Six Days of a Whirlwind — 21–26 September 2026

The last six days have felt like a whirlwind. At first, the events seemed unrelated—climbing, a dream, my glasses, my car, groceries, cooking and conversations about “flying blind.” It was only toward the end of the week that I began to see how the pieces connected.

Day 1 — Sunday, 21 September: Climbing, the Dream and “Unusual Speed”

Sunday began with rope climbing at Camp5 1 Utama with my climbing crew. Patrick was tackling the high wall with his eight pit stops, and afterward we went for dinner together.

Day 2 — Monday, 22 September: Flying Blind and the Fourth Witness

Monday brought another part of the story: what I regarded as a fourth witness connected with Miri, Sarawak.

Later that day, during an afternoon nap, I had a vivid dream of Mariah Carey flying across the night sky while holding onto what looked like a cable or zipline. What stood out was the extraordinary speed and height.

Immediately after waking, I came across an Instagram prophetic post using the language “sudden acceleration” and “unusual speed.” The correspondence caught my attention, and I later gave the dream the name “Zipline of Velocity.”

Day 2 — Tuesday, 23 September: Eyes and Air-Conditioning

Around this period I also had my conversation with Jonathan. When I explained how little information I had about where everything was going—including the wedding dress and my plans involving Sarawak—Jonathan summed it up very simply:

“So you're flying blind?”

What struck me was how relaxed he was about it. He recognised that I didn't have the whole map without insisting that I go and manufacture the missing information.

Then everything became very practical.

I felt prompted to stop postponing my eye examination and returned to OWNDAYS. During the process, I discovered that the coating on my existing lenses was flaking. My reading prescription had also changed, although my distance prescription remained the same.

Then there was my car air-conditioning. It wasn't cooling properly. Instead of simply putting up with it, I took the car to be checked and began arranging for the problem to be properly diagnosed.

Looking back, two senses had already become involved:

Sight — my eyes and glasses.

Thermic/touch — noticing that the air coming from the air-conditioner wasn't cold.

Day 4 — Wednesday/Thursday: Hearing the Nail Before Seeing It

Next came a strange sound from the rear of my car.

Rather than ignoring it, I asked the mechanic to ride around the block with me and listen. He inspected the car and discovered a nail in the tyre.

His workshop didn't repair tyres, so I went elsewhere. The tyre was dealt with in about five minutes and cost only RM8.

Again, something very ordinary had required attention. I heard something abnormal, investigated it and acted before simply continuing to drive around and hoping it would disappear.

Now another sense had entered the sequence:

Hearing — the strange sound that led to discovering the nail.

Day 5 — Friday, 25 September: Routine Does Not Have to Become Habit

Then came food.

On Wednesday, the Holy Spirit dropped the thought  into my spirit:

“Just because I go to KFC regularly as part of my routine doesn't mean I have to turn it into a habit.”

The distinction stayed with me. Routine and habit are not necessarily the same thing.

Then on Thurs,

After paying about RM22 for a lunch that I wasn't particularly happy with, I went to Matahari and bought groceries instead: Samyang noodles, Heinz mushroom soup, a loaf of bread and canned tuna.

By Friday, rather than automatically going out to buy another meal, I began looking at what I already had at home. I reheated existing spaghetti/pasta sauce, put potato wedges in the air fryer, and later had some Bulla reduced-fat chocolate ice cream.

That evening I also ate dinner with my mother and aunt: steamed fish, sambal beans, claypot chicken, tofu in an egg-drop-style stew and Chinese tea.

The shift was simple: use what is already available instead of automatically going out to acquire something else.

Day 6 — Saturday, 26 September: 番茄炒蛋, Taste, Smell and the Pattern Appears

Saturday morning completed the sequence in the most ordinary way possible.

I still had leftover rice, tomatoes that needed using and some potato wedges remaining from Friday. So I made 番茄炒蛋—tomato and egg stir-fry—and ate it with the leftover rice, with the potato wedges becoming my joking little “side quest.”

While cooking, I had to smell and taste the food to judge the seasoning.

And suddenly I realised what had been happening throughout the week.

Eyes — sight.

Skin/temperature — touch and thermic sense.

Ears — hearing.

Food — smell and taste.

The senses had quietly been running through the entire week.

That brought me back to Hebrews 5:14, which speaks about the mature having their faculties or senses trained through practice to discern.

What fascinated me was how undramatic the practical events actually were. I had expected that if there were going to be something involving “taste” or “smell,” perhaps something unusual would happen.

Instead, I simply cooked breakfast.

And perhaps that was precisely the lesson.

Over these six days, I wasn't merely being shown things. I was repeatedly required to notice, investigate, decide and respond.

My glasses needed attention—deal with them.

The air-conditioning wasn't cold—investigate it.

The car made a strange noise—don't ignore it.

There was food sitting in the refrigerator—use it.

A routine was becoming automatic—recognise that I still had a choice.

And when I didn't possess all the information about something beyond my jurisdiction—I didn't have to manufacture an answer merely because the answer was missing.

What began with an image of extraordinary speed ended up teaching me something surprisingly grounded.

Acceleration did not mean rushing.

It meant becoming responsive.

Perhaps the six-day sequence can be summed up this way:

Notice what is in front of me.

Discern what actually belongs to me.

Steward it when it does.

Leave it alone when it doesn't.

And keep moving even when I cannot see the entire road ahead.

I may be flying blind, but flying blind does not mean being careless. It means learning to use what I can see, hear, feel, taste and smell—and responding faithfully to what is actually in front of me.