It's about time

"To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven."
- Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NKJV)

I don't have the words to explain the reasons now; perhaps they will come in time, but they won't be here.

This blog has finally served its time, and I have only wonderful memories and gratitude for the lessons that I've learnt and people that I've met through it. Thank you to each and every one of you who's been a part of this journey.

These past months, my priorities have been reshuffled in a huge way, and it's time for me to move on. This isn't to say that I won't be writing anymore. In fact, one of the reasons that I won't be writing here anymore is precisely because of my time commitments to actual writing gigs; I'm sure many of you who've been here long enough have some idea of just how much that means to me.

While I do value my anonymity, I value relationships more. (Those of you who've written to me in the past two years would know that -- as far as possible -- I sign off e-mails with my name and not my pseudonym.) So please feel free to keep in touch; you're welcome to write even if you haven't in the past.

I will probably do some housekeeping, but most of the entries that have been penned will remain for your reading pleasure. ;)

Lastly, I guess it's only fitting that this blog that has seen so much laughter in the form of guest appearances by friends and family has one last chuckle at their expense.

So long, and thanks for all the fish! :)

***

Me (looking at Mr L's mobile phone): "Why is your text font so small? It's so difficult to read!"

Mr L: "Small fonts are kinkier. Makes my screen look big."

Me: "???"

Home

I'm home.

***

Too many things have happened these past couple of weeks, and words are simply not enough to tell the stories. You had to be there.

I told my sister, when I visited her in Perth, that the one feeling I had the entire time I was there was the constant awareness that I was an outsider. So the most surprising thing I felt when we landed was that of being at home.

Perth is in many ways similar to Singapore -- the big city, the labyrinth of well-paved roads -- but in the unfamiliar culture, living conditions, and language, I felt -- for the first time in my life -- more home than home. To literally reach out the window for grapes, apples, pears, apricots; to lie beneath the blanket of twinkling stars -- it was an indescribable comfort. Which is not to say it was a walk in the park at all; we worked hard the entire time we were there, and hardly had any time off.

If you know me, you'll know that I'm not a morning person at all. I typically don't have breakfast, because by the time I manage to wake up, I'm already late for school or whichever appointment I have planned. Perhaps a huge testament to the kind of joy that I felt there was that I sprung out of bed every single morning before my alarm clock rang -- just too happy to wake up and start a new day.

***

I didn't want to leave, and while part of it has to do with what I've mentioned -- how much I loved the place -- it has more to do with the people that I fell in love with and gave my heart to.

To build relationships with the teenagers in the homes, and the patients in the drug rehab centres, and then to leave them so quickly -- it's too cruel, and it breaks my heart. I don't know if I can do this short-term missions thing, and I don't want to scare my parents, but the only way I can continue this wonderful thing that God has shown me, is to devote my whole life to it.

It's something that I'm still praying about.

***

Before we left Kazakhstan on Sunday afternoon, we said our goodbyes and gave each other farewell hugs and handshakes. It's the first time I've been in a group where I've been the youngest, and I've been unspeakably blessed, encouraged, and inspired, by the people I've met and worked with on this trip. I had so much on my mind then -- too much to think about -- that I didn't even have time to take in the finality of leaving. I took one last look at the green gate that housed my new home, took a deep breath, and got into the taxi.

It was only after we had crossed the treacherous border, and finally moved into Uzbekistan, with Kazakhstan behind us, that the magnitude of what the last two weeks had done for me finally hit -- and the tears started to flow.

***

I'm home.

I'm home, but why does it feel like I've left Home behind?