chronicles of young

Gamut of feelings. It is quite mysteriously interesting that almost every time I change to a new journal book, it marks another season. Or could it be my mind instinctively marking the seasons as the pages come to an end? Either way, with reflections from the weekend of GRIT camp and other stuffs, I filled up the last page of the book I bought at a hipster bookstore in Xia Men during my 'Last Summer' in 2017. This 'Last Summer' was a series of post-graduation travels before I started what I thought will be a long long season of being a ground social worker. The 2017 social worker that I was had no great dreams, just to survive in the emotionally draining work and do good to the people I served. Fear was what held back all those idealistic thoughts (wouldn't really call them dreams I guess) of social enterprise, community work, research. Shortly afterwards, it was the seemingly inane and objectively busy work that kept these safely in the realm of good thoughts. ...

Sitting at the window seat of National Gallery cafe now with the natural sunlight filling the whole space. Such moments like that echo of shalom.  Are they incompatible with the broken realities of the world? This question I have struggled with in my freshman year as I come face to face with human suffering and broken families.  I've thus far managed to come to a healthy (or so I think) tension where I know that shalom moments come by 'the slow, steady engagement with and practice of God's will' (Bruggemann, in Evangelism and Discipleship). Yet, have things become too convenient? For convenience is indeed the goal of the dominant culture.  There is no conclusion to this, for the corollary of the above statement is that because Christians called to the alternative of shalom, we are constantly reclaiming zones of alternative culture. In the same breath I thank God for the blessings I have at work, of very cherished friendships and exciting ...

News of the Rakhine being stuck in no-man's land between border guards and the Myanmese army made me want to know where this border is exactly. Sometimes the amount of bad news from the same places everyday makes things feel 'standard'. But no, part of our battle for the truth is that each piece of such news belies the lives of eternal souls. These souls have history of rich experiences, they can be so resilient, yet I can't ever imagine the trauma and its after-effects on them. I was looking at those borders between the nations. Looking at the map, I understood better why Italy and France have so many Libya and Algeria refugees. Borders are a de facto part of the world. We don't really question the fundamental anxiety that's driving each country to protect its borders, do we? I am part of the anxiety. Let the refugees in, and there will bound to be societal changes. Let the foreign workers come, but they are only acceptable if they meet our sector need...

清明时节雨纷纷，路上行人欲断魂。借问酒家何处有？牧童遥指杏花村。  好幽美的几句诗。 <subsequent images taken from the World Press Photo 2016 exhibition, gird yourself > A Slovenian police officer escorts refugees after they crossed from Croatia A strange kind of terrible beauty in this photo also. Ponomarev really composed it so beautifully; the horse bows its head, like how I'd imagine the hearts of the people. Yet the ethereal sunlight shines down on both the horseman and the people. Libyan refugees on an overcrowded dinghy wait as a MSF rescue ship approaches People cross into Turkey through a broken fence, near the official border crossing at Akçakale, Syria I stared at these nameless faces for a long time. And then I saw this. People run from water cannon fired by Turkish soldiers, to keep them away from border fences near Akçakale  And this.  A father cradles his lifeless daughter after a Syrian air raid And this. Adam. 7. Badly burned when bomb dropped by ...