Finally, after days of hounding the logistics people they finally get my tickets changed. For a few days I have been requesting to get new tickets for my trip home. Since the demonstration at the Bangkok Airport has just ended this morning, I am not taking any chances. There are thousands of people stranded in Thailand since last Tuesday. Which means that once the airport reopens, there's gonna a be major flight change and I am not sure which is given priority....those with valid flight tickets after the airport reopens or those that have been stranded for days.
My initial tickets with Thai Airways has been canceled and I will be flying with Etihad...not my favourite choice but I don't complain when I am heading home.
Practically every major airlines has been fully booked for flights into Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia. You name it...I have tried Emirates, MAS, SIA and Qatar. All fully booked till next week. It was a blessing really that they manage to get me a ticket home.
Just a few more days....
Many forms of Blessings....
The Aurora....Antartica
There's always beauty in nature that is captivating....Randi and I have always loved the Aurora, we will plan or win a trip one day to see it with our own eyes.
Pictures taken from The Big Picture
Read more about Aurora Borealis at Wiki
Beautiful Cities in the Night
Pictures are worth a thousand words?
Oops sorry, regular black out happens in Islamabad
Bangkok Jam....Bangkok Dangerous
A lot is happening to the world nowadays. Everywhere there's unrest. The latest news is about the terror attacks in Mumbai and demonstrations in Bangkok's international airport....Suvarnabhumi Airport which led to it's closure since Tuesday. Trapping thousands of tourists going out of the country.
I am to fly back home next Friday via Suvarnabhumi airport. If the demo is still going by Monday, I will have to rebook a different flight home. Maybe Islamabad-Karachi-Kuala Lumpur with Malaysian Airlines.
These things happens during the last week of my hitch. Hmmm...my previous hitch, on the night of my departure...the Marriot Hotel was hit with a truck bomb which destroyed half of the hotel. But they are rebuilding the hotel now. I can see construction going on at the hotel. With tighter security I hope.
A little haven called Kim Mun
Not sure I have been bitchin' about the food here in Pakistan. So for a refresher...it is really really bad. Maybe just our staff house, our company hired live in caterers to serve us. Problem is that these caterers are trained to cook for rig camps...which was bad. What I have in the house is the same crap I have when I am working in the oil rigs.
Breakfast
We usually get to choose what to eat....with the limited choices we have. Cheap ass cereals, eggs and toast. That's it.
Lunch
Always the same ol shite...Rice, potatoes and noodles...ultra carb! We are not at the rig for goodness sake. Usually have some weird ground up beef or chicken mushed into a ball or shape of a tube which Andi would like to call it "Tahi Kuda" (horse shite).
Vege? They serve us the same vege for 6weeks, twice a day. Cucumber, Tomato and Onions. Either sliced or diced.
Dinner
(refer to Lunch) same crap.
Most of the time, we eat out. Chinese, Thai or Afghan. The chinese foods are usually China style. But we "stumbled" on a nice little restaurant in sector F7, just opposite Pizza Hut called Kim Mun. Last night we bailed on staff house dinner and went to Kim Mun. Food was great. They even serve Cantonese style dishes. It was fantastic. And there were plenty of vegetables! Had a good meal...and put a smile on our faces.
The Room, a 17 year old's description of Heaven
I was clearing out my emails and as I was browsing through them to see what's in them....I came across some very old emails that I have saved. After reading them....I knew why I kept them for so long. Some are very meaningful....and now I am going to share it. This is an email I received from my aunt in singapore sometime back in 2003.
It's a long read but a good one. It was a pain to remove those ">>" that's before every line, placed there when you forward your emails. But it was worth it.
The Room, a 17 year old's description of Heaven
17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject as what Heaven was like. "I wowed 'em," he later told his father, Bruce. "It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote." It also was the last.
Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while cleaning out the teenager's locker at
Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of his life near them, notes from classmates and teachers, and his homework. Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen's life. But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized that their son had described his view of heaven. It makes such an impact that people want to share it. You feel like you are there." Mr. Moore said.
Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off
The
"I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it, " Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see him.
Brian's Essay:
The Room...
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order.
But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written
on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalogue system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so in tense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have given", "Jokes I Have Laughed at."
Some were almost hilarious in their exactness:
"Things I've yelled at my brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents."
I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.
Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched,” I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but
more by the vast time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards!
No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became
desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.
And then I saw it... The title read, "People I Have Shared the Gospel With."
The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room.
I must lock it up and hide the key.
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.
No, please not Him. Not here.
Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes.
Why did He have to read every one?
Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.
"No!" I shouted rushing to Him.
All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, and so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."
I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.....
"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." -
Phil. 4:13
"For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life."
If you feel the same way, forward it to as many people as you can so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also. My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how about yours?
Es-ca-pe! Time to exercise that grey matter....
