Although I’m in tears, Lord, you really have a sense of humour. You make me stumble upon this just when I am feeling cold and giddy, yet not wanting to eat. And I know you are saying to me that even if there wasn’t any reunion dinner this time, I still have you, daddy. You who will be here to walk me through and carry me even when I can’t walk anymore. Come what may, and wherever this road will lead me to, this family that You & i share is forever. And that’s all that matters.
“爸，吃饭。” 

You are worth it

He pursues
He prepares
He fights for me

“You are worth it all, every bit of it”

That’s all I’ve been hearing.

(Source: mykindafairytalee)

Do the shattered pieces reunite in your hands? Are there things that won’t and can’t be pieced back once broken? Living the worst chinese new year ever. And the thing about time is that, once passed, it’s never coming back. 

Do the shattered pieces reunite in your hands? Are there things that won’t and can’t be pieced back once broken? 
Living the worst chinese new year ever. And the thing about time is that, once passed, it’s never coming back. 

(Source: saras-scrapbook)

If only

one can somehow perceive expectations and responsibilities as marks of importance and significance. Perhaps people never live out their callings because they don’t know how very important they are.    

Your mercies new

Wow, it’s morning already! How time flies.

伤心

Hold our cold hearts and make us whole

Does it really matter  
The money set aside for the feast 
The sumptuous spread on the dinner table
The many hours of labour sown into pots of food perishable 

Not much of reunion it was 
Cold hearts and hurtful words exchanged
One came while the other left
No words enough to make us stay

Yeah it may be just a day we missed
But a lot more it means
Because so precious we are to one another
And how much we love each other so

Much has gone to waste
The efforts, the many hours sown
In exchange for tired feet and hands
And hearts so cold 

Lord, you be the center of this household
Because only Love can hold and make us whole
Be the warmth in our hearts
Even when we feel tired and cold

There are two kinds of men, men who have authority and men who do not know they have authority.


The Song of Wandering Aengus

by W. B. Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,  
Because a fire was in my head,  
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,  
And hooked a berry to a thread;  
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,  
I dropped the berry in a stream  
And caught a little silver trout.  

When I had laid it on the floor  
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,  
And someone called me by my name:  
It had become a glimmering girl  
With apple blossom in her hair  
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.  

Though I am old with wandering  
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,  
I will find out where she has gone,  
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,  
And pluck till time and times are done,  
The silver apples of the moon,  
The golden apples of the sun.

The pleasure of a photographer

While all photographs are “memento mori”, a “participat[ion] in another person’s mortality, vulnerability, mutability”, ”photographing is essentially an act of non-intervention”. ”A photograph is not just the result of an encounter between an event and a photographer; picture-taking is an event in itself, and one with ever more peremptory rights- to interfere with, to invade, or to ignore whatever is going on”.

Sontag makes interesting claims on photography in On Photography.  
Yet, her claims should not be viewed simplistically, what’s significant is not to understand or classify this as a positive or negative phenomenon (though at times, her diction like “peremptory” and “ignore” does lead us to judge), rather, it interests me to reflect on the function of the distance and detachment in the event of picture-taking. 

Beyond the process of producing ”ghostly traces” and “token presences”, the act of photographing shape the very experience of “seeing”. The photographer sees the world differently from anyone else, not merely because of the photographic frame but the event of picture-taking that involves giving worth to what is seen. Worth not just in the form or product of photographs (are photographs the focus and ultimate prerogative of photography? maybe not..), but an effect in the heart of the photographer himself or herself. This, to me, is what makes photography special, (and if I may be bold to add) more special than all other art forms.

Maybe it involves a more acute awareness of time and space. Sontag writes that  ”photographs help people take imaginary possession of space in which they are insecure”, yet, perhaps, it is a non-tangible appreciation of life that is more significantly taking place.  

While there is some truth in her claim that “the photographer ha[ving] the choice between a photograph and a life, choose the photograph”, I propose not a mere dichotomy between life and photograph, rather, a different kind of life or vision that a photographer is invited to. Perhaps, one could think of the picture-taking event as itself a lens to this world. Not technically and literally of course. 

But in all, what’s most significant to me is the pleasure of photographing. There is pleasure in this mediation, and perhaps, meditation. I don’t know why. Maybe it involves appreciating the little things and taking joy in what’s easily taken for granted. Maybe it opens the eyes of our hearts to see how everything is beautiful in His time.

Truth is, you don’t really need a camera to be led into this world, but to start off, it would help to use one, especially film cameras, because they give a whole new meaning to worth.
Remember, He makes all things beautiful in His time. If there’s nothing else to be grateful for, this is enough. :)

Seeing stars

“Ants? Where?”

“Huh, what flies?”

“I see no ants or flies.
I swear there isn’t any moving thing on the table!
Are you okay?”  

Okay, so what I’ve been seeing isn’t naturally, physically there. Is this a “trembling of the veil” into the “shivering other existence” as Yeats would say? Or, is it simply a medical condition?

Point is, how shall we say it? Am i seeing stars? The twinkling essence we see in the dark nightsky and the dark moving, flashing spots we see in the bright daylight. Are they one and the same?

Go son, you are free…

“Am I a bad father? 15 years ago, when my own father was hospitalized… He had tubes everywhere… On the brink of death. I just hoped that he’ll pass on peacefully. Then, my sis prayed for him, and 15 minutes later, he went on, peacefully.
But now that it’s my son… I don’t want him to go… Am I very selfish? Am I bad father?”