The Beauty of the Village - Badjao, Bohol, Philippines

I’m sitting outside a cluster of little homes in Badjao Village. Our fixer, Marifare lives here with her relatives. The Director, Cameraman and Soundman are down at the compressor fisherman’s house filming. I lounge on the steps of Marifare’s mother’s house while enjoying the cool sea breeze, which smells of smouldering soot, fish, urine and occasionally cigarettes. It’s a charming smell which I’ve grown somewhat accustomed to. There is a little garden that the family has set up. Potted plants line a bench under a single tree. There aren’t enough pots, so the family uses paint cans, milo tins and cut-up bottles as replacements.

It is a Saturday, which means that the entire village is at home, including the men who take the weekends off fishing. Some of them are scurrying around the rocky paths, made slippery by the rains the night before, carrying tools and materials to fix their boats and fishing equipment. I hear music coming through the thin weaved walls of the various houses. Some lady is singing along to Paul Baloche and Don Moen, popular Christian music artistes. Not all the villagers are Christian though. There are Islams (a variant of Muslims) and Catholics as well. Roosters cry out even though it is close to noon. Scraggly dogs mark their territory on the pillars of these raised homes. Cats slink about. A little boy wearing nothing but a t-shirt pees out of the entrance of his house. The warm golden stream splashes on the stepladder to the doorway. It puddles proudly on the ground beneath the first step. It is peaceful here.

The slippery paths lead to the sea, the shallow water is putrid and coated with junk. The lit houses that litter the shoreline tiptoe on stilts as if trying to escape the filth below, as if reaching for the heavens. The houses are connected to land and to each other only by rotting planks and broken bamboo raised two to three metres above the water. The locals navigate these bridges as easily as paved walkways. Children sprint across the rickety boards without care for the stench below. They grew up here; their feet are sure. They wonder why we trek so slowly. They urge us along with their eyes as if hinting that speed makes the journey easier.

There is a wedding tonight. Marifare invites us to attend. There will be a party she says. Hundreds of villages cram into their village hall to celebrate the union. The girls shyly sway their hips; a cultural dance to remind the men to look at them. All of a sudden, the bride diffuses through the crowded doorway, wearing a sleek, purple dress and a frown. It is customary not to smile till after they are wed. She looks convincingly miserable as she takes to the dance floor while the villagers rush to stuff Pesos in between her fingers; she gets to keep as much that sticks. Soon the bills envelop her hands like pom-poms. The guests cheer her on while we quietly take our leave.

20 Things About Daryl

10 GOOD THINGS ABOUT DARYL

Teachable. 

This is my best trait. I believe it is also the most important trait. I am willing to learn new skills and explore areas to improve. It’s been proven that mental stimulation throughout one’s life can prevent the onset of Alzheimer’s and dementia. I never want to get those.

Humble. 

As ironic as it may seem to list this as a positive trait in a self-evaluation, but it is one that I always aspire towards. C.S. Lewis said, a truly humble person "...will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all."

Big-hearted.

It makes me happy when the people around me are happy. So I do things to make them happy. So that I can be happy. So actually, it’s rather selfish of me. Sorry.

Patient & Understanding. 

I’ve worked in an education centre with kids and in a day activity centre with people with intellectual disabilities. It’s a good way to practice being calm

Hardworking.

I’m addicted to the sense of accomplishment and positive feedback. Having said that, I also like finding shortcuts so that work can be done more efficiently. 

Friendly Communicator

I make friends quickly. I get along with people most of the time. I think the trick is to look for glimpses of God in every person. 

Youthful.

I have an affinity for youth. I play football with interns 10 years younger than me. I’m proud of that! People say its in the genes. My dad is the youngest looking seventy-something-year-old I know. 

Different.

I like to stand out and do things that are unexpected. 

Romantic.

I’m not referring to the preoccupation of love, I’m referring to my outlook on life. It is often described as idealised and unrealistic. I’ve been on the emotional and depressive side. I prefer idealised. 

An eye for detail.

I’m in no way the most meticulous person you might meet. However, I’ve learnt to take note of (nitpick) how images and text are presented on a screen or in a page. 

I love my job

I love working with awesome bosses, talented colleagues, and fun intern. I love that I am not stuck in a single job description. I love it so much that I've put 11 things! =D

10 THINGS TO IMPROVE

Slow

I have been perceived as a little slow sometimes. Sometimes I overcompensate by rushing, which only makes things worse. Most of the time I work at my own pace, which ensures that the work is done to the best of my ability.

Dislikes Inconsistency

Although I mentioned that I am patient and understanding, I also realise that I am often frustrated by inconstant expectations, which on a bad day can cause me to speak out against it. I think it’s the reaction to it that makes it bad. Especially because an editor’s job is about making changes.

Speaks too freely

Sometimes, I am too liberal with my opinions and have been known to say things at the wrong time. 

Professionalism

One thing I’ve learnt a lot while working here is that there are many things that a client should not see. It’s like the graceful swan: above the water, calm and composed; below the water, paddling like crazy.

Distracted

My mind tends to wander sometimes, which annoys me when I’m on a deadline. Coffee sometimes helps.

Forgetful

I have excuses; they are all invalid.

Careless

I really dislike this description of me. I really think I’m not. I’m really trying to disprove this.

Camera work

Needless to say, there’s a whole lot of techniques to look out for and improve. 

Editing

I want to be able to edit a TV show. Don’t feel proficient enough yet, but I’m getting there.

Pre-production

This whole thing still looks like magic to me. Translating a vision to words, and then into life on screen is something that I would eventually like to master.  

Easter's Fool

There is hope for us.

Like we are placed in the middle of a minefield.

The heat beating down like an interrogation. 

We are devastated, finding a path amongst the dismembered,

remnants of the impatient that have gone before.

There must be a way from this dry death;

may we find it. 

There must be shelter from this scorched, parched land;

may we hide in it.

I don't know if it is your words, or the sound of your voice,

or just your presence that appeases me.

There is something about pain 

that stretches time and thins the memory.

Let me remember how I felt,

when those words entered my soul,

when the realisation blossomed like flowers in spring, bright and bold.

Let those words be like a healing salve over numerous wounds,

washing over softly, soothing.

Remind me how those words could save me,

like hope to a trapped man in a minefield,

You carried fools to safety.

- Daryl Goh

Sounds like Good Friday

The first thing I do when I wake is to listen. 

I listen as the light eases into the sky, 

as it rises from morning cool to its noontime height. 

I listen to the rhythms of the neighbour's washing machine, 

or to linen tumbling dry. 

The dryer wheezes like a fragile grandfather. 

These walls reverberate emptiness, 

I try and fill it up with emptier melodies. 

Then the random thought arrives. 

I recall a friend's dismay upon discovering 

that art is artificial; 

an attempt to replicate that which made you feel.

Outside, depression hangs over the city, 

as if setting the scene for heartbreak, 

as if it knew someone important had died today.

- Daryl Goh

Retro Or Just Plain Old-Fashioned

Walking down Haji lane is quite a surreal experience. It is almost like being transported back in time to a different era; time seems to slow down, the colours fade, the road is narrow and there are old bicycles slanted against the walls. The fashion and furniture within the shops are like a pretty girl's beguiling smile. They beckon you to come closer. It is a romantic place. I don't go there as often as I would like. I should. And since it is so close to school, there is all the more reason to visit.

Racism isn't as cool as the psychedelic prints on this vintage chair

I always admired the taste of the shopkeepers. They seem to be able to bring in things that are retro but yet fashionable. It's not as easy as you might think. For example, a pair of spectacles from the 80s might be retro, but a handphone from the same time is just plain old-fashioned. But it is not just gadgets or fashion that go through this retro vs. old-fashioned scrutiny. Sometimes I feel that people's mentalities need to go through some sort of checklist.

For example, with regards to a certain racially-insensitive twitter user. It seems to me that her mentality was similar to a certain period in the 1960's. Not cool. Just old-fashioned. In fact, this whole hypercritical attitude of bigotry is entirely outdated. 

I just saw a post from a classmate on facebook. She was ranting about someone who was looking down at those who studied at private universities. Although I don't know the context of the criticism, I do know how it feels to feel second class. I used to feel that way when most of my friends went to Junior College after their O' Levels, while I went to Temasek Polytechnic. We are coming into the teenage years of the new millennium where discrimination should no longer exist. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying we should all agree on everything, I'm saying that it takes maturity to get along with someone who lives, thinks, or looks different. Maybe it is time we grew up.

But more importantly, I don't let it affect me anymore. There are people whose opinion I value and respect; they are the voices I let in and listen to. The others don't matter. Because the ones who have to beat others down to feel good about themselves deserve neither my ear nor my heart.

My Teacher, Li Cheng

I left my job at Christian Outreach to the Handicapped in August 2011. I had worked for slightly over three years in a Christian charity organisation for people with intellectual disabilities.

Now now, I know what you're thinking, "Is it THAT kind of charity?"

I've been asked this many times before. After NKF, after Ren Ci, and now, after the City Harvest debacle.

So I guess you can say, I'm hurt.

I'm hurt because much of what they say is true.

I'm hurt because much of what they say is not.

It should come as no surprise, such opinions and viewpoints towards religion, charities and money have always existed. And yet, the ferocity of it always leaves me voiceless.

But no, it is not THAT kind of charity. We are the kind that has an annual expenditure of just over $1 million. And we struggle to raise funds to meet that expenditure. And when we do, we wipe the sweat off our brow and breathe thanks to God.

But I digress.

She calls me her teacher.

Today, one of the clients attending the day activity sent me a friend request on Facebook. Right after I accepted her request, I saw a post on her wall.

It said "My Teacher Daryl Goh".

You know, in life, there are moments so overwhelming and warm that you just have to stop what you're doing, centre yourself and say, "this is so precious."

Like watching dance. Like listening to music. The stuff that stirs your soul. This was one of those moments.

I would like to clarify. My job at Christian Outreach to the Handicapped was more like an events and volunteer coordinator. I was not her teacher. I would see her at the Toa Payoh Centre whenever there were volunteer events. Most of the time, I was based at the administrative office in Tampines.

Li Cheng, 35, has been with COH since 1990. She is diagnosed with cerebral palsy. Cerebral palsy messes with the body's nervous system, mixing up the signals for clenched and relaxed, making it hard to control her movements.

She is largely wheelchair bound, but I've learnt that she is strong enough to take steps on her own during her physiotherapy sessions. Her condition makes it difficult for her to speak, but I've learnt that she is able to communicate using a board with everyday words printed on it.

When COH was shooting their corporate film, I learnt that she is a bit of an actress and able to portray different emotions on cue.

When she communicates with new volunteers who find it hard to understand her, I learnt that she has tons of patience in pointing out the words on her board repeatedly until someone gets it. And then she's all smiles.

I've learnt that she has a wicked sense of humour, laughing whenever she overhears a funny story, or when she sees someone being clumsy.

On days when she looks visibly sad, I learnt that it doesn't change the way she treats others, beaming a smile whenever she is greeted.

I've learnt that her disability doesn't affect her generosity; she shares the treats she has.

I've learnt that a smile works in every situation.

I've learnt so much from the way she approaches life; her gratitude, her attitude, and her beautiful spirit.

So actually, Li Cheng is my teacher. And even now, using Facebook, she is teaching me that sometimes, we just have to focus on the moments.

City Of Lies

I'm seated at the peak. The wind serenades the silence. The skyline could be a photograph if not for the blinking lights. The city's towers look like middle fingers pointed to the heavens.

The offices lit with people dreading to leave because they know they must return -- dreading to stay because the hours burn into their eyeballs, yet lining their wallets and padding their egos.

They worship: every desk; an altar. Every flickering screen; a sacrificial flame. The clock counts down to its death, like incense burning, they both make for watery eyes.

Then we aged into mere reflections of true religion, paying tribute to temples of the night. We still sing amidst our failures, while the rhythm of lies are drummed into our subconscious.

You are loved, but barely. Expect to be treated unfairly. Grow old and weak, but pray you do not get sick. And if you do fall ill, it must be God's will. 

I think of you, your name like a whisper the wind teases to iron out the ceases of my crumpled soul. Gentle breezes bring me back to a simple love, when the heart reached out for another, and that was all that mattered.

It was different then; our voices pure, our vision unwavering, our dreams untainted, precious and raw.

- Daryl Goh

Wicked Aura Waiting to Explode

By Daryl Goh
darylgohtz@gmail.com

The boys from percussion band Wicked Aura are poised to blow audiences away with their new album, Beginning the End. The percussion specialists talk about what’s ahead right after an intense performance at music-lovers haunt BluJaz Café.

The grenade: a symbol of the explosive sounds of Wicked Aura. Source: Daryl Goh

Wicked Aura’s frontman says the band had humble beginnings just like any other group of aspiring musicians.

Idham Budiman says they were just percussion enthusiasts busking along Orchard Road, wanting to share their passion and talent with the world.

But unlike the average four or five-piece band, this line-up has 12 members and many more instruments.

Ten years on, it’s grown in numbers and experience. Along with the drums, they have now added the electric guitar and bass, electronica, as well as vocals.

They now boast a body of work that includes engagements for corporate events, two albums, and even television appearances.

Their most recent collaboration was a television commercial with telecommunications company Starhub and the Lions XII for regional football draw, the Malaysia Cup 2012.

But their best feature has to be their live performances and Budiman isn’t shy about that fact: “Our music will always draw a reaction from the audience. We’re awesome live!”

His assurance borders on arrogance, but fits his rockstar image. Some might say it’s almost necessary as he leads the ensemble onstage.

As they step on stage, confidence in the band is high, amidst joking and laughter. How do they keep so calm before a physically-draining performance?

Budiman explains: “Some smoking and drinking. After that, a little bit of prayer before hitting the stage.”

“At the end of the day it's about having a lot of fun onstage and feeding off the crowd,” he says matter-of-factly.

Wicked Aura’s audiences are quite a spectacle as well. Amidst the rampant rhythms and flurry of dancing, one cannot help but notice that a large percentage of the audience is female.

This adds to the already sensual nature of the music as the audience sashays to the music. There are no complaints from the band as they continue to flaunt their percussive aptitude.

The response of the crowd matches the intensity and volume of the band as they perform songs from the first album. The air is thick and humid but with perspiration dripping down their faces, the boys of Wicked Aura push through with aplomb.

Budi and his boys perform a new song from their upcoming album, Beginning The End. Filmed LIVE at BluJaz Café.

There is a tense moment when Budiman introduces the song, Evolution Revolution, from the new album.

The audience is relatively quiet due to its unfamiliarity, but not for long. Wicked Aura does what they do best when they draw the crowd in with the anthemic roars of “Revolution!” (lyrics)

The next album, with the working title of Beginning The End is slated for release later this year. The style of music has evolved from the first album. Yazzit, the band’s bassist, reveals that it’s a much heavier album – gone are the instrumental percussion tracks.

Although they include more elements of the rock and metal genre, it’s sounding more listenable and mainstream. There are also the amalgamations of different styles that we have come to expect.

“As a songwriter and lyricist, I’m pretty happy with the stuff I wrote for this album,” brags Budiman. Undoubtedly, the fans of Wicked Aura seem to think so as well.

Undoubtedly, the fans of Wicked Aura seem to think so as well. From the ballistic beats of Bhangra, to fast and flamboyant funk, Wicked Aura continues to amaze audiences with its music.

The Weekend Rockstar

By Daryl Goh
darylgohtz@gmail.com

Musicians Jon Chan and Brian Lim share about the effects of arts events like Mosaic and Baybeats on local music. Jon Chan gives a live acoustic performance of Plainsunset's 'The River Song'.

Audio Interview with Jon Chan & Brian Lim

Stepping onto the train on the weekend, one cannot help but notice the number of kids shouldering guitar bags, heading to practices or performances. It seems that they are not just carrying musical instruments but fantasies of fame as well.

Audiences in Singapore have been enjoying more big-name music acts over the last few years. The most recent being the Mosaic Music Festival, a ten-day event held earlier this month. One wonders if exposure to these musical influences could be causing these dreams to take root.

Jon Chan, lead singer of local punk band, Plainsunset, attributes it to the birth of the Esplanade and the multitude of arts festivals that are held throughout the year. Jon can be considered a veteran in the local music industry. He has been entertaining local and international audiences with his band and as a solo act for 17 years.

“Who wouldn’t want to be on a stage like that?” Jon asks rhetorically. He numbers off the various gigs, competitions and platforms that bands now have to showcase their talent.

“You’ve got the crowd, you’ve got the right equipment and one of the best stages you can possibly get outdoors.” Jon is of course referring to Baybeats, an annual, alternative music festival organised by the Esplanade. This event has been on going since 2002 and is now recognised as one of the top alternative music platforms in Asia. It will be held on 29 June – 1 July 2012.  Jon now sits on its panel of judges, auditioning fresh young bands that want a taste of rock stardom.

Brian Lim, a semi-professional jazz singer, agrees that there are more opportunities now, but adds another perspective, “Those that can make it are those that can stand out from the crowd. It is almost impossible to make a living being a musician.”

Brian is not alone in his sentiment. It is a well-known fact that many performing musicians have day jobs or supplement their income by giving music lessons. Jon exemplifies this lifestyle; he is also a fine arts lecturer at Lasalle College of the Arts.

Becoming a professional musician in Singapore remains an impractical notion due to several factors: Singaporeans still have the mentality that foreign music is better and do not bother with local music. Local bands are perceived to only be imitating and sounding like their western counterparts.

Our multiracial and multilingual culture also works against the local musician. Jon explains that in United States of America, English is the dominant language whereas Singapore’s population is divided in to four main languages and musicians are unable to obtain a critical mass of supporters.

Jon speculates that it will be at least another five years before musicians are able to garner enough support to be self-sustaining. Till then, they will just have to find other ways to keep their dreams alive.

I Slept My Way Into The New Day

Your eyes?
They shine like Christmas colours on the perfect Christmas tree.
Like selfless gems I could hardly afford,
held up, setting the light free.
Like a clock-face glowing in a dark room, telling us there's more time.
So with a murmur we let it sleep.
And so in sleep, we creep our way into the new day,
and in dreams, we'll keep my share of heartache at bay.
We'll stay far from the edges of our bed,
far from trust, broken; from breath, taken away.
I am the reason you love and the reason you delay.
yet the chains that hold us,
across the petals of our skin they stay.
Here, we are a nation of the single tear,
the notion of the downward trail,
unflinching in the face of fear,
Oh, you know we are far from frail.
I am not afraid of solitude,
of leaving you, or the loneliness that ensues.
I know my lips will find a way to your fingertips
they feel every crease, every slippery tease,
And as you lease the space in my chest
I pray: Oh please, by grace, say yes.

- Daryl Goh

Lost Time

I tend to the years I lived, the memories tucked in hidden creases. Friendships lash like crashes on apprehension's shore. Ebb and flow, ebb and flow. I'm twenty-eight but it feels like lies to fix your broken heart. I'm making up for lost time, watching the years of confidence grow like late blooming flora.

I need you. Be my distraction. Don't sniff at the romance on the dance floor. Let the wash of colour crescendo over you. Let it overwhelm you like the winds were a thousand hands grabbing for the right part of your garment for healing. Let it surround you like kisses of brutal blows beating upon your broken back.

I'm making up lost time. There is life along the river; I have felt it. I've come to expect ulterior motives as if they were handouts. Disappointed to find heart-break before letting the sparkles go, while I am pulled down in the warm undertow. Those glances for approval, those touches; so unnecessary. So I unclench these fists to try and release what my heart has gripped.

Release and hold, release and hold.

- Daryl Goh

Eat My Shoes

Photo By Daryl Goh

These are my shoes; new shoes which I like very much. My friends tell me that they look like my previous pair, but they aren't. They feel different, wrapped around my feet like sandals warriors used to wear.

Just the other day, it was raining an angry, monsoon kind of rain, as heavy as it gets in Singapore. I was fighting to stay dry, hunched under a borrowed umbrella. In my mind, the puddles were oceans and I was skipping from island to island with a single thought, "I mustn't get my new shoes wet!"

It was the same day that I received news of the worst flooding in 20 years in Thailand. More recently, I came across this picture of a girl holding up her shoes while wading through the floodwaters, as if to taunt my immaturity.  Here I was, worried about staining my S$140 shoes, while the Thais were having their homes and belongings destroyed by the waters.

Photo By DAMIR SAGOLJ/REUTERS

Today in church, I heard Pastor Helen preach on the issue of calling on the name of the Lord. I learnt about the heart of God when people call out to him in suffering or anguish. The fact that God doesn't wish to see anyone perish, either spiritually or physically.

Recently, a friend from secondary school asked if I wanted to contribute to hungry kids in Thailand. through a program called "Nourish The Children", which is a for-profit organisation launched by Nu Skin Enterprises. The initiative aims to provide the victims in Thailand with nourishing meals through VitaMeals. Each bag feeds 30 meals. Providing someone a meal for a month (3 bags) would cost $120.

Imagine that. A month of meals for less than a pair of shoes.

I believe that sometimes, God wants us to be the answer instead of praying for answers. This is an excellent opportunity to be God's answer to those in Thailand. If you would like to be a part of this, contact me with your pledged amount and I'll link you up with my contact at Nu Skin. Alternatively, donations can be made through the Singapore Red Cross South East Asia Floods Appeal.

Whichever way you choose.

"Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food..."

| Jesus - Matthew 25:34-35 |

Inhale

Here come the floods, princess,
Leave everything behind.
You never really created, only captured
and pieced together like baby's fingers grasping.

I breathe, and I am in awe.
I hear the rise and I fall.
These are days of beauty,
so full, like walks in the rain.

What kind of love are these roses?
The only promise you try to suffocate.
I want your thorns broken
and your petals, wet.

Soak just a little while
in a stranger's smile and gaze.
While I search for ways
for us, to last, a little, longer.

- Daryl Goh

Come Closer

the sky is whistling purity,
washed with rain.
coat the city in blinding white,
cascading from the heavens.
my prayers rise to meet them;
fierce, and just as wet.

my love, i am a drowning man.

fingertips
reach up, for you are the surface
i wish to break. so i breathe,

and i sing a simple tune
bubbling up to you.

a pretty face, picture perfect.
we tangle

like roots grappling for sustenance
entwined, like new found lovers
afraid if we held loosely
would be swept away.

if you discover loneliness
one fine day

just slow down, my love, slow down
know you are too young for this.
i, with breath kissed into me
propose, come closer.


Come closer.


- Daryl Goh 

Beauty Only In The Beholder's Eye

The light flickers and I look up to see if the bulb in my room is failing. But it glows constant and moody. The flashes happen again. They come from outside. I look out the window but I see nothing. It is strange that my windows fog up from the inside. I wipe the moisture to look out and I get a glimpse of the city skyline but grey. The cold night air rushes to kiss my face when I slide the windows open. The clouds drift into my room, surrounding me. The fragrance of wet fog and the scattering of the city lights summons nostalgia.

I know you. 

I whisper to the massive, shimmering veil of grey. The recognition turning to disdain as if it were an old friend bearing bad news. But I cannot remain cross for long. I am seduced by the way it wraps around me, by its scent; like a long lost love. I breathe deeply.

The rain sounds like a standing ovation. The buildings in the distance, the congregation. Jagged lines of light appear like they were drawn by infants connecting the stars. The sky lights up and I imagine God staring down at us, taking bad photographs; pushing back darkness long enough to capture the beauty only in the Beholder's Eye.

Picture Perfect

the door opens and i step out once more. it is evening and the sky is old and depressed. the leaves float around me like the trees were crying in slow motion. it must be the coffee that buzzes in my veins. the traffic hums a baritone. the lanes filled with cars carrying people whose eyes water at the monotony in the air. people glad to leave the office yet wishing they didn't have to go home.

a man sits near the entrance of the subway station. the unbuttoned shirt and rolled-up sleeves, his attempts to fight off the humidity. he nervously plays with a cigarette, subconsciously counting the hours before he has to return, numbering the days till the week's end. in a single smooth motion, he flicks his lighter and draws life into his cigarette. the smoke and humidity entwine in a little dance. he watches the choreography fade into the darkening night. he closes his eyes and lets the nicotine calm him.

when he reopens them, he sees a young woman standing near him. the curves of her slender body comforting his eyes. she holds up a digital camera taking pictures of the building across the road. she is captivated by the constantly-changing, coloured lights that line the building. she smiles to herself when she sees the photo she took. and yet she is unaware that she is a sight to behold; warm smile, big eyes, brown hair. she stands relaxed with one foot on the sidewalk and one on the road, now lit by street lamp. in his mind, a whisper forms. perfect, just perfect. she throws a glance in his direction and notices his gaze. she blushes, smiles and turns to walk away.

the smile sticks to his heart and makes him forget his dread. he takes another drag at his cigarette and at that moment, he is ready to leave for home. 

This Is Not The Time

I am grit under fingernails.
You are tensed hands, palsied, desperate;
digging as if this earth held secrets.
As if the moist scent of this soil could sustain your soul.

I am sweat dripping
down the side of your cheek.
You are eyes, squinting with a sparkle
as if beauty the sun revealed too much.

I am the words that won't come when face-to-face with uncertainty, or when in love.
You are the shiver of pleasure when coming out of minor key.
If you cry out loud enough, I become each shaky sustained beat.
You belong with me.

You are fresh strings stretched across an instrument.
Ready for the first harmony.
I am the wicked twang of you snapping at me.
You are presence in a warm room.
I am cold awkward silence.
You are words; stories and poetry.
I am an empty page.
You belong with me.

- Daryl Goh

Three Years And A Third

At the end of August, I will be leaving Christian Outreach To The Handicapped to pursue my degree in Mass Communication at the Institute of Higher Learning which is established by the Singapore Manufacturers' Federation (SMa). The degree will be accredited by Murdoch University.

Although I am eager to begin a new season in my life, I cannot help but look back and appreciate all that God has taught me through the beneficiaries, my colleagues and the volunteers; both the good lessons and the bad. Working at COH has given me so many opportunities to learn and develop new skills. It has been a great pleasure being part of an organisation that puts so much effort into serving and loving our beneficiaries.

I have learnt so much from the beneficiaries. Spending time with them has taught me that their disabilities are simply extensions of my own shortcomings and limitations. They have taught me how to behave a little more selflessly and even when I sometimes don't, they are still are happy to see me. They have given me a glimpse of God; His character and His nature.

I am often quick to forget. My colleagues have been such a blessing to me, constantly giving me much needed reminders and appreciation. They always inspire me with their commitment; spending all their creative, emotional and physical energy just to improve a few hours in the life of the beneficiaries. And when the beneficiaries have left, the exhausted expressions of my colleagues surprise me. Not because of how drained they are, but because I know that the next day, I will see them refreshed and smiling as if they've never tasted tiredness.

I am glad for these three years and a third. COH and the stories of her beneficiaries are now a part of me. I am glad because I know that I have learnt lessons that cannot be taught from a lecture slide in any classroom. Because I know that COH will continue to grow and develop, even as I do.

Feel The Heart's Charge

After the homeless man that comes and goes, pushes and pulls
caught between a wall of shame and the stench that traps him in.
After the orphan child who lies awake in a world that will not look in her direction,
who covers her eyes with lines and lines of lies.
After the missionary longing for family far away,
Their tears baptising anxiety, wrestling fears that home is a forgotten memory.

Over the battlefield, there are tiny blades
shining and singing over the fallen enemy
Feel the heart's charge against the remiss
They all try to bury the doubt they carry.
"Where are you, God? So incensed and insensitive.
Where are the people you have chosen to love me?"

There is no time to overanalyse this because simply,
Justice like Love, is God.

- Daryl Goh

Intimacy Is A Mixtape

Verse 1:
Some days, life feels fast forwarded
We're all waiting for the right song to come along
And I think this playlist is missing something
I'm waiting to hear you sing
I'm waiting to hear you sing

Verse 2: 
It feels like a warm kiss
on my ear, I shudder
The beats of my heart throb in my lips, ooh
They beg me to kiss you
They beg me to kiss you

Chorus:

The crack in my voice is a chasm.

The distance between us cannot separate.

You're closer than the twitch in my eye when I sleep.
It's cos I see you, I see you in my dreams
You spin around in moonlight
I memorize your face and swear I'll never leave

A breath and a shiver as your name hides behind my teeth.

Ending:

These thoughts would not leave.

They beg me to kiss you

These thoughts would not leave

They beg me to kiss you

- Daryl Goh