My brain is just crying.
Organizing thoughts is such a painful process.
The views expressed here are entirely my own, and do not represent the views of any formal or informal organisation with which I am affiliated.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Friday, January 16, 2015
Pros and Cons of Writing Difficult Essays
Trying to work through the rationale of choosing a difficult essay topic.
Benefits:
Benefits:
- Opportunities for originality and creativity would be in abundance.
- I would be challenged intellectually.
- Tutor would be potentially more impressed.
- Potentially more material to engage with than if I had chosen an easy essay topic.
Cons:
- It is so difficult to writeeeeeeeeeeeeee :'(
Thursday, January 15, 2015
(Un)mediated Vision
She hates seeing through her spectacles.
They were fixed annoyingly and obnoxiously in front of her eyes, occasionally gliding down her nose as though they were aware of her dislike of them and were embarrassingly trying to take their leave. But they could not, and she could not put off wearing them at times. Yet, she could not help but feel immensely aware of the weight of them on her nose, the feeling of them blocking her real eyes from seeing.
It wasn't for beauty or vanity that she hated wearing them. But these lenses instead of helping her, hindered her; instead of clearing her vision, obscured it. She hated the sense that they were trying to dictate to her what to see. They say to her 'look there, there's a tree', or 'over there, there is a house'. Her freedom was confined by the frames of the glasses sitting quietly upon her features, her experience of life constrained as though she were only seeing things vicariously through the transparent lenses of her spectacles.
It was like trying to touch with gloves on, it was like trying to hear music through earmuffs. They were an additional layer her senses had to penetrate in order to grasp the stimuli, the things that moved her spirits. And they just felt unnatural, no matter how necessary they are.
No, if she were to see, to truly see, it would be through her real eyes. The blurred images of the distant backdrop, the fuzziness of letters on a signboard - they were flawed, imperfect, broken, but they were rightfully hers. It was her eyes touching these sights, caressing them, feeling their weightiness and committing them to memory and mind.
They were fixed annoyingly and obnoxiously in front of her eyes, occasionally gliding down her nose as though they were aware of her dislike of them and were embarrassingly trying to take their leave. But they could not, and she could not put off wearing them at times. Yet, she could not help but feel immensely aware of the weight of them on her nose, the feeling of them blocking her real eyes from seeing.
It wasn't for beauty or vanity that she hated wearing them. But these lenses instead of helping her, hindered her; instead of clearing her vision, obscured it. She hated the sense that they were trying to dictate to her what to see. They say to her 'look there, there's a tree', or 'over there, there is a house'. Her freedom was confined by the frames of the glasses sitting quietly upon her features, her experience of life constrained as though she were only seeing things vicariously through the transparent lenses of her spectacles.
It was like trying to touch with gloves on, it was like trying to hear music through earmuffs. They were an additional layer her senses had to penetrate in order to grasp the stimuli, the things that moved her spirits. And they just felt unnatural, no matter how necessary they are.
No, if she were to see, to truly see, it would be through her real eyes. The blurred images of the distant backdrop, the fuzziness of letters on a signboard - they were flawed, imperfect, broken, but they were rightfully hers. It was her eyes touching these sights, caressing them, feeling their weightiness and committing them to memory and mind.
Very late albeit very important New Year's Resolution
My New
Year’s Resolution: is to be radical and different, just like Jesus.
Not for the sake of being radical, not for anarchistic fun or wildness, but to be radical that I may proclaim His name and His mind-boggling gospel to the world. His gospel is radical, and He is radical, so need I be radical as well.
Not for the sake of being radical, not for anarchistic fun or wildness, but to be radical that I may proclaim His name and His mind-boggling gospel to the world. His gospel is radical, and He is radical, so need I be radical as well.
This year, I want to be bold - not a boldness equivalent to rashness and recklessness, but a boldness mediated and regulated by thought, common sense, and above all, love. No longer do I want to hide behind pandering niceties, but to be frank and honest in a gentle way.
This year I want to challenge my own pre-existing perceptions, to examine myself always, not to be seduced into the easy complacency of a comfy Christian bubble; but to daily grow in my Lord, whose folds of depths into which I can never fully delve. And also, to challenge others to know that there is no end to the mystery and glory of God. I want to talk to people I've never talked to before, experience new things, think about new things. And I want to do this all, with my vision focalised on Him.
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