Roaring My Way to Nuffnang Wild ‘Live’ Blogging

I have missed the recent pajama party!




and I have also missed the pirates party!!



Who in the right mind after seeing all those pictures that I would miss out on this next party which already leaves me guessing that somebody is just gonna come in this!!



Ok, blame it on my narrow mindedness because right now i've only got one thing on my mind which is to

ROOAARRRRR MY WAY TO NUFFNANG WILD LIVE BLOGGING PARTY!!!I'M NOT GOING TO MISS IT!!

Now I could have easily found a picture deeeeeeep inside Google by using my Maxis Wireless Broadband that i bought not too long ago,




but I felt that i'm not showing enough to come for this party by doing that!I want to make sure that my pictures are totally original and it really depicts a real wild life animal.

Just like how Leonardo Dicaprio did it for KAte Winslet.



The drawing would not have meant anything if it was not done the way it should be right??

So, a few hours ago, I decided to go alone deep into the jungle to find a wild life animal that I could easily copy out using my innate drawing skills.



Even If i had to sacrifice my white vitara car to go into the jungle all for this party, I would.

And I did!!



After spending hours in the jungle which seem rather clean compared to a more dense jungle,


I had this sudden urge to log on to the internet. If you're thinking logging into the internet was impossible in the jungle, think again!! Because Maxis Wireless Broadband can!

Now some of you must be wondering before why I had one of this humongous big modem



instead of one of the tiny ones that is being offered at the moment that would have been much better to give me the camouflage i require.



Well, because it had a humongously long antenna that gives a steady internet line to surf the internet from the jungle. Good thinking Maxis!!Surfing the internet in the jungle I did!

With so much time in the jungle, all i could do was wait for an animal to come out. Something i don't have to do if i get invited for the Nuffnang Wild 'Live' Blogging Party!

Hours after hours, bitten by mosquito's after mosquito's that were using me like as if i was their petrol station,


risking myself to all kinds of viruses, I waited patiently for an animal to come out.

It felt that even if i was invited for the party, I would not live long enough to attend it.

With that, an animal soon did come out. I decided that the whole titanic sketching thing did not work out for me because the difference between Leonardo and me was that my animal was not going to stand around for me to draw it out.

Quickly, I was not going to let anything stop me from going to the Nuffnang Wild 'Live' Blogging party, I was equipped with my Adobe Photoshop that i specifically bought just to draw the perfect animal for this party.




With that, I hope with all my courage and determination and my great roaring desire to come for this Nuffnang Party, I now present you my animal.




I know my adobe skills sucks but after all i've gone through, Pleasseeeee don't let me down by not inviting me. Please dont!!

A New Season.

It's been hotly debated, but scientists have the final say- whether we remember them or not is one issue, but we all dream nonetheless. As night lulls us into peaceful slumber, our minds, whether we want them to or not, give way to the things of our hearts. It's just a matter of whether we remember them or not.


We dream nonetheless.


We were born to dream.


I’ve always dreamed of being in the thick of the action- stitching wounds underneath a tent, landing on an unknown land with a team of people, travelling places, seeing sights, never knowing what to expect... taking twists and turns, unexpectedly, unpredictably, going on a God-scale adventure, running, flying, fighting, battling, being a part of the epic adventure which takes place not only in real life, but in the very battlefield of one's heart, too.


When you’re discouraged, however, one of the most important things which hit you is how your inadequacy affects you, affects your dreams. It makes you doubt yourself, your abilities. Very often, it makes you feel like a lesser person, someone with something to hide, someone who ought to be ashamed. I often notice patients covering their amputated leg, wound or bandage with a blanket, in fear and shame. Are there parts of you you wish no one would ever find out about, too?


Dreams come in rainbow-colours, and the deep dark voices which echo our inadequacies are like the darkness of the grey skies which taint their techni-coloured hues.

The deep dark voices resounding from within ourselves always threaten to shatter our dreams into a million little pieces. In our darkest moments, it is these voices which threaten to break our hopes, our dreams, our faith in ourselves. They are the voices which keep us tossing and turning at night, that hold our minds hostage and wide awake, capture our hearts as prisoners-of-war, and keep us from dreaming. You can't dream with your eyes wide open, can you?


Being a medical missionary means being able to cope with crises, being able to withstand stress and hardships, being able to be emotionally and mentally strong in spite of loneliness, being able to watch death and listen to grief, being totally independent and yet completely dependent on one's community and wholeheartedly yielded to God. It is my rainbow-coloured dream. Ever so once in a while, however, when grey skies swell with heaviness and evil, dark voices creep up to steal the sunshine-You will never be adequate for this sort of thing. This dream is too big for you. Too big, and too bright.

So one evening, as I tried to confirm my plans for another mission trip overseas during my short vacation, a doctor called me, “Wai Jia, I know a team going up to Sichuan, China to help out in the post-earthquake situation. Has it ever crossed your mind to go there? Nothing stressful happened to you in the past year, I hope?”

I hardly slept a wink that night. Tossing and turning in my bed, deep dark thoughts tormented me. "Nothing stressful happened to you in the past year I hope?" Now, what did that mean? Have my experiences in the past year made me less adequate, less able, less equipped to follow my dreams? Does the arc of my rainbow end in a grey cloud?

Wide awake, a rainbow-coloured dream was locked within the darkened walls of a pulsing heart. Desperate and vexed, I got up to pray.

For the people and rescue teams in China, for the starving children in Burma, for me to listen to what God had to say about this. Many people ask me what God's voice sounds like. How can you hear a voice from someone you can't even see?



You establish a relationship with Him, that's how you know.



When I opened my eyes, I was scared as scared could be. Even when I was in Nepal, just minutes away from bomb blasts near the orphanage, I was never half as scared. When I opened my eyes, and got up from my knees, Fear gripped me like a vice.


For I heard God say to Go, to step out in faith to Go, follow my heart to walk on the rim of a rainbow arc dangling a thousand feet in the air to Go. I froze. There, squatting at the foot of my bed and hugging my knees, I froze in fear.

What do you mean, God. I'm not... adequate. Besides, this is an earthquake, there're still aftershocks...

What would my parents think. What would my doctors say. That I was crazy, irresponsible, or worse... not enough for this?


I dare not tell a soul about that dream that was pulsing from deep within me. Deep dark voices from within smothered my dream like an angry cloud, and suffocated it. Alone in the living room, I would finger the newspapers and read the gruesome, heartwrenching stories of the people of China, and Burma. Eyes wide open, I lay in bed, writhing. On my knees, I finally said- Okay God, if this is really You talking to me, then talk to my parents and doctors and church leaders- because if you're Big enough to prompt me to go to Sichuan on a medical relief trip, I know you're Big enough to make the way there, too.


The following evening, I asked with anxiety, half-dread and trepidation, "Dad, mum. What do you think?"

I nearly died when they said without hesitation, and with much enthusiasm- " Sure! Go, Jia- they really need help there! Isn't this the kind of thing that makes you happy? We'd love for you to go- it's a great opportunity. "


That night, I slept early, but awoke at 3am, 4am, 5am and 6am in the morning. My mind was ticking -Now what would the therapists say?

It scared me that my parents were, for once, so instantly supportive. But it scared me even more to think what the Professional People I'd been seeing would say.

Would they tell me, gravely and resolutely, that I wasn't well enough, wasn't adequate at this point in time for this sort of thing? That it would be too traumatic, too much for someone like myself to take? After all, it is a crisis relief trip. There would be trauma, death, grief, infection, counselling, desperation... All of that.

As I sat in the room with bated breath, tears welled up in my eyes when I heard-


- “Whatever made you think you aren’t well enough to go?" They laughed out loud, "Look at the progress you’ve made! What're you afraid of?"


Pause. "That I won't be... adequate. That I might be... well, you know me... that I might be... too saddened by the situation there... break down, you know," I said in a quiet whisper, and looked away.

" If you’re worried about breaking down there, then well, I’ve got to tell you- which normal person wouldn't!" Miss B laughed out loud. " What’s important now is that you prepare yourself mentally, physically and emotionally. Don't be afraid to feel. This is part of who you are, embrace it! In an earthquake relief setting like that, nobody is going to be adequate. "

The Professional People looked at me and smiled, "You've come a long way- you've our full blessings to Go."


They laughed out loud. And I laughed too, albeit nervously, more quietly, not quite believing my ears.


“Every one of those doctors in that team will carry some form of emotional baggage with them. Nobody will be adequate for something on a scale like this, Wai Jia. And I think you’ve been doing well."



And it made me realize, that each and every one of us has a hidden inadequacy, a burden we carry, a voice which tells us how inadequate we are. But what matters the most is how we carry those burdens, or better still, how we release them by confessing our inadequacies, humbly and truthfully to one another. When we do, our burdens are halved, shared, our humility is doubled, and we become more whole, hale, healthy. Humble, too. We all have inadequacies, and while it's one thing to be humble enough to accept it and learn to overcome it, it's also another to learn how to embrace it.

Being emotional means having to tolerate people's disdain sometimes, and one must be humble enough to admit its pitfalls. But it is also what makes one more human, more empathetic, more attractive in certain ways. Inadequacies can be crippling, but they can also be beautiful and advantageous if we embrace them in the right ways.

I wouldn't be half the person I am if you took away that part of me. It has caused me distress, hurt and put in my way many challenges, but it has also opened the hearts of Strangers to me, opened up roads to places where I'd never dreamed I would be, put to flight many a kitesong birthed within my heart, to be the kind of missionary doctor I dream of being.


When we acknowledge our inadequacies, the million little pieces of broken faraway dreams, previously shattered by deep dark voices, join together like colours in a swirling palette.



For those of you struggling with your own dark voices, know that you have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing that can stand between you and your rainbow-coloured dream if you choose to confront your fears humbly and truthfully. You can choose God and healing if you step out to make that choice- because there are always people out there who wish to help. Know that you have the power not to let it take your dreams away. Know that with faith and God's grace, all things are possible. You are not an inadequacy, not an illness, and it is not a part of you. Rather, it is apart from you, and though it a long and challenging process, you can choose to make that separation.



To my parents, friends, church leaders and many loved ones who have given me their fullest support, Thank you all so much, for your faith in me, my dreams and who I am.

This means so much to me.


This is what my dreams are made of- adventure, God, people and medicine.


Thank you Mum and thank you Dad, for loving me and supporting my dreams. I cannot thank you enough for releasing me to where my heart belongs.




So this is it. If all goes well, I leave for Sichuan with a medical team in less than two weeks. We will be bringing in medical supplies, medical help, providing post-trauma counselling and staying in tents.



Thank you all for walking with me on this journey of darkness and light. Remember the four seasons I talked about? Winter, that season which seemed like it would never end, has finally ended and a New Season has arrived. Delay and waiting are a part of God's dealings. It is always worthwhile to wait on God and for His timing.


Did you know, I saw two half-rainbows in the sky this week. My mother was with me when we saw them.


Winter is ending, and Spring is near. I can finally lay my watering-can down, close my eyes and dream rainbow-coloured dreams by the sinuous roots of a glowing tree trunk, freshly planted in a crater of soil.


New dreams are awakening.



It is a New Season. Spring, oh Spring, is finally here.

Photo by Xi

Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves is heard in our land.

- Song of Solomon 2:12

Update coming soon..

Hey Guys!!

Its about time i carried on with my blogging. I know i've neglected this place for too long. So, hopefully tonight I will be able to post something up.

I think its something to do about animals.

Keep in touch!

GiN

Lumpectomy.

Lumpectomy is a common surgical procedure designed to remove a discrete lump, usually a tumor, benign or otherwise, from an affected man or woman's breast. As the tissue removed is generally quite limited and the procedure relatively non-invasive, compared to a mastectomy, a lumpectomy is considered a viable means of "breast conservation" or "breast preservation" surgery with all the attendant physical and emotional advantages of such an approach.


Today, as chance would have it, a surgeon called me into the operating theatre for the treasured opportunity to assist in a surgery which involved removing a breast lump from a patient.

"Benign?" I asked.

"Nope, malignant. This'll save her life."



There was yellow fat sliced away, red blood spurting, and the smell of burning flesh. Surgery is, in its essence, a brutal event. When the evil mass had finally been excavated from the soil of human flesh, the wound gaped open in bloody agony. It seemed an impossible mess to stitch. Yet, very skillfully, the hole was sewn, sealed and plastered over. Neatly, impeccably, beautifully, with the rest of the breast still largely intact.

In the past, most doctors recommended masectomies, where the entire breast was removed, compared to lumpectomies, procedures requiring far more skill and time where the rest of the breast still remains largely intact.

As I watched the surgery and thought about the woman I had met just days ago, I wondered, if perhaps our fears of completely losing such an intimate part of ourselves prevented us from seeking help, and compelled us to live behind the curtain of shame and dread forever.

It may surprise most to know, however, that if one chooses to nip the problem in the bud early on, one has a good chance of requiring a lumpectomy only, and not a complete removal of the breast. The surgeons just need to take away what's bad, but they leave behind what is good.

How the surgeon burnt and excised the tumour reminded me of the way the therapists carved away the cancerous roots of my intimate illness. Skillfully and neatly, and still, leaving behind what was good. I think many people are afraid of losing themselves in the process of seeking help professionally, but the truth is, they only cut away what kills you.

Going under the knife can be scary. Largely naked on the cold, cold operating table, with nothing but a paper-thin gown and some sterile sheets covering you, with possibly your breast exposed and a host of busy staff crowding round you, it is a vulnerable place to be in. It may hurt, and it can sometimes be a messy, even brutal process, but the wound and scar heals, and when the surgery is over, you find not only your breast still largely intact, but your life saved.

You can fight tooth and nail to resist help, as many do, but the more you let go and the more you trust, the more they can step in and get the job done- and done well, too. Going under the knife means completely letting go, allowing someone else to take over. Most people who are ill continue to cling onto control, and until that control is completely handed over, the root of the illness can never be fully removed.

And the surprising thing is- the more you let go, the more you are given in return. They took away my old sources of pride, took away my old sources of control and sustenance, took away my old coping mechanisms, forbade me to eat and exercise the way Ed wanted me to... It was a complete surrender, a complete giving up of control. Yet, at the end, I realised, that all the good parts were returned to me... and more. The joy of eating, the joy of running, the joy of being comfortable with oneself, and the joy of finally... living.


They removed the lump, and left most of the breast largely intact, saving the patient's breast, and life, and most importantly, giving her a new lease of life, with nothing but a fading scar for nostalgic remembrance.


After a few gruelling hours, the surgeon heaved a sigh of relief.


"There, it's done. This'll save her life."

Masectomy.

I had never in my life seen anything like that before.

Large, angry, and sinister-looking, it was a textured canvas screaming with colour, red and bleeding from ulcerations and yellow with pus. It was smooth but full of nodules, like a cobblestone floor, and its edges gripped its sides like an angry, angry spider. Most of all, what shocked me was how large it was, how big it had become. It had grown to the size of your entire hand, fingers included, and I believe, it bled every single day.

A breast tumour gone wild.

The elderly lady whom it belonged to was admitted because of the massive blood loss from it one morning which knocked her out. And the saddest thing was, it had become irredeemable. It had infiltrated so deeply and grown so large that any attempt to excise it would pose a serious danger to her life.

So when I was presented to the patient for my test, to take her medical history down and perform a clinical examination for her, I was, to say the least, a little traumatised. Every single day we face suffering ( "Aiya, give me an injection so I can die!" says the old lady with a serious chest infection), grief ("Sayang (my love), look- they cut off my leg till my knee... Oh Allah..."), and bewilderment ( "I know it's deadly but I didn't want surgery because I want to keep my breast.")

Sometimes, it can be too much to take. That day, after seeing some ten patients, one after another with serious illnesses and sad Stories, I went home to cry. Just when I thought enough was enough for a day, a neighbour stopped me before I walked into my home, "Hey, you're a medical student, aren't you? I've been wanting to talk to you. My wife passed away two weeks ago from an alcoholic seizure... Our whole family, she and my two sons, were holidaying in Disneyland in Tokyo when she got a fit... The helicopters had to come get her, our Disneyland holiday turned into a two-week stay at the hospital, and we had to cremate her there."

What was I supposed to say. I'm so sorry to hear that, I said. I'm so sorry and will keep your family in prayer. I cried for over an hour that night.

It's often said that doctors are often not sympathetic enough, and I now understand why. With this much disease, suffering and sorrow on a day-to-day basis, one cannot afford to be entangled and suffocated by the evil griefs of this world. There is a balance to keep, and our fancy medical jargon and metallic technical speech helps to prevent us from taking the risky foray into the real whirlpool every patient faces.


I looked into her eyes and wondered about the nature of her whirlpool, how far its ripples travelled, where they ended. What was her Story? It had grown on her for four years, like a heavy, growing burden eating away at her chest. I looked at the monstrous evil that the tumour had become and wondered why it was not removed sooner- it could have been easily excised earlier on. "They told me from the start that I had it, but I wanted to keep my breast. It's a painless tumour, anyway."

Painless, so she kept it till it was overgrown with mutated cancer cells and hard, nodular tissue, swelling with pus and spilling blood.

There was a faraway look in her eyes. There was no pain, so she kept it. Ah, the Gift of pain.

And I didn't question her about it. I wasn't even that bewildered, really. That breast, the one with the fungating tumour and ulcers bleeding so badly that she passed out one morning from losing so much blood from it, was the same one which saw her through adolescence, marriage, menopause. That breast- one of the curves her husband fell in love with, and looked upon with wonder and gratitude through their marriage, was the same one which nourished each of her four children. They told her it would save her life if she cut if off, and I wondered if perhaps she thought part of her life would be cut off, taken away from her forever, thrown away in a surgical towel and incinerated, if she allowed them to do so.

I didn't question her about it.

And after my test, still slightly in shock and overwhelmed, I thought to myself- do we all have breast tumours, too? A tumour in the most intimate, hidden past of ourselves, so dear and close to us that we fear exposing it would cause us deep shame and embarrassment, a tumour that we allow to feed off us simply because it doesn't hurt enough to cause pain. Are our problems like that, our sins like that, too? Pride, unforgiveness, lust?


So often, I think-if we would look at our problems early on, from the start, and be brave to get help, seek wise counsel, so many devastating consequences could be avoided. If only we had enough humility and courage to tell someone about our problem with our emotions- anxiety, worry or depression, or our addictions- to food, shopping or lust, then surely these problems, when nipped in the bud early on, would not grow to become the silent, lethal killers which take so many of us away, destroy so many of our lives.

But it's too personal, we say. And besides, we've lived with it for too long to make it an issue. It doesn't cause me pain. It's like a malignant breast tumour, isn't it? Personal, insidious, and painless.

Breast cancer is one of the commonest, most dangerous cancers in the world.

And if you leave it alone out of shame and fear, all you might be left with is regret. After all, when you leave the tumour to grow, it eats up the breast anyway. It eats it up and spreads to other parts of your body. In the end, you don't win- still. You lose the breast anyway. And worse, you die too.

For all our fear of losing what we placed so much attachment to- cigerettes, lying, pornography- we lose anyway. It will eat us up if we let it.

So tell a friend, talk to somebody who can help you. We all have tumours anyway- but only the bravest dare to face the knife early on. It may be painful, you may be afraid of scarring, be afraid of the consequences of losing it, but know that it's the better option, the braver, more right one, and ultimately, you keep more of yourself than you would if you had decided otherwise.

That's how surgery saves lives.


But patient consent is needed.

Seasons for a Reason.

Before the new year started, I remember asking God for a simple request, for Fruit to be borne in my life. When things didn't happen the way I had expected, I asked Him- why.

Why the loss of Rainbow. Why the loss of abilities. Why the sorrow and illness and affliction.

Why God, why.

And then I heard a White dove whisper in my ear, that throughout our lives, God has four seasons for us. Spring, summer, autumn, winter- the seasons were made for a reason.

Everybody loves Spring. New buds grow, flowers bloom, and music fills the cool, crisp air. Everybody loves Spring.

Not everybody likes Summer. Some find it too hot. Hard blasts of heat make it sometimes difficult to endure. Not everybody likes Summer.

Everybody likes autumn, too. Fruits ripen- it's harvest time! O, what a joy.

Everybody loves autumn.

But nobody likes Winter. It is too cold here. There is nothing. There is nothing.

Nobody likes Winter.

The White dove told me- In Summer, the hard blast of heat, like our trials and challenges in life, is what is vital to producing good fruit in us. Without the soaring temperatures, the fruit borne would otherwise not be half as sweet. In Winter, on the other hand, after the frenzy of a busy harvest-time in Autumn, all life seems to have ceased... but only few know about the mysteries behind the gift of Rest, and even fewer understand the secret miracles birthed beneath the surface of the cool, wintry frost.

Nobody likes winter because it seems like nothing is happening- but only the wise know that Spring is birthing in the heart of the cold. When there is winter, Spring is near, too.

Fruit is always borne in it's season. And do you realise, that there are not one, but four seasons? Surely bearing good fruit takes not one, but all four of them.

A White dove told me, that sometimes, it is not that God has not answered our prayers, but rather, He sometimes puts us in the seasons we did not expect Him to, but which are best for us. We all want to be in Springtime always, but fail to realise that without the heat of summer which produces maturity in us, and the frost of winter to give us rest, good fruit cannot be borne.

Waiting and delay are a part of God's dealings. He made the seasons for a reason.

I asked God for Fruit, for a wonderful autumn harvest. After all, after Kitesong, I thought- what else can He not do? But little did I realise, God's Fruit is of a different kind. More than what we do, He loves us more for who we are. And so it says in the bible, that the ultimate Fruit is Love, love that comes with 8 other fruits, namely- joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. (Galatians 5:22)

That is the Fruit which has been borne this season.

At the time when all around seemed to be darkness, and faith flickered like a dying candleflame, the White dove told me, that broken faith that has been tempered in the furnace has a fortitude to endure greater resistance, is quieter, more durable, and indefinitely more Fruitful. The greatest dimensions of faith can be entrusted only to broken vessels, it told me. Great faith that has not been broken turns into presumption. And so the season of heat, of breaking, has a reason too.

Are we able to see that the seasons were made for a reason? That even in Winter and our times of despair, we may be bare, but not barren?

Bare, but not barren...

... because roots take time to grow, too.

Pruning, but not punishment...

...because "He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit; while every branch that does bear fruit He prunes so that it be even more fruitful."

- John 15:2

Loved, but not abandoned...

... "Because He disciplines those He loves."

- Hebrews 12:6a

It's all a matter of Perspective.

Whose eyes are you looking through-God's eyes, or yours?

He made the seasons for a reason.

Shakings of the Last Days.

Have you ever been frustrated by the kind of food put on the table, the kind of house you lived in, and the people that surrounded you? Have you ever thrown your temper about like a cyclone through a city, slammed doors so hard it felt like an earthquake?


When you woke up today and opened your eyes, was your back on a warm bed, your breast under a warm cover?

Was the sky blue, the woolly clouds thick like cotton candy?

Did you have breakfast this morning, and did you remember how it tasted? Did it feel good to be full?


What did you see when you read the papers today- did you recognise that feeling. Or did you, like me years ago, skip the front pages because what's on the front can hardly be good news.


And before you left the house today, to go shopping, meet up with friends, and carry on with your own life, did you hug mum and dad to tell them- I love you?

Pictures from The Straits Times




When you unclasped your hands in prayer, got up from your knees and opened your eyes today, what did you see?

Four walls, food, and a fond hug?

"... Pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances...

- 1 Thesselonians 5:17-18a

Please pray for the rescue workers and people in China, hit by the massive earthquake, as well as for the children and people of Myanmar, hit by Cyclone Nargis and starving of food.

Find out about the nearest centre which you may donate food, money or medical supplies to, or help in the packing of supplies sent to these countries.

And afterward, tell the people you love that you really, really do.

God bless you.

White Lather.

Lather with soap, rinse under running water and you’re done. Right? Wrong, if you’re a doctor, nurse, or medical student, that is. There’re seven steps to washing your hands- and a good reason for that too. Each year, millions of people all over the world, doctors and patients alike, fall ill in one way or another, and spread preventable infections all over because of their neglect of a simple procedure done properly. Medical students are always told: Wash your hands after seeing a patient. Wash your hands before seeing a patient- in the hospital, you don’t want to be spreading germs from patient to patient! Wash your hands, wash your hands, wash your hands.

Rub them together till they’re covered with White, White lather. Rinse them clean and dry them.


The hospital ward, unlike what they tell you, is a colourful place. There’s the colour of blood, phlegm and injury, the colour of flowers in baskets, and the colour of stories told in florid detail. As you walk through the patients’ beds, you see lives, stories, and dreams all interweaved together in colorful tapestry- black grief, grey resignation, scarlet frustration, and then, a face painted turquoise with nausea, or yellow with jaundice.


Mdm R was crying when I went to visit her again. I had been visiting her every day since the day I dropped by to say hello. Her grey face, wet with tears, lit up at first and then immediately crumpled into a moanful sobbing. Reaching out to me with both hands, she kissed both my cheeks and cried, “Sayang (my love), sangyat sakit (it’s so painful).” Her left foot, tied in a bandage, was turning black with gangrene, and it lay next to her right limb, which already had its foot amputated.

There is an old saying- that as doctors, we can cure sometimes, relieve often, but comfort always.

We owe it to our patients to be the greatest teachers we’ll ever have in medical school. For letting us into their lives, telling us their Stories, unveiling a part of themselves so intimate that they would not tell another soul. Sometimes I think, perhaps they find it easier to cry on us, than in front of their families. So I did the least that I could, talked with her, listened to her, held her hand. Contrary to what most would like to believe, doctors rarely cure patients completely, if ever. Only God can.

My clinical groupmate, Jr and I, bought her a flower on the first day we met her. One afternoon after our work, we sat down by her bed, listening to her Stories. Just as we were about to leave, she started to cry again. Since then, we visit her everyday. Yesterday, as she kissed both my cheeks again, I sensed something was very wrong. “Sayang,” she sobbed, “ ini mau potong (they’re going to cut off my other leg today).”

She is crying on me, and she cups her hands above her head and cries, “Oh Allah.”

I hold her hand and tell her God understands, and that He doesn’t look at how many hands or feet we have, but that in heaven, all that matters will be our hearts. She stops crying and a calmness comes upon her.

I tell her I’ve to leave to meet my professor for a bedside tutorial. I turn away and slide into the corridor to wash my hands. Hands clean.

The professor brings us to a patient, Mr T, to learn about the abdomen. Mr T is upbeat, joyful, enthusiastic, even. He allows us to feel his abdomen- “Come, come! You are all bright young students- I want you to become good doctors!” The doctor calls us into the corridor again for a summary of what we’ve learnt- and the conclusion is, he’s dying, soon.

Everybody's faces suddenly turn grey, grey like rainclouds. We file behind the sink, and wash our hands somberly.

The same doctor whisks us to see another patient with a drooping eyelid, and while we learn clinical examination skills, I realize something is wrong. She looks too wizened, too pale, too frail. In the corridor, I ask the doctor why.

“Oh, breast cancer,” he says. "A recurrence of cancer, after her masectomy."

A masectomy is a procedure where your breasts are removed because of the spread of cancer.

And afterward, we walk away to squeeze a full dollop of antiseptic handrub to scrub our hands clean.

We hear about an opportunity to observe an operation in the operating theatre. We scrub up and see the most adorable four year-old boy in for an operation, sitting stoically in the waiting room, understanding that they’re about to carry out a procedure to drain excess fluid out of his swollen scrotum. (Mummy, he says, don’t let them cut off my elephant okay?) He buries his head into his mother’s arms, while his mother chats garrulously with the nurses. One notices the tears in her eyes even as she is smiling.

We talk to an Indian man sitting on his bed reading the papers- he tells us about his job, his family, and a blood problem he has. “My white blood cell count is too low,” he says, “I feel weak all over.” But he says this with a smile on his face, grateful that you’re speaking with him. In the same ward on a bed nearby, lays the lady you did your first anal examination on, a primitive but pertinent and intimate procedure. You remember the look of gratefulness in her eyes. Later, when you check their case notes, you realize that the chirpy man hasn’t been told he has leukemia, and that the nice Indian lady has multiple problems with her heart, intestines and kidneys.

Jr and I gave a flower to and drew a card for Mdm K, the lady with breast cancer. Her head is bald from chemotherapy. She is forty but looks sixty. “I’m okay,” she says, “Life is like that, we do what we can to be happy.” We leave her with her presents and withdraw into the corridor. I take a sneak peak behind the wall and see her reading the note excitedly, like a little child squealing with joy. I smile back and she waves like a little girl.

I steal away, and wash my hands.

You whisk into another ward, and see rows of patients hung up to kidney-dialysing machines. An old man groans and moans, tosses and turns, and the pain makes him only but half-conscious. He is gurgling in his sleep, sputtering, and when you touch him ever so slightly, he whinges in excruciating agony.

Being a medical student makes you grow up so fast. You see sickness, agony, healing, hope, tears, outbursts, tragedy, blood, human organs, deceit and warmth- all in a single day. Black grief, blue tears, red frustration, green envy and a yellow warmth during visiting hours. Every patient has a Story, every bed holds an entire autobiographical volume in technicolour.

And at the end of the day, when all the colours are mixed together like colours of a rainbow, we rub it away in White lather, take off our White coats and stethoscopes, and go home.

We wear our white coats, whisking in and out of wards, striding briskly along the long corridors like catacombs, trying to catch up with our harried, ever-busy doctor professors. We wear our white coats, whisking in and out of our patients’ lives, taking them in with stride, trying to catch up with what it means to grow up to fill these shoes that seem so large to fill.

This white coat grows you up so fast. Could it be… too fast?


Looking around at the people along the corridors- students in white coats, harried doctors and worried visitors, it suddenly dawned on me that no one is completely normal. That in some way, we are all doctors, and yet, all patients. We walk along life’s corridors, and filter in and out of the lives of people who need us. We go from bed to bed, dispensing love and care to people whom we think need us. If we’re not careful, pride develops, we take other people’s problems into our own hands, forget to draw boundaries, and become depressed, jaded, burnt out.

In the long run, utter helplessness envelopes you and a sense of impending danger grips you. Danger, because feeling needed and being in a position fit to help can grow not only compassion, but also pride, and that presumptuous feeling of being indispensable.

Has the world’s troubles got into you lately? Tens of thousands of people’s lives were wiped out in the Sichuan earthquake, numerous lives were devastated in Myanmar by Cyclone Nargis, your best friend’s parents are breaking up, you see the poor man begging across the street, hundreds of sick people are in need of medication… you feel compelled to send a cheque, counsel your friend, buy the old man a meal… and before you know it, out of foolish compassion and human pride, you’ve taken on a responsibility far heavier than your shoulders can bear. One day you wake up tired, disillusioned and burnt out, and you spread your negativity to all around you like a germ. Whatever went wrong?

We forgot to wash our hands, that’s what. Wash our hands in White lather, and baptise our hearts clean. When we forget, an epidemic of negativity, exhaustion and cynism breaks out.

I’ve always wondered how many counsellors, doctors, missionaries, pastors stay so strong, after listening to heartache after heartache, and I realize it’s because very often, after every Story they listen to, they wash they hands with White lather, and baptize their hearts in a fountain of Water.

It takes true humility to see your own frailty, to accept that this world is not yours to save, and to submit yourself to an act as simple and mundane as washing your hands. Because it’s true- that while it’s good to have compassion, good to help, good to love, we must care, help and give from a source that doesn’t come from within us, but Above us. Only God’s hands are big enough to cup the worries of this heavy world.

I realize, that the strongest people who stay strong to help others, are those who see their own frailty, and humble themselves before God, to admit that it is His strength that sustains them. The strongest, most helpful people aren’t those who go from patient to patient and bed to bed like a harried maniac, but rather, those who recognize their limitations, and who wash their hands properly after seeing each patient.

After all, it’s important not to catch someone else’s germs, isn’t it? And even more important not to spread them around, right?


Only God’s hands are big, and Clean enough.


So I guess it’s a sound reminder, that to really help the needy, perhaps being humble to recognize our limitations does go a long way.

We do our best to help, do what we can to care, pray and love.

But at the end of the day, remember that we're all human, and that human beings fall ill, too. So at the end of a long day, when the worries of the world bear down upon you like volume of bad Stories, just remember the good habit that you learnt as a little child- to bring your hands, of brown grime, red blood and yellow snot, to the fountain of living water, and wash your hands, wash your hands, wash your hands.



Rub till White lather appears. Rinse properly. And dry.

"Wash your hands... and purify your hearts...

Humble yourselves before God, and He will lift you up."

- James 4: 8b, 10

True Humility.

And sometimes, in our frenzy of running and searching and watering, maybe all we really need to do, is to stop, find a quiet spot on a bough of an old tree, and lay our watering-cans down.



Lay them down, shiny and polished, or rusty and dirty, at the foot of His Tree.



Because after all, it's God, not us, who, in His time, not ours, who makes the largest of Trees grow.

Photo by Xi

"I planted the seed, (someone else) watered it, but (only) God made it grow. So neither he who plants not he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow... "

- 1 Cor 3: 6-9 "

Trophy.

Shiny, polished and prized above all things, it stood at her window-sill like a proud trophy, gleaming in the sunlight. It was silver in colour, with a barrel always hungry for water, and a half-circle handle which mooned around it like a perfect half-world. She would not let it get rusty. It was everything to her.

There was not a place she would not go without it! Every day, off she went! Skipping here and there, across plains and fields, over mountains and valleys, she clutched it tightly on all her journeys. She would not let it get rusty. It was everything to her.

Her watering-can, that is.

Over hills and mountains she went, searching for the brightest and prettiest blooms, and the most promising shoots to water. Once, she found at a wet, secret spot of a valley, the most beautiful budding shoot she had ever seen. It was green, gleaming, and glowing in the weak sunlight. Its leaves were shaped like kites, and when she watered it, oh how it sang!

So she named her little plant Kitesong.

Out of the valley of darkness, it spurted and fanned out into a huge, spreading tree, full of sweet fruit. Though huge, its boughs were low and thick, so the little children could climb up to taste of its goodness. What was even more amazing, was that the bigger it grew, the more sunlight it brought to the valley, the more fragrant its fruits became, and the sweeter the songs it sang.

Wherever she went, people would exclaim, "Wow, look at her go with her watering-can!"

" What a beautiful watering-can!"

"Did you see the beautiful tree that grew because of her watering-can! Amazing!"

And every time someone praised her watering-can, she would clutch it a little tighter, polish it for a little longer, and run even faster and try even harder to find the prettiest flowers and greenest shrubs to water. She used to stop frequently for any unlovely, thirsty weeds or despondent shrubs- but not any more. She had no time to lose! The next Big Thing was waiting for her!

The watering-can became so precious to her that even while she slept, she held it tightly to her breast.

One day, there was a huge drought. The drought was so bad and the heat was so strong that all the flowerbuds and young shoots withered. She ran even faster, and searched even harder- but not a pretty bloom or promising bud was found. Clutching her watering-can, she scoured the fields and plains far and wide, but to no avail.

Wherever she went now, people would whisper, " I haven't seen her watering anything promising lately, has she?"

" Her watering-can doesn't look so shiny anymore, does it?"

" Was it really her who watered that big beautiful tree?"

Over the plains and over the fields, she ran and ran and ran, but to no avail. There was not a single bud in the blast of the heat. There was only grass, fields and fields of green, green grass.

All alone in a big field, far from the whispering world, she held her watering-can in her right hand, slumped slightly forward in exhaustion, and started to cry.


Have we all been searching too hard for that one bud? Have we allowed ourselves to become preoccupied with what people thought of our past achievements, and allowed ourselves to become beaten with exhaustion at trying to meet their expectations.

When in fact, we don't always have to be searching for the Next Big Thing. Dreams keep us anchored, focused and alive, but clasping desperately to one dream to the next could very well exhaust you, especially since seasons come and seasons go- the next harvest will come another time, after winter and summer have passed, too.

Have we sometimes become so preoccupied with the scale of what we could do, that we neglect the little things we should do. There is grass all around us for us to tend, thirsting for a single drop of water, but why do we hoard the precious liquid in our watering-cans, depriving them of life?

It just got me thinking the other day- do we only go for the Big Things and miss the little ones, which are just as, if not more important, because of how they shape our character. After all, it takes far more energy to bend down in backbreaking agony to tend to each blade of grass, than to watch over a single shoot. Are we often more tempted to do what is glorious and important in the eyes of men? Wouldn't you prefer a glamorous title and important, impact-making job in an organising committee, rather than the menial task of unpacking chairs and cleaning the floors? Do you find yourself talking excitedly, putting your best foot forward in front of an Important person, and then brushing aside, or bristling with irritation at someone of lower stature, those with lesser abilities, intellectual challenges, slower in thought and speech.

I know I have.

There is green green grass all around us, waiting for us to tend. We don't need to keep running to find the Next Big Thing, don't necessarily need to only go overseas to help the poor, don't need to always wear ties and suits and sit in big conference rooms to change the world. Sure, we could, but do we dream about the sometimes unreachable, and do so at the expense of ignoring the little things around us, within our reach- the poor in your neighbourhood, the humble community service club in our vicinity.

I had a vision today, of myself with a watering-can, all alone in a huge, huge field, with nary a flower in sight but filled with thousands of grass blades I was blinded to before. Sometimes, life becomes boring because we only want what's glamourous, and impactful, and eye-catching. But the little things count, too.


For often, it is in tending to the little things that help prepare us for the Bigger Things ahead.


Faithfulness in the Littlelest of things.


That's what counts.

"All alone in a big field, far from the whispering world, she held her watering-can in her right hand,

slumped slightly forward in exhaustion, and started to cry."

Photo by Xi

Concept and modelling by Wai Jia

"Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much..."

-Luke 16:10a

"Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge with many things. Come and share in your master's happiness!"

- Matthew 25:21

The Bigger Picture.

I've strange impulses, sometimes. I'll tell one of them to you, but promise me not to tell anyone. I find myself the only one doing it amidst a crowd of others at the strangest of times and settings, and in a society like ours, it just might be equivalent to having an idiosyncracy such as having to pick your nose before touching a lift button.


I often have this irresistable urge to sprawl out, uninhibited, on the ground and stretch my limbs out infinitely sideways. After an exam especially, while everyone discusses animatedly where they want to have lunch, what movie they want to watch and which mall to shop at, I find my eyes inadvertently flitting to the nearest sunspot, and find my feet drawn to the nearest golden spotlight like a lost moth to lampstand. Nothing better than drinking in glorious sunshine after hours spent sitting in an exam hall so cold you'd think your fingers might get frostbite should you decide to rest your pen for a moment.


That day after the exam paper, while a close friend and I were waiting for transport, I heaved a sigh and felt myself sink to the floor, my arms unrolled sideways like a royal carpet on both ends, underneath a huge umbrella tree, on a slope of cool, crisp grass.


Tis the best feeling in the world, to have an impulse and pursue it, without a care about anyone watching you, and having the world pass you by, as you bask in sun-soaked stillness, in wanton abandon, free from the temporary petty cares of the world which gnaw at us daily like nasty bed-bugs.


Have you tried that before? Finding your own snug rug of grass underneath a tree and suddenly unfolding yourself on a whim, letting the sunlight, broken through the canopy of leaves, fool your mind between darkness and light as you squint playfully at the sky above? The meshwork of leaves against an azure sky makes for a pretty pattern- you find yourself mesmerised, enchanted at once.


Beautiful, isn't it? The sight of leaves, small as pins, so intricately embroidered like a complex pattern against the blue, blue sky. One can't help but be captivated.


And then it struck me, under the generous shade of that big umbrella tree, that just as how often we are enthralled by that which is presented before us, can it be that so often, we miss the Bigger Picture? Could it be possible that in our focus on the stunning motif of florid fauna before our eyes, that we forget, the grander, far more majestic display of the vast, vast Sky beyond it?



For where the meshwork of leaves are, those leaves which have captured our attention, is exactly where the Sky has been blocked out.



We bury ourselves under a pile of papers, allowing work to consume us, wanting to be the be the best we can be, so we can live the best life possible... but could it be that all that hard labouring had long ago killed the fire that burned at the start, made us so disillusioned, and made us less than we started out as? Busy parents work themselves to the bone, placing their jobs above all else in the name of giving their children the happiest and best childhood... but could it be that all Junior really wanted was for mummy and daddy to watch him at the soccer-game at Sports Day? We keep doing, keep excelling, keep running, all in the name of living our lives victoriously for God and our families, but could it be that all we spent our time and energy on really went against what we started out to achieve?


At the end, did your labouring kill your passion, was your child materially satisfied but emotionally neglected, did all that you set out to do turn its back on you, did you focus so much on what you thought would fulfill your goal that you missed the Bigger Picture altogether? Did you clinch a post but lose your integrity, win an argument but lose a friend, reach your dreams but lose your childlike wonder?


In the crazy everyday rat-race to reach one's goals, when all our energies are consumed in the tasks layed before us, could it be that what He really wanted was for us to stop, and just to be content in His presence, doing... nothing?


Sometimes, in our desperate pursuit to find meaning and purpose in our lives, I wonder if we try so hard to find them in what we can see, and what we can do, that we completely forget what lies beyond them. When we focus our eyes on the doing, the completion of the tasks at hand-people to help, projects to do, things to achieve- I wonder if we've sometimes become so absorbed in the animated euphoria caused by own dissipated energy that we miss the bigger picture altogether.


Could the very thing you've been trying so hard to focus your eyes on, the canopy of leaves, be the very thing blocking out what you've been trying so hard to see- the vastness of the blue, blue Sky?


In our attempt to find God, do we try so hard and put in so much energy to focus on the good deeds we could do, right principles we could live by, people we could help, things we could achieve, the kind of life we could live, that we miss Him altogether? Could it be possible that the very things that we thought would so lead us to a higher place, could be the very things blocking Him out in the first place?



Are we human beings, or human doings.



Are we so busy in our doing that we sometimes forget what it was we were looking for? Have you been so busy looking for God in what you do that you don't realise that it's precisely what you've been doing that has been blocking Him out? Are we sometimes so caught up and mesmerised with our tasks at hand that we forget why we started out altogether, forget why we did what we did, forget to love, stop, or listen?


Have we missed the Bigger Picture?


Perhaps it isn't as complicated as we think at all. It's as simple as the open Sky.


The wind blows a cool breeze, I look up, and the leaves, small as pins, tease me. Here and there, they rustle, allowing a new patch of Sky, a new sunspot to peek through. I almost see His eyes winking at me, with a peek-a-boo-like cheekiness.


The leaves are beautiful, but something far more so lies beyond it. Just as there's nothing wrong to admire them, there's absolutely no wrong in admiring our humanistic attempts to seek meaning and purpose, to grasp the divine.


Just that, at the end of the day, when you've done all you could in your own human strength to find who we call God, and find yourself beaten and dry, burnt-out and disillusioned, do you ask yourself why, too?


Then perhaps it may just be time to stop, time to lie down, sprawl out on a rug of grass, and instead of squinting at the leaves trying to find whatever it was you were trying to, to just... step out from underneath the trees, forget about squinting at the leaves to look at the Sky for what it is- big, simple, uninhibited.


Step out from beneath the trees... to finally see the vast, vast expanse of Sky, the bigness of His majesty, the Bigger Picture that we were meant to live for... unfold before your very eyes.

Photo by Xi

Concept and modelling by Wai Jia

Penang Hill Canopy Walk

Not too long ago, I decided to go to Penang Hill. (Sometimes i have no idea why its called bukit bendera. Bukit bendera means flag hill isn't it!)


I felt that i should start curing my unhealthy lungs after a never ending episode of going to Mois over and over again.

and also cure my eyesight at the same time by enjoying mother nature again.


Anyhow, Penang hill was fun.

So what did I do up there??? Well went to see birds...



Especially seeing this really cute one that really caught my attention...



Went to Bellevue Hotel to enjoy the beautiful scenary of Penang.



Had lunch over there. (Not too bad!)



Pass by some shops with no intentions of buying anything back


Bought some Kacang. (Can only recall of buying the kacang here since i was small)

Then came the exciting part.

At a distance of 1.5km from the famous water fountain, Penang Hill now has something new and interesting to offer.

It is the Penang Hill Canopy Walk!



Scrapping all ideas of going out for any night outing, this was definitely the thing I missed most since my high school days. I decided to go for it.



Now...the Canopy Walk only costs RM5 per entry. Not expensive right!

If you're wondering how cheap a person could possibly go.

I asked for a discount. (hehe just joking)

Anyway. It was definitely fun! This is how it looks like..

View from the top (definitely looks high from up there)



Instructions to be followed.


The narrow path (looks pretty safe isn't it)



Overall, I think this was definitely the thing to go for whenever i'm up here at Penang Hill.

Judging by the next picture..


Somehow I felt that i was tested on something...I just don't know what...

Driving a Super Fast Car

Just awhile ago, I was driving a really really fast car that I would never imagine of even driving one. Not to say even in this life time!!But all that has changed..

What car am i talking about?

Its the kind of car that you could have one girlfriend a day. Do the math!!


As for the speed,

Its the kind of car that smokes Proton Satria Gti (No idea what that means)


Puts an RX8 to shame (supposedly)



Faster than a C230 Kompressor



and definitely faster than Nissan Sunny 130Y.


And no offense to my friend SY who may read this blog, but the car I drove could easily smoke his car as well


It's the kind of car that your rich friends will not let you have a go at their car because oh well,

first of all you can't afford it



but most importantly, they can never respect you of being skilled enough to drive a really fast car.

So much so, they look down on you and say wahh you better not drive ler, u've never driven such a fast car before. nanti pergi longkang!

Not even given a chance to show my born skills that i'm definitely capable to drive such a car, u've already been said from the start. Sadly, such a chance will never be given to you because u're never respected even from the beginning.

But who could blame them. Its an expensive car that we're talking about.

But as of today, the time has come for me to be respected as one of the guys who ummm has skill i hope and respected for my views on fast cars out there!

Knowledge in modifications as well...Girlfriend expected soon..

The time has also come for me to be respected for my experiences with other fast cars that I have raced with.

Either all that or i would be doomed as the guy who does not know how to drive a fast car forever!

Now you're wondering what kind of car I drove about....


i guess i know where I stand..