Ok guys here's a small update post (really really small) but will update something again later today after work since its holiday for the next two days and also i'm trying to get into the mode of blogging again.
Well apparently i've never written on something simple like telling whats happening at the moment in my life.
So here it is....
Its 10:18am and guess what..I'm still home.
Penang is raining so much that I overslept.
Sigh....Gotta go to work now. I'M LATE!!!Unbelievable i'm still blogging!gotta go gotta go!!
Time taken to blog: 3 minutes
I hope its an update!
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Happening lately?Not really..
I guess its about time i continue my blog again for my "THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS" of valued readers of "Just too good to be true" to let them know on my latest updates.
Ok, for the past few weekends, i've been going to a nightclub called MOIS.
I've been going there so frequently on weekends that if a bouncer or the boss over there wouldn't recognise me or give me the VIP treatment that I should be accorded with, It would have definitely be a BLUFF!
Now I don't know about you, but this few weekend happens to be the same thing.
First, you accidentally come too early only noticing that you have an empty table or so called bed.
Then you wait and sit around waiting for other "happening" people to show up.
Other happening people are also waiting for other happening people to show up.
They have not arrived yet. The sight of the glass instead of happening people really tells you what clubbing should never be.
Then before you know it, you take pictures with new girls that you have been newly introduced only to know that both of you could either be a hi bye friend or sadly unacknowledged existence being in the next meet up.
Then drinking starts.
Soon, from one bottle
becomes two bottles.
And then before you know it. CAMWHORE!!CAMWHORE!!
The rest of the story is in the popular fashion website in Malaysia called cynfashion.
I hope this post wraps up on my doings for the past few weeks because really, umm, this is the only most happening thing i've been doing every week. Sad isn't it!hmm...
Ok, for the past few weekends, i've been going to a nightclub called MOIS.
I've been going there so frequently on weekends that if a bouncer or the boss over there wouldn't recognise me or give me the VIP treatment that I should be accorded with, It would have definitely be a BLUFF!
Now I don't know about you, but this few weekend happens to be the same thing.
First, you accidentally come too early only noticing that you have an empty table or so called bed.
Then you wait and sit around waiting for other "happening" people to show up.
Other happening people are also waiting for other happening people to show up.
They have not arrived yet. The sight of the glass instead of happening people really tells you what clubbing should never be.
Then before you know it, you take pictures with new girls that you have been newly introduced only to know that both of you could either be a hi bye friend or sadly unacknowledged existence being in the next meet up.
Then drinking starts.
Soon, from one bottle
becomes two bottles.
And then before you know it. CAMWHORE!!CAMWHORE!!
The rest of the story is in the popular fashion website in Malaysia called cynfashion.
I hope this post wraps up on my doings for the past few weeks because really, umm, this is the only most happening thing i've been doing every week. Sad isn't it!hmm...
Friday, September 26, 2008
Privileges.
I won't forget that fateful day, where that white-haired, near-seventy, petite senior doctor picked my two team-mates and myself off the hospital corridor and said, “Are you three medical students? Not having lessons right? Come with me. I like to teach random people at any time of the day, wherever I am. It's not important to know who I am."
We later found out she was one of the most senior and respected doctor of the cardiology department, and she whizzed us into the intensive care unit of the cardiology unit. “Listen to this patient’s heart murmur,” she said. "You'll learn a lot from this."
I looked into Mr Z’s eyes, to whom the abnormally rackety heart sound belonged to and saw his fatigue, his sadness. His eyes said he was in a precarious situation, and he knew it. Metal things were holding his heart up, clanging and banging against the walls of his vessels and keeping his heart from failing. "These metal valves won't last forever," he tells me, "Yes, you medical students- come listen to my heart. Become good doctors in the future, okay?"
The next day, I went back to see this Malay man.
"I'm so sorry," he says, "that I seemed so grumpy towards you and your friends yesterday. I was just... so tired. So very tired. But I'm okay now and I'm happy to talk to you. You speak Malay well, you know."
A few days later, one of our professors calls us in for a meeting to brief us on a project we are to embark on.
"Many a time as doctors, many of us have little insight into the lives of our patients. Our contact with them is just in that 7 minutes we see them in a clinic, we dispense medication, and expect them to run along with their lives. This project is to help you understand that every patient has a unique socio-cultural and behavioral background that influences the outcome of his illness. It involves you choosing a patient with a chronic illness, visiting his home, understanding his worldview, family dynamics, financial constraints, his concerns, his whole world basically… and coming up with suggestions to help the outcome of his illness. It involves you following him up for 4 months, and submitting a case report."
It was easy to dismiss it as Just Another Project. Except that it wasn’t. Entire families could be, have been touched, transformed through this project every year.
“And yes, every one of you are to select a patient each and pay him a home visit. It’s time consuming, I know, but absolutely necessary. A lucky one of you from each team with the most suitable patient will have your entire team visit your patient’s home together with you, chip in to improve his situation and present a group presentation on the case. That patient will be extremely fortunate.”
Many students spend weeks to find the perfect patient. After they do, many often get rejected mid-way as some patients just aren’t willing to follow through to open up their homes and lives to a stranger. Oh God, I prayed, I need a divine encounter. I don’t just want to pick a patient off a shelf- choose him for me, will you? This could be life-changing.
My team-mates come up to me and tell me, “Hey Wai Jia, why don’t you speak to Mr Z, that patient we met a few days ago? You speak Malay, don’t you? He seems to be the perfect candidate for you.”
Ah well, I thought, perhaps. I didn't get my hopes up. But he was the first patient I spoke to about this project, and he agreed at once. Most students spend weeks to find their project candidate.
To top it all off, I was in shock when my team chose Uncle Z for our group presentation. It meant every student from my team would visit him and chip in to help him out. I had been praying and wishing like mad to get picked, mainly because while I felt so incredibly moved by Uncle Z’s plight, I felt inadequate, helpless, overwhelmed even by his state of affairs.
Uncle Z is unemployed, living in a one-room flat with his wife and child, suffering from congestive heart failure. They have difficulty paying the utility bills every month, and live from day to day. He desperately wants to work, but cannot. He has had multiple operations previously and has been becoming depressed and short of breath of late, losing appetite and weight, too.
Much later, I realized that many of my friends had to spend weeks to find their candidate, and I thanked God silently for arranging that divine encounter on that fateful afternoon.
Uncle Z would tell me, “ I know what I have. I could die anytime.”
"Sabar, Uncle Z... Tuhan yang jagar kamu." I would tell him. Be strong, Uncle Z. God is watching over you. And his face would strengthen into a smile.
What a treasured opportunity, to step into the world of another man, to, for a moment, see the universe through his eyes, understand the sorrow of his suffering, and yet walk right out of his hell, unscathed, with the opportunity to light a candle in his darkness.
To tell you the truth, I knew I hadn’t the strength to enter his world alone. I was afraid, and stressed too. When I decided that he would be my patient for community patient project, I remember praying- I can’t do this alone, God. I’m really scared. And then chiding myself, You’re scared of everything, Woman. Toughen up and just trust God to provide, will you? It’s not your job to save him- leave that to God. Remember what you told him- that God was watching over him?
Leave it to Him I did, and my, did He provide.
In the hospital, we hide behind our intellectual jargon, behind our medical in-jokes and wear our white coats like suits of armour- and nobody knows our little secret, that for some of us, this is all we have to protect ourselves us from entering the terrifying whirlpool of emotions swirling in each patient’s eyes. The naked truth of a patient’s amputated foot, newly diagnosed cancer or chronic illness stares back at us like a tragic subplot, and the glitz and glamour of surgery, the classy ring of our title as doctors (or medical students), and the sound of our all-knowing voices reciting medical conditions like a digital encyclopedia melts into farce in the stark face of reality.
We whiz from ward to ward, gleefully picking up and learning signs and symptoms from patients, discuss and talk about them, take off our white coats and return home.
Sometimes I think, it is not that we are inhuman that we do not take time to delve into every patient's life, look into the swirling mess of each patient's eyes. It is because we are human that we dare not.
But I thank God we have this privilege to visit Uncle Z. He's agreed to meet all ten of us, including our professor at his one-room flat this Sunday afternoon, to help us understand his situation better, and I can't help but think God answered my prayers- for me, and for him.
"It's the fasting month for Muslims, Uncle Z- are you fasting now?"
"No, I'm not. I'm on medication you see, so I can't... But my wife is."
"Don't feel too bad about it, Uncle Z," I say, as I remember many of my muslim friends and patients sharing with me their earnest desire to fast during the religious month, and their mental agony when they can't. "God understands, and He knows your heart. What's important is that you love Him and have faith in Him."
"Thank you so much, Wai Jia... You know, I don't even have a sofa in my home, I hope that's okay for your friends... ... You going to church on Sunday morning, right? Yes, you're a good girl. I'll see you soon, okay? Thank you for coming."
God knew I couldn't walk past Uncle Z's doors alone without wearing my white coat, without going one step too deep into his valley and crossing from professionalism into excessive attachment. So He sent me a team of friends, and we're going to take a few steps deeper into his world, see how we can help Uncle Z.
"No, it's okay, Uncle Z. It's okay that there won't be a sofa. We'll be happy to sit on the floor. Thank YOU for having us, for giving us a chance to learn."
See you on Sunday.
We later found out she was one of the most senior and respected doctor of the cardiology department, and she whizzed us into the intensive care unit of the cardiology unit. “Listen to this patient’s heart murmur,” she said. "You'll learn a lot from this."
I looked into Mr Z’s eyes, to whom the abnormally rackety heart sound belonged to and saw his fatigue, his sadness. His eyes said he was in a precarious situation, and he knew it. Metal things were holding his heart up, clanging and banging against the walls of his vessels and keeping his heart from failing. "These metal valves won't last forever," he tells me, "Yes, you medical students- come listen to my heart. Become good doctors in the future, okay?"
The next day, I went back to see this Malay man.
"I'm so sorry," he says, "that I seemed so grumpy towards you and your friends yesterday. I was just... so tired. So very tired. But I'm okay now and I'm happy to talk to you. You speak Malay well, you know."
A few days later, one of our professors calls us in for a meeting to brief us on a project we are to embark on.
"Many a time as doctors, many of us have little insight into the lives of our patients. Our contact with them is just in that 7 minutes we see them in a clinic, we dispense medication, and expect them to run along with their lives. This project is to help you understand that every patient has a unique socio-cultural and behavioral background that influences the outcome of his illness. It involves you choosing a patient with a chronic illness, visiting his home, understanding his worldview, family dynamics, financial constraints, his concerns, his whole world basically… and coming up with suggestions to help the outcome of his illness. It involves you following him up for 4 months, and submitting a case report."
It was easy to dismiss it as Just Another Project. Except that it wasn’t. Entire families could be, have been touched, transformed through this project every year.
“And yes, every one of you are to select a patient each and pay him a home visit. It’s time consuming, I know, but absolutely necessary. A lucky one of you from each team with the most suitable patient will have your entire team visit your patient’s home together with you, chip in to improve his situation and present a group presentation on the case. That patient will be extremely fortunate.”
Many students spend weeks to find the perfect patient. After they do, many often get rejected mid-way as some patients just aren’t willing to follow through to open up their homes and lives to a stranger. Oh God, I prayed, I need a divine encounter. I don’t just want to pick a patient off a shelf- choose him for me, will you? This could be life-changing.
My team-mates come up to me and tell me, “Hey Wai Jia, why don’t you speak to Mr Z, that patient we met a few days ago? You speak Malay, don’t you? He seems to be the perfect candidate for you.”
Ah well, I thought, perhaps. I didn't get my hopes up. But he was the first patient I spoke to about this project, and he agreed at once. Most students spend weeks to find their project candidate.
To top it all off, I was in shock when my team chose Uncle Z for our group presentation. It meant every student from my team would visit him and chip in to help him out. I had been praying and wishing like mad to get picked, mainly because while I felt so incredibly moved by Uncle Z’s plight, I felt inadequate, helpless, overwhelmed even by his state of affairs.
Uncle Z is unemployed, living in a one-room flat with his wife and child, suffering from congestive heart failure. They have difficulty paying the utility bills every month, and live from day to day. He desperately wants to work, but cannot. He has had multiple operations previously and has been becoming depressed and short of breath of late, losing appetite and weight, too.
Much later, I realized that many of my friends had to spend weeks to find their candidate, and I thanked God silently for arranging that divine encounter on that fateful afternoon.
Uncle Z would tell me, “ I know what I have. I could die anytime.”
"Sabar, Uncle Z... Tuhan yang jagar kamu." I would tell him. Be strong, Uncle Z. God is watching over you. And his face would strengthen into a smile.
What a treasured opportunity, to step into the world of another man, to, for a moment, see the universe through his eyes, understand the sorrow of his suffering, and yet walk right out of his hell, unscathed, with the opportunity to light a candle in his darkness.
To tell you the truth, I knew I hadn’t the strength to enter his world alone. I was afraid, and stressed too. When I decided that he would be my patient for community patient project, I remember praying- I can’t do this alone, God. I’m really scared. And then chiding myself, You’re scared of everything, Woman. Toughen up and just trust God to provide, will you? It’s not your job to save him- leave that to God. Remember what you told him- that God was watching over him?
Leave it to Him I did, and my, did He provide.
In the hospital, we hide behind our intellectual jargon, behind our medical in-jokes and wear our white coats like suits of armour- and nobody knows our little secret, that for some of us, this is all we have to protect ourselves us from entering the terrifying whirlpool of emotions swirling in each patient’s eyes. The naked truth of a patient’s amputated foot, newly diagnosed cancer or chronic illness stares back at us like a tragic subplot, and the glitz and glamour of surgery, the classy ring of our title as doctors (or medical students), and the sound of our all-knowing voices reciting medical conditions like a digital encyclopedia melts into farce in the stark face of reality.
We whiz from ward to ward, gleefully picking up and learning signs and symptoms from patients, discuss and talk about them, take off our white coats and return home.
Sometimes I think, it is not that we are inhuman that we do not take time to delve into every patient's life, look into the swirling mess of each patient's eyes. It is because we are human that we dare not.
But I thank God we have this privilege to visit Uncle Z. He's agreed to meet all ten of us, including our professor at his one-room flat this Sunday afternoon, to help us understand his situation better, and I can't help but think God answered my prayers- for me, and for him.
"It's the fasting month for Muslims, Uncle Z- are you fasting now?"
"No, I'm not. I'm on medication you see, so I can't... But my wife is."
"Don't feel too bad about it, Uncle Z," I say, as I remember many of my muslim friends and patients sharing with me their earnest desire to fast during the religious month, and their mental agony when they can't. "God understands, and He knows your heart. What's important is that you love Him and have faith in Him."
"Thank you so much, Wai Jia... You know, I don't even have a sofa in my home, I hope that's okay for your friends... ... You going to church on Sunday morning, right? Yes, you're a good girl. I'll see you soon, okay? Thank you for coming."
God knew I couldn't walk past Uncle Z's doors alone without wearing my white coat, without going one step too deep into his valley and crossing from professionalism into excessive attachment. So He sent me a team of friends, and we're going to take a few steps deeper into his world, see how we can help Uncle Z.
"No, it's okay, Uncle Z. It's okay that there won't be a sofa. We'll be happy to sit on the floor. Thank YOU for having us, for giving us a chance to learn."
See you on Sunday.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Thirsty
Uncle C* lives downstairs, at a unit near a gate which I come home through. We’ve smiled at each other a few times when I pass him by as he does his gardening at his balcony, exchanged polite conversation but more nothing personal.
I was on my way back from hospital one day when he stopped me, “You’re a medical student right? I just wanted to tell you- my family went for a holiday in Tokyo Disneyland two weeks ago, and my wife died there. Yeah, I’m okay, I just wanted to tell you, that’s all.”
I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” I said. That night, I wept for him.
For several months I never saw him again. My busy hospital schedule saw me leaving home at daybreak, and I hardly ever saw him watering his plants anymore. His garden withered, but his dry, fragile plants in their pots still remain.
I had a gathering at my place one night, for some fellowship between doctors and friends, and many sandwiches, muffins, cakes and curry puffs were left over. Something stirred within me to bless his family and I packed a tray full of goodies and some uplifting reading material to deliver to him. As I left my home, holding the precariously heavy tray, I started to cry. Why do I care? He will think I’m crazy, tell me not to feel sorry for him or something. But an inexplicable emotion welled up within me, and I was willing to take the risk, because of how the love of God gripped my heart and captured me.
This time I cried, not because I felt sorry for Uncle C, but because in reaching out to him, I felt God reach out to me, too.
Uncle C wasn’t home, so I left my number with his son.
“Just tell him it’s from the medical student who lives upstairs.”
Though it had been months since we met again, I was sure he remembered me. Two days later, I was walking up the stairs at the train station when I realized that I had missed a call on my phone. Checking who it was from, I realized I hadn’t recognized the number. I reached the train platform, lifted my head up- only to find Uncle C standing right there in front of me! We both jumped, and he said, “I just tried calling you. Just wanted to thank you so much for the food. It was yummy. Ha, it's my first time taking the train to visit a gym today.”
I hadn’t seen him for ages, understand that- and I looked around to check for a cameraman because I thought coincidences like these happen only in drama serials.
I forgot, God’s script always surprises me.
We find ourselves travelling to the same destination, and my mind searches his face and conversation for lonliness, pain and sorrow- but I find none. I ask him how he’s doing, how his children are coping, and he smiles to invite me over for dinner. Just want to thank you, he says, The banana cake you baked was wonderful. I am uncomfortable with this, because having dinner with elderly men who’ve lost their wives isn’t on my list of Things I Do When I’m Free.
But something compels me to agree, and I listen to his Story intently about his wife’s life, and death.
“She just collapsed in Disneyland, you know. We knew she wasn’t feeling too well, but nothing prepared us for the suddenness of which things happened. We called the ambulance, but they didn’t come- in Tokyo, they only dispatch ambulances when they’ve a free bed at a hospital. So they took forever to come, and then, her organs failed and she bled to death,” he said, with only a tinge of sadness.
“She was a chronic drinker for more than ten years. I used to be like a detective, searching out bottles of alcohol she hid around the house. I used to make her all sorts of juices to help her recover…”
“Did she receive counseling?” I asked.
“She’s been through the full works. Alcoholics Anonymous, hospitals, psychiatrists, mental institutes… She just never could put herself together. She always talked about me getting re-married after she died. Somehow, she knew she was dying, killing herself. She couldn’t stop drinking.”
She drank because she was thirsty. But the more she drank, the thirstier she became. It was like a curse of some sort.
It reminded me of God's Banquet Table of Life- that we all come to it, and are blessed because though we hunger and thirst, we are quickly satisfied. And it is not a nuisance to be hungry and thirsty afterwards again, for hunger and thirst is a blessing, too. Once a friend said at a birthday party, “Oh, the food is so lovely that I'm actually sad I’m full!”
It is part of God’s grace, to hunger and thirst, and to be filled. It is also His grace, that we hunger and thirst again, only to find ourselves filled once more. For every experience teaches us something new, and we are nourished by different foods, experiences and trials.
We will do everything we can to fill the holes within us. But we forget, that some holes, we just can’t fill ourselves.
She drank, she kept drinking. But her hole only grew bigger, deeper, darker.
People tried to help her. But nothing worked. Nothing.
And then she died. Bled to death on a family blue-sky getaway to Tokyo Disneyland- right there, in the middle of fun, amusement and laughter. In a place people go to to find a transient high, a moment’s thrill, a passing adventure.
When we look to things and people to satisfy our eternal longings and desires, why do we not realize that we will never be fulfilled.
“ She just couldn't stop drinking. She tried everything. I tried, too. But nothing worked. She just kept drinking-it’s been ten years.”
I feel like Ive suddenly been forced to grow up. I read of alcoholism, pre-marital sex, suicides in the papers, and find more and more people I know being a part of these tragic stories-acquaintances, and friends, too. I never quite get over the shock. Never quite get over the disappointment. We are thirsting, and running to the wrong wells to satisfy our thirst.
Some days, especially on weekends, I find myself thirsting for the wrong things too. For attention, for love, for companionship, work or merely something to occupy my senses with, forgetting that I can be completely secure in God’s love. On Saturdays, I sometimes find myself itching to return to the hospital, as I thirst for the stability of routine, for the company of friends, for the treasure of knowledge from patients. My throat becomes parched with desperation and I scramble to have my thirst relieved.
They say that thirst is worse than hunger. For one cannot go without water for long.
Are you thirsty, too?
In the heat of the desert, I think I see an oasis in the distance. I think it’s a mirage but as I go closer, I see a Banquet Table, with Him right there waiting for me.
At the end of an overwhelming day, after running mindlessly to all the wrong wells, I find myself all at once, relieved, to find myself taking a drink from Him. He hands me a cup, and I am giddy with relief. It has been a hot season of summer, but all I need is a tiny sip, and I am, all at once, completely satisfied.
I come to His table, and find myself at once in that glorious moment, thirsting no more.
“On the last day, that day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying,
-John 7:37
I was on my way back from hospital one day when he stopped me, “You’re a medical student right? I just wanted to tell you- my family went for a holiday in Tokyo Disneyland two weeks ago, and my wife died there. Yeah, I’m okay, I just wanted to tell you, that’s all.”
I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” I said. That night, I wept for him.
For several months I never saw him again. My busy hospital schedule saw me leaving home at daybreak, and I hardly ever saw him watering his plants anymore. His garden withered, but his dry, fragile plants in their pots still remain.
I had a gathering at my place one night, for some fellowship between doctors and friends, and many sandwiches, muffins, cakes and curry puffs were left over. Something stirred within me to bless his family and I packed a tray full of goodies and some uplifting reading material to deliver to him. As I left my home, holding the precariously heavy tray, I started to cry. Why do I care? He will think I’m crazy, tell me not to feel sorry for him or something. But an inexplicable emotion welled up within me, and I was willing to take the risk, because of how the love of God gripped my heart and captured me.
This time I cried, not because I felt sorry for Uncle C, but because in reaching out to him, I felt God reach out to me, too.
Uncle C wasn’t home, so I left my number with his son.
“Just tell him it’s from the medical student who lives upstairs.”
Though it had been months since we met again, I was sure he remembered me. Two days later, I was walking up the stairs at the train station when I realized that I had missed a call on my phone. Checking who it was from, I realized I hadn’t recognized the number. I reached the train platform, lifted my head up- only to find Uncle C standing right there in front of me! We both jumped, and he said, “I just tried calling you. Just wanted to thank you so much for the food. It was yummy. Ha, it's my first time taking the train to visit a gym today.”
I hadn’t seen him for ages, understand that- and I looked around to check for a cameraman because I thought coincidences like these happen only in drama serials.
I forgot, God’s script always surprises me.
We find ourselves travelling to the same destination, and my mind searches his face and conversation for lonliness, pain and sorrow- but I find none. I ask him how he’s doing, how his children are coping, and he smiles to invite me over for dinner. Just want to thank you, he says, The banana cake you baked was wonderful. I am uncomfortable with this, because having dinner with elderly men who’ve lost their wives isn’t on my list of Things I Do When I’m Free.
But something compels me to agree, and I listen to his Story intently about his wife’s life, and death.
“She just collapsed in Disneyland, you know. We knew she wasn’t feeling too well, but nothing prepared us for the suddenness of which things happened. We called the ambulance, but they didn’t come- in Tokyo, they only dispatch ambulances when they’ve a free bed at a hospital. So they took forever to come, and then, her organs failed and she bled to death,” he said, with only a tinge of sadness.
“She was a chronic drinker for more than ten years. I used to be like a detective, searching out bottles of alcohol she hid around the house. I used to make her all sorts of juices to help her recover…”
“Did she receive counseling?” I asked.
“She’s been through the full works. Alcoholics Anonymous, hospitals, psychiatrists, mental institutes… She just never could put herself together. She always talked about me getting re-married after she died. Somehow, she knew she was dying, killing herself. She couldn’t stop drinking.”
She drank because she was thirsty. But the more she drank, the thirstier she became. It was like a curse of some sort.
It reminded me of God's Banquet Table of Life- that we all come to it, and are blessed because though we hunger and thirst, we are quickly satisfied. And it is not a nuisance to be hungry and thirsty afterwards again, for hunger and thirst is a blessing, too. Once a friend said at a birthday party, “Oh, the food is so lovely that I'm actually sad I’m full!”
It is part of God’s grace, to hunger and thirst, and to be filled. It is also His grace, that we hunger and thirst again, only to find ourselves filled once more. For every experience teaches us something new, and we are nourished by different foods, experiences and trials.
We will do everything we can to fill the holes within us. But we forget, that some holes, we just can’t fill ourselves.
She drank, she kept drinking. But her hole only grew bigger, deeper, darker.
People tried to help her. But nothing worked. Nothing.
And then she died. Bled to death on a family blue-sky getaway to Tokyo Disneyland- right there, in the middle of fun, amusement and laughter. In a place people go to to find a transient high, a moment’s thrill, a passing adventure.
When we look to things and people to satisfy our eternal longings and desires, why do we not realize that we will never be fulfilled.
“ She just couldn't stop drinking. She tried everything. I tried, too. But nothing worked. She just kept drinking-it’s been ten years.”
I feel like Ive suddenly been forced to grow up. I read of alcoholism, pre-marital sex, suicides in the papers, and find more and more people I know being a part of these tragic stories-acquaintances, and friends, too. I never quite get over the shock. Never quite get over the disappointment. We are thirsting, and running to the wrong wells to satisfy our thirst.
Some days, especially on weekends, I find myself thirsting for the wrong things too. For attention, for love, for companionship, work or merely something to occupy my senses with, forgetting that I can be completely secure in God’s love. On Saturdays, I sometimes find myself itching to return to the hospital, as I thirst for the stability of routine, for the company of friends, for the treasure of knowledge from patients. My throat becomes parched with desperation and I scramble to have my thirst relieved.
They say that thirst is worse than hunger. For one cannot go without water for long.
Are you thirsty, too?
In the heat of the desert, I think I see an oasis in the distance. I think it’s a mirage but as I go closer, I see a Banquet Table, with Him right there waiting for me.
At the end of an overwhelming day, after running mindlessly to all the wrong wells, I find myself all at once, relieved, to find myself taking a drink from Him. He hands me a cup, and I am giddy with relief. It has been a hot season of summer, but all I need is a tiny sip, and I am, all at once, completely satisfied.
I come to His table, and find myself at once in that glorious moment, thirsting no more.
“On the last day, that day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying,
“ If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink.”
-John 7:37
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Just forgotten i had a blog
Ok guys, this has got to be one of the periods again that i have not updated anything so....will try to update on my latest today ok....as for now..its bed time..
GiN
GiN
Maybe Next Year.
I think I surprised a number of my friends, when I made my decision. I surprised myself, even. It was a tough choice to make, but it sits well and my soul resounds with peace.
It was that time of the year again where auditions for our faculty play was on. With much anticipation and excitement, I participated in the auditions. Just give it a shot, I thought.
I was offered the main role, and was given time to confirm my acceptance. A year ago, I knew I would have jumped at the chance. To be in theatre acting, conveying a message, dissolving into the life of a Stranger whose life has a Story to tell, a memory to unfold, and presenting it to an audience in the elegant simplicity of voice and movement, sound and light- must be one of the most exhilarating experiences I know, and enjoy. There is something exquisitely liberating about theatre, and the stage.
I think I surprised a number of my friends, when I made my decision.
I surprised myself, even. It was a tough choice to make, but it sits well and my soul resounds with peace.
I declined the offer. It would take a long time to distill all the reasons. And I hardly feel compelled to explain myself, even. For it sits well with me, and my soul resounds with peace.
For this is a different season. Winter and spring have gone, and summer is here. Summer is taking stock of Recovery. It is realising my primary call in medicine, and giving my priorities my all. Summer is ripening under the heat, and maximising my resources for fruit of eternal value.
It's not that I've turned my back on on the theatre stage. But tis a different season, that's all.
A season where I'm learning to be smaller, humbler, more focused, more human and less of a superwoman. A season where I'm learning to go into the inside rooms to tidy things up, rather than spending my time keeping the outside rooms emmaculate for the world to see. A season where I'm learning to find joy and value, not in big things flooded in the limelight and decorated with flowers and showered with confetti, but in the little things- like studying my list of medical conditions well, like enjoying the time I spend with my team-mates at the hospital, like giving the patients I meet my time, like going up to an elderly patient and helping him with his breakfast, because he's got his kaya-and-butter spread all over his intravenous drip and himself.
It's not that I've turned my back on the theatre stage. But tis a different season.
And though it was a tough choice to make, a wrestle between my mind and flesh, a tussle between both principle and reason, a struggle between two ends, I am learning, that for some decisions, there isn't necessarily always a right one-only the one God calls us to make, the one we ask Him to reveal to us, the one we open our hearts and ears to listen to. I hardly slept much that night- I was thinking, thinking and praying about things. It sounds silly, to think so hard about an apparently trivial matter- but I wanted to hear God's whisper. You will find me when you seek me with all your heart.
Something was stirring within me. Something, something, something I could not quite place my finger on stirred. Give me a sign, speak to me God- through a person, through things, through my peace in my heart.
The next day, with a heavy heart, I decide to speak to my pastor to share with her some of the concerns I had on my mind of late. From a distance, she embraces me with open arms and says, " Wai Jia! I want to introduce to you to someone! Here, this lady wants to speak to you- she's looking to publish someone who writes wholesome children's books."
One door closes. Because another one opens.
I don't know where I'll go from here. I have learnt not to rush into things on impulse, not to take to much into my own hands- for it is wiser to be prudent, and allow oneself to be swept away by God, than to run one step too many ahead of Him and be swept back, right where one started.
But all I know, is that I am starting to write and paint again. It is in my head. The paintings and writings are on my feet, in my lungs, on my palms, in my heart, in my head, on the train. I even see them when I lay my head to rest. They are in my head. What I will do with them, I do not yet know- I'll have to have a word with my secret Friend first.
Tis the season to enter into the inside room, inside the Train carriages of life.
Tis a different season. To go into the inside rooms, to be quieter, humbler, more grounded. Tis not that I've abandoned my passion for theatre. Tis not that I've turned my back on the stage, scripts and all its elegant devices. Tis not that I've become a workaholic, because do you still call what you find delight, enjoyment and excitement in, work, still?
I know my decision has surprised a number of people around me, but this feels right for this season, and it sits well in my soul.
It is the season to go into the inside room, where the lights are dimmer, where the sounds are quieter, and where God's voice is softer, and yet, clearer, too.
It is not that I've abandoned the theatre stage.
Maybe next year. When it's a different season.
It was that time of the year again where auditions for our faculty play was on. With much anticipation and excitement, I participated in the auditions. Just give it a shot, I thought.
I was offered the main role, and was given time to confirm my acceptance. A year ago, I knew I would have jumped at the chance. To be in theatre acting, conveying a message, dissolving into the life of a Stranger whose life has a Story to tell, a memory to unfold, and presenting it to an audience in the elegant simplicity of voice and movement, sound and light- must be one of the most exhilarating experiences I know, and enjoy. There is something exquisitely liberating about theatre, and the stage.
I think I surprised a number of my friends, when I made my decision.
I surprised myself, even. It was a tough choice to make, but it sits well and my soul resounds with peace.
I declined the offer. It would take a long time to distill all the reasons. And I hardly feel compelled to explain myself, even. For it sits well with me, and my soul resounds with peace.
For this is a different season. Winter and spring have gone, and summer is here. Summer is taking stock of Recovery. It is realising my primary call in medicine, and giving my priorities my all. Summer is ripening under the heat, and maximising my resources for fruit of eternal value.
It's not that I've turned my back on on the theatre stage. But tis a different season, that's all.
A season where I'm learning to be smaller, humbler, more focused, more human and less of a superwoman. A season where I'm learning to go into the inside rooms to tidy things up, rather than spending my time keeping the outside rooms emmaculate for the world to see. A season where I'm learning to find joy and value, not in big things flooded in the limelight and decorated with flowers and showered with confetti, but in the little things- like studying my list of medical conditions well, like enjoying the time I spend with my team-mates at the hospital, like giving the patients I meet my time, like going up to an elderly patient and helping him with his breakfast, because he's got his kaya-and-butter spread all over his intravenous drip and himself.
It's not that I've turned my back on the theatre stage. But tis a different season.
And though it was a tough choice to make, a wrestle between my mind and flesh, a tussle between both principle and reason, a struggle between two ends, I am learning, that for some decisions, there isn't necessarily always a right one-only the one God calls us to make, the one we ask Him to reveal to us, the one we open our hearts and ears to listen to. I hardly slept much that night- I was thinking, thinking and praying about things. It sounds silly, to think so hard about an apparently trivial matter- but I wanted to hear God's whisper. You will find me when you seek me with all your heart.
Something was stirring within me. Something, something, something I could not quite place my finger on stirred. Give me a sign, speak to me God- through a person, through things, through my peace in my heart.
The next day, with a heavy heart, I decide to speak to my pastor to share with her some of the concerns I had on my mind of late. From a distance, she embraces me with open arms and says, " Wai Jia! I want to introduce to you to someone! Here, this lady wants to speak to you- she's looking to publish someone who writes wholesome children's books."
One door closes. Because another one opens.
I don't know where I'll go from here. I have learnt not to rush into things on impulse, not to take to much into my own hands- for it is wiser to be prudent, and allow oneself to be swept away by God, than to run one step too many ahead of Him and be swept back, right where one started.
But all I know, is that I am starting to write and paint again. It is in my head. The paintings and writings are on my feet, in my lungs, on my palms, in my heart, in my head, on the train. I even see them when I lay my head to rest. They are in my head. What I will do with them, I do not yet know- I'll have to have a word with my secret Friend first.
Tis the season to enter into the inside room, inside the Train carriages of life.
Tis a different season. To go into the inside rooms, to be quieter, humbler, more grounded. Tis not that I've abandoned my passion for theatre. Tis not that I've turned my back on the stage, scripts and all its elegant devices. Tis not that I've become a workaholic, because do you still call what you find delight, enjoyment and excitement in, work, still?
I know my decision has surprised a number of people around me, but this feels right for this season, and it sits well in my soul.
It is the season to go into the inside room, where the lights are dimmer, where the sounds are quieter, and where God's voice is softer, and yet, clearer, too.
It is not that I've abandoned the theatre stage.
Maybe next year. When it's a different season.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
White Flag.
When countries go to war, the armies carry flags with them. Their flags represent their identities, their power and their pride. It means to attack, signifying a confident victory. It is only those who lose, who surrender, who carry white flags. No country has a white flag as their national symbol- flags always have symbolic colours, emblems, crests.
Just a few weeks ago, I found myself on my steady steed, clad in my battered armour and going to battle again. I held my trusty sword in one hand and held my flag up in the other, flying high. I was fighting valiantly, or so I thought, and acutely aware of the struggle within me.
God, you there for me? You fighting with me?
I'm learning that those with the strongest of faiths aren't those who don't struggle with doubts, but rather, overcome them and continue to believe even in spite of them. The journey of faith doesn't end at the beginning, and one often finds oneself thrust yet again into the wilderness, but thankful for the strengthening at the passing of every desert.
I was putting one sword thrust ahead of the other when a White dove whispered to me in the thick of the action, "Trust God. Woman, you have to let go and trust God."
To trust, one must first believe that He on the other end exists, and this can take a remarkable amount of faith, depending on how long you've been cruising on the wrong side of the road, or the number of times you find yourself -just- missing the bus.
It frightens me tremendously to think too far into the future. Miss I-can-kill-four-cockroaches-in-one-sitting-without-a-whimper is scared out of her wits as she contemplates the Uncertain unknown, and longs to read the pages written out for all the days of her life. It is frightening for most of us, I think, to wander too far into the unknown. "It drives me crazy, too," a friend confided. "Best recipe for a sleepless, teary night."
I've had a record number of people ask me in the past month whether or not I am in a relationship. And I always very, very politely tell them no, after which I try to change the topic as deftly as possible. There're no pitfalls to this innocent questioning and warm concern of course, except that at the wrong time, it does have the potential to trigger a domino effect of a frightfully formidable barrage of anxious thoughts about The Uncertain Future, as mission work and career path and marriage and family and ministry all collide in a nebulous mess.
The odds are against me, I'm not capable enough for this kind of work, what specialty will I major in, will I be a good missionary doctor, will I Recover before I graduate, which developing country will I be going to, will my life partner ever discover me, what if nobody ever loves me, will I ever be a good wife and mother and doctor, will I ever relapse, I'm afraid to go alone- what about my kids, what if my life calling changes... So you get the idea.
I was fighting so valiantly, or so I thought, until the point I was thrown off my horse and my flag felt out of my hand, when I heard the White dove whsiper to me, "Trust God. Because it is only when you trust that you can Surrender."
Surrender what, and whatever for? I thought.
I lay flat on the ground, my horse took flight, and I winced as I saw his hooves trample over the flag I held with such pride.
My flag representing my identity made me feel proud, victorious. It represented who I was, where I came from. On the ground, I was in shock, and then I realised... that the enemy I was fighting with all my life wasn't evil at all. In fact, they were angels on white chariots, and they weren't on the attack.
For all my anxiety, worry and resistance, I realised that I had been struggling and battling with God Himself.
We struggle, only because we do not trust. I hadn't realised, that for all my talk about God's love for us, I hadn't trusted Him with my Uncertain Future... my future dreams, career path, life partner, mission field, ministry. I had too many doubts about even making it that far.
And I forgot, that the day I found God, I also agreed to be a part of His family, His Good Camp, which means flying His flag, not mine.
So many of us claim to believe and trust in God, and yet unknowingly enter into battles carrying our own flags- our own wills and intentions. We are full of mistrust in a God we can neither see nor hear, to take interest or control over our future lives. These battles always take place in the wilderness. And until we realise it is we who are on the wrong territory, carrying the wrong flag, we continue to be plagued by overwhelming fretfulness.
One night I sat to think about what heaven looked like. They say a rainbow surrounds God's throne- which, I thought to myself, when mixed together, should scientifically give you... White light.
The best flag for me to carry as a citizen of heaven would then be... White, I thought.
A White flag, one of Surrender. How apt, I thought. As a citizen of God's kingdom, shouldn't that be the flag I bear, the colour of a mixed-up rainbow around his throne, one that signifies my surrender to Him?
It's not easy. And I find myself fighting these battles every day.
The same questions crop up, and they threaten to emblazon their own emblems on my White flag. I ask a question other people already know the answer to at the hospital and find myself doubting my abilities. I watch yet another friend get attached and find myself asking God the same questions. I listen to yet another missionary doctor tell me about his life and wonder if I will ever find a female equivalent of a role model, if I will ever make it that far.
Nonetheless, I am finding myself fighting a different sort of battle- not against the army of white chariots, but that of fighting to keep my flag White, pristine.
Only that I realise it isn't quite a fight at all. Because my flag, with all its crests, emblems, colours emblazoned upon it, just like how our worries, anxieties and doubts of life graffiti our minds, turns White, pure White, the moment I release the reins and tumble down my horse, let go of my sword, and simply... Surrender.
Just a few weeks ago, I found myself on my steady steed, clad in my battered armour and going to battle again. I held my trusty sword in one hand and held my flag up in the other, flying high. I was fighting valiantly, or so I thought, and acutely aware of the struggle within me.
God, you there for me? You fighting with me?
I'm learning that those with the strongest of faiths aren't those who don't struggle with doubts, but rather, overcome them and continue to believe even in spite of them. The journey of faith doesn't end at the beginning, and one often finds oneself thrust yet again into the wilderness, but thankful for the strengthening at the passing of every desert.
I was putting one sword thrust ahead of the other when a White dove whispered to me in the thick of the action, "Trust God. Woman, you have to let go and trust God."
To trust, one must first believe that He on the other end exists, and this can take a remarkable amount of faith, depending on how long you've been cruising on the wrong side of the road, or the number of times you find yourself -just- missing the bus.
It frightens me tremendously to think too far into the future. Miss I-can-kill-four-cockroaches-in-one-sitting-without-a-whimper is scared out of her wits as she contemplates the Uncertain unknown, and longs to read the pages written out for all the days of her life. It is frightening for most of us, I think, to wander too far into the unknown. "It drives me crazy, too," a friend confided. "Best recipe for a sleepless, teary night."
I've had a record number of people ask me in the past month whether or not I am in a relationship. And I always very, very politely tell them no, after which I try to change the topic as deftly as possible. There're no pitfalls to this innocent questioning and warm concern of course, except that at the wrong time, it does have the potential to trigger a domino effect of a frightfully formidable barrage of anxious thoughts about The Uncertain Future, as mission work and career path and marriage and family and ministry all collide in a nebulous mess.
The odds are against me, I'm not capable enough for this kind of work, what specialty will I major in, will I be a good missionary doctor, will I Recover before I graduate, which developing country will I be going to, will my life partner ever discover me, what if nobody ever loves me, will I ever be a good wife and mother and doctor, will I ever relapse, I'm afraid to go alone- what about my kids, what if my life calling changes... So you get the idea.
I was fighting so valiantly, or so I thought, until the point I was thrown off my horse and my flag felt out of my hand, when I heard the White dove whsiper to me, "Trust God. Because it is only when you trust that you can Surrender."
Surrender what, and whatever for? I thought.
I lay flat on the ground, my horse took flight, and I winced as I saw his hooves trample over the flag I held with such pride.
My flag representing my identity made me feel proud, victorious. It represented who I was, where I came from. On the ground, I was in shock, and then I realised... that the enemy I was fighting with all my life wasn't evil at all. In fact, they were angels on white chariots, and they weren't on the attack.
For all my anxiety, worry and resistance, I realised that I had been struggling and battling with God Himself.
We struggle, only because we do not trust. I hadn't realised, that for all my talk about God's love for us, I hadn't trusted Him with my Uncertain Future... my future dreams, career path, life partner, mission field, ministry. I had too many doubts about even making it that far.
And I forgot, that the day I found God, I also agreed to be a part of His family, His Good Camp, which means flying His flag, not mine.
So many of us claim to believe and trust in God, and yet unknowingly enter into battles carrying our own flags- our own wills and intentions. We are full of mistrust in a God we can neither see nor hear, to take interest or control over our future lives. These battles always take place in the wilderness. And until we realise it is we who are on the wrong territory, carrying the wrong flag, we continue to be plagued by overwhelming fretfulness.
One night I sat to think about what heaven looked like. They say a rainbow surrounds God's throne- which, I thought to myself, when mixed together, should scientifically give you... White light.
The best flag for me to carry as a citizen of heaven would then be... White, I thought.
A White flag, one of Surrender. How apt, I thought. As a citizen of God's kingdom, shouldn't that be the flag I bear, the colour of a mixed-up rainbow around his throne, one that signifies my surrender to Him?
It's not easy. And I find myself fighting these battles every day.
The same questions crop up, and they threaten to emblazon their own emblems on my White flag. I ask a question other people already know the answer to at the hospital and find myself doubting my abilities. I watch yet another friend get attached and find myself asking God the same questions. I listen to yet another missionary doctor tell me about his life and wonder if I will ever find a female equivalent of a role model, if I will ever make it that far.
Nonetheless, I am finding myself fighting a different sort of battle- not against the army of white chariots, but that of fighting to keep my flag White, pristine.
Only that I realise it isn't quite a fight at all. Because my flag, with all its crests, emblems, colours emblazoned upon it, just like how our worries, anxieties and doubts of life graffiti our minds, turns White, pure White, the moment I release the reins and tumble down my horse, let go of my sword, and simply... Surrender.
And at that moment, nothing else matters. Not yesterday, tomorrow, or the many tomorrows, packed with their unfulfilled dreams, insecurities and concerns. Nothing else matters, and my shoulders no longer feel the burden of my heavy armoured suit bearing down upon my aching shoulders.
My White flag helps me face Today with trust.
And I can live Today again, with ease and thanksgiving, with the breeze caressing my hair and the wind catching the lightness of my White dress.
Indeed, how our greatest Surrender becomes our sweetest Victory.
"Surrender your self to God, with His rest at the heart of your being... And once this is done, the remainder of your life will exhibit nothing but the evidence of this surrender, and you never need to be concerned again with what the future may hold for you. Whatever your circumstances may be, God is totally sufficient."
-Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest
"Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself."
-Matthew 6:34
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Food for Thought.
I remember it was the last day of one of my previous mission trips when a Filipino missionary, P, came to share his heart with us. We had learnt so much about our roles in helping communities, our significance and insignificance in the larger scheme of things, and he wanted to leave us with some food for thought before we returned to Singapore.
" Remember the good things which God has deposited in your hearts during this trip. When you return, remember: always be humble enough to hunger for God- don't be a spiritual anorexic. And when you are filled, share your joy and love with others to avoid gorging yourselves- don't be a spiritual bulimic, wasting all that you've been fed with."
What an apt metaphor, I thought. All the more so for me as I understood what he meant on a dimension few others would know.
Hunger- the common denominator of humanity. Food- the common commodity for fellowship. Fullness- the common goal of our feasting, throughout our lifespan.
All through our lives, we hunger and eat. We become full, and yet, hunger again later, after which we eat. More than we could care to admit, we spend a large portion of our lives at the table of feasting, dreaming, preparing and consuming food in an endless cycle, one day after the next.
But not everyone approaches the feasting Table in the same way.
At the table of feasting, he who is gluttonous ravages through the courses like a savage man and yet, is never filled- his appetite is insatiable; while she who is anorexic looks at the spread before her, famished, and yet finds herself unable to eat- she has lost her appetite.
The table is lavishly set before them, with turkey and ham, capers and salmon, foie gras, fudge cake and fig pudding... Both have come to the table of feasting, which should be filled with gourmet food, fine wine and merry music, mirth, dance and good conversation, but the meal ruins them both, at once, as while one becomes acutely aware of his shameful, insatiable lusts, the other discovers her indifference to life and her pitiful resignation.
Who are we, gluttons or gaunt. And does it matter anyway, since most of us eat or starve ourselves ill anyway.
One feasts, but still hungers, lusts for more. One pines, yearns, but never quite understands how to have her fill.
It made me think- There is a God-shaped hunger within all of us, gnawing us to the bone, everyday. Just like daily meals, life itself provides us with daily reminders multiple times a day of our aches and longings within. At the buffet table, we stuff ourselves with work, fill our days with appointments and emails and text messages, satisfy our yearnings with short-term relationships... or watch the world go by as we stand at the peripheries, dead because we no longer know how to live. Even some of us with religious pursuits, who see God as nothing more than a stern headmaster or harsh parent, come to the table with frightening voracity- not for Him, but for food that never quite fills.
Both extremes scare me- he who works, clubs, drinks, lusts, and hedonises with a vengeance, and she who reads, fasts, philosophises, thinks and ponders too much. Both attempt to search out the meaning of life. Both just want a taste of what it means to be fulfilled. Yet, both come to the table of feasting, and leave, hungry, still.
What is it that we want. What is it that we can and cannot have.
I remember how it was like when I had Anorexia. Had, not have. My body was always hungry, but I never confessed it. I willed it away, and hunger had no voice. I was so hungry I was filled with it, to the point of losing my appetite- for food and for life. I was full all the time, not with nourishment but pride, control and hurt.
Are there areas of our lives we need nourishment and love in, but we reject the goodwill of others because it takes humility to receive, humility to admit Hunger?
Until we acknowledge this hole within us and admit our helplessness, seek it out, we will forever be unfulfilled before the banquet table of Life. Many have argued how some people with no particular faith or belief in life live perfectly fulfilled existences- they argue it is proof to live without God, that He does not exist beyond our imagination. I once asked a friend why it seemed possible, why it was so ironic that my God-shaped hole, my discovery of my helplessness and weaknesses became grossly apparent only after I discovered God in my life.
"Ah," she said. " It is not God who is responsible for suddenly burning a hole within you. Rather, it is your new life in Him, your transformation, which has merely made you more aware of His importance in your life. You had the same, if not bigger holes in the past, but you merely filled them continuously with work, and friends and hobbies and volunteer activities, that's all. These things aren't wrong, but only God fills that deeper hole within us which nothing else can fill." The deeper hole of questions- about life's purposes, our existence, our eternal dwelling.
This weekend was the first time I had my favourite Indian food with daddy in Little India, since Recovery. Tongue-bashing spices and wholesome chappatis, paper-thin dosas and rich, gooey curries, deepfried cauliflower and tangy sauces, savoured amidst thumping Bhangra music in the background, with the smell of Nepal in the air. I had my fill, and it was good. A good meal consists of hunger being filled. Tis one of the greatest, simplest pleasures on earth- to have hunger filled.
That one moment of fulfillment, when the hunger crosses its threshold and breaks into satisfaction is a glorious moment to behold and savour. Yet, becoming hungry again and having this entire cycle of hunger, nourishment and fulfillment all over, again and again, is one of the reasons we go on living.
And so perhaps, while being full is God's Mercy upon us- that of witholding what we deserve- the eternal damnation of hunger and famine, our inevitable hunger which follows may then be His Grace- that of giving us what we do not deserve.
Living further from Ed has been immensely liberating. My hunger comes to me and I listen attentively to it, feeding my body what is needed, no less, and not too much more lest it become surfeit. Similarly, do we listen to what our hearts truly long for and feed it true nourishment? Do we suppress it like emotional and spiritual anorexics, hardening ourselves with god-bashing theories and cool indifference, or have we become so used to ignoring our hunger pangs that we binge on trash- entertainment, thrill-seeking fun, incessant work?
At the feasting table of Life, do we find ourselves nourished or starved, built up or destroyed?
I come now to a Banquet and find my tummy a little rumbly, but I am relieved, thankful. For while I have the privilege of knowing hunger, I never actually go hungry, for I am filled quickly. God dines with me and serves me what I long for. I haven't had a drink for a long time, so I ask for a cup of water to quench my thirst, but I have not actually gone thirsty. It is hunger without starvation, thirst without dehydration- so I may have His grace of knowing fulfillment, and yet never actually falling ill.
So I find myself hungry now for something different, something worthwhile, and I spend more and more time at the Table. My meal is done, but I enjoy His company and so linger on. Like my own daddy, he lets me order what I crave, foots the bill, and never ever rushes me. We enjoy our quality time together, and I am nourished indefinitely by His presence.
Tis one of the greatest, simplest luxuries of life. To have hunger, and to have it filled.
Over and over, this cycle is God's divine Grace unto us. But we must first be humble enough to admit Hunger before we may be filled.
Hunger, the right kind of hunger, filled by the right kind of nourishment brings continual fulfillment. I find myself at the Feasting Table, feasting on food that truly satisfies and I am happy.
Thank you God for my food on my plate today. It makes me so happy. And now, I finally understand why the prayer some people say before meals is called...
... Grace.
"I am the bread of life.
" Remember the good things which God has deposited in your hearts during this trip. When you return, remember: always be humble enough to hunger for God- don't be a spiritual anorexic. And when you are filled, share your joy and love with others to avoid gorging yourselves- don't be a spiritual bulimic, wasting all that you've been fed with."
What an apt metaphor, I thought. All the more so for me as I understood what he meant on a dimension few others would know.
Hunger- the common denominator of humanity. Food- the common commodity for fellowship. Fullness- the common goal of our feasting, throughout our lifespan.
All through our lives, we hunger and eat. We become full, and yet, hunger again later, after which we eat. More than we could care to admit, we spend a large portion of our lives at the table of feasting, dreaming, preparing and consuming food in an endless cycle, one day after the next.
But not everyone approaches the feasting Table in the same way.
At the table of feasting, he who is gluttonous ravages through the courses like a savage man and yet, is never filled- his appetite is insatiable; while she who is anorexic looks at the spread before her, famished, and yet finds herself unable to eat- she has lost her appetite.
The table is lavishly set before them, with turkey and ham, capers and salmon, foie gras, fudge cake and fig pudding... Both have come to the table of feasting, which should be filled with gourmet food, fine wine and merry music, mirth, dance and good conversation, but the meal ruins them both, at once, as while one becomes acutely aware of his shameful, insatiable lusts, the other discovers her indifference to life and her pitiful resignation.
Who are we, gluttons or gaunt. And does it matter anyway, since most of us eat or starve ourselves ill anyway.
One feasts, but still hungers, lusts for more. One pines, yearns, but never quite understands how to have her fill.
It made me think- There is a God-shaped hunger within all of us, gnawing us to the bone, everyday. Just like daily meals, life itself provides us with daily reminders multiple times a day of our aches and longings within. At the buffet table, we stuff ourselves with work, fill our days with appointments and emails and text messages, satisfy our yearnings with short-term relationships... or watch the world go by as we stand at the peripheries, dead because we no longer know how to live. Even some of us with religious pursuits, who see God as nothing more than a stern headmaster or harsh parent, come to the table with frightening voracity- not for Him, but for food that never quite fills.
Both extremes scare me- he who works, clubs, drinks, lusts, and hedonises with a vengeance, and she who reads, fasts, philosophises, thinks and ponders too much. Both attempt to search out the meaning of life. Both just want a taste of what it means to be fulfilled. Yet, both come to the table of feasting, and leave, hungry, still.
What is it that we want. What is it that we can and cannot have.
I remember how it was like when I had Anorexia. Had, not have. My body was always hungry, but I never confessed it. I willed it away, and hunger had no voice. I was so hungry I was filled with it, to the point of losing my appetite- for food and for life. I was full all the time, not with nourishment but pride, control and hurt.
Are there areas of our lives we need nourishment and love in, but we reject the goodwill of others because it takes humility to receive, humility to admit Hunger?
Until we acknowledge this hole within us and admit our helplessness, seek it out, we will forever be unfulfilled before the banquet table of Life. Many have argued how some people with no particular faith or belief in life live perfectly fulfilled existences- they argue it is proof to live without God, that He does not exist beyond our imagination. I once asked a friend why it seemed possible, why it was so ironic that my God-shaped hole, my discovery of my helplessness and weaknesses became grossly apparent only after I discovered God in my life.
"Ah," she said. " It is not God who is responsible for suddenly burning a hole within you. Rather, it is your new life in Him, your transformation, which has merely made you more aware of His importance in your life. You had the same, if not bigger holes in the past, but you merely filled them continuously with work, and friends and hobbies and volunteer activities, that's all. These things aren't wrong, but only God fills that deeper hole within us which nothing else can fill." The deeper hole of questions- about life's purposes, our existence, our eternal dwelling.
This weekend was the first time I had my favourite Indian food with daddy in Little India, since Recovery. Tongue-bashing spices and wholesome chappatis, paper-thin dosas and rich, gooey curries, deepfried cauliflower and tangy sauces, savoured amidst thumping Bhangra music in the background, with the smell of Nepal in the air. I had my fill, and it was good. A good meal consists of hunger being filled. Tis one of the greatest, simplest pleasures on earth- to have hunger filled.
That one moment of fulfillment, when the hunger crosses its threshold and breaks into satisfaction is a glorious moment to behold and savour. Yet, becoming hungry again and having this entire cycle of hunger, nourishment and fulfillment all over, again and again, is one of the reasons we go on living.
And so perhaps, while being full is God's Mercy upon us- that of witholding what we deserve- the eternal damnation of hunger and famine, our inevitable hunger which follows may then be His Grace- that of giving us what we do not deserve.
Living further from Ed has been immensely liberating. My hunger comes to me and I listen attentively to it, feeding my body what is needed, no less, and not too much more lest it become surfeit. Similarly, do we listen to what our hearts truly long for and feed it true nourishment? Do we suppress it like emotional and spiritual anorexics, hardening ourselves with god-bashing theories and cool indifference, or have we become so used to ignoring our hunger pangs that we binge on trash- entertainment, thrill-seeking fun, incessant work?
At the feasting table of Life, do we find ourselves nourished or starved, built up or destroyed?
I come now to a Banquet and find my tummy a little rumbly, but I am relieved, thankful. For while I have the privilege of knowing hunger, I never actually go hungry, for I am filled quickly. God dines with me and serves me what I long for. I haven't had a drink for a long time, so I ask for a cup of water to quench my thirst, but I have not actually gone thirsty. It is hunger without starvation, thirst without dehydration- so I may have His grace of knowing fulfillment, and yet never actually falling ill.
So I find myself hungry now for something different, something worthwhile, and I spend more and more time at the Table. My meal is done, but I enjoy His company and so linger on. Like my own daddy, he lets me order what I crave, foots the bill, and never ever rushes me. We enjoy our quality time together, and I am nourished indefinitely by His presence.
Tis one of the greatest, simplest luxuries of life. To have hunger, and to have it filled.
Over and over, this cycle is God's divine Grace unto us. But we must first be humble enough to admit Hunger before we may be filled.
Hunger, the right kind of hunger, filled by the right kind of nourishment brings continual fulfillment. I find myself at the Feasting Table, feasting on food that truly satisfies and I am happy.
Thank you God for my food on my plate today. It makes me so happy. And now, I finally understand why the prayer some people say before meals is called...
... Grace.
"I am the bread of life.
He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty."
-John 6:48
Sunday, September 14, 2008
September 16 Movie
With just one more day to go, I can't wait for what's going to happen back here in Malaysia!
Its like waiting for the release of a new movie.
If you thought "The happening" was shocking to see...
Wait till you see what's going to happen tomorrow.
on.....
SEPTEMBER 16TH.
Its like waiting for the release of a new movie.
If you thought "The happening" was shocking to see...
Wait till you see what's going to happen tomorrow.
on.....
SEPTEMBER 16TH.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Superheroes. (edited)
Every child looks up to some sort of figure. In fact, the child in us looks up to some sort of figure even till we grow old. An elder brother, father, teacher, politician, rockstar... or a superhero, even.
Firemen and policemen become the perfect idols for little boys. Little girls on the other hand, with their innate, eternal longings to be loved and protected, often find themselves seeking protecting figures all the more. No matter how big we grow, there'll always be that vulnerable part of us that remains as that little doll yearning for protection and love, longing to be rescued from the dark forces of this world.
In times of need, we constantly look to those higher, bigger, wiser than us for advice and protection. Even Grown-ups do so, and sometimes to their own detriment when they place their security and expectation in ageing parents, abusive or irresponsible partners, or untrustworthy friends, even. But even the most loyal of friends and family can't be there for us all the time, can't shield us from all storms, can't rescue us from every evil attack.
After all, they're human. Not Superheroes.
But the longing lingers. And we live our lives misplacing our security and pinning false hopes onto individuals, hoping, waiting, longing to be saved, valiantly rescued.
We wait for Superman, but he never comes.
I was at Sunday school the other day, and my first reaction to what I'd just heard was that of shock, followed by a brief repulsion and feeling disturbed, but soon after, amusement, being tickled, and only much later, awe and wonder at the profound wisdom of what had been said.
At one segment of class, the children were given some freedom to share whatever they wanted with everyone. One by one, brave souls trotted to the front to share with everyone the admirable dreams and good goals that had conceived in their little hearts of late. Their child-like innocence, goofy grins and yet bold announcments of purity and nobility could melt a heart of stone- it made you want to give each tiny tot a big, bear-crushing squeeze, and envelope each one with oodles of love. Then, a little boy with a huge mop of curly hair ran up to the mike sheepishly and said, shyly but surely, " God says I can be Superman, and I can be real good!"
There was a split second of stunned silence.
Out of the ordinary, quite. No?
The statement disturbed me considerably, and I won't deny that I frowned. What a dangerous thing to think for a child, I thought. What do mean an invisible being told you that you could be a Superhero. Did He tell you that you could leap off buildings and fly in the skies, too? Oh dear, I thought. Oh dear. I must have looked like I had been scandalised, as if someone had just publicly cursed me on the podium during the opening ceremony of the Olympics.
But it was the Grown-up in me making the judgement, and I forgot, that children often express themselves hyperbolically, and his idea of goodness, strength, integrity and helpfulness merely translated into an action figure he found he could relate most closely to. So the audible silence broke into laughter, amusement and relief after that seemingly dangerous-sounding statement was clarified and understood on his level.
Dangerous-sounding, and yet, that statement was, in a way, profoundly true. Wise, even.
It lingered in my spirit and for days, I could not shake it off.
God says I can be Superman, and I can be real good.
I had hit another rock in Recovery. The demands of medical school and various stressors bearing down all at once had finally bore into me and the discouragement ate into me like a worm.
I hadn't seen Ed for a long time, but Ele appeared sometimes, acting as Ed's snare. She was sometimes there in a red-and-white swimsuit with her yellow float when I went swimming, and unconsciously, I'd wish for my superhero to come swoop down and save me from drowning. As therapy sessions got fewer and farther between, I found myself having to rely more and more on what had been built within me previously during the journey. But things got hard, and one day, overwhelmed by it all, I felt hard-pressed on every side, crushed, almost. It was tempting to run away, to run back to what felt familiar.
Miss B* wrote to me, " This is actually what recovery is really like. It's not always easy. There will be times when you get stressed and it's not triggered by Ed but it'll make you want to run back to Ed."
"We're here to support you but not to rescue you."
How simple, honest and true. And profound, too. People are here to support us, love us, but not to rescue us.
Even when it seems so tempting for us to run back to grab a hold of that yellow float which we used to run back to for help, or wait for a Superhero to come save us, there comes a time where we need to brave the waters, gulp a few mouthfuls of chlorinated water, and learn to swim on our own.
There comes a time where we need to finally realise that as we lean on God's power, we do have what it takes to rescue ourselves.
God says I can be Superman.
And all at once, I understood the message behind the statement which dwelled in my soul and stirred within me. I think in some way, God says we all can be Supermen, not in a I-don't-need-anyone-else or I-am-invincible kind of way, not in a I-can-do-everything or I-shall-save-the-world-on-my-own kind of manner either.
But with Him in us, we can be Supermen, in the sense of finding security, protection and courage from within, without outwardly pining and desperately looking externally for some man in blue tights and red underwear to save our day. We're here to support you, but not to rescue you. How many of us are often disappointed by others who just aren't able to solve our problems, because in truth, it's really not their responsibility to. There is a place in Recovery for seeking help and making connections with others, and yet, another milestone is also in reaching a place where we can find enough strength within ourselves to solve the little crises which crop up and allow them to toughen us up, without succumbing to despair or waiting for a Superhero to swoop down and catch us before we suffocate under the waters.
How ironic, I thought, that when I first put Ed onto paper in a drawing, it was Miss B who noticed before myself- "Why, did you realise you've drawn Ed as if he were a Superhero?" It was true, and I hadn't even realised it. Whenever things got dark, Ed became who I ran to, who I chose to be rescued by because he was most willing to. It was a short-cut, the easy way out.
Firemen and policemen become the perfect idols for little boys. Little girls on the other hand, with their innate, eternal longings to be loved and protected, often find themselves seeking protecting figures all the more. No matter how big we grow, there'll always be that vulnerable part of us that remains as that little doll yearning for protection and love, longing to be rescued from the dark forces of this world.
In times of need, we constantly look to those higher, bigger, wiser than us for advice and protection. Even Grown-ups do so, and sometimes to their own detriment when they place their security and expectation in ageing parents, abusive or irresponsible partners, or untrustworthy friends, even. But even the most loyal of friends and family can't be there for us all the time, can't shield us from all storms, can't rescue us from every evil attack.
After all, they're human. Not Superheroes.
But the longing lingers. And we live our lives misplacing our security and pinning false hopes onto individuals, hoping, waiting, longing to be saved, valiantly rescued.
We wait for Superman, but he never comes.
I was at Sunday school the other day, and my first reaction to what I'd just heard was that of shock, followed by a brief repulsion and feeling disturbed, but soon after, amusement, being tickled, and only much later, awe and wonder at the profound wisdom of what had been said.
At one segment of class, the children were given some freedom to share whatever they wanted with everyone. One by one, brave souls trotted to the front to share with everyone the admirable dreams and good goals that had conceived in their little hearts of late. Their child-like innocence, goofy grins and yet bold announcments of purity and nobility could melt a heart of stone- it made you want to give each tiny tot a big, bear-crushing squeeze, and envelope each one with oodles of love. Then, a little boy with a huge mop of curly hair ran up to the mike sheepishly and said, shyly but surely, " God says I can be Superman, and I can be real good!"
There was a split second of stunned silence.
Out of the ordinary, quite. No?
The statement disturbed me considerably, and I won't deny that I frowned. What a dangerous thing to think for a child, I thought. What do mean an invisible being told you that you could be a Superhero. Did He tell you that you could leap off buildings and fly in the skies, too? Oh dear, I thought. Oh dear. I must have looked like I had been scandalised, as if someone had just publicly cursed me on the podium during the opening ceremony of the Olympics.
But it was the Grown-up in me making the judgement, and I forgot, that children often express themselves hyperbolically, and his idea of goodness, strength, integrity and helpfulness merely translated into an action figure he found he could relate most closely to. So the audible silence broke into laughter, amusement and relief after that seemingly dangerous-sounding statement was clarified and understood on his level.
Dangerous-sounding, and yet, that statement was, in a way, profoundly true. Wise, even.
It lingered in my spirit and for days, I could not shake it off.
God says I can be Superman, and I can be real good.
I had hit another rock in Recovery. The demands of medical school and various stressors bearing down all at once had finally bore into me and the discouragement ate into me like a worm.
I hadn't seen Ed for a long time, but Ele appeared sometimes, acting as Ed's snare. She was sometimes there in a red-and-white swimsuit with her yellow float when I went swimming, and unconsciously, I'd wish for my superhero to come swoop down and save me from drowning. As therapy sessions got fewer and farther between, I found myself having to rely more and more on what had been built within me previously during the journey. But things got hard, and one day, overwhelmed by it all, I felt hard-pressed on every side, crushed, almost. It was tempting to run away, to run back to what felt familiar.
Miss B* wrote to me, " This is actually what recovery is really like. It's not always easy. There will be times when you get stressed and it's not triggered by Ed but it'll make you want to run back to Ed."
"We're here to support you but not to rescue you."
How simple, honest and true. And profound, too. People are here to support us, love us, but not to rescue us.
Even when it seems so tempting for us to run back to grab a hold of that yellow float which we used to run back to for help, or wait for a Superhero to come save us, there comes a time where we need to brave the waters, gulp a few mouthfuls of chlorinated water, and learn to swim on our own.
There comes a time where we need to finally realise that as we lean on God's power, we do have what it takes to rescue ourselves.
God says I can be Superman.
And all at once, I understood the message behind the statement which dwelled in my soul and stirred within me. I think in some way, God says we all can be Supermen, not in a I-don't-need-anyone-else or I-am-invincible kind of way, not in a I-can-do-everything or I-shall-save-the-world-on-my-own kind of manner either.
But with Him in us, we can be Supermen, in the sense of finding security, protection and courage from within, without outwardly pining and desperately looking externally for some man in blue tights and red underwear to save our day. We're here to support you, but not to rescue you. How many of us are often disappointed by others who just aren't able to solve our problems, because in truth, it's really not their responsibility to. There is a place in Recovery for seeking help and making connections with others, and yet, another milestone is also in reaching a place where we can find enough strength within ourselves to solve the little crises which crop up and allow them to toughen us up, without succumbing to despair or waiting for a Superhero to swoop down and catch us before we suffocate under the waters.
How ironic, I thought, that when I first put Ed onto paper in a drawing, it was Miss B who noticed before myself- "Why, did you realise you've drawn Ed as if he were a Superhero?" It was true, and I hadn't even realised it. Whenever things got dark, Ed became who I ran to, who I chose to be rescued by because he was most willing to. It was a short-cut, the easy way out.
Little Anna, Ele, behind a mirror, and Ed
But things are different when we trust in God, in His infinite goodness and grace for us. With His strength in us, all we need is Him. And with His power in us, perhaps it isn't such a far-fetched idea to think that with God in us, we become like Superheroes, too. Not that we become infallible, invincible or unstoppable. Not that we suddenly grow Phelps-like muscles overnight and swim through the currents like a torpedo. But simply, becoming more secure, stronger, and steadfast within ourselves; more able to save ourselves by the divine wisdom deposited in our spirits; more able to rely on our emotional resources, built up from studying God's word, when the currents flow against us.
Are you tired of waiting for your superhero who never shows up when the storm rages, the floodgates open and the waters start to rise?
And so now, I can smile when I think back upon that curly-haired boy who raced to the mike to say "God says I can Superman and I can be real good."
Because maybe it's not so dangerous, not so scandalising, and not so far-fetched after all to think perhaps then, that really, it makes perfectly sound sense to say that-
-because of God's grace, power and love with us...
... we truly can be Superheroes in Him, and we can be real good, too.
" When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you... Since you are precious and honoured in my sight, and because I love you..."
- Isaiah 43:2a, 4a
" ... growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to His glorious might..."
- Colossians 1:10b-11a
All posts under the link Therapy chronicle her journey to recovery from Anorexia and depression with professional help from the team at the Singapore General Hospital. By sharing her journey, she hopes it will help shed light on these highly misunderstood illnesses, and encourage those of you considering professional help to take the brave step forward to confront your challenges. No one recovers by themselves- take the first step foward.
*Miss B is the principal psychologist at the Life Centre department of SGH.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Pots galore.
Wai Jia is preparing for her next test which requires her to look at pictures of pots (preserved sections of human organs), identify them and describe their microscopic properties.
Since all Pots look the same, that is, either tan-brown, yellow-brown or rusty-brown, and all look like century-old steak cut into different shapes- be they be from the lung, heart, liver or uterus, she has had to spend much time this week unravelling the mysteries of differentiating one steak specimen from the other.
It's been a busy week, with ups and downs, and she promises to share her thoughts about Superheroes, updates about Kitesong and her lessons learnt on discovering Ele in her swimming pool on this space soon, after this intellectually-stimulating exercise this weekend is over.
Since all Pots look the same, that is, either tan-brown, yellow-brown or rusty-brown, and all look like century-old steak cut into different shapes- be they be from the lung, heart, liver or uterus, she has had to spend much time this week unravelling the mysteries of differentiating one steak specimen from the other.
It's been a busy week, with ups and downs, and she promises to share her thoughts about Superheroes, updates about Kitesong and her lessons learnt on discovering Ele in her swimming pool on this space soon, after this intellectually-stimulating exercise this weekend is over.
Malaysian Politicians Fail to Serve
I am going to write this before I go for dinner before I continue with what I did today. I feel that after reading the newspaper just now, I must express how sad I am on how this politicians today should even be respected or elected at the first place.
There are so many problems with our public transportation in Malaysia.
There are so many problems with our hospitals with long waiting time to get health treatment.
There are so many poor Malaysians including myself not earning enough to have proper meals.
There are so many problems with corruption going on throughout the country.
There are so many problems with so many dropouts in schools.
There are so many Malaysians still having no access to education.
There are so many Malaysians still unable to get clean water to their homes.
There are so many Malaysians who is unable to cope with the increase in petrol prices.
There ARE JUST SO MANY PROBLEMS!!
and then all we have today is high powered politicians "ELECTED TO SERVE" quarreling among one another over "cry me a river" issues.
I think its about time someone stood up and talk "what they can do for their Kampongs and City's that they serve" instead of wasting our time hearing racial talks and history.
Sigh now i'm going to have dinner thinking that maybe if some politicians were to ever read this. I'll read something different in the newspaper tomorrow.
There are so many problems with our public transportation in Malaysia.
There are so many problems with our hospitals with long waiting time to get health treatment.
There are so many poor Malaysians including myself not earning enough to have proper meals.
There are so many problems with corruption going on throughout the country.
There are so many problems with so many dropouts in schools.
There are so many Malaysians still having no access to education.
There are so many Malaysians still unable to get clean water to their homes.
There are so many Malaysians who is unable to cope with the increase in petrol prices.
There ARE JUST SO MANY PROBLEMS!!
and then all we have today is high powered politicians "ELECTED TO SERVE" quarreling among one another over "cry me a river" issues.
I think its about time someone stood up and talk "what they can do for their Kampongs and City's that they serve" instead of wasting our time hearing racial talks and history.
Sigh now i'm going to have dinner thinking that maybe if some politicians were to ever read this. I'll read something different in the newspaper tomorrow.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
I just watched Hancock on DVD
Here's a very short movie review since i'm rather free at the moment.
Last night I just watched Hancock.
That's right guys! Its been that loooonnngg.
I actually listened to my friends (who is forever up-to-date with movies) and waited this long to watch it on DVD since its release in the cinema awhile back, which luckily I did listen.
As for the movie.....(I know its a little too late for any review but i'm going to tell you what i feel anyway without elaborating too much on details, actually no details at all)
I know I have the DVD.
I know the whole whale thing looks cool..
and I know Charlize Theron is hot.
but overall..hmmm...it will get lost somewhere in my DVD stack.
Last night I just watched Hancock.
That's right guys! Its been that loooonnngg.
I actually listened to my friends (who is forever up-to-date with movies) and waited this long to watch it on DVD since its release in the cinema awhile back, which luckily I did listen.
As for the movie.....(I know its a little too late for any review but i'm going to tell you what i feel anyway without elaborating too much on details, actually no details at all)
I know I have the DVD.
I know the whole whale thing looks cool..
and I know Charlize Theron is hot.
but overall..hmmm...it will get lost somewhere in my DVD stack.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Penang experiences southwest monsoon in September
Ok, I'm writing this, so I will remember what not to do when every September comes. Like umm, don't make plans that involves outdoor activities.
If there was any one time of the year that we Penangites should be given free water to use, it would be September.
This is the month that we experience the most rainfall which is already nearing the end of the southwest monsoon season. (for those of you who don't know)
To cut the story short, i'm actually writing this post because I can't help but show you guys of the pictures I took with my faithful Canon IXUS 960 IS last Saturday before I DELETE them.
Penang was raining so much until the skies turned blue at night.
Its just good to be at the right place at the right time to witness such phenomenon while I was on my way up to Tanjung Bunga.
sigh...I KNOW MY ART IS BEAUTIFUL....
If there was any one time of the year that we Penangites should be given free water to use, it would be September.
This is the month that we experience the most rainfall which is already nearing the end of the southwest monsoon season. (for those of you who don't know)
To cut the story short, i'm actually writing this post because I can't help but show you guys of the pictures I took with my faithful Canon IXUS 960 IS last Saturday before I DELETE them.
Penang was raining so much until the skies turned blue at night.
Its just good to be at the right place at the right time to witness such phenomenon while I was on my way up to Tanjung Bunga.
sigh...I KNOW MY ART IS BEAUTIFUL....
Saturday, September 6, 2008
City from a hill.
“Come, and tell me what happened?"
“…”
“... Not a good week at hospital?”
“I... no... It’s nothing much, really. It’s just really silly… just tiny, stupid things.”
“It’s the little things which always get us down, no?”
We had breakfast together in her White house- just simple toast and spread. Just simple bread, the kind you just buy from the supermarket in a loaf, and simple spread, the kind from a household brand. But it was a lovely breakfast, prepared by her in her large, lovely White house, atop a hill, and it was nice to have someone invite me over, pray with me while being enveloped in a hug, and send me home. It’s amazing to have church-aunties who love you- they're like supernatural guardian angels who read your minds and predict your emotions, buy you meals and pretty things, invite you to their homes, pray for you, and spend time to text message you to ask how your week was, even though you don't deserve any of it.
This beautiful woman’s house is on a hill, overlooking our Singaporean city of skyscrapers. When you reach the top, the tall buildings underneath the canopy of azure sky, rising just above the host of low terrace houses below, look like a mirage, foggy in the distance. On a clear morning, the view is breathtaking.
Simple breakfast. Sharing. Talk, and flipping pages from an old bible. Prayer, tears and a big squeeze.
"Come, I'll send you home."
A grateful smile.
We climb into her large car and drive away.
"I love this view of the city from up here. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?"
“Yes, it really is, Aunty Ay. It’s amazing.”
“ I like driving down this road- it reminds me that God’s plan for us for our future is just like that beautiful city you see there. It’s right there, built already.”
As we drove downhill, however, the spectacular and surreal canvas of the cityscape began to sink, out of our view. The terrace houses at the road rose to meet us, and once again, we were back on the ground, surrounded by roads, trees, temples, boring houses… The advantage of an elevated position no longer provided us with the amazing view, and the real world surrounded us again.
“ See dear, as I'm driving down, we lose sight of the city. All these houses around us now are like the distractions all around us, the world we’re forced to be in and yet not a part of. Hurtful things people say, nastiness and comparisons, discouragement, stress from exams, the flurry of hospital life… But you see, Wai Jia, the city is still there. Nothing’s changed. God’s plan for our future is still there. It’s right there.”
“Mm.”
“You’ll be a great doctor, Wai Jia. I’m so sure of it.”
“... ... Thank you... thank you very much, for everything you did for me today... And thank you for the present.”
I opened the sash and saw Estee Lauder. Lots of girly, pretty things inside a soft cloth-bag which I’d never have the audacity to buy for myself- lipgloss and lipstick and scents and such. I liked them very much. But more than them, I liked the simple breakfast, hug and ride home, downhill, and watching the city sink away from my view, and knowing that no matter how low I was feeling, how inadequate, incompetent, uncapable, discouraged, wretched and icky and overwhelmed I was from the week, the city was still… there.
No matter how far our car drove downhill, and though all we could see before us were low houses and pavements, nothing changed the fact that the city, full of its lights and pulse and excitement, grand architecture and touristy sights- Fullerton hotel, banks, offices, the Singapore river, Clarke Quay, the Singapore flyer, Marina Bay... was still there.
When our view of things change and it seems like things around us are sinking away or like we’re walking down a valley, perhaps it's good to remember that like God, most of the important things in life can't be seen immediately, too. Life's full of ups and downs, encouragements and discouragements, mountaintop experiences and deep-valley moments, but what matters is that no matter where we are, we hold on to the hope that God has a plan, all written out already for us. We may not be able to see it, not be able to imagine it, even, but just like the beautiful cityscape which we saw from atop the hill,
… the city- God’s city for us... is still… there.
“Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them.”
- Hebrews 11:16
Thursday, September 4, 2008
I think too much
I've not experienced Relationship Drama in my life for a very long time.
So looong that I couldn't possibly remember how it tasted like. (I could only remember the taste from my KFC I just had for dinner just now and thats it!!)
As pathetic as it may sound, all I can do is imagine the kind of drama I would have to go through if I kept on going after her and not wanting to wait for one year.
I can't help but think, the drama would turn out like this. Watch the video..
As high as her expectations can be, I know that after looking at this video, she will lower her expectation a little bit.
Sometimes happiness is with the guy that you least expect.(Gosh, Why do I just love this last sentence?hmm...)
So maybe ronda ronda and hear music through my new MP3 player?
So looong that I couldn't possibly remember how it tasted like. (I could only remember the taste from my KFC I just had for dinner just now and thats it!!)
As pathetic as it may sound, all I can do is imagine the kind of drama I would have to go through if I kept on going after her and not wanting to wait for one year.
I can't help but think, the drama would turn out like this. Watch the video..
As high as her expectations can be, I know that after looking at this video, she will lower her expectation a little bit.
Sometimes happiness is with the guy that you least expect.(Gosh, Why do I just love this last sentence?hmm...)
So maybe ronda ronda and hear music through my new MP3 player?
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
She has High Expectations
I'm only writing this because I don't want to forget it.
What i'm going to share with you all is a girl that I met two days ago (of course i did not spend the whole day seeing reservoirs!!)for a friendly drinking session of which I got to know her better.
Somehow, my meet up with her soon turned out to be an interview.
She loves to chill at Bagan.
She loves to drink Wine
She has taken up a few Salsa Dancing classes before. (actually pro la don't want to say only)
She doesn't like clubbing but does go like once a month.
She knows how to give you medicine when you're ill
She can speak Mandarine
She loves to cook.
She desires to open her own business one day.
She doesn't talk bad about her ex-boyfriends.
Now this is definitely true, I didn't set the place or time for our meetup. She did although I was actually asking her out. Ok lucky it was only in Gurney Plaza. Not the anything and whatever kind of girl.
umm wat else...
She's binded to a contract of 4 years working in Penang which means that you will not need to worry if there will ever be a long distance relationships anytime in-between.
She is determined to marry at the age of 26 to 27 there.
She would love to have 2 to 3 kids.
She is looking for older men as they are more...
let me stress this out loud..
MORE MATURED??
They should have a stable income and job by then.Should la.
She prefers taller men.
She doesn't like Ah Beng or Tu Kau. (Sorry ahh...if you are thinkin or dunno you are that type arr)
She keeps up-to-date with movies in the cinema. Don't be too late in asking her out for movies or else she would have watched it already.
She goes for movies on Wednesday because its cheaper to watch on Wednesday. You know, RM6 per person. (She can save money aeh!)
She loves to sing, spending some of her time in Red Box.
Let me put it this way, If you can't sing, act, or dance. You're on the wrong queue buddy!
She likes a guy who is Ambitious with great goals in life to achieve.
She loves to be showered with Love.
She doesn't really desire gifts as a way of showing your love for her.
She is simple yet sophisticated.
She doesn't umm do any sports except maybe badminton (I mean how difficult can it get to hit a shuttle around)
Her guy has to be fairly good looking.
Her guys has to be nice.
She thinks that Ferengghi Garden is the most romantic place she's ever been in Penang. She adds that you could bring in your own red wine and dine and you wouldn't be charged a corkage fee.
She prefers Starbucks to Coffee Bean.
Now I could carry on the whole day with what may seem as an interview, until I asked her whether I could take her out for another date like lunch, dinner or something after calculating my savings, Fd's , Shares, and minor assets like laptops and handphone in my head.
I was ambitious at the point of time that I was definitely the guy to suit her needs. Guess what she said.
She told me that she was not looking for at least one year.
Oh ok. I guess that says EVERYTHING ISN' T IT!! Dammit!!
What i'm going to share with you all is a girl that I met two days ago (of course i did not spend the whole day seeing reservoirs!!)for a friendly drinking session of which I got to know her better.
Somehow, my meet up with her soon turned out to be an interview.
She loves to chill at Bagan.
She loves to drink Wine
She has taken up a few Salsa Dancing classes before. (actually pro la don't want to say only)
She doesn't like clubbing but does go like once a month.
She knows how to give you medicine when you're ill
She can speak Mandarine
She loves to cook.
She desires to open her own business one day.
She doesn't talk bad about her ex-boyfriends.
Now this is definitely true, I didn't set the place or time for our meetup. She did although I was actually asking her out. Ok lucky it was only in Gurney Plaza. Not the anything and whatever kind of girl.
umm wat else...
She's binded to a contract of 4 years working in Penang which means that you will not need to worry if there will ever be a long distance relationships anytime in-between.
She is determined to marry at the age of 26 to 27 there.
She would love to have 2 to 3 kids.
She is looking for older men as they are more...
let me stress this out loud..
MORE MATURED??
They should have a stable income and job by then.Should la.
She prefers taller men.
She doesn't like Ah Beng or Tu Kau. (Sorry ahh...if you are thinkin or dunno you are that type arr)
She keeps up-to-date with movies in the cinema. Don't be too late in asking her out for movies or else she would have watched it already.
She goes for movies on Wednesday because its cheaper to watch on Wednesday. You know, RM6 per person. (She can save money aeh!)
She loves to sing, spending some of her time in Red Box.
Let me put it this way, If you can't sing, act, or dance. You're on the wrong queue buddy!
She likes a guy who is Ambitious with great goals in life to achieve.
She loves to be showered with Love.
She doesn't really desire gifts as a way of showing your love for her.
She is simple yet sophisticated.
She doesn't umm do any sports except maybe badminton (I mean how difficult can it get to hit a shuttle around)
Her guy has to be fairly good looking.
Her guys has to be nice.
She thinks that Ferengghi Garden is the most romantic place she's ever been in Penang. She adds that you could bring in your own red wine and dine and you wouldn't be charged a corkage fee.
She prefers Starbucks to Coffee Bean.
Now I could carry on the whole day with what may seem as an interview, until I asked her whether I could take her out for another date like lunch, dinner or something after calculating my savings, Fd's , Shares, and minor assets like laptops and handphone in my head.
I was ambitious at the point of time that I was definitely the guy to suit her needs. Guess what she said.
She told me that she was not looking for at least one year.
Oh ok. I guess that says EVERYTHING ISN' T IT!! Dammit!!
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The Best Policy.
It's true when they tell you Recovery is a road of twists and turns.
Re-cov-er-ie: even the four syllables and the alternating hard-sounding consonants and soft end of the word suggest the convoluting journey till the end.
It's true when they tell you that it's not a straight road- but an uphill one full of tiny stones along the way. It's true when they tell you that if you're not careful, you could slide down, back to the beginning, and it could seem like you never started out in the first place. It's true when they tell you that you never know what to expect, that you can't plan your own timeline, that every step is a step of faith.
Recovery is not a full-stop. It is an everyday commitment. Every day is a fresh start, and one awakes with a fresh commitment to be an overcomer.
Ed has been far away for a long time. The Professional People helped to put him and Ele behind bars. Over the weekend, however, I saw an article in the papers about an animal breaking loose from the zoo, and I saw Ele, right there on the front page. I went swimming last week, and she came along into the pool right with me.
Re-cov-er-ie. Ups and downs, round and round, and it can be discouraging.
In life, why do we fall in the same place twice?
Once, someone shared with me that she wanted to give up because it was too hard, because it's been going on far too long falling down in the same places over and over, because she couldn't see the end. But I said that each time we fall, things are different. Every time we fall, we fall differently, with the experience from the previous one to help make the climbing up easier, more manageable- and we become stronger, yes.
Being honest is the first step, and the bravest one. The discouragement of a little fall can be enough to floor you, especially when it happens the second, third, eleventh time. But much is lost when we deny the truth and hide behind the shadows of self-soothing.
I interviewed another young lady today who found out three years ago that she had breast cancer. She was in her twenties then. She never smoked, never drank. She had no family history of cancers, no predisposing factors. She was young, pretty even. She was about to marry her college sweetheart.
Angry, traumatised and fiercely in denial, she wanted nothing done. You got the test results wrong! she had told the doctors. Three years later, now, her cancer has spread to her lungs, spine and legs.
The truth then, was too hard to bear. It was easier not to face the truth, easier not to be honest with oneself.
Life can be harsh, even to the best and kindest of people. But it takes a true believer, to grit his teeth and believe that God allowed it and is in control, that He is fair and just, and that He understands, will see us through- again, yes again, all the way to the end.
In Recovery from anything- loss, disppointment, grief, or even in the process of self-improvement, Honesty really is the best policy. It tells you where you came from, where you stumbled, and where you think you're going. A year back, before Therapy, I told myself and the world I was well. Yeah, I got better by myself reading books. Denial made life easier to cope with, it's easier to say I... forgot... forgot everything like a bad dream and I'm okay now. And we forget, that bad dreams can be recurrent, and unless we solve our problems, our nightmares haunt us forever.
So it's okay, I think, to share that I saw Ele again in a red-and-white striped swimsuit in the swimming pool last week, with a yellow float. Pride makes it hard to acknowledge, but I can accept that because Honesty... really is the best policy. It may not be the most pleasant thing to do- but it gives us the truth, helps us and others to help ourselves, keeps us on track.
Because on the day I am completely well, I want to say that I walked through the road of Recovery well and bravely, want to know that I stayed real through it all, want to remember all the times and places where I fell so that I could share it with others, help them help themselves too.
I want to be honest so that I can look ahead to a better destination. I want to be honest so that I can look back and remember these precious moments, and use them to help others, too. I want to be honest so that you see that Recovery isn't as straightforward as most think it is, that you're not alone and that being Honest in fact brings us closer to Being Well.
And at the end of the day, I want to be able to hold my head high and say that I remembered every battle fought and won. And that through it all, God never forsook me. Anger, denial, grief and guilt, He was with me through the deepest of valleys.
Honesty- it is the harder but braver choice. It is the best policy.
And on the day of victory, I want my eyes to be full of the light of hope and triumph, of gratitude and joy, and not the faraway bewilderment of loss, confusion and amnesia. I don't want to say... Saya lupah.
I will say Saya ingat. I remembered every bit of it.
And Victory, with the remembrance of the full journey reaching it, because of one's honesty to face every little obstacle, will be all the more sweeter then.
Re-cov-er-ie: even the four syllables and the alternating hard-sounding consonants and soft end of the word suggest the convoluting journey till the end.
It's true when they tell you that it's not a straight road- but an uphill one full of tiny stones along the way. It's true when they tell you that if you're not careful, you could slide down, back to the beginning, and it could seem like you never started out in the first place. It's true when they tell you that you never know what to expect, that you can't plan your own timeline, that every step is a step of faith.
We see that in hospitalised patients all the time. Every patient wants a concrete date of discharge, wants to know the day they'll get well, or die. But nobody knows, and not even the best doctor can be sure.
Re-cov-er-ie. The convoluting juurney till the end. And the only way we'll ever make it through is by being honest with one's journey, one's progress. Too many patients want to discharge themselves- they tell you they feel perfectly fine even though test results shout otherwise. So many of us are trapped in denial, and dishonesty could perhaps be the greatest hindrance to Recovering well.
I met an old lady yesterday. I was told by my professor from the breast oncology department to go speak with her to learn more about her condition. Breast Cancer- one of the deadliest cancers which affect women today.
I tried to be most gentle with her. Mdm Z was an old, frail lady, and she lay on her bed listening to an old radio playing the latest Malay hits. I greeted her in malay and her eyes lit up immediately. Being able to converse in malay is something I thank God every day for.
"Apa kabar, macik? (How are you, Auntie?)"
Her lifeless, sallow face broke out into a smile. " Baik, doktor. Terima Kasih. (I'm well, doctor. Thank you."
"Saya tidak doktor. Lagi bachar! (I'm no doctor, I'm just a medical student!)." We both laugh.
"Manah yang sakit? Kenapa mari hospital? (Where do you hurt, why did you come to the hospital?)"
It was then that a darkness swept over her. It was as if a fog came over her eyes, and her countenance fell. There was no anger, no sorrow even, just a faraway look of bewilderment. A poignant moment, thick with amnesia, hung in the air. Her eyes travelled to the ceiling, searched the walls, and then finally rested on my face.
"Saya... lupah... (I... forgot.)"
It was impossible. She had had a masectomy a while ago, and her wound was sorely infected. She must have been in pain. But she said she was fine, perfectly fine.
Denial- our last resort when our greatest efforts to keep ourselves sane and hopeful fail.
Why are they keeping me here, she asked me in malay. Her eyes looked into the distance. To all my other questions, she merely stared squarely at me, smiled weakly and said, "Saya lupah. (I forgot)."
As I leaned over her to ask about her son, the only one topic which seemed to interest her, she looked into my face intently, held my chin gently and said in english... "You... so sweet your smile."
And I lost her again.
Possibly the hardest thing to remember, is that Honesty is the key to Recovery. It's most important, because being honest with yourself ensures you stay on track, and hardest, because it can be so difficult to share, so difficult to accept, especially when things have been either too tragic to bear or going swimmingly well. In tragedy, the pain is excruciating and alienating, to hard to face. In making progress, everyone's congratulating you, you're waving your own coloured flag, and there's a banner flown in the sky with your name on it, above a cheering crowd with bright pom-poms shouting your name... and you can't bear to tell those who love you that you've hit another rock in the road, and that you need some time, some space to find your way around it. It's not that you've given up, it's not even that you've messed up big time, but it's just the way things are with Recovery.
Re-cov-er-ie. Ups and downs, round and round, but falling doesn't mean failing. Not everyone understands that. And so, being honest can be difficult. It's easier to say, I don't know where I'm at. I've given up. Or simply, I forgot.
Saya lupah.
Recovery is not a full-stop. It is an everyday commitment. Every day is a fresh start, and one awakes with a fresh commitment to be an overcomer.
Ed has been far away for a long time. The Professional People helped to put him and Ele behind bars. Over the weekend, however, I saw an article in the papers about an animal breaking loose from the zoo, and I saw Ele, right there on the front page. I went swimming last week, and she came along into the pool right with me.
Re-cov-er-ie. Ups and downs, round and round, and it can be discouraging.
In life, why do we fall in the same place twice?
Once, someone shared with me that she wanted to give up because it was too hard, because it's been going on far too long falling down in the same places over and over, because she couldn't see the end. But I said that each time we fall, things are different. Every time we fall, we fall differently, with the experience from the previous one to help make the climbing up easier, more manageable- and we become stronger, yes.
Being honest is the first step, and the bravest one. The discouragement of a little fall can be enough to floor you, especially when it happens the second, third, eleventh time. But much is lost when we deny the truth and hide behind the shadows of self-soothing.
I interviewed another young lady today who found out three years ago that she had breast cancer. She was in her twenties then. She never smoked, never drank. She had no family history of cancers, no predisposing factors. She was young, pretty even. She was about to marry her college sweetheart.
Angry, traumatised and fiercely in denial, she wanted nothing done. You got the test results wrong! she had told the doctors. Three years later, now, her cancer has spread to her lungs, spine and legs.
The truth then, was too hard to bear. It was easier not to face the truth, easier not to be honest with oneself.
Life can be harsh, even to the best and kindest of people. But it takes a true believer, to grit his teeth and believe that God allowed it and is in control, that He is fair and just, and that He understands, will see us through- again, yes again, all the way to the end.
In Recovery from anything- loss, disppointment, grief, or even in the process of self-improvement, Honesty really is the best policy. It tells you where you came from, where you stumbled, and where you think you're going. A year back, before Therapy, I told myself and the world I was well. Yeah, I got better by myself reading books. Denial made life easier to cope with, it's easier to say I... forgot... forgot everything like a bad dream and I'm okay now. And we forget, that bad dreams can be recurrent, and unless we solve our problems, our nightmares haunt us forever.
So it's okay, I think, to share that I saw Ele again in a red-and-white striped swimsuit in the swimming pool last week, with a yellow float. Pride makes it hard to acknowledge, but I can accept that because Honesty... really is the best policy. It may not be the most pleasant thing to do- but it gives us the truth, helps us and others to help ourselves, keeps us on track.
Because on the day I am completely well, I want to say that I walked through the road of Recovery well and bravely, want to know that I stayed real through it all, want to remember all the times and places where I fell so that I could share it with others, help them help themselves too.
I want to be honest so that I can look ahead to a better destination. I want to be honest so that I can look back and remember these precious moments, and use them to help others, too. I want to be honest so that you see that Recovery isn't as straightforward as most think it is, that you're not alone and that being Honest in fact brings us closer to Being Well.
And at the end of the day, I want to be able to hold my head high and say that I remembered every battle fought and won. And that through it all, God never forsook me. Anger, denial, grief and guilt, He was with me through the deepest of valleys.
Honesty- it is the harder but braver choice. It is the best policy.
And on the day of victory, I want my eyes to be full of the light of hope and triumph, of gratitude and joy, and not the faraway bewilderment of loss, confusion and amnesia. I don't want to say... Saya lupah.
I will say Saya ingat. I remembered every bit of it.
And Victory, with the remembrance of the full journey reaching it, because of one's honesty to face every little obstacle, will be all the more sweeter then.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Guillemard Reservoir
Yesterday, I decided to visit Guillemard Reservoir.
That's right. A beautiful holiday spent visiting historical sites instead of watching Death Race in the cinema.
Oh wait...here is a small introduction to what is Guillemard Reservoir all about for those of you who don't know.
"A WATER Department within the George Town City Council was established, headed by a Municipal Water Engineer, Mr.J. D. Fettes. In the 1920's, a notable achievement by the department was the development of water resources on the north side of the Island, where a 7km pipelines was built inside a tunnel. A 600mm diameter pipelines brought water from the streams of the Batu Ferringi Valley to a service reservoir in Tanjung Bungah, known as Guillemard Reservoir."
Ok I admit I really did not know any of that before but anyhow I decided with such nice weather and having not been there for at least 8 years since my scouting days, I decided to pay that place a visit again.
How can I not go to such a place when there are pictures like this of Guillemard on the internet.
With some of the buildings that look like they were built by aliens ready to fly off to another planet.
Looking at all that, how can this place be not swarmed with tourists!!
With that, on a nice and cloudy day in the early morning, I decided to drive up the road that is known as the "Vale of Tempe" (I really have no idea how to spell it, correct me if i'm wrong) behind Tanjung Bungah and discover the Guillemard Reservoir.
You might think that such an historical site and scenic view would leave me without a single parking space.
I was wrong.
I was the only one parked there.
How can this be when its a public holiday!!
Judging from the lack of response from not even a single tourist in sight besides umm me, I decided to go ahead since i'm already there.
First of all, there is no sign to show you its Guillemard Reservoir.
I think someone stole it and sold the sign for recycling purposes. (How caring we Malaysian's are?)
Then you walk up a nicely tarred road.
Looking down, you could see all the cars using the Vale of Tempe.
At a short distance away, you walk up a few stairs.
And there you are.
THE PLACE WAS LOCKED!! Not even a a single soul was around to greet me.
Not even a hot girl dressed like an SIA stewardess would welcome you to the Reservoir.
Wait maybe that's alittle too much. (You know lack of pay)
Not even a Guard that was there to welcome us and open the gates for us and tell us a small history about the place.
NOTHING!!There was nobody!!
How can this place be so unguarded when there are like a few hundred thousand people depending on the water over there!!
What is the possibily that some crazy maniac decides to poison a quarter of the population in Penang??
Sadly...All I could do was walk around.
Even then, the walk was very short. All you could see was this that you have no idea what the building was all about.
And when you know that you start taking pictures of Ants,
You know you just got to go back home.
Spending less than 10 minutes, although its free to go to this tourist site,
Even these old men felt sad about what has happened to the place since the old days.
And what more, having to risk their lives again crossing the road back to the car.
I can't help but notice why I even took Garbage thrown at the car park area.
All I know is, this has definitely got to be the quickest historical site visit i have ever been.
Time for you to call them up and tell them all the "UNUSUAL" things going on there.
That's right. A beautiful holiday spent visiting historical sites instead of watching Death Race in the cinema.
Oh wait...here is a small introduction to what is Guillemard Reservoir all about for those of you who don't know.
"A WATER Department within the George Town City Council was established, headed by a Municipal Water Engineer, Mr.J. D. Fettes. In the 1920's, a notable achievement by the department was the development of water resources on the north side of the Island, where a 7km pipelines was built inside a tunnel. A 600mm diameter pipelines brought water from the streams of the Batu Ferringi Valley to a service reservoir in Tanjung Bungah, known as Guillemard Reservoir."
Ok I admit I really did not know any of that before but anyhow I decided with such nice weather and having not been there for at least 8 years since my scouting days, I decided to pay that place a visit again.
How can I not go to such a place when there are pictures like this of Guillemard on the internet.
With some of the buildings that look like they were built by aliens ready to fly off to another planet.
Looking at all that, how can this place be not swarmed with tourists!!
With that, on a nice and cloudy day in the early morning, I decided to drive up the road that is known as the "Vale of Tempe" (I really have no idea how to spell it, correct me if i'm wrong) behind Tanjung Bungah and discover the Guillemard Reservoir.
You might think that such an historical site and scenic view would leave me without a single parking space.
I was wrong.
I was the only one parked there.
How can this be when its a public holiday!!
Judging from the lack of response from not even a single tourist in sight besides umm me, I decided to go ahead since i'm already there.
First of all, there is no sign to show you its Guillemard Reservoir.
I think someone stole it and sold the sign for recycling purposes. (How caring we Malaysian's are?)
Then you walk up a nicely tarred road.
Looking down, you could see all the cars using the Vale of Tempe.
At a short distance away, you walk up a few stairs.
And there you are.
THE PLACE WAS LOCKED!! Not even a a single soul was around to greet me.
Not even a hot girl dressed like an SIA stewardess would welcome you to the Reservoir.
Wait maybe that's alittle too much. (You know lack of pay)
Not even a Guard that was there to welcome us and open the gates for us and tell us a small history about the place.
NOTHING!!There was nobody!!
How can this place be so unguarded when there are like a few hundred thousand people depending on the water over there!!
What is the possibily that some crazy maniac decides to poison a quarter of the population in Penang??
Sadly...All I could do was walk around.
Even then, the walk was very short. All you could see was this that you have no idea what the building was all about.
And when you know that you start taking pictures of Ants,
You know you just got to go back home.
Spending less than 10 minutes, although its free to go to this tourist site,
Even these old men felt sad about what has happened to the place since the old days.
And what more, having to risk their lives again crossing the road back to the car.
I can't help but notice why I even took Garbage thrown at the car park area.
All I know is, this has definitely got to be the quickest historical site visit i have ever been.
Time for you to call them up and tell them all the "UNUSUAL" things going on there.
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