Shape of the heart

I was thinking about passion a lot lately. Teck Wah (TP Student Development Officer) once asked me whether I'm still active in outdoor activities - namely climbing, trekking, travelling and plain sweating it out. I stood agape, unable to answer. He eyed me in my uneasy shuffle. He nods, as if he understood the predicament I'm in.

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It was just about 11pm, but I carried the weariness of yesterdays. I planned to turn in early, but I logged in to check my email. My MSN gave that familiar beep. I’m not really in the mood to chat. It's Margaret in Melbourne. Missed her. Was pouring my hearts to her, then she hit me with "Soon enough, I guess. You’re passionate in what you do….".

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Sunday. What am I doing at work ? After clearing out the morning’s tasks, the day became a bore. Slacked out in the aircraft’s cockpit with my supervisor. He taught me an invaluable lesson. No. It’s not his technical prowess or the aircraft’s technological marvels. He was like an encylopedia through and through. He’s been with the airline for more than 20 years. And while he looks at the aircraft, like a proud parent he said "It’s amazing, isn’t it ?"

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Saturday. I had to work still. And I have a climbing competition later. But before that, I have to meet Anwar to help me fax some documents over to Singapore Power for my client. He saw me in a rush and asked. Told him I’m late for the competition. He was surprised. "Fir, you’re not known to be late for these kinda things…"

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High Flight

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

- John Gillespie Magee, Jr.