain.

There. Of course, there are much more to be told than this episode in the rain and mud, but this suffices for now. How I miss the times when life was so simple - sadness was when friends slight me in moments of thoughtlessness; joy was toiling in the sun or rain with mates, their laughter ringing in my ears.

It is raining, still.

Mobile Post

It is funny how I'm willing to do the out-of-the-ordinary when there's an hour to spare and brunch takes less than half an hour to take, and I don't have a book to occupy my mind.

Well, it is not that there is anything wrong with mobile blogging - if there are applications for it, I'm sure there are people who do it regularly enough. Furthermore, I sort of like being the arrogant snob sitting in mamak stall, engrossed in doing "something" on my... ahem, smartphone.

On a serious note, I don't really enjoy composing using my Swype keyboard, no matter how cool it is. The proof-reading and editing is rather tedious.

So there - this post is written on and published entirely from my phone =)

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