Into 2009: Resurrection

This year, I learnt:

- That life is learning how to fly a kite. That holding on to what's important might mean having to let go before something snaps. That letting go is necessary to catch the wind and glide with God, that it is all about the tension in the tugs, between grip and release, pull and relax, that keeps us afloat, helps us to soar in the skies.

- That life is learning how to ride a bike- For all its scrapes and bruises, it's ultimately worth it. ( A forest-gump moment is always worth it.)

- That depression is an illness, and treatable. That things may get so hard that giving up seems easier. That recovering means overcoming our fears all the time. But that as we hold on in faith, in trust, to the kitestring in the storm, God does His part, too, and changes the wind. That God understands, sees us through, and most importantly, delivers His promises.

- That even when you lose hope, God never does. That Rainbows really are made by Him.

- That God has His timing. And I understand now why A Taste of Rainbow, a story of hope and healing, couldn't get published then. I still pray it does someday, in His good time.

- That at some point, everybody must decide once and for all if God is real. That for me, God is.

- That looking back, I needn't be afraid, for God proved He protects those who love Him. That because I was faithful to what I believed He had told me about Waiting, because I allowed no other to capture my heart this season because He said so, I was protected. That He loves me too much to let anyone hurt me in a Bad way. That when I finally forgave and needed no apology, an apology came in through the mail.

("Eventually when your Knight in shining armour arrives, he'll come at the behest of the King, and when he's finally unmasked, he'll be like Galahad, the pure and perfect one, the one who sits in the siege perilous, who comes seeking the Holy Grail - you. I've always been more of a Lancelot. I hope we can still be friends.")

- That deeds are deeper than words. That God is preparing me, preparing my heart- for medicine, missions, ministry, marriage and maturity. And because of His grace, I can wait, sit back and enjoy the ride.

- That God is not just my teacher, father and king. But also my best friend, my lover, my buddy.


This year, I am amazed:

- That today, I stand- after the most tumultuous and harrowing year of my life, I stand. Healthy, happy and healed. I think I've found my Centre again.

- That even when anorexia killed me slowly like a poison apple, even as the things of the world, however pretty, became increasingly transient, even when I closed my eyes and tasted death- you made a good thing out of it.

Through my death, you gave me life. Through my fall, you made me stand. And because of that, I can feel a new thing pulsating within me. Tomorrow is possible because of You.



- That through it all, You never let me go.

Pihotography by OY

Concept, modelling by Wai Jia

"We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that,

just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life...

because anyone who has died has been freed from sin. "

-Romans 6:4-9

It's Inside.

"Wai Jia. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, of course."

" What does God's presence feel like to you?"


Pause.


" God's presence ...? "

"Yea, like you know, at church or whenever, what do you mean each time you talk about God's presence? What is it exactly? When do you feel it?"

Pause.

" It's different at different times, you know."

"Yeah, go on."

Pause.


"...God's presence... ... is like a big balloon when I sing at church with the whole church singing. A great, big balloon which billows out and expands to fill the entire hall- it's like He becomes air and spirit, and we are breathing Him, singing Him. It's when I close my eyes and lift my hands and start to cry, because I feel my heart lift, His love and His closeness. Sometimes, He feels like a wind, and other times, like a gentle warmth.

God's presence is when I'm at hospital and having a bad day, alone but not lonely because I feel Him close by me. God's presence is when I see His big love demonstrated through a tiniest act by a friend for someone else or me. It's when I'm doing absolutely nothing and yet feeling one hundred percent purposeful because He has a plan for me.

I feel God's presence when I sprawl out on the grass and look at the sky, and marvel at His glory; when I cycle at the beach and watch the waves crash in; when I walk to school with my head cocked to the sky, like a silly girl, because I can't get enough of that drunken beauty which fills the clouds, or when I walk in the rain..."

"Mm. Uh-huh."

"... God's presence is when I kneel at the foot of my bed every night and talk to Him, and feel at peace. It's when I lay in bed and feel His body close by me- I cannot fall asleep without imagining Him sleeping by me. He always, always watches me sleep. God's presence... is everywhere. Everywhere you want it to be, anywhere, at all times. It's inside. "


Pause.


"Why do you ask?"

"Nothing. I've heard you share about it before, so I just wanted to know."

Into 2009: Hopes.

It wasn't until lately that I realised how much fear had a hold of my life in the past, how much I had learnt this year about overcoming it, and tasted how much liberation it brings. It is fear which envelopes, entraps and enslaves. And as the later part of the year brought healing, sunlight and breakthrough after breakthrough, I see a fortress crumbling down, a veil torn, and new hope gushing in like a flood through a broken dam.

There is the fear of oneself, of making mistakes, getting hurt, losing control. But this year, as I crinkled, burned and rose again, I am amazed by the courage You have taught me. A heart of fear you have taken away, and replaced it with a lion's. Because of You, I can dream again, hope again, set my sights on goals for the next year.


I would like to:

- Dance again, the way I dance in my own room, but not in my room. I want to be comfortable with my body again, and feel the music go through my heart, into my veins and out of my hair. I want to perform again on a stage someday, with courage, for a meaningful cause.

- Learn how to speak proper Hokkien to converse with my patients. And be unafraid of failure, of not getting the accent perfect.

- Learn how to type with more than 3 fingers.

- Learn to play my flute properly, learn to enjoy music again, practise because I've been given the chance to, because God's given me this present.

- Bike safely, without killing anybody, or myself, in the process. (Got into three accidents on my second biking trip, during which I panicked and lost control when an entire stampede of rowdy malay boys, drunk on carelessness, whizzed by me recklessly. My roadbike and I fell romantically into a ditch, with its gear chains undone, and my waterbottle and cell phone performing a somersault in the air in a perfect trajectory before landing on the ground with a dismantling clunk.)

- Be more meticulous, organised and alert. Ever since I can remember, my sister would chide me about my spilling things over dinner, my forgetfulness, clumsiness and propensity for accidents. Part of my mind's always on a cloud, or a flower petal somewhere, quite the dreamer, yes. And being an adult means sometimes you just can't have that. I love surgery, love the operating theatre, and I want to learn to be fully present, there. It won't happen overnight, but I want to try- want to try without fearing failure, over and over.

- Speak up, boldly. Because I need to as a doctor-to-be. I used to be so outspoken- I'd speak my mind, precisely, like a arrow to a target. Then, I became ill, lost confidence, became unsure of myself, afraid of being embarrassed, of being repeatedly corrected, and my voice got swallowed in my gut. Those who read my writing shall never imagine how terrible my speech can be in comparison. Sometimes, one feels like a fraud.

- Be more thick-skinned. Because the only way to learn and grow, I've reckoned, is to have hide as thick as an elephant's.

- Serve humbly, because you've shown me it is possible- you, you and You. And I want to love others in need the way you loved me when I needed someone, too.

- Love bravely, because love is brave. Because life is short and I don't want there to be words unspoken between us if one of us were taken away tomorrow. A lifetime is too long for me to wait to say thank you and an overdue "I love you" in heaven. Because it's not okay to run away if someone chooses to love me, and not okay to keep everyone at arm's length because of fear.

I would like to love bravely, dance bravely and Live bravely, even with failure always hovering in the horizon, beckoning to ridicule with a mocking audience, ready to scorn, ready to pounce, ready to dig into every inadequacy... and yet still love, dance, live fully.

Still explore, experiment, try. Still dare to take the leap with my eyes closed, but with my heart wide open, ready to embrace, to get burned, to... fail. Ready to take chances, take risks with loving people, even if it feels oh so scary. Will you love me back?


Because cycling could feel like the best thing on earth, like gliding on top of a honey-glazed rainbow. Because Love could just be round the corner.


And because, if you never try, you just never know. Ah, God loves surprises.

"Be strong and courageous.

Do not be afraid or terrified because of them,

for the Lord your God goes with you;

he will never leave you nor forsake you."

-Deuteronomy 31:6

You're my Everything.

Just a week ago, I lamented how much I missed acting and dancing, just how much I missed the stage, where for once I can be Vulnerable for a reason, be me for an audience which cannot decipher which is and is not me, where I can give back something of an artist's heart, the heart God created, back into the world, even if only for a moment. Just a week ago, I asked God what made me special- why do you give me an artist's heart if I'm called to be a medical doctor, and won't you please use me?

Last weekend, when they asked me if I would act as the female lead in a mime about a girl's journey in losing and finding God again, performed during an outreach event for our fringe community at a drug rehabilitation centre today, I knew I could not refuse. God, that's a really fast answer, you know.


Tears, pain, anguish and real relief. The very first time we acted it out, I actually cried.


God, you here for me? The universal question we all want answered.

Did You really love me from the start? When Time began and my heart choked into life from the darkness into sunlight?

Wonderment and awe, hope and splendour. Lemon-yellow flowers, pearl-white doves and cherry red apples are the Best things on earth. Did you really Create them just for me?

But it's such a crazy world out there... My head and my heart hurt in synchrony, and I cannot hear your voice. I hear the sinister beat of a pounding drum, swallowing my heartbeat. God, where are you when I hurt?


And as we finally presented our item to the many migrant workers at the outreach Christmas carnival this evening, I think I felt you, God. You know, in the beginning of the year when I struggled with depression, someone once asked me why in my drawings, I always drew God as a magnificent hand, and I, a tiny girl only worthy to hug His fingertips. God is your friend, she said, your lover- Can you imagine that? You know, when she asked me that question, I think I cried for half an hour, because I felt so dirty inside. Unworthy.

And today, at the final scene, when we hugged on stage, God, I think I felt You. My best friend, lover, father- all at once. Did you know, I worked so hard to try and imagine you as my friend, lover, husband. Did you know, today I think I felt You, your bosom, and not just your fingertips? And I wanted to cry but I was too happy, really. Worthy, that's what You made us.

I enjoyed it so much. I understand a little more why You made me this way, with an artist's heart.

Because when I lay on the open field at the drug rehabilitation centre, underneath the wide open sky, I could make out heart shapes, of different sizes, from the blue of the sky and white of the clouds that You created. Because my tears tell your story, my fragility tell your strength. Because when I performed on stage today, with my amateur skills and unpolished emotions, I felt your pleasure. Pleasing You- is firstly enjoyable, delightful, like cherry apples which I love, and also liberating, profound.


Wonderment and awe, hope and splendour. Sin and evil, construed by the devil. But you reminded me, that You're here, hearing me. How is it that when I fold up like origami, cowardly along the same creases, wishing to pack everything away in a box, You iron me out, fresh as hotel bedspreads so I can start anew and afresh?



You've brought me a long way, God. Because of you, I'm healed today. You're my everything.


* This is the famous Everything Lifehouse mime we performed today (I've yet to receive our videotaped version as yet). Enjoy.

"You are the strength, that keeps me walking.

You are the hope, that keeps me trusting.

You are the light to my soul.

You are my purpose, You're everything.

How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?"

- Everything by Lifehouse

Merry Christmas.

I dream a lot, both in the day and at night. And it often gives me goosebumps to find out that my nocturnal dreams often do play out in real life later on. I’ve had clear episodes of déjà vu before, simply because I’d had a previous dream about certain places I’d never visited before, and dreams which baffle me at the time- of warnings about people, months before they turned their backs on me. So I’ve learnt to take them a little seriously, taking them sometimes as warnings, learning lessons, or simply, an opportunity to understand what’s been in my mind subconsciously.

I had a dream last week, of someone being carried onto a ship. Wrapped from top to bottom in white cloth, the person’s face was unrevealed. Lots of tiny Lilliputian people were carrying the person up, onto the huge mast of the ship, and I wondered what it was they were doing. They were very fast, and the mast was shaking in the fierce wind.

I was watching, in third person as it all played out. It took a while for me to understand it all, and the moment I had an epiphany of what it paralleled to, I gasped in my dream and woke up, shocked.

It took me three days later, on the Sunday at church when we sang about taking up our crosses (that is, in some sense, learning to heed God's call for our lives) that I realized the striking resemblance of the shape of that mast to a cross, the parallel of the whole scene to the biblical scene of crucifixion. And then tears came again because the masked white person in the dream was... not only Him, but me too.

I remembered the meaning of Christmas, of forgiveness, and asked God to show me how, and received an answer-

-For I wanted to forgive the way God forgives us, forgave and forgives me, too.

The next day, I had a dream of X, whom I had seethed against for months. I deserved an apology, I thought. Surely at least an apology. And in my dream that night, I angered and burned. I awoke, stunned because I thought I had let the whole thing go, and remembering the dream of the cross the night before, I determined to forgive.

As if in freak coincidence, X showed up the next day, after disappearing without a trace for months. I was shocked to see that familiar face, and yet unsurprised, for it was almost as if God had given me the chance to prepare my heart, change my attitude just before our meeting.

As my eyes met that familiar face, I remembered the dream, remembered the cross, the meaning of Christmas, of forgiveness- and smiled, in gratitude and compassion. In those eyes, I saw God’s eyes, and in my own hands, saw His. And while a part of me was grudgingly expecting an apology, my greater half overtook me as the white person on that large cross-like mast loomed into my mind. I smiled, reconciled it within myself, and let it go. For we are all fallen, and to stay angry, resentful, would be to dismiss God’s love and sacrifice for us, and to rank my own sin lesser than others.

We think we have rights, rights to be made up to- when the only right we really do have is to love others the way God loves us.


At that moment, a great relief swept over me. No longer disgusted, or mad, or disdainful, I went up, smiled, and realised the freedom, joy and wonder of forgiveness.


Because of You, You who were born on Christmas Day, because of how You forgave me, I can do what is impossible by my own strength.


Thank God for Christmas Day.

Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other,

just as in Christ God forgave you.

-Ephesians 4:32

I Understand Now.

* To find out how you may help underprivileged children and give them a chance to dream, please visit www.kitesongproject.wordpress.com.


When I was little, Christmas eve was the best day of the year. Best, better than birthdays, even, because no one forgot.

I believed in everything when I was a child- Santa (my mother told me he parked his sleigh on our living room balcony), tooth fairies (she used to put coins under my pillow because I told her how excited I was that my tooth fell out), princesses (I begged and asked if I could sleep on a thousand mattresses stacked my blankets like the Princess and the Pea, but settled for having my blankets tucked under my pillows the way they do in hotels so I’d feel more like royalty), smurfs even (I asked my mother if I could carry my things in a cloth bag tied to the end of a pole)… the list could go one forever. I had a vivid imagination.

When Christmas was around the corner, I remember I made my own cards to Santa, sealed them in an air-mail envelope, scrawled TO MR. SANTA, THE NORTH POLE over it, and drew my own stamp on the right hand side to top it all off. I remember clutching my envelope under my armpit proudly and trooping to the mailbox with a renewed sense of life's purpose, proudly depositing it into the box, sure that Santa would read my mail about my asking for a pony and a game set of Hungry Hippos. And if I didn’t get one for Christmas, I remember thinking I would forgive him because he must be too busy.

And then I learnt later that for Santa to deliver all the presents which childish brats world over want, he could only spend some millionth of a second at each stop; I learnt that it wasn’t possible for tooth fairies to carry international currency; I learnt that I’d much rather be a tough princess (like Belle in Beauty and the Beast) than a wimpy one; and I learnt from my mother that a five year-old carrying a long wooden pole to school might prove rather hazardous.

And so Christmas became about dinner, presents and tales. I did get a game set of Hungry Hippos in the end, under the Christmas tree, to which my mother promised the handwriting on the gift tag was certainly not hers, though it surprised her that it bore a strinking resemblence to Santa's.

Till much later, I never knew the true meaning of Christmas.


This year, things are different.


Christmas is, for once, not a frantic rush of shopping and giving, but a time of reflection, sitting back in gratitude and thanksgiving.


This year, Christmas is Special.


Special, because Grandpa Zhou enjoyed the Christmas concert last Saturday so much. It was apparent he might never have watched a theatre production, for he made comments, so earnestly and loudly, at all the crucial moments, that you couldn’t help but laugh at his child-like earnestness.

"Wa, is that really her singing? Her voice is so good!" He asks in mandarin, raising his voice above the loud tune.

"No, Grandpa Zhou, " I try to whsiper back. "It's a recording. She's lip synching, heh."

At the end of the production, when the True meaning of Christmas was explained, he put his hand high up, straight like a lightning rod, as a pledge of commitment to his new-found faith in life and God, after he decided that he wanted to be God’s friend, too. I cried at that moment, when he went up to the front, excited to be prayed for, for just a year ago, his disdain for God was apparent and disturbing.

“Wow, that was such a good play,” he said. “ Excellent acting. And wah, the sound system here is really really good, eh?”


This year, Christmas is Special.

Special, because this year, we’re going to perform a special Christmas skit to the fringe community in the red light district and give out food to the needy there.


Special, because so many of my wishes came true.


I have family and friends who love and care for me, a White Place that is still my refuge, school assignments and projects which I find joy and fulfillment doing, gatherings of people I love to attend, and a new roadbike too.


Christmas used to be about Santa’s presents, letters within a flower-bordered envelope sent to the North Pole, and yummy puddings. This year, as I shared the Christmas Story with many others as a volunteer along the roads of town, I finally understood for myself the significance of this season of forgiveness, of renewal and of new life.


Christmas is the day Jesus was born, the reason why I'm healed, joyful and alive today. Because of Him, I can look forward to tomorrow, too.


This year, there is every reason for Christmas to be dull and boring- after all, I just ended my exams but a few days ago, and hardly have had any chance to soak up the festive spirit; I don’t believe in Santa anymore; and I’ve hardly heard any Christmas songs because my radio’s gone wonky.


But Christmas is Special, most Special this year. Because Grandpa Zhou invited me to his church where they give out free food for lunch with him, because I’d the chance to volunteer for a good cause, because ha, I got a new roadbike as a present, and because, for once… I understand what it means. Christmas is not merely about festivity, Santa or carols.


I finally understand now- the True meaning of Christmas.


Forgiveness, renewal and new life-for me and for others, because of You.

All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet:

"The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son,

and they will call him Immanuel"

—which means, "God with us."

- Matthew 1:22-23

Afterthought.

Truth be told, I think the artist in me does love a good love story, does love the heroic grandeur, the caricature, the poetry, pursuit and passion. I am an artist, and foremost, human and a woman after all. But both fiction and artists scare me- them with their way with words, to turn sand into stardust, lillies into lures, gibberish to gold. After which, it all evaporates into effervescence, with nothing eternal left behind, only tangled feelings and messed up heads.

So I sit on a bench with a big-screen epic story playing behind me, while I play with my fingers and watch the sky. It scares me to know, I'm actually this scared.

Unromatically Romantic.

I've been labelled before-haven't we all? But Unromantic must be one I hold the greatest grudge against. That in particular, gently tossed at me years ago, felt like a baseball thrown at full speed into my nose. Unromantic- a label that would cause a serious allergic reaction to many an artist, I should think. For it evokes drabness, suggests a lack of creativity, impulse, life and spontaneity- everything an artist wouldn't be caught dead being associated with.

"That's UNTRUE." I defended myself, with great vehemence, as if it were slander.



But I could understand the misunderstanding, for my hatred towards love movies burns with a hellish passion which could spark a sodden matchstick into flames. I love a good story. And I'm an advocate for true love the way a tree-hugger may be for saving the earth. I would listen to a True love story any day, even gush and listen in wide-eyed wonder to it- but you'd have to chain my limbs and pry my eyes open with toothpicks to make me watch a Fictional love film without going into some sort of epileptic spasm.

Love stories, construed and weaved by pining minds which throw themselves into them with creative fervency, adding layers and layers of illusions, yearnings, lost hopes and fantasial endings seem to me a travesty of the entire notion of love itself.


I had just received news of another break-up a few days ago when a friend aptly declared this to be break-up season officially. I agreed, for I needed more than one hand to count the number of them I heard of recently.

It made me think, and only deepened my conviction that we're so young- just, so young. Often, I wondered if it were not so much incompatibility as much as timing which separated people eventually. I wondered if it were not the terribly prolonged period of courtship which led to both parties taking each other for granted, their sinking into a place of familiarity, losing the shimmer of captivation. With the season of break-ups coinciding with our turning 21, I wondered if it were not the milestone of entering a new phase of adulthood which made some feel oppressed, trapped and constrained by a clingy adolescent affection, which they wanted to grow out of. It made me wonder if entering adulthood made some long in nostalgia for the feelings of an enchantment long past, wondering if the present sullen stagnation were all there was to this grand thing called Love.

After all the imaginings, longings and expectations of our own versions of romantic love, adding to them ornate details from love movies and reading love novels of elope, heroism and extravagance, I wonder if one's own fantasial imaginings had brought us to a place of such colossal vitality and expectation that made our reality an utter disappointment.

And perhaps, that's why I don't fancy watching romantic fiction.


Just two days ago, as I walked along town as a volunteer to help share the Christmas Story with passers-by, I watched hand-holding couples as they walked by, some with bouquets, most completely oblivious to everything around them. Some had glazed gazes over their juvenile faces, full of the adoration only puppy love brings, where one revalues everything in the world according to the measure of response it draws from the other's well-loved eyes. I wondered if it may only be a matter of time before one of them felt penned in, tied down, stifled.

Once, a friend confronted me about this, as we discussed what it was that we were unready for. The answer surprised us. And I wondered if it were not the same answer to why so many teenage romances fall apart eventually, when the sparkling novelty of it all wears out. More than conflict, perhaps, was it disappointment?

Disappointment that reality didn't match up to the thousands of love stories one had read, watched, dreamt about, that no one told them the aftermath of "happily ever after", that no one expected that loving another could be so humbling, down-to-earth and plain.

I'd met couples who were off to a heady start, only to come to an abrupt end after the fire fizzed out. Once, a missionary told me, " We never thought we'd marry each other. We looked so unlikely- he's short, I'm tall, he never really struck me as good-looking at all, and I was going out with many other boys who seemed far more charming... but you know, when you're going to do mission work for the rest of your life with someone, it's not the heady feelings which'll see you through the tough times, but as plain as it sounds, the strength of your friendship and vision you share. We're best friends, and that's what sees you through."

I wondered, why the head-over-heels, crazy-in-love kind of experience often had such a short lifespan, why the long-lasting sort often had such a subtle, quiet face- and if they were mutually exclusive. I wondered if I'd be unlucky enough to land in the first, disappointed in the latter, and if it were possible to have both.


Disappointment. It is the discontentment which kills.


Love comes in so many forms, or so I've heard- in the way he does the dishes, the way she lets him drive without interrupting, the way he listens to her rant because it's the time of the month, the way she swallows her pride so they don't get into an argument. And I don't want any star-studded movie film or bestselling fiction book to define the shape of it for me, raise any expectations unintentionally, kill what already may be pretty darn close to perfect- just because my own love found doesn't look like what's on the big screen, or smell like half of the puffed-up dream I dreamed up from Disney.


Is it not more romantic to be content, than to constantly be reminded of the stark contrast between one's reality and fantasy on the big screen, albeit unintentionally? If love is so great, why make it fiction?


Maybe I'm afraid of disappointment, still. Maybe I'm not ready. Perhaps I don't even know what I'm talking about since I don't have first-hand experience. Or maybe, I'm just plain unromantic-


- though really, I hardly think so.

You win.

While I was buying a helmet together with the road bike:

" Ya, xiao mei, ni 'M' size jiu gou le, bu shi ni tou da, zhi shi ni tou fa da ba liao."

This translates into:

Young girl, you only need a medium-sized helmet, not large. After all, it's not your head that's so big, IT'S JUST YOUR HAIR WHICH IS."


To my many friends who tease me endlessly, mercilessly and tortuously about my mane of hair, OKAY, YOU WIN.

Good Gifts.

I almost bought it.

An embarrassingly whacked-up roadbike going for an incredibly low price. It was a terrible fit, and even the owner told me, " Yup, it doesn't fit you. You ought a better bike. I bought this at... someplace in the east, why don't you check out the shop and buy a brand new one? It's very affordable there."

They always say: Doubt means don't. Be patient to wait on God and you won't be disappointed.

Wait I did, and what a surprise it was to know the shop was a mere 5 minute walk from my own church- a dingy-looking shack of a shophouse tucked safely away in a corner, owned by a wrinkled, elderly couple. There were lots of bicycles packed like sardines in a can, from child-sized to adult-sized ones, with toddlers' tricycles and flaccid tyre tubings hanging from the dusty, cobwebbed ceilings. Only a tiny passageway parted the sea of bicycles and ended in a dark alley and gaudy altar at the back of the shop. Everything was coated with a thin film of dust.


"Xiao mei (little girl)", the old wrinkled lady in spunky shoes said, "You looking for something?"

" A roadbike," I said, maybe a little disdainfully. This really wasn't my idea of Cool. All the other roadbike shops I'd visited were air-conditioned, had brandnames, and bikes arranged proudly with military neatness.

" Anikuan ah ('Oh I see' in Hokkien)? Orh, I know. You still studying right? U- NEE-VER-SEE-TI arh? Ya, I know, very busy one- good to cycle to relek (relax). But you not working, not er... pro... er... PRO-FE-SHUN-AL one, don't need expensive one. I like your mother like that, haha, won't want my daughter to spend big big on roadbike also... "

I liked her immediately. " Ya, okay," I said. My hopes weren't high. She brought me to the back of the shop, as I treaded carefully over the tools strewn all over the floor.

A month ago, I nearly bought an eight year-old second-hand roadbike from a friend for the same amount of money I felt God challenging me to give to the needy, nearly got conned to purchase a branded, two-thousand dollar bike from a slick salesman, nearly bought the cheapest roadbike which was in terrible shape... but I had no peace.

I wanted to wait to figure out what God was trying to teach me through His series of niggly nudges. I struggled with the idea of buying myself a vehicle, something I thought to be no more than an extravagant indulgence and sport I could do without, something which I thought was vying for my loyalty to the cause of sponsoring disadvantaged children for the next year.

As with all things, it was the process which counted. It taught me about myself, and revealed the deep things in my heart about money.

I left the shop, still torn in two. I considered letting the whole idea go, forgetting about it. But the freedom from overcoming my fear of riding after a decade of hiding was a powerful force. After much struggle, I nearly put it aside when:

" Hey Jia, you free tomorrow?"

"What's up?" I said listlessly, burying my head in my book of orthopedic surgery.

" Well, I don't really know what to get you for Christmas... Can I get you a roadbike?"

"Huh..." I looked up, bewildered. "Are you joking?" I asked incredulously.

And then sheepishly, "No lah, it's okay. I'm fine, really. It's an expensive sport," before biting my lip and smacking myself for refusing such a good offer in my face.

"But I really don't know what to get you... And I think it'd be nice, anyway. You're considering joining a duathlon, next year, aren't you? I'll take ya after your exams end? The Christmas weekend?"

"Wow. Thanks... ..." I say, still in shock. "That sounds... like a pretty good idea."

God works in unexpected ways. Now I have a brand-new roadbike bought in good measure, thoroughly thought through, at a very affordable price, and the rest of my savings to sponsor whoever and as many kids as I want.

This season, I learnt a little about how much money matters, and doesn't.

In one month, I lost my favorite pair of ear-rings (my most precious pair), my watch whose bracelet strap had loosened and finally got dropped off outside (the cheaper one I got after giving away my Swatch), and two hundred dollars, when I had to repay a friend for damages after an accident. Though shielded from the financial turmoil of the world, this month, I've been experiencing a little of my own economic recession.

In the same month, I learnt- how money has such a hold over people, how it is not evil in itself, but has the power to be so. How an attachment to it can throw people into depression- just lately, I learnt of someone who committed suicide during the recession, and another who had her home burglared. How our stewardship of it reflects our love for people around us, and God.

I learnt- that truly, no money is our own. I didn't mean to lose my things, surely. And the friend who kept the most meticulous tabs on his accounts had to be the one to have his credit cards stolen and savings lost forever overnight.

We try to keep, try to hoard, try to be in control, but are ignorant of how little power we truly have. And through it all, I think I learnt a little of what Trust really is. It means trusting in God to provide in His time, even if I would really like a bike now. It means going through the process of releasing things, and realising the Important things in life which have eternal value. It means losing something precious and feeling liberated, nonetheless.

As silly as it sounds, it still aches when I think about my ear-rings. Ah, how girls form friendships with their jewelry! But there was a tiny lesson there to be gleaned, nonetheless. Why do we hold on to what we cannot bring to heaven with us?

It reminded me of Uncle Ravin* suffering from congenital chronic lung disease who was clinically depressed. Bald and indian, with a large bushy beard which would put a caveman to shame, I remembered him weeping as he told me how difficult it was to cope alone. When I'm sad, I like to read- sometimes I read the Bible, and going to church helps, he said. The next day, I passed him a book an uncle gave to me- Finding God in Unexpected Places by Philip Yancey. As I placed it in his arms, I flinched a little as I dreaded having to give away a gift. It was an old book, well read by my uncle, and I fingered it nostalgically. Almost pathetically, I left my address with him so he could mail it back to me. Let it go, I felt God say. Nothing you have is truly yours. Even YOU are mine. How I hate to give away gifts. But it was the only book I felt he really needed. He received it gratefully.

In the same month I lost my earrings, I received a beautiful crytal one from my mother as a gift. I put off buying the roadbike, had reached a point of considering letting it go, and a double blessing came upon me- both a brand-new roadbike and the ability to give to children I loved. I gave the book away and last month, opened a brown envelope sent to me by the same uncle and cried when I saw that exact same book inside.

Could you believe- that he had forgotten he had sent me that book previously, which he had owned for many years? The previous one had yellow pages. This time, he sent me a brand new one.

Tears streamed down my face as I learnt the lesson of letting go, of trusting in God's provision, and the joy of receiving Good gifts from Him, gifts better than we could imagine. It is when we clutch on so tightly to what we have that it becomes impossible for God to bless us with something unthinkably better.

When we let go and trust, we often get something better, much to our surprise.

Thanks Mum, thanks Dad. For the ear-rings, and roadbike respectively.

And thank you God. For the best gift of all- for teaching me how to Wait, and simply, Trust.

" If you... know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will (God) give good gifts to those who ask Him!"

-Matthew 7:11

One heart.

I didn't realise it's been a whole year since I met Grandpa Zhou. A whole year since I made friends with him who I thought to be a terribly rude and ungrateful old busker sitting by the train station, who used to wave off the notion of God and subscribed more to the religion of Mao Ze Dong more than anything else. A whole year since I brought him to the community health clinic because his deformed feet swelled from malnutrition. It's been a year, he's been much better- and he's stopped drinking, too. Now, instead of only eating white bread and soup daily, he has proper meals three times a week at a church near his home which gives out free lunches to the needy. His complexion is no longer sallow, and he looks much better, too.

"I like that place so much, the people are so nice to me," he says.


Just two days ago, I went to visit him again to give him some things. One by one, he took out each item from the bag and recited all the ingredients to me. His eyes glowed when he saw the pack of instant coffee- "My favourite brand! OWL BRAND!"

The people who are Nice or Mean to him. His meals. My future career. My future marriage. Chinese politics. God. These are the topics over which our friendship was sealed over 12 months.

Just a year ago, he was rude and mean to me when I first met him. And I wanted to scowl at his audacious ingratitude. But God's love was big enough for both myself and him, and so two hearts became one over time, over our chats on the grimy steps of the train station, beneath the stares of passers-by. " You God-believing people are so good to me. You know, I think God is real. I believe you now. I feel so happy when I sing the songs they teach us at that church when we have lunch. I've made so many friends- and none of them look down on me! "

This Saturday, we're attending dinner and Christmas celebrations at my White Place together.



We were just chatting, as usual, in Mandarin by the dirty steps of the train station, and it was he who asked me about my future, again.

"Yeah, it's great that you want to be a missionary doctor in future. But you know, you mightn't ever find anyone who might like to do this kind of work. Ever."

His frankness should've appalled me, but I've gotten used to his candid honesty, which in some ways, match my own.

"That's not true, Grandpa Zhou. I actually do know people like that," I said matter-of-factly. A year ago, the same statement might have shaken, unnerved me a bit, but a year later, I find myself at peace.

"Really? Ha, okay. Say... say you meet someone you really, really like- handsome, smart, from a similar background as yourself- in short you find him irresistable, but he doesn't want to do this kind of work... then what're you going to do?"

I laughed at the hypothetical question, then frowned because I was trying so hard to imagine myself being captivated by someone who didn't have the same heart as I did, trying so hard to imagine why God would put me in such a dilemma. But I took him a little seriously, lest it was a warning, though in my head, it seemed impossible, and I laughed out loud.

"Not possible," I giggled. I was trying with all my strength to imagine such a situation but I simply couldn't. I wondered if it was my charming insouciance which unnerved him a bit.

" Ah, that's what you say now, young one. You never know, you just, never know. What if, eh? What if. You're so young... ... BUT. If you do find someone whose heart beats as ONE with yours, then... you'll be very very blessed! "

I laughed. Then resolved to remember this moment, and find time to write down what God told me about my future White Knight. I'd written it down before- I ought to look for it. When 2 people come together, surely their hearts must beat as one, together with God's- as one big One, no?

Last week I met a missionary doctor from America, introduced to me from the previous missionary I had met at the recent medical outreach event I attended. She's been travelling alone to India, Indonesia, all over the world for years alone, serving the poor and healing the sick.

I knew the answer to my burning question to her but I asked anyway. "Do you get lonely?"


" I still wish I had someone with me, the longing never goes away. And people back home in USA chide me for travelling so much- they say I ought to go home to find someone. Why can't I help the poor in America? But you know before I left, I tried to negotiate with God my reasons for staying behind... and I knew deep inside that none of them were valid. Job security, finding a soulmate, familiar faces... what are these to me when my heart is with the poor?"

She looked at the book in my hands- A Chance to Die by Amy Carmichael. "You know that remarkable single woman left everything she had in Ireland to serve in India. When she died, her heart was buried there."

And I reached the point where tears built up behind my eyes. I was trying hard not to cry- I didn't want her to feel embarrassed by her sacrificial love she thought of as hardly significant in comparison to how God loved her. But when we parted, my hug was probably one bit too tight, my voice one bit too shaky when I thanked her.

One heart. She couldn't find anybody else's which beat in sync with hers, so she left anyway, to do the good work she felt called to do, with her ear pressed to the bosom of her Father's heartbeat. When I spoke to her, she was full of joy, with no regrets. And I knew if she had made a compromise, her One heart would break in two.



It's so Important to find a heart that beats like yours. Important, and not impossible, I still maintain.


Just last night, a friend called me just to tell me, "I'm attached and I wanted you to hear it from me." I could have cried when I heard who she was with. I looked up so much to her. A graduate from dentistry, we often talked about doing medical mission work in the future. She has a heart of gold, and I often wondered if she would end up serving the poor alone. "He's such a good man, " I said. "I'm so happy for you."

When I graduate, things will somehow fall into place. Before she graduated, she couldn't imagine her future either. But at the right time, things just fall into place, I suppose. I don't know why I feel such a strange peace about this- I never did before.


So I'll keep my heart in One piece for now, One with God who has called me, till the day I graduate and wait till another finds mine, where us three can become One. The day that happens, I know I'll remember that moment on those dirty grimy steps, and I hope I'll still be in touch with Grandpa Zhou to tell him with the cheeky giggle and charming insouciance I always talk to him with, " I told you so, ya?"


Ha.

"Delight yourself in the Lord,

and He will give you the desires of your heart."

-Psalm 37:4

Self-discovery, All over again.

The parallel is striking. Just as how my life collapsed and shrunk inwards, backwards when depression seeped in, I almost feel an exponential starburst of growth outwards, upwards as I continue to walk forwards into life, again.

I hadn't realised it until lately- the extent which the darkness had stunted my growth in my first two years of medical school. Groping in the dark and losing my balance, I withdrew further and further away from people, medicine and life. I quit dancing, enjoying music, eating, cooking, concentrating, simply- living. And now that I've started to breathe again, started to be surprised at the extent to which how little I could concentrate in class in the past, I'm exulting in the infinite freedom and joy that new life brings, which is mindblowing, overwhelming, to say the least.

It is as if I've returned to life with a Vengeance, and all at once, I find myself immersed in good literature, and the million things which I had drifted away from for 2 years. As I discovered my appetite for food again, I discovered an insatiable hunger for beauty, music, medicine and life too. All at once, I discover I am concentrating better, and have the capacity to try harder to- something I found impossible to once upon a time. All at once, I want to dance to the music, want to master the flute, want to write, paint, move, sing, and study medicine, too. All at once, I want to try new things, things I was too afraid to do- like learning a new genre of dance, listening to new genres of music, cooking new foods, trying new sports, learning world history, writing and painting a new Story that's still hibernating in my head. It's about Trains, and Growing Up.


I used to be so afraid, because I couldn't trust if I could let go enough without losing my balance.


But now that I've found God as my ultimate anchor whom I can trust in storms, it is as if I am living Life again for the first time, and I'm no longer afraid to. It feels like I am discovering a person within whom I never knew before- I had been living in the black box for so long that I no longer knew who I was, what it was which I liked or didn't like. And now, it amuses me even to discover I that I do like to dance, as much as I say that I can't or don't, and that I do like ketchup- and quite a lot too.

I took myself to a symphonic concert last week. On a whim. It was something I'd never done before. I'd taken myself to arthouse movies, plays, art exhibitions before, but not to a musical concert. I never quite had the ear for music- memories of The Piano Teacher From Hell still gives me goosebumps. I'd learnt the drums before, then taken vocal lessons- but never found it within me to perform. Then one morning I woke up and decided to try again, dialled the number in the classified ads and signed up for flute lessons. I can't believe how much I like playing music now, and unspeakable thanks goes to The Piano Teacher From Long Ago.

I am beginning to challenge the boundaries I set for myself, the rules which no longer make sense, question the fences I'd unwittingly built- out of fear, anxiety, for a lack of confidence.

It was a spontaneous decision. That evening, I just decided I wanted to listen to music alone. Like the way I decide sometimes that the pouring rain may be just perfect to walk right into.

There was a special segment where the children's choir sang. And as I listened to them and the orchestra and allowed the carols, symphonies to lull, tease and grip me, I found a star shining above me, a flower blooming within me, and a million little broken pieces, broken by fear, finding their way to one another to piece together a part of my heart, an Artist's heart, which had withered in the darkness. And by myself, in the midst of the music, away from the maddening crowd, away from companionship and banter, I think I found my Centre again.


It was glowing, and growing. It was pulsating, restless in the light.


I had never experienced anything quite like that feeling. Not for a long time. And the more I explore, the more I find myself amused, amazed, tickled at the vast, vast beauty of this Big, BIG world God has created, that I hid away from for the many months of my life. You mean He made this good food, and good music and good colours? And bicycles and dance and voices pretty as birds'?

And as one of the children's voices rang high, crystal-clear, vulnerable with a tinge of tremulity, up into the concert hall, some hard, dead thing within me broke open and tears started streaming down my cheeks.

The artist in me suddenly choked into life again, like a rusty steam train beginning on its five-thousand-mile journey. For so long I hovered between sickness and healing- my voice cracked into a squeak whenever I sang in front of people, my body always froze when I felt watched, though it was charged to move to a tune. And now I think the dead, hard thing is broken, I think I can find the courage and stead to live, dance, sing again. And at that moment of realisation, I was happy.


So on that concert seat in the huge esplanade auditorium, I started to cry.


I was happy listening to music I never appreciated before. Happy to discover it, and discover myself in the process. Happy being by myself, letting myself move with the music- yes good music always moves you, I insist. Happy that I could come away from the busyness to be alone for a bit, for a quiet moment where my time wasn't demanded of, where I was neither judged nor measured up to.


And all at once, I think my Centre found its way back to where it always belonged to- back to my heart, back Home, where a girl, now no longer so little anymore, with her twirling skirt and paintbrush and hair let down, can dance and move and sing, exultantly, joyfully, with neither fear nor inhibition, to the music once lost, in the sunshine once hidden.

It was a happy feeling.

Christmas Gifts.

After two years since the book was published, the Kitesong DVD is finally ready and launched.

Thank you for walking this journey with me. The past two years have been intense- fundraising, medical school, depression, anorexia, trusting God and finally, restoration and new life. I have learnt:

- that there was a reason the DVD took two years to arrive- I had not yet been broken, not yet been battered enough to root myself in humility and deep faith, not yet... ready. "Should we not see that our Root is right, before expecting flowers and fruit?" -Amy Carmichael.

- that it was no coincidence I took the same two years to sicken, crumble, die, heal, grow and be restored again.

- that everything has its timing, that we mustn't rush nor tarry, that when we let go and let God, everything falls into place perfectly.

- that as with all things, I can let go and simply, trust.


The Kitesong DVD is being sold at $20 a copy to raise funds for underprivileged children and youth, contributing to their holistic education, equipping them with skills for gainful employment, to help these precious lives reach their full potential. It is a digital animation of the book (like a mini-movie) put together by my publisher, national day composer Sydney Tan and Digitaldreams director Gilbert Yeo. Its reach will expand to touch lives beyond Nepal, in various developing countries all over the world. For reasons of privacy (it isn't linked to this space), I have put public fundraising details for Kitesong here. I hope you like the site.

The timely birth of the DVD also marks my recovery from depression and anorexia and I'd like to thank all of you who have walked me through the darkness. I truly hope you will enjoy the mini-movie, that your loved ones will be blessed by its message in tumultuous times such as these. To my friends, family, Ek and Aunty Af, thank you.

For my friends, I'd be happy to pass them to you personally if any of you would like to purchase them for yourselves, or as Christmas gifts for your loved ones. I'll carry a few copies with me at any time so feel free to let me know :)

Alternatively, you may purchase the DVD at The Methodist Church or call 64784818 for more information. No part of your donation will be used to cover the DVD as they have been fully sponsored, with much gratitude.

Thank you for walking with me, for celebrating restoration and victory with me. Thank you for your love and generosity. Your gift will mean so much to the hopes and dreams of an underprivileged child this Christmas season.

Love and blessings.

Like a Grain of Wheat.

Two weekends ago, we had a thanksgiving dinner at my publisher's home. It was Special, because it was the first time we all met together to give thanks for this humbling journey since Kitesong began. It was Special, because the Kitesong DVD (more details soon) had just been launched and it was the first time we all got together in one place to watch it. It was Special, because on that table filled with a sumptuous home-made spread, I discovered that I was set free, much recovered from that darkness of anorexia and depression, as I enjoyed the meal with ease and contentment, gratitude and joy.

I looked at the DVD cover and a flower of thanks bloomed within me, thanking God for the lessons I learnt about faith, humility and trust through this journey. Beneath the word Kitesong on the DVD cover were the credits in small font, and I knew deep down inside that it was Him who deserved the most credit of all.


The Kitesong DVD is His, not ours, nor mine.


When the first draft of the DVD cover, designed by my publisher, was sent to me, it was perfect, except for one thing- my name, just right there in large print, stood out like a sore thumb. I didn't put the DVD together- it is the product of the initiative and generosity of my publisher and his beautiful wife, the genuinity of one of national day composers-Sydney Tan, and the digital animation of Digidreams director Gilbert Yeo himself. The DVD helps to raise funds for needy children and youth all over the world- and it was Ps Norman (who heads the Methodist missions society that runs all these orphanages) who suggested expanding the cause to benefit more children.

So we took my name in large print off the cover, save for the credits in small font, and it felt right that way. After all, the DVD was truly a collaborative effort, and my publisher and his wife claimed no credit, though they sponsored and thought of it.


It was through a little child which God spoke to me, about being small and humble enough to be used by Him. The smaller we are, the bigger God can be for us. It echoed Loren Cunningham's words (founder of Youth With A Misson): God can't use you if you're proud.

I was at Sunday School at my White Place, talking to kids again. I love children, and I always like to ask them for their favourite colours, after which I ask them to guess mine. Little Sarah exclaimed randomly, "PURPLE AND YEELLOOW!!"

Whatever answer they give is undoubtedly right because I love all colours. "Yes!" I answered in mock astonishment and excitement, much to her delight, "How did you know?" I watched her squirm in childish glee.

"Haha, and I have one more favorite colour. That's WHITE. Colour of my dress, see?"


At this juncture, I always ask, "Darling, do you remember my name?"

Most of them can't remember, for a chinese name can be quite a mouthful for young ones. I've seen frowns, sheepish smiles, tiny fingers scratching their heads, but nothing prepared me for Little Sarah's response, and the revelation I got from it.


" CAN I CALL YOU JIEJIE (big sister) WHITE-DRESS?"


"What? Haha, my name is Wai Jia, dear. Try again- wwwaaaaii jiiiiia. Jiejie Wai Jia."



"JIE JIE WHITE-DRESS!!!"


It was like a veil from a window was torn before me, and the sunshine brightened a darkened room.


The more I know God, the more I see the importance and beauty of a humble heart, one which works in quietude and faithfulness, without need for affirmation, recognition or applaud from the world.


Little Sarah made me question if I could find complete fulfillment behind the scenes, let God be Big for me, without needing a gold medal on my breast, and my name to claim credit for. She brought me back to the beginning, where all our gifts and experiences are from God, where we can give thanks for everything, with humility and gratitude, because nothing I have is mine. She reminded me of the thousands of nameless missionaries who give up their whole lives for others, working faithfully and silently for the good of others, without their names splashed across headlines for the wonderful work they do.


Can I be like a grain of wheat? Humble and small, nameless, and yet full of potential, able to be used by God to bless others?


And as I fingered the DVD cover, I thanked God for the joy in my heart, which would never have been there two years ago. It went against the old me- and I felt His pleasure when I found myself different, able to let things go, happy and utterly content.


I think about how my life has changed since I found my life with God, how Kitesong has transformed my perspective on so many things, how more and more, I find joy and fulfillment in simplicity, humility, and quietness. I think about White, about how as a citizen of God's White kingdom, I have the privilege to marvel at the Bigness of heaven instead of myself.


I think about White light, how though it illuminates all creation around it in incandescent beauty and truth, it is in itself invisible.


For all its worth, it claims no credit.


And then I find myself, though having my human ego just a tad short of being slightly bruised, having a heart of thanksgiving and being courageous, confident and carefree to say in reply to Little Sarah....


... "Yes darling Sarah. You can call me Jiejie White-dress."

" The characteristic of a devoted life to God

is its seeming insignificance and its meekness.

It is like a grain of wheat that

'falls to the ground and dies'-

it will spring up and change the entire landscape- (John 12:24)."

-paraphrased from

My Utmost for His Highest, Owsald Chambers

"He must increase, but I must decrease."

-John 3:30

My Eyes has deceived me!!

If you have not read the newspaper by now, you would have noticed that the finalists I have chosen to win the recent contest Miss Pesta was not even close to winning.



NOT EVEN CLOSE!!

Not even 5th place!!(amazing how beauty competitions work, do i really want to know whats after 3rd??)



Well I guess, i guess...i'm ummm...dissapointed...sigh...

Lord of my Ring. (*with edits made)

Heavy with symbolic value, rings often have Stories behind them. I've been asked countless times about the ring I wear, most times to my amusement.

"Are you married?"

" So who's the new person in your life?"

I always laugh politely, and then deftly shift the limelight away from myself. There is a Story, a long one at that, one which I've never explained in full.

A lot of friends have been talking about relationships lately- I suppose it's a new phase of life we are entering. Twenty-one. Tis such a young age, isn't it, to be attached? Most of us aren't quite ready for marriage, are we? I thought aloud, and I should have prepared myself for the various opposing views bombarded at me like a pelting storm. I'm surprised- because most people I've spoken to say they are ready. It made me wonder what it was really in particular that I wasn't ready for, why it was so, when I would be, and the values lurking underneath these thoughts- whether they were skewed, maladjusted or just downright strange. It set me thinking.

Most of the people I spoke to have known God all their lives. They're steady, grounded, matured- full of vision and faith for their futures. Thus, even my closest friends haven't fathomed why I consider myself un-ready, and it set me thinking deep.

I've only known God for about 4 years or so, just before medical school started. Before that, life felt like one dark blanket under which I was suffocating under, and it's only recently that I started to experience the goodness of basking in sunlight. While believing in God has been the best thing that's ever happened to me, its first few years have also thrown me onto my knees, forcing me to overhaul every old belief system I ever held on to, and the excruciating process of purging manifested itself in the most tumultuous storms in my life- depression and anorexia. It's only been lately that God has walked me out of it, and I once again feel like a child, watching the world with new eyes in awe and wonder, discovering and rediscovering things I never knew. It's silly, I know, but I feel all but four years old living life all over again.

Don't they always tell you to live your best for God while you're single, and not to rush into what will come in its own timing? Nonetheless, like a determined detective, I interrogated myself. Was the ring a convenient excuse to distant myself from entering into something I was too uncertain of? Was I hiding? Was I afraid? Friends have asked me over and over, and I find myself tongue-tied, at best.

Having just walked through the darkest moments of my life, I find myself wanting to spend this season of my life finding my feet, and growing to know God more intimately. Like a blind man seeing the world for the first time, I find myself discovering bits of life and parts about myself I never knew before, and I'm amazed, constantly, by this process of rediscovery. Like a child playing with his own fingers, I find myself awed by the mystery and wonder of what God has given me and yet I never took notice of before all my life. So right now my eyes are transfixed on God, on His creativity, sovereignty and wonder, and on the beauty of life.

Being in a relationship is altogether another moulting process to go through, one of dying to oneself, and perhaps most appropriate only after one has securely found one's identity in God's love. I think I've so much to learn before entering that phase of my life- about servitude, humility, submission- qualities which go against the very grain of one's wilful nature.

As fantasial as it sounds, I have come to believe, through a series of consistent and freaky events, that God's message for me is to remain faithful to this cause of growing in Him, learning these lessons till the day I graduate. The time is now- to learn and to prepare my heart.


So the ring will come off then.


The missionary who sat me down to chat with me at a medical outreach carnival last weekend connected with me immediately because we found so much in common. She, too, had a ring Story. Born in Australia, she backpacked alone to Indonesia to help the poor and needy, with a ring on her finger just like mine, believing in God to be her all-sufficiency. The week she lost her ring, her pastor coincidentally called her from overseas to tell her to open up her heart to someone who may enter into her life to serve the underprivileged together with her. That weekend, a Singaporean mission team went to visit Indonesia and her husband-to-be was right there.

While I'm not saying anything as dramatic as that may happen to me, I do believe that God has a plan for me, for someone out there, and no ring is going to stop His plans from unfolding. Love is like that, I think- you've known this person all your life, unromantically, but suddenly in the right season, sparks fly, or you've never seen this person before but how come it seems like deja vu? So I think in the right season, at the right time, things will -just- happen, in a way we least expect, and we will have the assurance that God timed it, planned it. Everything will fall into place- the person would want to do missions too, he'd love God, have a good heart, we'd have the right chemistry and understanding for each other etcetera etcetera.

That said, I was a little disturbed by what my own time of reflection revealed. For deep below these seemingly well-reasoned explanations, I found a bag of fear lying like a sack of old potatoes in the basement of my heart. For I've heard too many stories, listened to too many warnings, met one too many Confused/ Scary/ Fickle/ Overly-anxious/ Bad Men. I've never been in a relationship, for what I discovered before entering one always made me sigh in tremendous relief, the way you would after dodging a speeding race-car on a roadrage.

I'm happy to meet people, make friends, form deep, lasting friendships now. After all, relationships don't happen in a day. But I was surprised, of how much the thought of someone asking for any more from me right now terrified me. I'm still afraid of Bad Men (the terribly charming but flighty kind, the pretending-to-be-godly kind, who's said to a chain of girls-"God's told me you're the one", the smooth-talking kind...), of the terribly slick and poetic things they say and don't stick to, of what they feel and then conveniently don't feel.

One grows wary of one's own heart. For I am an artist, and mine pulsates and gravitates the way an artist's does. Yet in spite of my desires, I seize and attempt to gain mastery over it, again and again, lest it falls into the wrong hands. For the heart is deceitful above all things... who can fathom it? -(Jeremiah 17:9)

Shocked and shaken before, it has become fragile, wary, Vulnerable, and now taken captive behind a fortress for protection. And it makes me wonder who would be brave enough to go all the way to regain its trust, to prove faithful and true, to break through the stony fort to retrieve it from deep inside. I'm afraid, petrified- of things too fast, too soon. Just the thought of it grips me like a vice and turns my insides into chaos. I wonder how long it would take for my trust to be won again.

And then there's that part of me, a by-product of Disneyworld, which believes women should never, ever initiate- that knights are supposed to do all the talking, swordfighting, pursuing, and dragon-slaying... you'd have to kill me first before I let anything out. So I wait, mute, and talk to God. Feelings arise and yet, I vacillate, hiding, bringing it before God and Him only. For while I trust that God'll protect my heart because it is ultimately His first, it'll take some time before my defenses come down again.

Perhaps the most excruciating bit of this whole process is the part poised between friendship and courtship, that nebulous, undeciding, tension-packed period filled with questions, imaginings, fears and longings. It is that which I find my heart most afraid of- the sleepless stress of it all, partially from past experiences, unnerves me completely.

I wish people were honest, forthright and certain. I wish signs were easier to read. But everything is clouded in such uncertainty and second-guessing that I can only have God to count on. I also happen to believe that unless one can see oneself married in the next two or three years or so, one might not be ready for a serious relationship. So shoot me for being terribly old-fashioned. It made me wonder why there're no rules to this whole thing- I think I might need an Idiot's manual.

So while it was not easy, I had to admit to myself, that that's partially why I've got my ring on. When I was five and my best friend proposed to me, I mustered the strength to tell him squarely (though I felt like jelly inside and wanted to pee in my pants), "I can't marry you because you're shorter than me. We can still be best friends, okay?" We both genuinely believed that height was crucial factor to our eternal happiness and left it at that. But something tells me that reason won't quite work for me now- and I don't want to be famous for an episode of urinary incontinence in public.

So more than what I think God has spoken to me, perhaps the ring provides a temporary cushion from my fears, too. A place deep inside, hurt before, has gone into hiding now, deep within the woods. It's got a big scary mask on and a rifle strapped around its shoulder, making pleas to keep a safe distance away from it. Please don't tell me anything now, not now- it would scare the living daylights out of me. I'm not afraid of cockroaches, or the dark, or para-gliding, but please don't give me flowers now.


It would give me a heart attack.


Not now. Later is good. When I've found my feet firmly planted in God, when I've found my sole security in His love, when I've taken the time to moult, and learnt to prepare myself for the next phase of my life-where I'll have to swallow my pride, die to myself and put another human being first- all in the name of this strange thing called love.

Later is good- when I graduate, when I've been given enough time to overcome my fears, when I've been won over by someone's consistency and endurance, his faithfulness, courage and truth. Later with a wild bouquet and a handwritten note and a hug and a new ring and some plans for missions would be good. So for now, I think I'll just trust in God and wait patiently, take this time to grow in Him and allow Him to melt my fears, and pray that whoever it is would be faithful, brave and patient too.

I think when the time comes, God'll tell me so, and the person, too. We'll -both- be ready. I don't know why, but I think the ring wouldn't matter, wouldn't pose a barrier at all. Nothing stops His plans, does it?

Maybe I'll lose it then, maybe something'll happen to make me take it off. Maybe when I graduate and I'm ready, when God's timing arrives...


... we'll both -just- know.


And then I know my new ring will be special, because it'll be from Him, too.

" Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him; do not fret."
- Psalm 37:7

My pick for Miss Pesta 2008

I could always remember the last time I went to Pesta in Penang.


Which was umm i'm 24 now..so...i think umm maybe 16 years ago...

Pesta then was filled with entertainment and activities for family-goers. IT WAS REALLY A BIG AFFAIR TO GO THERE BACK THEN!!

It is much-alike to a skilled-down version of Disney Land as one would presume back then.


It's the kind of place that would answer Penangites question of "What's there to do in Penang?"

It's held a few times a year and i'd always remember how much I would have to force my parents to get me there so I could enjoy the short-thrill of not only wasting my parents money, but to enjoy the Ferris Wheel that I did not want to move out of it so much that I had to be given free rides by the ferris wheel operator.



I would scream and say "ONE MORE!!!ONE MORE!!!"

Then there is the roller-coster which was a must..It may not be what we have today,


but it was sufficient enough to make me happy back then.

There is also the bumper-ride which was an absolute must just to release the Dark Side in me by knocking everybody off ensuring that you get hurt when I do.


While all that was fun, soon the place was filled with too many boring ideas such as...

The cultural performances which umm nobody gives a crap..well i didn't...



and petty traders which was swarming around the place which soon had the feel of a Pasar Malam (actually it is). While this had some interests by many, this soon made the place lost its entertainment interests because night markets can be seen anywhere else.


Not to say, beggers were also entering PESTA by enjoying their own share of entertainment by begging for money.



and things like ferris wheels and roller-costers which are outdated to today's standards. I mean come on!!If you had said 16 years ago you enjoyed travelling inside a Nissan Sunny 130Y, I would have believed you!



But if you said it today, WHO ARE YOU JOKING??

So for years i've been stuck with the notion that PESTA is of what I could remember since I was small.

Now, just awhile ago, I read the newspaper of this on-going contest which is to be held tomorrow to choose their Miss Pesta 2008.




Just to let you know, Miss Pesta is another idea from Pesta to 'no idea how it promotes the place pesta' find the....

SHUCKS!i HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE TITLE IS ABOUT!!

I suppose it is to find the most beautiful girl again that could spice up the boring Pesta (i hope you get what i mean by now because the event is not even held in Pesta!)


So lets just get on with it. I visited the website to see how pretty the girls are in there not expecting too much since the finalist would earn a cash price of RM3,000 and blah blah blah.

Now i've always been termed as someone who is choosey with girls. I tend to be very picky. I only like pretty girls. But I don't believe that, just luck has not come my way for many years.



With that, i'm going to put my eyes to the test to see whether i'm really that a choosey person that goes for sugar instead of salt. Maybe my eyes have deceived me of what "Pretty" really is.



Since this contest has no longer a need for the girls to parade in their swimming suits which is important to see their figure of how their upkeep themselves if not why tell us their vitals (ok not very important since looks can d)



and I would not be able to hear how they talk and answer questions (ok not very important since looks can d)

and I would not be able to see them move on the walkway (ok not very important since looks can d)

and I would not be able to see how they dress up in different dresses (ok not very important since looks can d)

I am going to guess who the finalist will be tomorrow for this contest by just looking at their picture (have you not heard, pictures tell a thousand words about you)

AS for this case, one word. Miss Pesta 2008.

My eyes tell me, Tan Yee Woon.



TAN YEE WOON!DON'T YOU DISSAPOINT ME!! JUST TALK OXFORD ENGLISH AND YOU WOULD DO FINE!!

Don't forget to read the newspaper on 6th December 2008 to see whether I am right.