the thing about "callout/cancel culture" that convinced me it's rotten to the core is the dehumanisation you face once you become the subject of a campaign like that. a lot of criticisms of callout/cancellation attempts appeal to the humanity of the subject, pointing out that it's unfair and unproductive to treat a person, a fellow human being, regardless of how much harm they've caused and how genuinely unlikable they are, like that. but unfortunately the reality of being the target of a mob mentality often means facing the very isolating and traumatising experience of realising that you've ceased to exist as a person in their eyes. you're a representation of your transgressions, an embodiment of harm that needs to be erased like a blemish, a spectacle for entertainment, a means of earning social approval by publicly condemning and humiliating you in what quickly becomes a competition to see who can strike the blow that knocks you down so you never get up again. nobody cares about who you are outside of what you did. people make mistakes and hurt one another, but there is always the capacity for change, for regret and reparations. you are an irredeemable monster. you can't change. the only way to make sure you can't cause harm ever again is to neutralise you entirely. to drive you off and hurt you so badly that you never consider coming back. and it often succeeds. but it doesn't make the world a better or safer place. it just tells everyone that certain behaviours will be punished, so you should conceal them, and harshly condemn them in others so that everyone knows where you stand; nobody will stand up for you if you're accused and brought out for judgement, so you shouldn't trust anyone, and always be on the lookout to take them down before they can do the same to you. you're not creating a safe, welcoming community. you're creating a panopticon built on fear and punishment.

for the most part, life was like a series of travelators. there was the travelator of kindergarten. then of school, in all its glory - primarily, secondary, jc. there were state imposed travelators, at least for us guys. though many would quietly grumble at being “forced” to serve the nation, i believe some part of us were pleased, that for 2 more years, our life courses would be determined.

there were other mini-travelators along the way. piano classes, art classes, tuition, softball and soccer. these were a bit less rigid than the others. some I eventually jumped off. Mdm Tan’s piano lessons, as nice as that lady was personally, was plainly uninspiring. others, like tuition, were framed as necessities, though I now view them more as privileges. still others, like softball and soccer, were just activities I naturally grew into, both out of a certain obligation to structure (CCAs in school) and also a personal inclination to sports. 

most young people desire freedom. they await the day that they turn 21. the spirit of youth is adventure, potential and possibilities. nestled and nurtured within the structures that they find themselves in, or for arguably good measure, society and parents place them in, they desire freedom. an escape from these structures, or at least the freedom to determine the ones that they choose to inhabit. 

i felt this spirit of youth once, and on some days, i still do. but i think you know that you’ve ‘grown up’ when these possibilities and promises feel more terrifying than inviting. when the remaining years of your life looks more like a wilderness rather than a blank canvas full of possibilities. that’s where i’ve found myself - at the end of the travelators, staring in great expanse of time and space, choices and trade-offs. 

the second last travelator that i was on was college. for most of it, i was a flaneur - drifting in and out of ideas, practices and pursuits. i did a lot of random things, and my school encouraged it. i took up filmmaking and made a couple of films. it was great fun with great friends while it lasted. i dabbled in acapella - dabbled, i say, because i wasn’t that great, and that particular gig lasted as long as it did more out of obligation than calling. i took up academic subjects in history, science, economics, art. there was much richness in my intellectual exposure, for which i remain grateful. i went urban exploring - abandoned mansions, stumbled upon graveyards. taking in the grime, forsakenness of those space with a detached aesthetic appreciation, befitting of a flaneur. 

(that the very ability to be a flaneur, to saunter, to selectively experience life not out of compulsion but exposure, is a privilege not enjoyed by many is not lost on me. to the fact that i have had this privilege, i can only say that this is the lot that God has dealt with me in my life, and i better use these experiences for good.)

relationally, i too couldn’t, or didn’t, “settle down”. i’m not sure if an exact diagnosis is meaningful, but i think that part of what lead to this was that i was afraid of committing.  

towards the end of the second travellator, some of my friends started to get cold feet. while college drummed into us the picture of a world of endless possibilities, it didn’t really teach us how to choose which path to take. the expansive, soaring visions of admissions soon gave way to the realist, pragmatic world of career guidance and job hunting. for most of us, i think we just jumped onto another travellator in part because that possibility opened up, and we knew that the ‘end’ was near. 

it felt assuring, good, and even ego-boosting to say that i had a job lined-up, that 3 months before graduation, my next path was already certainty. i looked with those friends, whose ‘next steps’ had not yet been firmed up, with probably some subconsciously pity. they too, for the most part, didn’t hide their worry. 

but time melted slowly away, and soon enough, we were all on our individual, ‘chosen’ paths - our own travellators. for my part, i felt that work was more like the raging sea than a mechanical walkway. i often felt drowning, exhausted. two quick rotations in vastly different roles meant that i was constantly learning and being challenged. it was exhilarating and exhausting. except for rare moments for clarity, i think it was a time where purpose (in all senses of the word) was fuzzy. 

i had no grand sense of purpose! i thought i did - as a Christian, i knew that story of reality that i was in, and my place in it. yet, quite honestly, i don’t think it mattered much in the day to day. there was a gap between what i believed in my head and my practice. this gap was damning, horrifying, excruciating simply because it was there. 

it wasn’t as if i could not find another purpose to live for. i could! see, that man over there dressed in office clothes, eating hurriedly with a distinct sense of urgency. a quick glance at his timepiece, another chomp of his mashed potatoes. what was driving him? what was given him that sense of purpose? perhaps an urgent task assignment or client meeting, perhaps a desire to rush home to see his family. i could, i really could, find these purposes to live by. and very so often, i slipped into such a state - and even enjoyed it (at some level lah). the upcoming exhibition, to be launched by Singaporean dignitaries, had distinct tasks and outcomes. though it was stressful, the path from here to there was clear. i could live for love. find a lover, be lost in her eyes, talk with her and dream of her. i very much believe i have that capacity. or career success! strategising, networking, storytelling and the like. if this was the game that mattered, i think i’ll do decently well if i gave it my heart and my soul.

but i didn’t think it was worth my heart and my soul. and i still don’t think that it is. there is too much of ecclesiastes within me to hold me back from an unadulterated pursuit of these goods as ends in themselves. before i am even midway into pursuit, i can imagine the end. vexation. vanity. vapour. those things, and our lives too. i saw it, clear-eyed, aided by the light of scripture and casual observations in the office. 

what then? as admirable as the negative project of determining what one shouldn’t be driven by is, what then should drive us? (- for to stick with just the negative project would be to stick in despair.) 

i admit that this is kind of where i am right now.   

you may be shocked, surprised, enraged, disappointed! how so, you say. are you not a Christian? do you not believe the great truths of the gospel? are you not driven by the good news? are you not part of that story? 

with a whisper, i say, yes i am. i am part of that story by grace. i am in Christ, and he is in me. i am captured by the glory of the scriptures, and the beauty of the christian story. i am become more keenly aware of the providence of God, his working in and through creation, guiding and directing and moving. i am too, i hope, growing deeper in faith, in trust, in submitting to God. 

and yet with the same whisper, i say, i am not there yet. i am not where i ought to be, i am quite afar off. it deeply horrifies me that i could know the truth, and yet be so cold and unyielded to it. right now, i resonate more with wandering Moses, drifting through the wilderness of Midian, knowing that the glory of Egypt would never satisfy, yet really not knowing what else he is meant to do. i resonate more with Thomas, who after that first Easter was perhaps so jealously craving the conviction and new found belief of his fellow disciples, yet never being able to himself come to that place in his own strength. 

another story in the Bible that quite captures me is the story of Jacob wrestling with the angel of the Lord. Jacob too, was a wanderer. his cunning and craftiness got him the birthright, but at the expense of being able to remain at home. so away from the comforts of his own family, he wandered and after some time, found himself in love with Rachel. he made a deal with his uncle (a very hard deal, in my opinion) but strove to complete it to win Rachel’s hand. and yet at the end of 7 long years, he was bitterly deceived by his very kinsmen, and endured yet another 7 years to finally win his love. this was a man whose cunning was ultimately matched by another, a man part honourable (for his loyal love to Rachel) and part despicable (for his calculated cunning), but very much relatable, in that he was neither perfectly good or pathologically bad. this was a man who inherited the great faith of his father and grandfather, and on a few occasions, had a privilege to be personally reminded of God’s involvement in his life. and yet, he, on the night before he was to met his existential reckoning (in crossing path with his brother Esau whom he deceitfully cheated) was evidently not who he was to be. he was still fretting and relying on his cunning to appease his brother. 

in the night, all alone, separated from his family, he met God and wrestled with him. i don’t know what this really means, but i do know that Jacob wanted a blessing from God and he eventually got it. he was doggedly, he did not let go, and in the end, he got his blessing. it would be easy and tempting to read this story as an illustration for how hard work eventually pays off, but that would be too simple. wrestling with God is not ‘hard work’. the very fact that God appeared to him at this time of utter need was one of grace. the grace and giveness of the whole situation is undeniably, but i think there is still more. Jacob wrestled as if his life depended on it. he didn’t know what he needed - he could only articulate a request for a blessing - but yet he knew that he needed something. the Lord obliged, and Jacob was never the same again. 

these days, i feel like i too, am wrestling. there is a keen sense of need, though i don’t know exactly what i do need. there are deep earnest cries, bless me O Lord, give me a blessing. there is me, at the end of the travelator that i just got off, perched over the great expanse of time and space and possibilities. i am reading, waiting, praying, pleading, wrestling. 

Rembrandt, 1659