Final Semester.

whoa.

I might actually graduate this time!

Truth be told, I am just a little scared. after being in a coddled state for the last, what, 5 years, I am absolutely astounded at how far I have come since that faithful day that I was excluded from ANU. My thoughts back then were awfully jumbled. I didn’t want to make it feel like my friend’s death caused anything to me, and at the same time I knew I was just a little fucked in the head.

The biggest thing that ran through my head was how I should kill myself. It ranged from sleeping out in the cold on Black Mountain, to setting myself on fire, to just drowning in Lake Burley - as long as I don’t cause too much problems to anyone else.

Despite how much I wanted to die back then, and every time I felt like I couldn’t carry on no more, WYD was… an amazing revelation. The thought that I could now finally die and shrug off everything else startled the fuck out of me. Gasping for air, I prayed. “Dear Lord, not now. I’ve still got tonnes of things I haven’t done yet.” over and over and over again.

In this last semester, I have the option of doing 2 totally non-related electives since I can’t do my remaining courses part-time (or so they say. I am pretty sure I have seen at least 3 students did only 1-2 courses). So I picked up general computing and… It’s fun! well, at the moment anyways.

First class of the week: “Hi, This, IS, a MOUSE!” woaahhhh revelations :p It is, however, more enjoyable with these courses since… it’s not a very important component to my degree, so perhaps that’s why I am having fun.

So… because I really want to get something done in the next 3 years, in case I do die in Madrid, WYD2011, I am not quite sure yet what I want to achieve. There are a few things I do hope to get done, and hope to see before I go:

• visit Myanmar and see the School that I helped built (and whether, omg, the toilet walls have caved in from me falling asleep while laying them)
• Visit Boston and Chicago
• Skydive, AGAIN!
• Learn to cycle, drive, swim, surfboard, snowboard and poledance
• Get my freakin degree ALREADY, and then finally break the news to my family how I fucked up my first degree.
• Go to Calcutta and visit Missionaries of Charity
• Visit Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico
• Take Good Photographs!

And perhaps, I am dreaming. Everything requires money, no? but it’s great to dream big. Of the last list I did, I managed to:

• read 2 books that aren’t prescribed texts (ok so now I am into tear-jerking Chick Lits, whatever)
• buy THE cookbook
• Levelled my character
• Went to the gym
• Etc

Thing is, they aren’t anything real substantial. So… before I die, please let me see the tilma in Mexico.

Sorry for the outage. Seems like nothing technological wants to work with me for the past couple of weeks. I want to finish telling you my “pilgrimage” experience, but I have come to realise there’s only so much i can “describe”. I can’t tell you the extent of my exhilaration, nor how mundane life’s suddenly become now that I am back.

The few things I have learnt from WYD08 was that our God loves us, and despite the fact that I have been a major disappointment time and again, He will still forgive me as long as I repent, I acknowledge him and acknowledge my mistakes and not do them again.

The most beautiful thing that I felt was the unity of the church, the people near me, the diversity of the people that follows God, the different ways they worship God and I was pretty amazed all in all. I knew i am a pretty self-centered person, but watching these people care for each other and their communities…. I wanted to belong with them and just contribute to them.

I fell desperately ill on Friday morning. I already had a cold prior to going up to Sydney, and then the living conditions (which really wasn’t bad) that we were in excarbated my condition into a full on flu which pretty much exhausted my lungs. By the time Friday morning rolled along, mucous was dripping down my throat and into my lungs voluntarily. at about 10a.m, I visited a doctor in Lurnea Medical center (or something along those lines) with an incredibly sore throat, almost on the verge of losing my voice. I felt breathless and wanted to just roll over and lose my neck (if that was possible). The doctor pretty much looked at me, listened to my right lung and told me i just needed antibiotics and I would be good to go.

And then I left for the Stations of the Cross….

At the 8th station, I was panting, wanting to roll over dead, and shivering from the cold. For someone who’s been in Canberra for this long, and who loves the cold, this is quite an unusual state. I just thought perhaps it’s the wind, and proceeded to the First Aid station to “borrow” the warmth.

I never quite came out properly. Even with a blanket and heater on me, I was trembling like a mad dog, registering a temperature that fluctuated around 35 to 40 and my heart rate swung to 129. I felt tired, my eyelids were heavy, so I just “relaxed”, only to find that i would stop breathing whenever I did that. I got scared each time and started gasping for Air….

the Doctor and nurses were worried to death. They put me on oxygen tanks and 2 nebulisers before i was some what stabilised enough. and then i was pretty much advised to go home. I couldn’t stay in the cold, I couldn’t do any real physical stuff (i,e the walk to randwick).

But you know, I felt like I did what I came here for. I had my cake, and I ate it. Had I seen the Pope, it would be the best icing on the cake - but I did have my cake.

The night before my body delivered me into what felt like near death, I met a man on the train. Since the week was full of both crazy, ignorant people and really nice, warm loving people, when he first started requesting an audience (it was the way he asked, it felt like he was asking to meet us lol), i thought he was about to bash us and question our “blind” faith.

This man proceeded to tell us his life story. He was a vet: been to Phillipines, Vietnam, East Timor - you name it. He was also about 40. He’s grown up in a Catholic family, gone to Catholic schooling but has pretty much fallen off the path because, as he puts it, “Religion was something to be ashamed about in Australia”. He’s killed men while on duty, and didn’t think twice about it.

And then… he asked, “Would the Church and God still want me back?” and he burst into tears.

we spent about 2 hours standing in the cold after the train stopped, explaining to him what little we knew about the church doctrines on penance and redemption - and how much God loves. He just bawled like a baby, and thanked us profusely in between tears, because, according to him, he was scared we would have turned him away or told him no, he wasn’t welcomed.

I offered him my Catechism book that we all got with our WYD package, a hug, a prayer and the offer to come to church with us tomorrow. Whilst he never made it to the church, I hope he read through the book, forgive himself and find the forgiveness and love he so seek from the church and God. Because, the love is there, the forgiveness is also already there - he just needs to find his way into forgiving himself before he would be able to realise all he’s seeking for has been there all this time, waiting for him.

Here, I want to thank my priest Fr Laurie for letting me into the pilgrimage to Sydney, for all the support he’s provided. To the ANU Pilgrims, thanks for all the care and concern that I knew i spurned while i was at Sydney. I do appreciate it, albeit I am terribly bad at showing it. To the Vet, I thank you for your questions and your tears, because you made me realise that there’s alot of people out there that were like me: at times uncertain of God’s love and yet still seeking for it constantly.

And to God…  I still love you. I suck at attending church, and praying often enough, not to mention keeping to my promises. I am not perfect, and I am lazy as, I will change though <3

To be honest, I really dislike Sydney. It’s too large a city, too busy, too noisy, too smelly, too crowded and definitely, in my original opinion, too soul-less. So, knowing that my pilgrimage would be in Sydney, definitely struck me as being utterly ironic.

My first night there was ordinary. There was nothing special beyond planning the activities of the next day as quickly as I could. Our group has decided on the “free & easy” method, whereby everyone is not bound to each other’s plans. the only drawback to that plan is that the location of our accomodation necessitates that we all need to move in groups. That in itself isn’t too big a drawback, except for me.

I really didn’t want to have to hang around others while I had “ssoo many things planned”. Ah, the “grumpy old lady” in me was rising its ugly head again. Above all, I was desperately trying to get myself stuff that’s more material than God-related, and I didn’t want to be found out. To my selfish self, i didn’t think of the fact that people might worry about my whereabouts.

the thing is, God always has his own plans. I could lose myself from my own group, but I cannot escape from my own pilgrimage and my own path of self discovery, no matter how lonesome i intended it to be, or however far away i may choose to fly.

My little side trip away from my group showed me many things. From my ignorance of world affairs (There are Lebanese Catholics too! And their flag looks like a Christmas Flag), to the feeling of being so much a part of something big whether i like it or not. I may not have a “group” but I definitely “belonged”.

There were a thousand people inside of St. Mary’s, with yet another few hundreds more in queue to go in, and a few more hundreds just milling along in Hyde Park. There were many national flags, many singing, exchanges of pleasantries and introductions, there was so much love in the air: there was just pure ecstatic electricity there.

Most importantly, there was, as an old man would later insist to me, plenty of “blind faith”.

I grinned at it all, and started walking towards Barangaroo for the opening mass. Yet, i was surprised again by the sheer amount of ecstasy running through everyone.

“AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE!!” “OI, OI, OI!!!”

“AUSSIEE!!!!”

Cries rang out against buildings as roads were closed to traffic. Pilgrims walked from Pitt Street down towards Circular Quay and up towards the Rocks. Paths weren’t big enough for us, and so we all filled up the roads, flags awaving, chants rolling off the walls of high-end Business District buildings while their inhabitants, seemingly on their lunch breaks, stood at the entrance of their buildings just watching us wave past them all.

some people were discussing about all these festivities behind me. “Why would people come do this? I mean, i am a Catholic too, but i don’t even go church!”

“oh, you know, some people like to have a nice, free holiday here in Sydney.”

I am sorry, this was actually a paid trip for many people. Furthermore, the tickets for WYD doesn’t include actual TRANSPORT TO SYDNEY. The ignorant comments irked me quite abit. a pilgrimage is NOTHING like a holiday. Some of the pilgrims slept in the olympic park -.- we shower out in the cold fields, in a little makeshift plywood cabin. between 9am to 7pm, our accomodations are actually closed to us, so we can not rest even if we intend to unless we purchase local motel rooms or sit in a restaurant for a long time.

Many others though, were warm and welcoming. There were people who come and gave us high-fives. Others who came and pat us on our backs and wished us well. There were those who understood the pilgrimage and refused to let us pay taxi fares - but instead insisted we walk where we wanted to go (even though traffic were allowed to some points).

Crowds came to a bottleneck after the Rocks. at times we were all hip to hip, and at times there were people who just chose to sat down and sang praises in their own languages. Yet more people chose to dance as well, instead of worry about their lunches (which were provided at Barangaroo) or if they would be in time for the mass.

there were even Maori people doing the Ke Mate Haka! how awesome is that?!?! And everyone looked SO happy.

And then i walked into Barangaroo, and i inhaled.

There were people EVERYWHERE. Flags pronouncing their nationalities, their schools. The noise in the air wasn’t just people breathing, there were many languages floating around. From Vietnamese, to Thai, to Spanish, French, Italian, German and even Korean. I was absolutely floored.

And then suddenly, i felt this urgency to find my group. “they must be worried about me.” no shit, stupid. I ran towards our planned meeting place (planned just in case idiots get lost) and then i saw… a flood of relief and joy entering the faces of people i have only just met the day before. they WERE worried. I felt like a fool. “the prodigal chick returns!!! yay!!” Inwardly, i lol-ed but i also felt bad. Why am i running away from them?

sheesh.

and we went in and gathered together for the opening mass, where again and again, i was floored by the unity of the church infront of me. People reciting prayers together, kneeling together, attempting to sing songs together even if they speak no english.

and taking communion together.

That was so beautiful.

Better yet? Residents around Barangaroo stood there on their balconies through out the whole mass. One couple, in particular, hugged each other when the “peace be with you” came around. I think, and i hope, we gave them something memorable and beautiful for ages to come.