Along the way.

We are standing up against gravity. We are moving forward against wind resistance. We are living against death, are we not? Everyday, forces from all sides assault and assail us, ageing us with monotony, dimming out visions with disappointment, and dehumanising us with digits, statistics, efficiency. Living, in its very self, requires a constant struggle against something, for when we let go and give up, our environment becomes us, becomes something we can be ashamed of.

Work dehumanises us. At the office, one is labelled a "staff"; at the hospital, we are labelled "students". You are a staff in an office who needs to churn this report out; you are a student who ought to be a shadow behind a doctor, and see X number of patients with X disease- no matter if you can't remember their names because there're ten other patients waiting outside who've been waiting for an hour who need you to treat their conditions. Cause no trouble, meet your quota, and you will be okay. I have come to a point where I realise, that if one does not constantly fight against this deadening gravity which convinces one that one is a faceless, nameless labourer in an organisation meant to complete tasks and hit marks, one shall surely live, only to give in to death.

Suddenly, I became aware, that if I do not stay on guard and fight against this force called Medical School, this institution which claims to nobly produce humane and compassionate doctors, shall very well dry me out and kill me- like the many casualties before.

What Mdm H wrote that day sobered me. Because I realised, that in spite of her kind words and encouragement which really moved me, I had fallen in the same places, erred at the same corners, made the same mistakes, too. Being an idealist, I have a picture of what a doctor should be like too. And while it disappoints me to hear bad-doctor experiences from others, I now realise that if this erosive force could assail these doctors who once bore noble ideals and aspirations, it could happen to me, too. Worse, I realised that, it has been happening to me, and is happening to me now, too. That incident was only but one- but I have failed many more times before.

A typical day for a medical officer starts at 6 in the morning because you've got to report at the hospital for morning ward rounds at 730am. You review all the patients and make plans for each of their issues. Two hours pass quickly and at 9am, you are either at the clinic seeing patients till the evening, or at the operating theatre. Lunch is quick, if present at all. One or two days a week, there is a night call, which is a 36-hour shift, where one has to handle all the emergencies of the ward for the night, only to bathe briefly to attend the next morning's round at 730am. The cycle continues, every day, over and over. You rush from one crisis to the next, but the work never ends. There are always new patients to see, and the existing ones keep asking the nurses, "How come the doctor only comes to see me for 3 minutes every day?" New people fall sick- it is a fact of life, and unless you enjoy your work, the routine shall surely poison you.

Mdm H's writing was a wake-up call for me. I realise that as much as I wished to, I could take no credit for the kindness she had lavished upon me- for I am but a medical student in my favorite module, and under the same stresses of a doctor's life, I cannot say I would not behave in the same detached and professional manner that doctors may often do. Would I have the time then to sit with her to chat, listen and pray? I do not know. It woke me up to the reality which is shaping who I am. And I learnt, that I do not like the way some parts of me is becoming- stressed, curt and too efficient at times. There is a forcefield out there draining us out, and we must be on our guard to fight tooth and nail against it- all the time.

I am learning, that even though we have the end in mind all the time, our success lies in our vigilance in the day-to-day, every day. Very often, in our journeys to reach our noble goals, we lose ourselves along the way.

Perhaps the greatest challenge we face, is not when we are at the starting point visualising ourselves at the end, but what we do and think in between those two points.

I think that was what I was most afraid of while training for my first triathlon-losing myself. I was afraid that Ed would creep back into my life. But this time, God has been gracious, sending angels to battle for me against the many forcefields which ought to have embittered and disenabled me. There were points of discouragement, but God sent people to remind me never to be complacent, never to be so enraptured by the endpoint only to forget the process along the way. Even though the race is tomorrow, I feel like I've already won the crown, for it was the journey till the race which was the greatest challenge, not the race itself, and so the victory has been won- for this is the first time I have journeyed this way with so much peace, joy and freedom. This is the first time I have learnt what it means to surrender oneself to God in sports, what it means to really trust Him and enjoy the gifts He has blessed us with. This is the first time I've learnt so much- physically and spiritually. This is the first time I've had so much fun learning along the way.

And I hope the journey in medical school, or for your work will be likewise too. That it will be the many victories along the way that we will allow to shape us, and fight against the gravity of this world, instead of letting our destinations distract us from the importance of growing through Process. I hope that realising this will give me hope to be the kind of doctor Mdm H had envisioned, and not the doctor I am becoming now (sigh). I must remind myself of the importance of fighting against this resistance- with joy and courage, every day.

Tomorrow, many people will stand at the starting point of the swim, bike and run, bracing themselves for what may be one of the biggest challenges of their lives. But I think I shall stand, albeit at the beginning of a very short and modest race, knowing that the greatest challenge has already been fought for me, by His angels-

- and then the fun will begin.

Thank you to all my friends who have made this journey so exceptionally exciting-

To Fungus who inspired me to try a tri;

all my friends at Joyriders for training with me, teaching me and for your unfailing encouragement (esp. Derrick, Alvin, Jeslyn, Mabel, Peter);

Amos, Raymond, Norman & Jiajie for teaching me freestyle swimming;

Michael for showing me God's way of doing sports;

Aunty Ay and Jo, for keeping me accountable;

my church, for helping me grow;

all my other friends (you know who you are, yes) for your encouragement

and Prof Kok, who sold this idea to me like a drug peddlar since the beginning,

for your example to me and all your help

along the way :)

This is going to be so much fun, not least because I know that I'll reach the finish point tomorrow. But only because of what all of you and You taught me, and the victories You helped me win- along the way.

Life is a journey, not a destination,
the joy is in the travels & experiences.

-Anonymous

Reality.

It pierced my heart through and through, to realise that I was bound not only by fear, but by pride, too.

I have been doing a lot of thinking about this. The only explanation I can think of for the random and yet cohesive string of events, encounters and conversations challenging my view on relationships is that there is a godly conspiracy going on- God is using circumstance and people to make me sit up and think about my narrow-minded, unrealistic and proud views about this before it becomes too late.

It was Amos, my swim coach-friend, who lectured me most candidly, amongst many others.

" Look. You can't be so proud, okay? Yea, I'm not surprised you know- you have high expectations, a mind of your own, you want to be a surgeon, you're doing sports and this and that... Hey, get real okay- you're not going to find someone who fits all of your expectations and to be honest, I think you're pretty scary doing all that you've been doing."

Well, I can't help it if my blood is made of adrenalin, but I ought to be able to do something about my pride. This week, for the first time, I confessed to a friend, that for all my vehement denial, I am first, proud, secondly, unrealistic and thirdly (and also least willing to admit and most ashamed about), a diehard romantic at heart. Darn.

I defend myself: I am a writer. Those of us who write, paint, sing... will know that our imagination takes our reality to dangerous places. Our idealism takes us many frightful miles away. In a few minutes of daydreaming, we have been somewhere else for ages, basking in the comfort of a fairytale set in medieval times, where chivalry and beauty and righteousness play out in perfect cinematography, writing it down, and the effort of swimming back into everyday reality can be painful. It is almost a shock. Because we take it upon ourselves that our job is to remind an ugly and failing world that true love, chivalry, beauty, faith and loyalty exist, and to do so we convince ourselves that it all is true. We take it upon ourselves that it is our job, our responsibility, to make sure that the sword we wield reminds the world that the good guys win, that amazing stories are true, and that a fool’s hope may be the best kind.

I avoid romantic films and romantic novels like the plague, for my pride says I am above all the marshmallow mishmash, even though I do secretly enjoy them. But it is out of self-defense- the writer in me insists that only what is Real is beautiful, and so I feed on non-fiction and true stories of love, inspiration and goodness. But the down side is, the exceptional and extraordinary stories of reality become my standard for the norm, and I suspect that is just as serious as contracting a fantasial infection, if not, worse, because I expect it to happen for me, too. Or at least, I entertain the possibility with great seriousness.

The past few weeks have been a hazy, difficult struggle to swim back to a reality I am not sure I have recollection of. Within a span of a few weeks, I had news that 3 pairs of my friends had broken up, 2 pairs had just formed and 2 pairs were getting married. All their stories were laced with struggles, heartaches, uncertainty. I am not sure if I have the courage or humility to go back there. I have been swimming out there for a long time, maybe all my life. Now that the waters are choppy and I am afraid of being left alone out there as sharkfeed, I am trying to head back to shore.

This has been very hard for me- I am an artist, an idealist. And now I have to deposit my scrolls and scrolls of manuscript of ideas of love and romance in a jar and give it to God, tell Him I want nothing more to do with them unless He wants to make use of it. I have to stop the unconscious comparisons of the present with experiences of the past, because those who were too expressive and suave were frivolous and unsteadfast- so for all their creative pursuit and impressive resumes, how can they be yardsticks? The artist argues why can't one have the best of both worlds, and she realises at that point, that the currents have become dangerously strong and the shore has disappeared from the horizon.

Amos says I need to get real. So do another 2, 3... 6 people who have come to tell me of late. Aunty Ay agrees that God is taking me through this process so I can renew my mind to learn humility, reality and love. Aunty L and Aunty Ay say that even though I may have shot myself in the foot multiple times in the past, God can still redeem the many mistakes I made along the way. Whatever will be shall be, they say, whoever it is should still be there in spite of my stupidity, and it will become apparent in God's time, even after walking one big circumlocuting round.

Perhaps loving someone in reality is like owning my bike. It is not perfect. It is not a dream machine. My bike costs a third of what a basic one would cost and so it is one size too big for me, the handlebars are 3 inches too far, it has 7 gear chains instead of the normal 10 which means I have to pedal much harder uphill, it weighs 12 kilos instead of the usual 10 kilos, and its gear shifters are at the wrong place. So many people have told me there is a better, faster, lighter dream bike out there with a better fit. Somewhere out there, Perfect is waiting, they say.

(with a two thousand-dollar bill.)

But I have refused that offer. My bike is right for me because it is what it is- modest. It is what I can afford at this point. It is what God has allowed me to own at this point. It has taken me places, it is dear to me, I love it for what it is. It has been a blessing from God and I didn't deserve it in the first place. Sure, I have to live with the fact that the gears aren't very good but for all it's worth, it is special to me. And if you were to give me a swanky, better bike at this point, it would only fit me worse- in an over-pretentious, opulent sort of way. My bike is plain and modest- but that is what makes it beautiful and perfect to me. It is real. I know I would love an upgrade, but is it what God wants for me? Does He not use our circumstance to teach us gratitude and modesty and simplicity? (I know the kind of person right for me would not buy kate spade for me or take me to fancy places all the time, and that is unfortunate only in a temporal kind of way.)

And if I constantly allowed myself to swim out to entertain what could have been, what it could be, would I not be utterly miserable, and miss my beautiful reality for a non-existent fantasy? I am wondering if this is a lesson I am to learn- that Beautiful is what you want to make out of your reality, even if it is far from fantasial perfection. After all, carriages which turn into pumpkins may not fare so well in our urban times.

And tears well up in my eyes to know that I am very far away and must swim back to shore, even if it would cost me an arm and a leg. Because it is the only beautiful and true way to live.

Even as a writer.

In Reality.

Hideo, again.

How it amazes me to be constantly reminded of how small our world is. How mind-blowing it is to know that one life can weave across and thread through the tapestry of so many lives, all over the world.

Today, I received in my email a note from the 6th passer-by from overseas who has bumped into Hideo, who left a comment on a post I had written which he must have found surfing about him online:

"I've just come back from Japan, where I spent two weeks touring, and I was trying to figure out how I could write some nice post about Hideo Asano. I met him one night in Osaka while strolling along the canal; I was feeling a bit miserable and, all of a sudden, this man approaches me and says "Are you a German?". I told him I was not -I'm a Spaniard- and then, as I was reading Hemingway's short stories at the time and he had a copy of Hemingway's poems, we engaged in conversation.

I took him for dinner and then we spent about five hours talking about literature, philosophy, religion, history... I gave him some money, bought him some beer and felt exactly the way you felt, I guess. He seemed to be a great man and it made me so sad to see him homeless and longing for a place to settle and a woman to care for him. It made me really sad when my time to leave came, too.

It's a wonderful thing to know he has left the same mark on some other people all around the world, because this is a memory I'm sure we all will keep for our whole lives.

Thank you for wirting it down and thank you for doing it so beautifully!

Cheers from Madrid!"

It amazes me to realise how a simple elderly man with an open heart can impact the lives of so many random people strewn across the globe, and how small technology has made our world.

So remember, that you are not a digit, a number, or another face, but really, someone who can make an impact on every person you meet along the way. Just like the way Hideo did.

Cheers to you too at Madrid, from Singapore.

One by one.

When he appeared before me, I nearly jumped out of my seat. I had sat down at a table in a food centre and had no idea he was seated there too. This old man has the name Michael as well, and it was the third time in three months where I had met him in three different places. I looked at him, squinted in disbelief, and if I were in a comic strip, would have parted the sky to wag my finger at God.

Like, come on. Seriously.

The first time we met, I was in the train when a very, very elderly man walked into the carriage and started talking very loudly to another passenger. The old sinewy man, full of energy nonetheless, was thin, balding and had thick-rimmed glasses and a pocket watch. Clad in simple paper-thin formal clothes in exceptional neatness, he clutched a large bible, a grammar book and thick english dictionary in one hand and a large umbrella in the next.

"Can I help you with that?" I asked.

"OH NO! I'M FINE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH YOUNG LADY! IT'S VERY KIND OF YOU BUT I'M QUITE FINE!"

At this point, people surrounding us were beginning to stare. He continued, "I'LL TELL YOU SOMETHING. I AM ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. I AM THE OLDEST STRAITS TIMES JOURNALIST IN SINGAPORE AND I'M STILL GOING STRONG!" He pronounced every word with spectacular precision and gesticulated animatedly, even with his arms full.

Not meaning to be impolite, I carried on the conversation with him, even though I felt every eye around descend upon us now. "Where are you off to and what do you do?"

"OH, I USED TO BE A PASTOR. NOW I GIVE ENGLISH LESSONS TO DRUG ADDICTS AT A HALFWAY HOUSE AT GEYLANG."

"Oh, you mean at High Point? Hey, I volunteer there too!"

At this time the entire train carriage filled with people had actually quietened down and were listening intently to our conversation. One young man even laughed and shook his head at me in amusement. There was something intensely quirky and charming about this old man- one couldn't quite decide if he was real or not, out-of-his-mind or not, and yet, a certain earnest charm held him together. He carried on to say, "I WAS BORN IN 1894. I WAS CAUGHT BY THE JAPANESE SOLDIERS AT ONE POINT, AND I AM THE OLDEST REPORTER HERE IN THIS COUNTRY! HERE, LET ME SHOW YOU MY POCKET WATCH. IT IS VERY VERY OLD TOO."

He reached his stop ten minutes later, got off and as the train doors closed between him and another two lines of passengers in front of me, he shouted, "I AM ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN AND STILL GOING STRONG!"

Two stops later, I alighted and as I crossed the road from the train station to my home, a young man, perhaps only a few years older than myself, stopped me and said, "I just want you to know it was very kind of you to ask if you could hold his books. People were watching and I just want you to know you made a difference."

I nearly teared as I walked home. I remember looking at the night sky and asking God what I had done to deserve such kindness from a stranger.

He didn't have to bless me with his kind words of encouragement, but he did.

The second time I met the old man I was with my father, outside a supermarket in the city. We chatted with him, and I gave him my phone number in case he needed anything in the future. He had 6 different coloured pens in his shirt pocket, and very meticulously, he copied down my name, number, address and age in journalistic, squiggly short-hand, with each detail in a different colour. My father was amused.

So a month later since the second encounter, when I sat down at the table at the food centre after my flute lesson in the east and saw him sitting right there, I think you can understand my sheer fright at the freak coincidence. I don't quite believe in coincidences, only divine appointments and godly conspiracies. So, even though I was in a rush, I asked him, "Michael? Remember me? Oh my, I've met you three times in three months in three different places!"

"OH YES, IT'S YOU!"

I then learnt that he had sprained his ankle days ago when a passer-by had brushed past him and knocked his thin, willowy frame over. "How are you feeling now? And how are you going back?"

"OH, IT STILL HURTS. I'M GOING BACK TO GEYLANG NOW, TO THE HALFWAY HOUSE. I STAY WITH THE DRUG ADDICTS THERE."

And then I realised it had all been planned. Had I not met him for the third time, I wouldn't have had been frustrated enough with the 'coincidence' to ask if there was anything at all I could do for him. I couldn't let him go home by himself, so my father drove down to send him back.

It was all very dreamlike. This happened more than a month ago, and I didn't write it down because it was too... surreal. The history of this old man was surreal. The way we met and kept meeting was surreal. Only the various characters which wove in and out of our interactions convinced me I wasn't dreaming.

Today, at a different train station, I met Esther, for the third time in the third different place as well. I met her previously on a train and in another station at town. She gave me a pink balloon craft and a green balloon craft the last two times we met. The last time we spoke, she kept telling me how not to worry about my calling to missions because God had a plan for my life. Today, as her eyes lit up when she saw me, she gave me a purple balloon shaped as an apple. "Ah, this morning I was just thinking of you as I listened to a CD. It was a sermon about callings. Ah, I shall make a copy for you and call you so I can pass it to you."

In the afternoon, when I got home, I received an email from a patient I had met at hospital. It was such a surprise, such an unexpected gift. *(link disclosed with permission) I had been thinking about her ever since I met her, about her radiance, her patience, her faith and trust in God, in the positivity she emanated.

Most times, I don't understand these random encounters in my life. All I know is that each time, I am blessed. And in the times where no tangible answers may be found, I learn that at times, it may be our turn to be used by God to bless others too. I am learning, that every single person is placed in our paths for a reason. They don't even have to be strangers- they could be our friends, and family, even. But every interaction is an opportunity to love, encourage and give- and through that, how surprised are we to find that we receive, too- so abundantly.

One by one. God uses us one by one to bless each of us, one by one.

Sometimes we receive, sometimes we give- but at all times, we are all part of a chain of events which can leave us and others happier, leave us and others closer to God and that fragrant sense of haven.

I am learning, that as we bless, we too, are blessed.

"Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier.

Be the living expression of God's kindness:

kindness in your face,

kindness in your eyes,

kindness in your smile.”

-Mother Teresa

Ants on the Mona Lisa. (edited)

"Sometimes, we're just like ants. Ants on the Mona Lisa."

"Huh?"


I fell. It was such a silly fall, at an unpresumptuous spot. I heard the sound of bones breaking, saw the bleeding abrasion on my right palm and closed my eyes to suppress that dead feeling of dread inside of me. After so many times on my bike, how could I have fallen- again? It was such a silly fall, at such an unpresumptuous spot. I shouldn’t have fallen. But I did.

It reminded me, that no matter how far we’ve come and what we’ve done, we can still fall, over and over, even at the same places. We can make the same mistakes, twice, over and over, if we are not careful or presumptuous. Just because we know how to ride a bike doesn’t mean we’ll never fall again. In life, perhaps complacency is one of our greatest pitfalls, and we can stumble at any time. Falls- they remind us of our weaknesses, and of our innate need to rely on and trust in God.

Fungus shared with me how he used to return to the Spinal Cord Injury support group at the hospital to speak to and encourage patients with his journey. I marveled at that because it must take so much of him to do that, to recount the tragedy, to be reminded of his disability, and to go over the pains of coping with life now. Do you know what it is like for someone to have to stick a tube inside himself several times a day to extract urine because one has lost his urinary functions? Do you know how inconvenient it is to have to get out of the house on a wheelchair? … I can hardly imagine it. And I almost teared when he shared it with me, because I told him I hadn’t, and couldn’t return to my own support group at the hospital. “It’s too hard,” I said, “I’m not ready.”

Because though I can write and bring it up on my own accord if I feel it would help someone, it’s still hard to talk about it when people ask. Close ones know I don't like to talk about it. I've not written about this in months because I wanted to put it aside for a while. It’s hard to go over what happened, hard to come face to face with people suffering from it, hard to return to the same rooms which I want to lose the keys to. When I fell off my bike yesterday, at a most unlikely spot and position, I realized that though I have been doing so well, we must always be on our guard, and that we must never let over-confidence or our presumption trick us into complacency.

The more I train, the more Ed will try and take revenge. I am probably the heaviest I have ever been in my life now but I’m happy. God has been bigger, and my greatest challenge is not the race itself, but the victory in being free from Ed all the way till the race itself. God has blessed me with many angels of late, people to run, swim and cycle with- and that has kept Ed far, far away because he hates company. Perhaps that is why I like company, too.

The fall off my bike at such an unlikely spot and position forced me to realize that one must never be complacent. People working in factories doing the same things every day get into accidents; people who don’t continue reading develop Alzheimer’s; Great kings lose their kingdoms because of lust when they lose focus. And relationships break down when not watered every day.

I’ve read that the three-year mark is a gold mine. Being relapse-free for three years gives an outstanding prognosis for life-long cure. That will be when I graduate. One down, two to go.

Because of my fall, my mood to ride for the day had been ruined. I sat by the sea, watching the waves and along the way back, said hello to a fellow biker as I often do to other riders or joggers. His name was Michael, a competitive biker training for the upcoming Florida Championships. We talked, and as we rode, felt God connect us as we shared about our journeys in sports. Just like Amos and Fungus, he, too, was looking for a church- and each of them have laughed at how God put me in their paths to provide them with that extra push to go back to find the centre of their beings, to build their spiritual health. And I laugh, at how the exchange is balanced by their inspiration to me to build my own physical and emotional health.

Against my initial plans, we rode to the city, trained around a loop and talked more. Michael is a living example of how God is still centre of his life in spite of his great achievements. “Anytime God wants me to stop this pursuit, I am ready,” he says. “But it’s a daily process, you have to check yourself and listen all the time... ... God has put me through some difficult times, but very often, Pain helps us put things in perspective. Sometimes, we're like ants on the Mona Lisa. We don't know why God puts us through what He puts us through, but when you look at things from His perspective, the big picture is always beautiful. ”

He was another one of those random angels God had placed in my path to remind me of His message and love to me. And as we sensed His very real and almost goosebumply presence around us, we both teared at the lessons and messages He had used each of us to send to each other. “God has complete restoration set for each of us. He gave you your experiences for a reason. ”

There are no coincidences, only divine appointments and godly conspiracies. In the bible, Michael is the name of an angel.

I was glad I fell.

Through the fall, I met Michael. And through Michael, had what I had learnt through the fall reinforced in my being. We cannot be complacent, be it in our physical or spiritual training, because we can fall in the same silly places.

Someday, like Fungus, I would like to be ready and brave enough to go back to the support group to share my story. Someday, I would like to know that I am so different from who I started out as when I first met God because I didn’t give room for complacency. Someday, I would like to know God gave me a second chance and didn’t allow my wrist to break yesterday because He is loving enough to send us reminders for us not to get carried away.

At many points in our lives, we may not understand the reasons for the pain, experiences and journeys God puts us through. But we just trust, that we may be ants on the beautiful Mona Lisa which God sees and paints.

I was glad I fell.

"Do not forget to entertain strangers,

for by doing so some have unwittingly entertained angels."

-Hebrews 13:2

Sticking it out.

"That ring... is not good for you to wear."

She took the ring from me, and we decided that she would return it to me only after I got married. "I will keep it for you." And that was that.

Somehow a great sense of relief washed over me. It was as if I had finally let go of another bag of fear, amidst all the big bags of fear I carry around with me daily- the fear of loving, the fear of being loved, the fear of swimming, the fear of pain, the fear of dreaming. I gave Aunty L my ring because we decided it was "not good for you to wear", that "God will make that to happen which should happen so you ought not to limit what He wants to do with your life". So that precious ring which I always wear on my wedding finger even though I am single, because of a ton of reasons which Aunty L struck off one by one, is now... gone.

I wonder if perhaps God has been trying to get something through to me. On top of the many disparate incidents which have occurred over the past month, this week, not one, not two, but four people came to talk to and challenge me about my views on relationships, and I think Aunty L was the one who won me over. She took my ring away- that ring which held so much of my fear- my fear of loving, of being loved, of pain and of dreaming. And now I feel strangely... free. Free, not because of worldly reasons, but free, because this is the beginning of letting my fears about loving and of being loved go. I have had to confess, that the ring was worn out of fear, too.

This week, I learnt, that one of my fears included that of not being able to see things through. It disturbed me to realise that I had the habit of starting on books but not always finishing them, of taking new hobbies up with great enthusiasm but pursuing very few, of starting a run, swim or bike but always faltering in the second half, of starting off well and then not being able to finish off strong because of Pain. That day, when Amos made me do twelve more laps with weights on my legs just at the point when I was ready to get out of the water because of fatigue, I remember being afraid of not finishing the task which lay ahead because of the pain. And perhaps part of the tears at the end that day, was in realising the pre-existing weakness that I had of not seeing things through, of fearing to overcome pain. It made me wonder-when a relationship hit the rocks, would I give up too soon, too fast and throw in the towel because of the challenges? Would I not realise that Pain in a relationship is like Pain in a race? That it is necessary for growth?

Perhaps the pain in a relationship or a race is like that experienced in labour. Once in the labour ward, I witnessed an extremely difficult delivery. The mother was exhausted, and she kept pushing in short spurts instead of giving long, sustained pushes, resulting in the baby continually being ping-ponged up and down the birth canal but never quite coming out. This resulted in terrible tears in her vagina which needed much stitching. I suppose that just like in labour or a race, we all come to a point of excruciating pain where a sustained effort, more than short bursts of motivation, is required to keep us going till the end- if one wishes for smooth finish. Surely, it is overcoming that pain in the long haul, persistently, which makes a relationship, race or the process of labour great and beautiful.

Many friends and mentors, too, have shared with me the ups and downs of being in a relationship. Through the misunderstandings, they understood each other better, and through the pain, they loved each other more deeply- even though at some point, many of them confessed to me that they felt like giving up because things got tough.

So even though this really is a tiny, tiny race I have had the privilege of going for, I am learning Big lessons along the way, about myself, about others and about life. I want to learn how to stick it out when things get tough, and how to finish well.

I am learning, that we go through different seasons in life- that God allowed the ring for a season of my life to protect me- for it was just at that point where I met a person who would have swept me off my feet with his slickness had it not been for the commitment I felt God had made me make during the time. The person turned out to be someone who would've destroyed me completely had it not been for the ring. Today, J wrote," I think the season for God's purposes for you having the ring is over, I remember it was quite amazing how you came to have it in the first place. It's interesting how He teaches and leads us in each season learning new trust and surrender in greater measures each time."

I am learning, that trusting God with my relationships, now and in the future, will take me through a higher level of faith. I am learning that I have reached the point where my heart needs to be s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d, that I need to expect more from myself than others, that reality stands in stark constrast to disney, and that if someone comes in a white horse and the whole fairy tale get-up (which someone did in some way), he most likely is a fake-o. That though reality doesn't come with sparkles and medieval battles, there is beauty in simplicity and plain integrity. I am learning, that I need to be less proud and more real with myself and others, that I need to stop shutting people out from my life just because they are nice to me, and that while certain standards cannot be compromised, I have to stop trying to surpass the ceiling in setting expectations. This will not be a comfortable learning curve, but one which I will have to embark on nonetheless, to learn the lesson of seeing things through, till the very end.

I could not sleep last night- something turned restlessly within me as I pondered over the silly mistakes I had made because of my attitude towards relationships and people, and wondered if they were irreversible. Aunty L wrote me today, "Did not miss the ring, I hope. I pray for the hands of God to embrace you tenderly. Is anything too hard for Him?"

I want to learn not to fear pain but to see things through. And I hope Aunty L will have reason to return my ring back to me someday, when I no longer will need it anymore because of a new one I've received.

So I don't have my ring anymore. And that is that.

Postcard from heaven.

Last Sunday in my White Place, right in the middle of us singing, a lady walked right next to me and put her arm around me. We were singing about God's faithfulness, when she walked from a few rows behind me to where I was sitting and hugged me, saying, "I'm leaving for overseas tomorrow- I just want to pray for you: Remember, that no matter what you're in the midst of, God will be absolutely faithful to see you through. Be neither dismayed nor discouraged, because He loves you so much."

I hadn't realised just how much that that prayer would mean to me. After considering all the new commitments that are going to start in the next few weeks ahead, I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I was for that message, that simple postcard from heaven. The past few weeks have been, on a human level, crazy. Sometimes it's tiring, but I know it'll only get tougher in the weeks ahead. I will have to learn about prioritizing- it won't be easy I know-I'm already suffering withdrawal symptoms from missing my regular cycling buddies on Saturdays because of bible study training- riding alone just doesn't give me my fix, but God has to come first, and the challenge lies in not whining about it. I know the days ahead will be a test of my stamina and strength. There will come a point where there will be real pain to bear.

But because God's given me the peace about each of these tasks, I know He'll see me through. I don't know how, but He just will.

Calendar:

1. Obstetrics and Gynaecology module and examinations (This is our heaviest module ever-our days will begin at 7.30am with a graded test on a daily basis from Monday onwards. But... studying O&G is my great pleasure indeed.)



2. Flute Grade 1 examination (in 2 weeks time- my delight )



3. Osim mini-triathlon (a day after my flute exam- my adventure!)



4. Teaching my group of 7 to 8 year-olds at Sunday School (my joy)



5. Bible study leading at varsity (my privilege)



6. Attending bible study leader training sessions (my stimulation)



7. Writing for my church's new missions website launching soon (my fingers crossed!)



8. Helping Joyriders lead their new-newbies cycling group/ training with handcyclists (my thrill and indulgence)



9. Attending my coach's swim/run/torture sessions (my pain... ah pain.)


10. Chapel sharing about Kitesong to delinquent girls at Andrew & Grace Home for 20 minutes (my bliss)



11. Sharing at the fundraising dinner organised by Methodist Missions Church and helping to promote the Kitesong DVD/ gathering with the missionaries from Nepal (my gratification)



12. Attending a wedding (my fascination)



13. Having a 23-hour work shift from 8am till 7am the next day at hospital (speechless for this one, yes)



14. Mission trip to Sri Lanka- still pending (my prayer)

"He loves you so much, Wai Jia. Remember, God is and will be faithful indeed."

Thank God for postcards from heaven.

"But as surely as God is faithful...

... in Him it has always been 'Yes.'

For no matter how many promises God has made,

they are 'Yes' in Christ.

And so through him the "Amen" is spoken by us to the glory of God."

- 2 Cor 1 :18-20

Climbing the Mountain.

Pain. I am enthralled by it. In the labour wards at hospital, the screaming mothers with anguish smeared all over their faces inspire me in the most unspeakable ways- the pain of childbirth accentuates the beauty of life; During endurance races, the perserverence of athletes written in their perspiration and grimace captivates me- their pain encapsulates the indomitability of the human spirit; In depression, the disbelief in God and bold questioning makes me sit up- their pain reminds me of how our trials can strengthen our faith in Him who is unseen.

Pain. I am learning, how when put in the right perspective, it can be so good for us.

When I first met Amos, I knew he was a blessing from God. He was everything I had always wished for. Till today, it still feels surreal, for God's timing is best. Had I met him any earlier, I knew I would have sunk right under the wave of the old idolatrous nature, allowing the pride of self and sports to consume me all over again. Amos- it is the name of a man in the bible whose purpose was to warn people of God's displeasure against their idolatry.

For the longest time, I had wished I would be able to master the art of swimming freestyle competitively. I wanted to master water. Friends had offered help and advice but I wanted something more. I wanted to be pushed, wanted to learn, master and marvel at one of the most beautiful art forms of gliding through water with the human body. Desperate, I posted a message on the triathlete forum asking for someone willing to teach me one-on-one. On evenings after work. At the pool at my place because I've no time to travel. Tough luck, I thought- the price would be steep. Private lessons can cost up to more than a hundred dollars an hour.

But Amos replied and said he would teach me for free because he loves to teach. He teaches all the kids at his condominium for free too. He doesn't mind coming to my place because he happens to live 2 minutes from where I live. Amos is a professional swimmer- he was trained by australian multiple award winner for best-coach-of-year Ian Pope and has come in first in a number of competitions.

Yes, so when I first met Amos, I knew he was a blessing from God. He was everything I had ever asked God for in a coach. I was embarrassed, no doubt. Why would someone like him spend his time on someone like myself? For nothing monetary in return? But his passion amazed me, his encouragement goaded me, his friendship worked in me a motivation which unleashed something I never knew existed within me. Zealous for life and full of determination, he is the perfect mix of nanny-friend and terror which makes a good coach Good.

First time we met, he made it very clear to me that he took training very seriously. "I don't understand why people don't put in their best. It doesn't matter if you're going for a short or long race-what matters is that you put in your best. Pain is not an option. Pain is your friend, okay? "

"We're gonna warm-up first, do some drills, and then finish a couple of sets." I looked at him in mild amusement- I was sure he didn't understand what I meant when I told him I was a really, really bad freestyle swimmer, "worse than a chicken in water". But several drills and fine-tuning practises later, when I had finally got the hang of gliding and was tired and losing focus, breathing every 2 strokes instead of the 4 he had stipulated, he stared straight into my eyes and told me, "If you wanna improve and not die during trials, then you've got to make Pain your Friend. I'm not joking- I will yell at you if you don't try. Breathe only after every four strokes, not two. Don't disappoint me. Go. "

Last Saturday, we went to the open sea in Sentosa so I could get a feel of what open-water swimming was like in triathlons. The tide was coming in, the current strong and he could tell I was stressed out by the situation. "Look, it's okay if you're not used to it, we don't have to swim to that island over there. I don't want you to drown." The other shore was far away, and the sheer distance of choppy waves which lay in between paralysed me. "No, we'll try it out. I'm okay. Pain is our friend, right?"

I gulped and went for it. Though stressed initially by the heavy currents which I wasn't used to, I started to enjoy the water so much. But halfway through in the middle of the ocean, the pain in my legs stalled me. I wanted to stop because of the pain. I had confessed to Amos before, that for some reason, I always lost confidence, speed and hope after I crossed the halfway mark, in almost everything I did. It scared me because I know the journey God has before us is all about finishing well, and not merely starting off strong. He shouted, "Keep going!"

Suddenly, a firework of stings burned my skin as a group of seabugs latched onto me, including my lips. At that moment, my senses awakened and I pressed on. It reminded me, of how God had allowed the angels to put fiery burning coals on the lips of a righteous man because the Painful cleansing process was necessary for the great calling God had lay ahead of him. (Isaiah 6:5-8) I pressed on. There and back, there and back.

Pain. I am learning, how it can be good for us when we allow it to come from God, and not our own blind self-striving.

The next day, at church, we listened to the story of a one-day trek up an icy mountain organised for tourists visiting Switzerland. At every trek, many people would start off strong, determined to reach the top, and were even more enthused in knowing that there would be a half-way resthouse to recharge in at noon. But at every trek, when the people reached the resthouse, and started to drink, eat and make merry amidst music of the piano and accordion, only but a few would go back out in the freezing cold, for the jovial atmosphere in the warm resthouse was a comfortable relief from the harsh winds. But at 4 o'clock, when the finalists reached the top to plant their flags, a bell would sound and an inevitable funeral-like atmosphere would permeate the once-merry resthouse. It was a smell of discouragement, of despair and of shame. All the celebrating would end at that point, because the people knew, they didn't make it because they didn't embrace the Pain of the journey with resilience and faith. They gave up mid-way. They didn't go all the way with the vision laid upon their hearts at the beginning.

Amos taught me more than swimming. "Pain is your friend. Your problem is not endurance, it's confidence. "

Today was a tough day. After doing drill after drill and swallowing lots of water, I was ready to call it a day. But Amos had more in mind- that was merely the warm-up. "Now training starts proper, we're going to do sets." I wasn't ready for it. If I had been by myself, that would have been more than sufficient. I thought he was joking, but he wasn't. Towards the end, with my legs burning and lungs close to bursting, I gave it all I got but at the end, he said, "Two more sets. " I looked at him, horrified. "Two more sets. I know you can do it. Don't quit on me now, it's only going to get harder." My adrenalin was pumping, my limbs were aching and my lungs were gasping. A fiery anger burned inside me. "Good, I see that fire. Put it in those last few laps, you can stop now if you're a quitter."

Something in me broke in the last set. There was Pain inside all of me. I wanted to quit. I am an artist, a painter, a writer, a runner at most, but not a swimmer. That excruciating agony surprised me and all at once, an emotional downpour rained upon me as I pulled through the water, remembering the story I had heard at church about going all the way with God. That climbing heights with God is about keeping our eyes on the vision which He has for us at the end, that it always requires going all the way, and about fighting the battle through pain. Because He wants us to be acclimatized to the harsher conditions of the second leg of the climb and race. Because it's not about how well we start, but how well we finish. We need to overcome and endure whatever Pain there is, so we can reach the end.

I don't know where all that fiery energy and anger came from but when I remembered that story I gave it all I got. There was a desperation to finish the race, a fiestiness to complete what I had started. Suddenly I was angry with the Pain. I was angry with myself always lacking the confidence to finish off strong. I was angry at all the teasing being thrown at me at school and which had hurt me and crossed my threshold and which I kept bottling inside but which I no longer wanted to take. That anger surprised me because I never knew it existed. "Don't give up-where is your character?" he asked me when I turned to do the next lap. I wanted to throw the heavy weights he had made me wear on my legs at him.

When I finally hit the wall, with the upsurge of adrenalin and pain and hormones and emotionality boiling up inside me and my lungs desperate for breath, with the remembrance of the story about Pain and finishing well with God at church, with the disbelief that I was finally swimming for real, and with the gratitude I had towards God for blessing me with a coach and friend like Amos, for seeing me through the journey of overcoming idolatry, for speaking to me in such a consistent way about pain and finishing well, for returning the joy of sports and life to me and finally practising sports with the kind of good pain within His limits, tears welled up in my eyes. Suddenly, I just felt like screaming my lungs out. I just cried. When I got out of the water, I just broke and cried.

Amos put a towel over me and sat me down to talk, as we always do after every lesson. "You okay?"

"Yes."

" You were good today. You did well. I am proud of you, you aren't a quitter, you've character. You finished well. You made Pain your friend and you did well."

It was an emotional time. The tears kept flowing and I couldn't stop them. All this while I thought God wanted me to put sports away because it had become an idol, but look how, when we surrender it to Him, He can powerfully He use it to impact and teach us and show us the great extent of His generous love. He took away, and then gave back in double portion.

Pain. I am learning that it can be a beautiful thing when we put it in perspective. Pain, when used to fuel our idolatry for selfish gains and self-striving, can be destructive. But when understood in the context of building our character, and extrapolating its principles to the most important Race we call life with God, it can be a beautiful, beautiful thing. No matter what mountain we climb, what race we begin, as long as God has called us to it, we need to be faithful to complete it.

Amos- it is the name of the man who understood the gravity of not putting God first.

Amos taught me about Pain. We learn most from it when it becomes our friend, not idol or god. We overcome when it becomes our friend, and we overcome for the purpose of finishing the good work which God has begun in us. Only a few reach the top of the mountain.

Who may ascend into the hill of God?

Or who may stand in His holy place?

He who has clean hands and a pure heart,

Who has not lifted up his soul to an idol,

Nor sworn deceitfully.

He shall receive blessing from God,

And righteousness from the God of his salvation.

-Psalm 24:3-5

Drafting.

Drafting. It is a term used by cyclists, which means following the bike in front of you so closely that you no longer have to strive against the oncoming headwind, simply because the cyclist in front of you does the work of overcoming it for you. Cyclists draft together for greater efficiency, often in beautifully straight lines in melodic synchrony, wheeling down roads against the morning breeze. Cyclists who draft usually use cleats, contraptions cyclists attach to the bottom of their shoes which allow them to "hook" onto their pedals so they can cycle at greater speeds and efficiency. It took me a long time before I had the guts to try them out, and many words of encouragement, 8 painful falls, 2 abrasions, and 1 ten-centimetre bruise later, I finally got the hang of cycling using them.



Last Saturday was my first time drafting for real. I was the fifth cyclist in line of about ten of us, each of us pedalling at an identical speed, pulling forward in synchronised rhythm. It was the fastest I had ever gone for such a long distance, yet, it felt so easy, enjoyable and fun.

It suddenly hit me- that drafting is exactly like following God.


Let me explain.
It was Fungus who first inspired me. During the time I met him, I was sure God had told me to let sports go because it made me rely too much on myself, too little on Him, and I had reached the point of blind self-striving. The strenuous effort of going against God's purpose for my life reminded me of the feeling of sprinting on one's bike alone, relying on oneself, having to face the strong headwind and struggling so much just to overcome it- the ride becomes lonely, tiring, unenjoyable.

But following and listening to God is like drafting. When we yield and obey, things fall into place and even though we are performing at a much higher level, it feels so much easier, more enjoyable and peaceful. We work, but from a posture of rest; we labour, but from a position of purpose. When we are walking in the centre of His purpose, things become much easier.


I was a little worried when I signed up for the mini-triathlon- after all, I am doing my O&G (obstetrics and gynaecology) module, stepping up as a bible study leader at the varsity, stepping up as sunday school teacher for my group of seven year-olds at church, and practising for my upcoming flute exam, all around the same time. But the peace was so strange- it lingered. God was waiting to show me the difference between the awful strain of self-striving and the beautiful ease of drafting Him.

Shortly after I signed up, I became amazed at how God strategically placed people in my path to make the journey so easy and enjoyable. I met many new-found friends who would make the special effort to ride to my place and take me on night rides during my break to teach me how to use cleats; one even drove across the island to pass me his stationary bike trainer which would help me learn to cycle with cleats; I met a lady-marathoner who lives across the road who runs with me before work; during church camp I met a swim coach who enlightened me about swimming; and just lately, could you believe it- I found a professional swimmer, trained by Australian best-coach-of-the-year Ian Pope, who lives 2 minutes from me who loves swimming so much he's been coaching me a couple of evenings a week for free at the comfort of the pool at my place. He's an excellent coach, and I cannot help but marvel at how God sent people to help, teach and encourage me when I was willing to humble myself before Him and confess my weakness. Till today, I marvel at how so often, timings and events just happened at such perfect timings, so randomly and beautifully that I am left quite in awe at how people simply walked into my life when I needed them.

And I am amazed that none of this has consumed me- for as I enjoy the new-found luxury of enjoying the gifts God has blessed me with, I have become much more disciplined with my academic work, my service at church and the other gifts which God has called me to steward. I am enjoying school so much and keeping up with my studying; I am enjoying time spent at church; I check myself against these reminders regularly, just so I remember that God is the centre and rock of my life always. And though it has been a little annoying having to fend off jeers about my joining the mini instead of the sprint, I know this is between myself and God, that it is my true friends who will choose to understand and support my more modest decision, and it is ultimately God who will be pleased at my obedience. Life is like that- we can't make everyone understand, and we don't need to.

God says that it is good for us to enjoy what He's given to us (Ecclesiastes 5:18), but that we must be temperate in all things (1 Corinthians 9:25). I am amazed, that when we wait on God for his green light at His timing, the rewards are oh-so sweet, the journey is oh-so enjoyable. When we give up our desires to Him, He gives us back doubly. I am learning, and I am enjoying the rewards of drafting God.

Drafting doesn't mean it doesn't come with its challenges. Just because something is hard, doesn't mean it's not from God. Similarly, easy routes don't necessarily mean they were planned by God. After all, drafting at high speeds can be incredibly challenging. Pushing yourself in disciplined sports is never effortless. However, drafting does mean that for a much higher level of performance, the effort put in is relatively less, and it is enjoyable because you know the favour is on your side. The pain experienced is a good kind of pain, not a spirit-eroding one, but a wholesome, healthy sort of pain.

It's funny- I'm involved and doing more things than I've ever done before, and still, I feel so refreshed, so incredibly happy and balanced.

Drafting. It means to follow. It makes life so easy, so fruitful. Last night's ride along the straight road, drafting behind another cyclist, made the ride so much fun.

When we follow God, our burden is always far lighter. We can work from a position of rest. Are you drafting God today?

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened,

and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart,

and you will find rest for your souls.

For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

-Matthew 11:28-30

Good enough.

The handcyclists have been training for their next race. One evening, Fungus called me up to see if I could accompany them for their night training. They always need able-bodied riders to guide them on the roads because their low position on the handcycles make it dangerous for them, as vehicles cannot see them as easily. That night, as the only able-bodied rider available to guide them and do traffic-signalling, I was put out of my comfort zone as I suddenly realised that I have reached yet another milestone.

I am no longer a little girl. God has healed, strengthened and equipped so much that I am now the woman able to provide others with help. I am no longer the needy child at home but the daughter who can take responsibility; I am no longer a spiritual baby at church but a sunday school teacher and soon-to-be bible study leader at varsity; I am no longer a newbie at my cycling club but have been asked to be a "Guardian Angel", who are pack leaders who teach, induct and guide the freshest cycling newbies along the roads when they ride with us; I have better memory, now that I can eat, live and sleep well, and thus am able to help others with their academic work. At that moment, I suddenly realised how far God had brought me from the abyss of depression I once was in, and was amazed, for back then, I could hardly imagine this possibility.

Later on in the ride, as the handcyclists pulled over to the side of the road for a rest and drink, Fungus got stuck. His handcycle was stuck in a precarious position and he needed a 180 degree turn. "Hannah Montana!" one of them shouted (that's the affectionate nickname they've dumped on me), "Get him, will ya?"

I bent down, and as I tried to lift the heavy handcycle and Fungus off the ground so I could manouvre him around, the sheer weight of the task overpowered me. My arms, like toothpicks, had to lift a grown man and his the handcycle he was on and spin it around along the pavement- a task no doubt fit for a grown man. But we were desperate, and I had to do it. So as I bent down to gain a greater centre of gravity and struggled, the handcyclists cheered me on and we laughed together, in stitches, at the absurdity of the situation. It was just as I finally turned Fungus and his handcycle around, with my arms and back aching and myself perspiring all over, that pressure built up behind my eyes. I realised, that we don't merely live for ourselves, but for others too. It hit me so hard, that we have a responsibility to grow into the people God made us for, to fulfill the roles we have been assigned to- because as much as we needed others while we grew up, they need us now, too.

And we don't have to be perfect. All we need, is a willing heart and a spirit of responsibility, compassion and love. That is all.

In the past, I used to have this crummy, dead feeling inside of me whenever someone flaunted their prowess in front of me. I would be devastated by their talent, and feel completely inferior, insecure and undone. Everyone was always running the race, and I wanted to be fastest, best, too. But there can only be one winner in every race-one tired, tired winner, and therein lay the problem.


It was Fungus who first sparked the idea of doing my first triathlon in my head. When my other friends did so before, I always waved their suggestion away, for they didn't understand the evil and exhausting stronghold sports had over me. I was really afraid signing up for a triathlon would allow pride to destroy me again.

I had prayed for months- I didn't want to make the same mistake of displacing God and making sports or myself an idol again. The fear of grieving God the way I did gripped me. However, after weeks of desperate soul-searching, self-reflection, discussion and prayer with mentors, God finally gave me the peace and the green light to go ahead. The lengthy decision-making process deepened my faith in ways I never expected.

I struggled between signing up for the mini-triathlon (which really is extremely short) or the sprint-triathlon, which is twice as long. Peer pressure was real- almost all my athletic peers laughed at the suggestion of my doing the mini one over the sprint. But the memories of how I had strived with my own strength against God for the sake of pride haunted me, and I was grateful enough for His peace, grace and freedom to try the mini. Few friends understood where I was coming from, even fewer understood how much this would mean to me- finally being free of what used to chain my spirit. A lot of people gave me flak about my signing up for such a short race-"You're just wasting your time and money- you should go for the longer distances! Train up, don't be a wuss!" Only but a handful know what this means to me, what a breakthrough this is for me in so many dimensions. To the few who did and encouraged me, I am immensely grateful. And ironically, this has turned out to be more humbling than I thought.


It was only recently that I noticed something different about my life, something which had long imprisoned me had been unloosed. I have grown up, I have become more secure and stable. Because of that, I am no longer bound by myself, false idols or worldly demands. And because of that, He's given me the joy, freedom and peace to do my first mini triathlon.

It's funny-I thought I would give this whole sporting-pursuit-nonsense up forever because of what it had done to me. But just as I surrendered it and gave it back to God, He returned to me so much more. In the past I used to rely solely on my own efforts, using God as a drug to fuel my pursuits. Now that I've put Him back in the centre of my life, the whole journey seems comparatively effortless, so joyful, so free-ing.

The mini-triathlon is, ironically ha, more a jab to my pride than anything. For the distance is so short I realise I could go for it as I am, without any training. But therein lies the point, and the beauty of it all. That for once, I am not doing it to prove anything to anyone, but really, am joining it for the fun of it all, and to fulfill that adventurous desire within me to simply try everything once. I am learning how to swim freestyle properly now and it has been so much fun. Someday I hope to do paragliding and horseriding, ha.

I realise we don't need to be the fastest, brightest, best, prettiest, strongest, mostest. And I most certainly don't need to be the fastest and strongest. All I need to be is disciplined enough to enjoy sports and stay healthy, to be fast enough to help the handcyclists in their training (which includes not letting Greg overtake me- the man is a paraOlympiad champion and has biceps as large as my thighs, I still can't believe he overtook me that night!), strong enough to be able to move Fungus' handcycle when he needs help, able enough to be able to do 5 tiring, consecutive cycles of CPR to resusitate an unconsicious person, to be humble enough to help others new or awkward to the sport. I was in their shoes once- golly, I couldn't even balance properly on my bike last year. I realise, I don't need to be leader always, all I need is to be a "Guardian Angel" to those who need me, the way I once needed them, too.

I don't need to feel the pressure to better everybody else and beat myself up for what I do not know- all I need is to be bright and diligent enough to be a competent doctor, and to stay humble enough to be willing to help others who need help in their academics. I don't need to be a perfect bible study teacher or excel my flute exam with distinction- all I need is to stay faithful to my duty and be faithful to the gifts I have been blessed with. I don't need to feel like I must write to impress, I just need to write for simple things, for causes I believe in. I don't need to live under Ed's shadow anymore- all I need is to be happy with whatever simple beauty that God has endowed me with and to remember Qing's beautiful heart.

I don't need to be a master in all my trades- all I need is to do my best in all I do. And to enjoy it, to really give thanks to God by enjoying His gifts.

I think perhaps, I have finally learnt and understood- that being good enough is not about being good enough for the world, but being good enough for whatever God has required us to do.

I am Good Enough! What a joy it is to say it out loud. Try it.

Because truly understanding that gives us joy unspeakable, freedom unimaginable. That is more than good-enough for Him. And with this new, joyful and liberating attitude, perhaps we will find that we do far better than we ever imagined possible.

Perodua Myvi and Proton Satria Neo Review

Now after watching that review, I watched this...



SHITT I DON'T MIND BUYING A PROTON SATRIA NEO...

I mean...SATRIA NEO S2000 OF COURSE!!

WHY CAN'T THEY JUST MAKE STANDARD SATRIA NEO'S THAT ARE JUST POWERFUL AT THE FIRST PLACE?? If you're not good with looks, at least try to be good for something isn't it..

But must be cheap of course la....

Michael Jackson Memorial Service

No!!No I'm not done with his songs yet....



I'LL BE THERE!!!

Learning.

In our attempts to love one another, we can fail at times. The mind, heart, body and soul is so complex, it almost seems like a losing battle just to try and understand one another. We love, in ways we know best, but the language is sometimes lost in translation, especially if 2 people are from different backgrounds, genders, belief systems and have different experiences.

COM-MUN-NI-CATION- It seems like such a long word to say, but we spit it out nonetheless, in our valiant attempts to love. And yet, it can sometimes result in MIS-UNDER-STAN-DINGS- what another big word.

In those valiant attempts to love in our everyday life, sometimes, we lose little battles along the way. Not because we mean to, but because of the sheer amount of time spent with one another which create tiny microabrasions along the way. Love is sent out, but the other doesn't receive it; love is sent out both ways, but gets lost in the atmosphere; sometimes love is witheld because both parties have been bitten. Lots of little things get lost in the air, and the little points of friction accummulate, misunderstandings occur, things get swept under. We keep score, even though we really don't mean to.

I am learning, that it is a precious thing to talk things out. It is far easier to put up a wall, chuck matters under the rug, leave things to fester like gangrenous wounds and give the friendship up. But I am learning, that friends cherish one another enough to work things out, even if it risks getting into a sticky situation. I am learning, that every relationship and person counts, and it is often the ones we cherish most that are most easily jeopardised, and it is up to us to let go, to humble ourselves, to challenge ourselves to understand the other person with compassion and love. I am learning, that I must be willing to learn these things.

I am also learning, that just as how through talking, one could find no reason to forgive, dig up even more issues and arm oneself with evidence of the other's wrongs, one can just as easily find no reason to stay mad, to keep loving, to forgive and to move on too. Sometimes, the human flesh longs to stay bitter, but the love for the person, the gratitude for all they've done for you, the memories treasured, and the cherishing of the times spent together makes all the difference.

At the end, it is simply a matter of choice. Like when God died for our sake, I don't think logically, He thought he really had a good reason to other than the reason of love. This irrational, all-consuming, mind-blowing thing called love, is the very thing that opens your eyes to the realities of truth but makes you love anyway, that makes you so very mad and hurt and guilty but makes you love still anyway, that makes me realise how much of a prick I am, too, but am still loved anyway- for all my idiosyncrasies, warts and terrible habits. It is this thing called love, which makes me look unnaturally at myself at the mirror to pick out the log in my own eye before picking the sawdust out from others'.

I am learning, that perhaps love is not just about being happy together, but about learning to bear with one another, in patience and longsuffering. I am learning, that friendships need to be watered with prayer, time and tenderness. Oh, I have so much to learn.

I am learning, that I have so much to learn, but that there is always reason to love, and to forgive, and that even though it may be challenging to try and understand someone else, we can try. And that sometimes, it may require prayer, humility and courage to do so.

But because we, too, have been loved and forgiven, for our multitude of faults, flaws and sins, we can try.

Every friend counts.

"... to walk worthy of the calling with which you were called,

with all lowliness and gentleness, with longsuffering,

bearing with one another in love,

endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit

in the bond of peace."

-Ephesians 4:2-3

"Bear one another's burdens..."

-Galatians 6:2a

Cheer 2009 Video

I HAVE A CONFESSION TO MAKE!!

I LOVE watching cheerleaders cheer!Just love the whole co-ordination and all.





WHY?????

WHY DID I GO TO A SCHOOL BEFORE THAT DOES NOT PRODUCE CHEERLEADERS ONE??

Now I know for the rest of my life that I never really had the best of time in High School!My High School life suckss!!!

I want to be a Government Servant too!!

Just awhile ago, I was at a government institution that was once well-known around the world for its research which no longer is, due to the pace of technology.


I always wanted to know how people worked in the government. So I decided to pay them a visit with also the intention of gaining as much knowledge as I can in my related field.

While I was there, I happen to talk to one of the old girls, who has been working over there for 30 years.
30 YEARS!!, whom gladfully told me that her pension is coming up in 3 years time.

That's right guys... All the years that she has been working, she can finally see free money coming in, the fruit of her labor. I guess she deserves it alright. I mean, 30 years is a long time to wait and finding workers like that nowadays with such faithfulness to the organization can no longer be found in today's era.

For awhile I was telling myself, how the hell did this old lady worked here for so longgg, nottt until I happen to see what she was doing..

It was 3:30pm and this is what I saw!!



SHE WAS READING A BOOK ALL THE WAY TO BALIK RUMAH!!

NO WONDER SHE LASTED 30 YEARS!! I WANT TO BE A GOVERNMENT SERVANT TOO!!

Xi En.

" Do you... worry about your child?" I asked in slight trepidation. She was very open about her situation, but still, I decided to tread carefully.

"Yes, sometimes. But I tell myself every single day is a miracle. God's mercies are new every day!"

When she said that, I simply looked at her in amazement. The membranes in her womb had ruptured prematurely at 21 weeks (just mid-point of the full-term pregnancy of 40 weeks), and her baby was very possibly in great danger. She had an amniotic fluid index of less than 1, when the normal levels should be between 6 and 11. She had been seen by numerous doctors, and all but one gave her hope of her unborn child surviving. They had told her that her chances of getting past 24 weeks were slim and she ought to be mentally prepared for the worst, but here she was, still happy, smiling and going strong at 27 weeks. She was radiant, glowing with joy and had one hand on her tummy. The neonatology team had just seen her, to counsel her and her husband of the possibilities of having a child with severe abnormalities such as growth restriction, musculo-nervous problems, lung problems or cerebral palsy, what you may call in layman's terms a spastic child.

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Yes, at times... But who but God knows the outcome of my child? He still has a chance- Dr W said so."

In light of the gloom and doom of the situation, her words almost seemed foolish, naive, even. But weren't her words true? And who are we to deprive an unborn child a fighting chance at life?
Her positivity and radiance was sincere, with no sense of hypocrisy or putting on a front. "I'm going to name him Xi En."


Xi En. It means "hope" and "grace" in mandarin.

Later on, as we chatted more and became more comfortable, I broached the question, "And did any of the doctors ever mention to you the possibility of... terminating the pregnancy?"


She laughed. "Oh yes, one doctor did, and I think my reply shocked her. Why would I even consider that? This is my child- my husband and I planned for him, he was a planned pregnancy. He has a heart which is beating inside me now, he is a life- how can I even think of terminating a life?"

He was a Planned pregnancy. Those two words shall never hold the same meaning for me again. I always thought babies were made quite easily-you get married, you do happy things and wala, you get a baby, easy-peasy right? I am learning, it is not quite so. Family planning is exactly what it is-it takes time, effort, consideration, and a lot of prayer and hope. And when those hopes are threatened, it can be very difficult to accept.


Little did I know that while she had been warded in that room for months, clinging onto every morsel of hope for her dear child, with more and more hope each day as her chances of delivering her baby rose, just upstairs was a ward full of patients, admitted for planned abortions. Amidst them, lay a twenty year-old girl who had met a "bad man", now jailed for having sex with his ex-girlfriend, a minor. In the next room, lay another lady younger than me who had a two year-old child and who wanted an abortion because "my husband and I are not ready for more kids at this point. We're unprepared. This is not planned."

Perhaps it was the contrast of it all which startled me. One floor below lay Mdm H who would do anything for her child to see the world, for her Planned pregnancy to work out. One floor above her lay Mdm A who wanted out because her situation was not Planned.

And I wanted to cry when I read Mdm A's medical notes, for I found copies of her ultrasound scans which showed not one, but two signs of life within her. She was aborting twins.

Downstairs, lay Mdm H, desperately holding onto the dear life of her unborn child, even though there was a chance of him being abnormal or sick, simply because she believed in the sanctity of life and God's gift to her. I thought about the discussions she and her husband might have had, the months of them planning and trying to conceive, the joy of knowing she was pregnant and now... this. And upstairs, lay Mdm A, wanting to abort her twin babies because "they just weren't prepared".

Oh the craziness of this world.

It reminded me, that for all our dreams and plans, there is only so little within our control. Yet, hope is always available and in times of trial, it is our umbilical cord to God, a symbol of trust of His Best Plan, even though we might not know what it may be. Mdm H was willing to accept the outcome of her baby, whatever it was, because she knew it was right to put her hope in God.

On the other hand, when we try to control too much of our lives according to our own plans, disasters can happen- we terminate our lifelines to God, we abort our hopes in Him. Mdm A's eyes were filled with grief, her face blank with despair. Somehow, something deep inside turned restlessly, refusing to give her peace.

I was reminded, that for all our plans in life, we ultimately have to surrender to the Plans of God. A lot of times I worry about the future, about medical missions, purpose, life partner etc-but I am learning, that instead of simply erasing these concerns from our minds (which is hardly possible anyway) or giving up on those dreams, there is place for holding on to them and hoping for the best. There is place to hope for God's plans to unfold His way and in His time.

Hope, because it gives us life; hope, because it produces faith and because God's grace often surprises us in ways unimaginable, if we are patient enough to wait; and hope, because, as Mdm H says, every dream deserves a fighting chance.

Xi En. Hope and grace. In times of darkness, there is always room for hope.

Hope does not disappoint us,

because God's love has been poured into our hearts

through the Holy Spirit

that has been given to us.

-Romans 5:5

"For we are saved by hope:

but hope that is seen is not hope:

for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for?

But if we hope for that we see not,

then do we with patience wait for it."

-Romans 8:24-25

Consequences of not wearing a Mask at the Airport

Just awhile ago, I was at KLIA(Kuala Lumpur International Airport).


A US3.5 Billion dollar dollar airport which ranks as the 13th busiest airport in the world by international passenger traffic.

Its a BIGGGGG AIRPORT!! with lots and lots of people that comes from all over the world. There is so many people that if one were to fart, it wouldn't miss a number of passengers from having a go at the smell.


And for those who really luv to fart, it wouldn't be unsual if you were to see a sign like this one day in the airport.


So, in any case, if there was anything transmissable in the air that would affect you or kill you, the best thing to do would be to avoid the airport.

Not a Fart of course. It may demoralizing you at most, but not kill you.

Anyway, while I was waiting at the arrival hall, I happen to notice something different with people coming from all over the world.


They were wearing masks!!



Even this two girls came properly suited from top to toe to ensure that the air would not even come close to touching them. If they had a chance to bring oxygen masks, I'm sure they would!!


Nearly every freaking tourist that came to Malaysia, decided that breathing the air of Malaysia wasn't a very good thing.

At first I thought it couldn't be the fart problem in airports right?It couldn't be!!

nor could it be the terrible haze that we have been experiencing lately.

Then it occurred to me,

AH1N1!!



ARRGGHHH I WASN'T WEARING A MASK!!!EVEN THE OTHER FELLARS WEREN'T EITHER!!


Well, dear readers, I guess if you don't hear from me in a near future, I got affected by the virus. There is a slight chance it could be nothing since, there are more affected people then people actually dying from it. Its not like you get it then you die.



Buttt......



If you are reading this part down here, I'll probably won't be around to tell you who i've been mixing when I first got hit. Here's a list of people you SHOULD quarantine.

1) People who partied at Zouk on 4th July 2009 because i was there. Sorry guys...

2) And the other hundred few malaysians who were there with me who did not bother to wear a mask as well. Those have to be quarantined as well.

As for others, LEAVE THEM ALONE!!