Emergency appeal

I don't know if I'm more horrified that I'm doing something so vapidly manipulative, or that it's taken me this long to do it. But here's the pitch.

Read the story below. It could help to save a life: yours. And if that sounds as crazy as I fear it might, then read it as a personal favour. I promise you that this impossibly divine and achingly human tale is truer and worthier of your time than anything I could ever write.

This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about: His mother Mary was pledged to be married to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be with child through the Holy Spirit. Because Joseph her husband was a righteous man and did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly.

But after he had considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins."

All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: "The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel"—which means, "God with us."

When Joseph woke up, he did what the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took Mary home as his wife. But he had no union with her until she gave birth to a son. And he gave him the name Jesus.

[Matthew 1: 18-25]

Click here to read on.

May you have a truly happy Christmas.

with love

Relations

'Meet me,' he'd said and forgotten

'Love me': but of love we are frightened

We'd rather leave and fly for the moon

Than say the rights words too soon

[Loius Philippe's Yuri Gagarin]

I don't know the song, but the above snippet is quoted at the beginning of Jonathan Coe's What a carve up!, which I finished reading this afternoon, in between seeing a sister off at the airport and carolling with the church youth. It was a marvelous book: a satire/whodunit/family biography that was sensational in many senses of the word. It had multiple narrative styles and obsessive internal links and somehow married absurdity with verisimilitude. And, as promised by the friend who gave it to me, it "told me a lot about England, especially during the Thatcher years".

It also represented a departure from my normal fiction habits: ever since school engulfed leisure reading, I've generally restricted myself to acclaimed literature. (I have, however, contrived to read every single Discworld, apart from The Light Fantastic, the young readers titles, and The Last Hero, which one of my siblings tantalisingly left on our dresser. But extrapolating "acclaimed literature" could totally include Pratchett, no? :D) But then I'd wanted something comfortable to read on the plane and didn't have any unread fiction with me, so What a carve up! it was. And a most delicious one too.

Beautiful emo quotes and pretentious self-evaluation aside, evidently some people say the right words at the right time, because my oldest sister and new brother got married at a gorgeous ceremony on Saturday! It was so splendid and lighthearted and joyful and amusing and lots of other happy adjectives. And we got through the various small slip-ups ("Eh did anyone remember to buy a guest book?") and no one tripped down the very long aisle or dropped a bouquet or anything (by "no one" I mean "my sisters thought I might"). It's still a bit odd to think that my sister has a husband -- and that I have in-laws. Or at least I think I do; I'm really not sure about the terminology and currently choose to be unashamed of my ignorance rather than conforming to my generation and googling it.

But whatever I'm supposed to call them, both Mr. Ex-fiance and his family are wonderful, and I feel so honoured and am so excited for him and my dajie! Selfishly, it's nice to know that I now have more family = more people whom I can bid goodbye with the certainty that I will see them again. I shall be trying to pray for them.

Apart from the wedding lunch, the rest of the day included (not exhaustive): walking, Penang Road cendol, spacing out at home with relatives from my dad's side, dinner at Rangoon Road, and catching up with a cousin who had just returned from China in a 3am-till-cocks-started-crowing conversation.

(Though I'm convinced that the chickens in our vicinity are permanently jet lagged or something. Also, future jet lag is a convenient excuse for staying up at odd hours when you'll be leaving the time zone in a few days. Which doesn't make me any less of an idiot right now, but I'm just not very sleepy yet although the batty birds have already crowed a couple times.)

An unexpected turn of events

[Matron-of-honour to my second sister = other bridesmaid, while we were watching Avatar]

The wedding day also included a trip to the cinema with the happy couple + assorted cousins + friends to catch the 11:20pm show of Avatar. It was a diverting mash-up of, among other things that currently elude me:

-Eagle Eye (one of the two random DVDs that I recently watched with my Brit cousin = 50% of my celluloid last term): less stellar brother substitutes for amazing dead identical twin brother but accomplishes astounding feats in spite of the seemingly omnipotent heavy-handed power-crazed superior

-George W.

-Legolas's impressive poseur moves in the film versions (in Singapore I was part of several debates about whether it is poseur to spell poser as "poseur", but since that term isn't too common in banter anymore, and since the less ... poser spelling gets itself confused with conundrums, I chose to use the spelling that I did, and yes I be overanalysing again)

-Fern Gully, as the bride pointed out to me (I spent years of childhood thinking that I'd watched some Japanese show called Fengali, but then I also spent years thinking that I'd eaten a Japanese dessert called tiramisu and Japanese candy called Haribo)

-certain sorts of church services

-Harry Potter, with that whole "Wait where am I --> Oh I'm here --> I was born to fly --> I was born to dominate the world with my dazzling coolness" deal

-Tarzan, or possibly King Kong

Overall I only found Grace and Trudy compelling. The dialogue was less than inspiring; the male characters has particularly canned lines, although that was probably partly intentional. But still. That said, it was fun and well-paced and I did like it. I also like how the twelve of us were the only people in the audience who cracked up at some of the terrible cheesy lines, from the unobtanium downwards.

I once saw this guy who has 'Veni vidi vici' tattooed around his neck

[Sister's husband's sister, during dinner on Sunday]

On Sunday night my (unmarried) sister and I got back from showing the under-30 Americans around parts of town that were walkable at 11pm, and then Ma and my sister and I settled around the table and had a truly lovely talk about a lot of different things that had been happening in our lives. It's the sort of talk that I often have with good friends but rarely get to have with family for reasons of geography, and I was grateful.

But I was also horrified at one point during the conversation to realise that I was scared of being Julius Caesar. I didn't mention this aloud, because my sister had just been describing the interview for mental conditions that they use at her workplace -- she is a gracious social worker at the Institute of Mental Health -- but it occurred to me because I'd just mentioned how weird it was to be at a point in life where I can do what I want to do simply because I want to do it. Not in the moral sense, but rather in the fact that I can declare that I will write my thesis on some random phenomenon simply because I decide it's fascinating.

To clarify, I mean that I am scared of becoming Shakespeare's conception of Caesar. Not that I think my good friends will stab me one day (fingers crossed) or that I will faint when non-aristocrats breathe on me or that my ghost will manifest to tell some poor sod that it will manifest again, but when I was talking about how my education has empowered (ugh I don't like the soppy self-help connotations of that word) me to choose what I wanted to do, I just thought of that scene where whatshisface is trying to get Caesar to go out on the Ides of March, against Calphurnia's wishes, and Caesar says something like: "To say I may not go is false, and 'cannot' is falser, but the reason is in my will. I will not go forth today." (quote is approximate because I'm slightly sleepy now and the internet connection is too cranky to justify googling the text)

But anyway. I was thinking about the ridiculous increase in mobility and agency that I've enjoyed these last few years, as well as how hurtfully stubborn I can be towards myself and my family members, and sometimes the combination of these things worries me. At one point this past term I realised how much the tensions in Tan Hwee Hwee's Mammon Inc -- the cultural confusion, the urge for the ascendancy of shiny beautiful people, the desperate desire to be witty -- resonate in me. Which was odd, because the one time I read that book was years ago when I was still squeamish about (literally) letting my hair down and didn't know if I'd get to the US for college.

My sleepiness and my mother suggest that I should go to bed now, so in an attempt to wrap up unedited and confusing thoughts: it's not in my nature to get a weird tattoo on my neck and I doubt it's in God's nature to let my conscience condone being grabby about power, so hopefully I will be listening to the right things. And yay family, old and new! I love you all. Really.

Ownage

or, "A few thoughts immediately after returning from my time in the colonist country funded by the cultural imperialist country, although I really should be asleep (i.e. it's 3am here) but also should get these words out of my head before the bridal party ascends (i.e. from Singapore) tomorrow (i.e. today), so jet lag is a good excuse."

Or a good delusion -- right after I typed that last sentence I dozed off next to my netbook, then decided to brush my teeth and turn in after all. And it's now fifteen hours later, during which I have slept, said hi to sundry (=awesome) relatives, and eaten: guava (!!), yogurt, tiny crispy rolls filled with meat (I don't know what these are called but have always loved them), siew pau (brought up by the Seremban relatives) and Thorntons chocolate (a half-price offer at Tesco helped me fulfill my filial duty of bringing chocolate back). Given that the only other things I've consumed in Penang this trip are sup kambing, roti komtar and Milo ais on the way back from the airport, I should probably eat real food at dinner, which will happen after the Singapore contingent and the future sister-in-law (in Morocco on a Fulbright) arrive.

Man, I have a ridiculous family (and an excess of parentheses). I'm way too lucky.

Back to thoughts about SOAS. You know, in the middle of packing yesterday I saw this email in my inbox: "Nikkei Telecom demonstration TODAY 3.20pm". And I thought, man, what exploitative thing did Nikkei Telecom do to agitate the Union? Then I noticed that the email wasn't from the Students' Union -- it was from the library's tech department. Ah.

One of the special things about SOAS is its high concentration of passionate people. Not necessarily in the la vie est belle sense, but so many students at SOAS care deeply about something: a country, a people group, a continent, God, payroll fairness, sustainable living (I've met real freegans!), sticking it to the man, world peace, Greenpeace, socialism, or making snarky comments about people who always go to protests. If you could figure out what someone's beef was (I think I just killed a metaphor -- or something -- there), you were guaranteed a lively conversation. And you know how we sometimes use Swahili for the equivalent of "it's all Greek to me"*? I actually have three friends who are studying Swahili now.

*At Bible study maybe six years ago I told someone, "I think it's Hebrew," then cursed my laggy processing.

And I so loved my term there (although I was a noob and didn't really dominate anything). I've already waxed lyr ... poe ... waxed about London, and I would about SOAS if I weren't already doing that in emails to friends who thinking about study abroad. And if there weren't so many gorgeous things for me to anticipate in the next few months, I'd be profoundly sad about leaving SOAS after just 2.5 months.

It was odd living in a place for such a short period of time. I have yet to live anywhere for more than four years, but 2.5 months was crazy. Just when I got to the point where I routinely stopped in school corridors to exchange greetings, the greetings became goodbyes. And not long after I'd built up a baseline of condiments, I had to edit my grocery shopping so that I wouldn't too much surplus behind. I couldn't justify buying room decorations, so my walls only had three posters that I'd bought at the Old Petticoat Lane market for next semester.

It was novel and certainly welcome, having fewer possessions and fewer claims on my time than usual. I will miss those good times at SOAS.

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The meaning of being lonely

In some ways London was an acutely lonely time for me. Which is not at all to discount the many glorious conversations that I got to share in, whether with old friends, friends of friends, or people who had no significance to me before this term.

Clearly I've been spoiled: all those wonderful talks were either (a) scheduled, (b) in school, and hence short, or (c) in the kitchen with my flatmates, and also short; I pined for those languid inane discussions while doing homework in someone's company at the end of a long day. I missed the privilege of having people to unwind around (uhhh awkward imagery).

[Back from fetching the Singapore contingent, or rather accompanying my dad while he drove to the airport, and from having claypot chicken rice, teh peng, limau ais, and bits of people's yong tau fu and popiah. :D]

When I remembered, I tried to use the solitude to better appreciate G0d's company. Initially I felt really bad that, notwithstanding divine enveloping love, sometimes I just wanted a hug. But then the audiobook of John Piper's Desiring God reminded me that God made Eve because it wasn't good for Adam to be lonely, and that Paul thanked [some church, memory fail] for sending him [some guy] to provide what was lacking in their love, i.e. tangible presence and instantaneous interaction. So I felt less bad. But still lonely, except the few times when I had friends staying over.

So on many evenings it was an exercise in self-sufficiency to resist updating my Facebook status. Which sounds really stupid, and probably is, but it was hard not having anyone whom I could tell about the humourous little mistakes I made while doing homework late at night, or the adorable children I saw during the walk back from the tube. That unfulfilled compulsion to communicate is partly why I'd been updating this blog with unseemly frequency -- lovely London offered a convenient excuse to write.

About Facebook and friends -- the last couple days I did put up my customary "okay I'm leaving" and "okay I've arrived safely" status updates, and people on Facebook have told me to "come back" to three different countries and multiple towns, and welcomed me "home" to at least two. Which is confusing because I am like so totally Malaysian, y'know? Cheers.

Gah I will miss England.

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Resting, in peace

Despite actually having leisure time in London, my sleep schedule still got ludicrous at the end of term, when essays, exam, farewells and packing collided. But in the last few London days I also better about thinking, "Okay, God, help me get the amount of rest that I need."

Like on Sunday, I got back from spending the day with my cousins at church, with Monday's Arabic final looming. That night/morning I had two naps which were far more restorative than they should've been: first from 1am to 2:30am, and then from 8am to 9:30am. Both times I got up sans alarm -- the second time I actually woke up, feeling absurdly energetic, at 9am but just lazed around for a bit, till a friend gave me a ring at half nine (wooo Britishisms) and I decided it was time to get moving. نعم.

[Back from helping to rescue the carload that got a punctured tire on the way back from collecting the groom's sister after her Morocco flight, helping to make beds, chatting and snacking. In case any of you are thinking that my holidays in Malaysia revolve around people food, you're absolutely right. Mmm custard-and-oatmeal cookies and shortbread.]

But it was pleasant to feel so calm about my sleep schedule. Grossed out and amused, yes; but I wasn't but it was miles better than the dangerous fluctuation between peace and despair that I had during my not-sleep last semester.

[Okay. I just finished doing layout for the wedding bulletin, and it's now 24 hours after I started this blog post and fell asleep. And I think it's bedtime again. More later.]

[Ugh. It's four hours later, i.e. 7am. I got a bit of sleep, then woke up and spent a long time trying to snooze again. Even tried taking some antihistamines -- both for the drowsiness they induce and for this alarming rash I have on my arms -- but to no avail. Sleeping all day yesterday was a bad idea. Boo jet lag. I'm going to try to get this post out of the way, but if I feel at all sleepy I will head off to bed right away. Oh irony that I am writing about the importance of sleep now.]

There's a terrible sense of power that comes with the knowledge that you can stay up all night writing an essay without anyone noticing the next day, even with minimal caffeine. Physical and mental health concerns notwithstanding, the abuse of that power is so enticing. At Williams my friends caught on after a while and I'd have people across campus telling me to get more sleep, but at SOAS it didn't show too much. I do remember realising at one point last spring that constant anxiety about my sleep schedule was just as wrong as the actual sleep deprivation; the point was to submit it all to God and listen for His direction. So far I've been lousy at remembering this, but this coming spring I want -- and will need to -- consistently submit my sleep schedule to God's sovereignty.

Sort of like in spring '08, when all of a sudden I got weight-conscious and only managed to counteract it once I made myself pray regularly about what I should be eating. And it's interesting -- for years I've felt self-conscious about how my hips are relatively wide for a Chinese Malaysian woman, but these last few months I haven't been feeling disproportionate anymore.

I mean, I've been wearing my skinnies more than any other pair of jeans. Admittedly, one variable in this function is the pernicious reach of the fashion industry (even my shopping in London was exclusively thrift store) (in fifth grade I just wanted bell bottoms), but I remember declaring with a friend back in RJ that we could never wear skinny jeans because we had hips and calves, unlike the average good-looking Singapore toothpick. Of course, there's a chance that I look bad in said jeans, but I didn't have a full-length mirror this term -- again, because I couldn't justify a lot of possessions for such a short time -- and instead I ended up listening to John Piper when I messed with my wardrobe.

Besides, I don't think I look bad in my skinnies. And I can't quite believe that I'm saying that outtype. But it's equally horrifying that I feel weird saying that, since I firmly believe that God made all of us beautiful. (Tangent: that's one of the many things I enjoyed about visiting art museums this term -- the sheer diversity of human forms celebrated was a forceful reminder of everyone's inherent aesthetic value.) So I shall say it again, even if I feel bonkers doing so: I don't think my hips look bad.

It's liberating, really. Not that I don't still direct considerable looks-angst against my greasy fringe and shiny skin and dark circles and acne scars &c at various points, but today ... I mean yesterday, when two aunts asked me if I'd put on weight, I laughed and said that I had no idea. Both the laugh and the statement were genuine; not least because some relatives seem obligated to ask about weight gain every time I come back from far far away, and also because it must be hard for them to keep track of us -- I don't know if "since [I] left Singapore" meant the end of my A Levels or my week-long trip last summer.

So I've written enough to get my mind decently clear of phrases, and am going to try for more shut-eye now. And even if I don't succeed and sport eye luggage tomorrow, I suspect I'll be too happy to care. Yay family. Thank You.

Oh darn Ma just asked me to stay up for another half hour to discuss makeup with my sister and our church friend who'll be primping all of us. Not that I know anything about makeup, but this'll be an interesting darker circles/better concealment thereof tradeoff. :D

Idling

Apparently I procrastinate while I pack.

This is due in part to the fact that I really just want to go to sleep now -- was up late studying Arabic last night -- and I'm only leaving hall before dinner tomorrow. But I very cleverly re-folded and arranged all my clothes on my bed. I like how I conspire against myself to be more diligent (and sleepy) than I want to be. o_O

Also, my arms have the gross red lumpy things on them again. Plus albino patches where the former red lumpy things were. And my nose and ears are red and chapping. I just hope that I look normal on Saturday so I don't spoil my sister's wedding pictures.

Okay, if I'm getting that self-absorbed then it really is time for bed. :D

Long arms

So you realise that you lost 10 pounds last night while grocery shopping with your friend. You're not upset, but your essay is occupying so much emotion that you don't even try to make diet jokes when you tell her about it. Also, she's far too close a friend for you to be suspicious about how the last time you lost money -- and you Never Lose Stuff! -- was when you went grocery shopping with her in Gothenburg, so you're even denied the satisfaction of a conspiracy.

But then you check your mailbox, and it turns out that another friend has sent you a 10 quid gift card for a bookstore. (Maybe she should come stay at your place next time instead.) And then you check your email -- what is it with your vain assumption that people want to communicate with you? -- and your dad has just asked if you could pick up a copy of the Asterix and Obelix 50th anniversary volume, but only if it's cheap. You check, and it's under ten pounds. Your dad is in luck.

The next morning you wake up with the realisation that you've gotten two more hours of sleep than you'd intended. Again you check your email -- you'd have been muttering your disgusting internet habit if you were given to talking to yourself -- besides, your friend was still asleep -- if only you were on holiday too -- and your digressions stop short when you see an email saying that your two-hour Arabic class this morning has been cancelled.

You realise you can't really do anything but thank God for keeping you happier than you deserve. Who on earth ever bothers to remember and rectify petty grievances anyway? Oh. Right. You belatedly remember why they are called rhetorical questions. Darn idioms.

--------------------------------

Now, what are You going to do about the words I've squandered on this post instead of on my essay? :D

Converging

In exactly a week I'll be on the first of three planes that will take me back to Penang. Right now that mostly feels surreal; soon I'll be caught in a flurry of home and celebrations, tinged with jet lag, London dreams and next semester's anticipations.

Last night an old friend, whom I met in Malaysia and shared four years of Singapore boarding school with, arrived in London for a short visit. Today we had lunch with an RJ classmate who is now in Oxford, then my guest watched Mother Courage while I meandered through the National Gallery with a Williams friend who is at Oxford for the year. In the evening we met an MG classmate and shared Irish pub food and prayers.

It's nice to know that goodbyes aren't always final.

Passing

I just got back from Brecht's Mother Courage at the National Theatre. I won't be indulging in any more stage performances in the remaining 1.5 weeks, but this was a magnificent conclusion. I'd never seen such stylised grime: beautiful. Fiona Shaw was arch and heartbreaking and shocking and familiar and generally inimitable; she almost makes me want to watch whichever Harry Potters it is that I've missed (Alan Rickman helps too). And Duke Special is now one of the few musicians whom I would fangirl if I were so inclined.

I took a bus home. It drove down Waterloo Bridge, then past the Aldwych theatres, and the Royal Courts of Justice, then Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese (where my cousin had treated me to a delightful lunch yesterday), St Paul's, the Museum of London and the Barbican, then down Goswell Road to Angel. And I just kept staring out the window because I knew how much I will miss this city and all her layers and textures, brickwork and facades, corners and squares. I love KL and Penang; Boston, Chicago and New York; Cape Town and Cambridge -- but I'm in love with London. If only she were cheap.

Excerpts from "research"

I've forgotten so much econometrics. It's been way to long since I've done rigorously numerical anything.

Tempestuous! So that was the word that I was trying to think of those few times. Now why had it evaded me till this statistical table and random Canadian classical music stream? Oh dear we have attention span issues here.

A book called "Thinking Schools, Learning Nation"? Haha of course it would be Singapore. And there are like three chapters with the acronym TSLN in their titles. I probably should be trying not to snigger in the library.

Want food.

Yay food! And latte. And sitting inna park.

Aaah why is it so hard to find rigorous economic writing on education in Malaysia and Singapore in a library which has everything ranging from Lat comic books to ancient Raffles yearbooks? And what makes me think that I'll be able to write a thesis on mediums of instruction in Malaysia from rural Massachusetts aaah.

Man, the good articles make Malaysian education sound so bad...maybe I should be praying for us as I read.

Why can I never spell 'strenghten' correctly? And 'Chinses'??

"Effective island, effective schools"? Effective chapter titles??

Why on earth are Singaporean academics so fond of rhetorical questions? Did they not take General Paper for their 'A's?

Ah. So that's why the song is called A.D.I.D.A.S. Maybe I should turn shuffle off. o_O

Maybe I should just open Chrome and go email someone instead intermittently typing lame things into Notepad.

o_O

T minus 3000 words + الامتحان

So I'm done with two of my three term papers, thank God! I have one more to go -- due next Friday -- and then an Arabic exam the day before I leave London. I'm often tempted to be all melancholy about how the end of the semester is a trade-off between satisfaction with schoolwork and satisfaction with friend-time, and this term city wanderings are in the equation too. I should just be more content. Really. o_O

Also, yesterday was the second Monday in a row that I agonised and then decided to skip my afternoon lecture to work on an essay, but later realised that I'd gotten a respectable amount of work done so attended the lecture anyway. I just seem to be a lot more productive on weekdays than weekends. Which makes complete sense because, as I always tell tired friends, that weekends are for catching up. But somehow I fancy that I am an exception to that rule.

Delusions notwithstanding, I do know that I need to get out at least once a day to maintain energy levels. On Saturday my diversion of choice was "This is not a subject for comedy", a stand-up on the the Israel-Palestine conflict by a 58-year-old, London-born Jew. He wasn't side-splittingly funny like Ahmed Ahmed (of Axis of Evil fame), but he was funny. And astute and rawand compelling, if italics aren't a sufficient description. His tightly written show was full of wonderful internal links and was as much a personal account of grappling with the conflict as anything.

And then on Sunday morning when I woke up I decided -- let's have done with all this unfocussedness (and fakely suffixeded words). I couldn't find an 8am service to begin the day with, so I walked down to the canal for the first time and just sat by the water and watched the birds and -- don't laugh -- sang. I'm really glad that my room this year is sound-proof enough to sing in too, but for the most part I've been too embarrassed to sing in my two Williams rooms. Which is sad because it's just so darn satisfying, singing songs to God (even if I space out halfway a lot of the time).

Later that afternoon at one of the points when I was feeling glum and blah (kudos points if you recognise this phrase) I looked out my window and saw a rainbow. Then in the evening I went for an Advent carol service and has dinner in a friend's flat. And all of those things were lovely, but I was still really slow this weekend.

Just as well that I've been planning to keep a Saturday-dinner-to-Sunday-dinner (or rather, Sunday newspaper meeting) sabbath next semester again. I'm still apprehensive about time management for next semester, though. A few weeks ago I chanced upon this email that I wrote to my family last May, one of the periods when I'd resolved not to blog. Here's an excerpt:

Things that weren't so good:
-My eyes -- lots of peeling, and a fair amount of pus too. At least the simple cream that I ordered online from some British company came, though, so I could liberally moisturize. I also hot towelled them a good number of times because of the pus.
- Sleep -- I probably averaged three hours a day, including naps?

Things that I got done:
- a 19-page paper (= 70% of my grade) for New Minority American Writing, the senior seminar that I inadvertently took
- final exam for intermediate macroecon
- being calm and taking naps while studying for intermediate macro, although I only managed to start studying around 11pm the night before the exam (as opposed to needing to take breaks to pray and sing and wrestle emotionally with trusting God, when I started studying for the previous exam for this class at midnight)
- good conversations with a number of people
- not involving myself in planning the two major Christian Fellowship events this week
- a Record article
- two problem sets (ie assignments)
- some other stuff

Things that came to fruition after a long time:
- final official First-Year Bible Study -- I'll miss them so much!
- the Williams Telos, our journal of Christian though, came out! It's pretty (at least I think so but I was in charge of layout). (And I shall be vain and bring a couple copies back.)
- dinner for WCF seniors
- Record banquet -- dinner at a nice restaurant, party (although I left early to sleep)

Yeah, sometimes I really scare myself. Really. But I'm praying that God'll help me listen to Him about resource allocation, and I'm really excited about the next two weeks/time at home/Urbana/winter study/spring semester! And I know He's in charge. :)