Big, White Bowl.

Life- is a big, white porcelain bowl, I tell you, and it's full of God in it.



I was just thinking about things the other day, about why we hunger continually. If life is a big, white porcelain bowl and full of God in it, why is it we continually feel empty inside, and continually fill our lives with things, activities and clutter?

I had just cleared out a good two-thirds of my wardrobe, feeling much lighter from the carthartic process and wondering why it is that the more we have, the more we desire, and the emptier we feel inside. But the more I gave away, the less I owned, and the more fulfilled I was.


We fill our big, white porcelain bowls, meant to be full of God, with things- work, fancy clothes, movies, nice vehicles, things to do. And the more things we put in, the less space God has. Our things take up space, we strain our eyes to see God through the clutter and mess, and we find it harder to see God for who He really could be, who He really is. Forced out of our bowls by Things, He cannot take His rightful place.

On the contrary, there are some whose bowls are full of Things, and yet full of God at the same time. How can this be? If taking things out of our bowls means giving more room for God in our lives, how can the person with fame, money and Things have more of God than he who lives an ascetic life with not a single possession in his bowl?

Why surely he can.


For God is not limited by things, only by the desires behind them.



You see, things by themselves don't really take up space in our bowls. Things such as work, leisure and possessions by themselves don't have the power to push God out. But the desires behind the things- greed, vanity, insecurity, lust- these take up space and eat away not God, but the space which God meant to take up. Some people have lots of Things too, but because their possessions are no longer tied to their emotional states, because their Things are connected to God instead, God is still as big as God can be in their big, white bowls.

Life is a big, white porcelain bowl. It is, I tell you, and it's full of God in it.

And to stop starving, to start being truly fulfilled and full of God, one must make the conscious effort to remove the desires behind those things. It is not suffcient to throw Things out, for if the desires behind them stay, the emptiness in the bowl remains- in the shape of a piece of clothing, a car, a big house, a computer game. It's easy to clear Things out, throw, remove and make space. But if we do not allow God to remove the desirous intents behind them, we only make a vacuum which has even more sinister power to suck more Things in to fill our empty bowls.

God can truly be God only when we make room for Him by asking him to fill the empty spaces in our big, white porcelain bowls. God can fill our bowls in the same way, with or without things, as long as our things are rooted in God and not in our own insecurities- though very often, God can be Big and fill our bowls more easily when we ask Him to remove the distracting intents behind the Things from our bowls and very often, this means us taking the first step to removing trash out of our bowls.

We're so obsessed with filling our bowls, not knowing that it's filled with God already. And the more we try to fill it, the less of God we end up with.

But how can God be contained... in a bowl?

And here comes the mindblowing bit- He can't. Our bowls are gifts from Him. All they hold is just a little glimpse into the infinite measure of God. The day our bowls get smashed and we return to heaven, we shall see God exploding from our bowls to fill the entire universe with all His fullness, bigness and glory.

Our lives are big, white porcelain bowls, given to us for a little while, housing a little bit of our very Big God, holding just a foretaste of heaven.

Big bowls.

Gin's 2009 Chinese New Year

After reading through what Tiam had to say about his Chinese New Year, I believe I might as well share the summary of my CNY as well since its more or less coming to an end soon or wait..pretty much ended already.

Here we go...

1. I just learned my Fat Dog is scared of fireworks. Tried to hide under the drain but was too fat.


We never ever let dogs enter the house, but we felt pityful for her, we let her in. She was panting so much that we thought at the rate she was going, she was going to get a heart-attack. She stood underneath the table the entire time.


Somehow we just felt that this dog is definitely trained in the past for bomb raids. She did not eat for two days. She definitely has a very interesting personality.

2. Ang Pow's definitely affected by the global economic downturn. Definitely much smaller compared to previous years...



3. Ate Steamboat pretty much nearly every day until last night. I believe this is the first year i've been having so much Steamboat.



4. I told my friends that gambling is against my religious belief at his house. That was after already spending one night at his place playing cards. Religious belief people!!Do you get it??Do you get it??

5. I was so bored the entire day waiting for relatives to drop by, I decided to do something spectacularly interesting like planting a Pineapple tree. Let me say that again,

I PLANTED A PINEAPPLE TREE!!

No guys, its not for prosperity and all that mystical stuff. Just did not know what else to do with the pineapple head. I know guys, I should get an XBOX 360 or something.


That's it guys. Started work on the third day of Chinese New Year.

Consecration.

It was as if I had a fit. A fit, because I felt so passionate about it I could no longer contain it. A fit, but not really, because it had been stirring inside me over days. Over days, since that special night we went awalking in the back alleys of our city's red-light district.

Something deep and powerful was brewing within, something I could not place my finger on. Polarities stirred wildly within me- hatred and love, filthiness and purity, desecration and santification. I hated what I saw that night- yet, nothing could erase it. A profound hatred for the sights grew within me: the sins of lust, greed, vanity and pride were epitomised along those alleys and yet, it was matched by an equally deep compassion for those souls, so lost. Something of the filthiness echoed familiarly within me like a memory in the shape of Ed, yet a burning desire for purity pleaded from the wells of my heart. Just the remembrance of the sight brought out my own desecration hiding within.

Consecration. Someone had mentioned this to me just a week ago, asking me, God has given you a special calling-so what part of your life do you feel Him asking you to consecrate?

Consecrate: the solemn dedication to a special purpose or service, literally means "setting apart".

Why do I want to be set apart? What does that mean? I didn't know how to answer that question. So I prayed.


I hated what I saw that night, and the hatred grew deeper, deeper still over the days. It bore too much truth to my own filthiness- the prostitutes reminded me that I too, had prostituted myself to the whims of this world, seeking man for approval instead of God, searching for security, identity and praise in the wrong places. Haven't we all?

Most, if not all girls go through a phase where they have absolutely no idea how to love themselves. Walking through those alleys opened my eyes to make me realise, that my micro-skirt phase only began when Ed entered my life, when he convinced me that one's self-worth was based on Man's approval, however base it was. And after the contemptibility of what I saw, what it reminded me of, I told myself I'd never, ever want to be looked at that way by any man ever again in my life. I want to learn to love myself, find my approval in God and God alone.

It was as if I had a fit. A fit, because I felt so passionate after that day I could no longer contain it. A fit, but not really, because I was calm, thoughtful and methodical about it.

Over the past few days, I have cleared out my wardrobe over and over. Over and over. Just when I thinkI'm finally done, I return to the four-walled monster that housed so much of Ed's choices, so much that now remind me of what I saw in those back alleys, so much that screamed of insecurity and attention... and found myself clearing out more trash, over and over, over and over.

This must be the most vicious clear-out I've done, and some part of me thinks I could've been more vicious, still. About half to two-thirds of my clothes are gone now- all that short, semi-luscent trash (many of them gifts and hand-me-downs from top-brand shops I wouldn't have the audacity to step into, some with their pricetags still on) packed into bags; lots of good, wholesome but extra clothing I felt led to give away to the thrift shop at HighPoint and the orphans in Nepal; a towel and a windbreaker for Grandpa Zhou ("Oh it's so so chilly here at night," he told me by the dirty train steps, clad in a paper-thin plastic poncho which should've been incinerated a century ago. "I know I smell a little bad," he says, "It's been so cold and I'm so old that I can't bathe every day, you know!" )

Why do I have two windbreakers. So many towels.

All that Trash sitting in my four-walled monster. Trash, I've decided to call it. Why do I have so many shirts. Even what is good, if in excess and not shared, becomes Trash. Like the way hoarded love, hidden treasures or stashed-away money does.

God is with the poor, the needy and with those who choose to Consecrate themselves. Consecrate, not necessarily in a religious sense, but simply from the heart, laying something down to dedicate yourself to a service or purpose.

Consecration or being set apart, to me, is a cleansing of the heart, coming closer to the heart of God. That's all it is.

So half-or-twothirds-of-a-wardrobe-given-away later, I feel much more at peace, cleaner, lighter and happier too.

I want to go back to the start and find that simple girl again. That girl, who hated shopping and took forever to decide to pierce her ears because she feared it would be a waste of money, who was happy owning only her sister's hand-me-downs and who never cared too much about how she looked, what she owned. That simple girl, happy in her White world, happy to live simply, naturally, wholesomely. That simple girl whom God gave Simple inspiration to write and paint because her heart was simple, too.

Perhaps, it is when we are finally able to live simply, naturally, unpretentiously, without excess nor fanfare, ordinarily and plainly, that we can truly, Live- simply and wholesomely, and truly be set apart.

"But know that God has set apart the godly for Himself him who is godly;

The Lord will hear when I call to Him."

-Psalm 4:3

A Good Place.

* Warning: This post may be graphic and offensive.

With the rancid smell of smoke in the air, gaudy streetlights, throngs of foreign workers, angry traffic and the blaring noise in the background, it just didn't feel like Singapore.

There were a entire line of them standing by the roadside, each one so different and yet, so similar.


They were different: Some were tall, slender and willowy, others shorter, plumper. They were the same: Each of them had their own bewitching charm.

They were the same: Their porcelain, painted faces were perfect, framed within straightened or permed locks. They were different: Some painted their beestung lips as their highlight, while others chose to use mascara and fake eyelashes which went on forever to their advantage.

They were different: Some were laughing, some were teasing, while others stood aside, frowning and guarded. They were the same: All of them stood at precisely-measured intervals along the road, not unlike lamp-posts or bazaar-stalls, and were all waiting, waiting, waiting for the same thing.

They were different: Some wore micro-skirts; some wore lingerie; some wore translucent clothes which teased your imagination. They were the same: All the clothing was skin-tight, minimal, -just- enough. They all wore dangerously high heels. They all bared maximal cleavage, just stopping short of crime.


This was pornography in its full glory come to life. They were sex sirens, and they knew it.


The back alleys of our red-light district.

This Chinese New Year, as I joined HighPoint again for their community outreach programme to bless the marginalised of our society, I saw a side of society, humanity, and God which shall forever change my life.

HighPoint is a community social enterprise aimed to serve the fringe community such as migrants, sex workers and drug offenders through rehabilitation, medical and education services. Healthserve, the medical clinic which serves the needy, is part of this wider umbrella, through which I came to know about HighPoint.

It was nothing much really. We were just walking the back alleys of Geylang, giving out mandarin oranges (as part of tradition for the Lunar New Year) and blessing the people in the area, inviting migrants for the free reunion dinner held at the social enterprise hub and showing care for the sex workers. HighPoint, like a city on a hill, aims to shine its light and be a beacon of hope for the many lonely souls living in the trodden places of our society by spreading the enterprise of kindness, even in little ways.


Migrants. Sex workers. Drug addicts. People whom we hate to associate with, because of the way they spit, live and go to waste. Or so we think.

The poor. Prostitutes. The broken-hearted. People whom God came especially to love.


I don't know why I felt such a great burden for these precious people. For a long time I had considered being part of this ministry, and this year, I determined to make the effort to be involved. A profound grief swept over me as I gave out the customary mandarin oranges to the gorgeous girls lingering at the basement of the fluorescent hotel signs. I looked away as a man made fun of a woman's football-sized breasts, scantily covered. It was as if, though we were worlds apart, I understood some of that emptiness inside.

In a line such as this, where lusty men grin and chide mockingly as they pass you, how hard it must be to believe one is worthy of love. Competition is intense, and your value is priced on the size of your tits. Did they believe they were beautiful, that God loved them too? Did clinching a deal mean victory over your comptetitors, a boost of your self-esteem, or loss- if the client turned out to be a brute?

For a large part of my life, I think I too, like many women, never knew what it meant to be beautiful. When Anorexia arrived and Ed entered my life, my body too, was abused, used and pricetagged base on what Ed thought of me. I remember telling Miss B (the ED therapist) I could not sleep because I felt him touching me all over. It was a psychological nightmare, and the tired mornings brought little respite- one felt compelled to be purged from the uncleansable filthiness. The more Ed penetrated me, the emptier, more cheapened I felt. But the sick pride from the attention he gave me fed me the way drugs feed an addict, and the victories were pyrrhic, at most- like the victory from a clinched deal, perhaps.

They were so beautiful. Precious. But they never knew, still don't know.

Do you know how loved you are today?


As we walked out of the last lane of the streets of darkness, my heart heavy, I gave out my last set of oranges at a traffic junction to a lovely girl with straightened hair, clad in a mini-skirt and leather boots.

"Where're you from?" I asked. She was the only one I engaged in conversation, for the rest, though by the roads too, were on the job.

"Sichuan."

" Ah, I just went there last year!"

Touched by our gesture of love, she was clearly grateful and delighted with the unexpected gift and words of warmth. She was so young, perhaps younger than myself. She was so precious. But after a few minutes, she left me as she scurried off into the darkness of the back alleys. I looked back at her scurrying shadow, and as if surprised by our love and hungering for more, she turned back to smile and wave at me, not once, not twice, but three times.

I waved and smiled back. How her smile still lingers.

My heart sunk lower still as I trudged back home, away from the likes of sleazy karaoke lounges and Happy Hotel. It was as if, though we were worlds apart, some part of me understood that language of shame, humiliation and abuse. And I nearly wept as the extent of God's love suddenly wrapped around me, hugged me, and held me close. I had no right to judge them- these people with families, lives, souls. And an unthinkable love for them came over me, as I too, felt the extent of God's love over the wretchedness of man, the sinfulness of humanity. I wanted to cry. As I felt God's longing for the lost, I too, felt His heartcry for my soul during all that time I abused myself. My body is redeemed and saved by God from Ed's abuse. When I sleep and awaken, I feel His body next to me, and His wing of protection covers me in safety.

I can sleep in peace now.

Oh, how His love never stops calling after us.

Can we love the sinner, the way God loves them. Can we humble ourselves to see that it is by God's grace that we are saved from such circumstance? That put under the same situations, forced by the same hard circumstance, perhaps we would have turned out no differently?

My life will forever be changed by that one night. In one night, I saw the curse and destruction of man's lust, the trap of poverty and the debauchery of mankind, screaming out for salvation and repentence. I determined to open my eyes to see them for who they were inside. I also determined never to let myself be found by a man who did not respect and love me through and through for who I was inside.

There is so little and yet, so much to do. Loving unjudgementally, respecting the downtrodden, serving the marginalised- the way God did for us. There is so much to do, and perhaps, that would be a good place to start.

" Jesus said to them,

'I tell you the truth, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you.

For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness,

and you did not believe him,

but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did.

And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him.' "

-Matthew 21:31

The car that lasts forever

Whenever recession comes, I always believe its the best time to spend your money and not the other way around of keeping your money under the bed.



When businesses are affected, they tend to either boost sales by lowering the price of their products or services,

or they can just become an ass and ask the government for loan when they're in trouble.



But back in the small town of Kedah called Sungai Petani, where labor is relatively cheap, food is cheap, and girls that look like this,


the only thing not so good is businesses which are badly affected.

Looking at the way how things are going, small businesses who really has a tougher time of obtaining any loan (come on man, survival of the foetus ok?), they have no choice but to even lower their already low price of their products and services.

Its like you can buy an LV bag here for a quarter the original price because people here can't really afford it and well not many swanky people.



Well try halfing the already quarter price and you'd get the picture.

Now, with the Chinese New Year in one days time, we couldn't help but clean things up a little and make sure we look sharp to face the invetible recession threat coming our way.

So guess what guys, with RM500, we decided to give our old faithful ride a new coat of paint. You heard that right, RM500. The kind of money you can't even buy an ipod.


The result...as you can see..simply wonderful..




Can you feel it!!CAN YOU FEEL IT!!

THERE'S A REFLECTION!!THERE'S A REFLECTION!!HOORAY!!HOORAY!!



It may not be surprising to many of you i mean, what the hell, its just a coat of paint right.

I tell you...if you had a freaking rough surface car like mine for 10 years, you'd understand. You would understand when you go out on a date and could see tears flowing down from her face.


The kind of tears of deep sadness of how her future would be threatened if she would continue to have a deep relationship with this guy. Trust me guys, you wouldn't understand.



But all that will change with my new coat of paint when a friend of mine that I met up last night told me my car was a Ferrari. As much as a joke it may be (wait a big joke!), it somehow really made my day.

I feel the money spent was well worth its value. I feel the year of the OX will be a good one for me and I hope it does for you too. Its official guys, the car will lasts another 10 more years.

HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR EVERYONE!GONG XI FA CAI!

Faint. (edited)

Perspective is an interesting thing. All this while I had been peering through a window into a dusty room searching for an answer, sometimes torn, being pulled from different sides to peer in from various angles which made my heart go faint, when all of a sudden, I was taken to the opposite side and saw what I had been missing.

I see clearly now. What beautiful spring flowers in lush, green fields. And my heart grows stronger.

Questions as we come of age: What does it mean to be a godly woman. What is a gentle and quiet spirit. What does Growing Up mean. God, why do you ask me to stay single till I graduate? How come I feel You continually confirming it. Why is there this longing within. And most importantly... What does being Secure in You mean?


In exactly a month's time, I turn Twenty-two... and I want to know.


One moment, I think I've found the answers to my questions. Then God surprises me with a disatisfaction, a colic in the belly, a turmoil in the heart, and reveals even deeper truths to me, which tell even more about my heart's intent than I ever knew existed. Why the relentless restlessness.

All this while I was looking into the enclosed, darkened room, searching for answers, getting distracted by a thousand suggestions ("Wai Jia, you should 'go out' more, you know, nothing wrong with dating..." ), feeling like they don't understand- when You took me by the arm and gently led me to Your side, so I could see view of the wide, open fields I had been missing all this while.

What beautiful spring flowers in lush, green fields. Spring flowers which would surely die had I tried to plant them in that dusty, darkened room.

With uninvited suggestions from all around, I neither like feeling torn nor confused. And just when I had been searching, seeking, knocking, an angel was sent to affirm me, affirm what I felt You had been telling me all this while:


That Singleness is a gift. That there is such a deep purpose in this time You have asked me to set aside, so I may get to know You with such profound intimacy. That this period is set aside for me to find perfect joy, wholeness and peace in You first, that it may be reflected in that special relationship when it finally comes. That it is a blessing, such a great blessing, to have my mind undistracted by relationships meant for a different season of my life.

That we first know You as a child, then servant, and friend but ultimately there come a time where we must know You as our lover. That it is only when we fill our insecurities and longings with You alone that we shall ever be fulfilled. That You love and adore us so incredibly that I shall never falsely place my worth in any other. That it is this focused clarity giving me such Oneness with You which will end in perfect consummation with You and any other.

That the deeper I go in You, the deeper I can go into any relationship- because marriage is the closest reflection of Your love for us. That You are so intensely jealous of me now that Your heart burns for me to know You more, that this is the season You desire my focused and most intimate conversations with You.

In the past, when I knew You only as a faraway father or king, I never knew what Your hug felt like. Those years when I was ill and battling insomnia too, Ed would sleep in with me and grope, making nights painfully anxious, dreadful. But now I've entered a season where I fall into sleep with Your eyes still watching me, as You lie next to me, waiting. And when I awake, your eyes never left from the point mine left Yours.


" God has given you certain special callings. How else can you fulfill them fully without knowing Him fully?"


There is some beautiful poetry in the bible called the Song of Songs, which taken literally, writes of the deeply sensual relationship between a woman and man, from courtship to consummation. Allegorically, however, it is a representation of the relationship between God and us as husband and wife.


Such is the passion which God burns with for us, and hopes for us to burn with for Him too. Unless we, as women, learn to bring our questions to Him, we will forever bring our insecurities to Adam, who, too, is fallen. And Eve shall never be content, shall forever be wounded, insecure, demanding for more. That hole will never go away.


Oh how my heart faints in weakness, but faints even more so for You.


The more I love You, the more I find myself whole. The more I love You, the more I can love myself, and others, too. And while my loving You neither quenches nor lessens the human desires within, it changes me to understand the profound depths of love I can now experience, and thus experience later on.


And I will not harden my heart and claim superficial independence from this yearning within which comes up with periodic precision... for I am neither Man nor God. I am woman. Instead, I surrender and admit my human vulnerability and feminine weakness. It is universal, after all. This shall only be for a season. And while my heart faints, God, I shall wait, because I know the time will come. And it will be in perfect Time. I would be properly whole, then.


But I take joy in knowing that even in my time of Waiting, I can rejoice that we are looking through an open window, from the right side. I can rejoice in the certainty that this season has a Purpose. I can rejoice without feeling torn nor confused that I'm not taking advice to go out, because I have heard You speak clearly to me, time and again. (Isn't it such a waste of time to do things at the wrong season? Like making spring blossoms grow in winter. Planting daisies in a darkened room.)


So I look at the lush, green fields, its ready harvest, and watch Your flowers grow in season, and with You by me, I feel my heart grow stronger.

" O daughters of Jeruselem, I charge you-

if you find my Lover,

what will you tell Him?

Tell Him I am faint with love."

- Song of Songs 5:8

Paris Junior United Loses

Just awhile ago, while many were still recovering from their sleepless nights of night outing such as clubbing



or relationship hiccups that occurs at least three times a week(shared by a friend on the frequency of fights they have within a week) which so terribly happens to be on a friday night(but i guess that saves saturday right or wait...there is another one?, dammit...),


some friends and I who has been playing futsal together for nearly a year now had to wake up at 7 in the morning to go for a competition.


A Futsal Competition. A Competition with lots and lots of "Jaguh Kampung's" that came from as far as Ipoh to Alor Setar.


The only reason that we had to wake up so early was because the competition was over in Butterworth which we had to register before 9am.

Nevermind if we were going to face the biggest traffic jam of the year on Penang Bridge on the way back,


we were all set to go for the competition with "Boleh Menang" spirit in mind.



Before I continue any further, I did not manage to take any pictures since bloggers/blogging and playing football doesn't really go together. I would have definitely wanted to do something like this in the futsal ring


but i figured that would have sent a wrong message to my team members as well as to other teams who were going to play with us if you know what i mean..

and the other thing is...I won't like the idea of my camera in my bag to defend for itself when i'm out there playing the game. You just can't trust anyone nowadays..Simply can't..


Anyway, with much amazement, the futsal competition not only housed Jaguh Kampung's of northern states of Malaysia, but there were international footballers that came from as far as Oman as well.

That's right guys, for those of you who don't know. Oman is umm there....


There were also Nigerian fellars that gave everyone quite a jump since most of them looks like some of the stars in lets say someone popular such as....(since they look about the same)



Back on our side, our team had a jersey which costs us RM 35 which looked like this (not bad aeh)




and our team name was called Paris Junior United.

It is again not surprising why we had a name that really defines romance and little children playing football in kindergarten. Well, everyone was a supporter of different premier league clubs and nobody could agree on a single championship team and so, PJU is rather neutral which was accepted by everyone.


Just as a record, I would have preferred our team to be named Manchester United to give us the spirit to play in a MAN Utd. way rather than some woozy club that I have never heard my entire life!

or better still, to be called Malaysia and having unknown supporters cheering at us "Malaysia Boleh" dressed in the yellow and black striped shirt since our own supporters were busy drinking too much.



Luckilly we did neither of that, and stuck to Paris Junior United because our game did not turn out too well.

After 3 games to prove ourselves as Jaguh Kampung Champions of the northern state, we had to pack our bags and leave because we failed to qualify to go further. Here are the scores: -

First Game: 6 - 0 (I don't know, It definitely felt more than that)

Second Game: 4 - 0 (I don't know, I felt it was definitely more, BALLS kept coming)

Third Game: 2 - 0 (This one very true)

It is not surprising who the Zero belongs to when you see the score. With such a score, i figured, we did improve in every game and with the experience earned, we could definitely try next time, maybe Jaguh Kampung of the south.

oh and wait...if you're wondering what place I was playing, I was playing goal keeper. That's right GOAL KEEPER!That's right the dumb guy who gets punished for saving goals with balls that come at super speed.

Now most people wouldn't want to be a Goalkeeper because of the responsibility of keeping goals out and well, its simply GOD DAMN BORING TO BE JUST STANDING BY THE POST while everyone is out there playing FOOTBALL. Unless of course if you're earning millions of dollars in the premier league championship and of course it is very important that you play for the winning team.



However, I really had fun being a goalkeeper this time. In this time around, my post was very much favourited. How much funner does it get with 10 goals being scored at my goalpost.hmmm....definitely funner!

Lover and Best Friend.

They say it's part of Growing Up. Perfectly normal and acceptable to feel this way. And sometimes, even I surprise myself, with that familiarly deep and viscerally human desire for companionship.

Maybe it's in the icy loneliness where God's crucible is found, in the shape of an igloo. And as we wait in fervent desperation, He pushes us into a deeper intimacy with Him. I know You've brought me to this place, so I can find no one else but You to fill that longing within. So many times, I feel the warmth of Your hug as I press my teary face into Your broad shoulders.

But what relief and joy it brings, to know God has a purpose even in the Wait, however interminably long and excruciating it seems. What relief to know He has a Best Plan planned for us, even if we can't see it at present.

And even now, even when that inside hole seems to gnaw with grating persistence, determined to wear our wills down to settle for second-best, even when we wished things weren't what they are and we were with somebody, even in our times of heartbreaking weakness when we fail to trust God for His good timing, what joy it brings to know...

... that we're never alone- but He is always, always with us.

Thank you God.

"It's all right
God's by my side
And He'll take good care of me
It's all right
He's on my side
And He knows my every need."

-It's All Right

lyrics by Melissa Otto

Special Sunday. (edited)

"Wai Jia, will you come to the front and stand here with me. We want to pray with you as a church to honour and encourage you, to use the gifts and talents God has blessed you with."

I was overwhelmed. This was no ordinary person saying those words, and no ordinary audience to me. This was my senior pastor, the man whom I hold in deep respect and awe, and the people I loved, the people in my precious White Place, the uncles and aunties and brothers and sisters who've encouraged and loved me generously even if they couldn't remember my name. And as my senior pastor introduced Kitesong to the church and shared with them its Cause, I tried very hard not to cry in front of what must have been more than a thousand people.

A year ago, I would have swelled with arrogance and false humility. But now, with God having broken and chastened me in His tough love, I have learnt, that this all is His grace and love to me, and it is my privilege, not my right, to be used in such an undeserving and exciting way. God knows His timing best.

There were four of us at the front. The other three writers were a pastor, a homemaker and a lady working in the media ministry.

"Church, pray with me. Today we will pray for the writers of our church." And as the entire congregation of people started to pray, their hearts bursting with that love which ushered me into this Place in the first place, I felt God's presence swell and billow in the sanctuary like a huge balloon, with tears welling up behind my eyes. "God, please bless these children of yours with an anointing to write, that they may use Your gifts diligently, and write even more books to honour You in time to come. Church, let's honour these people today."

Honour. That was Pastor Yang's topic for Sunday. And as the word left his mouth, I saw a crown flash before my eyes as I remembered the lady who, a few months ago, said she 'saw' a crown upon my head. Her vision came true. For at that moment, Recovered, affirmed and deeply encouraged by the undeserved honour so generously lavished upon me, I truly did feel like my kingdom had been Restored to me.

My mind is clear now. No longer bound in depression or sin, I can think. Write. Paint, again.

After both services, some lovely people came up to make donations and purchases of the book and DVD. One elderly woman whom I'd never met came up to me to ask if she could pray for me. "God, I see so many tears in this young woman's life, and I pray You always let her know how precious each tear is to You..." I wasn't even crying then. When I opened my eyes though, hers were filled with tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks.


It was a Special Sunday- the first since I was officially declared Restored, and it coincided perfectly with my pastor's decision to honour the people whom he felt needed to be encouraged. "God, please bless these children of yours with inspiration to write for Your glory."



I want to write again. I want to buy Paper and a new watercolor paint set. I want to sit on a train to nowhere with a cup of rosehip and hibiscus tea and paint the bleeding sunset. And I want to always remember, that Inspiration comes from God always, that every book must have a Cause, that the day I sell myself to write for money or fame, will be the day that all my Inspiration dies. Oh God, help my frailty.


A few Stories have been brewing in my head. But this time, I just want to wait on God, and allow Him to open the doors for me, the way He did with Kitesong, instead of plunging headfirst into a flurry of mindless activity. Lately, an opportunity presented itself- someone wanted to sponsor a children's book commercially- but I told them I couldn't do it unless there was a Cause behind it. Ironic how when Kitesong was launched and I realised it wouldn't be in commercial bookstores, I was, to be honest, a little disappointed. But now, with such an attractive offer staring at me back in the face, I had to consider it precisely because it was for commercial, not charitable reasons. How amazing God is, that His love makes us grow into maturity.

This time, I want to surrender my gifts and wait on God.

Amazing how in the same week, The Professional People told me without my asking Them, "We haven't forgotten your second book A Taste of Rainbow, you know. It may very well happen, but we're planning for say... 2011."


2011. The year I graduate. The year my life would prove my full relapse-free recovery. The year my father had said before would be a good year to have A Taste of Rainbow published- I'd be a doctor by then.


No two books will ever be the same. And there shall be no point in comparing the following with Kitesong- for what matters, is what God wants to do with them, with me, with my hands.


God, all inspiration and providence comes from You. Will you take these hands of mine, and use them. I want to Write and Paint for You.

"Pour Your Spirit over me,

Let Your love rain down.
Would You take these hands of mine,

And use me.

Would You take these feet of mine,

And lead me

To the poor, the needy and the weak,

That's where You are."

-Spirit of the Sovereign Lord

by Vineyard

Special Day.

"So what does this mean?"


"It means you've Recovered. We're discharging you, that's what. I see a grown-up young woman before me, and I'm excited for you."


So what does this mean.

It means I've struggled, grown, matured, and overcome. It means God kept His promise, it means He heals, it means He makes everything beautiful in His time. It means that He has a purpose for everything.

It doesn't mean I've reached Perfection, but it does mean I've reached Acceptance, and can walk everyday in deeper humility, and self-awareness. It doesn't mean I can put aside what I've learnt, but it does mean applying it every day, and making sure I keep my eyes on God. It doesn't mean I've fully arrived (who has?), but it does mean God has been and will be with me till the end of this long pilgrimage we call Life.

It means what God broke, He broke in order to heal; what He destroyed, He destroyed in order to rebuild; what He imprisoned, He imprisoned to chasten, discipline, purify, love and finally,

Set free.

Sweet Lord, I've been waiting so long for this day.

Deepest thanks

to my friends, whose prayer and love I'm grateful for, for your faith in me and walking with me.

to Aunty Af, EK and Aunty Ay, for your guidance and encouragement,

to the team at Singapore General Hospital, for your patience, dedication and tough love,

(with special thanks to Miss B: you inspire me to know my patients in the same way)

to those of you who've written me emails, left notes here

( your words of encouragement are cherished and remembered

- with special thanks to "Mrs Lim")

to Mum and Dad- I could not ask for better parents,

And to You- for being by me.

For setting me free.

Thank you for walking with me on this journey.

" For He bruises, but He binds up;
He wounds, but His hands make whole."

-Job 5:18

"Therefore, if God makes you free, you shall be free indeed."

- John 8:36

Learning to Play.

Stress is a funny thing. You mightn’t have a thousand deadlines to meet. There mightn’t even be anything big on your mind. Yet, whether your burdens are of the size of a canary or an elephant, stress can creep up on you, sit on your head, and cause you a great deal of discomfort.

I haven’t been sleeping well again, and for once, I’ll have to admit- it’s finally taking its toll on me. Oh the constant, grating headache. It’s been days.

I’ve been doing too many things, meeting too many people, clocking too many miles, worrying too much about the future, and while talking to God yesterday, I think He told me it was time to stop. Now that the month of January has been put aside for a research project instead of going to hospitals, many of us have suddenly found a surfeit of time on our hands, and are gorging ourselves on activities, before the next round of hard studying for our final exams in February come round soon.

I’ve been dancing, swimming, cycling, running, reading, learning to play my flute, watching plays, meeting people I love, taking on new commitments, writing for a publication, gathering ideas for a new story in my head, spearheading a new initiative for a committee, attending talks… I’ve been putting my all in everything at once… and I heard Him tell me to just… Stop.

Stop to take a stop-check, stop to wonder about life, stop to look at God’s face to see if He’s pleased with all that I’m involving myself in.

When I meet God in heaven, I don’t think He’ll ask me how many miles I trained, how many projects I accomplished, how much I did. But He’ll ask me, for sure, how many people I showed His love to, how much time I spent with them, how much time I spent with Him too. I don’t want to be dumbfounded when He asks me. I don’t want to be caught spending my life trying to gain the approval of others rather than His. I don’t want to live that crazy sort of a wasted life.

“Aiyoh, Wai Jia,” a friend chided jokingly, “Your play is becoming your work. You're taking everything to the extreme.”

I don’t think he was far from wrong. This week, I had a dance class at the same time I was invited for a writer’s meeting; I was to meet someone to train at the same time I had to chair a meeting; I was asked to volunteer at an event during the time I had church. Things will get busier still- my finals come next month, I’ll be serving in a missions ministry soon after. This is going crazy and it has to stop.

I don’t want to train for a triathlon if it means being too tired all the time. I don’t want to do a million things and not be able to stop for one person. I don’t want to pretend to be an all-rounder when my primary calling is to be a good doctor. I don’t want to be everywhere and nowhere. I want to stop waking up at 5am because of insomnia.

So yes, I’ll stop. And I must remind myself not to compare myself with others, not to feel the stress of expectation when others easily comment on how it is possible to do those million things at once. Maybe for others, but not for me. I want to be humble enough to admit that.

I want to train for my health, to honour the body God has blessed me with- not to fuel my pride; I want to be involved in community work because it’s enjoyable, not out of obligation; I want to dabble in the arts because it keeps me alive, not to keep up with expectations.



I want to know- that it’s okay to say no, okay to sleep, okay to do completely nothing once in a while. I’m not indispensable or invincible.

I want to live a life where I have time to stop for one random person along the way, reflect about my journey and write them on a space such as this. I want to live a life where most of my time is spent doing things which have lasting values, which bear fruit and impact others. I want to live a life where I can spend time with my family and loved ones, and show them how important they are to me.

I want to live enjoying what is meant to be enjoyed, so my play doesn’t become my work. Maybe I won’t join any races after all. Maybe I won't participate in that calligraphy competition I intended to compete in. Maybe I'll just be content- learning how to take things easy, learning how to play.

I don’t want to live a wasted life, running about in a whirlpool of activity and realizing I haven’t gone anywhere. We’re human beings, not human doings. And I think all God wants is for me to listen to His voice, to His plan for me- because His to-do list is ultimately more effective than any I’ll be able to draw for myself.

God, what do you want me to do? I only want to do that. If it means just concentrating on a few things and reorganizing my priorities, then that’s what I want to do.


So I think I’ll spend some time by myself, doing nothing and nothing, but just… talking to God. I’ll find some time in quiet solitude, just… to play, to listen, to just… be.



And then I think I’ll stop waking up at 5 in the morning and find myself instead with 2 extra friends- an elephant and a canary- to play with, and who'll teach me how to Play.

Once a Devil always a Devil

Watching TV in my house is as simple as 1, 2, 3.

And if 1,2, and 3 bores you. Number 7 really does entertain.



Watching TV in my house is like going back to the old days when everyone were watching the same movies especially commercials and able to share our thoughts about them. Like whether a movie was good, or that commercial was funny and all.

But today is all different. We have Astro and it doesn't take a genius to figure out by now that I do not have Astro.(Blame it for not being able to afford the monthly payment, and blame it because I go to places like Phuture twice in a row)



Anyhow to cut the story short, the only time I really want Astro in my house since I barely watch TV at home anyway, is whenever a good football match was around.

It was a match between Manchester United and Chelsea on 11/01/2009 which was a few days ago. A very very big clash between the top two teams.

So what i'm trying to say is that, I do not get to watch these matches because local television never play live football matches.

I BET YOU!!If they had live football matches, I wouldn't even have the need to subscribe to Astro at all!!

Well since there is youtube (you know I have to wait after a few days), I watched the game and noticed something very sneaky of Manchester United while taking a corner kick. Watch the video.



Damn Sneaky isn't it!!

Sigh..It takes a Devil to know another Devil..Somehow, I am all good with them coming up with something creative like this. A Devil Fan is a Devil himself. lol..

Crowned.

February to September were difficult months last year, some more excruciating than others. Nonetheless, though my eyes could not see the light at the end, and at times, God seemed faraway, He continued to send people, events and dreams into my life to speak to me. And that gave me hope.

Recovery is like breaking a stone perhaps. You could be chipping at it day and night for ages with minimal results, but it is only toward the last moments that cracks appear and the entire monument breaks apart. Yet, it certainly wasn’t only the last blow which did it, but every effort before too.

Sometime toward the end of last year, my stone started to break, and within weeks, I made exponential progress. Around that period, I remember a lady at church had walked straight up to me, looked at me and said, “I see Things, you know. And right now, I see a crown over your head. Ask God what this means.”

The quizzical expression on my face must have been grossly apparent- I hadn’t seen her before in my life. And how my quizzical expression melted into sheer bewilderment when another woman chipped in, “Why, isn’t it obvious? She’s a princess! She’s married to God!”

You could have seen question marks bursting from my ears. Like, huh? Seriously. Like, oh-kaaay.

I was relieved it was a crown she saw. Had it been say, a screwdriver or a slice of bread or a pop-tart, I think the mystery might’ve caused an excessive strain on my brain- for all my literary abilities, some metaphors might just be too hard to interpret, don’t you think?

I never figured it out, never quite got around asking her why she said what she said to me. In fact, I’d never seen her again. It’s almost as if she appeared, then disappeared again, like a wisp of cloud.

But my dream about having Feet of Clay seemed to run more deeply than I imagined, and as I felt God speak to me a few nights ago, the mysteries unraveled themselves and came together nicely like a jigsaw puzzle.

Sometime in February last year, I had a disturbing dream of an ugly, sinewy tree stump I had never seen before, with its roots exposed in the most grotesque manner. In July, a freakish déjà vu experience gripped me as I saw the exact scene in my dream before my eyes one day. What horror and surprise it brought me, when a friend shared that the King Nebuchadnezzar of the bible had had a similar dream about a tree stump too.

Finding that story in the bible and reading it sent chills down my spine, for during that season, when discouragement hung like a cloud over me as I wondered if I would ever be restored again from depression, the biblical interpretation of the dream pierced me: The command to leave the stump of the tree with its roots means that your kingdom will be restored to you when you acknowledge that heaven rules. - Daniel 4:26

Anorexia was about being too wilful to acknowledge God's place in my life, and so the message to surrender and acknowledge that “heaven rules” and not myself, cut my heart like a knife through soft butter. A few nights ago, I dreamt of the words “Feet of Clay”, whose biblical message was also that of surrendering ourselves, our frailties, and trusting in God. It seemed a little more than mere coincidence that the two dreams which spoke so deeply to me had come from the same part of the bible, dreamt by the same historical king Nebuchadnezzar, even. It startled me when I discovered it. For both times, I had absolutely no recollection of having ever read those stories before.

So it gave me goosebumps to know that the metaphorical messages hidden within my dreams held so much truth, power and revelation over my life, that the messages were sent at precisely timed moments when I needed it, that they were potent with biblical meaning, too. King Nebuchadnezzar, full of pride in himself, was walking into self-destruction- just like me, and God sent him dreams to speak to him… and to me.

My dream about the feet of clay spurred me to examine the stories again, and my eyes widened with wonder at the fresh perspective they revealed. Said the king: “At the same time that my sanity was restored, my honor and splendor were returned to me for the glory of my kingdom... and I was restored to my throne and became even greater than before.” -Daniel 4:36

Greater than before? How would that ever be possible? Months ago, in despair, I remember asking God that, for I could hardly envision myself being restored to my previous state of normalcy, much less receiving a kingly restoration. At the time, I took comfort reading about Job, a biblical character famous for his immense suffering. Oh, how I related to him as he cried, “God has stripped me of my glory, And taken the crown from my head… my hope He has uprooted like a tree.” -Job 19:9,10

Reflecting back on both my dreams, and that random comment made by the strange lady, it all seems to make sense now. For it was then that complete restoration started to come to me, that my rock started to break open, then that “my sanity was restored, my honor and splendor returned to me… and I was restored to my throne.” -Daniel 4:36


Saved, delivered, healed... Restored to my throne.


... Hence, the crown!



Perhaps this all sounds a little far-fetched. Perhaps it’s hard to believe that in our digital, rational, new-age world, God can still speak to us in primitive, powerful ways. Perhaps they were all mere coincidences.


But I choose not to think so, for in the darkness of night, I have seen the perimeter of God’s wing covering me; in the cold of winter, I have felt the warmth of His robe wrapped around me; in the quietest of moments, I have felt His breath on my cheek.


I have never seen God's face nor heard His audible voice before. I have never felt His handshake, never had Him pass to me a screwdriver to fix myself or had Him fix me a breakfast of bread and jam. In this life, I may never. But my restoration has been the greatest evidence of His great love for me, of His presence and existence, and that is sufficient.


That and ah yes, the crown on my head.

“For You meet (me) with the blessings of goodness;

You set a crown of pure gold upon my head.
I asked life from You and You gave it to me…

For I trust in God,
And through Your mercy I shall not be moved.

-Psalm 21:3-7

Feet of Clay.

It’s like being given a new pair of legs when you’ve been crippled all your life, a new set of eyes when you’ve been born blind, a voice when you were unable to speak. That’s how I feel when I get on my roadbike. For more than a decade, I never mastered it because of fear, and now that I have, the freedom and exhilaration riding brings has been incredible.

You know you’ve got yourself hooked when you awaken before dawn, full of energy, brimming with anticipation and giddy joy as you wheel your bike out for a ride along the beach. The sun hadn’t risen, and the sea was an ocean of black ink, darker than the sky. As dawn broke, the sky rained down freckles of light which danced upon the waves, turning the sea into sapphire, pearly shades of silver and later, a rich luscious green.

Forty kilometers and two strangers later, my new-found friends (2 serious bikers-one of whom rides a ten-thousand dollar bike!) buy me breakfast at the end of our trails. It wasn’t until they asked me when I had started cycling that I realized- it’s been only two months since I overcame my decade-long fear of cycling, and twenty days since I received a roadbike. A roadbike is a different sort of bike, with thin, mean wheels, curved handlebars and a really high seat which makes you bend over and look fast and dangerous on the road, even though your crotch really hurts from all that speed-cycling.

“You pretty fast for an amateur, huh?” Another stranger-turned-friend from a triathlete forum had helped me improve my speed by 9km/h in the past week.

Now that God had broken the chains which had bound me in captivity, I felt free. No longer bound by competiveness rooted in insecurity or an illness which brought me shame, I was free to revel in the true joy that challenging oneself brings. Perhaps most of the joy which cycling brings me now stems from the liberty I have found in being restored and healed. And that joy has fuelled my body into a charge of positive energy, of deeper intensity, that I never knew before. I’ve never run, cycled or swum with this much liberation before.

Now that God has put into me a new heart, it feels like I’ve been given new legs to run on, new arms to swim with and new wings to fly on, too. Exercise has become no longer torture, but a gift.

What the 2 bikers didn’t know was that just a week ago, as I reflected upon how far God had brought me on my journey of healing, I made a decision to challenge myself. And perhaps the best thing was that deep down inside, I could be sure it was not made out of fear or insecurity, but out of sheer curiosity, pure fun and in the good name of challenging myself.

One night, I decided, that I might try to train for a triathlon.

Crazy, I know. Nonetheless, after all that God has taught me about humility, meekness and His great love for me, I have become cautious, humbler too, lest I stumble into self-sufficiency and swell up with pride, again. I even asked: God, is this a waste of time? I don’t want it to come between us.

That night, after registering myself on the Triathlete’s Family Forum, using a username I had randomly made up, I prayed as usual, then went to bed. That night, I had the strangest dream of God erasing my username from the online forum and replacing it with a new one, called Feet of Clay. He typed it in right there into my laptop. Looks like He’s pretty IT-savvy Himself.

I awoke from the dream, bewildered, and sat up in bed. It was five in the morning.

Feet of clay. I wondered what it meant. An old English proverb perhaps? Little did I know that the phrase was coined from the bible itself, and when I did find out the story behind it, a wave of emotion washed over me as my eyes were opened to the beautiful revelation.

So the story goes: Once there was a king called Nebuchadnezzar, who dreamt of an awesome statue. Its head was of pure gold, its chest and arms of silver, its belly and thighs of bronze, and its legs of iron. Only its feet were a mix-part iron and part clay. Each part of the statue represented a powerful empire, but the feet represented a divided kingdom, partly strong and partly weak. A rock, representing God, struck the statue on its feet of iron and clay and smashed them into pieces, like chaff on a threshing floor. Since then, Feet of Clay has been used as a figure of speech used to indicate a weakness or a hidden flaw in the character of a greatly admired or respected person.

Over days, the revelation became clearer to me, pouring into my spirit like a generous waterfall. Feet of Clay. No, I don’t have anything against you training, or doing these other million things, I felt God say, But don't forget that you're not God. Remember who I am- your Maker.

My Maker, who made my entire being, my feet included. The dream was God’s way of reminding me, that for all the abilities He has blessed me with, these talents and gifts are ultimately His. For all the gold, silver and bronze I think I’m worth, and for all the worship I think I deserve as a statue of achievement, He has the power to break or make me. The dream reminded me of our vulnerability, our weakness as human beings, and the pertinence of being acutely aware of that.


So often, don't we all get caught up in the whirlwind of our hectic lives, over-commit ourselves to a million and one things, and find ourselves taking the place of God in our lives?


The dream reminded me- that we are not God. Only God is.


Just like how my pride and self-sufficiency had eaten me from the inside, how my achievements had made me an idol of myself in previous years, how anorexia nearly killed me, the dream reminded me that we, too easily, can self-destruct when we make gods of ourselves, just like the metal statue. For God loves us so much He bears to break us at our feet so we may become humbler, living a life of deeper gratitude in the peace of His grace.

He reminded me, that when we put our security in our abilities, we will come to our own end eventually. From what happened last year, I know I did. But when we recognise our failings, vulnerabilities and come to God in humility and trust, He shall uphold us, and steady our feet in a time of destruction. For there is a certain strength that comes from that beautiful place of brokeness.


Funny how my body has become stronger as I place more trust in God and less pride in myself.


Funny how I see the beauty in my being born with flat feet now, my feet which help me run, cycle, swim and dance, as they remind me of my surrender to God, my Maker, in all that I do.


Feet of Clay. For when we are broken, then we are strong. (2 Cor 12:10)

... And as the toes of the feet were part of iron, and part of clay,

so the kingdom shall be partly strong, and partly broken…

In the time of those kings, the God of heaven…

will crush all those kingdoms and bring them to an end,

but it will itself endure forever."

- Daniel 2: 33-45

Clubbing at Phuture two times in a row

Passing this road during the weekends can only bring one thing to mind...



Zouk!!



In the next few hours, I can't help but believe i would be achieving a record of going to Phuture TWO TIMES IN A ROW!!

For those of you who don't know, Phuture is a newly renovated site in Zouk that plays really good RNB music).

Some people say:You come here...You don't want to go to MOIS anymore!

As branded as it seems, It occurs to me that paying RM58...I'll say that again RM58 for cover charge into places like this and getting a measly small glass of whiskey coke in exchange is all worth the money....



There is no real economic sense isn't it....gosh I just know i'm going to crash out in this bad economic times...



Imagine reading in newspapers of what other people are going through, that less people are buying their brand new clothes for Chinese New Year...



Don't be surprised if you do see me eat Roti Kosong for the next one month everyday asking for more curry simply because it comes additionally free and that it helps to sooth my Roti if i'm ever going to survive to go to Zouk after this troubling times..


Don't be surprised if I took the curry and drank it like Soup as Starters before my Roti.

It won't be long before joining this guys for a much cheaper alternative entertainment next to Penang Road....


I guess my life is going to change in the next few hours...Phuture here I come because I know...its going to be worth it..DAMMIT!!Not so good for my future isn't it..

1030 is it guys??