I still love SMU because there are lost souls there

Felt horrible in school: 3 days, 11hrs of lessons.
Possibly due to the amount of expectations I placed upon myself. Or perhaps, it was the inability to blend in with the fast paced likfestyle and competitiveness of SMU summer term courses. Or so it seems.

I find myself unable to contribute to the class discussions except for the times when the prof mentioned about those who have yet to speak up (me). My lips felt so tight. The throat was dry. It was as though my thoughts couldn't convert themselves into verbal content. The prof also placed his benchmark on writings. If you're able to get him to value your writings, then you're probably someone that can score decently well. An least at an A region. So it's all about how good you are able to communicate literally.

A 4th year student feeling that way in a school like SMU. Sounds unlike-able and weird. What's been happening over the many semesters of trainings? No idea. Hah, I can only take a step back and see people vie for class participation marks. Getting themselves excluded from friends' acceptance and the prof's tolerance for nonsense was no problem, so long as they grab that 20% worth of grades for participation. I'm not against the system, neither am I being sour about it. That's just the hard cold truth. You too, will face it. It's an emerging trend.

Do we strive that hard for Jesus?
I feel so ashamed. This plight was not a choice, it was out of ignorance. Pillars have changed into pillows. Yet it's not too late, there's a 2nd chance. Once you see it, seize it. Feel it. Own it. And it's yours to keep so long as you pay the price. And yes, I want to pay that price because of its worth.

My appetite's changed. Striving for grades has lost its flavour. Getting 'A's are good, but they're not the best. My goal is heavenward. For where my heart is, there my treasures shall be. Where no thief can steal nor moths can destroy. That, is my reward. That, is also my new found taste bud.

I, can be a writer. You can too. But of what genre do I write in? And of which audience do I seek to capture their attention? Of which audience would be attracted anyway? Some day, this article will be re-read. The pictures will be shown. No memory too great can contain it because our hearts and minds are just too distracted. Too whisked and whizzed away by the beauty of the wind.

Help me Lord. May I, too, one day overhear the conversation You would hold with Your dear Son. You did that once and it changed the life of a young man. You are capable of doing it again. For I know, that will turn the eyes of my heart towards You, and only You.