Don't Waste Your Life

I recall that when I started needing to sign 'documents' for school. Such as attendance for excursions on the attendance sheet, or other stuff (I can't exactly remember what). I had about 3 or 4 different signatures, different patterns. Each one signed a different part of my name, like Liren, Ren, Zheng, Tay, Zheng Liren, Tay Liren. I'll leave it up to you guys to guess what my current signature is made up of. And no, it's not any of the above.

I remember looking at the signatures of the adults around me; my parents, teachers, even the school principal. I remember trying, not to fake the signatures, but to emulate them. I certainly didn't try to sign the signatures of the teachers I hated, only those I liked or at least had some form of respect for. Up till today, my dad has 2 signatures. I tried to imitate my dad's simpler one, not cos he used that one on my report books, but because it was the only one I saw. He used the other one for other major stuff like credit card transactions.

I remember spending hours trying to imitate their signatures. It felt like their signatures were for them a notation of their adulthood, and in my imitations, I craved to be initiated into the world of adults.

I chose between the different signatures. Should it be angular, or curvy? Simple, or complicated? English or Chinese? Bold or gentle? Long or short? From a mess of scribbles, they got narrowed down to the 3 or 4 which were nicer. Long pages of mess eventually became, still long pages of mess, but now the individual lumps of mess looked more homogeneous.

And I got confused which one I signed at different points. Especially for the bank accounts statements. But I guess the bank teller was gracious seeing my little kiddiness struggling with signaturising? :) Perhaps, I wasn't an adult yet no matter how badly I wanted to be one?

We were signing some forms, after which I had put down my initials on the form and she asked: "This is strange. Why do you write down your initials after you sign?"

"Er. cos if not, we don't know whose signature it is ma."

"Really meh. But after a while, we can recognise each others' signatures ma."
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And so started a short conversation about signatures that prompted me to think about the little thing called signatures that we pen down so many times each day.

Signatures are profound. And each signature has much to say about the person who signs it.

Come journey with me and ponder more.

Part 2 to come. :)

In Mandarin, we have a saying: "speaking like the blind with his eyes wide open." In rough terms, it basically means "lying through your teeth".

This happened at Sim Lim Square.
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Me: So.. why is this hard disk so much cheaper than the other 2? (it had an older looking packaging than the other 2 brands)

Salesperson: Oh. Because when a new product is released, they usually give you a cheap price for it. Then after that when it's not so new, they jack up the price. So this is a new product, newer than the other 2. So cheaper.

Me: Oh. When the product is newer, it's cheaper? So this is cheaper cos it's newer..

Salesperson: Yeap.

I am scared to be a father. Not that I'm actually going to be one, but I kind of felt like one today.

Needed to buy some milk powder for a low-income client and I went to the supermarket to look for the brand she gave me.

So I walked around the supermarket (I HAVE NEVER ACTUALLY EVEN HAD TO GO LOOK AT THE MILK POWDER SECTION), and then when I came to that aisle.. I stared. STARED. stared. stared. stared.

OMG. I didn't know milk powder was THAT expensive. The most expensive kind is actually those for the infants. I wonder how much difference the infant milk powder really makes. But I suspect it's really just a marketing ploy to jack up the prices cos parents are more careful about what their infants take. I seriously wonder how the low-income families cope, especially if they have 4-5 babies in a row. Especially when a SMALL can costs $16. How? Nan 1, Nan 2, Similac, Grow, Progress, Enfagrow, Pediasure etc. Oh man.

In other situations, this may not be appropriate, but for a moment like this, I think can la. Here goes....




Sigh.

One of our profs at NUS used to say, social workers are like professional beggars.

I hate it.

I hate it when people look down on me/ us just because we don't have money to pay them what they want. Or don't have money to pay the insane amounts of money corporate 'trainers' charge. Or think that what we have to offer is an insult.

Maybe it's because I seriously don't believe the work we do is of any less worth than what others are doing and charging. Except somehow some people think that just because we don't charge as high, our work is not as valuable.

I hate it when people look down on us. Or even those who think that we have an easy job.

I think the break to be with myself at the cafe for a couple of hours helped to calm an anxious heart always nervous at the amount of things to be done at the office. And with that came a certain open-ness to the things that were happening around me and the potential stories they would become. I've noticed that this subconscious open-ness to new reflections and insights only come when my heart is rested from the stresses of work and daily life.

I took the walk to the MRT and just as I was about to take my place to wait for the train's arrival, somebody called out to me. A petite sized lady with a few bags and a backpack slung on her front asked 'Sir, is this the train I should take to Bishan?', pointing to the train map. I said 'yes.. this is the way..' and smiled, recognising her Filipino accent.

'Hmm. Which part of Bishan are you going to?' I asked in afterthought, realising that if she didn't know how to get to Bishan, it wasn't likely that she would be able to navigate her way around the neighbourhood. She dug up a scrap of paper from her plastic bag with an address on it. I took a look and realised that it was just a couple of blocks away from my own home, and hence I offered to travel with her back and be her travel directory.

It was only then that I realised that the little pouch she dug the scrap of paper from contained air ticket stubs and she was dragging a huge luggage along too. Obviously she had just landed and was looking for her way around to go back to her employer's house.

Asking her to follow me without trying to make some small talk was strange, and I found myself asking questions about her. She lives far away from Manila, has been here for 3 years and her two boys are aged 16 and 6. She had just been back home for 15 days for her yearly holiday. She wants to visit her family, but yet at the same time each of these trips saps her savings.

I think I spotted a teary eye as she mentioned her children as she blinked and looked away. On hindsight, it probably wasn't the best time to ask her about what she left behind at home. But she did share that after 3 years here, things have gotten easier.

It's definitely interesting that she didn't know how to get to Bishan from City Hall after 3 years in Singapore though.

It got a little too awkward asking more, and so I decided to shut up and plug my mp3 earphones into my ears. She really was carrying a lot of things and there were times I really wanted to help her carry some, but I was afraid that she would see me as someone trying to con her by being overly friendly or what. Screwed up world where we are taught can't even trust people on the street. so much so that we even disallow ourselves a chance to be trusted. Who taught us that? And I noticed that I tended to ask questions that emphasised differences, not similarities. Emphasised how different she was from me, and not how we were similar as human beings.

We reached our destination and I said bade her goodbye as I went towards my block and she went towards hers. 'Bye. Take care.'

And as I took the elevator up to my home, I wondered if she was also taking an elevator to a house which was not home. I wondered what she might say if I bumped into her next time at our neighbourhood. I wondered at the story behind the little details she shared relatively openly with a stranger like me. Did I make her feel comfortable sharing? Or did her 'just re-landed' status slice open a cavity in her heart that prompted her to let out some of those details?

She has a story to tell, just like every other worker in Singapore from another country. But her story awaits its telling by the best storyteller for her story: herself.
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And so as I am typing this, a couple in their 30s are standing outside my room window (which faces the corridor) and read the little tag I have on the window.

It feels strange typing about the domestic helper's story and hear someone read out that tag while I am immersed in thoughts about my experience with her. "Social work... is my response when God called 2 years ago.." The digit in that little phrase may no longer be relevant, but nonetheless it's written by a very significant and important person in my life.

And it also happens to be a small detail about my story.

I roll up the blinds and reveal my overweight topless body to them, grinning to them that what they were reading was a little tag about me, and also about the other important person. But it almost felt like I was rolling the blinds up to ascertain to myself that those were human voices.

For that little second, the voice sounded a little too distant and aloof to be human. It sounded like some divine being was reading it out to me to remind me of my life. Just like the domestic helper was telling a little part of her story, I have mine to tell too. My story about social work and about people.

I am the only one who can tell my story best, but I've got God as my scriptwriter. :)

And so it was a random Sunday morning. One of the mornings that I play drums for service, which is actually quite a tiring thing. And I hopped out of church wondering where I should go for my ritual reading time with myself on Sundays. I decided to go to the newly opened Iluma to look for a cafe. I could take one of two routes.

Route 1 (normal route): Prinsep Street => Albert Street => Across Bugis Village => Turn right on Victoria Street to Iluma.

Route 2 (never taken before): Prinsep St => Albert St => Bencoolen St => Middle Road => Turn left o Victoria Street to Iluma.

These 2 routes are by foot by the way. And so just out of pure desire for novelty and a general disgust at the extreme crowdedness at Bugis Village, I took route 2.

Was walking along enjoying the new buildings and wondering about God's plan for putting our church in such an interesting artistry-laden, commercial, edge of the city area. How touristy. And I was about to cross a little street called Bencoolen Link when I looked up across the road before crossing.

I rubbed my eyes. Hmm?! Is that my friend across the road? My friend from Korea studying in USA? Huh? It can't be her. This is Singapore. This is a random Sunday morning. She's on my Facebook and MSN. She didn't tell me she's coming to Singapore. It can't be her. It can't be Julie. Julie can't be Singapore.The thoughts floated around until a scream pierced the tourist noise. "OMG OMG OMG OMG!!!!!!!!" it went. I looked up from my thoughts and saw that she was really who I thought she was and that she was running across that little road risking her very life to come over to my side. And my mouth was gaping too. OMG.













It was her! Hahaaaaaaaa. I absolutely couldn't believe it. Of all places, a random little tiny street at Bugis. She was heading to Bugis Village, which I also happened to be happily avoiding. Turns out she was only in Singapore for a couple of days, but didnt have time to get access to the Internet to get in touch with me.

What a blessing to bump into random friends from halfway across the world!

So, after a week of hiatus, I've decided to start a new series on the blog. It'll be a series that blogs about cafes in Singapore. Since I visit cafes relatively often, it makes sense for me to have a section on the blog where I can write simple reviews on the cafes and it gives people a nice option to look to when they're looking for a place to chill.

I'm got some time off work today and headed down to One Fullerton after taking a short nap at home. Thought I'd have a relatively relaxed time in a cafe in town on a weekday afternoon.

Times have changed. Students can afford to go to Starbucks to study nowadays. I could hardly find any seat after coming in to the aircon section of the cafe. Laptops, books, calculators all strewn around. Surprised.

I think decor at Starbucks is in general quite similar. What makes this one interesting is that it's got a large waterfront section, directly facing the Esplanade, Marina Bay Floating Platform and the new IRs. The waterfront view is not the most fantastic one in the world, but I should say it's not too bad for Singapore.



This is a nice place to chill, and the outdoor section is quite windy because of the waterfront. It's got some big tables outdoors should you need some extra space to get some real work done.




The indoors section is a little narrow shaped corridor and if the other coffee lovers are talking and joking, the sound can be a little noisy. :)

The very best skill, a violin, a crowd and the truth thrown in your face.

That's what this experiment was about. Joshua Bell, supposedly one of the top 3 greatest violinists alive, stood in a tunnel in the early morning just when the working crowd was passing. One of the greatest violinists, playing his 300 year old instrument, playing 6 of the best pieces of music ever written in the history of man. In a tunnel in Washington D.C. leading to the busiest federal government office belt.

1097 people passed by him in the span of 46 minutes... passed by..


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We are so busy. So so so busy.

Does it feel familiar to you? Our hearts beating faster when we are nearing the office door. Feeling you can't pull through the day without the next cup of coffee. That irritation that comes with that extra phone call at 5:43pm, that faster footstep when we sense we are going to be approached and stopped by a roadside financial planner... that....

This isn't just another one of those 'take-a-break-get-some-self-care' posts. It's more than that.

Breaks are merely times when we stop our brains from moving. I think, real self-care that has deep and lasting rest for the soul goes deeper than that. I think it stems from a consciousness that chooses to take every chance to appreciate true beauty. Real self-care goes beyond avoiding the negatives of life, it comes with an ability to see beauty even when there is a gross negativity, to see beauty where there seemingly is none.

And we have lost that.

We have lost the ability to even define beauty, much less appreciate beauty itself.

How many times has the man or woman we love turned into an ugly monster because we saw him or her standing between us and our attention to our stress? When was the last time you held a baby's hand and took in the sheer beauty of her innocence and purity? (I hope it wasn't when your last baby was born..) When did I last buy the cheapest breed of durian instead of the Mao Shan Wang and open my eyes wide in pure joy as I smelt and tasted its sheer richness and creaminess even though it paled it comparison with the King of the Cat Mountain? When did we last have a conversation so deep and engaging that it left us breathless and gasping for air? When did we last give a hug and stay present in his arms and him in mine, and not rush to let go to do the next thing on our schedule? When did we last.. stop to listen to the best violinist alive play for free?
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And so I've been re-discovering iTunes ever since I managed to make it work on my computer again. And iTunes has changed so much since I last used it on my old computer back in 2006-7.

It isn't the just how the programme works anymore, or how it manages to gather all my media and play it in one place, or how its search engine is incredibly intuitive to rummage through all my music. iTunes now is all about its iTunes store, with so much media on it, I sometimes get giddy trying to navigate through it.

It seems that everyone on the earth with any significant idea to broadcast to the rest of us has a spot on iTunes. And most of the time, these ideas are sold to you for free. You don't pay anything for it except your time. Which of course would also entail giving up dinner with a friend, or with a wife, or with a child (in my case, my little dear niece). And so to remedy that, they invent the iPod so that you can listen on the go when you're travelling, without the need to disturb the rest of your day.

I am just left open-jawed at the amount of material there is on iTunes. Every conceivable topic, every conceivable subject, every conceivable perspective, every conceivable idea. Impossible is nothing.

With every single podcast packaged as nicely as the next one, I just don't know which ones to listen to. As of now, I've downloaded enough podcasts to listen to for more than 24 hours without stopping a single minute. Trust me, that's not a lot, but I already don't know where to start.

And I wonder if the neverending avalanche of stuff pouring our way, each one claiming superiority to the one behind it, each one claiming to be more insightful, more incisive, more critical, more fantastical, more sensational than every other one, is the reason we've stopped even bothering about what is truly good. We've been subconsciously disappointed too many times with mediocrity, duped by clever advertising into buying stuff not nearly as good as what it claims to be, bombarded by the drone of anticipated unexpected 'normalness' which ironically is what most of us crave for.

Maybe we need to find our definitions of beauty again, and stop to listen.

The next time you pass by Orchard MRT tunnel, Corrinne May might just be singing her song, but don't forget to rush for your new Uniqlo tee at ION Orchard.

I was really lost for words. Really didn't know what to say to her and for her.

I think even though death is something I think about relatively often, given my slightly more morbid outlook on life and the nature of my work, I realised that it is really still not easy to talk to someone who is staring at death in its face.

Facing the Giant Shadow. How fitting, a giant shadow that covers over all that you see and all that you perceive, darkening every footstep. The shadow of the valley of death. When will light come?

We know that Despair = Suffering - Meaning. Happiness doesn't come on its own, but it comes with the successful pursuit of meaning, when there is more to life than just that shadow, even though the shadow seems to be all that we can see.

I tried to explore and help her think about meaning, but at times I felt that I was being insensitive, even to the point when I felt talking about meaning was an insult to her suffering. I felt trapped in between knowing that finding meaning will really help her to cope with her suffering, but yet feeling that meaning was so far away for her. How do we even talk about meaning when all she wants is to survive? But yet without meaning, her suffering is even more torturous.

Does anyone know how I could explore about meaning and suffering without descending into insensitivity and without having it all fly over my client's head?

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"Once an individual's search for meaning is successful, it not only renders him happy but also gives him the capability to cope with suffering? And what happens if one's groping for a meaning has been in vain? It may well result in a fatal condition.

The more a patient, instead of forgetting himself through giving himself, directly strives for orgasm, i.e. sexual pleasure, the more this pursuit of sexual pleasure becomes self-defeating. Indeed, what is called 'the pleasure principle' is, rather, a fun-spoiler."

Viktor E. Frankl - Man's Search for Meaning.

Being Bishan-er working in Bukit Timah, I finally had a chance to go to Tampines 1 today! Didn't look around too much, but mainly spent most of the time dinnering with Jerm at Bakerzin!

This is my first time at Bakerzin actually eating food. I have had cake there before (Lavenda Chocolate cake) and coffee (their coffee was damned good e last time I tried a few years back), but I've never had food.

I think the pictures will speak for themselves first.

Wonderful, unlimited bread. Much better than Cartel bread. The cranberries were wonderfully tangy and sweet. And the ciabatta goes SO well with the soup. Perfect combination.

Jerm lusting after the pennes. I meant penne. Aiya, the pasta la. What you thinking about!?

My spaghetti with poached egg and ham. And best of all, Hazelnut Butter!! I've never tasted anything like it before, but it was certainly good stuff!! The Hazelnut Butter added another dimension to the flavour of the pasta besides just the usual olive oil, salt and garlic, but I think the ham and the egg were a little bland.

Beautifully done baked chicken wings. Seriously, the best I've eaten. I want to learn to make this. It tastes wonderfully Asian-flavoured, but yet not the oily fried chicken that we Asians are so used to.

Gorgeous warm chocolate cake with berries, orange confit and vanilla ice-cream. Gorgeous, just gorgeous. Orgasmic. Poke into the cake and the warm liquid chocolate inside flows/ gushes out. You tell me, is that orgasmic or what??

I must say, Bakerzin has done a really good job expanding from a cafe specialising in cakes to a full-fledged restaurant. It's set meal prices, offer of classier range of breads like the cranberry bread, quality coffee has helped it to tread the fine line between the more expensive restaurant and one a typical professional/ executive would go to for dinner on a Friday night after a long week.

Food's a wonderful tweak from the usual pastas and entrees we get at other places and it makes eating there a unique experience, but still the flavours match well. And the freshness and quality of ingredients is definitely there. I would so go again. Plenty of chances.

Thanks Jerm for dinner!! :)

So today, at the beginning of the 26th year of my existence, I decided to breathe some new life into my blog. I know it will draw both raves and rants, but I'd like to be allowed to be happy with it.

And besides the new-look blog, it shall also be marked with one of what I would call a typical Liren post. Here goes. :)
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I sat at Telunas beach on the last morning of our stay, which was also my 26th birthday. The incredible mix of emotions came over me, and I didn't really want to face those feelings. I took my mind off my staring into the clouded sunrise, and took a couple of photos.

It was not until I left this beautiful scene that the reflections streamed into my mind.

Perhaps, it is even so that in nature, God has ordained the "must-be's" of this world. Things must-be this way, and there is no other way.

Did the sun set out each morning to paint the sky with hues of pink, purple, blue, and orange? Did it set out to create the fleeting beauty that we all look forward so much to? No, it did not. It set out to blaze across the earth, covering it with a glory unescapable, irreplaceable.

Did the rain struggle to release itself from the restraining clutches of the clouds to gift mankind with the beauty of the rainbow's colours? No, it did not. It freed itself to feed the thirst of all creation craving for the quenching of its gentle carress.

And so it must be in life. We set out to do great things, to achieve, to conquer, to be needed. Yet, in our lives and those of whom we love, the greatest beauty comes during the 'in-betweens'. It is in the struggle between night and day, quenching and thirsting, between rain and shine, light and darkness, between love and indifference, between action and apathy that releases the incredible flashes of brilliance and profound beauty that life is capable of.

And life, is in us.

When will we reveal our true beauty and grace?

Some of you know that I was really quite disappointed in myself after Live Supervision on Monday. Felt quite upset firstly at my lousy micro-skills and then by the fact that I can't seem to get over and resolve some of my personal transference issues. In fact, at the debrief I could feel my tears welling up; I was just so irritated at my own issues.

And because of that, I started feeling very much like I wasn't fit to do counselling anymore, I kept doubting whether I could do a good job and whether my clients would benefit. And I was really afraid, because I thought those fears and insecurities would make me an even worse counselor.

This morning on my way to work, I decided to go listen to a random Corrinne May song. And it brought me to one of my fave Corrinne May songs which I had not listened to for some time; 'Five Loaves and Two Fishes'.



For a long time, I have not felt encouraged by a song already. But I felt the tears welling up as I listened to it. Take my fears, my inhibitions, all my burdens and ambitions..

I said a silent prayer. I often think about that boy, when I'm feeling small. When I worry about the work I do.. means nothing at all.. Lord, assure me that what I do is significant. I crave so much for significance. But every single tear I cry is a diamond in his hands; and every door that slams in my face I will offer up in prayer..

Asking God to take the little I have and feed the thousands with it. So I'll give you every breath that I have.. Oh Lord You can work miracles.. All you need is my Amen...

And with that, I reached my office door. The day began, my only counselling session at 2:30pm which I really felt inadequate. My client has been going through the toughest time of his life, but today he came and told me that he's just been through some shit that 'tops it all'. I listened, patiently, asking questions, clarifying, reflecting, paraphrasing, empathising, challenging, guiding his thoughts, drawing strengths. Micro-skills. I didn't have much theory, but just helped him process his thoughts in ways that I normally process my thoughts.

The session lasted 1.5hrs. I rounded it up and gave a small piece of homework. He was keen on it and said that homework gave him some perspective.

And at the end as we walked out of the counseling room, he said 'Thank you for not running away like my previous counselor. Maybe he couldn't take what I was telling him, or maybe he just didn't understand.'

Wow.

That.Blew.My.Mind.

Don't think I need to elaborate why. :)

For my colleagues and fellow social workers, this is for you.

"We have chosen to work in the trenches of a field where our efforts rarely reward us with immediate gratification. There will be days, probably more than not, when we wonder whether we’re making any difference at all—when clients relapse, communities exhibit apathy, and legislators make policies that further disenfranchise the vulnerable and marginalized in our society. It is at these times when our beliefs in the human spirit and resiliency, and our faith in the people for whom we are fighting, is most crucial."

- Allison Anais Brunner

I.am.tired.

Diarrhoea drains me, literally.

I've had liquid come out of my ass 9 times today already, and counting. Kill me, please somebody.

I'm on MC for today and tomorrow. Thankfully. It gives me a chance to get a break. :)

It's only when I reached home at 4pm this afternoon after getting the go-ahead from boss to go home that i realised; I AM SO TIRED.

not just from the diaarhoea, but I am a tired person in general. Physically, emotionally, mentally. It's been such an up and down journey the past 6 months. And I havent actually taken a proper break since last October.

I want.. to.. sleep.

*yawn*

I hereby announce, I am damn disgusted by church.

Yes. You got it, a Christian young man is telling you he is disgusted with the church.

This morning, during the sermon, the church pastor quoted this:

If you woke up this morning
with more health than illness,
you are more blessed than the
million who won't survive the week.

If you have never experienced
the danger of battle,
the loneliness of imprisonment,
the agony of torture or
the pangs of starvation,
you are ahead of 20 million people
around the world.

If you attend a church meeting
without fear of harassment,
arrest, torture, or death,
you are more blessed than almost
three billion people in the world.

If you have food in your refrigerator,
clothes on your back, a roof over
your head and a place to sleep,
you are richer than 75% of this world.

If you have money in the bank,
in your wallet, and spare change
in a dish someplace, you are among
the top 8% of the world's wealthy.

If your parents are still married and alive,
you are very rare,
especially in the United States.

If you hold up your head with a smile
on your face and are truly thankful,
you are blessed because the majority can,
but most do not.

If you can hold someone's hand, hug them
or even touch them on the shoulder,
you are blessed because you can
offer God's healing touch.

If you can read this message,
you are more blessed than over
two billion people in the world
that cannot read anything at all.

Granted, he's quite a funny preacher. But he's funny in a very sarcastic, ironic sense. I couldn't believe it, that with every little paragraph that he quoted, the congregation roared with laughter. I have no idea why. I couldn't understand how anybody could laugh at something like that.

It's grotesque. It shows that we are so fucking caught up in our little world that we have no fucking idea what suffering is like in this world. I am so disappointed and disgusted.

This is not merely imperfect, as I replied to a friend who commented on my previous post when I mentioned 'church sucks, God rocks'. This is messed up.

And I keep wondering, am I just lacking a sense of humour? Or have I just been so overwhelmed by darkness that I am especially sensitive to these things and my brain is programmed to feel certain feelings? Is it me who is the problem?
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And so with that, I left church after the service. Feeling my upper back and shoulders very tight, I decided to go for a massage at Toa Payoh. Wah I didn't know these foot reflexology places are so packed nowadays man. I went in and asked for a full body massage, $45 for 45 mins.

It was a very interesting massage with my male masseuse. About 10 mins into the massage, he asked 'so. life must be busy? Your body and back is very stiff, you must work a lot with a computer. so what do you do for a living?'

And that started our very deep deep conversation. Discussing the interactions between emotional health and physical health, how frequently he would recommend customers to go for a massage, how a lack of rest affects how the body feels like when he massages it, and then he started discussing things with me like how humans operate at 3 levels, the most basic level of sex and food, the 2nd level of loving and being loved and the most optimum level of 'self-actualisation.' Yes. He used those exact words.

I was like omg. This feels like a conversation that would take place in the office or with my social work or psychology friends. Not in a massage shop with a random masseuse.

We talked about my work, the clients I see, the countries I've been to on volunteer expeditions etc. I complimented him and said 'You are a man with wisdom.' And he said 'I have knowledge, but I don't always know how to apply the knowledge. And without applying, it is not wisdom.'

Amazing stuff. I wonder why someone who can hold a conversation like that for an hour is a masseuse. And he said he has not self-actualised doing massage, even though he has been doing it for about 7 years and quite enjoys it because he gets to talk to different people.

The massage ended with me passing him my namecard and telling him a bit more about the volunteer programmes in my centre. He wants to volunteer and sometimes thinks about giving free massages to elderly who need them, just that he does not have the contacts to start.

Cool right?

It was delightful. Such a contrast to what had happened just a couple of hours before.

Thanks for the massage! :)

Define greatness for me.