Terrified of Bread.

If there're two foods in the world you'd have to pry my mouth open to make me eat, they'd have to be durian and abalone.

For those of you who don't know what the durian is, it's a thorny tropical fruit which you either love or hate. It has a pungent smell, irresistably aromatic to some and simply intolerably foul-smelling to others.

Abalone is a prized delicacy in the Chinese culture, served only at the most expensive of wedding dinners or on special occasions. It is incredibly costly and tasty to most, but for some reason, I find it absolutely grosteque. It tastes like rubber to me.

Indeed, one man's meat is another man's poison.

This evening, Grandpa Zhou, the army boy D (the one who came to befriend me through my blog because he wanted to bless Grandpa Zhou with a hundred dollars) and his church mentor, Uncle Dm, came to my place for dinner. Uncle Dm, having heard of Grandpa Zhou's plight through D, had asked if I could arrange a meeting where he could meet with Grandpa Zhou personally.

I deliberated for a long time whether to invite them over to my place or if we should eat out, which was a much more convenient option. I eventually settled on the former, because of what I am learning this season.

dinner at my place

I am learning, that loving the poor does not take a lot, if only we learn to stretch our hearts. Love, requires one to love on someone else's terms, and not our own. It means finding out what someone else needs and then fulfilling that need, and not simply giving up something extra we own.

It was Grandpa Zhou who taught me this lesson.

Many times when we see the poor and feel compelled to give, how many of us take the trouble to ask them what they really need? I have been guilty of buying whatever is most convenient, whatever is cheap, fast and nearby. Very often, this is a loaf of bread.

Because my metabolic rate has shot up due to a new training programme I'm on, I was still hungry even after dinner and started to munch on a slice of bread.

As I walked Grandpa Zhou back to the train station, he said to me in mandarin, "You like to eat bread eh?"

"Yes, I love eating bread, ha. Especially the wholegrain kind, it's really yummy."

"Me? Ha, I'm really scared of bread! Really really scared of bread!" Wo hen pa chi mian bao!

I started to laugh because his expression brought to my mind the image of a large slice of bread morphing into a monster and scaring him like a ghost.

"You know the last time I gave you 2 bagels? I brought them for you from the church near my home which was giving out free food because I know you love bread. I, on the other hand, am terrified of bread! Wo hen pa chi mian bao! Because that was all I ate during the times I was hungry but had no food to eat. That was all people bought me when I sat by the roadside. Bread, bread, bread- all day! Oh, I'm TERRIFIED of BREAD!"

He said it so enthusiastically, expressively and repetitively that it made me laugh out loud.

At the dinner table, Grandpa Zhou had such a hearty appetite. We had white and brown rice, grilled chicken and mushrooms, cabbage and eggs, fish soup and fruits. He was laughing, smiling, and just before he left, he said to me, "You know, I want to tell you something from the bottom of my heart. Before I met you, I was a practical man. I only believed in what I could see-trees, science, human beings. I never believed in God because I could neither see nor feel Him. But now, ha, you'll think I'm mad but, I feel so close to Him ever since I met you and the people from the church near my home who've blessed me so much."

God convicted me to invite him over. If not, I would've chosen to meet him at a coffeeshop outside. A home-cooked meal is a rarity for him. It convinced me that I need to challenge myself to be inconvenienced. This is not easy for me to do, especially for my peers and family.

Grandpa Zhou's detestment for bread reminded me of my adverse reaction to durian and abalone, and the number of times people, out of goodwill, had offered these delicacies to me, only to have me force a polite smile while trying to quiet my churning insides. It reminded me of the first time I met him, where I was angry with his insouciance with me, because he listed down exactly what he wanted to eat (fish not chicken, with chilli at the side, vegetables but not the hard kind, more rice but not too much more etc etc) when I had offered to buy him a meal. I am ashamed to say that my first thoughts at the time were, Shouldn't you be grateful someone is buying you a meal? I'm appalled by your specific requests, really.

But had I not asked him at the time, I would have bought him bread, and felt good about salving my conscience. And it would be like someone offering me durian or abalone. One man's meat is another man's poison.

Now I see clearly, that really, it doesn't take a lot more for us to make the extra effort. Yet, it surely means a lot to those who need some concern.

Two weeks ago, I revisited Uncle Z, the muslim patient who was the subject of my community, occupational and family medicine project (COFM) almost a year and a half ago. At the time, he had heart failure, was jobless and rather depressed. After the project ended, we continued to stay in touch, and I linked him up with my church's community services department, which visits him regularly, gives out food vouchers to his family on a monthly basis and has given him a small job at church wiping tables and chairs twice a week. One day, he sent me a text message which wrote, "Psalm 100:4- Enter into God's gates with thanksgiving in your heart."

The little message brightened up my day. Three weeks ago, however, I learnt that he had been readmitted to hospital because he was on the verge of yet another heart attack. The day D and I wanted to visit him, I thought of bringing him some groceries. But what to buy him?

Ask him, silly- I told myself. And this is what he text messaged me: condensed milk, instant noodles curry flavour, wheat crackers, oatmeal.

When I got to his home, his kitchen shelf was quite barren, though he did have a new addition of a little bird cage in his living room, which had been given to him by a friend.

Curry flavour. Perhaps the specificity of the request appalls you? Oatmeal. Isn't that a luxury for the poor- why can't bread do for breakfast? A bird cage in his living room. Well, he can't be that poor if he's owning a pet, right?

I wanted to buy him lunch, then realised that muslim food sold outside really is loaded with oil and grease. My domestic helper helped to cook him and his wife, who was recently diagnosed with dementia and a mild stroke, a healthy meal instead.


Sometimes I wonder: Are we harsher to the poor than we are to ourselves, and do we have double standards for different human beings? I know I have been guilty.

If it had not been what Grandpa Zhou had taught me about the poor, if it had not been for God humbling me through the past year, if it had not been Him teaching me about making extra effort, those specific requests would somehow have irked me a little, if only just a little.

Why can't bread do? You should be grateful.

Yea, what's wrong with durian and abalone? I should be grateful, shouldn't I?

When Grandpa Zhou sat in my father's chair at dinner, I learnt to see him as my elder, and not another man swept away by the wayside with a coin box sitting pathetically by his feet, ignored by passers-by at the dirty steps of a train station.

So I'm glad we had dinner together at my place. Because I'm learning, it just shouldn't be any other way.

"Is it not to share your food with the hungry

and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—

when you see the naked, to clothe him,

and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?"

- Isaiah 58:7

the Life in me.

Those of you who’ve been reading the papers in Singapore would know about this story.

Benjamin Mok was cycling with a group of 5 friends. He and one friend got knocked down. A car hit them. The driver was drunk. Benjamin was a good man. He was an avid cycling enthusiast. Being a safe rider, he wore a helmet. He was to pursue his PhD in USA. He died last week. The driver was a 62-year old doctor. He hit and ran. He got arrested. But Benjamin died.

My cycling friend, D, was telling me about his funeral which he attended last weekend and I said, “It could’ve been us. He rode safe, like we do. But he died, on the road.”

“Yea.”

Silence.

“You know, D, every time I ride, I think to myself: this could be my last ride.”


“What? Don’t say things like that!”

Most people don’t know this, but before every ride, I pray. And as morbid as it sounds, when I take my bike out for a ride, I prepare myself that it could be my last. That day when I got flung off and my helmet hit the tarmac, daddy’s words rang loud and clear, “Cycling is risky Jia, it’s not a safe sport.”

It isn’t, I know. After assisting in one too many surgeries and seeing the mangled bodies of road traffic accident victims, I would know.

But to be honest, what is truly safe doing?

And is our ultimate aim in life, to live safely?

If life were to be lived safely, who would ever step out of their comfort zones to help the poor and needy? Kitesong would never have happened- that trip to Nepal was life-changing for me, perhaps even more so precisely because of the Maoist revolt at the time, when people were burning flags, going on strikes and setting bombs off in our district. If living safe was of such priority, why practice medicine and be exposed to infectious diseases, why be a doctor? I accidentally pricked myself with a clean needle while I was on call last night- doctors are vulnerable to needlestick injuries and they can suffer from dire consequences if the needle is stained with a patient’s blood containing a treacherous virus like HIV. Why do triathlons? It is the endurance sport with the highest mortality rate from sudden cardiac arrest. Why take the emotional risk to have a child? Last night on my 36-hour shift, a nearly full-term lady came in an ambulance, sobbing her eyes out because of domestic violence. She was pregnant and her husband hit her. Today I witnessed the delivery of a stillborn baby. It was the mother’s first child, and she had carried the baby for almost 8 months when it’s heart stopped.

If life were to be lived safely, with 100% guarantee on everything, it would be impossible to live it out pleasurably. Perhaps, to some extent, it is true that risk and pleasure aren't quite exclusive.

It is foolish to take one’s life lightly. The fact is, I don’t. But I do know one thing-that dreams and passions sometimes have no thread of logic, nor semblance of sanity. I also know, that self-preservation often brings one to naught-only God knows our time to go, and when it is time, it is time.

Yet, I question myself: do I live my life irresponsibly? Are my pleasures illicit? I put myself in a number of high-risk categories: roadcycling, becoming a doctor, travelling to developing countries (often by myself or with strangers), inviting strangers home. Some part tells me, no.

Benjamin Mok died even though he took safety precautions. Yet, his death does not stop the rest of us from cycling though many of us mourned. Terrorist attacks erupt all over the world unpredictably, but that does not stop us from travelling altogether.

Why is pleasure so important to us?

Lately, I learnt that pleasure only becomes illicit when it distracts us from the goal which God has placed in our lives. Ravi Zecharias says, that a pleasure which refreshes us without causing us to derail from God's purposes for our lives, is certainly legitimate, essential and even pleasing in His sight.

I often ask God what He thinks about my sport. Picking up the triathlon sport has changed my life- the friendship, community and lessons I have gained along the way have shaped my character, deepened my faith and strengthened my trust in Him tremendously. It is what God has blessed me with to heal me from my illness. It has helped me live life passionately and to be more secure with who I am, how He has made me. Because now, when I swim, ride and run, I truly feel His pleasure. It is an intimacy I cannot describe and I have never experienced before. Perhaps, it is precisely because I experienced suffering in my illness that I now understand what pleasure means.

C.S Lewis wrote in his famous book, The Screwtape Letters, about a conversation between a senior and junior devil about their quest to stop a man from believing in The Enemy, who was God. Said the junior devil in great embarrassment and defeat, “I am sorry, the man has crossed over to The Enemy (God)! I tried to distract him but nothing could make him forgo his morning walk and evening reading. He seemed to enjoy it so much!” To that, the senior devil replied, “You blew it! You ought to have convinced him that he had to do the morning walk for exercise sake so it would be a drudgery, and you should’ve convinced him to read for the reason of quoting some wise thing to his friend so it would become uninspiring! ”

His point was, that Pleasure, when pursued correctly and enjoyed in its purest form, brings us into an intense intimacy with God. It's true.

And perhaps, no pleasure can truly be risk-free. I suppose, that the day we said we believed in God, we chose a difficult, dangerous path. After all, who but fools of faith would believe in the unseen. And I suppose, the day that happened, we underwent death, we surrendered our beings, so that God could live in us.


What a thought. We have died. We have died the way God died for us, so that God can live in and through us. If I live my life in deep gratitude, knowing my every pleasure was a risk but yet, has saved me from the clutches of death to bring me closer to enjoying God, then every day is a miracle, a bonus, a privilege. Every ride or endeavour or minute at work becomes pure pleasure. And because of that, we can enjoy God perpertually, the only novel pleasure we can never grow weary of. A dramatic perspective? Perhaps.

But I know, the more I enjoy my pleasures, the more I need to let go, cling loose, and be willing to give it up for a greater good. Ravi Zechariah also said, that a legitimate pleasure never jeopardises the right of someone else.

Once, in contemplating training for a longer race which would take up more of my time, I asked my family and Grandpa Zhou if they thought it was selfish. I was a little afraid asking them that question. But they gave me an astounding reply, "Go for it. We're behind you, we support you. We understand."


I learnt, that while Pleasure is beautiful, when clinged onto loosely and released, is even more beautiful, still.


One day, I might lose my bike, I might lose my health, I might lose my life. I might become paralysed in an accident, I might contract cancer. Nobody knows.

It sounds crazy, I know. To pursue and live every moment as if one has died, as if every minute were a gift of grace. But perhaps, that is the only way we can learn to abandon ourselves to what we believe in, to what our hearts long to pursue, to the calling we have been called to, fearlessly, decadently and finally, pleasurably.

"For through the Law I died to the Law,

that I might live unto God.

I have been crucified with Christ,

and it is no longer I who live,

but Christ lives in me;

and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God,

who loved me and delivered Himself up for me."

-Galatians 2:19-20

* This post is dedicated to the Benjamin Mok and his family, and the many cyclists and athletes who have lost their lives on the road and in their sport, doing what they love best.

Light Afflictions.

I suppose, we all do what we do for reasons only fathomable to ourselves. What is reasonable to one may sound completely illogical to another. To each his own.

Some people don't understand why sportspeople do what they do. It is as if they are perversely attracted to pain. Medically speaking, endurance sports does cause the body to produce hormones similar to those produced when one is happy. Nonetheless, it was not only till recently I could put into words a resemblence of why I "enjoy" pain, too.

I mean, who in the right mind would want to or actually do a half Iron Man, right? A 1.9km swim, a 90km bike ride right before a 21.2km half-marathon just sounds... crazy. At the Aviva half Iron Man race supporting many of my friends who were participating in the full long-distance triathlon last week, I stood speechless.

Yet, I understood. Everyone has a different reason, but as I climbed the slopes for the biking relay under the hot, hot sun, I finally understood mine- to be stronger, not merely physically, but mentally, emotionally and spiritually as well. I want to be comfortable with pain, and learn to withstand, overcome, conquer it. A friend once shared with me, that the mission field isn't easy, and physical training does play a part in developing endurance and perserverence. I realised, it's true.

My fall on Faith last week was a milestone. My friends said it was the sporting equivalent of baptism, where one finally surrenders to the challenges, trials and sufferings of the sport. They used the word baptism. And it reminded me of the spiritual parallel- who said trusting and walking with God was ever easy? Do we not need to surrender to the afflictions and sufferings which come in our spiritual journeys, too?

I could never understand my grief in recollecting that period of depression and suffering in my past, especially since I know God had a purpose for it. I could never understand why I'm adverse to that sort of pain, and yet indulge in hobbies which to some, just smack of masochism- think endurance sports, and going on mission trips to developing countries.

But when I fell, when I was "baptized" into the sport, when I felt God's peace about going for longer races in the future, I understood why.

I realised, that suffering is bearable, even desirable, when we know we have chosen it. We can grit our teeth up formidable slopes, bear the pain of burning legs, brush off battlescars when we know we have chosen this form of suffering, when we know it has a purpose to make one stronger, better, when we know it is temporal in contrast to the eternal qualities it builds in us.

In contrast, during our dark periods of depression, most of us do not understand why such suffering has befallen us. We feel helpless: God, why do you choose to inflict this pain on me? What have I done wrong? In the face of this kind of suffering, we feel we have lost control. We question God. One feels defeated, not victorious; one feels like a puppet, not a conqueror.

It then struck me, that the difference between one form of suffering and the other is simply this- our perception of being victims, and having the power to exercise choice.

I could not reconcile a good God with my suffering because I felt I did not choose this life or this depression. Have you felt that way before? Tormented and helpless, because we felt we had no part to play in our circumstance?

Pursuing dreams which cost us, which bring us pain in the process on the other hand, being a result of a choice, gives one a form of control and helps one to become a conqueror, a victor in the face of challenges. That suffering empowers, strengthens us. I learnt, that I enjoy the pain in training because it is a privilege to choose one's suffering. Think about it- who but the blessed have the privilege to choose one's suffering? I am not in hunger, or poverty, I am not sold to prostitution. I face difficulties and trials at work in the hospital, on the training ground, during mission trips, but I am empowered to know that I have chosen this, that it is only for a little while in the light of an eternal pilgrimage. It is like the athlete who continues to go faster even though his legs are burning, burning- because he knows that the short period of pain will go miles to improve his efficiency in the long-run.

In that choice of suffering, self-actualisation becomes a driving force, a means to build one's character. Perhaps, hence why people pursue sports, adventure, careers, worthy causes, and dreams with such passion in spite of suffering ordeals. Great things come with great sacrifices, and we are willing to pay the price for a goal that has eternal or substantial value.

It was then that I learnt, that it is not the type of suffering that determines how we respond to it and our growth, but how we respond to our suffering that determines how much we grow.

The question really is- do I acknowledge my choice in my suffering.

There is a story in the bible I am fascinated by, about a man called Job (pronounced Jobe). He was a good man, but in a short time suffered great affliction-his family died, all this property was wiped out and his health was destroyed suddenly. He was a righteous man, but his agony was real and he railed against God and pleaded for justice, even as his friends rubbed salt into his wound by trying to convince him that he must have done some evil to deserve such punishment. I remember, during that period of depression years ago, I read that story over and over. I could relate to Job's pain, his shame, his guilt, his suffering. In those circumstances, one feels like a forgotten victim.

After my fall last week, I realised, that perhaps, it is all a matter of perspective, and we can choose to be a victim or a victor in our sufferings.

To be victors, perhaps all we need is to own that choice, to acknowledge that we have chosen our sufferings, and do have control over it. We can't control our cirmcumstances but we can control our response to it: Life is hard, but I have chosen to live, to keep living, and hence, I am a conqueror; Being mocked at for my values and belief in God is tragic, but I continue to choose believe in God because I trust Him-thus, my suffering becomes pursposeful, worthwhile; Races are tough, but I choose to keep training, and I persevere till the end, thus I am a winner, not a quitter. In this light, suffering becomes worthwhile, if not welcome, because something so transient strengthens us for an eternity.

The pain that comes along no longer becomes an enemy but a friend, a tool to sharpen and mould our characters. It is like in labour when the midwives often tell the women to make use of the contraction pangs by squeezing forcefully when the pain comes, so as to "push the pain away". Pain becomes their friend, a tool which helps them achieve their purpose.

Can we view our sufferings that way, too?

That is what cycling and training for triathlons have been teaching me- to take ownership of my suffering, and to be less of a complaining, whiney girly girl. It honestly surprised me when so many of my guy friends hardly batted an eyelid (stark contrast to the reaction of my girlfriends) when they heard of my accident last week. Pick yourself up, it's no big deal, was their reply. You've chosen this sport and it's tough, so toughen up and move on.

Two nights ago, at the hospital interning in the Obstetric and Gynaecology department under a rigorous internship programme, we were still seeing patients past midnight. We were on call, which means we see all new patients who come in during our 36-hour shift. Yes, being on call means working from 7am through the night till 1pm the next day. The junior doctor I was shadowing was tired, dehydrated and had 5 different nurses from 3 different places located a great distance from one another calling him to attend to patients. In addition, his superior was upset with him because of a misunderstanding. As we were walking, almost running from one ward to another, I saw his suffering. Yet, he was laughing, joking about how he had needed to go to the toilet since 8pm but had held on for so long that his bladder no longer had any sensation. It was midnight when he shared that. We were roaring with laughter, and he continued to joke with the nurses, to pull my leg even after a tongue-lashing by his senior.

And then I realised, that we were enduring this pain because we chose to do medicine. We endured the pain because we know that housemanship will only be but for a year, and the suffering would teach us skills which would equip us for life as a doctor.

Toughen up and move on. Stop being such a girly girl. Finish the race.

In the same way, I now understand that I need not mourn over that season of depression and grapple with asking God why anymore, because I chose to walk with God. And walking with God is not easy. It can be even more difficult because reconciling pain and suffering with the concept of a good God is undoubtedly a moral dilemma, a feat of faith.

So I fell last week. So I'm exhausted from reporting at 6.45am every morning at the hospital furthest from my home and from being on call once a week. So I'm planning my next trip to a developing country soon.

But it's all good. I chose this path. The suffering is worthwhile, for sure.

As what my friends told me, I've just got to toughen up and move on. Because this suffering is only temporary, it is surely worthwhile, and builds a kingdom of eternal value in heavenly places we cannot see.

*photo by Bernard Soh

"For our light affliction, which is for the moment,

works for us more and more exceedingly

an eternal weight of glory..."

- 2 Cor 4:17

Super Hokkien Mee

A few hours ago, I decided to have breakfast at a coffeeshop behind the old and famous shopping mall called Penang Plaza or more popularly known as FEEMA among the locals.

Don't get me wrong, this is NOT the kind of shopping mall that you'd like to bring your girlfriend for a date or walk aimlessly around to see things. Chances of getting yourself into PROBLEMS(I shall not state what they are but you'll figure out when you're over there) is very high.

Its the kind of shopping mall that you would just drop-by to buy groceries and get the hell out of there as soon as you're done.

Anyway, coming back to my breakfast.

I decided to go to this coffee shop simply to try the Hokkien Mee over there which has been rumored to be very good.

Famous to say the least.

So I took time off work, hoping to have a quick breakfast and at the same time achieve my dream of having this wonderful hokkien mee.

Upon arriving, you know its famous when you could hardly find a table to seat,

or find a car park slot little did I know I had to park my car a mile away, but out of curiosity and having to go out of my way to try out this hokkien mee, I did anyway.

After doing all that and successfully rushing and sealing my table away from intruders who is about to attack my table that would result in halting my progress of trying this FAMOUS Hokkien mee,

I DID NOT GET HOKKIEN MEE!!

Now I can wait for alot of things in my life.

I can wait to own a new mercedes benz even if it has to take me 40 years from now to save every penny and eat ikan billis every day.

I can wait to own a sports car even when i'm old and fugly.

I can wait to enter a cinema even when someone is late and i'm already missing a part of the beggining of a movie.

I can even wait to have a girlfriend which already i mean, does not need proving.

But wait, LET ME TELL YOU what I can't wait!!

I SERIOUSLY CANNOT WAIT FOR 1 HOUR FOR HOKKIEN MEE!!1 HOUR!!!SIMPLY CAN'T DO IT!!

I've eaten alot of famous hawker food around the whole country, and trust me, i've never heard of someone telling me that i'd have to wait one hour or more for HAWKER FOOD.

I guess this is as far as I have gone to trying the famous SUPER HOKKIEN MEE.

Super??Superb...

Fall on Faith.

During a mission trip to Sri Lanka last year, I remember teaching a group of children about the having the strength to stand strong in the midst of life's storms. The night before Sunday's gruelling race, I read a similar story. The story's lesson point was this: Life's storms can show us the strength of our faith. Those who are deeply and firmly rooted are able to rebound and keep going when storms come.


Interesting passage to read the night before my race on Faith, I thought- especially if you read the word faith as my bicycle. Life's storms can show us the strength of our faith.

Someone from a relay team for the long distance triathlon no longer wanted to cycle, and so I had the chance to stand in for her for free, so that together with another swimmer and another runner, we would form a triathlon team for the 70.3 miles Aviva Half-Iron Man race. The half Iron Man race comprises of a 1.9km swim in the sea, a 90km bike ride and a 21.2km run. At least 20 of my friends participated in completing the full distance today. I, on the other hand, was happy to have the chance to be part of a relay team, to have a taste of what the full course would be like.

I was mentally prepared for a tough ride: 90km without drafting, not having trained much for it (since I was given the slot only 5 days before race day), lots of hills and climbs, lots of other cyclists and curves to manouvre and a hot, hot sun to battle.

I wish I could've told you that when I finished my part of the race, my tears were those of joy. I wish I could've told you I ended the race feeling proud and good about myself. But I didn't. I ended on a very low note, and I teared.

I fell. I fell on Faith. And it was not like any fall I had before.

It happened so fast. My helmet hit the road and my body went limp for a moment. When it happened, I felt pain all through my lower body, and for a moment I could feel nothing at all. I don't know exactly how it happened, but I was flung a fair distance, and landed with a significant impact. It was my lower body which hurt the most. A genuine feeling of fear gushed into my blood. I was afraid that my worst fears might be realised, and quickly wiggled my fingers and toes to make sure I wasn't paralysed or hadn't broken any bones. A gentleman came to my aid, hauled me to the side and kept reassuring me. Are you okay?

My first words were, "Where is my phone?" followed by, "I want to finish the race. Pass me my bike, thank you."

I had already done 2 out of 3 loops. There was another 30km to go, and I wanted to finish it. My runner was waiting for me. At the time my heart had sunk a little but I kept my spirits up by thanking God I hadn't broken anything. Finish what you started.

Faith, in both sense of the word, though battered, was intact.

By that time, the sun was beating down mercilessly, burning my skin to a crisp. Yet, there was a quiet joy as I continued pedalling up the ferocious slopes. It was then that I started to feel immense gratitude for the prolonged period of 'suffering' on my previous too-heavy, too-big bike, because the slopes now felt manageable on Faith, which was much lighter; It was then that I realised that no journey can be underestimated, because we never know what can happen. Only when I finally reached the end to hand my timing chip to the runner of the team, did I take in what had happened. The fall kept replaying in my mind over and over, my butt, shoulder and back were still sore. Traumatized by the impact, I felt so down I didn't want to talk to anybody.

It was just a fall. Yet, it made me feel disappointed and discouraged.


At the end of the race, M asked me how I did. M is a stranger I met on the road that day, an experienced triathlete from New Zealand. He has now become not only a friend, but a coach, too. He qualified for the World Championships last year and tops his category for races quite regularly. Our meeting was utterly random, we agree it was by divine appointment and he now attends my church regularly. Since our meeting, he has blessed me tremendously by giving me tips, advice, and a strategic training programme to fit into my tight schedule, but most importantly, spiritual input into my physical training too. He's very strict, very harsh at times, but very effective as well.

"I fell," was all I could muster. He saw the disappointment on my face.


"Well, did you finish?"


"Yes."


"Well done."


That night, he called me. "Hey you W. J, how ya doing?"


"I fell," If I had been expecting a pep talk or some fluffy empathy, I would have been sorely disappointed.

" Hey. The triathlon is not an easy sport. A half Iron Man is 70.3 miles. 90km on the bike's gotta be tough-it's not to be underestimated, okay? It builds character. If you ask me, I'd say you got off real easy today because you only did the biking leg, and you didn't break any bones. I'm reeeaaallly glad you had a tough and rough day. This is good, it's all positive. You're wanting to do a half Iron Man so this is how it is. You're tough, you'll bounce back. This is a reality check, okay? Triathlons, like life, are tough and rough-like the kingdom of God. You wanna do this, it's not easy. Rejoice, rejoice in your affliction."

Silence. "Do you think I did well?"


"Yes. As long as you learnt something, you did well. I'm glad you had that fall."


Perhaps, the greatest lesson I learnt today was Resilience- the ability to bounce back when one faces a setback, when one lands an unexpected fall. It reminded me of the story I told to the children in Sri Lanka, about the coconut tree being tall and slender, but strong enough to withstand strong gales.


I fell today. I fell on my bike, Faith. But my faith, though battered, remained intact.

Later at the end, I learnt that many of my friends who are experienced triathletes had bad crashes and falls, too, but each of them shrugged it off easily without feeling too traumatised. Some of them couldn't race because they fell ill, but resolved to complete the race another time. I saw a cyclist cycling with his mouth bandaged- later, I learnt that he had crashed head first but continued to complete the race after plastering his lips. Each of these warriors rebounded from their setbacks because they had developed an inner resilience within them.

I suppose it's true, that life's storms really do reveal to us the strength of our faith. Perhaps, no journey is complete without having one's Faith tried and tested. In our storms and setbacks, do we give up and give in, or do we choose to pick ourselves up?

It was then that I realised, how precious suffering is. For affliction helps us perservere, and teaches us to endure when our faith suffers a fall.

I learnt a lot from my friends and other participants who took part in the race. Toward the end, every minute was excruciating but they pressed on, and perservered. I became thankful, that God has chosen to use sports to teach me some of life's deepest lessons. And as long as I guard my heart against pride, He will continue to use this amazing witness of human and divine strength to strengthen and deepen my faith.

The story I read writes: Life's storms can show us the strength of our faith. Those who are deeply and firmly rooted are able to rebound and keep going when storms come. I fell, but I learnt that what mattered was that I got up, brushed it off, and finished the race.

Someday, in God's time and way, I would like to finish a half Iron Man, too.

"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith,

we have peace with God...

we also rejoice in our sufferings,

because we know that suffering produces perseverance;

perseverance, character;

and character, hope.

And hope does not disappoint us,

because God has poured out his love into our hearts..."

-Romans 1:5

Sweet adversity.

Sweet are the uses of adversity,

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

-Shakespeare

Suffering is the common experience of mankind. It is something I am both anguished by and enthralled with.

It seems, that God often uses the most painful experiences in our lives to grow, teach and humble us. They are not for nothing.

But in our suffering, it can be hard to see that.

Last week, I attended a talk about Suffering and Evil. It was about the problem of pain, and how suffering poses a deep dilemma for us, even more so for the most fervent lovers of God. For undeserved suffering poses a great moral dilemma: How can a good God bring me so much pain? The sufferer is in deep perplexity: Is God for me or against me? It is baffling, guilt-riddling, isolating: Have I sinned so badly to deserve this, does God not love me?

At the end of the talk, during the Question and Answer session, I asked how one ought to respond to a sufferer. In the light of sin, empathy and that unfathomable space of not knowing what God is doing, how do we bring comfort to another? LT Jeyachandran, a well-known speaker, answered, "It is not our part to judge the sufferer for his suffering. Sometimes, suffering happens to good people. It is not always punishment. But only when the dust has settled shall we fathom even a little of it. Only God knows, and it is merely our duty to listen, to love, and to comfort."

How true.

I don't know why but I started to tear. Because of those 2 years of utter depression and darkness, I understood the taste of suffering, of what it means to sleep in fear and depression and to awaken in despair, to lose everything one values and gain only but pain, to withstand despicion and struggle with guilt, to grapple with a silent, withdrawn God and to wrestle with Him day after day, with a blank world, white pills and isolation. You will understand only after the dust has settled, he said.

Suffering has no answer in its presence. It is only when it has ended, does some semblance of an answer come to one.

Now that that period of clinical depression has ended, and God has promised me a Rainbow, I now understand that period of suffering as a form of cleansing for me, a period of intense stripping and rebuilding, a terrible and beautiful moulding process. That suffering made me grow. It gave me a story to tell. It gave me a new life.

Yet, suffering always bears the quality of having no complete answers. Even as the answers for my suffering reveal themselves slowly, and I am convinced of God's immense love for me, the tears still came because still, I asked, God, did it have to be this way? Did I have to suffer so much?

I suppose the answer is yes. Suffering is not only important, but necessary for our growth.

Today, at the pre-race briefing for the Half-Iron Man race this Sunday, I found part of my answer.

As they went through the rules for the triathlon, I was cringing in my seat. I had agreed to stand in for a friend for the cycling part of a relay team, comprising of 2 others who would swim 1.9km and run a half-marathon. Little did I realize what I had agreed to. The 90km race was in less than a week, and even though I often biked extra distance during training, I had not been training with the race in mind. According to a newspaper article yesterday, the bike leg was invariably the longest and toughest. Said a seasoned triathlete at an interview, "When you've cycled 60km already, going up the slope the 5th and 6th time becomes a case of mind over body."

The cycling leg has been termed "a stiff test" for the athletes, with the most number of rules and points of disqualification, with a route going 6 times up the formidable slope on Benjamin Sheares Bridge under a hot sun, with one surely having to eat and drink while riding on the bike (quite a balancing feat), and the worst rule was, each bike had to be at least 7 metres away from the next one. This ensures nobody drafts, which means tailing behind a bike so as to avoid the extra effort of breaking the headwind.

No drafting. I’d never gone even close to 90km without drafting before.

What had I done. The same feeling of dread and realisation of my folly that I have every time I sign up for a mission trip came into my heart. Silly girl, now look what you’ve done.

“Oh, I’m so silly,” I said aloud to a friend. "No drafting!"

“I see your training group often drafts along long stretches, yes?”

“Yes, you’re right. Now I’m really done for.”

As those words left my mouth, something suddenly hit me. No, it was not true. Yes, the Big, Fast Boys in my training group often found it a great thrill to draft down long stretches at incredibly high speeds, but because God had withheld providing me with a new bike by giving my money away for Alisha’s hearing implant operation, I suffered with training on a much heavier, larger, lower-speed and poorer-grade bike for a prolonged period of time. Even though I pushed so hard, I was still the slowest in the group for a long time, so slow that almost always, I was thrown behind to ride alone, pushing against the headwind, with no one to draft behind.

Little did I realise, that that was the best ground for training.

Suffering is like that. It perplexes us while we're in it. But on retrospection, always helps us to see how it disciplines, moulds and strengthens us.

During the time after I had given away the money my father had given me for my new bike, every ride hurt, physically and emotionally. Many times, when I was thrown behind to ride all alone against the brutal headwind, with my friends soaring ahead, my heart would sink like a rock. My father had told me it was not that he couldn’t buy me a bicycle, but it was a matter of principle that he would not get me the bike. “It was a decision you made to give your money away, so you’ll have to live with it. It’s a matter of Principle, a lesson you must learn. I cannot pamper you.”

Riding alone with the pain in my legs, the discouragement of being left behind and the hurt that I mightn’t ever get a new bike… that was, in a way, a form of suffering, even though this suffering is incomparable to the suffering of poverty and hunger. Those rides were awful. I wanted to give my roadbike away and stop cycling altogether. For a few weeks, I refused to touch or even look at it.

But we forget, how suffering makes us grow, how it has a purpose, even if we don’t see it at the time.

What I didn’t realize was how God allowed that suffering for a greater purpose. Is that hard to believe? That a good God allows us to suffer? It was precisely because I had trained so much and pushed so hard on a terribly heavy and ill-fitted bike for so long that my legs bring me much faster and further on Faith, my new bike now. Because of that prolonged period of suffering and training, Faith can ride with the Big Boys now. And because of that, even though I'm a little worried, I have faith that God will see us through.

Are you suffering in some way, in some aspect of your life, and does it perplex you too?

Know that it is not for naught. As Shakespeare puts it, “Sweet are the uses of adversity/ Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous/Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.”

Suffering often prepares us for the races which we don’t even know lie ahead of us. They train our characters and grow our spirits, so we’ll be ready when an unexpected trial or race befalls us, when we have to rough it out alone, with nobody to draft or seek guidance from. I never knew, but those times of grief in solitude, whether cycling alone behind the pack or simply living through clinical depression, were excellent times of training the mind, body and spirit. I now see how those dark periods of adversity not only humbled, but also strengthened and refined my character, too. The greater the suffering, the greater the glory and beauty at the end.

And I suppose, it brings me greatest comfort to know that God suffered the biggest suffering known to mankind, and finished the toughest race known to humanity, to exchange a crown of thorns for a bejewelled crown of honour. Because of that, surely, we can delight in our sufferings, persevere through them, and finish our races, too.

Adversity is sweet and purposeful, if only we persevere till the end.

“Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial,

because when he has stood the test,

he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.”

-James 1:12

And after you have suffered for a little while,

the God of all grace,

who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself

restore, support, strengthen,

and establish you.

-1 Peter 5: 7-10

She hears.

“Pani. PAH- NEE.”

I pointed to my water bottle and said the words slowly, deliberately. Pani means water in Nepalese.

She looked at me, half bewildered, then mouthed, “Pani”.

“She spoke! She said Pani, did you hear that?”

“Yes,” said my missionary friend, who has just brought Alisha and her mother to Singapore again for their follow-up in hearing and speech therapy. “The therapists say she is learning very fast, nearly twice as fast as one normally would.”

I met them at the hospital just yesterday. I looked at Alisha, marveled at the miracle of her regaining her sense of hearing and having a fresh shot at life through your generosity and stood, speechless.

When I first heard of my missionary friend's request to find a doctor and sponsors to help this 4-year old Nepalese girl with a $100'000 hearing implant operation, my faith was shamefully weak. Why help her? Why so much money and effort for one person? How do we fly her into Singapore, and what about follow-up? Her mother had suffered from a meningeal infection during her pregnancy, resulting in the destruction of Alisha's cochlear. But her's isn't the only sob story-what do you expect me to do?

Sometimes, it amazes me to know the extent that God loves us, and how far He sometimes wants us to go for someone else. Who knows what God can do, when we put in just that little bit of faith, in what seems impossible.

Months ago, when God gave the money I was given for the roadbike I wanted away to her, I am embarrassed to say I was depressed for many weeks after that. Cycling became painful, so for a period I stopped, in spite of my friends’ persistent invitations to train with them, since not cycling relieved that acute sense of longing and struggle to grapple with my desires and God’s.

I shared with my missionary friend how God had orchestrated a beautiful series of events not only to bless me with my new bike, Faith, but with the sponsorship of my next book about Faith, and many lessons of trust, sacrifice and obedience.

We both had a moment of silence, taking in the beauty of all that had happened: Because of Alisha, the bike I originally wanted had to go. Because of that sacrifice and blind act of faith, a sponsor who knew about the case intervened to not only sponsor Alisha but my next book about Faith. Because of this turn of events, my friends and family made the story complete by surprising me with such a beautifully well-fitted, light and fast bike called… Faith, too. This bike is infinitely more meaningful and precious to me than the one I had originally wanted to buy out of self-centredness. It is precisely of this beautiful story behind my bicycle that I go so much faster and have gained so much more motivation and confidence to ride. I got a free seat again to help a friend ride 90km for this Sunday’s Aviva Half-Iron Man race. I’m scared, but I think faith will see us through.

Thank you for your generosity. For those of you who have given sacrificially to Alisha’s cause, know that you have not only given her the chance to hear, but to speak, to learn, to work and to have a chance at a potentially bright future as well. Her teachers say she is so expressive, participative and bright in her class, in spite of her late start in speaking. You have saved her from a lifetime of discrimination, unemployment, and possibly, prostitution too.

Just remember, that whatever you give, will be given back to you in return- in abundance, in grace, more than you could ever ask or think. Perhaps not in the way you demand, perhaps in a painful, longsuffering way, but surely in the best, and most beautiful way, in God's time.

"... I pray that out of God's glorious riches

he may strengthen you with power through His Spirit in your inner being,

so that God may dwell in your hearts through faith.

And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love,

may have power...

to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of God..."

-Ephesians 3

Sitting with the Lonely.

I don't think I'll ever forget that day someone stared us up and down, with such scorn and derision. What's a young girl like me doing sitting by the dirty steps of a train station talking to an old busker who smells?

Sometimes, I'm sure people wonder why I bother with him, what it is that has sealed our friendship, how ridiculous it was for me to invite him over to my birthday party as a guest performer. Do we not know, that it is the poor, the hungry and the lonely who have the most to teach us? He has blessed me more than I have blessed him.

Once upon a time, I was angry with and ambivalent towards 'people like him', people who litter our streets 'feigning' poverty, asking for money. It was only when God brought me down to his feet that my eyes were opened to his world. Grandpa Zhou had his pride, and henceforth came his words full of indignance. But his family has left him, he walks with a permanent limp, he is skin and bones and smelly because he doesn't want to waste soap. He sits by the train station with a rusty harmonica and a dirty coin box day after day- it is not the boredom which kills him, but the loneliness.

Why doesn't he just get a job? Have you, like me, been guilty of thinking that of someone else too?

What poor judges we are. And I promised myself never to walk past another busker/ tissue-seller by without asking if he/she had had a meal, or if he would like one.

It is not hunger that kills. It is loneliness.

Another blind man sits on the overhead bridge opposite our General Hospital. He was just as hostile to me at first as Grandpa Zhou was at the beginning. "Do you think I like to be bad-tempered? Don't you know how it feels like to be blind? You will never know."

We shall never know, indeed.

Esther is a lady whose path I crossed because she was smiling so beautifully in her wheelchair on a train one day. I smiled back. That was all I did. And she gave me a handcrafted balloon that day. I met her at 2 different locations 2 other times when she was selling tissue, and stopped to talk. I gave her my number in case she ever needed anything. Less than a month ago, she called me to invite me to a dinner gathering at her friend's place where a special speaker had been invited. I went.

I was blessed. Esther has given me 2 balloons, a dinner invitation and a smile which melts into my soul that sings, oh how it sings of the goodness of God in her life. She smiles, even though she is in a wheelchair. Her quiet, permeating joy is utterly infectious.

So who has blessed who more?

Once, I was hurt. I was hurt by a man (or maybe a boy) who liked me enough to want to offer Grandpa Zhou and I a lift to his house from the train station to deliver some groceries to him. Grandpa Zhou has no one to depend on, his medical fees are a constant woe (until of late when one of you donated your precious savings to him). What he needs- more than food or a coin thrown into his tattered box to salve one's conscience, is someone to accord him the dignity a man deserves. I was hurt that night when he, my supposed knight, laid out a piece of linen on his car upholstery so that Grandpa Zhou wouldn't leave a stain or smell in his car. I asked him about it- he was sheepish answering me. That piece of linen was Intolerable to me. It was degrading. After so many months of pursuit, he had already half-won my heart, but that night, I took it back, and nothing, nothing could change my mind.

It was over, because of a piece of linen.

Today after my run, as I was about to hop into the pool, an anxious mother (my neighbour living one storey below me) came running towards me.

"One minute, do you have one minute?"

Behind her, standing sheepishly was her daughter around my age, from a top junior college in our country. "Oh, my daughter has something to ask you. About entering medical school."

I knew that conversation would take half an hour. I had church to attend soon, so I gave her my number instead.

The Anxious Mother hovered around me patronizingly, and after my swim as I got up to hit the treadmill again in preparation for my upcoming triathlon, she anxiously showed me The Way To the Treadmill as if I were Queen. I wish I could have felt warmer towards her and her daughter, but just last week, my domestic helper had shared with me how hurt she was by this family living downstairs who had often looked right through her even when she greeted them in the lift, or had given her condescending looks.

Why are we respected for our titles, jobs and functions, more than for who we are.

In the public, I am prized because of the potential of my future. In the hospital, I am Phytoplankton, lowest in the food chain, treated with scorn even by nurses sometimes, because of my position. Is it fair.

I am guilty. I have not been perfect. But I'm more ready to turn back now when I walk past, more ready to Stop, more ready to say hello to someone who might not have heard that in ages, because you just never know, when you might meet an Angel in your path.

"Do not forget to entertain strangers,

for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it."

-Hebrews 13:2

Fixing a wheel.

I could hear the disappointment in her voice when the words left my mouth. But I was just being honest.

I didn't think it would hurt her that way, but it did. What I said did, and only because she loves me so much. She is like a mother to me.

Aunty Ay was sharing with me her thoughts about what I had confessed about my weaknesses and was trying to encourage me. "We all have faults, and someday, when you find someone, marriage will be another journey of faith altogether, and..."

I cut her short.

And nothing prepared me for her disappointment that ensued, a thick, heavy disappointment which ossified that moment when I said what I did.

There was a long silence. And I simply shrugged, wanted to say sorry but couldn't.

"Wai Jia..." she said, in exasperation. "But why?"

No one ever says this out loud because it's too cheesy, but most little girls spend their lives dreaming of a prince on a white horse to ride into their lives to take them away. As they grow older, they pour their eyes out in movies, gorge on romantic novels and dream of the day they can wear their wedding dress in a happily-ever-after story. I hated chick-flicks and romance-novels, but once, not too long ago too, Disney fascinated me. For me, it was real.

I've always been an idealist. It's always been all or nothing. I remember being being so full of hope and faith that God had the right person for me. In spite of all my weaknesses and disappointments with myself, my "difficult" vocation and my beliefs, I had the faith that someday, I would reach a place where a special someone's path would cross mine, and we would fit. Yes, someone who dreamed to do mission work and feed the hungry and clothe the poor and who loved my idiosyncrasies and who I am, and someone whom I could love in return.

And then, I don't even know when it happened, it could've possibly been over my birthday, that suddenly, I just felt... content by myself.

Many of my friends have been getting together, and sometimes, especially when I was feeling low or on a long train ride home from the hospital back home, I had wished I had someone to ask me how my day went, whether I was okay, whether I needed a lift. Then over my 23rd birthday, when my bicycle Faith was built, and when my faith in God and the world had been simultaneously restored, I suddenly became most content to be... by myself.

It felt very strange. I felt so loved, and un-lonely.

The strangest part was, it was not that I had grown disillusioned or embittered with the world, or that I had lost hope. I remind myself that I have also met many missionary families who do God's work beautifully amidst the poor and hungry.

I don't know when it happened, why it did, or how. But I woke up one day discovering my life was full to the brim, and I was... content.

I began to keep track of my time, of what I had been doing, because the older people at church have been asking me when I would ever slow down, and find time to let someone else be a part of my life. But they don't seem to understand, that God's time is not here, yet- and may not ever be.

I realised, that most of my time is spent in the hospital, at church or bible study, on training (biking, swimming or running), on drawing/writing/painting/reading/photography and on individuals who matter to me-Grandpa Zhou, lonely strangers whom I let into my home, and other random projects. My life runs at such an intense pace, with pockets of solitude and complete rest with God and God alone. I realised, that I have so many friends and people in my life who love me that I do not feel lonely. I realised, that I no longer feel I have to share my experiences with a particular someone and I'm no longer lonely because God has such a big part to play in my life. Most, if not all of my training buddies are guys-they treat me well; most, if not all of the people I help, show me immense appreciation; most of my friends are older than me, and pamper me ever so often.

I hardly get frustrated now because my excess energy goes into cycling, swimming and running. I hardly get lonely now because someone never fails to drop me a message to ask how I'm doing. I hardly get envious anymore because someone I know has either broken up, divorced or is having an affair.

It sounds absolutely ridiculous, I know, but after my bicycle Faith was built, I was actually a little disappointed that my faith with regards to this aspect of my life was still empty. Then a week later, I realised my front wheel hub was faulty.

It seems an apt parallel, that while my faith in all other parts of my life has been restored, this is still one area that has not yet been built properly. It's like the faulty wheel hub in my life.

I just don't quite see how someone else would fit in, how I would fit in elsewhere. I have too much a mind of my own. I am weird- I dance in church, I think frogs are cute and
I can't wait to become a missionary doctor.

I run, I swim, I bike. I have mood swings (which I am working on). Ever so often, I have sudden whims to do impetuous things. I live on impulse. I visit art galleries alone. I will wake up one day and decide I just want to watch the rain and melt into it, or go back to Nepal again, or spend time by myself to write another book. I have decided, with room for God's direction, what I would like to do with my life in the next ten years. (I don't have much of a choice anyway- I've a bond to serve in government hospitals). I'm in hospital from 6.45am till at 5.30pm for this module in Obstetrics, and go on 36-hour calls once a week. It is possible I will be overseas for a year very soon, details of which I will reveal only later. My experience with the men (or boys) in my life who ever got slightly closer to me (besides my father) have been memorable in the wrong way- I now prefer to keep them as training buddies or at 2 arm's length. I keep meeting random people who literally come in and out of my home for food, company and a dose of God. Maybe, just maybe, all these reasons add up.

So I suppose, I feel complete, and happy already, being by myself- simply because, I'm not by myself. God's family is so big, and so impossibly loving that I don't feel lonely anymore. When I do, I know there are ten other poor or needy people who'd appreciate my time just visiting them. Sometimes, I do.

I used to think I was too proud. I think I used to be lonely in bits and pieces. But now I think I have learnt to respect my brothers. I hardly feel lonely anymore, even when I am alone, moody or not. I feel beautiful and content, even without having someone of the opposite gender validate me.

Maybe it is a good sign. I have come to a place of greater security and peace with God and myself.

But it felt strange, nonetheless. To feel so light and happy about this newfound contentment and seeing the disappointment in the eyes of Aunty Ay, J, my parents and other people who love me and have probably dreamt of seeing the day they could see me say, " I do" but now hear that I'm... Content.

A part of me admits that maybe, that part of my faith just hasn't been built yet. Maybe it'll take time. My friends keep asking me when I'll fix my wheel- I keep putting it off. In the same way, maybe I am content not to fix the problem because I've another set of wheels to use as a stand-in for now. For now, perhaps it is training.

"But you can still prepare yourself for it. I always believe God has planned someone for most people."

"Most people, Aunty Ay. Most. "

Don't be disappointed- if it's meant to happen, it will happen. And if it doesn't, at least you know that I'm happy.

And I'll try to fix my wheel soon, so that Faith can really be complete. But if I don't, know that I'm content now, too, okay?

Stardust and Sawdust.

" Humility is the most difficult of all virtues to achieve;

nothing dies harder than

the desire to think well of oneself. "

- TS Eliot

"It is no great thing to be humble when you are brought low;

but to be humble when you are praised

is a great and rare achievement."

-Bernard of Clairvaux

I suppose, Pride can be an insidious thing.

After all, false humility plays a good counterfeit.

When The Professional People said they were ready to work on A Taste of Rainbow whenever I was, I was afraid at first. The next few days were days of great stirring and struggle. They had told me very clearly that for the book to touch and change lives, for it to make a positive impact, I had to be comfortable sharing my story with my loved ones, my friends and... the media.

The media? Like you mean, the whole world?

Right. I should have known. After all, I had spent the past 2 years praying for this book to come to fulfillment.

On one hand, while I was nervous about that, I knew a large part of my dread and fear came from worrying about what would seep into my heart-pride. Pride came before my Fall after Kitesong, and I worried that I would allow it to replay in my life. The suffering which came because of pride was unthinkable, and I didn't want to suffer that way again.

Pride. I don't know if I'll be able to deal with it. That worries me. Pride comes insidiously like the night. Just when you are waving off compliments and shying away from the limelight, the darkness of false humility wraps one like an invisible black cloak.

Someone (a well-known Minister of Parliament actually) once told me personally that false humility was the worst form of pride. At her book launch, a friend had introduced me to her as a writer as well, to which I was speechless and tried to say something humble. It was then when she snapped back quite sharply, "Don't be falsely humble-if you've done it, say it and give thanks." She told me that if I were truly humble, I would acknowledge what was truth, accept what was true and thank God for it. "False humility is the worst form of pride, young lady." She was merciless in her brutal honesty. I remember feeling quite embarrassed.

It was then that I learnt that humility isn't putting oneself down. It isn't dismissing one's talents, gifts or qualities. It is about looking truth in the eye, and acknowledging both the stardust and sawdust, the gold and clay. Charles Spurgeon once said that humility is the proper estimate of oneself. No more, no less.

But it is not easy.

I had an inkling of the challenge of overcoming pride on my first ride on Faith. For so long, on my old bike, I was always last in the pack. Once, on a round-island ride, I cried. Sometimes, I was thrown so far behind I wouldn't see anyone in sight. That day, riding on a new roadbicycle 3 kilos lighter, with gears at least 3 grades better, with at least 3 extra chain rings (10 instead of 7-speed), I was all the way in front, riding with the big boys, enjoying the wind, the speed and the thrill of it all. Even on my best days, I could reach a speed of only 38kmph on my old bike. Faith, when drafting, flew at 45.8kmph on her maiden ride.

Right there in the front pack that day, as the rest of my friends teased me in kind jest about my new-found speed, I could see how pride was just round the corner.

And I was afraid of it.

Last week, a slew of events happened which left me with no choice but to take the bull by its horns and acknowledge that this was a hill I had to overcome in my life. The higher we go, the lower we must be. It is life's greatest paradox. An international organisation approached me to ask if they could reprint Kitesong, my university asked if they could interview me, work on A Taste of Rainbow was going to begin, and I got an offer in a prestigious place overseas- this all happened in my birthday week, where I received lots of gifts as well, so the good news did make me a little giddy.

What do I do in a time like this, God.

It was then that I realised, that gratitude is pride's worst enemy. It is not wrong, or proud to celebrate victory when we hold the deep realisation of God's grace to us, and receive our blessings as gifts, not self-fulfilling goals.

I've had people write to me anonymously before, terribly curt messages about displaying my "achievements" proudly here. While I don't claim to be perfect, and don't wish to make a point of defense, I also think it is not the height of the achievement itself which carries the weight of pride, but the heart behind it. One needs to keep rechecking one's motives, and the attitude and posture one carries in receiving the blessing.

I am happy that A Taste of Rainbow will be published this year and not ashamed to say it. But only because I know how much it represents God's faithfulness to me; I am happy that Kitesong happened, but I know the truth is that it was not me, but God who did it (my mistake, however, came from being carried away by flattery later on); I was beyond happy to share with my friends that I came in 7th for my first bike race on Faith, but only because it reminds me so much of their friendship, grace, patience and love extended to me. 7th is nothing to shout about, but what amazes me is how God can bring the lowly to high places when our hearts are set in the right place, on the right things- especially after a period of suffering.

But you know, things can go terribly wrong too. One's head can swell because of the publicity and appraise one receives and the speed one achieves. Pride comes in when we no longer acknowledge the truth of the matter, that it was the combined effort of many and the grace of God which caused a miracle, and not the self-made man.

I am learning also, that people can say what they want. But it is God we account to. I am learning, that it is not pride when we rejoice in our joys and share our testimonies, as long as we receive our blessings in true gratitude and thanksgiving. How can it be pride to share of what God has done in one's life, especially when you know it has come from a place of real suffering? Yet, how can it be humility to say it with the intention of gaining a better footing in this world, to gain man's approval?

Tis a fine, fine line to draw. And I am learning many things in this time. Does one deny others and God of a beautiful story in fear of the label other people might place on one? Does one clam up and stop sharing victories in fear of pride? Am I proud to take up that interview. Am I proud to say this, am I proud to say that I am, for once, happy now. Happy that I'm healthy, happy that I'm not slow, happy for friends who love me, happy that God has ... finally brought me to a place of favour instead of shame.

I suppose, suffering is humbling, even if it has passed. It helps one to be overwhelmed by gratitude and thanks, of which sharing one's joys and good news becomes a natural outpouring from one's heart. Can I trust myself with that?

I've to be honest to say I've still a long way to go. How can my sinful heart be perfect. But till then, I remind myself that humility isn't putting oneself down. It isn't dismissing one's talents, gifts or qualities. It is about looking truth in the eye, and acknowledging both the stardust and sawdust, the gold and clay. As what Charles Spurgeon once said, humility is the proper estimate of oneself. No more, no less.

And no one, no one, but God, can judge that.

So I won't be ashamed either to share with you the great time we had on race day.

Thank you God, and thank you friends-

This race on Faith would not have even been possible without you.

Oh to be emptier, lowlier,

Mean, unnoticed, and unknown,

And to God a vessel holier,

Filled with God and God alone!

-Andrew Murray,

Humility

Faith Flew.

It's funny how one thinks the story is over when really, it has only just begun.

I thought about how amazingly orchestrated the entire series of events was- how the bicycle, Faith, was linked to Alisha, which was linked to my faith in God, which was linked to A Taste of Rainbow, which was linked to a real rainbow, which was linked to my illness, which was linked to pride, which was linked to Kitesong, which was linked to my dreams as a kid... and it made me marvel at the thought that perhaps, God really did plan everything from beginning to the end, at the moment we were born.

There was a nationwide cycling race on Sunday which I didn't sign up for because I thought it was a little too expensive. To be honest, I was afraid. Afraid of crashing my new bike, afraid of riding 40km by myself amidst an angry mob of adrenalin-filled athletes and afraid that it exposed my insecurity about missing church.

But J, a dear friend, gave me a free race seat under her husband's name because he didn't want to participate anymore. It turned out that I could attend church on Saturday instead, and the race began so early that I would have more than enough time to make it for the sunday school class I had to teach in the late morning. So I went.

And Faith flew.

I didn't know my race number was in the competitive category so when I got there, and found myself in the midst of a group of muscular, charged-up and competitive-looking men, I started to wonder if I had been crazy. On my first mini-triathlon race, I had fallen off my bike because I didn't brake hard enough on a sharp hairpin turn. This nationwide race had 5400 cyclists, and was well-known for causing crashes. On the day, many people suffered falls, fractures, bike accidents.

God, it'll be a miracle if I don't fall off Faith.

Cyclist after cyclist overtook me. There were only a handful of female cyclists in sight. I couldn't draft (cycle close to someone so as to cut out the headwind for an easier ride), and my legs were burning from the starting point from the 70km training ride and swim I did a day ago. What a mistake, I thought. Never train a day before race day if you don't want to perform badly.

Nonetheless, this race was special because it was my first race on Faith. It was special because my wheels were faulty and J had to lend me hers, reminding me again that our faith really is built up not by ourselves, but by our friends and loved ones, too. It was special because for the first time, I raced and pushed myself till the very end, instead of giving up and losing steam at the last leg, which I have done so for almost all my previous races. I remembered what J told me- keep pushing till the very end. Always do your best. Always.

I had never been on a bicycle so light before. For once, I could reach the brakes and they didn't screech. For once, the gears changed smoothly without causing trouble.

My friends had done so much for me to own a bike I could enjoy. They gave me a new jersey which I wore that day, a new triathlon suit, new tyres, a bike light, a bike pouch. One of them, Batman, even drove to my place one day to pass me a custom-made decal sticker so my name would be on my bicycle. And instead of selling her race seat, J, knowing I would otherwise not partcipate in the cycling race, chose to pass it on to me. So my legs were burning, even from the very beginning of the race, but faith helped to see me till the end.

I learnt, that our faith, when built in us by our loved ones, can make us fly. I also learnt, that our faith never quite comes full circle till the day we die- for just when I thought Faith, the bicycle, was completed, I learnt that my wheel hub was faulty and had to be sent back to the store. I learnt, that the perfection of our Faith is an ongoing process, indeed. A lot of patience is needed.

When I got to church to teach my 7-year olds, I shared with them some photos of my new bicycle, because they had insisted I show them what God had blessed me with, especially since they had been following the trailer.

"WOW JIEJIE (big sister) WAIJIA, IS THAT REAL? THAT BICYCLE- IT'S REAL?"

"Yes dear Isaiah, of course it's real," I smiled.

And I just thank God for reminding me time and again of His blessings, that I received this all not because of my own ability or doing, but simply, because of His grace. Over my birthday, I received everything I ever needed and more- Aunty M said she'd paid for my skincare which'd last me till the end of the year. I realised, that it amounted to more than a thousand dollars. I hardly even know her. But God knows how training in the sun and the stress of medical school really ruins my skin- and so He chose to provide for me.

With faith, we can believe that He will provide for all our needs.

It reminded me so clearly of what Aunty Ay had shared with me many months back when God gave my bike money away- that He is no man's debtor. When we give up, surely He will return us measure for measure, pressed down and overflowing.

Today, the race results were out. My name wasn't on the list because it was under my friend's husband's name. Taking the timing, I put it against the results of my age group and was shocked to realise that it was 7th in place of 161 participants in my category had I registered under my name.

Seventh. 7th.

Nothing to shout about, but I secretly thanked God that my name wasn't there, a safeguard against my own pride. To be honest, if I had signed up by myself, I don't think I would've done as well. Part of my strength came from knowing the faith J had in me, to want to give up her race seat for me when she could've sold it off easily.

Thank you for the bicycle, guys. More than a beautiful ride, it has blessed me with your friendship, a community I can rely on, a very special story to cherish and to tell. (On Sunday after church service, people kept coming up to ask me if I had talked to senior pastor lately. I didn't know, that while I was teaching at sunday school, senior pastor told the congregation that he met a girl that week, a 4th year medical student, who told him a story which impacted him so deeply. I smiled, because I had shared with him the story of Finding Faith and what God had done in my life.)

Just a little more than a year back, I didn't even know how to cycle on 2 wheels, because I was too afraid. Just a year ago, every ride I rode was a big act of faith. Thank you for giving me more than a bicycle, but also courage and faith- in myself.

It was an awesome ride. And even more awesome to be there with you all. It was a surprise to receive a medal at the end.

Faith flew. And, I didn't fall.

"Without faith,

a man can do nothing;

With it,

all things are possible."

- Sir William Osler