Harmonious Hustling.

"Don't look outside of the boat!" Your voice was raised so high, trying to gather my full attention. The rapids were moving ever faster now, and I could barely see any hope of our survival.

Waters splashed heavily into the boat, and drenched me entirely. Rocks seemed to spit out from the hungry rapids, and it was as if the rapids were taunting us; the rocks were bones from its last victim, and we would be their next. The ferocious waves snarled and snapped at us from the exterior of the boat, and drooled all over us with its rushing water as it pounded into the sides of the boat. I shook violently in fear and anxiety... How could we make it? How could we make this, when so many other people have died trying?

I lent towards the end of the boat, and all I could see were these majestic waves smashing against rocks of every size, each with significantly sharp, jagged edges. The moment I looked over the side, the boat too, was thrown aside into the point of a particularly jagged rock, and bits of wood from the boat was shattered into pieces; the bits flew everywhere, partly cutting me, and partly cutting you also.

"Stop moving!" you said, but I was flailing hopelessly at the tremendous odds against us in surviving these rapids. You were steering the boat, I know, but they said even the most experienced sailors had difficulties in the rapids. I tried to close my eyes, but as soon as I did, I lost my balance, and I was thrown from side to side; the boat rocked more violently than ever, and I could barely pick myself up when I heard your voice again.

"Look at me! Please, just focus on me!" Your voice was still raised, and strained… not out of anger, but out of desperation. You wanted to see this through even more than I did. And suddenly, there was an ounce of hope that I heard from within your voice, and I turned to you in an instant.

"Just watch me..." Your voice trailed off as you continued to work at the oars, moving so sharply, yet so fluidly to keep the boat in balance. I could do nothing, of course, because you were the driver, but I watched as you began to rock in sync with the boat, and with the rapids, swiftly moving your oars back and forth to manoeuvre the boat around the larger rocks.

I set my eyes on you, and I concentrated on watching you move and sway about. All of a sudden, you did not look frantic or panicky as you controlled the boat; instead, you looked rested, in control, and full of hope for our survival. Soon, I my body was guided by your movements; I swayed as you swayed, leaned as you leaned.

"Brace yourself," you muttered, but I already knew that you wanted me to, and I ducked as you ducked, stead-fastedly holding to the sides of the boat as the rapids continued to spit rocks and shattered wood at us. I squinted as flying objects were thrown in our direction, cutting and biting into our skin; I winced at the pain, but I refused to take my eyes off you. Somehow, I knew that if I just obeyed your commands, I would see the end with more than just my skin on... but that I will have learnt to fully trust in you, because you know what you are doing, where you are going, with my safety as your topmost priority.

---

Does this not seem to paint a picture of our sailor, who tries to guide us, and show us the way in rocky streams, and rushing rapids?

PTL, Sarah.

The Delicate Equilibrium.

I have a strange habit of only posting memoirs which are permeated with such strong levels of intensity; of obscure pain or sorrow, or of such refined happiness and joy that deserves no veil in front of it as its light breaks through the lines of black ink, and radiates its vibrant warmth from the led lighted screen. And as these waves leap from the screen, flooding into the chest -sometimes warming and calm, sometimes frigid and icy waters - they lap against solid hearts, finding small entrances into its tender secrets within.

In any movement of these currents, I could only hope the hearts consumed within it are moved along with it. However, the intensities of the overflow of my heart haven't been what I long my readers to be swept along with. The currents go deeper into colder, more mysterious, painfully bitter depths, and I long to change the direction in which these currents flow.

Perhaps my life is made from ocean trenches, and I am unable to channel these currents any other way, but the least I could do probably is to - yes, cast my readers into this flow of words - but not in biting, chilly tidal motions, but instead into a stream of warmth, which rushes them to the surface quicker, where the sun's rays may catch them, and hug them in its embrace.

So I've decided. If there is any lingering emotional imbalance, where sorrow far outweighs joy in a blog, I hope to restrain it, and instead pour in an extra flow of fervour to restore this emotional imbalance to its original state. I know in our humanity that we have a naturally great outpour of sorrow, and so little natural exuberance.

But thank God for the sun to warm our cooled currents. Thank God for His son to flood us with His love, hope and joy, so that we, in turn may illuminate His light to the coldest of hearts.

I cannot promise, but I hope to turn this leaf over, and let its wilted ends be revitalised once again in the same way I walk with edges that no longer wilt in its circumstance, but brim with the light that is my sustenance.

LOL, Sarah.

Hybrid Sentiments.

You know what?

I'm alright with being replaced. Because first of all, being a friend of mine is no small feat. It's hard to be my friend. I don't mean that in a cocky, arrogant way; I mean if you make friends with me, it's usually tough to stay friends with me. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but it can't be your fault, seeing as so many people in the past have left me before in similar circumstances anyway.

I don't blame you at all. In fact, I want to congratulate you. It's probably a bad idea to have become my friend in the first place. All you'd be in for is a spark, a glimpse of some artificial warmth, for example, which embraces you and comforts you almost immediately; but then after a few moment's use - because it's not manufactured to last - soon enough, it'll explode right in your hands. You'll find no use for it in the long run. All that it'd leave you is with a slight burn on your palms, and a lingering thought ebbing away at your mind saying what a stupid idea it was to ever buy some cheapo "instant-warmth" device.

Don't think that I don't know it. I don't know why it happens, but it happens. It's almost inevitable. But the way you show off your new "insta-warmth" device right in front of me is punishing. There I lie, broken and filled with glitches. and you just dangle it in front of me, still prettied up in its case, and glinting in the light because you polish it. You cherish that device, because it works, of course.

But that never meant that I never tried to work for you. I did, and I still do. Yet you brush off any sign of warmth from me, because it's too much when it's teamed up with another. You only need one, and you haven't bothered to recover what was broken.

I shouldn't complain, because I'm a faulty device anyway. But has anyone tried to fix me after I've blown up in their hands? Has anyone bothered to think that maybe my glitches aren't unrepairable? I'm sorry to suddenly be all needy, but I'm actually trying to make it work. You aren't. Don't be a hypocrite about it.

Complaining about others not making it work for you is just not justifiable if you don't put in either. When I finally want a break, rest my damaged arms from this task, don't burn up against me and say that it's my fault that I'm broken. At least I try.

---
I'm writing this to a lot of people, and I'm sorry that it's one of my angriest blogs that I've ever posted in the 260ish posts already made.

On a lighter note, I learnt something really positive today - because I've been troubled with a lot of thoughts - friends who I wish could be closer, and impulses which, according to my morals, is as wrong as sin. But these temptations are just that: temptations that steer me away from having faith that God's got a brighter plan for me, a future that's so much better than that I could ever dream of. A best friend who will really love me and care for me, and whom I can truly fall in love with and call my husband. It makes this wait worth it... it makes this suffering worth it...

Even when it hurts most.

"What we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later." Romans 8:18 [NLT]

LOL, Sarah.

The Withdrawal.

I don't feel pretty.

---
It was against my every urge. I glanced across the room over and over and soon enough I lost count. From time to time I was convinced that I had felt your eyes fall onto me; I almost wish that they stayed there so that you could see my own lock with yours. But against my very impulse, my want, and even my utter need to have this desire filled was neglected, and trampled across the dance floor as the music rumbled on. I would edge ever closer to you, but I could never face you. Just inches apart, a fire ran so fiercely through my veins, and demanded my complete concentration to fight myself, to keep myself in control, and to steer away from you...

And as I did, I succinctly heard my heart drop. The adrenaline that rushed through my entire body was suppressed - even squeezed out of the life of me - so resentfully and so regrettably as our proximity once again became the Great Divide...

Perhaps I will be thankful for my morality and levelheadedness in the long run, but for now, as my car pulls away from the venue, with me slumped limply over the back seat, watching the ray of light drown in the darkness; as I return to where I belong, a tiny hole in my heart remains open, and a space in my mind - a question of regret? - lingers, unanswered, unfilled, and unforgotten.

---
The last ever school formal ended too fast, too soon, and too regrettably.

LOL, Sarah.

Evanescent Moments.

Although you probably don't remember me, and I could only see you from a distance, (save from being more stalker-ish than I seem right now), I just gotta say- nice haircut, Michael. I guess you were due for one sometime soon since last we met. (:

---
As the train picked up speed, and the familiar chugging of its wheels pulled it forwards along the track, I turned up the volume, and immersed myself in a flood of musical lyric. The carriage met a curve, and it begun swinging from side to side; as it rocked, I too, swung to my own rhythmic harmony, Or was it the other way around? the train wasn't just making a precise turn - no! It was really swaying along to my music, rocking along with me to the gentle melody. I could not help but conclude: the train was, in fact, praising the same God that I was worshiping.

I smiled in amazement and wonder, and increased the volume further, and closed my eyes, softly humming with such a renewed passion to worship along with everything around me. As always, the sun shone brighter than ever before, and the winds cooed from the outskirts of the carriage. The sky scrapers scraped the sky with more ferocity than usual, as if standing in majesty, for His glory. A delightful scene, indeed, as the train rocked me softly into worship, and I closed my eyes and engrossed myself back into wonder and awe.

---
Some days are truly splendid, and it's days like these when we can truly realise that everything happens for a reason; if we stop singing, the rocks soon will shout.

And it's these days where I can truly be myself, unhinged, and free from being suspended on the pendulum that swings me to and fro from who I am and who I'm forced to be.

LOL, Sarah.

Pensive Contemplation.

This room is full of cling and clatter. Random objects are tangled on strings suspended across the ceiling; the dim light hangs in the centre, its weight supported only by the feeble wire, and it flickers weakly, but desperately, as if it were determined to shed light in its neglected territory.

All across the grimy carpet lay old newspapers, dated from up to years back, and the only recent one being ten days ago, all ripped up and torn, and finally lying limply in a messy heap on the floor. In another corner lays another large pile; unsorted, unlikely objects, all with a thick blanket of dust neatly resting atop each piece that stuck out, organised tastefully into a unique, utterly incomprehensible form. These objects are remarkably similar, and as each object is recognised, a little story seems to flow from within each one... Stories that ring a bell, and invoke reflection and reminisce.

The cupboards, desks, chairs, everything is filled, even overflowing, so that nothing can be closed; the room were as if it were a strangely deliberate display of an array of books thrown in every possible direction, with leafs carefully laid out dangerously close to the edge of a desk or shelf that it may fall if anyone touched it, and covers left wide open with nothing in between. Even the furniture seems antique: they have collected a thick, warm layer of dust over themselves, and their varnish is long gone, leaving unwanted, dull finishes, like the murky, dirty waters many would dare not even touch.

It seems that all life has been sucked out of this room; that is, all but a tiny little plant, sitting by its lonesome self beside a row of withered pot-plants, behind old, patched curtains that stole the room of any natural light. It puffs its own little chest as large as it can, although it is choked by the thick, dusty air. As much as it may have tried, gilings settled atop its little arms and intertwined with the tiny spikes over its body. Still, the cactus lived, and stood on the sooty window sill, soaking in the sun as it breached the clouded windows, permeating throughout the cactus' body, and in turn strengthening it to live on. The mini-cactus seems to know that the sun would still rise again to give light to it, even if all surrounding it had died so long ago.

And so I stood up, cupping the brave little cactus carefully in both hands, and left the room with a soft creak, followed by a muffled thump, before departing from the forgotten room. There, I left its memories, and miscellaneous objects undisturbed, aside from a stir of dust particles, floating dreamily in the air once again.

---
I feel delight. This piece, although seemingly dreary and probably boring to everyone else, is like the sun softly caressing my cheek, and its lovely warmth tickling my lips.
The room itself is strongly metaphoric, perhaps, of myself, or my thoughts: cluttered, messy, and full of memories and past memoirs played over again from a vinyl record over an age old gramophone.
These objects themselves remain untouched, for I can't take them with me, but even laying eyes on them stirs the music inside me, and sometimes I well up with tears in pensive reminisce.

But I know to let go.
I know I can't hold onto everything, for everything has its moment, its time, and its place. I would never forget it...but if I were to bring anything of the past with me, I'd bring the belief that even if everything else was now useless, and withered, and old, the sun would still rise for me, to strengthen me, and fill me with hope again.

LOL, Sarah.

Unprecedented Endowment.

So, I was at the express checkout with all of two things: contact for my book so that it doesn't somehow rip to shreds whilst sliding and swaying around in my bulging bag, and another- this was last minute impulse buy of course- a packet of Oreos, on sale for 1$. It was the "sale" sign that really tipped me over into getting it, since I only had $5, I was quite satisfied how it all turned out. Anyway, I walked up to the counter (the lady was leaving, and I'd already been through once, and another check out lady I'd passed was at the express checkout now) and manoveured quickly towards the empty check out.

A checkout boy, probably no more than 3 years older than I was, was scanning my 2 items. His loosely cropped, curly blonde hair framed his face, and his glasses were carefully balanced on the bridge of his nose, as he was looking down and they had threatened to fall. About 3 inches taller than me, his lanky, skinny arms nimbly and quickly scanned the two items. I dazed at his tag, where small red print was underlined by larger, capitalised letters spelling out "MICHAEL". Absent-mindedly, I held out the 5 dollars I had so that he could take it, quickly and promptly, so I could be on my way.

"Uh, did you want a bag with that?" His clean voice suddenly broke into my daydream like a little pebble smashing a small window in my view. I snapped back to see him pointing at the two products I was about to pay for as they rolled lifelessly, limply across the counter. His eyes were hidden by the frames of his glasses, and his expression was somewhat dull - perhaps dying of utter boredom of his primitive job.

"Ah, no thanks", my voice almost wobbled, but I was sure I was sincere at it, and he took my money almost instantly.

"I just love -" Michael had began to talk whilst fiddling with the register, getting the receipt and my change at the same time (good at multitasking I suppose) "how you said - no - and made it sound like - I was really - stupid." A smile flickered across his face, but he remained looking down, focused on his present task. I tried to get a glimpse of his eyes, but they remained conveniently hidden behind the rims of his glasses.

"Oh!" I gasped, although I could not help having to stifle a chuckle "I didn't mean it in that way!"

"No no", I swear he almost laughed back, "that was really - good" He was finishing off his duty with the register again, and whispered, almost nonchalantly to himself "I hate asking that question", and passed me back my change and my receipt.

I glanced back up at him, but I still could not see his entire face; no matter, it was time to go anyway.

"Well, sorry anyway!" I managed to blurt out between a short laugh "ho-have a nice day then!" And I managed to capture one last smile of his before I walked out of the store, with a smile on my face, and more than what I'd bargained for.

---
I love it when we have random encounters with random people. It's just like an unexpected nugget of goodness - unpredictable and possibly will never happen again. But perhaps it's those little moments that can bright up an entire day. Tiny amounts of blessings in the most unexpected of ways... how good God is.

It did mine, thanks Michael. (:

LOL, Sarah.