Tap, here I come (back)!

Before you think I've become passionate about plumbing, think again.

I would like to solemnly announce that...

... I'm dancing again!

Or at least, will be soon. Since coming back from Australia, I haven't danced a step. No Latin. No tap. Not even ballet or poofy contemporary. Boo-hoo. I miss movin' and groovin'.

The timing of this class I've finally found is amazing... and the venue... it must be Providence. Really. It's always been so hard to find a class that's on when I'm not working; not in church; not writing; not sleeping... you get my drift. And it's even cheaper than the other schools where the timing didn't match (and parking cost a bomb).

Ah probably nobody who reads this post will really get what I'm talking about. But I'm happy, so smile with me, huh?

Random Things

1. A manual car gearstick with brushed-steel finish is pretty to look at... but a real bear to use on a hot afternoon
2. Red ants do not understand the concept of personal space
3. Apparently, mashed potato and carrot is a sell-able sandwich filling
4. Guppies don't eat dead fleas
5. Guppies also don't like turbulence

'I Could Only Ask God Why'

As I looked behind me, the shining years rolled by
And ahead, all was empty; I could only ask God, "Why?"

These are part of the lyrics I wrote for a song in Storm in a Teacup. I think the question we most commonly ask when bad things happen is, "Why?" Not how, who or even when. Why. There is something in our chemistry that makes us discontent with accepting things as they are without knowing why they must be. And when those things are causing us pain, all the more we're inclined to look up at where we imagine to be the only place God can be found, and scream our question at the Almighty.

These days, burning bushes and columns of fire just don't happen anymore. At least, not that I know of. And we never get an answer that will satisfy us; instead, only the answer he wants us to hear.

Thank God for his patience, or else I believe all of us question-screaming types would have been fried to a crisp by a lightning bolt by now.

I don't think I can change myself to the extent that I can stop asking "why?". There are just too many things going on that make me wonder. But I can and, for the sake of my sanity and a good night's sleep, must teach myself to be content with the only answer that my limited human mind can tolerate for now:

"Because."

Unconditional

Part of my role in preparing for an upcoming youth conference is being part of the drama team that will present a few pieces of varying length to the delegates. For the first time since, oh, ever, I'm also going to act as more than background scenery.

Paradoxically enough, I find that acting demands a lot more authenticity from the actor than most people would usually think; on the flipside, I think most of us do plenty of acting in our day-to-day lives.

How many of us dare to let our guards down to the people around us? I think we'd be shocked if we knew the truth about the people we see every day (and ignore for the most part). We have our civilised mini-conversations, we exchange pleasantries, but it stops there.

We were throwing around ideas for those plays, and one of those was to end each play not with a concluding statement, but with a question.

After the emotional upheaval I've been through in the past few weeks and months, my question for anyone (and not necessarily from me) is:

Would you still love me if you knew who I really am?

Category chaos

Prejudice is funny.

Not laugh-out-loud, early-Jackie-Chan-era-movie funny.

Funny, like, "Why like that wan, ah?" funny.

I think we tend to try too hard to organise people into categories we can understand. Just so that the realisation of each person's uniqueness doesn't overwhelm us. So that we can find some point at which we can identify with that person, because though we may not want to admit it, someone who's not like me may not be someone I want to know.

Or maybe we deliberately make the categories even narrower to suit our biases and prejudices. "I don't strike up conversations with people who clean toilets for a living." "I don't have friends who wear embarrassingly misspelt counterfeit designer clothes." "I don't want to be acquainted with anyone who wears sandals over socks." And gradually, the categories narrow even more and it gets harder and harder to find someone who meets our standards.

And one day, we wake up and realise we don't make the cut anymore.