* Wai Jia has started her 1-month internship at hospital, functioning like a resident/houseman. It's only day 2 (she took a half-day off for her flute exam today) and she's already exhuasted. Reaching the hospital before 7am and seeing patient after patient, doing procedure after procedure, and coming home to read is no joke. She takes back what she wrote about seeing people, because it's just not worth it to see people unless they meet Criteria.
She's honestly not sure if that person exists but missions means missions. So there.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Great Expectations.
I realize, I was, am scared, just dead scared.
A lot of people say it’s all up to you. Up to you to choose who you like, up to you to find somebody. If you don’t, it’s because you never tried hard enough. But is it true, really?
It’s a little funny perhaps, but the closest analogy I can find for this right now in my tiny limited span of existence was finding my bike Faith. You know when I got the money to buy myself a new bike, I was ecstatic. I thought I had found the one. And then God says, no, it doesn’t belong to me, that money belongs to a deaf girl who needs the money for an operation to hear again- how did that feel? It was terrible. The money was gone, it was over. Nothing else, no matter how much it caught my eye, satisfied me, because I knew it wasn’t mine. It didn’t fit. There was no peace.
People always say, wait for the right one. He’ll come. But you know, at that time, when there were so many right bike fits at the time, none of them were truly right. There was no peace. Until we found the bike called Faith. And God used my friends to perform a miracle. Then things became… right. I could’ve gotten any of the previous bikes we’d gone to view before, but none would have had a story half as beautiful as that which we waited for.
Sometimes I feel there’re so many people out there who could be the right fit. And they could all turn out to be pretty darn good people. So why the excruciatingly long wait?
Two days ago, as we sat amazed at how soon I would graduate to become a doctor finally, my dad asked me how come I "didn’t bother" to "spend some time looking out for someone" in university. It was, according to him, the best time to “find someone”.
“I don’t like boys in medicine,” was my reply.
“What’s wrong with them?”
"Nothing. It's just that I don't like, you know, "chilling" with people from a similar field."
"I'm sure they don't talk medical all the time."
This wasn't working.
“I don’t know, dad. Maybe I find them too busy, too stressed. Too… stuck up.”
Well, obviously, this isn’t true. But I had to say something.
Yesterday, a much older friend asked me, “So dear, how do you find C?” All this while, my friend had been trying to get us to go out. We did, we sort of hung out, but I think as usual, I make a lot of my guy friends feel like a buddy more than anything else.
“I thought you two had chemistry.”
“Yea, we did. But…”
“But what?”
“He’s a great buddy, that’s all. Heh. I don’t know, I mean, you know the guys in medicine? Like people I hang and chill out with? They’re perfect gentlemen...”
“Like how? And so?”
“Like around them, I’d never have to open my own door or clear my own plate or find my own chair. And if it’s raining I can count on someone to give me a lift. These people are only my acquaintances. Haha, so... er... it’s their fault that they’ve raised my baseline cos right now, I’m definitely one spoiled princess with a very high baseline and low threshold for unchivalrous behaviour.”
“Wait a minute. Who are these guys you speak of?”
“Medicine guys.”
“And you told your dad and me that they’re too busy, too stressed and STUCK UP. Look who’s the STUCK UP ONE!”
And we bowled over with laughter because we knew it was true.
The thing is, part of me sort of wonders, if there would ever be that right one. Dad always says I should go out more, be less busy, see more people. But that part of me which sees the end first could never go out with someone without an end in mind. What's the point? Like the time when my friends kept asking me to view bikes with them, I said no. Please don’t make me waste my time, you don’t understand, I’ve given the money away, I’m not getting it back, this is painful. Don't you understand, I can't get a bike anymore.
But they made me go anyway, so I guess when they finally found my bike, I knew just how good it was. It’s not perfect, but I liked it more than any of the ones we’d seen.
My friend had driven all the way from home to the hospital to pick me up for lunch, simply because it was raining and there was no shelter from the National Skin Centre.
"See, people like you.... spoil me!" I laughed.
"Hey, it's not my job to be mean to you. YOU, have to manage your expectations."
So heck, maybe I just should. Go out and see people. Let them take me out.
But that's not the only decision I'll have to make. I'll first have to decide not to be half as stand-offish and resist the urge to put something out there, say something that totally puts sixty feet between the other person and I. I know I'm pretty darn good at that.
Okay. I've decided. I'm taking dad's advice then. But really, I've always found non-medical people more interesting, heh.
Ah well, we'll see.
A lot of people say it’s all up to you. Up to you to choose who you like, up to you to find somebody. If you don’t, it’s because you never tried hard enough. But is it true, really?
It’s a little funny perhaps, but the closest analogy I can find for this right now in my tiny limited span of existence was finding my bike Faith. You know when I got the money to buy myself a new bike, I was ecstatic. I thought I had found the one. And then God says, no, it doesn’t belong to me, that money belongs to a deaf girl who needs the money for an operation to hear again- how did that feel? It was terrible. The money was gone, it was over. Nothing else, no matter how much it caught my eye, satisfied me, because I knew it wasn’t mine. It didn’t fit. There was no peace.
People always say, wait for the right one. He’ll come. But you know, at that time, when there were so many right bike fits at the time, none of them were truly right. There was no peace. Until we found the bike called Faith. And God used my friends to perform a miracle. Then things became… right. I could’ve gotten any of the previous bikes we’d gone to view before, but none would have had a story half as beautiful as that which we waited for.
Sometimes I feel there’re so many people out there who could be the right fit. And they could all turn out to be pretty darn good people. So why the excruciatingly long wait?
Two days ago, as we sat amazed at how soon I would graduate to become a doctor finally, my dad asked me how come I "didn’t bother" to "spend some time looking out for someone" in university. It was, according to him, the best time to “find someone”.
“I don’t like boys in medicine,” was my reply.
“What’s wrong with them?”
"Nothing. It's just that I don't like, you know, "chilling" with people from a similar field."
"I'm sure they don't talk medical all the time."
This wasn't working.
“I don’t know, dad. Maybe I find them too busy, too stressed. Too… stuck up.”
Well, obviously, this isn’t true. But I had to say something.
Yesterday, a much older friend asked me, “So dear, how do you find C?” All this while, my friend had been trying to get us to go out. We did, we sort of hung out, but I think as usual, I make a lot of my guy friends feel like a buddy more than anything else.
“I thought you two had chemistry.”
“Yea, we did. But…”
“But what?”
“He’s a great buddy, that’s all. Heh. I don’t know, I mean, you know the guys in medicine? Like people I hang and chill out with? They’re perfect gentlemen...”
“Like how? And so?”
“Like around them, I’d never have to open my own door or clear my own plate or find my own chair. And if it’s raining I can count on someone to give me a lift. These people are only my acquaintances. Haha, so... er... it’s their fault that they’ve raised my baseline cos right now, I’m definitely one spoiled princess with a very high baseline and low threshold for unchivalrous behaviour.”
“Wait a minute. Who are these guys you speak of?”
“Medicine guys.”
“And you told your dad and me that they’re too busy, too stressed and STUCK UP. Look who’s the STUCK UP ONE!”
And we bowled over with laughter because we knew it was true.
The thing is, part of me sort of wonders, if there would ever be that right one. Dad always says I should go out more, be less busy, see more people. But that part of me which sees the end first could never go out with someone without an end in mind. What's the point? Like the time when my friends kept asking me to view bikes with them, I said no. Please don’t make me waste my time, you don’t understand, I’ve given the money away, I’m not getting it back, this is painful. Don't you understand, I can't get a bike anymore.
But they made me go anyway, so I guess when they finally found my bike, I knew just how good it was. It’s not perfect, but I liked it more than any of the ones we’d seen.
My friend had driven all the way from home to the hospital to pick me up for lunch, simply because it was raining and there was no shelter from the National Skin Centre.
"See, people like you.... spoil me!" I laughed.
"Hey, it's not my job to be mean to you. YOU, have to manage your expectations."
So heck, maybe I just should. Go out and see people. Let them take me out.
But that's not the only decision I'll have to make. I'll first have to decide not to be half as stand-offish and resist the urge to put something out there, say something that totally puts sixty feet between the other person and I. I know I'm pretty darn good at that.
Okay. I've decided. I'm taking dad's advice then. But really, I've always found non-medical people more interesting, heh.
Ah well, we'll see.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Heart-throb.
So my heart got stolen by a little tyke at Sunday School again.
"Jiejie Wai Jia, why are your hands so cold? Come, I WARM THEM FOR YOU."
And little Darius proceeded to rub my hands against his.
Later when church had ended and I was in the bookshop queuing up, a little face popped out of nowhere and he shouted, "I FOUND YOUR FACE!!!"
As if my face were lost in a crowd or something, like how I sometimes feel lost in this big world out there, as if he had to search it out because part of it belonged to him and he wanted me to know it. I wondered if anyone would ever take that kind of effort to find me someday.
He is five years old.
Interesting.
I found it interesting to note, that though many had read the picture-story posted a couple days back, few understood the sadness behind it.
The pictures were each tragic, but none more tragic than the last one. It's been a rough week.
The pictures were each tragic, but none more tragic than the last one. It's been a rough week.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MJ
Happy birthday Michael Jackson, the King of Pop...
you are gone but not forgotten.
you are gone but not forgotten.
Friday, August 27, 2010
It's no fun being injured- Part one!
* Friday nights are always the hardest.
This is a short story I am writing about cycling and an injury. It is an ongoing story of a girl & her injury, her bicycle & her wings, and her missing biking & her biking buddies. It's not finished yet- how would you like it to end?
Enjoy :)
It's no fun being injured- Part One.
The day Anna injured her left leg, They told her she couldn't bike for a long while. For some time, she could hardly walk. Being injured was no fun.
Some days were bad. Her leg was sometimes very painful. She would cry herself to sleep with her friend, Ele.
Anna really missed biking. She had to hang her bike up!
But most of all, Anna missed her biking friends. Friday nights were the worst, because they used to ride together every Saturday morning. Oh what fun they used to have!
One night, Anna prayed really really hard. She wanted to... fly. An angel heard her and came in the night stealthily with a pair of Special Wings for her.
That night, Anna saw her biking friends...
... and decided to join them! Off she went with her wings! Ele had really Big and Special ears so she could fly with Anna too!
... to be continued...
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
In her shoes.
* Warning: This post is graphic and may be offensive.
Part your legs.
They didn't even need to be told. It was a monthly routine, a patterned exercise, like a monthly period. Once behind the curtain, they knew exactly what to do. There was nothing to be shy about- it was necessary, that was all. Strip halfway down, open your mouth for the dreaded gag, part your legs and wait.
"Sabai, sabai," the nurse would say. Even though they needn't be told to part their legs, everyone needed coaxing to relax.
Sabai, sabai. It literally means "feel good" in Thai. The nurses coax the sex workers to relax as they come for their routine medical surveillance for sexually transmitted infections at the clinic for venereal diseases.
Throat swab. Anal swab. Vaginal swab. Medical stamp. Done.
They need the stamp to sell their services. If not, they get sent back.
It was an eye-opening day at the DSC (Department of Sexually Transmitted Infections Control). It was a glimpse of a part of life we don't normally see.
This, is reality.
On the second floor of the clinic sat rows and rows of young, pretty women, all dolled up in cute jeans and leggings, with perfect makeup and highlights in their hair, sitting demurely waiting for their turn. Many were Thai, some were from mainland China. They came in groups, and watched me as I passed them in my white coat. For some reason, I felt out of place. "Shi xi de yi sheng," one of them said in mandarin. "Doctors-in-training."
You wouldn't have been able to tell. I mean, they were pretty. If you saw them down the street, they looked like just another head-turner. The first svelte lady with legs which never ended and long, blonde hair was a sex worker coming in for treatment for a genital infection. But some of them were haggard, flogged and washed out by the gruelling demands of the job. They can take up to 20 clients a night. Each client is worth $50. Half goes to the brothel. Half is for keeps. 10 clients a night, for 6 days a week, with 5 non-income days for their menstrual period earns them $6500 a month.
That's good money.
Downstairs, were rows and rows of men, of every ethnicity and nationality, waiting for their turn. (That's Uniquely Singapore for you right there in the waiting room.) Within an hour, we had seen Life in all its garish colours. The second patient was a short, muscular man with HIV. Then strolled in a smart-looking man you would pluck off the street of Shenton Way (our central business district) seeking treatment because "my partner says he has gonorrhea".
"He. He?"
"Yes, my partner. He."
"I'm sorry I have to ask you some personal questions. How many partners have you had in your life?"
"One. Only him."
"I mean, all your life?"
"Yeah. For the past 12 years, just him."
"I see you're very devoted. But he's not so devoted to you, is he?"
He shrugs.
"Condoms?"
"Quite often. About 50% of the time."
"That's not often. That's as good as not having protection. You need to have protection. Oral?"
"Yes."
"Top or bottom?"
"Both."
These questions matter. They affect treatment, and outcome.
Then came in another man with thick-rimmed spectacles and bermudas. After the usual brisk rapport-building came the questions which unveiled the gore beneath the surface.
"I need to ask you some personal questions. Who was your partner?"
"Social escort. From online."
Online. Did he say online?
The doctor stops the clinic temporarily to read an email. There is letter written to him regarding the case of a 2-year old boy with genital warts. On investigation, genital bacteria was found in his anus and mouth. That only meant one thing.
"I got to send a letter to the Ministry. Sad, isn't it?"
"It's tragic, sir."
We look at each other knowingly. Child abuse.
And then another good-looking young man with florid tatoos on his well-defined biceps swaggers in.
"Out from prison?"
"Yea, one week ago."
"For what offense?"
"Drugs la."
"How can I help you today?"
"I worry. Many many years, down there that one. KTV hostess la. Now my mouth got this one, very painful, can cut for me? Very irritating. Cannot take it la."
Cold sores from herpes. Herpes type 1.
Upstairs are the girls who sell. Downstairs are the men who buy.
And then there's me, stuck in the middle of two worlds, trying to bridge the gap between my world and theirs, and hopelessly failing because of my judgemental mindset. It reminded me of that night 2 years ago when we did some community outreach at the red light district over Christmas. We went at night, and walked down the alleys of Geylang, where the streets were studded with women clad in close to nothing, selling their football-sized wares. We, from the clinic at Geylang, gave out pamphlets to them, introducing them to the healthcare centre in the middle of that eclectic world. That world where wolves prowled and lamb waited, where different worlds overlapped and multi-coloured liquids blended in a tawdry mix- her home country. His home country. Her family. And his wife and children. Her infection. His infection. Her hole. His gun.
Someone dies. Someone always dies- and it is not necessarily one of them who does.
Later on, an angry wife comes barging in through the clinic asking for the cause of her vaginal discharge and finds out. They have children. Someone, if not, something in someone, always dies.
But I suppose, condoms save the day. A happy-looking cartoon character of banana plastic is pasted on a poster exhibit, next to a television screening a dramatic drama serial of a man who needs to disclose his HIV status to his family. Zoe Tay is crying.
"Here, take one, take five. Better to have more than less, they're free. Take, take," says the doctor. Because nothing stops this proliferative evil. Only a piece of plastic stands between evil and a greater one.
"Why do you like this job?" I ask the doctor. This is grimy work.
"It's challenging, that's why. You see people from all walks of life. Some infections are very treatable. And it's a mix of clinical, research and public health work. "
Public health. Where the epidemiology department was wildly successful with their condom use campaigns. " I don't understand, how does one force one's client to wear one? I don't understand how this public campaign achieved so much success. I mean... you know?"
In the clinic, we ask direct questions.
"Oh, well. We train the sex workers. We give them practical techniques. Like putting them on using their mouths for clients."
"Right." Stupid question.
"Why else do you like it?"
"It's colorful, that's why."
Green discharge. Red blood in urine. Yellow urethral pus. Colourful, indeed. It's grimy work, but the doctors are there for a reason. These are the people who have are marginalised by society. These are people are scorned, but need help anyways.
I go upstairs, a little overwhelmed by all that has happened within an hour or so, and then I see a pair of white slippers with little sparkling crystals studded all over them. It strikes me, because I have the exact same pair- my good friends bought them for me for my birthday. They weren't cheap.
I look up, and it belongs to a mainland Chinese sex worker in a purple off-shoulder top and leggings. She is apple-faced, with rebonded shiny black hair. "Singapore is a nice place," she tells me in accented mandarin, "people here are polite." We make small talk, but she is guarded. After all, how would I ever understand her world. How would I ever approve of what she did. I attempted to leap over from my cliff to hers, and found myself falling into an abyss.
Her slippers were the same as mine. And it only served to remind me, not to judge, because given her background, her family, her education, her circumstance, her temptations... it could have been me.
But it's just that I've been born into a protective family. It's just that when I was born, we moved to Singapore and I got sucked into, sold to the Rat Race. It's just that I used other things to fill my hole- like working, like training, like doing projects. The people downstairs were broken too. Broken like you and me. So they found these things to fill their holes- online escorts, one-night stands.
But break us down to our elements, and this is who we are. We are the same, broken. We are broken, lonely people, desperately searching for love and companionship. Only in different places in different ways.
Placed in her shoes, it could've been me. Or you.
Tis a crazy world out there. And it made me realise, we need to fortify our minds, guard our hearts against all its craziness. What feels good for a moment only brings suffering, infection and sometimes, incurable disease in the end.
And the words Sabai, sabai ring in my ears, as the nurse asks the woman to relax as she sticks the swab in. Feel good, feel good.
Perhaps, we need to come to a realisation as to what truly feels good. Temporary pleasures, can bring eternal suffering. Temporary pleasures, are just what they are- temporary.
But our loneliness, our longing for love, is eternal. Do we understand that. Do we understand that this eternal longing set in our hearts signifies we weren't made for this world, and hence only the divine can fill it. Do we understand that we need to look for love in the right places, not from an external source, but from somewhere deep within, a love that was poured out abundantly by His spirit for our sakes, a love which... satisfies.
I leave the clinic, past a row of men and they watch me like a hawk. I want to say screw you, old man, but I hold back. Compassion, compassion, rings in my ears. I see the pair of white shoes in my head.
Put yourself in their shoes, I hear a voice say. And I walk out of that place, in the middle of the red light district in broad daylight, and find myself thankful for entering that world, if only for a moment.
On wearing the right pair of shoes, I could leap from my cliff to theirs. That's what the doctors there have to do, connect with them, take off their judgemental glasses. Even though the sin is so very evil, and the evil is so very great. Even though they must hate the sin. Even though they must love and care for the people in spite of the sin.
Leave these people to rot, they brought it upon themselves, says one voice. Another says, compassion, compassion.
It's a crazy world out there. But with the right pair of shoes, and right pair of glasses, perhaps, just perhaps, with God's grace, we could be a part of pouring out a little love to fill the holes in this broken world.
Part your legs.
They didn't even need to be told. It was a monthly routine, a patterned exercise, like a monthly period. Once behind the curtain, they knew exactly what to do. There was nothing to be shy about- it was necessary, that was all. Strip halfway down, open your mouth for the dreaded gag, part your legs and wait.
"Sabai, sabai," the nurse would say. Even though they needn't be told to part their legs, everyone needed coaxing to relax.
Sabai, sabai. It literally means "feel good" in Thai. The nurses coax the sex workers to relax as they come for their routine medical surveillance for sexually transmitted infections at the clinic for venereal diseases.
Throat swab. Anal swab. Vaginal swab. Medical stamp. Done.
They need the stamp to sell their services. If not, they get sent back.
It was an eye-opening day at the DSC (Department of Sexually Transmitted Infections Control). It was a glimpse of a part of life we don't normally see.
This, is reality.
On the second floor of the clinic sat rows and rows of young, pretty women, all dolled up in cute jeans and leggings, with perfect makeup and highlights in their hair, sitting demurely waiting for their turn. Many were Thai, some were from mainland China. They came in groups, and watched me as I passed them in my white coat. For some reason, I felt out of place. "Shi xi de yi sheng," one of them said in mandarin. "Doctors-in-training."
You wouldn't have been able to tell. I mean, they were pretty. If you saw them down the street, they looked like just another head-turner. The first svelte lady with legs which never ended and long, blonde hair was a sex worker coming in for treatment for a genital infection. But some of them were haggard, flogged and washed out by the gruelling demands of the job. They can take up to 20 clients a night. Each client is worth $50. Half goes to the brothel. Half is for keeps. 10 clients a night, for 6 days a week, with 5 non-income days for their menstrual period earns them $6500 a month.
That's good money.
Downstairs, were rows and rows of men, of every ethnicity and nationality, waiting for their turn. (That's Uniquely Singapore for you right there in the waiting room.) Within an hour, we had seen Life in all its garish colours. The second patient was a short, muscular man with HIV. Then strolled in a smart-looking man you would pluck off the street of Shenton Way (our central business district) seeking treatment because "my partner says he has gonorrhea".
"He. He?"
"Yes, my partner. He."
"I'm sorry I have to ask you some personal questions. How many partners have you had in your life?"
"One. Only him."
"I mean, all your life?"
"Yeah. For the past 12 years, just him."
"I see you're very devoted. But he's not so devoted to you, is he?"
He shrugs.
"Condoms?"
"Quite often. About 50% of the time."
"That's not often. That's as good as not having protection. You need to have protection. Oral?"
"Yes."
"Top or bottom?"
"Both."
These questions matter. They affect treatment, and outcome.
Then came in another man with thick-rimmed spectacles and bermudas. After the usual brisk rapport-building came the questions which unveiled the gore beneath the surface.
"I need to ask you some personal questions. Who was your partner?"
"Social escort. From online."
Online. Did he say online?
The doctor stops the clinic temporarily to read an email. There is letter written to him regarding the case of a 2-year old boy with genital warts. On investigation, genital bacteria was found in his anus and mouth. That only meant one thing.
"I got to send a letter to the Ministry. Sad, isn't it?"
"It's tragic, sir."
We look at each other knowingly. Child abuse.
And then another good-looking young man with florid tatoos on his well-defined biceps swaggers in.
"Out from prison?"
"Yea, one week ago."
"For what offense?"
"Drugs la."
"How can I help you today?"
"I worry. Many many years, down there that one. KTV hostess la. Now my mouth got this one, very painful, can cut for me? Very irritating. Cannot take it la."
Cold sores from herpes. Herpes type 1.
Upstairs are the girls who sell. Downstairs are the men who buy.
And then there's me, stuck in the middle of two worlds, trying to bridge the gap between my world and theirs, and hopelessly failing because of my judgemental mindset. It reminded me of that night 2 years ago when we did some community outreach at the red light district over Christmas. We went at night, and walked down the alleys of Geylang, where the streets were studded with women clad in close to nothing, selling their football-sized wares. We, from the clinic at Geylang, gave out pamphlets to them, introducing them to the healthcare centre in the middle of that eclectic world. That world where wolves prowled and lamb waited, where different worlds overlapped and multi-coloured liquids blended in a tawdry mix- her home country. His home country. Her family. And his wife and children. Her infection. His infection. Her hole. His gun.
Someone dies. Someone always dies- and it is not necessarily one of them who does.
Later on, an angry wife comes barging in through the clinic asking for the cause of her vaginal discharge and finds out. They have children. Someone, if not, something in someone, always dies.
But I suppose, condoms save the day. A happy-looking cartoon character of banana plastic is pasted on a poster exhibit, next to a television screening a dramatic drama serial of a man who needs to disclose his HIV status to his family. Zoe Tay is crying.
"Here, take one, take five. Better to have more than less, they're free. Take, take," says the doctor. Because nothing stops this proliferative evil. Only a piece of plastic stands between evil and a greater one.
"Why do you like this job?" I ask the doctor. This is grimy work.
"It's challenging, that's why. You see people from all walks of life. Some infections are very treatable. And it's a mix of clinical, research and public health work. "
Public health. Where the epidemiology department was wildly successful with their condom use campaigns. " I don't understand, how does one force one's client to wear one? I don't understand how this public campaign achieved so much success. I mean... you know?"
In the clinic, we ask direct questions.
"Oh, well. We train the sex workers. We give them practical techniques. Like putting them on using their mouths for clients."
"Right." Stupid question.
"Why else do you like it?"
"It's colorful, that's why."
Green discharge. Red blood in urine. Yellow urethral pus. Colourful, indeed. It's grimy work, but the doctors are there for a reason. These are the people who have are marginalised by society. These are people are scorned, but need help anyways.
I go upstairs, a little overwhelmed by all that has happened within an hour or so, and then I see a pair of white slippers with little sparkling crystals studded all over them. It strikes me, because I have the exact same pair- my good friends bought them for me for my birthday. They weren't cheap.
I look up, and it belongs to a mainland Chinese sex worker in a purple off-shoulder top and leggings. She is apple-faced, with rebonded shiny black hair. "Singapore is a nice place," she tells me in accented mandarin, "people here are polite." We make small talk, but she is guarded. After all, how would I ever understand her world. How would I ever approve of what she did. I attempted to leap over from my cliff to hers, and found myself falling into an abyss.
Her slippers were the same as mine. And it only served to remind me, not to judge, because given her background, her family, her education, her circumstance, her temptations... it could have been me.
But it's just that I've been born into a protective family. It's just that when I was born, we moved to Singapore and I got sucked into, sold to the Rat Race. It's just that I used other things to fill my hole- like working, like training, like doing projects. The people downstairs were broken too. Broken like you and me. So they found these things to fill their holes- online escorts, one-night stands.
But break us down to our elements, and this is who we are. We are the same, broken. We are broken, lonely people, desperately searching for love and companionship. Only in different places in different ways.
Placed in her shoes, it could've been me. Or you.
Tis a crazy world out there. And it made me realise, we need to fortify our minds, guard our hearts against all its craziness. What feels good for a moment only brings suffering, infection and sometimes, incurable disease in the end.
And the words Sabai, sabai ring in my ears, as the nurse asks the woman to relax as she sticks the swab in. Feel good, feel good.
Perhaps, we need to come to a realisation as to what truly feels good. Temporary pleasures, can bring eternal suffering. Temporary pleasures, are just what they are- temporary.
But our loneliness, our longing for love, is eternal. Do we understand that. Do we understand that this eternal longing set in our hearts signifies we weren't made for this world, and hence only the divine can fill it. Do we understand that we need to look for love in the right places, not from an external source, but from somewhere deep within, a love that was poured out abundantly by His spirit for our sakes, a love which... satisfies.
I leave the clinic, past a row of men and they watch me like a hawk. I want to say screw you, old man, but I hold back. Compassion, compassion, rings in my ears. I see the pair of white shoes in my head.
Put yourself in their shoes, I hear a voice say. And I walk out of that place, in the middle of the red light district in broad daylight, and find myself thankful for entering that world, if only for a moment.
On wearing the right pair of shoes, I could leap from my cliff to theirs. That's what the doctors there have to do, connect with them, take off their judgemental glasses. Even though the sin is so very evil, and the evil is so very great. Even though they must hate the sin. Even though they must love and care for the people in spite of the sin.
Leave these people to rot, they brought it upon themselves, says one voice. Another says, compassion, compassion.
It's a crazy world out there. But with the right pair of shoes, and right pair of glasses, perhaps, just perhaps, with God's grace, we could be a part of pouring out a little love to fill the holes in this broken world.
"He has also set eternity in the hearts of men;
yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end."
-Eccle 3:11
Monday, August 23, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Second service.
“To love at all is to be vulnerable.
Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken.
If you want to make sure of keeping it intact,
you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal.
Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries;
avoid all entanglements;
lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.
But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless-
-it will change.
It will not be broken;
it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”
- C. S Lewis
Love anything at all, and your heart will certainly be broken.
I suppose, it was only a matter of time I got hurt. I left church with a bad taste in my mouth yesterday. I wanted to cry but I couldn't. I love that place, the people too much. A few incidents shouldn't change things. Nonetheless, I was disappointed with what had happened. I felt like crying but I didn't.
I was about to leave when little Andrew, with his big bambi eyes popped up in front of me.
"Jiejie Wai Jia, we learnt a lot today."
I wasn't on duty teaching Sunday school so another teacher had taught his class.
"Oh really, that's awesome Andrew. What did you learn?"
"Er, we did a recap. Of everything!"
"Which was?"
" A recap!!"
I was about to leave when you gave me a big hug. You were so small your hands only reached up to my waist and your head was buried in my belly.
"See Jiejie Wai Jia, I have a box. I let Keean have the present. Cos I remembered the first shall be last and the last shall be first, so I took the box. And see, I've one sweet inside this big box. I like my box. Do you want a sweet?"
"No dear, it's okay. You save it for yourself."
His mother comes over, asks about his son in my class. I tell her he's WONDERFUL to have and she beams with pride.
"But I didn't teach him today, I wasn't on duty. I'll be teaching him next week."
"Oh," I said as an afterthought, "But I'm teaching the second service, not the first, so looks like I won't see you Andrew."
And then almost immediately, he turns on his bambi charm with mummy and says, "Mummy, can I attend second service next week? Jiejie Wai Jia is teaching during second service."
I am embarrassed by this, but his mother says, "Sure, Andrew. Okay."
And then just about this time I really feel like crying. Love you too, Andrew.
I love this place and the people too much.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
NEW DESIGNS COMING SOON
Hey fellow stardoll-ers... as you may or may not know I am releasing a few new designs tonight! I am so excited!
Addicted to The Sims 3...
So we got the computer working properly and I've been addicted to The Sims 3 since..... it's really bad and I can't seem to pull myself away from the computer at all... what am I gonna do? :P
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Beautiful child.
Thank you for giving her the gift of hearing.
Now, Alisha can truly have a chance at a normal life back in Nepal where she stays at.
Like the other kids.
*To those of you who have made a difference to her life through your generosity, thank you. Alisha still has to return to Singapore regularly from Nepal for her speech and hearing therapy. The flights and therapy sessions all add up. If you would like to help support her further in any way, please write to me at tanwaijia@gmail.com to find out more. Tuesday, August 17, 2010
The Sims 3
So I finally gave in and bought The Sims 3 after my friend kept bugging me to get it and I was having lots of problems trying to get the game to work because I wanted to play it on my mac which is my primary computer that I always use. But the mac wouldn't play it so I had to try on my PC that I never really use and it worked in the PC but it was way too slow so I asked my dad to help me upgrade the PC to make it run faster in order to play the game and we are having troubles with some of the parts! Anyways for the moment I am able to play a bit better although some of the parts still have to be changed.... I am really liking this game and soon want to get my sims looking like Lady GaGa but I am not sure how to do it just yet because I'm still really new to the game.
Things Unseen.
Somehow, I knew God had a hand in it.
You see, as medical students in our clinical years, we rotate around various hospitals in Singapore so much that we rarely spend more than a month or two in a single hospital. Surgery, internal medicine, paediatrics, dermatology, infectious disease etc... for each specialty, we move to a different location.
Alisha is the 4-year old girl from Nepal whom my missionary friend and I were involved with to coordinate a cochlear implant surgery in Singapore some time last year. I remember, both times Alisha had been scheduled to fly in for her speech and hearing therapy appointment at the National University Hospital, I had happened to be scheduled there for my postings as well. It was because of that, that I was able to visit her and accompany her for her therapy sessions. Not once, but twice.
Mdm H is the lovely lady whose waterbag had burst only slightly more than midway through her pregnancy. I remember, she made a huge impact on me because of her joy in spite of her circumstance. Most women can be moody and emotional during their pregnancy because of the hormonal changes and various other stressors. (Pregnancy in itself can be very stressful.) Yet, in spite of such a huge setback, with news of her baby needing to be born prematurely and possibly facing many risks and future complications, Mdm H remained positive, strong and held on firmly to her belief that God was in control- not out of ignorance, but sheer faith. I remember, the two times she text messaged me to inform me she was carrying her baby boy to the hospital for followup visits with the doctor, I had happened to be allocated to that hospital as well. Because of that, we could catch up and I could visit her son. She wrote about our 1st and 2nd meeting. In my time of self-doubt and despair, she gave me immense encouragement.
Mdm S is the strong parent whose faith and strength shall always be etched in my memory. Her 3-year old son, E, has been in and out of hospital for bloatedness due to a kidney problem. The week her son was warded happened to be the week when I was posted to that hospital as well. Because of that, I could visit and tell him funny stories where we laughed ourselves silly, and pray together with Mdm S.
Qing is the amazing young woman from China with a grossly disfigured face. Having had acid poured all over her beautiful face when she was 14 by her elder sister's vengeful boyfriend, she had been almost blind for 5 years before Dr. Tan Lai Yong, a Singaporean doctor who had been serving the needy in China for more than a decade, flew her in to Singapore for various skin and eye treatments, and took her to various meetings to speak about her experience. Her simple joy and faith in a God whom she believed loved her immensely would bring tears to those who heard her story.
On the second day of my Ophathalmology rotation 6 months back, I remember bumping into her at the waiting room. She happened to be scheduled to see my professor, who was her doctor.
Yesterday, I received a text message from her saying she would be at the Eye Centre again. Incidentally, even thought I am now doing my dermatology rotation at a different hospital, I had been scheduled weeks ago for an appointment with my therapist there on the same morning. Perfect.
So many times, it seemed as if God had allowed these special arrangements to take place so that I would have the chance to enjoy these very special moments. Coincidence? On so many occasions?
Today, Qing was there in her signature sunglasses which she uses to hide her eyes. Where her right eye should have been, is a red, fleshy piece of skin and some clear liquid dripping out. When I first met her, there was an ulcer and pus- things had improved since then. Her other eye, with a severely damaged eyelid and only a few eyelashes, had undergone 2 previous corneal implants due to infections.
"I certainly hope the doctors will say my eyes have improved this time!"
She is almost blind. Before she met Dr. Tan a few years ago, she could see even less. She is now 22, almost my age.
Instead of being resigned to doing nothing, she spends her time making beautiful cloth flowers which she sells to raise support for herself and other victims of abuse in the Rehabilitation Centre at Kunming, China. On my 23rd birthday this year, instead of buying me more things I didn't need, my friends purchased the beautiful flowers made by her. They were sold in a flash.
She opened her wallet. "Wai Jia," she said in mandarin, "this is my old photo. This is how I looked like before. I was dancing in a performance, I chose this dress because I thought it looked so pretty."
You see, as medical students in our clinical years, we rotate around various hospitals in Singapore so much that we rarely spend more than a month or two in a single hospital. Surgery, internal medicine, paediatrics, dermatology, infectious disease etc... for each specialty, we move to a different location.
Alisha is the 4-year old girl from Nepal whom my missionary friend and I were involved with to coordinate a cochlear implant surgery in Singapore some time last year. I remember, both times Alisha had been scheduled to fly in for her speech and hearing therapy appointment at the National University Hospital, I had happened to be scheduled there for my postings as well. It was because of that, that I was able to visit her and accompany her for her therapy sessions. Not once, but twice.
Mdm H is the lovely lady whose waterbag had burst only slightly more than midway through her pregnancy. I remember, she made a huge impact on me because of her joy in spite of her circumstance. Most women can be moody and emotional during their pregnancy because of the hormonal changes and various other stressors. (Pregnancy in itself can be very stressful.) Yet, in spite of such a huge setback, with news of her baby needing to be born prematurely and possibly facing many risks and future complications, Mdm H remained positive, strong and held on firmly to her belief that God was in control- not out of ignorance, but sheer faith. I remember, the two times she text messaged me to inform me she was carrying her baby boy to the hospital for followup visits with the doctor, I had happened to be allocated to that hospital as well. Because of that, we could catch up and I could visit her son. She wrote about our 1st and 2nd meeting. In my time of self-doubt and despair, she gave me immense encouragement.
Mdm S is the strong parent whose faith and strength shall always be etched in my memory. Her 3-year old son, E, has been in and out of hospital for bloatedness due to a kidney problem. The week her son was warded happened to be the week when I was posted to that hospital as well. Because of that, I could visit and tell him funny stories where we laughed ourselves silly, and pray together with Mdm S.
Qing is the amazing young woman from China with a grossly disfigured face. Having had acid poured all over her beautiful face when she was 14 by her elder sister's vengeful boyfriend, she had been almost blind for 5 years before Dr. Tan Lai Yong, a Singaporean doctor who had been serving the needy in China for more than a decade, flew her in to Singapore for various skin and eye treatments, and took her to various meetings to speak about her experience. Her simple joy and faith in a God whom she believed loved her immensely would bring tears to those who heard her story.
On the second day of my Ophathalmology rotation 6 months back, I remember bumping into her at the waiting room. She happened to be scheduled to see my professor, who was her doctor.
Yesterday, I received a text message from her saying she would be at the Eye Centre again. Incidentally, even thought I am now doing my dermatology rotation at a different hospital, I had been scheduled weeks ago for an appointment with my therapist there on the same morning. Perfect.
So many times, it seemed as if God had allowed these special arrangements to take place so that I would have the chance to enjoy these very special moments. Coincidence? On so many occasions?
Today, Qing was there in her signature sunglasses which she uses to hide her eyes. Where her right eye should have been, is a red, fleshy piece of skin and some clear liquid dripping out. When I first met her, there was an ulcer and pus- things had improved since then. Her other eye, with a severely damaged eyelid and only a few eyelashes, had undergone 2 previous corneal implants due to infections.
"I certainly hope the doctors will say my eyes have improved this time!"
She is almost blind. Before she met Dr. Tan a few years ago, she could see even less. She is now 22, almost my age.
Instead of being resigned to doing nothing, she spends her time making beautiful cloth flowers which she sells to raise support for herself and other victims of abuse in the Rehabilitation Centre at Kunming, China. On my 23rd birthday this year, instead of buying me more things I didn't need, my friends purchased the beautiful flowers made by her. They were sold in a flash.
She opened her wallet. "Wai Jia," she said in mandarin, "this is my old photo. This is how I looked like before. I was dancing in a performance, I chose this dress because I thought it looked so pretty."
I fell silent. She was so beautiful.Doe-eyed and innocent, she was so beautiful at 13 before that fateful day. Now, her face was, by normal standards, hideous. No one would walk by her without taking a second look. She had one eye. Her face was a giant keloid. Half her nose was gone, her mouth was crooked. Part of her scalp was so badly damaged she had to cover it with her fringe.
This time, she came with a friend, HJ. When we had a quiet moment together away from Qing, I asked HJ, "Does Qing ever feel depressed?"
"No. Can't you see, she's always very cheerful."
"But how can that be? Surely she has difficult moments?"
I thought about how difficult it must be for her to face herself each day, how depressing it must be to feel ugly, blind and to have to apply creams, eyedrops, and wear contact lenses for one eye to prevent recurrent corneal infections on her only good eye. For myself, just a hamstring injury and a pelvic fracture had caused me so much grief- I had days feeling fat and ugly, and couldn't imagine how it must be like for Qing.
"It happened so many years ago that she's learnt to cope. If anything, it's her elder sister who still copes with some guilt."
I knew HJ was telling the truth, because Qing once shared with me how God loves her so much that He sent angels to bring her from China to Singapore, people to sponsor her multiple operations in Singapore which cost tens, if not hundreds of thousands of dollars, and doctors to see her for free.
"He loves me so much. Why should I be sad?"
She is 22. This happened to her when she was 14.
I had to leave for my medical appointment. And it made me see how our every moment is a miracle, how many things there are which we can be grateful and thankful for. I was fed up with being injured, fed up with having to followup with my therapist regarding my old illness of anorexia, but she showed me how precious our life is, and how much we have to be grateful for for even having the chance to receive medical treatment.
Some time back, when I was back in the same place where I was treated learning about anorexia, but this time as a medical student, I found myself, during a tutorial, doodling (out of nervousness from hearing about my old illness being taught aloud). What I had drawn startled me, made me see that part of Ele still lives in my head. That was when I knew there was still work to be done.
Here we are worrying about how we look, how we appear in front of others, worrying about being fat or having acne or shoddy, when there is so much more to life. This afternoon at the dermatology clinic, we saw so many patients who came in wanting to know how they could get rid of their eyebags, skin creases or tiny skin tags less than 2mm in diameter.
Granted, these are valid urban anxieties, but do we forget, that somewhere out there, in a world different from ours, there are people living lives with such pure faith and joy, strength and courage in the face of tragedy, injustice and pain. Do we lose ourselves in our self-absorption.
"Qing, thanks so much for keeping in touch with me."
Thank you, for being a part of the many special encounters God has orchestrated to show me how gratitude and faith, courage and love, can make such a huge difference not only in our lives, but in the lives of those around us.
Thank you for showing us what it means to live life with such valour.
You may be almost blind, but you've opened our eyes to the things unseen.
"... while we look not at things seen,
but things unseen;
for things seen are temporary,
but things unseen are eternal..."
2 Cor 4:18
*Qing's pictures and story published with permission.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Lessons from my Injury.
One day this week I woke up, realised I am definitely the heaviest but possibly the most comfortable, secure and happiest I have ever been in my life:
I realised that your mistakes can break your hip, but God won't let them break your spirit.
I realised that good friends are those who can love you 14 kilos up and down, and still say you look like a bomb any day, because they see you for who you are inside, and who you could become, not who you are now, and how you look on your worst or best day.
I realised how important it is not to succumb to external pressure, how important it is to say, NO THANK YOU. I appreciate your advice, but I have my own way of doing things. It's okay to say that sometimes.
I realised that putting on weight has its benefits- it gives you free boobs.
I realised that God can use our illnesses and circumstance to teach us lots about ourselves.
I realised, I'm a sucker for intensity and addictions-I know I get a high from sucking the marrow out of any aspect of life, be it in my studies, art, sport or adventures. But this is certainly a lesson I will remember for life. I realised that as much as I value discipline, I need to have the discipline to draw lines, say no, know when to Stop.
I realised this injury was a big blessing in disguise. It gave me time to reflect upon the furious plunge into sports over the past year, it gave me space to think through and consolidate my thoughts, it gave me fresh insights and new revelations into my motivations, and purified them.
I realised that truly, this was the perfect time to sustain an injury- during my final year before my exams so I could finally settle down and focus, instead of spreading myself so thinly. The time I spent away from the road and on my books was very valuable, and helped me establish my confidence and focus in the wards again. I realised God has indeed been merciful.
I realised that God loves us so much that He sometimes waits to heal us (even though He could do it in a jiffy) because we take time to learn certain lessons. I realised that more than sacrifice or swears or vows, He treasures a surrendered heart that says, okay, I can do with or without.
All these revelations were revealed to be little by little over the past 4 months, and consolidated over the past week.
So I suppose it was apt timing when Dr. Ben Tan showed me my X-ray and said, "You can start running now," I knew it was because God had finally got his lessons through that thick skull of mine.
I realised that your mistakes can break your hip, but God won't let them break your spirit.
I realised that good friends are those who can love you 14 kilos up and down, and still say you look like a bomb any day, because they see you for who you are inside, and who you could become, not who you are now, and how you look on your worst or best day.
I realised how important it is not to succumb to external pressure, how important it is to say, NO THANK YOU. I appreciate your advice, but I have my own way of doing things. It's okay to say that sometimes.
I realised that putting on weight has its benefits- it gives you free boobs.
I realised that God can use our illnesses and circumstance to teach us lots about ourselves.
I realised, I'm a sucker for intensity and addictions-I know I get a high from sucking the marrow out of any aspect of life, be it in my studies, art, sport or adventures. But this is certainly a lesson I will remember for life. I realised that as much as I value discipline, I need to have the discipline to draw lines, say no, know when to Stop.
I realised this injury was a big blessing in disguise. It gave me time to reflect upon the furious plunge into sports over the past year, it gave me space to think through and consolidate my thoughts, it gave me fresh insights and new revelations into my motivations, and purified them.
I realised that truly, this was the perfect time to sustain an injury- during my final year before my exams so I could finally settle down and focus, instead of spreading myself so thinly. The time I spent away from the road and on my books was very valuable, and helped me establish my confidence and focus in the wards again. I realised God has indeed been merciful.
I realised that God loves us so much that He sometimes waits to heal us (even though He could do it in a jiffy) because we take time to learn certain lessons. I realised that more than sacrifice or swears or vows, He treasures a surrendered heart that says, okay, I can do with or without.
All these revelations were revealed to be little by little over the past 4 months, and consolidated over the past week.
So I suppose it was apt timing when Dr. Ben Tan showed me my X-ray and said, "You can start running now," I knew it was because God had finally got his lessons through that thick skull of mine.
For my medicine juniors- spot the pathology! (and note the scoliosis!)
"But I need you to stick to the programme I give you. Go slow, because this sort of injury is notorious for relapse. I need you to continue with physiotherapy, with your vitamin D and calcium and... I need you to change your bike saddle. No racing till after your finals. "
And I realised God wanted me to remember for life, the consequences of relying on a selfish, self-striving spirit the way Jacob did, because the next time my hamstrings and bone snap because of my self-sufficiency or greed, it could mean surgery.
"I think you can try a run today."
I was apprehensive, but all through the run, there was no pain, even though I was still experiencing pain a week back. Because of all the core work, pilates stretching, and myofascial release we had done during the period of rest to realign my muscles and bones, I was running with a far better posture than I ever did before. I used to run with a very unstable pelvic swagger, and a really bad forward tilt, as if there were weights tied to my neck. Now, I was running "as if there's a medal on your chest", as M would have said. I then realised, God puts rest in our lives sometimes to rebuild our core, to re-establish broken foundations, to realign our intents and purposes, thoughts and dreams.
"Your pain is there because of disuse, so we need to rehabilitate you. You've got to step up slowly. I think you need to wait a little more before you start biking again, but meanwhile, please start running. You need to."
I realised, sometimes God wants us to spend a little more time sorting ourselves out, because a period of fasting from our indulgences can be essential to spiritual progress. Today is Day 50 of my bike fast.
I realised, our sufferings never, ever go to waste. But sometimes, with a bit of common sense, we can certainly spare ourselves the heartache.
And I realised, what real friends truly mean. They can love you 14 kilos up and down, and walk you through every difficult step along the way. They don't dump you just because you don't can't do sports the way you used to. They don't rub salt into wound. They don't pressure you to return to what caused you to stumble at the expense of your recovery.
They encourage you when you feel like giving up, visit you when you're down, and patiently await your return- the way our King awaits our return Home, the way the father awaited his prodigal son's return.
The past 4 months of rest have been incredibly fruitful and fulfilling, in a different sense. I'm not sure if I would go to the extent to say that I wouldn't have changed anything had I the chance to live that fateful day of injury again, but I know for sure, the lessons learnt from this have been precious.
"You need to continue doing all the stretches and rehab work I've taught you, okay?" said my physiotherapist. She's a marathoner, swimmer and a pilates instructor as well. "You see, the human body is so exquisite, it needs to be in a constant state of BALANCE. That's why I don't just run, or swim, or cycle. Take a little bit from the best of everything and you'll stay injury-free, okay?"
I realised, the most important lesson I learnt, was balance. How to balance my work and play, sport and health, calling and duty, friends and family. My injury was primarily due to a muscle imbalance. It is most commonly sustained when the quadriceps is more than 60% stronger than the hamstrings.
It's all about poising yourself on the straight and narrow path, I suppose.
I've still a long way ahead to recovery, but it certainly felt good to run again, even if it was only for a short while.
Thank you God.
J, me and T stealing a shot before sitting for our paediatrics paper-
Love you two to the sky and back :)
"He heals the brokenhearted
and binds up their wounds...
...His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse,
nor his delight in the legs of a man;
God delights in those who fear him,
who put their hope in his unfailing love.
-Psalm 147:3, 10, 11
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Where Home is, Truly.
* This post was meant to be posted on National Day, 9 August 2010, but was postponed because Wai Jia has had a series of 4 tests to study for which only ended today!
**Disclaimer: This post may be offensive to some.
When I was younger and more naive, I used to think one could be whatever one's heart felt one was. But I've come to see, some things can't be changed. And perhaps, they're better left so.
You see, even though I've grown up here almost all my life, live in the heartlands, eat rojak, speak Singlish, breathe efficiency, and exude the typically Singaporean-brand style of pragmatism, I don't own a pink identification card, and nothing but a citizenship conversion will ever change that.
As a child, I never felt the difference- after all, my entire family were, still are, permanent residents. When I was a toddler, my mother would play national day songs on the cassette tape player before putting me to bed every night, even though we all belonged to a different country. In primary school, I sang the national anthem, went to the national day parades. Because I was head prefect, I had to lead the entire school in reciting the national pledge, too. Till today, I support local artistes, especially local theatre.
But the difference becomes more apparent as one grows older. So what's your nationality? People ask.
And then I find myself straddled between two lands, struggling between lost and found. I am lost in limbo because I do not know. Does my nationality matter if I do not feel at home back there, since I moved here when I was less than a year old? Back there where my neighbours get robbed on a regular basis? Back there where there is a goverment which isn't democratic and is prejudiced against my race such that it is close to impossible to studying medicine on a meritocratic basis? Back there, where I do not feel I am at home at all. Do I tell you that is my country?
Back in my home country, my relatives laugh at how I've been sold to Singapore. I have not lived there for so long. So long. Since my grandma passed away, I've had even less reason to return.
Yet, no matter how much I feel at home here, I can never truly call it my own. Even though all the places I know, all the places I identify with, all the memories I have are all in this tiny place. But once upon a time, I used to. I used to say Singapore is my home. I used to know all the national day songs by heart. I used to hang the flag up with pride from my balcony. But people pointed at the colour of my identity card and joked. They still do.
This is not your country.
Even though I've grown up here all my life. Even though I think my blood is Singaporean. Even though there's possibly no where else on earth I could call home.
Yet, it's a joke. But then, why? I become confused, because why is he/she more Singaporean than me when he/she has only just obtained citizenship? Is it because he has been imported to join our, no sorry, your national team? Is it because she will benefit you and bring my, no sorry, your nation glory?
So is this about the colour of the card I carry.
When I am overseas and people ask me where I'm from, I tell them, I'm from Singapore. I tell them without batting an eyelash. I tell them with pride. This is my home.
But how my heart broke that day when someone said, "Wow, Singapore. I've heard so much about it. It's a model for so many countries. But why did your government choose to build a casino? Why the Integrated Resort with a casino at its centre? It just didn't seem to fit with your nation's image. Why?"
Then I became ashamed. Because my answer was, I don't know. I don't know why we, no sorry, you are building a multi-million resort comprising a six-star hotel, a dazzling waterfront view, an entertainment hub, an amusement park, next to a building which destroys not only families, but individual lives. I don't know why we, sorry you, have prophylactically established the National Council of Problem Gambling to tackle "any future issues". I pass by that plot of land when I go to school. And my heart sinks.
This is my country. This is not your country.
Who's taking ownership now? Who's taking whose away.
This is my home. Why are you destroying it. This is my country. Why are you stemming its economic growth.
That day at the immigration office, I was stunned when they told me I couldn't apply for citizenship. I've lived here all my life. I have a good track record. I am going to be one of your doctors. Their reason was, in black and white, your parents aren't citizens and you aren't working yet. Refer to the pink form. Period. Come again next year.
This is not your country.
Monday was National Day. We, final year medical students, were up to our ears in work. I had 4 tests this week. But my best friend and I sat on my rooftop garden anyways watching fireworks, celebrating Singapore's 45th birthday.
Then it struck me. As the specks of light bloomed into flames in the inky blanket of sky, it struck me.
This is not my country. And neither is the place which declares so on my passport.
My greatest lesson learnt this year has been to cling loosely to all things. My injury taught me to cling loosely to my possessions; my illness taught me to cling loosely to my earthly body. Finally, what I feel to be God's latest assignment to me for 2012 has taught me... to cling loosely to my home, to my country. Because you just never know when He might call, where He may call you to. Perhaps, it was all part of His plan to feel like I never did belong.
The missionaries I met often told me, "When you start work, be careful, don't buy a car. When you find a boyfriend, be careful, don't marry him and buy a house in your home country. Once you've settled your car and your house in your country, you can forget about leaving. It would have become too much of your home for you to want to leave for another place where God's work might be waiting for you. You'll then say, 'God's work for me is here, at home.' And no one will stop you either. So be careful."
It was at that moment when the incandescence of the neon-coloured fireworks melted into the thick blackness of the night sky that I understood, that truly, I don't belong here. And for good reason, too. Because I don't know where God might point me to in future- Africa, China, India, Indonesia, Vietnam, Cambodia, America- who knows. And one day when He calls, I hope never to be caught in a situation where I may have to turn my back and say, "I'm sorry God, but you can't take me away from Home. There's just too much for me to leave behind, too much."
Which is partially why I think He allowed my hip to break. It helped me to see that truly, one cannot and must not cling too tightly to possessions, or hobbies, or even, friends and family.
Because Home, like they say, is where the heart is. And if my heart truly belongs to You and You alone, then surely, that's where my citizenship must lay too.
So it's fine, I suppose. It's fine that this is not my country.
Happy 45th Birthday. I love you anyway.
**Disclaimer: This post may be offensive to some.
When I was younger and more naive, I used to think one could be whatever one's heart felt one was. But I've come to see, some things can't be changed. And perhaps, they're better left so.
You see, even though I've grown up here almost all my life, live in the heartlands, eat rojak, speak Singlish, breathe efficiency, and exude the typically Singaporean-brand style of pragmatism, I don't own a pink identification card, and nothing but a citizenship conversion will ever change that.
As a child, I never felt the difference- after all, my entire family were, still are, permanent residents. When I was a toddler, my mother would play national day songs on the cassette tape player before putting me to bed every night, even though we all belonged to a different country. In primary school, I sang the national anthem, went to the national day parades. Because I was head prefect, I had to lead the entire school in reciting the national pledge, too. Till today, I support local artistes, especially local theatre.
But the difference becomes more apparent as one grows older. So what's your nationality? People ask.
And then I find myself straddled between two lands, struggling between lost and found. I am lost in limbo because I do not know. Does my nationality matter if I do not feel at home back there, since I moved here when I was less than a year old? Back there where my neighbours get robbed on a regular basis? Back there where there is a goverment which isn't democratic and is prejudiced against my race such that it is close to impossible to studying medicine on a meritocratic basis? Back there, where I do not feel I am at home at all. Do I tell you that is my country?
Back in my home country, my relatives laugh at how I've been sold to Singapore. I have not lived there for so long. So long. Since my grandma passed away, I've had even less reason to return.
Yet, no matter how much I feel at home here, I can never truly call it my own. Even though all the places I know, all the places I identify with, all the memories I have are all in this tiny place. But once upon a time, I used to. I used to say Singapore is my home. I used to know all the national day songs by heart. I used to hang the flag up with pride from my balcony. But people pointed at the colour of my identity card and joked. They still do.
This is not your country.
Even though I've grown up here all my life. Even though I think my blood is Singaporean. Even though there's possibly no where else on earth I could call home.
Yet, it's a joke. But then, why? I become confused, because why is he/she more Singaporean than me when he/she has only just obtained citizenship? Is it because he has been imported to join our, no sorry, your national team? Is it because she will benefit you and bring my, no sorry, your nation glory?
So is this about the colour of the card I carry.
When I am overseas and people ask me where I'm from, I tell them, I'm from Singapore. I tell them without batting an eyelash. I tell them with pride. This is my home.
But how my heart broke that day when someone said, "Wow, Singapore. I've heard so much about it. It's a model for so many countries. But why did your government choose to build a casino? Why the Integrated Resort with a casino at its centre? It just didn't seem to fit with your nation's image. Why?"
Then I became ashamed. Because my answer was, I don't know. I don't know why we, no sorry, you are building a multi-million resort comprising a six-star hotel, a dazzling waterfront view, an entertainment hub, an amusement park, next to a building which destroys not only families, but individual lives. I don't know why we, sorry you, have prophylactically established the National Council of Problem Gambling to tackle "any future issues". I pass by that plot of land when I go to school. And my heart sinks.
This is my country. This is not your country.
Who's taking ownership now? Who's taking whose away.
This is my home. Why are you destroying it. This is my country. Why are you stemming its economic growth.
That day at the immigration office, I was stunned when they told me I couldn't apply for citizenship. I've lived here all my life. I have a good track record. I am going to be one of your doctors. Their reason was, in black and white, your parents aren't citizens and you aren't working yet. Refer to the pink form. Period. Come again next year.
This is not your country.
Monday was National Day. We, final year medical students, were up to our ears in work. I had 4 tests this week. But my best friend and I sat on my rooftop garden anyways watching fireworks, celebrating Singapore's 45th birthday.
Then it struck me. As the specks of light bloomed into flames in the inky blanket of sky, it struck me.
This is not my country. And neither is the place which declares so on my passport.
My greatest lesson learnt this year has been to cling loosely to all things. My injury taught me to cling loosely to my possessions; my illness taught me to cling loosely to my earthly body. Finally, what I feel to be God's latest assignment to me for 2012 has taught me... to cling loosely to my home, to my country. Because you just never know when He might call, where He may call you to. Perhaps, it was all part of His plan to feel like I never did belong.
The missionaries I met often told me, "When you start work, be careful, don't buy a car. When you find a boyfriend, be careful, don't marry him and buy a house in your home country. Once you've settled your car and your house in your country, you can forget about leaving. It would have become too much of your home for you to want to leave for another place where God's work might be waiting for you. You'll then say, 'God's work for me is here, at home.' And no one will stop you either. So be careful."
It was at that moment when the incandescence of the neon-coloured fireworks melted into the thick blackness of the night sky that I understood, that truly, I don't belong here. And for good reason, too. Because I don't know where God might point me to in future- Africa, China, India, Indonesia, Vietnam, Cambodia, America- who knows. And one day when He calls, I hope never to be caught in a situation where I may have to turn my back and say, "I'm sorry God, but you can't take me away from Home. There's just too much for me to leave behind, too much."
Which is partially why I think He allowed my hip to break. It helped me to see that truly, one cannot and must not cling too tightly to possessions, or hobbies, or even, friends and family.
Because Home, like they say, is where the heart is. And if my heart truly belongs to You and You alone, then surely, that's where my citizenship must lay too.
So it's fine, I suppose. It's fine that this is not my country.
Happy 45th Birthday. I love you anyway.
Whenever I am feeling low, I look around me and I know...
-Home, Truly by Kit Chan
a public exhibit at Raffles Place put up by Singapore Polytechnic
celebrating National Day, entitled, "I Dream"
" For our citizenship is in heaven, from which we also eagerly wait..."
- Phil 3:20
"Now therefore, you are no longer strangers and foreigners,
but fellow citizens with the saints and members
of the household of God..."
-Ephe 2:19
Friday, August 13, 2010
Updates to come again
Dear Readers,
I feel that I have neglected all of you on what has been happening lately. I will find the time again soon if not tomorrow when i'm free to start blogging again. Been rather busy lately sooo...STAY TUNED!
from,
Mr Gin (himself)
I feel that I have neglected all of you on what has been happening lately. I will find the time again soon if not tomorrow when i'm free to start blogging again. Been rather busy lately sooo...STAY TUNED!
from,
Mr Gin (himself)
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Unless You Bless me.
She was a little old lady walking with a walking stick. But she walked in grand. There was a certain majesty to her, a certain royalty. She was elderly, but every bit of her was put together. With not a strand of her blonde hair out of place, she tottered in purposefully in sheer black stockings and black heels. Clad in rich fuschia, she was a powerful sight to behold.
She opened her mouth and everybody fell silent.
To be real honest I wasn't paying much attention. My mind was drifting away, wondering why my whole body, especially the sitting bones in my hip were so sore after yesterday's physiotherapy.
"Jacob... was a fraud."
That made me sit up at once. That voice boomed around the large hall and rang in my ears. I knew God was speaking to me. Suddenly, I felt as if everybody was staring at me, as if they all knew about the folly of my injury.
Jacob means "heel grabber". It is the name of man in a story of the bible who, on being born with his twin brother, was seen grabbing his brother's heel. It is symbolic because all his life, he manipulated and cheated others, strived on his own and did all he could to get ahead in life. He stole his elder brother's birthright, among other terrible things.
But in spite of being the rascal that he was, God had mercy on him. One day, disguised as an angel, God seized Jacob when he was alone and wrestled with him till daybreak. Finally, the angel demanded for Jacob to let go. But Jacob continued to wrestle, and finally said, “I won’t let you go unless you bless me!”
I wrote about this before. But today, I had a new revelation. The angel was God, and had told Jacob to let go because the light of day would soon come and seeing God face to face would kill him. But Jacob persisted. Because of the hardship he had been through, he finally came to the point where he would rather die than live without God’s blessing.
In desperation, the angel touched Jacob's hip which broke, and touched his sinew so it shrank, so that Jacob would finally let go.
That was a life changing moment.
From then on, Jacob’s name was changed to Israel. That incident changed him, to stop scheming or striving, to start giving rather than taking and to start depending on God rather than relying on his own self-centred ways. The name “Jacob” represents independence from God while “Israel” represents dependence on God.
Jacob. That wrestling match he had with God was a perfect reflection of how I suffered my injury. Like Jacob, I tore my 'sinew' and broke my hip, too. Like Jacob, I have spent most of my life striving to get ahead. Isn't that how we were brought up? Top the class in primary school so you can get to a good seondary school. Top your class in seondary school to get to a well-known junior college. Top the standard in your junior college so you can get into medical school. And now, with the new medical resideny curriculum, you better be the best in your class to secure that spot in that highly sought-after specialty.
The world, with its promise of bouquets and endless applause, eggs you on. Come on, YOU can do it.
Cycling was just a reflection of my life in other areas: We are always humble when we feel inept. In the same way, I was always meek when I first learnt how to cycle just 2 years ago; But once we're good in something, the fleshly nature and the spirit of self-striving often takes over. In the same way, I started to train more and more to be better at something I was now good at- after all, isn't it good to excel? Ah... thin, thin lines.
She went on. "Jacob was a cheat...
... a trickster...
... a selfish man."
She said each word with such deliberation and force that every syllable resounded painfully in my head, "Jacob... was a rascal."
That's me, said a voice in my head. That's me she's talking about. Oh God, no.
"Then how is it that later on, God says that he could find no sin in such a terrible man like Jacob? How is it that He was always by his side to protect him? Because Jacob wrestled with God, and was determined to seek His blessing. He didn't deserve it, but God gave it to him as a display of His love and mercy. God could have killed him that day. Instead, He blessed Jacob."
She continued, "The greatest blessing to receive in your life is to have God be your Personal Judge, for Him to deal with you, even if it takes pain and suffering, even if it requires Him to prune you in a season of barreness. Your greatest blessing is in knowing He will never leave you alone. If you are not good, He will find a good opportunity indeed to teach you a good lesson you will never forget."
I was stunned. Then, I remembered in dismay, that Jacob walked with a permanent limp.
Since my injury, I have not been the same: I am heavier for sure. I am the heaviest I have ever been in my life. I have had to adapt yet again to accepting my new body, and to cope with the residual damage that Ed left in my life. Undergoing physiotherapy and being still, helped me to see clearly how exercise was such a furtive form of self-indulgement, a source of pride, and a way to gain approval. It helped me see how tight and distressed my physical body has been because of overuse. Now, I ache after every session of physiotherapy because time is spent on releasing a lot of tight muscles not only in my injured site, but down the whole leg, the opposite leg, my back and my trunk.
A spirit of continual self-striving is destructive, indeed.
Finally, just when I felt sufficiently condemned and worthy to be stoned, the little old lady said slowly, purposefully, in a long drawl, "But we are ALL Jacobs."
Are you a Jacob too? Maybe you haven't broken anything, but do you feel tired, as if God is wrestling you down?
"But your greatest blessing is this, that God is committed to bringing you to the fulfillment of your calling. As long as you remain pliable and correctable, He will redeem, restore and release blessing in your life. Just as how through Jacob (or Israel, which was his new name) was blessed greatly, you will be too if you let God do His work of righteousness in you."
I was stunned. Didn't that explain that peace and joy I had within me?
Don't get me wrong. This injury has not been easy to deal with. I still have moments where I cry especially on friday nights when I used to get all my biking gear ready for my grouprides on Saturdays, because I know I might never ride again with my buddies like I used to. I have moments of moodiness because I feel unfit, fat, ugly or all the above. And I have times of shame in knowing that no matter what I feel, this is nothing compared to what many others have to deal with in life.
But the peace comes in knowing that through this, God answered my prayer. This has helped me remain focused on my final year of studies in medical school. This has freed me from the slavery of training and idolatry. This has helped me realign myself with Him. I am not happy with the pain and discomfort for sure, but I am joyful in knowing that I am closer to my calling. I am at peace in knowing that God is restoring me to a greater level of security with regards to my illness.
Cycling and sports was a means for God to teach me many lessons in life, a way to restore my eating habits and body to normalcy. And now that they have served their purpose, this injury has helped me to move on to other areas of development, which I would have neglected otherwise.
My old Jacob-self would have been ruined. But my new Israel-self says this experience is God's blessing. I must trust that it is.
At the end of the service, as she took her walking stick to leave, I went up to thank her because of what she illuminated to me about my situation.
"See this stick?" she said, "I had surgery some time back because of a cancer which wanted to take my leg. God sometimes allows illness in our lives because it's a way of refining and moulding us. We can be discouraged, defeated or in despair, or we can be determined. I chose to be determined. I told myself I would wear heels again." She smiled.
"I want you to remember this, that as absurd as it sounds, sometimes, being maimed is good. This body we have is so temporal. What matters is what God does inside of you. When we get to heaven, we shall all be restored. Remember, the evil one can take your body, but never your soul."
Tears started to stream down, but I knew she was right. That morning at Sunday School, I was scheduled to teach. Incidentally, the lesson plan required me to use an X-ray to illustrate the point that God can see through and into us, to refine our deepest motives. I used the pelvic X-ray of my injury and told them that God sees into our insides because that's what He's most concerned about. Now, the same lesson was being taught to me.
So no matter what you're facing right now, don't despair. Be determined, because like she said, God is committed to bringing you closer to fulfilling that calling in your life. Be brave and wrestle it out, and surely you will be blessed, even if or perhaps precisely because you held on until He blessed you.
I know He's preparing me.
Heaven, is near.
She opened her mouth and everybody fell silent.
To be real honest I wasn't paying much attention. My mind was drifting away, wondering why my whole body, especially the sitting bones in my hip were so sore after yesterday's physiotherapy.
"Jacob... was a fraud."
That made me sit up at once. That voice boomed around the large hall and rang in my ears. I knew God was speaking to me. Suddenly, I felt as if everybody was staring at me, as if they all knew about the folly of my injury.
Jacob means "heel grabber". It is the name of man in a story of the bible who, on being born with his twin brother, was seen grabbing his brother's heel. It is symbolic because all his life, he manipulated and cheated others, strived on his own and did all he could to get ahead in life. He stole his elder brother's birthright, among other terrible things.
But in spite of being the rascal that he was, God had mercy on him. One day, disguised as an angel, God seized Jacob when he was alone and wrestled with him till daybreak. Finally, the angel demanded for Jacob to let go. But Jacob continued to wrestle, and finally said, “I won’t let you go unless you bless me!”
I wrote about this before. But today, I had a new revelation. The angel was God, and had told Jacob to let go because the light of day would soon come and seeing God face to face would kill him. But Jacob persisted. Because of the hardship he had been through, he finally came to the point where he would rather die than live without God’s blessing.
In desperation, the angel touched Jacob's hip which broke, and touched his sinew so it shrank, so that Jacob would finally let go.
That was a life changing moment.
From then on, Jacob’s name was changed to Israel. That incident changed him, to stop scheming or striving, to start giving rather than taking and to start depending on God rather than relying on his own self-centred ways. The name “Jacob” represents independence from God while “Israel” represents dependence on God.
Jacob. That wrestling match he had with God was a perfect reflection of how I suffered my injury. Like Jacob, I tore my 'sinew' and broke my hip, too. Like Jacob, I have spent most of my life striving to get ahead. Isn't that how we were brought up? Top the class in primary school so you can get to a good seondary school. Top your class in seondary school to get to a well-known junior college. Top the standard in your junior college so you can get into medical school. And now, with the new medical resideny curriculum, you better be the best in your class to secure that spot in that highly sought-after specialty.
The world, with its promise of bouquets and endless applause, eggs you on. Come on, YOU can do it.
Cycling was just a reflection of my life in other areas: We are always humble when we feel inept. In the same way, I was always meek when I first learnt how to cycle just 2 years ago; But once we're good in something, the fleshly nature and the spirit of self-striving often takes over. In the same way, I started to train more and more to be better at something I was now good at- after all, isn't it good to excel? Ah... thin, thin lines.
She went on. "Jacob was a cheat...
... a trickster...
... a selfish man."
She said each word with such deliberation and force that every syllable resounded painfully in my head, "Jacob... was a rascal."
That's me, said a voice in my head. That's me she's talking about. Oh God, no.
"Then how is it that later on, God says that he could find no sin in such a terrible man like Jacob? How is it that He was always by his side to protect him? Because Jacob wrestled with God, and was determined to seek His blessing. He didn't deserve it, but God gave it to him as a display of His love and mercy. God could have killed him that day. Instead, He blessed Jacob."
She continued, "The greatest blessing to receive in your life is to have God be your Personal Judge, for Him to deal with you, even if it takes pain and suffering, even if it requires Him to prune you in a season of barreness. Your greatest blessing is in knowing He will never leave you alone. If you are not good, He will find a good opportunity indeed to teach you a good lesson you will never forget."
I was stunned. Then, I remembered in dismay, that Jacob walked with a permanent limp.
Since my injury, I have not been the same: I am heavier for sure. I am the heaviest I have ever been in my life. I have had to adapt yet again to accepting my new body, and to cope with the residual damage that Ed left in my life. Undergoing physiotherapy and being still, helped me to see clearly how exercise was such a furtive form of self-indulgement, a source of pride, and a way to gain approval. It helped me see how tight and distressed my physical body has been because of overuse. Now, I ache after every session of physiotherapy because time is spent on releasing a lot of tight muscles not only in my injured site, but down the whole leg, the opposite leg, my back and my trunk.
A spirit of continual self-striving is destructive, indeed.
Finally, just when I felt sufficiently condemned and worthy to be stoned, the little old lady said slowly, purposefully, in a long drawl, "But we are ALL Jacobs."
Are you a Jacob too? Maybe you haven't broken anything, but do you feel tired, as if God is wrestling you down?
"But your greatest blessing is this, that God is committed to bringing you to the fulfillment of your calling. As long as you remain pliable and correctable, He will redeem, restore and release blessing in your life. Just as how through Jacob (or Israel, which was his new name) was blessed greatly, you will be too if you let God do His work of righteousness in you."
I was stunned. Didn't that explain that peace and joy I had within me?
Don't get me wrong. This injury has not been easy to deal with. I still have moments where I cry especially on friday nights when I used to get all my biking gear ready for my grouprides on Saturdays, because I know I might never ride again with my buddies like I used to. I have moments of moodiness because I feel unfit, fat, ugly or all the above. And I have times of shame in knowing that no matter what I feel, this is nothing compared to what many others have to deal with in life.
But the peace comes in knowing that through this, God answered my prayer. This has helped me remain focused on my final year of studies in medical school. This has freed me from the slavery of training and idolatry. This has helped me realign myself with Him. I am not happy with the pain and discomfort for sure, but I am joyful in knowing that I am closer to my calling. I am at peace in knowing that God is restoring me to a greater level of security with regards to my illness.
Cycling and sports was a means for God to teach me many lessons in life, a way to restore my eating habits and body to normalcy. And now that they have served their purpose, this injury has helped me to move on to other areas of development, which I would have neglected otherwise.
My old Jacob-self would have been ruined. But my new Israel-self says this experience is God's blessing. I must trust that it is.
At the end of the service, as she took her walking stick to leave, I went up to thank her because of what she illuminated to me about my situation.
"See this stick?" she said, "I had surgery some time back because of a cancer which wanted to take my leg. God sometimes allows illness in our lives because it's a way of refining and moulding us. We can be discouraged, defeated or in despair, or we can be determined. I chose to be determined. I told myself I would wear heels again." She smiled.
"I want you to remember this, that as absurd as it sounds, sometimes, being maimed is good. This body we have is so temporal. What matters is what God does inside of you. When we get to heaven, we shall all be restored. Remember, the evil one can take your body, but never your soul."
Tears started to stream down, but I knew she was right. That morning at Sunday School, I was scheduled to teach. Incidentally, the lesson plan required me to use an X-ray to illustrate the point that God can see through and into us, to refine our deepest motives. I used the pelvic X-ray of my injury and told them that God sees into our insides because that's what He's most concerned about. Now, the same lesson was being taught to me.
So no matter what you're facing right now, don't despair. Be determined, because like she said, God is committed to bringing you closer to fulfilling that calling in your life. Be brave and wrestle it out, and surely you will be blessed, even if or perhaps precisely because you held on until He blessed you.
I know He's preparing me.
Heaven, is near.
"It is better for you to enter life maimed or crippled
than to have two hands or two feet and be thrown into eternal fire."
-Matthew 18:8
"Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.
Rather, be afraid of the One
who can destroy both soul and body in hell."
-Matthew 10:28
Friday, August 6, 2010
Temporary Assignment.
From afar, I thought she was 60.
She had dark, wrinkled skin which drooped in excess around her face and limbs, and a receding hairline. Her bedsheet, from afar, looked dirty and grimy.
But she was 20. Her sheets were dirty because of all the dry skin which had flaked off her body.
On a closer look, I then saw that her eczema had been so poorly controlled that dry, scaly skin carpeted not only her arms and legs, but had spread to her face, her torso, and her scalp. Her legs had turned into a dark, deep purple. Her hair was now falling out because of her dried skin. She looked tired, her eyes had a sleepy, faraway look, like old, old wine.
As part of my posting in the Infectious Disease department, my team was there to review her to see if she was in danger of a bacterial superinfection, since her friable skin all over made her susceptible to infection. Her case notes stated she lived with her boyfriend and had run away from home. She had cut herself before. The team raised their eyebrows. I did too. After all, aren't we all quick to judge. Another one of those cases, we tell ourselves.
After interviewing her about her medical condition, we found out she had grown up with her foster mother. Intrigued by this, I stayed back alone to talk with her.
Apprehensive, I fumbled a little. I wasn't sure how she would react to me.
"Hey, you tok like dat your whole life ah? So gentle so soft, how to hear you? Speak up la," she said.
So I did. " You're very strong," I said. "Living by yourself, at the age of 20, working and earning a living by yourself. You've got a lot of guts." We conversed in mandarin.
"Haa. If you were in my shoes, you'd survive, too."
"I'm not so sure about that." I meant it.
"Do you have any other siblings?" I asked.
"I'm an orphan. I don't know where my biological family is. I was born in Philippines, my foster mother who's a very old lady brought me up by herself. I was her only foster child. She didn't want to get married because she doesn't trust men."
" I see. Was she good to you?"
"Yea. Of course, she was a real nice woman."
"That's great to hear," I said. I then confided that I'd been seriously considering adopting children, so I wanted to learn more about her experience. (Don't worry, I do intend to get married when the time is right, and I think pregnancy is a beautiful experience- I just think there're a lot of unwanted children in the world who can benefit from being in a family.)
After building some rapport with M, I finally asked, "Why did you move out?"
And then came the onslaught. The truth which no one knew. The truth which was hidden, and so made everybody roll their eyes at yet "another delinquent case".
"She died. My foster mother died on my birthday. I was 14."
Silence.
"And it was my fault."
It was her birthday that day. Her foster mother and her had had a tiff. Feeling guilty for spoiling her daughter's birthday, her foster mother went out with another relative to buy her a cake. On crossing the road, her foster mother dropped something. She turned back to pick it up.
Upon doing so, a car hit her. And she died.
Time suddenly stopped. It almost felt surreal to hear a story like that, with such dramatic tragedy.
"Do you know what she went back to pick up? According to the lady who was with her, it was a key chain she dropped. It was the key chain I had made for her when I was in Primary 4, when I was 10. Why she would turn back to pick up such a lousy key-chain I made for her I will never know. But I know one thing, if I could turn back time, I would've just let her nag at me. I wouldn't have talked back to her that day. "
Since then, M started to work and study to support herself.
"You know, people at my workplace, at Kentucky Fried Chicken where I work as a cashier, they look at my skin, my face and say all sorts of nasty things- like I have AIDS or some dreadful disease. But I will always remember one thing my foster mother told me- that you can't take in all the crap this world has to give you. You just gotta know for yourself what's true and what isn't."
When I spoke to her, she was neither bitter nor resentful. That surprised me.
"How did you get by? Was there a force or some belief which helped you get by?"
"Duh. Of course. God, what else? I would've died otherwise. I believed in God the year my mother died. He's been watching my back ever since. I tried to commit suicide once, before I believed in God, but I now know, life is just a temporary assignment, a trial which we need to overcome. Surely God has a divine plan for all this. We just don't know."
We're so quick to judge. Perhaps now, we even judge her more harshly for believing in God and living with a boy et cetera et cetera. But have I considered her circumstance? Would I have done better had I been placed in her shoes? She is only 20, but she spoke with such wisdom, distilled only by the early cruelty of life.
I learnt a lot from her that day. I learnt, that resilience is a powerful force. But God is more powerful, still. How anyone could've survived through all those years of feeling abandoned, facing tragedy, loneliness and depression without ending their life, and even emerging with a relatively positive and mature attitude to life, without bitterness nor resentment, amazes me.
"I know He's watching over me."
We talked a lot more. The next morning, I gave her some things precious to me and a small handbook copy of "What on earth am I here for?" from "The Purpose Driven Life" by Rick Warren.
"I love it!" she cried.
"You know last night when I couldn't sleep and was asking God for forgiveness for all the stupid things I'd done, especially what I got myself into with this boy, I thought of you and pleaded to God for a 2nd chance. After I get discharged, I want to leave this boy. And get my life together again. Attend church, do something meaningful. I believe God has given me this terrible skin disease as a test, this is just a temporary assignment, and when I overcome it... ... "
I found the words she could not say, "... and when you overcome it, your story of resilience will be a great encouragement and testimony to the people around you. Your words will carry the power the words of another may not have, because you've been through something very special, God's assignment for you."
I thought about my old illness, my injury, my fracture and reminded myself of the same thing. I thought about A Taste of Rainbow and saw how it would have absolutely no power if I had not gone through and out of depression, since its message really is to be open about our struggles so we can seek help, move on in life. What's there to be ashamed of? So what if people look at you differently? Their time might come, too.
What we experience now, is merely a transient sort of suffering which is preparing us for a future. I like to believe, that the greater the suffering, the greater will be the divine glory which will be revealed at the end. Resilience, humility and an overcoming spirit are priceless, glorious things to behold in heaven.
Behind every book was sadness. Kitesong was written out of pain and disappointment, Rainbow was written out of pain and mental suffering, my third book which has been submitted to my publisher was written out of heartbreak. The fourth one is in my head. It will be written out of pain from my injury, and it will be about... bicycles.
He does not let any of our sufferings go to waste. Every experience is significant. Every trial is an assignment.
This morning when I went to see her to give her the book, I pointed at a page which said Your Life is a Temporary Assignment, just like what she had told me, and encouraged her to be compliant on her medication, because "if you can't take care of the little things God assigns to you, like this trial for instance, how can you expect Him to entrust you with greater things in life?"
We parted. And I realised as usual, that I had learnt far more from her than she ever did from me.
She helped me to see, that life on this earth is only but a temporary assignment, and if nothing here on earth satisfies that profound sense of emptiness in our hearts, it is only because... we're not Home yet.
For our light and momentary troubles
She had dark, wrinkled skin which drooped in excess around her face and limbs, and a receding hairline. Her bedsheet, from afar, looked dirty and grimy.
But she was 20. Her sheets were dirty because of all the dry skin which had flaked off her body.
On a closer look, I then saw that her eczema had been so poorly controlled that dry, scaly skin carpeted not only her arms and legs, but had spread to her face, her torso, and her scalp. Her legs had turned into a dark, deep purple. Her hair was now falling out because of her dried skin. She looked tired, her eyes had a sleepy, faraway look, like old, old wine.
As part of my posting in the Infectious Disease department, my team was there to review her to see if she was in danger of a bacterial superinfection, since her friable skin all over made her susceptible to infection. Her case notes stated she lived with her boyfriend and had run away from home. She had cut herself before. The team raised their eyebrows. I did too. After all, aren't we all quick to judge. Another one of those cases, we tell ourselves.
After interviewing her about her medical condition, we found out she had grown up with her foster mother. Intrigued by this, I stayed back alone to talk with her.
Apprehensive, I fumbled a little. I wasn't sure how she would react to me.
"Hey, you tok like dat your whole life ah? So gentle so soft, how to hear you? Speak up la," she said.
So I did. " You're very strong," I said. "Living by yourself, at the age of 20, working and earning a living by yourself. You've got a lot of guts." We conversed in mandarin.
"Haa. If you were in my shoes, you'd survive, too."
"I'm not so sure about that." I meant it.
"Do you have any other siblings?" I asked.
"I'm an orphan. I don't know where my biological family is. I was born in Philippines, my foster mother who's a very old lady brought me up by herself. I was her only foster child. She didn't want to get married because she doesn't trust men."
" I see. Was she good to you?"
"Yea. Of course, she was a real nice woman."
"That's great to hear," I said. I then confided that I'd been seriously considering adopting children, so I wanted to learn more about her experience. (Don't worry, I do intend to get married when the time is right, and I think pregnancy is a beautiful experience- I just think there're a lot of unwanted children in the world who can benefit from being in a family.)
After building some rapport with M, I finally asked, "Why did you move out?"
And then came the onslaught. The truth which no one knew. The truth which was hidden, and so made everybody roll their eyes at yet "another delinquent case".
"She died. My foster mother died on my birthday. I was 14."
Silence.
"And it was my fault."
It was her birthday that day. Her foster mother and her had had a tiff. Feeling guilty for spoiling her daughter's birthday, her foster mother went out with another relative to buy her a cake. On crossing the road, her foster mother dropped something. She turned back to pick it up.
Upon doing so, a car hit her. And she died.
Time suddenly stopped. It almost felt surreal to hear a story like that, with such dramatic tragedy.
"Do you know what she went back to pick up? According to the lady who was with her, it was a key chain she dropped. It was the key chain I had made for her when I was in Primary 4, when I was 10. Why she would turn back to pick up such a lousy key-chain I made for her I will never know. But I know one thing, if I could turn back time, I would've just let her nag at me. I wouldn't have talked back to her that day. "
Since then, M started to work and study to support herself.
"You know, people at my workplace, at Kentucky Fried Chicken where I work as a cashier, they look at my skin, my face and say all sorts of nasty things- like I have AIDS or some dreadful disease. But I will always remember one thing my foster mother told me- that you can't take in all the crap this world has to give you. You just gotta know for yourself what's true and what isn't."
When I spoke to her, she was neither bitter nor resentful. That surprised me.
"How did you get by? Was there a force or some belief which helped you get by?"
"Duh. Of course. God, what else? I would've died otherwise. I believed in God the year my mother died. He's been watching my back ever since. I tried to commit suicide once, before I believed in God, but I now know, life is just a temporary assignment, a trial which we need to overcome. Surely God has a divine plan for all this. We just don't know."
We're so quick to judge. Perhaps now, we even judge her more harshly for believing in God and living with a boy et cetera et cetera. But have I considered her circumstance? Would I have done better had I been placed in her shoes? She is only 20, but she spoke with such wisdom, distilled only by the early cruelty of life.
I learnt a lot from her that day. I learnt, that resilience is a powerful force. But God is more powerful, still. How anyone could've survived through all those years of feeling abandoned, facing tragedy, loneliness and depression without ending their life, and even emerging with a relatively positive and mature attitude to life, without bitterness nor resentment, amazes me.
"I know He's watching over me."
We talked a lot more. The next morning, I gave her some things precious to me and a small handbook copy of "What on earth am I here for?" from "The Purpose Driven Life" by Rick Warren.
"I love it!" she cried.
"You know last night when I couldn't sleep and was asking God for forgiveness for all the stupid things I'd done, especially what I got myself into with this boy, I thought of you and pleaded to God for a 2nd chance. After I get discharged, I want to leave this boy. And get my life together again. Attend church, do something meaningful. I believe God has given me this terrible skin disease as a test, this is just a temporary assignment, and when I overcome it... ... "
I found the words she could not say, "... and when you overcome it, your story of resilience will be a great encouragement and testimony to the people around you. Your words will carry the power the words of another may not have, because you've been through something very special, God's assignment for you."
I thought about my old illness, my injury, my fracture and reminded myself of the same thing. I thought about A Taste of Rainbow and saw how it would have absolutely no power if I had not gone through and out of depression, since its message really is to be open about our struggles so we can seek help, move on in life. What's there to be ashamed of? So what if people look at you differently? Their time might come, too.
What we experience now, is merely a transient sort of suffering which is preparing us for a future. I like to believe, that the greater the suffering, the greater will be the divine glory which will be revealed at the end. Resilience, humility and an overcoming spirit are priceless, glorious things to behold in heaven.
Behind every book was sadness. Kitesong was written out of pain and disappointment, Rainbow was written out of pain and mental suffering, my third book which has been submitted to my publisher was written out of heartbreak. The fourth one is in my head. It will be written out of pain from my injury, and it will be about... bicycles.
He does not let any of our sufferings go to waste. Every experience is significant. Every trial is an assignment.
This morning when I went to see her to give her the book, I pointed at a page which said Your Life is a Temporary Assignment, just like what she had told me, and encouraged her to be compliant on her medication, because "if you can't take care of the little things God assigns to you, like this trial for instance, how can you expect Him to entrust you with greater things in life?"
We parted. And I realised as usual, that I had learnt far more from her than she ever did from me.
She helped me to see, that life on this earth is only but a temporary assignment, and if nothing here on earth satisfies that profound sense of emptiness in our hearts, it is only because... we're not Home yet.
For our light and momentary troubles
are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.
-2 Cor 4:17
For I consider that the sufferings of this present time
-2 Cor 4:17
For I consider that the sufferings of this present time
are not worthy to be compared with
the glory that is to be revealed to us.
- Romans 8:18
- Romans 8:18
When life gets tough, when you're overwhelmed with doubt,
or when you wonder if living for God is worth the effort,
remember that you are not Home yet!
Life on earth is just a temporary assignment.
-Rick Warrens
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Osteopenia.
Sitting outside the scan room with a group of little old women, waiting patiently for my turn in a green gown, was a... unique experience, to say the least. I remember the shocked look of the staff when she saw my face. In that room, they had scanned thousands of elderly, wizened ladies. But last week, I was there too.
I guess I should've known the results, even without the test. But the doctor insisted, so I relented. Osteopenia, you have osteopenia, my dear. That explains your fracture.
A little old lady's disease. Calcium sapped from my bones during those few years of illness. Now coming back to haunt me through a pelvic fracture I got while biking. Without a fall.
I wasn't sure what it was about the confirmation which made my heart sink, which sucked a cloud over my head. Maybe it was wondering why things had to be this way even though I'd tried my very best with regards to recovering, had thought that with the publishing of A Taste of Rainbow, that chapter of my life was closed; Maybe it was thinking about all that money and time lavishly spent on therapy, and the exasperation of having to deal with the consequences of the illness all over again; Maybe it was the injury playing in my mind like a bad video, the thought that I would never bike again, would never run.
It still hurts. How can the injury still hurt while walking, while at rest. How can the opposite side hurt, too. The pain keeps evolving.
I suppose, it taught me, how life very often turns out differently from what school teaches it to be. We are told that if we work hard, run fast and have willpower, we will finish the race tops. But I am learning, that working hard, running fast and sheer willpower only melt into nothingness in the face of God's displeasure.
It is not because of my own intelligence that I am studying to be doctor. It is not by my own hard training that I ended up enjoying triathlon. It is not by my own merit or determination that I recovered from my illness, am recovering.
I am learning, it is because I was fortunate enough to be parented by good people, had the opportunity to develop my strengths in a fairly good environment, had the chance to grow up in a place without war, famine or disaster. I am learning, it is because I was fortunate enough to meet friends who loved me enough to want to help me enjoy the sport. I am learning, it is because I was blessed with meeting angels who opened up their homes and extended their arms to me to embrace me, heal me, help me through bad times.
I am learning, it is because of God's grace and mercy in my life.
Last week, I dreamt I was in a triathlon. When I came out of the water, I was disqualified because I didn't finish the swim. I ran back to the water, wanting to finish it, but no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't reach the pool... ... I was frantic. A few days ago, I dreamt that I was running, but no matter how hard I ran, I couldn't reach the finish line. It made me see, that part of my subconscious is obsessed about finishing life's race, be it a physical or spiritual one.
But unless I acknowledge that life's races are completed not by my own will, or strength, but by realising God's blessings in my life, His grace and mercy, I will forever be caught in a hamster wheel of self-striving. Remember Jacob? God made him walk with a permanent limp so he would learn his lesson well. Oh Lord, have mercy.
In both dreams, I didn't finish the race. I tried so very hard.
It worries me. Will I finish the race in life? I'm about to graduate. Very soon, I'll be a doctor. People are scrambling to beef up their resumes, apply for their specialties, climb up the ladder. Would I choose to be caught in the rat race too, or realise that I've a different dream, my heart belongs to a different place, and that I've my own race to finish. Will I forget about missions.
I'm beginning to realise, how it's so easy to get lost in the endless race of self-striving. Wasn't that what we learnt in school, that the harder we try, the more we will achieve? Go faster, try harder. You can do it.
I am learning, that ultimately, we are where we are because of the blessings we have received from others, from God. I am where I am today, with an injury or not, because I didn't get struck by cancer last year, didn't get raped on a holiday overseas, didn't get killed by my illness a few years ago, or on a bike by a drunk driver.
My injury taught me many things. It is still teaching me things now.
So if you suddenly feel like you've hit a wall, that you're so tired trying to get ahead of everybody else, so exhausted from running, just remember that you are where you are because of a force greater than yourself which allowed circumstance and chance to be in your favor. And if you came to a point where you, in your own self-striving got injured, struck down, burnt out, just remember, that God's mercies are new every morning.
Someday, I will wake up with a dream with myself at the finish line, and it will not be because I had the most willpower, or ran the hardest, not because I cured myself of osteopenia by popping calcium pills or because I achieved this much in life doing this and that by myself, but because of the mercies of a God who loves us enough to promise that He would see us through till the very end.
Perhaps, when that day comes when I truly understand this truth, it will be a miraculous moment of healing for me, both physically and spiritually. Perhaps that day, God will let me run again. I still pray.
So close your eyes, and don't be afraid to dream, for He will see you through till the very end, too.
For He says to Moses,
I guess I should've known the results, even without the test. But the doctor insisted, so I relented. Osteopenia, you have osteopenia, my dear. That explains your fracture.
A little old lady's disease. Calcium sapped from my bones during those few years of illness. Now coming back to haunt me through a pelvic fracture I got while biking. Without a fall.
I wasn't sure what it was about the confirmation which made my heart sink, which sucked a cloud over my head. Maybe it was wondering why things had to be this way even though I'd tried my very best with regards to recovering, had thought that with the publishing of A Taste of Rainbow, that chapter of my life was closed; Maybe it was thinking about all that money and time lavishly spent on therapy, and the exasperation of having to deal with the consequences of the illness all over again; Maybe it was the injury playing in my mind like a bad video, the thought that I would never bike again, would never run.
It still hurts. How can the injury still hurt while walking, while at rest. How can the opposite side hurt, too. The pain keeps evolving.
I suppose, it taught me, how life very often turns out differently from what school teaches it to be. We are told that if we work hard, run fast and have willpower, we will finish the race tops. But I am learning, that working hard, running fast and sheer willpower only melt into nothingness in the face of God's displeasure.
It is not because of my own intelligence that I am studying to be doctor. It is not by my own hard training that I ended up enjoying triathlon. It is not by my own merit or determination that I recovered from my illness, am recovering.
I am learning, it is because I was fortunate enough to be parented by good people, had the opportunity to develop my strengths in a fairly good environment, had the chance to grow up in a place without war, famine or disaster. I am learning, it is because I was fortunate enough to meet friends who loved me enough to want to help me enjoy the sport. I am learning, it is because I was blessed with meeting angels who opened up their homes and extended their arms to me to embrace me, heal me, help me through bad times.
I am learning, it is because of God's grace and mercy in my life.
Last week, I dreamt I was in a triathlon. When I came out of the water, I was disqualified because I didn't finish the swim. I ran back to the water, wanting to finish it, but no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't reach the pool... ... I was frantic. A few days ago, I dreamt that I was running, but no matter how hard I ran, I couldn't reach the finish line. It made me see, that part of my subconscious is obsessed about finishing life's race, be it a physical or spiritual one.
But unless I acknowledge that life's races are completed not by my own will, or strength, but by realising God's blessings in my life, His grace and mercy, I will forever be caught in a hamster wheel of self-striving. Remember Jacob? God made him walk with a permanent limp so he would learn his lesson well. Oh Lord, have mercy.
In both dreams, I didn't finish the race. I tried so very hard.
It worries me. Will I finish the race in life? I'm about to graduate. Very soon, I'll be a doctor. People are scrambling to beef up their resumes, apply for their specialties, climb up the ladder. Would I choose to be caught in the rat race too, or realise that I've a different dream, my heart belongs to a different place, and that I've my own race to finish. Will I forget about missions.
I'm beginning to realise, how it's so easy to get lost in the endless race of self-striving. Wasn't that what we learnt in school, that the harder we try, the more we will achieve? Go faster, try harder. You can do it.
I am learning, that ultimately, we are where we are because of the blessings we have received from others, from God. I am where I am today, with an injury or not, because I didn't get struck by cancer last year, didn't get raped on a holiday overseas, didn't get killed by my illness a few years ago, or on a bike by a drunk driver.
My injury taught me many things. It is still teaching me things now.
So if you suddenly feel like you've hit a wall, that you're so tired trying to get ahead of everybody else, so exhausted from running, just remember that you are where you are because of a force greater than yourself which allowed circumstance and chance to be in your favor. And if you came to a point where you, in your own self-striving got injured, struck down, burnt out, just remember, that God's mercies are new every morning.
Someday, I will wake up with a dream with myself at the finish line, and it will not be because I had the most willpower, or ran the hardest, not because I cured myself of osteopenia by popping calcium pills or because I achieved this much in life doing this and that by myself, but because of the mercies of a God who loves us enough to promise that He would see us through till the very end.
Perhaps, when that day comes when I truly understand this truth, it will be a miraculous moment of healing for me, both physically and spiritually. Perhaps that day, God will let me run again. I still pray.
So close your eyes, and don't be afraid to dream, for He will see you through till the very end, too.
For He says to Moses,
"I will have mercy on whomever I will have mercy,
and I will have compassion on whomever I will have compassion."
So then it is not of him who wills,
So then it is not of him who wills,
nor of him who runs,
but of God who shows mercy.
-Romans 9:15-16
-Romans 9:15-16
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