Desmond and the Wardrobe Cleaning

I clean out my room pretty regularly for an adult. I've lived a number of years now, so I've amassed quite a fortune of useless junk over time. What I haven't amassed in equal measure is the wealth with which I need to buy more land and space to contain said junk.

But one man's junk can sometimes also be the same man's treasure. I am intensely aware of the things that survive my regular purges -- shirts that I save more for sentiment than for use; paper bags I keep in memory of the precious gifts they carried; nonsensical trinkets that would compel Princess Ariel and I to become best buddies who trade by moonlight under the sea.

As we grow older, we pick up things and lose others. I struggle with losing things that have survived early instances of de-cluttering, because: they survived before for a reason! But I'm learning even now at 27 that a human heart can only carry so much before it's weighed down by moulding attachments that don't work any more. I can only let it go before it becomes infectious, turning my heart into a cold bitterness toward life.

And is it really that bad? There have been new things to hold dear to my heart, and there are still things that have been there from the start, and that still make so much sense even now. He is still so precious to me, His presence, and kindness, and goodness-- they are still so relevant and needed. Many things have passed, but You? Never. So I pray that even when my faith is wearied, and my heart, heavy and sluggish, I pray that You'll never stop making sense to me, and that I'll never walk away from the biggest Love Story of my life.

The weekend's here and the bathrooms in my home are currently being renovated. This means plastic sheets pasted on the door to keep the dust out, and the doors shut tight to keep the person in. In addition, my headphones are on, and the music is blasting (finally, again), and I'm onion-layered in for the best two days of the week.

I would also like to point out how ironic that I'm listening to a song titled, 'Lost Weekend'. I feel no loss at all, weekends like these are rather awesome (sans renovation). I wouldn't ming lost weekdays if they are all like such.

:) Have a great and lost weekend, reader. 

Desmond and the New Year, 2015 ed.

It's been a long time in a short while.

And since the New Year bandwagon came along, I thought it'd be good to jump on.

I didn't blog at all in 2014, which I'll chalk down to a busy working-adult life. In the midst of job stresses, I hadn't had much chance to slow down; and even when I did, I didn't have energy to spare.

Yet, through the busy year, I've had the chance to travel twice: to New Zealand in February and March, and Hong Kong in September. I guess it's true -- Work hard, and bloody well play hard. Because work will be hard on you whether you want it or not.

I'll also chalk it down to a busy personal life. 2014 was rather without any personal pubescent drama. No over-thinking personal issues (only work issues) and no sad mopping in late nights over sad music. I think, personal life-wise, I've been happy. Happy enough to not write! Hee.

As I take stock, I also see the graciousness of God throughout my year. Whether or not I saw it, in many difficult periods, God carried me through. And in some way, I think I'm better off than when I started 2014. I pray that 2015 will be the same, and I'll purposefully see Him more.

So, here's to a great 2015. To the people I've loved, and who loved me in 2014, here's to more in the new year. To myself, play harder, and worry less about work -- you've worried so much that it's taken up most of your  mind in 2014. Now that you've past the pubescent stage (delayed), learn to understand that work will never trump the people or things that matter. That's true growing up: when you understand the shortness of life, and the purpose of living. And write more! You need the practice; this entry's terrible!

HAPPY NEW YEAR. :)

Desmond & the Lamb Chops Who Played Along.

Hello World, I'm 26.

When I think about how I've survived 26 years on earth, I have to say, I'm thankful that God has brought me this far. I have not gone through that much to be able to boast in being a survivor. I haven't survived much. A car crash, a couple of heartaches, many disappointments, and much struggles with self-identity, but nothing life-shattering. So to say I've survived 26 years, is more an indication of God's mercy and kindness than anything I've done; He chooses to let me live 26 years (and, Him-willingly, counting).

The usual birthday every year consists of mundane things. I normally try to avoid the birthday fuss, because I don't see the point of celebrating your birth. I'm not a great humanitarian, I've done little for Africa, and I didn't push my way out of the womb (that was the effort of my mom, whom we should be thanking, if we want to celebrate my birthday). I come with little life-experience that common-place men would deem worthy of attention. I don't sing well in spite of being impoverished, I haven't given millions in spite of being a begger, and I don't teach blind dogs how to be seeing-eye dogs, in spite of being blind myself. There is nothing extra-ordinary about me. But I am alive in spite of being just a wisp of smoke that could vanish at any moment. And that is the grace of God, whom I will thank, even if I won't celebrate my birthday.

This year, I did less mundane things. Yesterday I spent a large portion of time in the public transport system. I carried a camera around my neck, and barely utilised it. I ate, and laughed, and hung out. And when the night came to a close, I found myself smiling, and being happy that this was part of my birthday. I found myself happy at the prospect of having a birthday-something. And I found out that allowing myself to feel special is a wonderful feeling.

And just a few hours ago, my Dad treated me to one of the longest lunches I've had in awhile. It's lamb chop at a coffee-shop near my house, and as mundane as that sounds... the meal was one of the best I've ever had in a long, long, time. I found myself smiling again, because that meal made me feel special, with it's well-grilled meat, and it's long-lasting effects.

I'm writing now because I want to remember what this feels like. I haven't had much birthdays like that, and maybe you can say it's because I don't allow myself the luxury of indulging my self-esteem, but this year, the luxury seeked me out and made me feel luxurious--it's worth remembering. World, I'm 26, and it's worth remembering that as unspecial as I am, God made me completely unique. Born on this day, many years ago, born to wonderful parents, and into a good home, completely insignificant, but still meaning much to the people who care. Thank you God, for making a wisp feel so special, and for valuing me enough to give me special people to share my wispi-ness with.

IloveYouGod.

Desmond and that Familiar Comfort.

I understand how familiarity is comfort. I understand why we may choose to put ourselves in familiar situations, among familiar people, because we expect that any new change will be disruptive to our routine.

But sometimes, if by some flash of revelation, you happen to realise just how uncomfortable your familiarity has become... I hope you find the strength to step away from what you've long considered to be 'familiar'. Chances are, without you knowing, that familiarity has already morphed, slowly, into something different. And if it has changed to become something unfamiliar, and needlessly uncomfortable, then you shouldn't stay.

After all, the reason you sought out familiarity was because you wanted to be comfortable, and you were afraid of something disruptive.

I don't know how much about making choices. I know less about making hard decisions. But today, and recently, I've been wondering if I should turn away from my familiar people and places. Because I don't want to become my surroundings. I don't want to blend in, if what I'm blending into is something I don't endorse.

Familiarity is comfort. But a clear conscience, a strong conviction, and a good heart, can also make you very comfortable.

Desmond the First Real One in Years.

It's Christmas time again, catching me by incomprehensible surprise. How did this year past by so quickly? I don't know why, but as I age, each year seems to pass by with increasing speed.

A lot has happened this year. I've finally graduated--first from college, and then next, from my short-lived bumming stint (although I'm sure my parents disagree with me on the latter). Following that, I started work in a bookstore. And following that, Christmas time comes and catches me by surprise.

This year I also moved into my official room. We all know this, but sometimes we take our privacy for granted; Privacy a very special privilege. In a world where all our lives are sometimes carelessly laid bare on the internet, privacy should be better treasured--physical or otherwise.

Which might be also why this year I've also left huge gaps in-between entries. Since 2003, I've blogged pretty consistently, aiming for at least once a month. But this year has also been the first year in many, where my entries are a bit more personal, and less about the frivolous trivialities of my life.

With the advent of tumblr, and these other-like-minded hipster-ish platforms that everyone is migrating to, blogspot seems once again safe. Safe from the prying eyes of the half-acquainted people in my life, who somehow have access to my blog, through the links of a friend, of a friend, of a friend. Who knew being forgotten is strange comfort?

I love my God. Because even when I try to hide into nothingness, He never fails to notice me. :) Happy Holidays, my quiet and un-visiting world.

Desmond and the Time-and-Task-Sensitive Music.

Today I played Mat Kearney's Young Love album in the background as I did some work. And I liked it. It was light, and easy to listen to, and bright and chirpy--a turn away from the direction that I normally poise my melancholy-loving ears towards. And you know what's happiness? I believe happiness is in the little things.

Happiness is when you have some work to do so that you're not too bored, and not too overwhelmed. Happiness is when your tea is just nice; not too cold or too sweet and not too hot or too bland. Happiness is in the little things, and not the exaggerated.

Happiness is about trivial things. 

Sure, extreme happiness is still happiness, but there's probably a more apt word for it flying so far out of my reach that I cannot possibly know or use it.

But perhaps the more persistant happiness, that leaves you feeling good a longer time than great for a moment, is the happiness of the little things.

Just as I saved my work and handed it in, the last song on Kearney's album ended. And then I smiled, because these things make me smile. I like it when my music ends accidentally in sync with the end my task. I love it that as I open my front door after a long journey back home, the seconds on my itouch wind down coincidentally to zero.

And if you can learn to be content with trivial things at the zeros, then one day, you'll truly learn the words to describe contentment and happiness at extreme levels.

Incidentally, I've written once about Happy and Happenstance, which both originally pointed to some form of accident or luck. Which is to say, Happiness happens to us, from external sources acting on or toward us.