I used to dream a lot as a child.

not dream as in cook up stories in my head and reimagine my life. I do that. a lot. but those aren't the dreams I'm talking about. I'm talking about those that happen while you're sleeping and not necessarily aware of what that is happening.

my dreams had stories. had continuity. which was always odd to me and a little annoying given the dreams that I used to have. and there were four big ones that I always remember.

one was me always getting dropped off somewhere and then me trying to find my way through a haunted house where I had to climb through tunnels and jump down from high places, both things that I absolutely hated and feared. I remember the cold sweat as I tried to get to my final destination before the ghosts would get to me. And every time the ghost got to me, I would wake up and mentally kick myself, knowing that I would have the dream again. And each time I had the dream, I would try a new route, always remembering what I did the last time. When I finally reached the last place I had to be and escaped the place, I woke up feeling ridiculously victorious. and I never had the dream again.

the second was me in the olden days, trying to make it through a single night to get away from the monsters that rose from the ground. it was a mad few months of constantly dying in my dream and then in the next dream, working out a new plan to survive. the very first time I saw the beams of light shine into my hiding place to signal that I had made it, I woke up feeling glorious again, knowing very well that I would never have to deal with the dream again.

the third one was a little more sobering. it would start with a gray stormy day as the family would head out for a vacation. and the entire trip would be beautifully scary, of tall cliffs, jagged rocks in the sea, lightning scattered skies and just the feel of gloom. but yet, I was always with a friend from the dream. and I actually looked forward to the dream. however, there was that one time I fought with that dream friend and therein revealed doubt, confusion, and betrayal of emotions from both sides due to differing expectations. the dream eventually ended in a gorgeous cave pool and clear blue skies with gentle wind. I woke up and cried, knowing that I would never dream that dream again. and it was really the last time I saw that dream friend.

then these serial dreams stopped. they stopped linked and all it started stuttering, the dreams never having anything to do with another. It also coincided with a darker time of my life. for 4-5 years, each dream was disjointed. then the last and final one.

this was weirder and probably due to a strange phase in my life. it was literally about my dream boyfriend. like boyfriend in my dream. and it was the same guy over and over again. I would wake and never remember how he looked like or sounded like but whenever I entered the dream, I would recognise him and the dream would start. after a few months, when I had the serial dream again, it started out ominous. and it ended with me crying my eyes at a funeral. I remember waking up and crying over someone I never knew or met for real.

and that was it.

the serial dreams stopped.


I never figured out why those moments happen and why they stopped even though I think about them from time to time. they still make for interesting conversation at times when it's apt to bring them up. if anyone reading this can somehow make sense of why serial dreams even happen, do let me know so I can close this weird chapter somehow. lols.

In all things that you have created, I hear You in the midst reminding me, "I Am."

Let me then always fall on my knees and praise You, "You Are."

I know my posts have been a little darker but i need the reminders i give myself here...

The one night I nearly OD'ed, I prayed, dug nails into flesh, hyperventilated, and cried myself into a dry heaving headache before I caved and texted friends in the wee hours after midnight to plead for prayers.

Obviously I fought that to be still writing this today.

But when I think back on it, it wasn't really that I was fighting to live. I mean, I questioned my existence on an hourly basis. I wasn't thinking of living.

But Carrie Fisher helped me understand those thoughts better now.

I wasn't thinking of living. But I wasn't thinking of dying either.

So that night of the exceptionally bad attack, I fought not because I wanted to live. I fought because I didn't want to die that night out of convenience.

That said, if I had planed it... if I had detailed it and arranged for it, I'm not even sure I would be posting this now. I lived because I never meant for myself to die in the middle of an attack.

When I first told L about it, she reminded me gently that I had beaten depression before. She believed that I could be strong enough to fight it again. Not "would". But "could". There was no pressure on my will but encouragement based on my capabilities.

And so I'm logging this down to remind myself that if it happens again.. if I fall into darkness again.. There is also a chance that I will recover again too. And that is one hope I'll cling to with His watchful eye and guiding hand in my life. So remember.

I hate that in spite of everything I'm saying or have said, my mind still filed away "coal briquette".

Please stop, brain.

Hurts. It hurts. Why does it hurt so much. I want it to stop. I need it to stop. Go away. Please go away.

Everyone is lying. No one cares. They can't wait for me to be gone. No one cares.

Loving them means I shouldn't be a burden to them. What is a period of mourning without me to a lifetime of angst and grief with me. I can't help them help me. It's worse for them when I'm around them.

Perhaps it's just me but... It's dark here. Where do I find light?

Mind tricks? No. This is me. It's not mind tricks. It's me. I'm broken. I can't be fixed if the wrong is me. I'm that rotten and hopeless and helpless.

Eventually, this life is going to fade. I could do everyone the biggest favor. I could save myself from the lies I tell me. Perhaps when it fades faster, I'll be the hero finally.


- In every cry. In every thought. In everything that a depraved mind works out, there's a silent hidden "Help me". -



It's not about me. Or at least that's what I tell myself. Every time I read about someone who's given in, I have to remind me that it's not about me.

But yet I get it. I understand. I know the moments when the demons take over and your mind is no longer yours. There is no reprieve or comfort or will or strength and all you can do is to rely on that pill or that therapist and hope that your faith in God will deliver you somehow. There is nothing you have control over.

That's why it's a mental illness. And now that I'm on this side, I cannot stress enough the importance of seeking the right medical help. The world outside of the realm of professionals and patients doesn't understand or even begin to comprehend the surface of this complicated illness. But it's very real and it needs the right treatment. Not self-help mind control books. In mental illness, a patient has very little control over his or her thoughts. He... she... we are completely reliant on others. So it's the "right" others who truly understand that can help us.

Even today, I'm still scared. It's happened twice. I've seen smiling faces hide the anguish and hurt and hopelessness the way I used to. I've heard those smiling faces give in to their demons and leave us. And I'm so damn scared that if it's happened twice to me, it can happen the third time.

And in those moments, will I realize it early enough to get help again? I honestly don't know. :(

I've unfortunately learnt that the voices don't go away. They start out as incoherent white noises that lurk in the background. And when the moment is oportune, they creep in with the daggers that cut open the doubt.

I've thankfully also learnt to stop looking for the voice that tells me that they are wrong. I pause. I breathe. I sit back and wait for the whispers to fade before I review the situation to see what I can do rectify it through conversations.

No walls. No defenses. Just me with my God behind me reminding me that those dark days are gone and He's the light that makes sure I never step back into them. Then even if things start to fall apart, I have Him to keep my actions, words, and heart in check to show that I mean it when I say I will do all things that please Him.

I am not responsible for how people react to me. But I am responsible for how I treat them and respond to them. And I will keep on keeping on with both eyes on His outstretched pierced hands to correct and watch myself.

May I keep all these things in mind to never let the warped voices take over and take control to lead me down the path of self-destruction again.

at a meeting...

Important Person (IPS): It's like that book JR... that man...

Audience: Tolkien?

IPS: yes yes. him. his book Harry Potter.

Audience: (murmurs) Lord of the Rings...

IPS: ah yes! Tolkien wrote Lord of the Rings and he spoke of the Philosopher stone.


The room stared at one another in muffled murmurs and giggles out of politeness.

I actually felt winded and lost for words as I tried to recollect myself. To make matters worse, a colleague in the meeting who knew that LOTR was my favorite fiction and movie of all time stared at me and burst out laughing, as if he could see the daggers stabbing my heart repeatedly. I could only manage a weak smile back as he tried to fight his laughter.

oh my goodness.. WHY.

The one thing that grieves me most isn't ignorance or negligence. The one thing that grieves me most and cuts the deepest is when someone can look me in the eye and say...

"Yes it's in the Bible. But I am/the world is/reality is..."

And it hurts. It hurts to see the sheep hear His voice and choose to intentionally walk away from it.

The shepherd is good. The shepherd is wise. The shepherd is loving. We may not always agree with it because our human nature argues against it but the Ultimate Shepherd knows His sheep best. He is not a super-sized version of us. He is much greater and more awesome and in a different league from us. 

So why do we consciously and deliberately disobey Him?

Praying. Praying so hard to keep on keeping on. Sigh.

After a grueling intense 4 days of gluttony on His word, I find myself both enriched, intrigued, and so so so tired.

Then when I met T to head home together, she mentioned that one of her friends spoke to her about me. Her friend spoke about how she saw my conviction of my faith, and the drive and love I had for it.

I don't remember speaking to that friend. Which means one of two things: my memory is failing me or she must have been next to me during one of the discussions though we weren't in the same group.

Embarrassing really.

Simply because it wasn't me speaking. Or in a sense, I may have presented it with my words and mouth but it really was the Holy Spirit working in me. I take no pride in my words and thoughts and deeds that glorify Him because He enables my ministry. And also, what did she hear me say??? If it could help someone in their walk, I would love to know what it was so I can help another similarly.

Even then, there's so much to think about and reflect. To ponder and be challenged by. Still, this little whale will keep on keeping on for Him and remember soli deo gloria.

All I do for my ministry, I do it for Him. All the hours, the tiredness, the frustrations with myself, the headaches.. it's all for Him.

So why do I feel so disheartened and dejected at man's failure to help himself to grow in the Lord when I'm here trying to help him?


I can only pray that He continues to help me keep my eyes on Him as my motivation, and not the response of people.

so I've finally caved.

I've subscribed for Starhub Go Select.

and now my best friend, and significant other, and one I really have an appt most with is my laptop and phone.

and my kindle. can't forget the kindle.


I'm in trouble. sigh.

things I've dreamt of seeing but never thought I'd actually see it...

someone cooking soft boil eggs in the pantry.


of course it's legit work here. surrounded by eggs, raw and cooked, with a notebook and timer and egg cooking machine. now I can only hope he takes me up on my eating services. jidaaaaaaan~