Thanksgiving For Being Saved While Looking The Other Way

A mere post cannot encompass the extent of the mad birthday celebrations (which were all actually quite swell despite it being well-known that I am adverse to such things. But please do pray for the evangelistic do coming up next Sat!): a fortnight of fêtes and more to come, interrupted only by all this leaving (and arriving) on jetplanes. Days of festivities. Nights of revelry. Cheekiness. Plenty of laughs and honest talk. Stupendous food and drink. Great company. Maaan. Random things from today alone: pressies in the morning, including a flat tyre from my car (nice); lol ugly birthday photos courtesy of lol ugly models; pottering up to a pie just out of the oven and daftly wondering aloud why it had my firstname initial on it; a kid whose limited height and vocabulary transformed the traditional greeting to a cute cuddle about the knees mumbling "Happy! Happy!"; molecular gastronomy at Aurum, which, despite bad press, was fantastic - food prep hacking and then eating the results. (Am now in the market for centrifuges and a giant canister of liquid nitrogen for the kitchen.)

3am each morning, settling down for the long drive home, tired but most chuffed.

Who am I on quiet expressways that turn off to wide roads and backlanes and forests?
Who am I in silent wide spaces that unfurl into infinite horizons?
Who am I beside empty passenger seats rapidly forgetting their warmth?
Who am I when there is no one around? But God.
Who am I that the Lord of all the earth would care to know me?

Retro hits on the radio: I am 13. I am supposed to be studying for exams - for my future. But I am wondering about my future. It is shrouded. It is barely glimpsed behind a misty old windscreen caked with bug-splatter. So I write a letter to my future self in awkward newborn cursive: Dear me, who are you? Do you still remember me? Do you hold to everything that is noble and good and true? Will I like you? Yours sincerely, me.

Dear me, what adventure lies ahead: mountains to climb, oceans to swim in, rocks to scale, snowy peaks to slam down, people to empathise with and love whom you never thought you'd even get along with, barns to dance in, cathedrals to sing in, horses to be trampled by, eyebrows to be singed by pyrotechnic experiments, hands to be singed by baking experiments, smelling close ones dying, watching babies grow up, lying on the field in horrifying numbness after bad rugby tackles, imbibing the audience-energy of stage work, falling into darkness and clambering out, tasting the mellowness of a lost Strad under the chin, new possibilities and vistas, sweet/sour/spici/salti/bitter-ness...

And in the midst of all this, Someone will tap you (very hard) on the shoulder and point out politely that you've been falling down a deep dark void all this while and would you please like to grasp hold of a sturdy rope to keep from falling?

While you are not looking, Someone will come and guide you to all that is noble and good and true. And in that light, you will realise that you are truly evil. And also that none of this salvation is born of your own effort or qualification.

Will you like me? I don't know. But, heads up!*snaps fingers* (hehheh, yeah, we learnt to do that) Far grander, far universe-encompassing stuff ahead!

Love, me.

PS: Obviously, we haven't outgrown cheesiness, as this writing-to-ourselves thing evidences. Alas.
PPS: No worries. Slippers work even with "fine dining".
PPPS: Chinese tuition won't do you any good. Take the money and invest in Microsoft.