Some Say God Is A Crutch

Some say God is a crutch,

For the weak, the broken, for those who cannot walk alone. 

I say I am weak, I am broken, all that and much more.

I cannot walk alone, I do not want to, I do not need to,

Be my crutch, God. 

Some say God is a figment of our imagination,

I say He’s a pigment of mine.

I see His hand in everything, His face in everyone, 

In nature He is best revealed in all His splendid glory, 

The colours of His love splashed across the world. 

Some say God is a lie, 

Invented to help little children sleep at night. 

I say the truth of this world terrifies the soul,

Shadows lengthen by day’s end as darkness falls,

I welcome the peaceful slumber He brings as I entrust my night to Him. 

Some say God is a hoax invented by those in power to control the gullible. 

I say I exercise free will, and live with consequences, 

No one controls me unless I let them,

No one owns my mind or forces me to believe, 

I choose to believe. 

Some say God is a cruel joke, and He laughs as we suffer, 

Orchestrating a theatrical play with all of us upon a stage,

I say what if God has the first laugh, and the last one too, 

Where does that place you? 

In the furthest corner of your heart a doubt crouches, springing up at you in times of crisis…

“What if He really does exist?”

Some say God is purest love and only love,

There is nothing else in Him.

I say God must also be just and fair if love is to have any meaning at all. 

Justice works alongside mercy, thus love may endure,

For to love is not to close an eye to evil but to know when to draw a line.

Some say God is an invisible old man up in the sky,

Jealously seeking our worship. 

I say He’s my Creator and lives in my heart, 

He doesn’t have to earn my affection,

Neither does He have to be seen to be known, 

Like the wind he is everywhere and nowhere; felt, heard, known yet unseen, all at once. 

Some say God is a magician who sometimes answers prayers, and sometimes lets good people die. 

I say God doesn’t have to answer my prayers, and it’s not for me to question why. 

God shapes the human heart not by granting every wish, but by saying “No” to many desires,

We grow when we seek the Giver and not the gifts. 

Some say God should be female, others insist He is masculine,

Arguing that one seeks to diminish the other. 

I say He is both, even as we embody both qualities, 

And naming one doesn’t negate the other,

God is beyond the polarity of gender.

Some say God is only for the weak of heart.

And I say, no, He is also for the bold and brave.

What depths of terror might one descend to flee faith in Him, to find faith without Him, 

For with faith or without, it is belief that informs the will,

And either way it is the brave who choose to believe, whatever they believe. 

Some say God is many, different things,

And yet to them He is nothing, and that is all they want. 

I say He is many things, and know He is my everything, and that’s enough for me. 

Some say God is a crutch, 

I say I am broken, I need His help.

When I am falling, He catches me,

When I am weak, He lifts me up,

When I falter in pain He bears my weight,

With Him I can walk with my head held high.

I lean on God.

Thanks for reading,

Pav

6th December 2021

(Inspired, in part, by my need to rely on a crutch due to a broken foot that is taking a few months to heal)

Forgiveness is Freedom

Forgiveness is Freedom

To the good time buddies who left when the bad times rolled in, I say thank you. 

To the happy go lucky types who shrank away when sadly, my luck ran dry, I say thank you. 

To the fun loving, laughing ones who ran when the dam broke and tears flooded the space between us, I say thank you. 

To the surface breathers who left when I wandered into the depths, seeking authenticity, I say thank you. 

To the awkward, fumbling ones who never knew what to say to my grief, waiting for me to ease their discomfort, I say thank you. 

To the users and abusers who cast me aside when they had drained me dry, I say thank you. 

To the smooth talking, truth twisters who said one thing but did another, I say thank you. 

To the preservers of optics who turned a blind eye to my true suffering just to look good themselves, I say thank you. 

To the egotistical accusers who exaggerated my faults to hide their own, I say thank you. 

To the angry who demanded tolerance and respect while being intolerant and disrespectful themselves, I say thank you. 

To the unkind and cruel who cut me down to shreds and crushed my heart, I say thank you. 

To the selfish souls who trampled on me to get ahead in life, I say thank you. 

To the unmindful ones who looked at me but did not see me, I say thank you. 

To the hurried ones who heard my voice but turned a deaf ear to my words, I say thank you. 

To the strong, healthy ones who failed to understand my infirmity and weakness, I say thank you.

To the darkly troubled ones who looked away from my soul, afraid of their own inadequacies, I say thank you. 

To the graceless and merciless who did not recognise the suffering of God in my pain, I say thank you. 

To all the hurting, broken people I have encountered who have hurt and broken me, I say thank you. 

To all those that have hurt me somehow, somewhere, sometime... I say thank you. 

Thank you for the lessons I learnt, for the strength I grew, for the grace I saw multiplied in my life. 

For all these souls, I pray, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do".

And for my soul, I pray, "Father, forgive me, for I know what I have not done".

"Help me to forgive, so I may thank You. Forgiveness is freedom. Come, set me free. I choose freedom everyday."

Pavitar

24th October 2021

Taking Stock on World Mental Health Day

It's World Mental Health Day, and I am reminded of what one of my kids said to me. "Mum, you're a good counsellor, you should listen to your own advice". Ooops. I've been feeling very low, and as I have talked with clients, and listened to their voices telling me their pain, I've realised my own pain was growing, though I didn't know why. I heard my own voice, guiding clients through the maze but I myself was getting lost. Why can't I counsel myself? I think the key is simply that it needs two (or more) people to engage in the therapeutic process, to listen, encourage, guide, empathise, understand and basically help healing flow through them. I can't do all that for myself, it truly takes two to tango.

Some nameless grief seems to have overtaken me. So many levels of suffering that need revisiting, tending, and healing. It's not just the body with Crohn's and a broken foot, or brokenhearted memories with post divorce PTSD, or growing isolation and loneliness due to Covid, it's the sense that the whole world is suffering too. My clients are in pain, I am in pain, the world is in pain. I feel the weight of being the wounded healer, helping others while wounded myself, pretty much like everyone else. 

I sometimes wonder where God is in the midst of all the suffering. I don't have all the answers but I know that in times of sorrow I have felt Him close. I do not rejoice in sorrows per se, but if somehow they bring me closer to Him then I can choose to be glad. In conversations with my friends I realise that they too are suffering, but they have been able to hold up a mirror to me. What I see in the mirror, and what others see when they see me are often very different persons. 

I see many wounds, imperfections, trials, sorrows, and an aging body and soul. I don't feel young at heart, frankly I feel ancient, like I have seen and felt too much and cannot bear any more. I see fragility and brittleness (but not bitterness), and deep, deep exhaustion. I feel lonely and isolated and the multiple layers of loss over the past few years seem to pile up high, sweeping me under the rug, as if I was of little consequence in this world. Sometimes, it feels as if at this time in my life I have said so many farewells and shall remain on the shore as others sail away on exciting adventures, leaving me behind, alone. 

My friends see strength of spirit, a courageous heart, a loving and generous soul, a lively and witty mind, and the proven ability to persevere in the face of chronic struggle. Nobody really cares about my age or my creaky bones, my grey hair, and my memory that plays tricks on me. Often, we are all on the same journey, sharing similar struggles. I hope to be a mirror to them too, to help them see beyond their pain.

Who are these two very different people? They are the different halves of me, and yet I am not two people but one. Life's purpose, to some extent, is the integration of these two halves. In the midst of sorrow, we must find the joy to keep going. In the midst of joy, we almost grieve because nothing lasts forever. I thought about what seemed to work for my clients and today I reminded myself of some basic steps to find one's way through life's struggles.

1. Do what is meaningful - works best if you can define "meaningful" in terms of your values. Work, play, relationships, the stuff that takes up most of our time, they must all be meaningful if we are to devote our time to them. 

2. Draw boundaries - you cannot be all things to everybody. Learn to say, "No", without feeling guilty. Even the closest and most intimate of relationships needs boundaries.

3. Self-care isn't selfish, it's essential. Look after yourself first before you help anybody else. You are not a machine. Know when to stop before you break down. 

4. Do what brings you joy - identify the things you enjoy, and do those things to replenish the soul. Schedule these activities to recharge your batteries regularly. 

5. Seek out your friends, and make new ones -  even if you don't feel like it. In fact, you probably need it more when you don't want it. Don't let feelings rule you, find structure that rises above the vagaries of fleeting feelings. 

So many other reminders to self... but these are plenty to start with. I am returning to painting after a year's hiatus, planning a long outing by wheelchair to a pretty place this week, meeting up with friends more regularly, taking a short break from studies, seeking counselling for myself, and re-examining my priorities, values, and purpose in life, while continuing to work with my lovely clients. It's also a time for reflecting, creating, meditating, and praying, rather than the constant doing, drudgery and deadlines. Timely to also ask how God views me, as the Beloved of God, and what that really means and if I believe it in my heart.

May you also take the time to replenish, to find the joy, and to look after yourselves in the midst of all that goes on around and in us. Happy Sunday, dear friends, bless you. You, too, are the Beloved of God. May you know and apprehend the depth of what that truly means. 

#WorldMentalHealthDay #worldmentalhealthday2021 #findthejoy #selfcare #replenish #purpose #meaning #boundaries #prayer #meditation #reflection #counsellors #counsellorsneedcounsellingtoo 

Pix of me wandering around my neighbourhood,  yesterday, admiring the jungle greenery. The wounded healer, in more ways than one!

Thanks for reading,

Pavitar

10/10/21

The Hand of God Is Green

Wrote a poem today. For all plant lovers everywhere, but especially for those who tend their plants with such love and care.

The Hand of God Is Green 

(aka God's Favourite Colour Is Green)

The Hand of God is green, I believe, 

But not with envy, bile or strife,

All around I see green in every leaf,

Evidence of creation, signs of life.

Trees tall with trunks so sturdy, 

Wearing crowns shimmering in the sun, 

Variations of green, bright and shady,

Fragile shoots when life had begun. 

Two tiny leaves on a threadlike spine, 

Breaking free from a hope filled seed,

Comes a show of God's Hand divine,

Both to delight his people, and to feed. 

We plant, harvest, consume our greens, 

We tend gardens our souls to nurture,

Prayerfully, the plant lover's heart sings,

A new song he's heard sung by nature.

Gifts of the sun, the rain, the soil,

Freely given by the Hand of God,

We blossom but we do not toil,

We are from, and return to the sod. 

What is man's life but like a stem of grass, 

Blown which way by the breeze,

A flower that blooms and does not last, 

A plant dying slowly in winter's freeze. 

The Hand of God is green, I know, 

In this world, and the world to be,

He makes creation to thrive and grow,

Life, hope, beauty, for eternity. 

Thanks for reading,

Pav

08/10/21

Ps. Pix of views from my bedroom. Scenes of greens, all around me. I love green.

Life in the Time of Covid (This, too, shall pass)

Life in the time of Covid. This past week has seen conversations with chronically ill clients who have had close calls with exposure to Covid, and who have been concerned because of co-morbidities; a constellation of chronic illnesses that makes life already complicated enough without an added possible viral infection to worry about. It's the loss of autonomy and control that is troubling to them though they realise that for some time they have already lost so much in their lives. The ability to plan and direct their own path in life is hindered, and finding joy in curbed pursuits proves challenging. Theirs is a life-long journey of making plans, and reconciling dashed hopes, over and over again, and yet they do not give up hoping. 

How does one live fully with shifting sands beneath one's feet, and not despair that life is passing by, unapprehended, unappreciated, unlived even, as one waits to escape the shackles of an unfettered soul trapped in a failing body, both stuck in a time and space in which the chronically ill are in danger of being forgotten because the healthy never really know what it feels like to be perpetually ill, until it happens to them too? One of those moments of epiphany when the penny drops and they finally realise how the other lives. 

The chronically ill already know what it means to live diminished lives to some extent, to make plans and have to cancel them, to worry about their safety while nobody else has or wants to, to fear being a burden because others cannot comprehend their needs or suffering, to often walk alone because so few will journey with them. They've been on a rollercoaster for years, and life in the time of Covid is an extended rollercoaster ride with more loops than they care to count, and they cling on as they always have, navigating that fine space between hope and hopelessness with the finesse that only old hands at the game of life can possibly employ after years of chronic illness. They also know that they can never get off, until death do they part with their chronic, incurable illnesses.

As we go back to restrictive measures in this stage of Life in the Time of Covid, I continue to draw strength from these courageous souls who remind me of pillars of strength amidst life's frailties. I am inspired by them to keep going in my own journey with chronic illness. They know, for far longer than many of us, what it is to live with restrictive measures due to physical pain, side effects of medications, emotional and mental anguish, the absence of support, the lack of compassion and understanding, the loneliness of abandonment and rejection, the failure of society to see them as they truly are... they know what it means to suffer. 

So as we continue to ride the rollercoaster of "pandemic to endemic" measures, in search of normalcy, freedom, and unfettered living, let's spare a thought for the chronically ill, and particularly the elderly infirm, who know what it is to have little autonomy and possibly no control over events in their lives, and yet they find a way to live meaningful lives. May they know the solace and comfort that comes from the knowledge that life is always filled with hope, and may we all remain hopeful too. Hope is like the sun that rises without fail every morning, firing up our energies, and our imagination, reminding us that some things remain constant despite unending change.

Life in the Time of Covid impedes us, it affects our sense of autonomy, and we feel like we have no control over what happens to us. But this, too, shall pass. For awhile, we live like our chronically ill and elderly infirm brothers and sisters, and we can enter into their suffering. May we know what it means to suffer, and may it grow a compassionate heart in us. 

Thank you for reading, 

Pav

Your Voice and Mine

Your Voice and Mine

Your voice and mine, 

Sounding different but still the same. 

Saying things that echo through both our hearts,

We recognise shared pain. 

I am heartbroken, you say. 

Grieving over loss and death,

Sorrowful and downcast, 

Life holds no joy. 

I am angry, you say, 

Ashamed of wanting change, 

Trapped and resentful,

Life holds no joy. 

I am hurt, you say,

Betrayed by those you love, 

Neglected by those who should have loved you, 

Life holds no joy. 

I am invisible, you say, 

Disrespected and unheard, 

Feeling worthless and small, 

Life holds no joy. 

I am lonely, you say, 

Not just alone or solitary, 

But lonely in a crowd, 

Life holds no joy. 

I am dead, you say, 

Alive in body, but dead of soul, 

Life holds no meaning,

Life holds no joy. 

Your voice and mine, 

Sounding different but still the same. 

Saying things that echo through both our hearts,

We recognise shared pain. 

What if I told you I have felt the same, 

I know what you mean, 

I, too, have lived the joyless life, 

And yet life holds hope? 

I have been heartbroken, angry, hurt, invisible, lonely, dead, and much more.

I am you. I made it through. 

Life holds hope. 

Are you comforted?

Are you encouraged? 

Are you uplifted?

Life holds hope. 

Your voice and mine,

We sing the same song.

I know the words, let me lead you,

A song of hope.

Pavitar Kaur Gill

21/08/21

Dedicated to my clients whose struggles echo mine echoes theirs. 

Lock Me Up

Supposed to be writing a 1500 word essay on schizophrenia... but I decided to write a poem instead! If only I could submit this... 

Lock Me Up

Lock me up and throw away the key, 

Over medicate me,

Do what it takes to bring you peace, 

Just don't say it's for me, please.

I'm unstable, unreliable, unloveable,

You're impatient, unkind, inflexible.

You just don't know what to do with me,

So you lock me up, throw away the key.

Some days I am fine as a feather, 

Some days I am really off my rocker,

Tell me if you're my friend in good weather,

Or are you riding on my roller coaster? 

I feel your whiplash, see your pain, 

Feel our guilt flood us like rain.

If only I could be what you wanted, 

If only you could be what I needed. 

Some say schizophrenia is just a label, 

Others say it's a lifetime sentence,

Some say it's a way to disable,

I say I want more than tolerance. 

Tolerate me if you really must, 

But love me if love lives in your heart,

Just be honest if you know how,

I'm the one being torn apart. 

If I speak does anyone hear, 

If I scream I instil fear,

Yet I see things that are not here,

Voices and shadows ever near. 

Is this a disease or an illness,

Or just a mental state of mind?

Call me mad or insane, 

But we're really the same kind.

On a spectrum east to west,

You're what's normal and the best,

I'm on the extreme as some would say, 

Lock me up, throw the key away. 

Pav 11th June 2021

Tell me, again (13.05.21)

Wrote this on 13th May as I contemplated my clients and their many sufferings, and how I might help them. 

TELL ME, AGAIN.

Tell me, again,

The story of your pain,

The tale you have told many,

You fear you have no friends left.

Tell me, again, 

How they hit you, 

How with each beating they took something from you,

Leaving you cowering in fear, but raging inside. 

Tell me, again, 

How they screamed cruelty at you,

Words laden with venom that struck at your heart,

Leaving you dying slowly, but raging inside.

Tell me, again, 

How they saw you but you were never truly seen, 

How you passed each other like shadows in a dream,

Leaving you invisible to the world, but raging inside. 

Tell me, again,

How you spoke but were never really heard,

And your voice became silent as you held back your words,

Leaving you voiceless in a sea of noise, but raging inside. 

Tell me, again, 

How they said they'd always love you,

But they ran away when they saw you at your weakest,

Leaving you heartbroken and numb, but raging inside. 

Tell me, again, 

How much you loved them,

And begged them not to die but they did,

Leaving you behind without their tender touch, and raging inside. 

Tell me, again, 

How many have left you,

Tired too soon from being a pillar, from hearing your story,

Leaving you adrift on an ocean that threatens to drown you, raging inside. 

Tell me, again, 

How much you hate yourself,

Thinking you have failed to be somebody else,

Leaving your true self abandoned and unloved, and raging inside. 

Tell me, again, 

And I promise I will listen,

Over and over until the pain lessens,

And slowly I will help you find your way back home,

To your lonely self waiting to be loved, and the raging will subside. 

Tell me, again,

The story of your pain, 

The tale you have told many.

You need not fear I will leave you. 

Tell me, again.

Pavitar @ www.patientvoicessg.com

13/05/2021

Thanks for reading.

Staying authentic through Quarantinitis (29.04.20)

 (A reflection I wrote on 29/04/20)

What does one name a mysterious sense of listlessness despite being busy, and an underlying nagging sensation of dissatisfaction despite having everything one could need while being at home for weeks? I call it "Quarantinitis". A sense that something is wrong despite everything appearing to be right. Some kind of low level, almost inflammatory, unsettling wave, that ripples through you every now and then when you pause long enough to think about it. 

It isn't ennui per se because you have plenty to do at home and life isn't aimless. It isn't full blown depression because you do get out of bed daily and do the things you need and want to do, and they do bring you satisfaction. It isn't a lack of joy in living life because you still find joy in even the smallest of things, even at home. It isn't deep despair because life is still very much worth the living, and you have hope for the future. It isn't a numbness of heart that disables you from feeling a full range of emotions because you feel them all, especially at home. It isn't deep grief over any loss you feel being at home for weeks, and yet you do miss the things you freely enjoyed before. It isn't deep dissatisfaction with life because you remind yourself that you have so much to be grateful for, and truly you do.

But it is some kind of borderline dissatisfaction or vague unhappiness or slight sadness that you experience and attempt to address in quarantine every day. You tell yourself not to dwell on what is missing but on what you have. To be truly, deeply, genuinely grateful for all that you have because others have so little, and yet on some level, that doesn't offer you enough comfort. You can't help having more of the material things in life, you just do. And your feelings and emotions, whatever minor or major thread of dissatisfaction runs through them, are real. 

We are often told to look at things relatively, and to do a comparative analysis of sorts with the underprivileged to see that really, we aren't so badly off because we have a beautiful home, plenty of food on the table, privileged kids who go to good schools, and can afford more than the simple niceties of life. In fact, many of us live in relative luxury to most of the world. And yet our feelings and emotions are as primeval as those of our ancestors, and very much a part of our shared humanity no matter what our position in social hierarchies.

I grow weary of people reminding me of how good my life is and in the process, unknowingly negating the validity of my feelings and emotions. Yes, I have everything I need, and more than enough, but I can feel sadness, despair, grief, dissatisfaction, lack and loss, just like everyone else. To be told to count my blessings everyday is a helpful exercise but only if I have been listened to in the first instance, my feelings have been validated, my inner self has been seen, and made to feel visible, and I am able to process my feelings over time. To gloss over this process is to hinder the healing and growth of the soul.  

A blanket, "Be grateful for everything you have, you're so blessed!" or "What have you got to complain about, you're so lucky!", doesn't help provide space for those feelings and emotions to exist, and for you to sit with them. It only serves to bury feelings which can fester, and eventually lead to dissonance and despair. The soul suffocates and shrivels up because it cannot bear the burden of not meeting someone else's expectations of grateful living, and feels that something must be wrong with it, when, in fact, its needs were never acknowledged in the first place. 

It doesn't help to be told that one shouldn't be sad because there are far sadder people in the world, with the logical extension of that being that one shouldn't be happy either, because there will always be people who are happier than us. It's totally dismissive, and highly illogical. Even people who seemingly have everything can experience lack and loss in their lives. It's part of being human. As are compassion, understanding and empathy, all of which seem to be in short order these days.

Quarantinitis affects everybody in different ways. It's a relief to have basic needs more than met, and to be able to address emotional needs. Those emotional needs are important, and shouldn't be minimised in anybody. A big part of living a meaningful life involves dealing with one's feelings and emotions and the work that entails. It's the work of a lifetime, growing one's soul. Hopefully, being in quarantine is a good time to reflect and introspect... in addition to disinfect! 

Don't deny your feelings and emotions, dear friends. May your quarantinitis be lessened as you find those who can listen to you, and understand how you feel, and help the authentic you be visible. If you need to speak to someone, you can speak to me. Hugs and love, and stay safe. ❤

#Quarantinitis #StayAtHome #StaySane #StayConnected #PavListens #PatientVoices

Thanks for reading,

Pav

 

Be still and let it go (26.04.20)

(Posting a reflection I wrote a year ago on 26/04/20)

Living with a chronic illness like Crohn's disease prepares you for life in the midst of a pandemic. Essentially, you learn to be still, and to let go. You let go of dreams, hopes, plans, people, and even a part of yourself when you live with pain, diarrhoeas, gut obstructions, liquid diets, food restrictions, hospitalisations, surgeries, joint pains, migraines, and the side effects of powerful medications.

You learn to adapt, to be flexible, to be in limbo, to be forced to be still, to rely on yourself, to listen to your body and your own small voice, to defer instant gratification, to be alone but not lonely, to smell the roses and watch the birds, to appreciate the people who choose to remain in your life, to find meaning in the smallest of things, and to enlarge your heart with gratitude for all that remains. Life, interrupted, but life all the same, and a life of great value. 

And here we are in the middle of a pandemic and the whole world is at a standstill, almost forced to do what I've been doing for years. Being still. Discovering that solitude is not loneliness. That being flexible and going with the flow is better than fighting upstream and frustrating yourself. That you cannot always have what you want, when you want it. That some dreams, hopes, plans, people, and even a part of yourself will have to go, released from the grasp of your frightened clutches as you open your hands and say, "I let go". Tears flow, and fears threaten to overwhelm but you find courage in knowing that this is truly the only way forward. To let go is to choose life. 

It's almost like a part of you has to die, so you can keep on living. The thing to do is to recognise that part of you that is dying, stop fighting its demise, release it, grieve over it, and accept that it is gone. The death of any part of us is so painful, partly because we fear change and the unknown. Change is truly the only constant in life. Accept that, and the fact that life is full of all kinds of inescapable loss. Find peace in the loss, and make peace with yourself and the suffering world around you, and maybe find a way to be grateful, both for the good things, and the not so good things in your life. 

I've lived with chronic illness for 24 years now, and letting go has kept me sane. Things do strangely have a way of working out even when we stop fighting for what we desire. We need to let go of what we want and how we think things should be in our lives and accept what is, so we can be at peace, and happy. Sometimes, being still and letting go is the best thing to do.

Wishing my dear FB frens peace and happiness in the midst of our unique, and yet shared, circumstances. Hugs and love to all. Blessed Sunday! ❤

Thanks for reading, 

Pav

I Think I'll Paint A Seascape (26.03.20)

(A post I wrote a year ago as we struggled to make sense of what a pandemic meant)

I had hoped to go for a walk today but my body said "No, you're tired and if you push yourself you'll fall ill". My mind said, "No, there's a lot of irresponsible people out there who aren't self isolating and you can't afford to catch Covid-19 because it could kill you". My heart said, "No, stay home, just roll with it, find something else to do that will bring you peace and joy in a similar way". And so I am painting today. And spring cleaning. And rearranging things in my room so I can make it truly my hideaway. 

Sitting quietly at home, I look at my paints with exotic sounding names like Burnt Sienna, Cobalt Turquoise, Ultramarine Violet, Cadmium Yellow, Pale Olive and Permanent Rose... and I wonder what to paint that will do all these colours justice. A landscape? A seascape? A spacescape? It's all really an escape... into a magical world where you can create anything you want and make something out of nothing. What a privilege that is, to be able to have an outlet like this to do such exciting things in the relative safety of my home.

And I think of the many people unable to stay at home because they have no home. What does it mean to them to "shelter in place" if the only shelter they have known is a street corner or a park bench? What does "lockdown" mean when perhaps it sounds a lot like "lock up" and maybe many are struggling, feeling imprisoned in their homes, unwilling hostages to a ravaging pandemic that makes no distinction between castle owners or slum dwellers. Trapped, perhaps, with family members who are like strangers to them, with nerves fraying and social distancing an impossibility with one room and five people caged like angry bears at a circus. 

I think of those unable to stock up on food because they have no money, and a meal a day is a luxury while a week's food is a fantastical dream come true. Feeding their families is a daily sacrifice, feeding themselves is a daily struggle. What might it mean to some to have hindered access to shops and supermarkets, when they trawl through piles of refuse looking for scraps to feast on? I wonder just how much food a person needs ordinarily, and especially in periods of relative inactivity, and whether consumerism and overconsumption and overeating and just about over anything is so rampant that when we are asked to consume less we become afraid that we won't have enough, and hoarding happens, even as we are carrying around unshed kilos of our own. 

I think of the disabled, the ill and the elderly, overlooked and passed over in normal times as if they existed on the periphery of society, and at times like this, their lives seem even less important, as targets of a deadly virus that will likely kill them off first. Frontline victims, sacrificial lambs in creating herd immunity, dispensable people who have served their purpose in a throwaway society given to measuring our worth in utilitarian terms. They exist, here and now, and someday, you'll be disabled, ill and old yourselves... think kindly of them, sow wisely in your thoughts and deeds towards them because you will reap what you sow when your time comes.

I think of those who have no one to care for them, and possibly worse, no one to care for, and all their life's longing and affection hoarded up in their hearts has had nowhere to go. Their hereto lonely lives have become even lonelier, their small social circles have shrunken in further, and they sit alone in front of the telly, by the phone, wondering if anyone remembers them and regretting their bitterness in the burning of so many bridges that help can no longer easily reach them when they might need it most.

I think of the poor, impoverished and war torn societies around the world, especially the children, for whom a safe home with loving parents, a hot meal, clean drinking water, freshly laundered clothes, a seat in a classroom, a dream of a future, and access to all the wonderful knowledge and beauty in this world is a seemingly impossible goal. And I look at the extravagant wastage amongst the rich, the lavish spending of the wealthy, the billions poured into salvaging an economy and I know without a doubt that we have the resources to heal the world, to eradicate poverty, to educate every child... but it won't happen because the have nots don't matter to those who have. It's every man for himself in a selfish world demarcated by borders and boundaries, race and religion, policies and philosophies, when really all that matters is our common humanity. 

I find myself deeply saddened by the state of the world, guiltily grateful for all that I have, vaguely optimistic that many of us will pull through, and resigned to the fact that some of us will not. I think of the ocean and how much I love sitting and watching the crashing waves smash into rocks and feeling my place in the universe. There, in the face of certain and overwhelming majesty, power and raw beauty, I am tiny. My thoughts, worries and anxieties are many but really, they are tiny. In comparison to everything else, in perspective, and relative to all the suffering in the world today, my tiny, personal worries are miniscule. As I look out across my garden, holed up in my corner of Singapore, I am humbled, and almost ashamed, by all that I have. 

I think I'll paint a seascape.

Thanks for reading, 

Pav