Pilgrims on the Road.

And perhaps the best thing about this journey, is knowing that we are never alone. On the smooth part, we can sing, shout, run, cycle, dance and get blown in a whirlwind, our spirits caught in a cloud of joy. And on the rough part, shall we not have one another to hold on to, to talk, cry, bleed with?

We are soldiers in arms, our feet worn with calluses. We are too far from the beginning to turn back- God, where is the end? The walk is too far, my feet bleed in bitter anguish against the hard ground. I am the last runner, this race might have no prize for me. Shall my feet of clay break against this unforgiving tarmac? Shall you not take my life?

But He who began a good work in us shall bring our journey to completion, and then our joy shall be complete. We only run in the race chosen for us, in the way so as to obtain imperishable crowns. Our feet, worn from walking, running and cycling, shall then be swift and beautiful to bring the gospel of peace.

Till then, we have one another, the wind in my hair, and You by my side. I can neither see nor touch You- my hair is mangled with my tears of joy-but how my heart burns on this long brick road. Oh, how it burns.

We're on the road and on our knees,

walking, still.

" Then their eyes were opened, and they knew Him...

And they said to one another,

"Did not our hearts burn within us

while He talked with us on the road,

and while He opened the Scriptures to us?"

-Luke 24:31a, 32

Just, thinking. (edited)

Besides God, little else brings you to your knees but self-confession. And this has been, to say the least, most frustrating for me to accept.

Of late, more than usual, many people have been asking me about my relationship status. The number of people who have been presenting the question to me have been so numerous that I am wondering if they have been conspiring. I usually smile, tell them it's a long story, but that I'm not in a relationship and leave it at that. If I think they understand and won't think I'm crazy, I tell them a little more-like that I feel God has told me to commit myself to be single till I graduate, to take time to know Him, know myself and to give myself space to grow in maturity. I have the peace He has everything planned out for me, so I've stopped being too anxious, really. Being relatively independent in some ways, I'm also happy being free to do what I want at the moment and taking time to rediscover myself. I'm only twenty-two- isn't it a little early? I often think to myself.

But there's another reason, too. And almost as if God were trying to bring my attention to it, a slew of people over the past month have been coming my way to question my attitude and outlook on relationships. As I stood, thinking through my answers, I realised that it made me more and more uncomfortable to think about it. This truth has been most difficult for me to accept, face and confront. I realise, just how I have been in denial all this while, using God as a semi-blanket disguise. Because the truth is, the little girl inside of me is just, so afraid.



Afraid of what, you ask?

Afraid of this feeling which is new and happy and startling all at the same time and which makes me feel I have absolutely no control over it. Afraid of how vulnerable and naked and young it makes me feel. Afraid of the possibilities, or the impossibilities of the situation.

The slightest flutter from deep within Petrifies me. That butterfly feeling which makes me happy then surprised then frightened then stressed then extremely willing to run out to the nearest exit. The artist in me is relieved that one has the freedom to imagine, hope and construe the future since it is not here. And yet, when there is a glimmer of that future coming to the present, she gets a cardiac arrest and goes into rewind lest the future does not materialise into a reality she had hoped for.


I once had someone tell me that I had built this invisible fence around me and that I ought to do something about it. I guess to some extent, he was right. It's a lot easier to be friends, isn't it?

The automatic defense system within me loses no time to build a fortress once I feel threatened- and threatened means feeling that all-too-familiar and terrifying heartsway like a lallang in the wind. I wish it would not.

Perhaps it is like that uncertainty and vulnerability one experiences when one mounts a two-wheeled bicycle for the first time, that moment where one has a fifty-fifty chance to riding the vehicle into momentum or losing balance and falling onto the tarmac. It is like I cannot bear the uncertainty and vulnerability, and so I take the safest option to will the feelings away. Willing it away- I'm very good at that and pretending I don't care. Or distracting myself by picking up a new hobby-I'm good at that too. Is that why I am always learning something new- swimming freestyle, photography and acrylic painting are next on my list.

It scares me so bad that my instinctive reaction to any Good Person has become running away so I can slink and disappear into the ground. Because it's almost as if while a part of me would like a white horse (brown is also okay and my preference actually) and a dragon and a pumpkin carriage all in the same story, I think I am afraid to know that none of this will ever be real and that idealist in me might be destined to be disappointed and robbed and deceived and that I cannot sue disney because I don't know how to. And when some of it actually does happen, an almost pathological fear takes over and I want to run ten miles away immediately or I say or do something like wearing a gigantic lion's mask which puts that distance right out there between myself and anybody so I am back in the Safe zone immediately, leaving a little brick wall in between so I feel Safe.

Stupid, isn't it.

I don't understand it. It's like some freudian force compelling Rapunzel to get a bob hair-cut when she finally sees a shadow in the distance coming to help her out of the tower. And the realisation and admitting of how serious this fear really is and has been, has been most frustrating.

Was it bad past experiences? Perhaps. And though I've never really been in a serious relationship before, I've seen and heard more than I would have liked to have grown a general distrust of and become mostly disillusioned with most of the male gender when it comes to this. It is one of the down sides of having too many male friends and listening to their conversations of women in general. Of course there are Good People around, but the fear remains.

Perhaps it is like myself learning to cycle. Since the age of ten, I had this phobia of getting on a 2-wheeled bike. After a few bad accidents without really ever mastering it, I gave up and was too frightened to get on it again. It took me more than a decade to finally decide that enough was enough and it was time to face my fear. I know it may take me a long time to learn how to trust again, I just hope I don't take that long to work this similar phobia through. What makes it worse perhaps, is my ingrained view that it is the man who must make the first gesture and if he does not, the lady cannot respond. So the fear is further compounded by my unknowing what to do with such Terribly Scary Feelings, except to tell them to God and leave them there with Him or simply take the easy route to will them away.

The heart is the most precious organ of the body. Yet, isn't it funny how we build so many walls.

After the race that day, I sat by myself at midnight, feeling completely overwhelmed by utter joy and sadness. Tears flowed like rivers. I didn't know why but at that point, a tangibly cold emptiness and warm, milky love enveloped me all at once. It had been such an emotional day for me- I had completed my first bike race and in it, represented the harrowing journey God had brought me through in the past years into the light of joy, peace and liberty. But there was an aching within me- for who could I share this wonderfully special experience with at that point? For who knows, sees and understands the prim, Type-A me at the hospital, the one who gets turned on by the operating theatre and yet, the artist in me who can dawdle at a gallery by herself for hours, the silly-dance-like-no-one's-looking me at sunday school when I'm with children, the me who loves to lie on grass and eat yummy muffins and drink hot milk, the me at church who raises her hands and tears, and the little girl me who then morphs into a sporty roadbiker-wannabe on my saturday morning rides with my lean-mean roadbiking friends, haha. Who understands my past and what I've been through that makes me so sensitive to certain things, comments because they trigger certain memories and places I don't want to return to. Who understands my fears about the future and why I live my life as such.

And the chilly ache was there because some part of me just couldn't imagine being known and understood in so many distinct dimensions. I wondered if anyone would want to, and I wondered if I could ever get to know anyone on so many levels, too. Yet a tangible warmth overtook me like a blast of hot air from a furnace in winter because I knew... that God did. He understands us, knows us through and through and through. He knows the efficient, girly, sporty, cranky, child-like me and He has given up so much for us and given so much to me that no matter how much I give up for Him, I will never be out of the Safe zone, no matter how vulnerable I make myself to Him. There is no distrust with God. Where He is, is where I can be Safe.

Almost every month now, I get wind of another friend getting attached or engaged-it's that time in life I suppose, and I don't know how these people do it. I'm working it through and I'm taking my time. You know I wouldn't be too affected about swatting a cockroach, travelling by myself to some developing nation or paragliding or scrubbing up for surgery and doing stitches for a patient with multiple gaping trauma wounds... ... but when it comes to this, I'm scared out of my wits.

But in spite of all this, I guess what comforts me most is that God always has a way when it comes to what we deem impossible. He makes time, things and people work in such a way we would never expect. Like how I never expected or even dreamt I would ride a bike someday, my own roadbike at that.

And perhaps the only consolation I have is that no matter how much fear, uncertainty or paranoia we may have about the future, His plan is best-that even if it means being single, then that would have to be best, too.

And perhaps the other consolation would be that in spite of bruising, and falling, and taking so incredibly long to overcome my fears and get down to it, I did learn how to ride a bike properly...

... eventually.

"And in perfect love, there is no fear."

- 1 John 4:18

Been Watching Band of Brothers

Sorry guys, i've not been updating because i've been watching Band of Brothers.


Really took me quite awhile to finish it.


Anyway i'm finally done with it. So, will keep you guys updated again. Really enjoyed it! Best all time War movie ever!!

Beauty.

This is something women know of, and will only tell you if they think you understand- that on some bad days, she can wake up feeling ugly, inferior, fat or just plain unlovely, even though absolutely nothing has changed overnight. Blame it on hormones, the media, the enemy- but just because the feelings are illogical doesn't mean they are not real. At her core, every woman wants to know she is lovely, beautiful in the eyes of someone and loved- on some bad days, she just doesn't know it.

I first met her 2 weeks ago at a missions meeting. Young and sweet, she had a voice exuding her youth and guilelessness. She was sent from China by a Singaporean medical missionary for medical treatment here. Only nineteen, Qing* had come for her fourteenth operation here (sponsored by donors) after she had had a copious amount of acid poured all over her face by a vile stranger when she was fifteen. From what her face looked like after fourteen operations, one cannot imagine how grossly disfigured her face must originally have been from the tragic incident. Even objectively, her appearance at the time was described at best to be alarming. She lost her sense of sight, and would hear the stinging comments of passers-by as they ogled or shunned away, terrified, by her appearance.

As she stood shyly at the front sharing her story and how God gave her a new lease of life, and her burden to fundraise for needy patients back in China through selling beautiful fabric flowers she had made, I could not quite see her face. It was mostly covered by a long fringe and a large pair of sunglasses. Yet, even from afar, it was easy to tell she was the kind of girl who likes dressing up- her tall, slim figure, the tottering heels, pleated skirt a little above the knee, straightened hair, fashionable sunglasses and dangly ear-rings made it apparent.

After our medical missions meeting ended, many went up to the counter to purchase her beautiful flowers. I went up to her, and can't say I wasn't a little embarrassed to try and conceal my shock- for her face and neck were horrifically scarred, her mouth and lips were crooked, her nostrils were but shallow caves in skin and her hair was worn to cover the ghastly marks over her forehead. Her heavy shades covered her eyes, which, too, were severely corroded. She was here for her cornea operation because the acid had corroded her eyes, and her vision was extremely poor, even at close distances.

After making some small talk, it was getting late, and so after buying some flowers, I turned to leave when something stopped me and compelled me to turn back. I had brought a few small boxes of gingerbread cookies I had baked that afternoon for my friends and had one more box. I wanted to give it to her, and as I did, I hugged her and told her how tender and beautiful a heart she had, how precious she was in the eyes of God. It was then that her lilting voice shook, and a tiny trickle of tears streamed down her left eye. It was also then that I realised, she only had one eye. Another stream of tears flowed out from a tiny hole in the skin which covered where her right eye should have been.

"Thank you,"she said, and she hugged me back in return. "Thank you so much. God's really changed my life. "

Last week, we met for lunch. A good friend of mine who had met her in China on her medical elective and myself took her to a nice place for some Japanese food.

"What would you like to have?" I asked, as I brought her around the restaurant which was designed like a food bazaar. "How about this?"

"Oh, I can't eat this. It has too much potassium," she said in mandarin, "it interferes with the medication I'm taking."

"Oh I see."

Over lunch I asked if she enjoyed painting her nails. Since the age of six, I have not had my nails painted and of late, I had had the girlish desire to paint my nails again. After some struggle over my frivolous vanity, I had decided to give her the nail polish I had bought for myself.

"The doctors say I can't paint my nails anymore because the alcohol content hurts my eyes. I'm so troublesome, dear me. I'm so sorry."

She can't eat without having to think if the food she takes will interfere with her medication. She can't paint her nails. Why does it have to be like this? She's only nineteen.

"No, you're not a trouble at all dear." So I gave her a pair of ear-rings I had brought too instead, and incidentally, my friend had bought ear-rings for the both of us too. So there we were, three girls in a Japanese restaurant trying on ear-rings and making fun of how vain each of us were, giggling over nail polish and ear-rings and vanity of vanities.

But somehow, it gave me great joy to know that she was so happy with the ear-rings I had given her, even though she was feeling them instead of admiring them with her eyes because she could hardly see. It gave me great joy to listen to her coo about how much she enjoyed shopping, and making jewellery and flowers. It gave me great joy to know that I had made her feel, in some small way, beautiful and loved- the way every girl wants to feel, and not mocked at, pointed at or discussed. And perhaps, what made me most happy, was seeing how much life and joy and hope in beauty she still held for herself, even as her disfigured face stood in stark contrast to her well-matched and girlish attire.




In the darkness, candles fight harder still for the beauty of light.



I learnt, that girls will always be girls, and that eternal appreciation and longing for beauty will always remain no matter what happens. There are all sorts of women- the sporting kind, the artsy-fartsy kind, the feminine sort, the pragmatic sort, the high-maintenance ones and the simple ones, or an eclectic mix of them all if you're like me. But in whichever way she was made, a woman, being an expression of God's alluring beauty, will always have the innate desire to create, express and be that beauty, that nourishing, comforting, inspiring beauty for the world to enjoy. It's just the way things are.

I looked at her, and recalled the lovely flowers she had made, unable to imagine the horror of surviving years of facelessness and smiled at her unyielding sense of hope for the present, her unquenching desire to create beauty even in the face of monstrosity, injustice and shame.

Yet even then, I knew our cheerful banter only belied the profound suffering she must have had and very possibly still have inside-the suffering of feeling ugly every day, of having one's little girl's prince-charming dreams shattered and of feeling unlovely. She's only nineteen. She was disfigured at fifteen. Why do things have to be this way?

Nonetheless, knowing God's love for her had pulled her through years of hardship and today, that tenacity to hold onto Him remains. " After all that's happened and that's been done for me, I can't believe there is no God."

She kept thanking us for lunch, but I thanked her more for opening my eyes to what true beauty means. She gave me a glimpse of understanding what continually finding our beauty, identity and security in God means; she taught me what it means to look within since she could not see the outside; she taught me what it means to turn one's face to God when the world shuns and mocks our facelessness. I wanted to beat myself for the senseless moments I had felt unlovely, for weren't those moments of ingratitude to our Creator?

"Qing, I want you always to remember that God only looks at our inside, and you are an incredibly beautiful and precious child in His eyes."

Tears fell again from where her right eye ought to have been. She said to me, "I made this flower for you. I remember the first time we met, you mentioned briefly that you like deep pink but I ran out of fabric so I hope you'll still like this red flower I made."

"It's beautiful, Qing. Thank you for everything."

" Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing,

But a woman who fears the Lord,

she shall be praised."

- Proverbs 31:30

" I'd come out to meet you,

Tell you I'm sorry,

You don't know how lovely you are."

-The Scientist, Coldplay

*name changed to protect privacy

Lovely.

"Greg is a paraolympian, artist, author and motivational speaker. He had polio when he was a child, and he's got the gold medal a number of times for swimming."

" Ajmal's the fastest handcyclist here. He's a war veteran- had a permanent spinal cord injury while serving in the Pakistan Army during the India-Pakistan border conflicts in the 80s."

"Michael had polio, he's pretty fast himself."

"That young boy is Ashraf. He's 21 and doing his first race in his life today since he became wheel-chair bound after an operation for scoliosis."

"And that's Fungus. He's a living miracle. He's paralysed from the stomach down because he got shot 7 times by muggers. He's my friend and makes fun of me all the time, calls me Doctor Hannah Montana-don't ask me why. He runs the Handcycling Association of Singapore."
If you were there with me last sunday, this is how I would've introduced you to the 5 handcyclists competing in the biking segment of a triathlon series, the 5 handcyclists whom some of us volunteers were assigned to escort for the 60-kilometre race for safety reasons so other able-bodied riders wouldn't bump into them.

60 kilometres. When I heard the race distance, I wondered if I would make it. 60 kilometres may be nothing for an athlete but you must understand, I am not a sportsperson. But, thinking about how these amazing overcomers had conquered fear, stigma, pain and self-doubt, how they had carved a new life for themselves through sports, how excruciating it must be to power themselves over 60 kilometres using only their arms, an extremely small muscle group compared to my legs, I prayed and took off with my assigned handcyclist, Michael. And once we started, there was no turning back.


It was the most amazing race of my life, in spite of the ugly safety-marshall vest. Not least because it was for a meaningful cause, not least because of the breathtaking scenery on a hot sunny day but because of all the lessons God taught me through this:

- Before and after the race, many people were fussing over the handcyclists, helping them get prepared and be ready. And it was not long before I found out that the girls were the handcyclists' wives and girlfriends. There was something about the women's sacrificial and genuine love which awed me. Something about their spirit which was large enough to accept a partner with such an obvious disability which gripped me. The handcyclists had wives and children and the same things you and I long to have, too.

I learnt and saw for myself, that love has no boundaries.

-In the sporting arena, one does not need to look far to spot arrogance. Proud bikers make their presence known with their casual mention of their 8000-dollar bike, lethal sunglasses and a 300-dollar attire. There is a cockiness about them, and they size you up immediately. In their presence, they can make one feel like a toenail. The handcyclists and the other volunteer cyclists, however, were different. They had just as much reason to boast about their sporting prowess, yet there was something about their humility which struck me hard in the face, the kind of humility only suffering and compassion produces.

And when I saw that, I learnt, that how we choose to live with our gifts makes or breaks us.

- As I raced with my assigned handcyclist, Michael, there was nothing of that selfish, egoistic desire to be faster, better, swifter- only a carefree ride ahead of him, breaking the headwind so he could hand-pedal more easily. The whirr of the wheels of dangerously fast riders were always a temptation, beckoning me to chase them but Michael, using his hands, was slower. I had to keep looking back to pace him well. It reminded me of the time my expert roadcycling friends took me on a round-island 80-kilometre ride, and my friend Al slowed down significantly for me. On one of the slopes, my burning legs wanted to die. Just as I wanted to give up, he cheered me on so I would be encouraged. "See, Jiajia," he said affectionately, "you did it right?"

I learnt, that friends slow down for one another so they can walk with you, and they don't mind one bit.

- As we cycled, the sun was scorching mercilessly. And at some points, Michael was far behind me, tired and weary from hand-pedalling. Just watching him and the other handcyclists press on was inspiring in itself. But Al and myself cheered him on all the way as we biked with him, and we had much fun joking, laughing, enjoying the amazing scenery of open skies and fields of wild lallang, and screaming our lungs out as we braved the wind and sun. "Come on Michael! We're only a whisker away from the finish! We're gonna hunt those riders down!" We were far slower than the other professional bikers, but we were happy. We were giddy with pain and joy. It was exhilarating.

I learnt, that on a journey, friends can make all the difference.

Michael and my legs on my humble roadbike

- When we finally passed the finishing line, there was that look of utmost glee, exhaustion and gratitude on Michael's face and he held my hand, saying excitedly, "I couldn't have done it without you! This is my first race ever in my life, and I can't believe we did 60 kilometres for my maiden race!" He's over forty but his eyes shone like a seven year-old's. And when those words left his mouth, they stunned me. For it was only then that I realised, it was my first ever bike race, too, and I couldn't believe I finished the 60 kilometres either.

60 kilometres. Oh, don't we love the smell of pain.

Remember, because of a phobia, I never cycled free by myself on two wheels till last October. I had a bicycle-less childhood. So I could scarcely believe that just months after I had picked up roadcycling with the help of many, many friends, I was riding in a club and in a race. I remembered the many friends I had met from my roadcycling group and like-minded peers from school, who voluntarily took the time and effort to come personally to my home to coach and teach me, even deliver bike parts or help fix my bike whenever I needed help.


" I couldn't have done it without you," he kept saying over and over. And I said in return, "I wouldn't have done it without you, too."


I learnt how much we need one another.

At that point I was too happy for Michael to cry but looking back, pressure builds back behind my eyes as I think about how much roadcycling and this race have taught me- humility, friendship, cameraderie, sacrifice and surrender. It broke the old chains which the previous races had shackled me down with, giving me freedom to enjoy and luxuriate in the peace of racing and riding free.

That night before I lay in bed to sleep, a floodgates of tears opened as I felt the profound love of God envelope me. Months ago, when I had to give up signing up for races because God was dealing with my pride, I was a wreck. But just when I had surrendered my false idols to Him, He blessed me in turn by opening a door for me to volunteer in a race for a good cause. I didn't plan for it, didn't even train for it. But just when I least expected it, He opened the door so widely for me (I'm usually unavailable on sundays but on that sunday, all my appointments were cancelled and my church had a saturday service for me to attend) that I could only see it as a sign of His lavish love which went out of the way for me so I could enjoy His gifts.

Oh how He knows the desires of our hearts, and gives them so freely to us when we desire Him first.

It sounds silly, I know- but isn't that how much God loves us? That He cares so much about every detail of our lives that He would go the distance for us? He makes the skies, and the heavens, but He also made each of our hearts and our minds.

I learnt, that when we give up, He gives doubly. That when we use our gifts to do good to others instead of simply feeding our pride, the joy is all the greater. That when we take delight in God, He gives us what we so deeply desire, and more.

That His love is oh so sweet.

Michael and Fungus, thank you for giving me a reason to ride. You two have impacted me in ways you don't know.

And thank you God, for freeing me,

for the beautiful weather,

and for loving us the way you do.

So deeply, and extravangantly.

Michael holding my hand in victory for his maiden race

the smile of victory and glee

It was the loveliest ride, truly.

"Trust in the Lord and do good;

Dwell in the land, and feed on His faithfulness.

Delight yourself also in the Lord,

And He shall give you the desires of your heart."

- Psalm 32:3-4

*photos courtesy of Mickey

Civil Defense catches monitor lizard

After what Bomba did to my snake the last time, I decided to call the Civil Defense.


After what they did to the snake, they do not deserve another animal to catch from me. Stick to "Killing" fire which you do best!

Because this time around, I got something else. A monitor Lizard.



Not just any monitor lizard, but a water monitor lizard. Apparently, the mouth has all kinds of bacteria that if you get bitten, things will just get really bad. When I say bad, I mean really really bad. (I don't know never got bitten before)

Well, it got stuck after climbing up the wall of my house and found out that there is no more rocky mountain for it to grip for it to go further and find it really difficult to get back down without risking its life altogether.

Now at first, I was actually going to do a Bear Gryll's on this one but because its so much easier to test out the civil defense this time, I decided to call them instead.


So, I dialed 999, and before you know it, they arrived infront of my house in a nice white jeep. Its funny, how in such a short span of time I get visited by all this emergency rescue fellars. Quite happening come to think of it.


4 well trained civil defense officers came well-dressed to catch one hopeless monitor lizard.


When in real actual Malaysian fact, only one person does the job while others watch.


The others would at most pretend to work a bit like move flower pots. I meant A flower pot.


So, they have the same tool, and as usual, loop it around the head and soon, the lizard is flying in the air,


and was brought down to ground.


Now, I figured, the civil defense was going to be as cruel as the Bomba by smashing the head of the lizard like the last time,

but they didn't.


The lizard is put inside a cage that they came prepared with in the jeep.



The guy needed a smoke after such a hard day's job.


Lizard was very aggressive.



So, they needed to cool it down with water.



The lizard actually cools down after being splashed by water.

They put it inside the jeep and soon, they were on their way.


Anyway, what we can see here, the civil defense do a better job in capturing wild animals. They don't kill the animal right infront of you!


They're civilised remember. People regarded as civil, works in civil defense. How can you not act civil infront of civilians.


All I know is, somewhere back at the base, they will probably have a big feast out of that delicious lizard with barbeque sauce to go with it. World is unfair isn't it!

Chariot of Fire.

It is clothed with glory, associated with discipline, striving, play and excellence. It even has a certain charm to it, drawing billions to itself with its compelling image of virtue. After all, it breaks new frontiers, and epitomises the indomitability of the human spirit.

Sports. It has the potential to build character, foster honesty, leadership, loyalty, camaraderie, responsibility and teamplay. It requires concentration of will, energy of soul and exuberance of spirit.

It is a beautiful endeavour to many: The artist in me is enraptured by that guileless, inexorable flight of one's feet, for the rawness, unpretentiousness and simplicity of running shall always captivate me; The child inside of me bursts with exuberance at the speed of which a bike can take me. Because of previous bad accidents and fear, I never cycled on 2 wheels till I was twenty-one. Cycling released me, took me to places my feet could not; Yet the poet in me, enthralled by the elegance of one's body slicing through water, the way words can pierce the flesh like a sword, is frustrated by my inability to swim like a fish. The poet is frustrated by unfluency. And so the past 2 weeks have been a great joy, having people coach me on the art of gliding through water and luxuriating in the beauty of swimming freestyle.

Is it not the ability of games and races to bring out that indefatigability of the human spirit which captivates so many of us? Is it not that sense of awestruck wonder at the beauty of the ability of the human body which brings some of us to a place of transcendence, closer to God? Watching people run touches a place deep inside me nothing else can. And though I am not a sportsperson (and will never be), being able to be a participant does give me a taste of heaven.

Yet, as with all things in our fallen world, there, too, is a dark side to this glorious painting. I know less than a handful of athletes who have not made their own bodies their gods, allowing themselves to be consumed by timings, distance and positions. For many of us, what started as a pure pursuit of character became a headlong pursuit of individual glory, a ceaseless mindless striving, a puffing up of the ego- all charmingly guised under the name of the spirit of excellence which stands as a cult of its own kind. At one point, I stood guilty too.

I am learning, that as with any gift, God gives to us various talents to steward and develop in loving service to God and His people. That means being willing to teach, slow down or humble ourselves in the presence of others even when we can go faster and swifter. It means looking at sports, our bodies and our wills from a humble, thankful perspective and acknowledging God as the Giver of all gifts. It means knowing the call of our lives, and seeing sports merely as a way to take care of our bodies to carry out God's will for us.

I am learning, that the gifts we receive, like our bodies, are instruments for a full and zealously-led human life and not the end in itself. That it is the process which the gift takes us through and the lessons we learn along the way which matter, that we must not allow ourselves to be consumed with reaching the end point. That we can allow sports to shape as well as destroy us.That when we worship the gift at the expense of our relationships with others or our own humility, we build a cult named after very selves.

I had to stop my sporting pursuits for a while because I knew God was telling me so. It was an excruciating decision, not least because I was in the midst of training for a race. For who but God knows the intents of our hearts, and sees in grief the seeds of pride, greed and self-striving take root. And looking back, I understand why God did so- my grandmother passed away during the training period of the race-and I would not have spent as much time as I did with her had I decided to train instead.

Yet over the past few months, I am learning just how much joy and freedom God longs to give to us, if only we would approach His gifts with humility and gratitude, and live with discernment and wisdom, self-control and grace. Depending on the motives of our hearts, gifts can be both potential snares or sources of nourishment, potential prisons or sources of liberation. The more I let go and returned sports back to its proper place in life, the more joy and freedom I was blessed with.

The less I strived with my own ability, the more I gained. For the rewards came from heaven, and not from my own hands, or legs for that matter.

And so over church camp, what a great surprise I received when I felt the chains of bondage break and received the freedom to enjoy sports for what it really is. For when we choose not to displace God with our gifts, we can finally delight in God's company, in one another and in the play itself.

I have some wonderful news to share- I can race again. When I surrendered to God, let go of my own idols and lay down my pride, He gave me the joy, freedom and peace to do so again. I met Fungus who roped me in as a volunteer biking "escort" to shadow some handcyclists taking part in the bike leg of a triathlon. They will be having a record number of handcyclists taking part in a single race, in their efforts to raise awareness for their cause to empower people who've suffered from spinal cord injuries, polio, myositis etc.

God's given me the desires of my heart (to take part in race) while teaching me humility (because I'm not a participant but volunteering for a cause). Funny how God brings us on a journey, only to bring us back full circle when we let Him deal with our characters. All at once, I found meaning, purpose, joy and friendship rolled all into one. So at church today, tears streamed down my cheeks as I understood the goodness and generosity, discipline and chastening of God's deep, deep love for us.

When we surrender and let go, He gives back doubly. How awesome it is to ride on His chariot of fire than to ride on our own two legs.

Ah, what Incredible freedom.

"Behold, the kingdom of God is within you.

If with all your heart you truly seek Him to find Him and count yourself to the love of Christ,

that is how you shall run the straight race."

-Eric Liddell

from Chariots of Fire

Doesn't cost anything to donate nowadays

Hello Dear Readers,

I have just done a good deed today.

I DONATED AGAIN!!!!

AGAIN!!

Only this time it does not cost me anything. I MEAN IT!!

Not even a penny! You don't even have to see replica's of hunchback of notre dame's to give you the feeling of sympathy before you donate.

All you'd have to do is just choose which organisation you feel can really make this world a better place and DIGI will donate using their own money based on your selection.



I don't know about you guys, but I thought I would have never seen the day where I could donate without costing me anything but a click of a mouse. Come on guys!You can do it too. Doesn't cost you anything!

All you'd have to do is visit this site.

Isn't it just fun spending other people's money for a good deed!

I heard from somewhere that the more you donate, the less chances of you being born as a cockroach in the next life.



SHITZZZ...I CAN'T STOP CLICKING!!!!I'M CLICKING EVERY ORGANISATION!!CLICK CLICK CLICK!!

A smart place to Beg, What a smart Begger!

Sometimes I wonder whether the begging business in Penang has been affected ever since the recession.



Begging business in Penang is one of the most difficult business to do in the world simply because

No matter how ugly you look,

No matter how cacat you have become,


No matter how close you try to look like the hunchback of notre dame,



No matter how some of your limbs got chopped off (no idea why?),

Despite all the hardwork to survive in such a trivial business, Penang people will not sympathize at all!!

You will not even get a cent for begging over here. It's not because Penang people are a bunch of Kiam Siap people. Those tricks just does not work on us anymore.

Even if you are still able to beg with one hand, people in Penang feels that you are gifted enough to use that hand to work. We will not give money to undeserving lazy people.

Even the merit of donating to beggers that will improve our Karma points will not change our mind of giving money to beggers.



For those of you who don't know what Karma is, it is the total effect of a person's actions and conduct during the successive phases of the person's existence, regarded as determining the person's destiny.

In short, the begging business has to move with the times. Reinvent itself. People are getting more educated and thus beggers have to find new ways to source their income.

Sometimes I feel its the place that they're doing it which is wrong. They're always doing it at the coffee-shops disturbing and disgusting people while they're eating.

Anyway, last weekend, for the first time, I happen to see a reason why the begging business is moving in a new direction and that they will survive during this trying times.

You see..Last Friday while I was having an over-priced beer with Monica and Han Hong



at SOI 11 which has a fantastic view that oversees the entrance of MOIS,



we saw a begger.



That's right! A BEGGER IN FRONT OF MOIS!!COULD HE NOT FIND A BETTER PLACE TO BEG!


While our intentions are very clear why we we were sitting at SOI 11 other than to have a chat,



the begger also had similar intentions as well.

When his not looking at the left



His eyes are looking at the right.



When his eyes are not looking at the right, his looking at the center.


And when there is nothing else (you should know what by now) to see, the begger starts working.

Now I don't know about you, while the rest of us were losing money buying over-priced drinks in SOI 11, the begger was earning money!!

The begger went from table to table and people were simply donating money.


Even the table infront of us that opened a bottle of wine that had the same intentions as everybody else who were sitted there, even donated to the begger.


We were all stunned, why are all this people donating money to this half-cacat begger which is not even a 5-star cacatness job.


Then it came to our turn.

Somehow, unluckily, the begger's hand was pointing at me almost like as if i'm suppose to be giving him money from this table.

For awhile then, I was not going to sympathise and give any form of charitable money to this begger. I am a PENANG person. I will not sympathise with those who can still work.

While the begger was standing there, I began to realise that everybody sitted around us, started looking at our table. The kind of look that says, Kiam Siap Bugger who buys over-priced beer but can't even help the half cacat begger.



The pressure was building. It almost came to a point where it was making Monica look really bad. I mean why is this girl hanging out with this bunch of losers. The time has come to find out the true colors whether he is really well-off or just showing that he could just pay for over-priced beer.

Alright, so the begger did his homework. Societal pressure was upon us. Monica was also giving us a look of wondering how far I would actually go.

For his homework, I guess he deserves a bit of money to survive the recession. At first, I was going to reach out to some left-over coins in my pocket, then it hit upon me of something I read in Desmond's blog about the 10 things I should never do in front of a girl. Now I don't know about him, but I only think of things I can do infront of a girl like being generous.

LIKE REALLY GENEROUS!!THE MOST GENEROUS GUY ON EARTH!!

To safe Monica's grace, I took out 10 bucks and gave the BEGGER. It's like opening champagne in the club while other people are only opening a bottle of whisky.

So with 10 ringgit, society pressure was finally over. People felt I was a rich bugger. People felt Monica was mixing with the right people. Monica had a longer smile the entire night. My Karma improved as well. I am a good hearted person. My future looks good. My lovelife looks good. Everything looks good. It looks like a win-win situation.

Actually, realistically, I felt I was dumb and all I can think of the entire night is what a smart place to beg at a nightclub where people are known to flash money around to gain attention, what a smart begger!



I bet somewhere out there, he is filling up petrol in his mercedes benz. Apparently, I heard that the begger has been begging over there for awhile. If you ask me, I think the begging business is recession proof , now that they've targeted the right place.