I wanted this

Photo: Matthew Stockman

Alysa Liu took a long break away from figure skating to live life, and returned guns blazing.

She left behind forever a figure skating scene which told her, your must look like this, you must not eat that, wear these clothes, play these music... but builds up a scene which says, this is what I do, this is how I move, this is what I'm fucking talking about!

The old world had starved waifs, narcissistic coaches who build their self worth over the success of their charges, entire nations who bear down the responsibility of national glory on the shoulders of young men and women, conniving vixens who plot the downfall of their competitors, hired goons who break people's knees, sore losers who throw a tantrum when they do not get a metal in their favourite colour, corrupt coaches who give unfair scores, and Alysa Liu comes in like a bull in a china shop and goes, let's nuke this. Let's burn down this town, raze it three feet into the bedrock.

This is about joy. This is about love. I love to skate and I love my friends. My joy and love will pass from person to person. And fuck everything else.

Reflection for Invocabit Sunday

My Lent last year had been about abandoning the Harsh Inner Voice. I recognised shortcomings in my own approach to self-denial and redemptive suffering. I rejected the Voice whenever it showed up, particularly on the dance floor. This was not the same as indulging the ego — resisting the Voice was challenging and uncomfortable, because it was not intuitive.

For the rest of last year, I continued on this thread and this fasting blossomed into a deconstruction. I reexamined my many ascetic practices which by this point made me miserable and resentful, rather than helping me grow in faith. I learned about purity culture, and how high control and high demand in religions could lead one into the opposite of the values they intend to promote. I learned about the corruption of church leaders who preach purity, but live the culture of rape and pederasty. I reflected on my own rules and adherence to the ascetic practices, which were supposed to help with my purity, but became accessories to corruption themselves. 

Meanwhile, most of the priests at the confessional, and my own spiritual advisor, only gave me boilerplate answers to address my troubles. They could not find a way out other than variations of do the same, but harder. There was one exception, however, which was when one of them threw this one out: focus on loving God.

Let us love, then, because he first loved us. (1 John 4:19)

What was supposed to be a spontaneous outpouring of love, a reciprocation of Allah's pursuit of us, became stale bureaucracy through my practices. It became buried in numbers, goals, targets, and obligations. I had reciprocated God's love with a sterile love. It followed that to change, I had to rebuild this connection from the ground up. No more daily trips to the church, no more timed prayers, set prayers, and so much more.

My spiritual advisor said, you can't do this and still be in the community. I said, let me leave.

He said, your interior life is in shambles.

But my interior life was not in shambles. It had gone in a better way than ever. I was relating to Allah in a fresh way on the dance floor, I was building up character, I was shaping it on my own terms. I was dressing up differently. I had started going to the gym. I had strengthened my bond with my sisters and my parents. I later also realised that doing the opposite of what my spiritual advisors suggested brought me closer to this wholesome life.

Another one said, tell your gay friends they are going to hell. And I conveniently forgot about it during the farewell party. It was a great farewell. We are still friends. I write them postcards. We still meet up. It has been a beautiful friendship. Where would I be instead, if I had been obedient to this directive?

I would bring suffering unto myself and to others, and this suffering would not be for love. I would convince myself that this alienation was persecution, that I would be a martyr for having fearlessly preached the teachings of Christ. I would live this lie the rest of my days and whinny pathetically about it in the pulpit, fishing for validation. And as for the fruits of the spirit, there is nothing that would show up that I could recognise as such.

I do not want this.

I do not want a self-denial that makes me think another man's thoughts over my own; I own my inner voice now! I do not want obedience; or rather, I am incapable of obedience to people whose judgement I no longer trust. I do not want control, because control leads so often to impurity.

My old flames so often fault me for not knowing what I want. I realise now that they were right, and I do not want to hurt any more people whom I love. I will learn to live with my desires honestly, and communicate them well. I will do things because I want to, and not out of obligation or expectation. I will get better not because I am scared of hellfire, but learn to reciprocate genuinely, with my own love, the call of Allah, who is all loving.

Current items of fasting, Lent 2026:

1. The Daily Mandilah: take a shower after I wake up in the morning, whether I feel I need it or not. (c.f. Matthew 6:17-18)

2. Moving into the smaller sofa-bed for bedtimes.