Recovery x2

Wow, okay.
Class starts at 10 and I'm in school at 8.

I was wondering whether I should delete the previous post since I'm finally on the road to making my peace with God and all this crazy inner conflict.
But I'll let it be.
Life can't be backspaced away all the time anyway.

So.
March tested my patience.
Easter taught me to live and love again.
Wednesdays give me grace to make time for my parents, friends and myself.
The way new mornings bring such gorgeous light to my eyes show me He loves me and that He wants to show me many more beautiful things that are to come.
Shadows tell me they're there but that to exist, God must be there as well.
April asks for a chance to open my heart to new people again, and I will allow that to be done.

And here I find myself facing the question:
What good did being closed ever do for me?

And I can safely say that it did nothing (does this sound negative?).
Of course I liked it.
I've always loved being alone.
I've always been intrigued by the darkness, wishing I was born in the shadows.
I only wished that out of fear.
But I couldn't face anybody.
I went out of my room and saw my family and I finally remembered I'm still part of something good, something that loves me back.
I went to church and everyone was asking about me, telling me they missed me and although I hated the question of "Why haven't you been here for so long?", it was really nice to know that they thought about me and noticed that I hadn't been coming.
Being closed made me give up easily.
I gave up trying, gave up remembering, gave up loving.
Somehow I see my insecurity head on now- and I could've saved myself from so much if only I had let go and trusted.
But a broken and contrite heart is what He desires and being weak doesn't make me feel so weak anymore.

I'm thankful for Easter.
It reminds me that circumstances can never stand in the way of God.
And if God is with us, who can be against us?

Now to remain steadfast.

Taking My Time

Hi guys,
I've decided to write.

On the bus back home I felt the urge to talk to someone about this.
Dean? Justin Low perhaps?
But I have to be at Woodlands MRT at 11.30 AM to help out with my friend's church's car wash charity project, so I've decided not to go to church in the morning.
I wanted to watch Fantastic Mr. Fox on my laptop but it wouldn't work for me.
So here I am writing.
And here, I'll be honest because, well, reality has never tolerated denial.

I've been thinking about church and the way I'm always told, "It feels like I haven't seen you for so long, it's been really really long."
Two weeks.
Thirteen days, to be exact.
No, I don't believe it's been long because I've been fighting and giving in to shit all over again throughout the weeks.
Sometimes I'm physically tired so I sleep in but sometimes, I just can't face any of you.
Is it shame, the fear of never being understood or the fear of being judged?
I don't know.

Not a day goes by without me thinking about my attendance at church or about how sorry I am towards God.
Thinking how I've been letting go of many values I used to cling onto with such faith, and loving the carpe diem religion.
The one that takes over me so wildly and the sick contentment I gain from it; the one the world embraces and practices.
Doing things because I want to, but I know the things I want aren't right for me all the time. Yet I do it anyway.
Say I lack self-control, but I say I'm not ready.

Is this anger?
Yes, I guess so. I've been feeling angry for so long. I saw this anger so clearly when I was at a camp meeting and all the older people saw it.
I've questioned it, I've chased it down to its poisoned roots and I don't know what tolerating it can do for me anymore.
What is worth tolerating and when does tolerating stop?

I guess this anger stems from the fact that I cannot relate to any of you.
I can't keep up with your lives nor do I see the initiative to be listened to.
Sure, keep me in prayer but what is prayer anymore when we don't bond.
I know my faith can't depend on the tightness of my Sunday School class and I'm glad that I've tested it and it doesn't.
I still choose God over the world, no matter what life throws at me.

Yet it's not about the number of Sundays I wait for this to get better and not about the patience I give to this - it's just something I can't get around.
It's not you, it's me.

Maybe our lives are too different. We used to be so close but maybe people change. Things change.
And I've grown to accept this reality, although it hits me like a bitch but I know I gotta get up and face this myself.

Maybe I'm also overwhelmed by the way I have to die to myself. Sometimes I don't feel like I'm enough for Jesus. And yes I know He loves me just the way I am, that I'll always be enough for Him but the perfectionist in me reminds me constantly about how imperfect and fallen I am. I'm so tired. I am fighting myself and through this, I've been afraid of facing God even though I know He's the only one who will understand and make a way out. I feel like I'm turning bipolar.

And I see now that I've been angry because I'm sad. I'm not used to getting up and leaving or doing things my way, even. I'm not used to giving into these negative thoughts - but what if reality is truly that negative? What if the truth is meant to hurt me this time round?

So I'm torn between the decision of getting off my stubborn ass to leave and staying because of how this church has made me grow spiritually - it has made me grow very well. Yet I'm alone on this one.
Do I choose how much I'm learning here or do I choose the people and environment I choose to attach myself to although I feel an awful sense of dread every Sunday?
Who do I ask for help or direction from.
Why can't I have both.
What the hell do I do.
mm I asked God to teach me patience so maybe this lesson isn't over yet.

I think about my role as a worship leader and I'm truly grateful for it.
But I can no longer be up there on the Drama Centre stage in this state of mind singing.
I still give thanks and praise, yes, to this situation because it has opened my eyes to many things.
I will wait patiently for what God wants me to do but till then, I don't know what to do, what to feel.

I ask that you give me time.
I ask that you do not feel disappointed when I am not at church on Sundays or Fridays but miss me, though :)
I ask that you also do not blame yourselves for the way I cannot relate to you guys.
Maybe it's time for a change, maybe it's not.
I'm in limbo, I don't know.

But God has been good to me, this I know.

In His Love+truth,
Li ling

Losing it

I've always fancied the thought of packing my bags and leaving for some place better, which is really pretty impossible and unpractical because 1. I still have parents who love me, who cherish me being home for dinner 2. Where will I go? 3. Who will wash my clothes?
I was lying on the couch, staring at the teletext my father was flipping through and touching the perfect alignment of digital words with my eyes.
I lay there and subconsciously, my mind floated to the idea of perfection as it had done before and I found myself asking God to find me all over again.
I was angry.
Angry at myself because the people at church will never be people I can relate to entirely.
I don't want to be merely there to give them a different perspective to life.
Maybe that's why I've stuck with my other friends for so long. Yes they are different but they are beautiful just the way they are. I don't want to change that.
I've been fighting so many things in my head.
What is wrong and what is right anymore.
What does God love and what does He accept?
Finding my strength in Christ has been so tough; I'm so afraid of falling into sin again and again and I'm so afraid of never living. Living.
I want to do the craziest things right now.
Yet I want to find patience, I want to wait and see but yes I suddenly find myself being entangled in a web of temptation - and I love it.
Have I grown to become sick in the head?
Because black humour tickles me ever so easily and it shows in the first script we put together yesterday in class.
Or am I numb. Do I want to become detached from emotion?
Where is the influence coming from, where is the me who clung onto Him and knew He'd be enough for me?
Is this a part of growing up?
Suddenly I find myself in the wilderness and I don't know where to go, what to do, what to feel.
Why have I become this way.
God, find me.

And I hate classy, having to live up to what you like and adore and express so much of your stone cold love towards.
So much so that I've given up although I personally think it was enough love for you; are you happy now?
I've sealed it with boredom and friendship, I will not touch it again.

Happy, yes I am.
Unsatisfied, yes I've always been.

I shall paint my room walls.

Children

Aloha,
I need a good cry.

I saw myself live in those ashes of grey and teeth clenching orange, saw myself live in those film coated fingers.
Licked the air when I thought of you.
Why can't I be honest?
Who cares about how shocked you are?

And it hit me like a beautiful wave; I can achieve this alone.
I don't need anybody if you don't need me.

What is a family.
What is the point of telling you I did well.
What is the point of saying anything at all.
What are parents.
Why do we have ears.

I am independent, yes.
Once I saw myself searching ever so tirelessly but now the batteries of my heart's torch are exhausted, so please don't blame me.
Because I blame you.

God, can I put my life on hold?
--

School was heaven because I could get out of here.
This roof over my head where I've felt so out of place, so alone.
I will listen to my children.
I will practice compromise.
I will give them a way out.

Your hands of Love

I want to be the one who rejoices in Your works, who gives praise for the morning and sleeps under the shelter of Your wings in the night. When You give me trials, let me always raise my hands to thank You. To know that they make me stronger, make me see way deeper into things than the world tells me things are. Love me o Lord, and never cut off that supply from me. Because I know You have set me apart and I have forgotten about what a privilege that really is. When my life is spinning before me I only have You to fall back upon, I know I have You to fall in love with over and over again and You make me the best at who I'm supposed to be, not the me I see now. Help me to love more Lord, help me to see that everyone You have made deserves to be treated the way I love my closest friends argh guiltstricken yes i am :( Use my hands and use my intellect for Your works, to make this world a better place. And although they say I believe with blind faith, this faith has made me see, this faith has made me understand, this faith has made me see that although the world may be a broken one, it was made by the hands of Love.

The Pretty Weekend Face

The Pretty Weekend Face

I reserved the pretty weekend face for you

Lest your slits of eyes needed fresh reason to say yes

Lest the possibility of need turning into want and want into greed

I cried the week's best tears for you

Now the bed, the carpet and the bathroom walls are lined with blinding suns and mermaid scales

The keyboard with purple studded lightning, all too ready to strike

My mirrored dignity with such lovely resolve

And shiny bullet shells strapped to my faith, 

My conquered lips parted with sounds the siren doesn't even dare to make.

What about the roads I walk on and the steps I take, you ask

Well, they are Splattered with sick dreams made of gold and silver 

("Not a mite will I withhold"

And this I sang with such conviction at church this morning

This I sang with Sunday's favourite tongue

Cleansed, tried and true

Believing I had survived the war but never realising only half the logic had been won)

But above all, above all

See what I see:

The burdened pillow I sleep upon is stained with your honeyed saliva

Pouring out of my eyes, my burning eyes

Windows of the soul? HAHA

So I shut them hard

Slamming them down on my fingers

So that they will type no longer.

What mercy did you ever show me?

Yet I live by faith, not by sight

So I put on the pretty weekend face 

And wasted the ugly daily voice on you

Hoping that they'd both make their way in, their way in

To the innermost place I do not have enough of

Both bowed and sprawled out thin at your feet-

This religion has held my subconscious by her hair

Telling her it's only fair.

My mind is a porcelain tomb

You have pricked me

And here I give you my all now,

Bursting at its friendly, sewed seams

Once intact but now broken into by you, Thief

Fuck, Where is the thread

The purple blue red turquoise strings

That strung the pretty weekend face together

That I willingly gave to you.

But Love detests the pretty game face

So it got cut, so it saw you turn away

Now its charm has finally failed in all its trippy, superficial humour 

Yet recklessly, undauntedly, it has achieved to face what is true

Still, in all my risk-taking, my evidence and falling brows, 

I reserved the pretty weekend face for you.

sab/ 1.19 AM

you keep me without chains

something always brings me back to you,
it never takes too long


i see that you have become my religion


so i watched a bird peck at its feathers on a roof as my tear ducts burned
and i refreshed the page
but the net just wouldn't load for me
so i looked at my face in the screen's reflection instead
and i smiled at myself in my pain
knowing i am still loved by a higher power
knowing that if that's the case, i have everything i need in this world
knowing my forever still exists
knowing i can get through this

shit,
i see that you have become my religion;
i shall denounce you.
although i long so much for one more unspoken moment
just to burn up in your atmosphere
even watching you laugh without knowing how much i've been hurting inside
(to drown in your love and not feel your rain)
and i will play along as i always have
i am good at playing along
but once i fail,
i will let go of everything i/you have ever said to me/you
erase/replace
and start over again.
i hate how weak you've made me
yet you make me strong
what the hell are you.

st-st-st-ic-k-eeeeeeee

Camp is overrrrrrr and it took my voice away just like it stole my heart :')
My rashes have not stopped itching though.
Showed myself what I could do for people for a change
Showed myself what I could do for myself for the first time.
Ah but please pardon the crudeness and lewdness I have displayed, even with His name clinging onto my sweaty skin, even as I carry this internal cross in my heart.
I haven't felt this free for the longest time ever.
I think He knows :')

So I slept with sticky legs every night
Thinking about how sticky I really have been; I seriously need this break
Thinking about how deb had said I'm so beautifully human with everything that I'm going through even though I'm scared stiff and as confused as a puzzled puzzle
Or the fact that I'm ready to be somewhere else without you
And giving your eyes and your heart my blessings

mm and I've felt the burn when the thorn pricked the nightingale's heart
yet the student went on to study his philosophy and metaphysics
things greater, greater than love (because love is for fools, love is for the weak)
went on without knowing, without knowing
the way she gave it all away in silence, the way she let it lead her in
like a lamb to the slaughter:
it is the same blood

So I slept with sticky eyes every night
Making sure that they'd work for every other boy out there
Making sure they don't give me away
Cos I have resolved to making this work
So I killed the music that made me cringe
And sought sweet words that soothed my sore lids and smoothed my furrowed brows
I swear I've looked like an angel in the midst of this
This is for beauty,
This is for my hunger and thirst
Both tired and strained sick
Haha like my voice, my voice

And that was where I broke every night
In my sleeping bag, on carpeted but hard floor
Those few minutes before daylight hits me like a dream all over again
Those few minutes where my head hits the pillow in the afternoons at home; I'm tired of these moments
With an open window, beckoning the firmament to come fill the void in me
The huge bougainvillea bush my mother planted, with its papery bracts holding its tiny flowers together
A tune or two before the war begins
Before trying to sleep it all off

Dear Optimism,
Make me your victim for once
Dear God,
Make me your favourite prayer, the neediest one You've ever heard.
I will rely on You this time

You will never have me this way ever again.

Yet what the fuck can I say
The mess I created and frolicked in my own selfish mud
Self-entertained, yes that I truly have been.

Then again
I have found new surrender
But have you found me yet.