It's funny. I think it's easy to see God in volunteer work, in humanitarian trips and in charitable deeds. But how about in seemingly more frivolous things, like in what you do in your free time... say for me, like swimming, biking and running for example?
Like some of you already know, I've been struggling with the T-word for the longest time. After tearing my hamstring, I struggled with God and asked Him to show me if Triathlon was something meaningless, something sandcastled on pride, something that took time away from real work, from helping others etc. At one point, I was ready to give it up. I gave away all my medals. I fasted from cycling for more than 3 months. I sat down to reflect on things.
God, was this all just a frivolous waste of time.
Sometimes, God answers in funny ways.
That day, in Smokey mountain in the pouring rain, as I held that wounded 7-year old boy who was shivering naked in the rain in my arms, it suddenly made sense to me. Suddenly, at that moment, triathlon made sense to me. I'd always asked God how the sport could be reconciled with medicine or missions.
There and then, it suddenly made sense.
The rain bothered everyone, and the 3 photographers worried if I was able to tolerate the conditions. To be honest, after all those times of training in dirty open water and cycling and running after, feeling wet and sticky had become natural; when I had to carry the little boy in my arms because the rest of them had too much bulky camera equipment to lug around, I found myself strong enough because of how swimming had changed my arms, shoulders and lower back; when we had to trudge through the cold over the treacherous terrain for the entire day, I found that I had the stamina to do so because of my aerobic base.
I realized, that all those times during my surgical internship where I had to be fast enough to run up and down storeys in the hospital to get things done for patients were possible because of how training had changed my body. I realized, that I could push myself to work harder and put in more effort for my patients in the middle of the night on a 36-hour call when I reminded myself of the hardships endured in racing- completing the 90km bike of the half-iron man relay had been a defining moment.
I could, because that was God had used, has been using triathlon to do, to strengthen me for this sort of unexpected work.
Just a few years ago, even holding a bag was difficult for my frail, emaciated body. I was like chaff in wind.
So I'm not looking back. Triathlon has not been for nothing. I got my medals back, because I realised, that they belonged not only to me, but to the community of friends and my family, whom God had brought to me through the sport to bring me to a place of health, joy and freedom. My prof understood, and thanked me for giving him the privilege to hold them for 7 months while I realigned my priorities and made a commitment not to race till after my final examinations.
All this while when I was recovering from my hamstring, God used the pain to teach me self-restraint, moderation and respect for my own body. Just this week, a fellow triathlete phoned me because he needed advice- he had suffered the exact same injury as I.
I learnt, that God gives us hobbies and activities, not only to shape our characters and to mould us, but to offer the same encouragement we found through common experiences to others going through similar battles. Our "frivolous" hobbies may not be so, after all.
Do you have something you enjoy doing but think is meaningless, too? Have you tried asking God to show you the beautiful meaning behind your love for baking, your ability to carry conversation or your stamp collection, ha?
My cycling buddies and I did a round-island 70km ride today, and for the first time cycling since my injury, I have no pain.
Thank you God for healing me, and for showing me meaning in this beautiful sport. Thank you for the gift of hobbies that you use to sharpen us, and for giving us that divine present called Joy, which we can exult in guiltlessly when we open our hearts to the possibility of learning life lessons through them. Thank you for my friends and cycling buddies, whom I miss so very much since I've been missing our regular rides due to extra lectures at school.
Most of all, thank you for showing me that through it all, you had a purpose for everything, and nothing was for naught.
I'm looking forward to doing a triathlon next year, God permitting. I'm not through with you just yet.
Showing posts with label Cycling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cycling. Show all posts
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Back.
"Today, today I lost.
But tomorrow, tomorrow'll be a better day.
Tomorrow, I'll be back."
-Dr Lee Kim En from National Neuroscience Institute, on rough days.
It's supposed to be my two-week study break. It's supposed to be a time of refreshment and restoration before my 1-month slavedriving surgical internship with 15-hour workdays and 36-hour calls begin next week, before we go all out for our final exams in March. But it was not to be.
"It's no wonder you're emotionally wrung out," said Jn, "It's just been one blow after another. Take some time off by yourself."
Jn is the therapist I still see from time to time, not because I'm still ill, but because I've chosen to follow-up with the team regularly even as my second book about my journey to recovery from depression and anorexia prepares for its launch. We've decided to use this time to work on some underlying deep-seated issues.
It was on Sunday when I was beginning to feel defeated, and the day seemed to unfold seamlessly into Tuesday and Wednesday before I saw Jn and had decided it was enough.
Sunday was a day of reflection and melancholy. Somehow, a part of me began to be acutely aware of how important Community is to us. Some part of me thinks my classmate, and many others in their final years of university, passed away due to lack of belonging in a Community. When I watched the video that day, what struck me was that the man found joy not merely through his achievements because that can be empty, but through finding himself in a community of people who supported his endeavours. It made me think about the initiatives I've been spearheading in the student body regarding raising awareness of and strengthening mental health support in the medical community. It made me recall, that at the time I was ill, I didn't have much of a community in school as well. It made me reflect, that though church, friends, professional help all played a role, the primary reason for my speedy recovery might just have been my finding a Community through my cycling and triathlon group.
Monday. For some reason, I couldn't get over the fact that you had signed up for the half-iron man, because I kept feeling like it was just the beginning of my losing a friend to the sport. Monday. I got a text-message from a lady in charge of student affairs at school, Ms Y, saying that she needed me to return to school because she had misplaced my photograph for an award submission and would like a photographer to retake a photo.
Tuesday. I woke up with a heavy heart- how could Miss Y have misplaced it? She had requested a stack of supporting documents which I had painstakingly collated a month ago- the deadline was this friday, what happened? Why was only the photograph lost? Didn't you ask me to pass them all to Ms S at X hospital so you would pick it up from her?
Tuesday. We decided to train together with another friend. I made the effort to accommodate to your timing and venue because I knew you needed to train. It was at a somewhat dangerous time, but I assumed that because we'd be in a small group, we'd be riding more safely. You assured me we would be going at an easy pace. But you were late, as usual, and as we rode, the two of you sped off into the distance, leaving me behind. There were many cars. You beat one amber light, without looking behind for me or waiting for me after. There were so many cars. I told myself it was okay, that perhaps, you were too focused. But that stabbed me- I felt this was just the beginning of training taking you away. Wasn't training in a group about Community? Wasn't it about looking out for one another and enjoying one another's company and encouragement?
Then you beat another amber light. That was enough, and I turned back. I rode all the way home by myself. Ele was with me, her trunk all curled up- she sat heavy on my bike and wept.
It didn't take long before you two discovered I was gone. I didn't pick up your call. I only text messaged to say that after being left behind at two amber lights, it didn't feel like my presence mattered. I think the two of you felt terrible, and very sorry. I don't know why it broke me so much to be left behind.
I cried a lot that day. Something deep in me just set off. The straw which broke the camel's back, however, was when after an hour's journey back to school after a tiring day, I found out that Ms Y had "misplaced" not only the photograph, but all the supporting documents which I had painstakingly collated and submitted for an award the school had nominated me for. She was very chirpy, apologetic in an unapologetic way. She hadn't realised that much time, effort, money and resources had been put into preparing those documents for her on time, which was a month ago.
"I'm so sorry," she said chirpily, " let me search for it now." Wait a minute, I thought, weren't you supposed to make a search for it before troubling me to make a special trip down? I waited for half an hour outside her office before she came out smiling, "I'm sorry I can't find it. I'm sure we'll find it tomorrow. But anyway, at least we have your photograph." She waved her digital camera at me.
I was appalled.
When I talked to Jn about this, I remember sharing with her my utter sense of loss at the traffic light, and the sense of betrayal. Why was it so profound? It's just two lights, woman. It's not like you can't take care of yourself. Suddenly I felt the entire sport was tainted. I didn't want to do it anymore. Suddenly, I saw the pride and competition and self-seeking and wanted to abandon everything and everyone associated with it.
Then the revelation came.
In psychology, one school of thought suggests that we tend to find ourselves drawn to relationships that help us to recreate the fallen aspects of our relationships with our parents in an attempt to "make things right". But because we are used to the old, dysfunctional interactional patterns of the past, we bring them forward to friends or partners, and into our future relationships. For a large part of my life, abandonment has been a huge issue. During certain significantly tumultuous periods in my childhood, I had felt abandoned by the predominant male figure in my life whom I deeply loved. As a result, my mind is primed for abandonment, because it what my subconscious expects.
"You look for people who give you the same stability as your childhood male figure did. But you often say or do things which erect barriers to protect yourself from being abandoned. Yet, your longing for community and approval is still there, and so this creates an inner conflict. So you reach out and backpedal constantly, and your mind constantly primes itself to prove that you will be abandoned because it's the only way it can perceive relationships. It's like a sensor for abandonment. And because of your fear of abandonment, you also sometimes abandon other people first."
Spot on. It explained many things- the profoundness of my hurt at being left behind, my neediness at times, and also, my fear of being in a relationship. My subconscious simply awaits the final moment where it can validate its expectation of being abandoned, again.
But God has a funny way of teaching us things. Sometimes, the process can be so hard. But as long as we look out for the lessons along the way, it is worth it. It is always worth it.
I learnt, that in order to progress, I must overcome this. I had told myself I would allow myself to get into a relationship after graduation, and I suppose, now till then would be a good time to prepare myself for a healthy one. I have to at least try. Try to stop pushing people away and put a stopwatch on how long they'll take before they leave me.
Wednesday was very interesting. I forgave my two cycling buddies and reframed my thoughts towards my Community. And in the afternoon, I had to meet a friend at X hospital. I was still deeply troubled by the "lost" documents. God, were you trying to teach me that I need not "earn" your love? Is this the same lesson you taught me through my injury? That I don't need an award to be validated or affirmed? I couldn't stop wondering, How did everything get lost? Didn't Ms Y ask me to pass them all to Ms S at X hospital so she would pick it up from her?
Ms Y from the university had told me the day before, " I hid it so well I forgot where it is."
I sensed something very, very fishy.
Suddenly it struck me, that I was in X hospital. And out of the kind of tenacious curiosity sometimes possessed by medical students, I decided to call Ms S to find out how my package got "lost".
Lo and behold, I learnt, that the package had never left X hospital. A month ago, Ms Y had told them not to mail it out yet. And along the way, she must have forgotten. " I hid it so well I forgot where it is" suddenly became embarrassingly humourous, at my expense.
Many phonecalls and emails later, I made my discovery quite plain and the staff at the university were both apologetic and sheepish for their lack of transparency, professionalism and honesty. I won't lie to you- I was angry. This had cost me a lot of time and energy. The forms had taken me hours to fill, the essays, days to write- during my busy internship period where I was hurried to submit them. I could not be certain if all my time would be wasted. There was no doubt about my appallment at the way things were handled, and how no effort was made to trace the documents when I had asked Ms Y repeatedly.
But I learnt a few things, and that was good enough for me. One, always to make a copy of any documents one submits; two, curiosity kills a cat but can sometimes tell you how another cat died too; three, it takes a lot patience, grace and compassion to deal with such situations in a godly manner. It would have been quite amusing to see myself kick up a fuss over a nomination. I decided against it. But I requested for a channel to give feedback to, and that my case be taken over by another staff, with a third party overseeing the procedure.
Through the past 4 days, I also saw God's hand with me, through my pain and agony. He wanted to show me, how I needed to work through the issues of abandonment in my life, how I needed to overcome it to build healthier relationships with people around me. He taught me forgiveness and humility, when I apologised to my 2 friends as well for turning back abruptly. He taught me resilience in dealing with terrible administrative glitches and the grace to rise above it. I felt God being with me- my friend at X hospital was supposed to meet me on Friday- if he had not changed the date to yesterday, I would not have been there and would not have got to the bottom of the Mystery of the Missing Package. (You can say that if God were really with me then this would not have happened in the first place, but I am biased- God is good, and I only found my package because I was there at the right place and right time.)
In the busyness of coordinating plans regarding mental health support in the student body, I have also been tired out. Last night, I also arranged for 4 friends and myself to take Grandpa Zhou out for dinner. When I got home, I got a loooong email from Ms Y trying to explain herself.
"It's no wonder you're emotionally wrung out," said Jn.
One of my mentors, Dr Lee Kim En from National Neuroscience Institute and a firm believer in the goodness of God once told us, "Some days are so bad that they make you feel defeated. It makes you feel like giving up. But tell yourself, 'Today, today I lost. But tomorrow, tomorrow'll be a better day. Tomorrow, I'll be back.' God's mercies are new every morning."
So I'm going to deliver my package personally to the school, give my feedback as graciously and matter-of-factly as I can, and just trust in God that things'll turn out all right. After all, He already knows about the outcome of the nomination. Perhaps, this may just be a journey of faith for me to understand that I do not need to earn His approval, that He is in control, that His plans cannot be foiled.
And I won't abandon triathlon. I will try to love more fearlessly, more securely. I will work with Jn on that, I promise.
For the past 4 days, I lost. But today, today, I'm back.
"Because of God's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness."
-Lamentations 3:22-23
Sunday, October 17, 2010
70.3
“I’m afraid,” you said.
“Me too,” I replied. And I was more relieved that you said so first. I’m not sure if I would have the courage to bring it up otherwise.
The day you told me over the phone you had signed up for the 70.3mile half IronMan event, I was excited for you. It was a huge endeavour of faith. For a moment, we were giddy with joy. But I never told you about my mixed feelings. So when you said you were afraid of what it might do to you, of how the training might change you, shift your heart and pull your focus away from God and the things that mattered in life, I felt like a dam I never knew existed in me give way.
This morning, I cried a lot at church. The tears really surprised me. And I asked myself why.
I guess all this while, I never realized how our friendship had grown. When I first saw you, I thought you were another one of those quiet macho guys whom I'd have to think quite hard to start a conversation with. For one, I thought you were much older. I didn’t even know you then, but you decided to chip in with the rest to buy me my bike Faith, when you learnt that I'd given away my bike money to a deaf girl's hearing operation. It was then I found out you were funny, and you could make fun of yourself and your Mickey-mouse ears. But the thing that set you apart from the rest, was how you considered God in everything you did. I liked the fact you did everything to the best of your ability and yet had fun doing it. The other Big boys would be squeezing air out of their lungs trying to keep up, while you cruised breezily, ahead of the pack, with a funny tune in your head. You never showed off, never tried too hard. You just enjoyed what you did and were naturally good at it.
After our rides, you’d come over to swim and it became a habit for us to talk about our lives and God. Perhaps that was the most important part of the workout- reflecting, taking stock of life and putting the pieces together. And then I got injured. And I thought I would lose you all and be forgotten because I couldn’t ride for 6 months. I put on weight. It was a difficult time for me.
But you didn’t stop coming. You still came to swim after riding-that was the only exercise I could do pain-free. And we didn’t stop talking. I let you in because you were like a brother, and that made you safe for me to let in into my fortress fenced with barbed wire. Sometimes, we had lunch. That gave me a lot of encouragement when I felt isolated from the rest of our group, and I willed myself to recover. But when I did, I was afraid to ride again because of my guilt and anxiety.
“Triathlon is a tainted sport,” I said bitterly, “There’s just so much pride and competition and self-indulgence.”
“No!” You insisted. “Triathlon is beautiful!” And you said it with such exuberance I could see myself running on a mountaintop above a starry sea.
And that moment changed me because I saw that it was. It is. Triathlon is beautiful. That made me remember why I started in the first place. Triathlon is beautiful because it is difficult. It is beautiful because there is beauty in overcoming, beauty in enduring, and beauty in completion. Most importantly, it is beautiful for me because of the friends I made and the lessons I learnt along the way, about life, and about God. Triathlon helped me recover- it is what God used to save my life.
We started together. We were supposed to do the half event and full Olympic distance together. Eventually, I knew we would try for the half IronMan. But I got injured, so we attended the race we were both supposed to complete. I took your photos. You suffered a bad abrasion. But we were both happy- you, for completing the race, and I, for learning to let go.
Now you’re way ahead of me. I’m happy for you. You got a spanking new bike at a great price. It was awesome. You were still, mostly, the same. You never boasted, and you got faster.
Then you told me, after signing up for this big race, that you were afraid of losing yourself in the sport, and I became afraid too. Because I’ve seen so many people lose themselves in the sport that I’m afraid of losing you, too. Their whole lives become enamoured with the glamour of the sport, revolve around it. There is carnal sense of pride when it comes to training, and it can be so time-consuming that it takes parts of you away, slowly, insidiously, without you knowing it. I should know- I lost myself before.
I’ve seen what the sport can do to people. It starts off as a healthy endeavour, but the seemingly supportive encouragement from the crowd makes it easy for one to mistake pride for freedom, makes it easy for one to lose oneself in the fray of best timings, latest wheelsets and fanciest bike models. Granted, these are all topics for conversation in a common hobby, but when does it go overboard?
I have been guilty. I have cancelled appointments and rearranged meetings just so I could fit my training in. Training, insidiously, became of such high priority. The scariest thing was that I could still reason how I was still faithful to my ministry at church, how I was still serving God faithfully, still close to Him. It was only after I got injured, that I saw how much of life I had missed, how much training had taken away from me.
And maybe I’m feeling sad and I’m recounting all of this because I’m expecting the worst, that I might lose you. I guess I’m just afraid that I might lose you to the thing we both thought was beautiful, and then I would lose you both, forever.
I’m just afraid, of how the sport could take away you from you, and me, too.
This is selfish, but I don’t want to lose another friend.
Once, I was not afraid. I held the sport in high regard and I plunged into it, head first. Once, triathlon was only glorious and beautiful- it epitomized perseverence, discipline and sportsmanship. But I learnt painfully, that some kinds of nobility come at a price, and sometimes, not that which everyone can pay for. And perhaps, part of me is also envious, that God allowed you, but not me to go the distance. Perhaps, part of me is still grieving that you are doing all the races I had wanted to do, too. And perhaps, the greatest grief came in knowing that all my sadness was but a glimpse into God’s grief when I made that mistake of allowing my focus to shift, if only for a while, if only for a bit.
And I'm afraid it may happen to you, too. Did He feel like He was losing me, too? Did You hurt that much for me, God?
He did not let me pay that obscene price.
I know how it is. There is the gruelling training programme to follow, work at school to keep up with, there is tiredness and a conflicting sense of discipline, and then there are friendships and family ties to maintain. Not everything goes smoothly. People-ties take time. I only just learnt, that how we honour the sport is how we honour God and the people in our lives. But I have skipped dinner with my parents before just so I could clock another training session. I have postponed appointments before just so I could finish a run. They were always understanding. But that was besides the point. This morning you said you replied to me late because you had to sleep early to go for a run- was that the beginning? I don't know. I'm afraid.
We talked about the Iron Man in London before. That’s a 1.9km swim, 180km bike ride and a 42.2km run. If you do go for it, would you be too busy for lunch? Would you become like the rest?
I passed you my heart rate monitor. I hated that contraption because it sucked out all the joy of triathlon for me. It’s use is to help one ensure one exercises within a certain heart rate zone, for maximal training efficiency. I bought that when I started getting serious, when everyone kept giving me their advice, kept pushing me this way and that. Maybe the insecure part of me needed approval. I got one cheaply. You were there when I got it. Now it’s yours, but I pray it never brings you the kind of misery it brought me.
There is hope. You confessed your fear before I did. And because of that, I think we can pray, that it will not take you away, that triathlon will always remain beautiful for us. Still, I must be prepared, that this could change our friendship forever, and I could lose you.
So I pray this for you, that in all you do, may God always be first in your life. May the sport develop you into a better person, push you into seeking God more fervently and passionately. May you never forget what triathlon means to the both of us, and may you always swim, bike and run with joy and freedom.
And someday, I hope to do a race again, too.
Triathlon is beautiful.
Mirinda Carfrae, winner of the Women's 2010 KONA IronMan running towards the finish
“Me too,” I replied. And I was more relieved that you said so first. I’m not sure if I would have the courage to bring it up otherwise.
The day you told me over the phone you had signed up for the 70.3mile half IronMan event, I was excited for you. It was a huge endeavour of faith. For a moment, we were giddy with joy. But I never told you about my mixed feelings. So when you said you were afraid of what it might do to you, of how the training might change you, shift your heart and pull your focus away from God and the things that mattered in life, I felt like a dam I never knew existed in me give way.
This morning, I cried a lot at church. The tears really surprised me. And I asked myself why.
I guess all this while, I never realized how our friendship had grown. When I first saw you, I thought you were another one of those quiet macho guys whom I'd have to think quite hard to start a conversation with. For one, I thought you were much older. I didn’t even know you then, but you decided to chip in with the rest to buy me my bike Faith, when you learnt that I'd given away my bike money to a deaf girl's hearing operation. It was then I found out you were funny, and you could make fun of yourself and your Mickey-mouse ears. But the thing that set you apart from the rest, was how you considered God in everything you did. I liked the fact you did everything to the best of your ability and yet had fun doing it. The other Big boys would be squeezing air out of their lungs trying to keep up, while you cruised breezily, ahead of the pack, with a funny tune in your head. You never showed off, never tried too hard. You just enjoyed what you did and were naturally good at it.
After our rides, you’d come over to swim and it became a habit for us to talk about our lives and God. Perhaps that was the most important part of the workout- reflecting, taking stock of life and putting the pieces together. And then I got injured. And I thought I would lose you all and be forgotten because I couldn’t ride for 6 months. I put on weight. It was a difficult time for me.
But you didn’t stop coming. You still came to swim after riding-that was the only exercise I could do pain-free. And we didn’t stop talking. I let you in because you were like a brother, and that made you safe for me to let in into my fortress fenced with barbed wire. Sometimes, we had lunch. That gave me a lot of encouragement when I felt isolated from the rest of our group, and I willed myself to recover. But when I did, I was afraid to ride again because of my guilt and anxiety.
“Triathlon is a tainted sport,” I said bitterly, “There’s just so much pride and competition and self-indulgence.”
“No!” You insisted. “Triathlon is beautiful!” And you said it with such exuberance I could see myself running on a mountaintop above a starry sea.
And that moment changed me because I saw that it was. It is. Triathlon is beautiful. That made me remember why I started in the first place. Triathlon is beautiful because it is difficult. It is beautiful because there is beauty in overcoming, beauty in enduring, and beauty in completion. Most importantly, it is beautiful for me because of the friends I made and the lessons I learnt along the way, about life, and about God. Triathlon helped me recover- it is what God used to save my life.
We started together. We were supposed to do the half event and full Olympic distance together. Eventually, I knew we would try for the half IronMan. But I got injured, so we attended the race we were both supposed to complete. I took your photos. You suffered a bad abrasion. But we were both happy- you, for completing the race, and I, for learning to let go.
Now you’re way ahead of me. I’m happy for you. You got a spanking new bike at a great price. It was awesome. You were still, mostly, the same. You never boasted, and you got faster.
Then you told me, after signing up for this big race, that you were afraid of losing yourself in the sport, and I became afraid too. Because I’ve seen so many people lose themselves in the sport that I’m afraid of losing you, too. Their whole lives become enamoured with the glamour of the sport, revolve around it. There is carnal sense of pride when it comes to training, and it can be so time-consuming that it takes parts of you away, slowly, insidiously, without you knowing it. I should know- I lost myself before.
I’ve seen what the sport can do to people. It starts off as a healthy endeavour, but the seemingly supportive encouragement from the crowd makes it easy for one to mistake pride for freedom, makes it easy for one to lose oneself in the fray of best timings, latest wheelsets and fanciest bike models. Granted, these are all topics for conversation in a common hobby, but when does it go overboard?
I have been guilty. I have cancelled appointments and rearranged meetings just so I could fit my training in. Training, insidiously, became of such high priority. The scariest thing was that I could still reason how I was still faithful to my ministry at church, how I was still serving God faithfully, still close to Him. It was only after I got injured, that I saw how much of life I had missed, how much training had taken away from me.
And maybe I’m feeling sad and I’m recounting all of this because I’m expecting the worst, that I might lose you. I guess I’m just afraid that I might lose you to the thing we both thought was beautiful, and then I would lose you both, forever.
I’m just afraid, of how the sport could take away you from you, and me, too.
This is selfish, but I don’t want to lose another friend.
Once, I was not afraid. I held the sport in high regard and I plunged into it, head first. Once, triathlon was only glorious and beautiful- it epitomized perseverence, discipline and sportsmanship. But I learnt painfully, that some kinds of nobility come at a price, and sometimes, not that which everyone can pay for. And perhaps, part of me is also envious, that God allowed you, but not me to go the distance. Perhaps, part of me is still grieving that you are doing all the races I had wanted to do, too. And perhaps, the greatest grief came in knowing that all my sadness was but a glimpse into God’s grief when I made that mistake of allowing my focus to shift, if only for a while, if only for a bit.
And I'm afraid it may happen to you, too. Did He feel like He was losing me, too? Did You hurt that much for me, God?
He did not let me pay that obscene price.
I know how it is. There is the gruelling training programme to follow, work at school to keep up with, there is tiredness and a conflicting sense of discipline, and then there are friendships and family ties to maintain. Not everything goes smoothly. People-ties take time. I only just learnt, that how we honour the sport is how we honour God and the people in our lives. But I have skipped dinner with my parents before just so I could clock another training session. I have postponed appointments before just so I could finish a run. They were always understanding. But that was besides the point. This morning you said you replied to me late because you had to sleep early to go for a run- was that the beginning? I don't know. I'm afraid.
We talked about the Iron Man in London before. That’s a 1.9km swim, 180km bike ride and a 42.2km run. If you do go for it, would you be too busy for lunch? Would you become like the rest?
I passed you my heart rate monitor. I hated that contraption because it sucked out all the joy of triathlon for me. It’s use is to help one ensure one exercises within a certain heart rate zone, for maximal training efficiency. I bought that when I started getting serious, when everyone kept giving me their advice, kept pushing me this way and that. Maybe the insecure part of me needed approval. I got one cheaply. You were there when I got it. Now it’s yours, but I pray it never brings you the kind of misery it brought me.
There is hope. You confessed your fear before I did. And because of that, I think we can pray, that it will not take you away, that triathlon will always remain beautiful for us. Still, I must be prepared, that this could change our friendship forever, and I could lose you.
So I pray this for you, that in all you do, may God always be first in your life. May the sport develop you into a better person, push you into seeking God more fervently and passionately. May you never forget what triathlon means to the both of us, and may you always swim, bike and run with joy and freedom.
And someday, I hope to do a race again, too.
Triathlon is beautiful.
"Whenever I am afraid,
I will trust in You.
In God (I will praise His word),
In God I have put my trust;
I will not fear.
What can flesh do to me?"
-Psalm 56:3
Mirinda Carfrae, winner of the Women's 2010 KONA IronMan running towards the finish
Friday, October 15, 2010
Crossing the road.
"Zhou yeye (Grandpa Zhou)," I called, then promptly sat down next to him. "Nihao (hello). Are you free this Wednesday?"
"Oh, Wednesday, I've to collect bread from the Community Centre. How about another day?"
"Huh. No no, this is a special day, you can collect bread another day. Aren't you TERRIFIED OF BREAD?" I asked, in mock drama.
"Ya, but the guy in charge of food distribution specially saves my portion for me. He tells me that every week, he puts my portion aside just for me."
Thus is the extent of Grandpa Zhou's consideration for others, and his loyalty. He keeps his word.
"Okay, on Wednesday, meet me here in the evening. We're going out for dinner!"
"Where to?"
"Anywhere you like!"
"Haha, I'll eat anything you eat. Just us?"
"No, I've invited 3 friends. 2 are a couple, of which the boy is the one who gave away all his New Year Day red packet money for your medical fees this whole year, and the other boy is someone who loves to help people too."
"I like to eat simple food. Very simple, because I have high cholesterol. Just bittergourd, or beansprouts, or fish soup. Simple food will do."
Bittergourd and beansprouts. Just the kind of food my father grew up eating. He used to tell us jokingly, it is a poor man's type of food, the cheapest one finds in the market.
"Okay, Grandpa Zhou, I've got to go, I bought milk and it'll go bad if I don't put it in the fridge soon."
"Oh, Wai Jia, look at this."
And he hands me a huge platter of sushi in a tray, with raw salmon and eel and egg and roe and the kind of topping I would never order because of its price. It was easily a twenty dollar platter.
" Yang ren (A Caucasian man) came and gave this to me. What is this? I don't eat raw fish, so here you go."
"It's sushi, Grandpa Zhou. This is good stuff! Haha, I don't eat raw fish either!"
The kindness of the Caucasian man touched me deeply even though I didn't see him. Yet, it was also a humbling reminder of the importance of connecting with the people we hope to bless. It reminded me, that to truly help, we must connect deeply enough to know the heart of the other person. (Grandpa Zhou doesn't eat raw fish!) This time, however, the language barrier must have been an issue and so I smiled at his kindness, this unknown man.
So Grandpa Zhou took all the sushi with cooked toppings, like egg and eel (I didn't tell him that was my favorite one!) and I took the loot home.
Before I left, he said to me, "Wai Jia, do you know what a bel-lor-ke is?"
"A bel-lor-ke?"
I thought it was some kind of animal.
"Oh!! You mean a BLOG!" I said in an epiphanous tone. "A blog! Yea, of course, I write one. It's like an online diary. I write about you, you know that right?"
"Yea. People know about me through your blog! Just some days ago, a girl called me Zhou yeye from behind, and I knew the voice wasn't yours. I asked her how she knew me, and she said she read your blog! Her name is Q, do you know her?"
"Haha, I don't! This is so funny! You're famous! A superstar!"
We burst out laughing.
It is always like this. Our conversations always start off with him showing me the receipts of his medical appointments, with us sharing a bit about our week, with a bit of food sometimes, with someone stopping to stare and overhear our conversation, and finally, prayer-usually me asking for some.
"Thank you for praying for my leg, Grandpa Zhou. I'm all healed. I went riding last night, I went so fast!"
"No pain at all?"
"Yup."
He nodded. He removed his cap and touched his bald head. I laughed, and so did he. "So shiny!" he cried, "I'll wear a cap on Wednesday for your friends okay? It's too shiny!"
We laughed some more.
"Grandpa Zhou, can you pray for me?"
"Of course."
"I am troubled by many things. I met someone lately. God made it very clear to me to go on a humanitarian weekend trip with him. But my folks say no. Too dangerous."
"Where to?"
"Manila."
"Oh dear. Ya, very dangerous. I concur. They just had the shooting incident there! Didn't you read?"
"I know, Grandpa Zhou. Everyone's been telling me how dangerous it is. But where is safety when there are needs? Often it's because of an unstable government and instability that results in children and people suffering. Where there is stability and ease to help, there won't be a real need for help. God has called me to this. Just like He called me to Nepal and all those other places that I went where there were earthquakes and political uprisings. This is not different. They said no before, but relented far later on. They don't seem relenting this time though. I want to respect them, but I am almost 24 and this is my calling. Therein lies the dilemma. "
"It's dangerous."
"I know. Precisely why the children are living in dumpsites and no one wants to go to that place. Precisely why they need help. Medical help. Cycling is dangerous. CROSSING THE ROAD is dangerous. It doesn't mean we don't do these things."
He sighed.
"Wai Jia... In this world..."
I cut him short. I was a little... angry, "I know, in this world, there're too many people to help right? I know. But those who are presented to us, we must. "
I was still a little overwhelmed by the course of things of late. All that helping- working on A Taste of Rainbow to reach out to people suffering from depression, working with students and the Deanery to come up with better mental health support for my faculty after my classmate passed away unexpectedly, M (an ex-patient) calling me up for twenty dollars, and the children of Manila whom my new-found photographer friend told me about. Just please, take a look at his album for one moment. I thought about my friend who told me I was foolish, that I ought to just sleep and wake up realising that I can't save this world.
I was a little angry. A little.
Grandpa Zhou was silent. He wrenched his fingers. I knew what he was thinking. It is dangerous. But God has given her signs to go. She is always taking risks to help people. But she has a point, it is those people whom others need to risk to help who are in dire need. I think she shouldn't help so many people. But... she helped me.
It was all over his face. It was in his coarse, wringing hands.
"Okay, " he relented. "I'll pray for you."
He never only says it. He always prays on the spot, aloud, unlike people who say I'll-pray-for-you as a nicey way to end a conversation.
"Dear Father in Heaven, please let Wai Jia go to Manila because she wants to help the people there. It is very dangerous, the situation there is very messy but I pray that you will protect her. Please help her help the children. Please make a way."
I had tea with Mr Ho, my ex-teacher whom Kitesong is dedicated to that afternoon. I shared with him my passion, my dilemma, because every significant event which happened in my life which was worthwhile pursuing came with resistance from authority. They said no to Nepal, no to Kitesong, no to Rainbow- and I understand. They were foolish requests. But I am foolish girl sold to this cause and I would rather die on the field than sit here sleeping every night thinking about children picking up trash to eat while I buy a soy latte from Starbucks. I cannot stand it.
My friend once commented that I am scary when I'm chasing the Big Boys on my bike. Well, it's because when I'm riding with the Big Boys, all that energy to keep up at 40kmph comes from the frustration of seeing the injustices of this world. It's pure injustice, and I hate it.
Mr Ho sent me home on his BMW motorbike. He was a little worried I wouldn't be used to the ride. What he didn't know was that I love motorbikes, with the wind in my hair and the crazy times in Nepal and Kalimantan I would ride pillion over the dirty roads and through small alleys.
"You're a natural," he said, a bit surprised.
I had asked him about Manila. "I need to be my own person, Mr Ho. And besides, isn't riding a motorbike when you've a wife and 2 kids dangerous?"
"Yea, it comes with risks. Knowing the risks helps you to be more astute and to deal with them. You've got to take other people's advice, but at the end, it's you who has to make your own choice. And suffer the consequences if need be."
I thought about the stack of letters I had determined myself to write to different people because I don't know when I'll leave. I might die on the road one day, or in the mission field. Somehow I never imagine myself dying in my sleep- it is always a dramatic, bloodsplattering, tragic end. And I want people to know that it was a good life. I enjoyed it and will enjoy afterlife even more. And to please put lots of rainbow-coloured balloons during my funeral with Coldplay and David Crowder playing in the background, and yes, to please publish whatever that was in the process of being published, ha.
"Okay, thanks Grandpa Zhou. Wait here for me on Wednesday, okay? You're a superstar, we'll get a car to fetch you. We'll have something simple and something nice."
"Okay."
And I scuttle off across the busy road, back to my home. Because they're roads we need to cross in life.
"Oh, Wednesday, I've to collect bread from the Community Centre. How about another day?"
"Huh. No no, this is a special day, you can collect bread another day. Aren't you TERRIFIED OF BREAD?" I asked, in mock drama.
"Ya, but the guy in charge of food distribution specially saves my portion for me. He tells me that every week, he puts my portion aside just for me."
Thus is the extent of Grandpa Zhou's consideration for others, and his loyalty. He keeps his word.
"Okay, on Wednesday, meet me here in the evening. We're going out for dinner!"
"Where to?"
"Anywhere you like!"
"Haha, I'll eat anything you eat. Just us?"
"No, I've invited 3 friends. 2 are a couple, of which the boy is the one who gave away all his New Year Day red packet money for your medical fees this whole year, and the other boy is someone who loves to help people too."
"I like to eat simple food. Very simple, because I have high cholesterol. Just bittergourd, or beansprouts, or fish soup. Simple food will do."
Bittergourd and beansprouts. Just the kind of food my father grew up eating. He used to tell us jokingly, it is a poor man's type of food, the cheapest one finds in the market.
"Okay, Grandpa Zhou, I've got to go, I bought milk and it'll go bad if I don't put it in the fridge soon."
"Oh, Wai Jia, look at this."
And he hands me a huge platter of sushi in a tray, with raw salmon and eel and egg and roe and the kind of topping I would never order because of its price. It was easily a twenty dollar platter.
" Yang ren (A Caucasian man) came and gave this to me. What is this? I don't eat raw fish, so here you go."
"It's sushi, Grandpa Zhou. This is good stuff! Haha, I don't eat raw fish either!"
The kindness of the Caucasian man touched me deeply even though I didn't see him. Yet, it was also a humbling reminder of the importance of connecting with the people we hope to bless. It reminded me, that to truly help, we must connect deeply enough to know the heart of the other person. (Grandpa Zhou doesn't eat raw fish!) This time, however, the language barrier must have been an issue and so I smiled at his kindness, this unknown man.
So Grandpa Zhou took all the sushi with cooked toppings, like egg and eel (I didn't tell him that was my favorite one!) and I took the loot home.
Before I left, he said to me, "Wai Jia, do you know what a bel-lor-ke is?"
"A bel-lor-ke?"
I thought it was some kind of animal.
"Oh!! You mean a BLOG!" I said in an epiphanous tone. "A blog! Yea, of course, I write one. It's like an online diary. I write about you, you know that right?"
"Yea. People know about me through your blog! Just some days ago, a girl called me Zhou yeye from behind, and I knew the voice wasn't yours. I asked her how she knew me, and she said she read your blog! Her name is Q, do you know her?"
"Haha, I don't! This is so funny! You're famous! A superstar!"
We burst out laughing.
It is always like this. Our conversations always start off with him showing me the receipts of his medical appointments, with us sharing a bit about our week, with a bit of food sometimes, with someone stopping to stare and overhear our conversation, and finally, prayer-usually me asking for some.
"Thank you for praying for my leg, Grandpa Zhou. I'm all healed. I went riding last night, I went so fast!"
"No pain at all?"
"Yup."
He nodded. He removed his cap and touched his bald head. I laughed, and so did he. "So shiny!" he cried, "I'll wear a cap on Wednesday for your friends okay? It's too shiny!"
We laughed some more.
"Grandpa Zhou, can you pray for me?"
"Of course."
"I am troubled by many things. I met someone lately. God made it very clear to me to go on a humanitarian weekend trip with him. But my folks say no. Too dangerous."
"Where to?"
"Manila."
"Oh dear. Ya, very dangerous. I concur. They just had the shooting incident there! Didn't you read?"
"I know, Grandpa Zhou. Everyone's been telling me how dangerous it is. But where is safety when there are needs? Often it's because of an unstable government and instability that results in children and people suffering. Where there is stability and ease to help, there won't be a real need for help. God has called me to this. Just like He called me to Nepal and all those other places that I went where there were earthquakes and political uprisings. This is not different. They said no before, but relented far later on. They don't seem relenting this time though. I want to respect them, but I am almost 24 and this is my calling. Therein lies the dilemma. "
"It's dangerous."
"I know. Precisely why the children are living in dumpsites and no one wants to go to that place. Precisely why they need help. Medical help. Cycling is dangerous. CROSSING THE ROAD is dangerous. It doesn't mean we don't do these things."
He sighed.
"Wai Jia... In this world..."
I cut him short. I was a little... angry, "I know, in this world, there're too many people to help right? I know. But those who are presented to us, we must. "
I was still a little overwhelmed by the course of things of late. All that helping- working on A Taste of Rainbow to reach out to people suffering from depression, working with students and the Deanery to come up with better mental health support for my faculty after my classmate passed away unexpectedly, M (an ex-patient) calling me up for twenty dollars, and the children of Manila whom my new-found photographer friend told me about. Just please, take a look at his album for one moment. I thought about my friend who told me I was foolish, that I ought to just sleep and wake up realising that I can't save this world.
I was a little angry. A little.
Grandpa Zhou was silent. He wrenched his fingers. I knew what he was thinking. It is dangerous. But God has given her signs to go. She is always taking risks to help people. But she has a point, it is those people whom others need to risk to help who are in dire need. I think she shouldn't help so many people. But... she helped me.
It was all over his face. It was in his coarse, wringing hands.
"Okay, " he relented. "I'll pray for you."
He never only says it. He always prays on the spot, aloud, unlike people who say I'll-pray-for-you as a nicey way to end a conversation.
"Dear Father in Heaven, please let Wai Jia go to Manila because she wants to help the people there. It is very dangerous, the situation there is very messy but I pray that you will protect her. Please help her help the children. Please make a way."
I had tea with Mr Ho, my ex-teacher whom Kitesong is dedicated to that afternoon. I shared with him my passion, my dilemma, because every significant event which happened in my life which was worthwhile pursuing came with resistance from authority. They said no to Nepal, no to Kitesong, no to Rainbow- and I understand. They were foolish requests. But I am foolish girl sold to this cause and I would rather die on the field than sit here sleeping every night thinking about children picking up trash to eat while I buy a soy latte from Starbucks. I cannot stand it.
My friend once commented that I am scary when I'm chasing the Big Boys on my bike. Well, it's because when I'm riding with the Big Boys, all that energy to keep up at 40kmph comes from the frustration of seeing the injustices of this world. It's pure injustice, and I hate it.
Mr Ho sent me home on his BMW motorbike. He was a little worried I wouldn't be used to the ride. What he didn't know was that I love motorbikes, with the wind in my hair and the crazy times in Nepal and Kalimantan I would ride pillion over the dirty roads and through small alleys.
"You're a natural," he said, a bit surprised.
I had asked him about Manila. "I need to be my own person, Mr Ho. And besides, isn't riding a motorbike when you've a wife and 2 kids dangerous?"
"Yea, it comes with risks. Knowing the risks helps you to be more astute and to deal with them. You've got to take other people's advice, but at the end, it's you who has to make your own choice. And suffer the consequences if need be."
I thought about the stack of letters I had determined myself to write to different people because I don't know when I'll leave. I might die on the road one day, or in the mission field. Somehow I never imagine myself dying in my sleep- it is always a dramatic, bloodsplattering, tragic end. And I want people to know that it was a good life. I enjoyed it and will enjoy afterlife even more. And to please put lots of rainbow-coloured balloons during my funeral with Coldplay and David Crowder playing in the background, and yes, to please publish whatever that was in the process of being published, ha.
"Okay, thanks Grandpa Zhou. Wait here for me on Wednesday, okay? You're a superstar, we'll get a car to fetch you. We'll have something simple and something nice."
"Okay."
And I scuttle off across the busy road, back to my home. Because they're roads we need to cross in life.
" So they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything, and followed Him"
-Luke 5:11
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Respect.
I heard about her during a running clinic I had attended yesterday. Everyone present had an old injury and were hoping to learn pain-free running. I ran alongside a Canadian triathlete going for a training course with KONA 2010 Champion Mirinda Carfrae. "Chrissie didn't compete this year," she told me.
"Who's Chrissie?" I said, ignorantly.
The KONA IronMan World Championships just ended. The IronMan consists of a 1.9km swim, a 180km bike ride, and a full 42.2km marathon back-to-back-to-back. This year, all-time favourite, nine-time IronMan race winner, and three-time KONA champion Chrissie Wellington didn't compete. She fell ill.
Thinking about the amount of time, passion and dedication invested in her hobby, sport and career, I can hardly begin to imagine the amount of anguish, disappointment and grief she must have felt on waking up only days before the event, the event she had trained and aimed for all year round, which her friends, family, supporters and nation had supported her to not only complete, but win.
A headache and a bad throat comes in forefront of a background of endless hours of gruelling training over the past year. What does one do? All that brutal training all gone down the drain. Or has it?
In life, the unexpected often happens. You plan for further studies but your mum falls prey to cancer. You plan a trip but an earthquake happens there. Life is foiler of our best made plans.
Have you ever had to let go of something you thought you couldn't? Or do you see these "foiled" moments as opportunities for growth and self-reflection?
She didn't compete. And for that, for her response to not competing, she has earnt my respect. In that decision, she has brought glory to the sport. She set an example for others, budding athletes and professionals, as well as normal people like us, to love and respect our body and to honour the sport.
For all that triathlon represented-her life and career and heart and soul, she didn't let it possess her. Instead, in view of circumstances, she let it go. She had amazing strength, but more importantly, beautiful, beautiful courage. She had the maturity, courage and humility to say, not this year. She understood what it meant- the letting go of something she had pressed on so hard for, with the risk of disppointing many who had placed their hopes and invested themselves in her. In spite of all that pressure, she said no.
I have seen many, many people go on race day with an illness or injury, because they couldn't let it go. To me, that is dishonouring the sport. Triathlon teaches us to respect our body, there is no other way to finish a triathlon- I should know. There are still a few more races I'd like to do which I have yet to complete.
When people talk about "loving their bodies" or "loving themselves", they tend to mean the external appearance. After all, how many times have you heard people hating their thighs, or their hair or their legs. I am guilty. But your loving your body also means its inside bits, not just the soul or the spirit, but the ligaments, the arteries, the muscles- everything unseen.
Riding at 40kmph again taught me the importance of respecting one's body. The Big boys did 3 loops down the coast. I did 2. And that was enough. I went home and finished studying what I had set out to study that day. That is honouring the sport. It is giving it its proper time and place in our lives.
And in doing that, we honour God.
In the previous video, in spite of how inspiring it all was, I was disturbed when the man said he was "happy" only when he had finished those races. I like to believe that the happiness came more from the journey of understanding himself and loving his community than from its achievements. Reading this about honouring one's body and one's sport was, to say the least, inspiring.
I still wake up some days wishing I had better legs, that I could run or swim or bike better, that my hair wasn't so dry and I was leaner, but more importantly, I've come to enjoy steak and the occasional burger every once in a while, and learn the importance of loving and respecting my body, inside and out. It means being able to push it, to allow some indulgence, and being able to say no, and to let go.
2011 will be a new race year.
"Who's Chrissie?" I said, ignorantly.
The KONA IronMan World Championships just ended. The IronMan consists of a 1.9km swim, a 180km bike ride, and a full 42.2km marathon back-to-back-to-back. This year, all-time favourite, nine-time IronMan race winner, and three-time KONA champion Chrissie Wellington didn't compete. She fell ill.
Thinking about the amount of time, passion and dedication invested in her hobby, sport and career, I can hardly begin to imagine the amount of anguish, disappointment and grief she must have felt on waking up only days before the event, the event she had trained and aimed for all year round, which her friends, family, supporters and nation had supported her to not only complete, but win.
A headache and a bad throat comes in forefront of a background of endless hours of gruelling training over the past year. What does one do? All that brutal training all gone down the drain. Or has it?
In life, the unexpected often happens. You plan for further studies but your mum falls prey to cancer. You plan a trip but an earthquake happens there. Life is foiler of our best made plans.
Have you ever had to let go of something you thought you couldn't? Or do you see these "foiled" moments as opportunities for growth and self-reflection?
She didn't compete. And for that, for her response to not competing, she has earnt my respect. In that decision, she has brought glory to the sport. She set an example for others, budding athletes and professionals, as well as normal people like us, to love and respect our body and to honour the sport.
For all that triathlon represented-her life and career and heart and soul, she didn't let it possess her. Instead, in view of circumstances, she let it go. She had amazing strength, but more importantly, beautiful, beautiful courage. She had the maturity, courage and humility to say, not this year. She understood what it meant- the letting go of something she had pressed on so hard for, with the risk of disppointing many who had placed their hopes and invested themselves in her. In spite of all that pressure, she said no.
I have seen many, many people go on race day with an illness or injury, because they couldn't let it go. To me, that is dishonouring the sport. Triathlon teaches us to respect our body, there is no other way to finish a triathlon- I should know. There are still a few more races I'd like to do which I have yet to complete.
When people talk about "loving their bodies" or "loving themselves", they tend to mean the external appearance. After all, how many times have you heard people hating their thighs, or their hair or their legs. I am guilty. But your loving your body also means its inside bits, not just the soul or the spirit, but the ligaments, the arteries, the muscles- everything unseen.
Riding at 40kmph again taught me the importance of respecting one's body. The Big boys did 3 loops down the coast. I did 2. And that was enough. I went home and finished studying what I had set out to study that day. That is honouring the sport. It is giving it its proper time and place in our lives.
And in doing that, we honour God.
In the previous video, in spite of how inspiring it all was, I was disturbed when the man said he was "happy" only when he had finished those races. I like to believe that the happiness came more from the journey of understanding himself and loving his community than from its achievements. Reading this about honouring one's body and one's sport was, to say the least, inspiring.
I still wake up some days wishing I had better legs, that I could run or swim or bike better, that my hair wasn't so dry and I was leaner, but more importantly, I've come to enjoy steak and the occasional burger every once in a while, and learn the importance of loving and respecting my body, inside and out. It means being able to push it, to allow some indulgence, and being able to say no, and to let go.
2011 will be a new race year.
"For you created my inmost being,
You knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
When I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
Your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me,
Were written in your book, before one of them came to be..
How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake, I am still with you.
- Psalm 139: 13-18
Buddies.
While working on the final touches of A Taste of Rainbow and finalising the thank-you page, I found myself heaving a sigh of relief when I remembered to thank a group of people I never thought of thanking before, and yet, were key to my recovery from clinical depression and anorexia.
When I met Mr. Ho, my ex-college teacher for tea today, he showed me a video. I didn't cry when I watched it, but I cried later that day as I thought about my cycling buddies, and God's timing in healing my leg and bringing the book to a new level of progress at the same time. Mr Ho said, "The thing that I take away from the video is the importance of community. When the man ran past the finish line, he hugged his dad."
I said something different. What I had taken away, was the celebration of the human spirit, but also, a sense of taintedness. Sports has tainted us, because we have assumed its pride and sense of individualism.
Later that day, however, as I pondered over many things while waiting for the train, I found myself surprised at a tiny trickle of tears.
I realised, that Mr. Ho was right, that what triathlon and cycling had given me, was not so much the achievement of the sport, or the glamour or the pride, but really, a sense of community, of belonging and love and cameraderie. And that was what saved me, what gave me confidence and assurance and friendship. The sport gave me a fellowship, a fellowship perhaps as strong or stronger than the church, that protected me from depression, because these people keep bugging me every once in a few days for a run or a ride or a swim. And when I don't show up, they text message, facebook, call me, or show up on my doorstep with flowers or food or just to say hi, can I use your pool? Haha.
They watch out for me when I ride, because I'm not a safe rider. They ride in front of and behind me just so they can look out for cars for me. They turn back when they don't see me. They make sure I enjoy the post-workout food with them. They take me out for icecream and drinks and to places I would otherwise not go. They bought me my new bike.
They don't judge me for my speed. And they don't force me to drink. They train early and so hardly stay up late. They don't make me feel like I don't measure up, even though they're fast and good. It's funny, I probably expose the most amount of flesh when I'm training with them compared to while I'm at work but I feel least self-conscious with them.
I'm really too embarrassed to share this with most of them because they're all big guys, like the macho type, and I know they'd just go like.... huh, okay. Cool.
When I watched the video again, I saw it wasn't his achievement which inspired me, as much as the sense of community and love that surrounded him, not at the end, but during his journey. I realised, that the most beautiful thing about sport, is not human endeavour, or human achievement.
It's human community. That's what saves souls.
Thanks for saving mine. See yall on the ride this Saturday.
I had thanked my family, my friends, the sponsors, the insitution, the church, God, but had forgotten to thank the group of people who probably had the greatest impact on the speed of my recovery.
Special thanks to:
my triathlon and cycling buddies,
who taught how to bike, and to enjoy food and life.
When I met Mr. Ho, my ex-college teacher for tea today, he showed me a video. I didn't cry when I watched it, but I cried later that day as I thought about my cycling buddies, and God's timing in healing my leg and bringing the book to a new level of progress at the same time. Mr Ho said, "The thing that I take away from the video is the importance of community. When the man ran past the finish line, he hugged his dad."
I said something different. What I had taken away, was the celebration of the human spirit, but also, a sense of taintedness. Sports has tainted us, because we have assumed its pride and sense of individualism.
Later that day, however, as I pondered over many things while waiting for the train, I found myself surprised at a tiny trickle of tears.
I realised, that Mr. Ho was right, that what triathlon and cycling had given me, was not so much the achievement of the sport, or the glamour or the pride, but really, a sense of community, of belonging and love and cameraderie. And that was what saved me, what gave me confidence and assurance and friendship. The sport gave me a fellowship, a fellowship perhaps as strong or stronger than the church, that protected me from depression, because these people keep bugging me every once in a few days for a run or a ride or a swim. And when I don't show up, they text message, facebook, call me, or show up on my doorstep with flowers or food or just to say hi, can I use your pool? Haha.
They watch out for me when I ride, because I'm not a safe rider. They ride in front of and behind me just so they can look out for cars for me. They turn back when they don't see me. They make sure I enjoy the post-workout food with them. They take me out for icecream and drinks and to places I would otherwise not go. They bought me my new bike.
They don't judge me for my speed. And they don't force me to drink. They train early and so hardly stay up late. They don't make me feel like I don't measure up, even though they're fast and good. It's funny, I probably expose the most amount of flesh when I'm training with them compared to while I'm at work but I feel least self-conscious with them.
I'm really too embarrassed to share this with most of them because they're all big guys, like the macho type, and I know they'd just go like.... huh, okay. Cool.
When I watched the video again, I saw it wasn't his achievement which inspired me, as much as the sense of community and love that surrounded him, not at the end, but during his journey. I realised, that the most beautiful thing about sport, is not human endeavour, or human achievement.
It's human community. That's what saves souls.
Thanks for saving mine. See yall on the ride this Saturday.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Many sparrows.
I had lunch with the mother of an ex-patient, E, yesterday. He was a 2 year-old boy then, swollen from nephrotic syndrome, a kind of kidney illness; she is the heroic caregiver who constantly inspires me with her courage to see her child through all his ups and downs. It was his third birthday last week and she had invited me to their zoo outing. I had school.
Over lunch with her, I had a missed call. It was M, the patient I had met a few weeks ago, who was orphaned from birth and whose foster mother died on her 14th birthday.
Later, when I called her back, she said, "I've no money to talk to you, my phone bill is expensive. Let's sms. I can sms for free. "
" No," I said, "What's up? Tell me briefly, I want to hear from you." I knew text messaging would simply not convey her situation to me accurately.
"I need twenty dollars."
What a tragic request. I was at Starbucks, my favourite hangout now, in the midst of blue jazz, mahogany furniture and swanky businesspeople smoking cigarettes coolly outside the glass panels in the business district.
"Why do you need twenty dollars? Is something wrong?"
"Yea, I just ran out of money, that's all. I need twenty dollars to tide me over for two weeks before I get my next paycheck."
"Why did you run out of money?"
"Medication."
She had a chronic skin condition, but I wasn't sure if she was recently hospitalised again. A few weeks ago, she had text messaged me to say that she had lost her job.
"I kena sack le," she had sms-ed in Singaporean slang. "My boss say customer see my face get scared of me." I remember, she once shared that her colleagues had made fun of her before, that she had AIDS or some incurable venereal disease, when the truth was, eczema isn't even contagious.
"M, twenty dollars is not the solution, you know. I've got to know the underlying problem so I can help you better. Tell me more. Where are you staying at now?"
"You know, I'm so sick and tired of answering all these questions. Everybody asks me the same questions! I'm so tired. Look, I'm just asking for twenty dollars. Twenty dollars to tide me through these 2 weeks for my transport fare and I'll return it to you when I get my pay, okay? I called you because I thought you were my friend, I've seen the social workers already, they can't help me, so I don't want to be asked the same questions all over again. I'm tired, I'm tired!"
She was obviously at the end of her means.
I thought of Uncle Z, the malay patient with heart failure whom I visit once in a few months. He was jobless, his wife had dementia, his son ran away, his electricity got cut off and we eventually gave him monthly food vouchers and a small job cleaning desks at my church twice a week so he had something to do, some pay to call his own. It didn't matter that he had a different faith.
But two weeks ago, he called me from hospital. He was in the high dependency unit. I should have known. After all, he had been labelled from day 1 as a recalcitrant patient.
"Doctor Wai Jia," he said, even though he knows I graduate only next year, " I'm in hospital again. I titrated my own medicines, took a lot of warfarin yesterday cos I felt like I was going to die."
Warfarin is a blood-thinning agent taken by patients with heart valve replacements. Uncle Z had two prosthetic valves in his heart because of his multiple heart problems. "And now I want to go home. My wife is alone. She has dementia."
"No," I said firmly in my Sunday school teacher voice. I was on the way to church to teach my children. "You stay where you are. The doctor has not allowed you to leave. Don't repeat the same mistake. It's very dangerous for you to go home now. If you pass out at home, you will let her down more. Pastor Freddy says he'll come and see you and help you. Be good and stay at hospital, okay?"
He self-discharged anyway.
M kept text messaging me, "Have you transferred the money? I want to meet you. You got church on friday? I'm free."
I didn't. I said I would pass it to her personally when we met at church tomorrow, when I would introduce her to my friend in charge of social services. She had helped Uncle Z previously.
There I was in Starbucks, studying another chapter about fractures and surgical complications and high-tech procedures, when somewhere not too far away, someone my age was struggling to make ends meet.
I was very troubled that evening. Troubled by M, by Uncle Z's recalcitrance in spite of all our love and help, by my parents' unwillingness to let me visit and help dumpsite children because it was in Manila, "a dangerous place".
So I took my bike out again and rode with the Big Boys on their dangerously fast Wednesday night rides. I was the only girl, it was my first time riding with them and only my 3rd ride since I recovered. We tore down the road at 40kmph, and as I saw myself surrounded by swanky four, five, six-thousand dollar bikes, I found myself overwhelmed by the injustice of it all.
"I know you want to help people, but you can't help everyone, Wai Jia," said my friend who cycled next to me, when I lamented that there was nowhere really safe where children were suffering. I was struggling with the conflict of respecting my parents and making my own decision.
If I keep reasoning about this and that, I will never step out of my comfort zone. Of course these places are dangerous- why else are the children suffering? Nepal was dangerous, India was crazy, Sichuan just had an earthquake- why is this different? Mission work and public health in developing countries is dangerous. I didn't want to tell him about M, or Uncle Z- I knew it would only exasperate him.
I rode faster.
Then I remember what I had taught at Sunday school last week. I remember, it was the day I was preparing the craft for the children that I heard the news about my classmate who passed away. Did he not know how precious he was?
Over lunch with her, I had a missed call. It was M, the patient I had met a few weeks ago, who was orphaned from birth and whose foster mother died on her 14th birthday.
Later, when I called her back, she said, "I've no money to talk to you, my phone bill is expensive. Let's sms. I can sms for free. "
" No," I said, "What's up? Tell me briefly, I want to hear from you." I knew text messaging would simply not convey her situation to me accurately.
"I need twenty dollars."
What a tragic request. I was at Starbucks, my favourite hangout now, in the midst of blue jazz, mahogany furniture and swanky businesspeople smoking cigarettes coolly outside the glass panels in the business district.
"Why do you need twenty dollars? Is something wrong?"
"Yea, I just ran out of money, that's all. I need twenty dollars to tide me over for two weeks before I get my next paycheck."
"Why did you run out of money?"
"Medication."
She had a chronic skin condition, but I wasn't sure if she was recently hospitalised again. A few weeks ago, she had text messaged me to say that she had lost her job.
"I kena sack le," she had sms-ed in Singaporean slang. "My boss say customer see my face get scared of me." I remember, she once shared that her colleagues had made fun of her before, that she had AIDS or some incurable venereal disease, when the truth was, eczema isn't even contagious.
"M, twenty dollars is not the solution, you know. I've got to know the underlying problem so I can help you better. Tell me more. Where are you staying at now?"
"You know, I'm so sick and tired of answering all these questions. Everybody asks me the same questions! I'm so tired. Look, I'm just asking for twenty dollars. Twenty dollars to tide me through these 2 weeks for my transport fare and I'll return it to you when I get my pay, okay? I called you because I thought you were my friend, I've seen the social workers already, they can't help me, so I don't want to be asked the same questions all over again. I'm tired, I'm tired!"
She was obviously at the end of her means.
I thought of Uncle Z, the malay patient with heart failure whom I visit once in a few months. He was jobless, his wife had dementia, his son ran away, his electricity got cut off and we eventually gave him monthly food vouchers and a small job cleaning desks at my church twice a week so he had something to do, some pay to call his own. It didn't matter that he had a different faith.
But two weeks ago, he called me from hospital. He was in the high dependency unit. I should have known. After all, he had been labelled from day 1 as a recalcitrant patient.
"Doctor Wai Jia," he said, even though he knows I graduate only next year, " I'm in hospital again. I titrated my own medicines, took a lot of warfarin yesterday cos I felt like I was going to die."
Warfarin is a blood-thinning agent taken by patients with heart valve replacements. Uncle Z had two prosthetic valves in his heart because of his multiple heart problems. "And now I want to go home. My wife is alone. She has dementia."
"No," I said firmly in my Sunday school teacher voice. I was on the way to church to teach my children. "You stay where you are. The doctor has not allowed you to leave. Don't repeat the same mistake. It's very dangerous for you to go home now. If you pass out at home, you will let her down more. Pastor Freddy says he'll come and see you and help you. Be good and stay at hospital, okay?"
He self-discharged anyway.
M kept text messaging me, "Have you transferred the money? I want to meet you. You got church on friday? I'm free."
I didn't. I said I would pass it to her personally when we met at church tomorrow, when I would introduce her to my friend in charge of social services. She had helped Uncle Z previously.
There I was in Starbucks, studying another chapter about fractures and surgical complications and high-tech procedures, when somewhere not too far away, someone my age was struggling to make ends meet.
I was very troubled that evening. Troubled by M, by Uncle Z's recalcitrance in spite of all our love and help, by my parents' unwillingness to let me visit and help dumpsite children because it was in Manila, "a dangerous place".
So I took my bike out again and rode with the Big Boys on their dangerously fast Wednesday night rides. I was the only girl, it was my first time riding with them and only my 3rd ride since I recovered. We tore down the road at 40kmph, and as I saw myself surrounded by swanky four, five, six-thousand dollar bikes, I found myself overwhelmed by the injustice of it all.
"I know you want to help people, but you can't help everyone, Wai Jia," said my friend who cycled next to me, when I lamented that there was nowhere really safe where children were suffering. I was struggling with the conflict of respecting my parents and making my own decision.
If I keep reasoning about this and that, I will never step out of my comfort zone. Of course these places are dangerous- why else are the children suffering? Nepal was dangerous, India was crazy, Sichuan just had an earthquake- why is this different? Mission work and public health in developing countries is dangerous. I didn't want to tell him about M, or Uncle Z- I knew it would only exasperate him.
I rode faster.
Then I remember what I had taught at Sunday school last week. I remember, it was the day I was preparing the craft for the children that I heard the news about my classmate who passed away. Did he not know how precious he was?
The lesson was for them to think of someone whom they knew could do with some encouragement, someone who was struggling or unpopular or rejected by others. They had to colour the sparrow, stick a feathered ribbon on its breast and address it to someone they wanted to bless, writing a note behind it. I wrote mine to Jordanna, my 7-year old kid. She is very, very ill now.
Maybe it was the 40kmph ride in the inky blackness, maybe it was realising my legs were truly and completely healed, or maybe it was the reminder that each of us was precious to God- but I didn't feel so frustrated any more.
Even though I couldn't quite reconcile my desire to serve the poor in dirty, dangerous places with other people's concern for me. Even though thinking about Uncle Z makes me feel exasperated and helpless. Even though wondering if M will show up tomorrow makes me feel slightly jaded.
We're each worth more than many sparrows.
And so I've just got to trust, that He'll take care of them, of E and his mother, of Jordanna with her unresectable brain tumor, of Uncle Z with his heart failure, of M and her skin condition and her messed up life, of the thousands and millions of children picking up trash for food all over the world, and take care of me, too.
*photo published with permission
a picture of Jordanna and I taken a few months ago.
She's wearing a gold medal won by my penpal in Canada,
who survived liver cancer when he was 11 after a liver transplant.
He got first prize in one of his international Transplant Games races
and mailed this medal to me to encourage her.
He is also an Iron Man.
"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?
Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father.
And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.
So don't be afraid;
you are worth more than many sparrows. "
- Mathew 10:29-31
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Back on the bike.
They say, you know you've let something go when you can live life without it. That's why they say fasting can be so powerful.
Fasting from the television, games, computer and other pleasures in life help us to realise our vulnerabilities, surrender our dependency and realign ourselves with the important, more divine things of this world.
My 100-day bike fast ended this week. In those 100 days of abstinence, there was a lot I learnt about myself and my needs. I also learnt much about what I didn't need.
I took my bike out for my first ride yesterday. Unlike what I had thought, however, it was very difficult to ride again. I was fearful, and it took a great deal of courage to do so.
So, it was only after a great deal of cajoling from my biking buddies to pick my bike up again that I took off, albeit on my own, for an easy ride in the evening. And surprisingly, it was neither liberating nor joyful. It was, instead, (and this is where you laugh) very stressful.
My biking buddies had been asking me when I'd be back. They missed my company as much as I missed theirs. But I also realised, there was a possibility I could never be as fast as them again. That scared me. I dare not ride with them for fear I would be left behind. I have a neurotic fear of being left behind. Having to press on by yourself, against the headwind without help, can be incredibly painful.
It was Jn, who gave me a revelation. For months I was suffering from the guilt of injuring myself, thinking it was God who had punished me for my self-striving attitude. Till now I cannot fathom why in spite of all that's happened, my opinion of God has always been Him being a harsh figure. It was Jn who audaciously suggested that the message from this incident was not about God's punishment but rather, God's love. Put very simply, the message was, I didn't need to earn God's love.
There was a long pause between us. It was like I had just found out bread didn't grow on trees.
Do you try, unconsciously, to earn God's love too? Do you feel that you have to do everything well and beat yourself up for it.
I know I do. I do, all the time, unconsciously.
And it cost me dearly. It cost me 4 torn muscles, one hip fracture from the torn muscles (I didn't even fall, mind you), an exorbidant amount of money to undergo rehabilitation and physiotherapy, and a 6-month hiatus to reflect upon my attitudes and worldview.
So I rode yesterday, on my bike Faith, and found myself learning how I strive too much. I keep striving, as if God were an unpleasable Being who wanted me to s-t-r-e-t-c-h myself till I imploded. I live life as if I have to earn points to gain his affection.
But that is so untrue- God never needs us to earn His love.
God's love is given freely, and till now, that is one thing I have been unable to grasp fully. You must work hard to get into medical school, you must torture yourself and get 9As to enter. You must suffer greatly and push yourself before you are worthy enough to be noticed.
Treacherous lies, seeded from a long, long time ago. Lies, which served me well till now.
Yesterday during a gathering, I heard the Big Boys complaining about how excruciatingly slow some of the new riders were, and how they were slowing them down.
I chuckled, half-worryingly, "Haha, don't be cruel. When I get back on the bike next week, I could be just as slow or slower!"
To which they kept reassuring me that I wouldn't be. Even then, they still wanted me back. When are you joining us again?
I keep forgetting, I don't need to do anything more to be loved any more. God loves us the way we are, just the way we are. And I keep needing to remind the little insecure girl inside myself, that my friends don't love me because I used to ride with them at 43kmph down the roads. They love me because of who I am. I didn't need to try to earn their love. They took pains to give me my new bike, Faith, because they loved me for being someone to give my bike money away to someone else who needed it more. They loved me for me.
Why don't I get that?
They don't love me for my achievements, for my swim timing, or my training schedule. They don't love me for how many medals I've got.
And neither does God.
He loves me that I like cycling, that even after so long, I still have trouble balancing with one hand. He loves me that I'm not stick-thin and that sometimes, I can let go and eat whatever everyone else is eating. He loves me that I sometimes talk too fast and laugh too loud, that I have to speak up when I see injustice, even if sometimes my mouth works faster than my head.
Why does it take us so long to realise, that He doesn't love us for what we can do, but for who we are.
Like my bike Faith, spiritual faith isn't earned, but a gift.
So I think I'll join my cycling buddies on their ride again this week. I'm going back on my bike, Faith.
You are loved just the way you are.
Fasting from the television, games, computer and other pleasures in life help us to realise our vulnerabilities, surrender our dependency and realign ourselves with the important, more divine things of this world.
My 100-day bike fast ended this week. In those 100 days of abstinence, there was a lot I learnt about myself and my needs. I also learnt much about what I didn't need.
I took my bike out for my first ride yesterday. Unlike what I had thought, however, it was very difficult to ride again. I was fearful, and it took a great deal of courage to do so.
So, it was only after a great deal of cajoling from my biking buddies to pick my bike up again that I took off, albeit on my own, for an easy ride in the evening. And surprisingly, it was neither liberating nor joyful. It was, instead, (and this is where you laugh) very stressful.
My biking buddies had been asking me when I'd be back. They missed my company as much as I missed theirs. But I also realised, there was a possibility I could never be as fast as them again. That scared me. I dare not ride with them for fear I would be left behind. I have a neurotic fear of being left behind. Having to press on by yourself, against the headwind without help, can be incredibly painful.
It was Jn, who gave me a revelation. For months I was suffering from the guilt of injuring myself, thinking it was God who had punished me for my self-striving attitude. Till now I cannot fathom why in spite of all that's happened, my opinion of God has always been Him being a harsh figure. It was Jn who audaciously suggested that the message from this incident was not about God's punishment but rather, God's love. Put very simply, the message was, I didn't need to earn God's love.
There was a long pause between us. It was like I had just found out bread didn't grow on trees.
Do you try, unconsciously, to earn God's love too? Do you feel that you have to do everything well and beat yourself up for it.
I know I do. I do, all the time, unconsciously.
And it cost me dearly. It cost me 4 torn muscles, one hip fracture from the torn muscles (I didn't even fall, mind you), an exorbidant amount of money to undergo rehabilitation and physiotherapy, and a 6-month hiatus to reflect upon my attitudes and worldview.
So I rode yesterday, on my bike Faith, and found myself learning how I strive too much. I keep striving, as if God were an unpleasable Being who wanted me to s-t-r-e-t-c-h myself till I imploded. I live life as if I have to earn points to gain his affection.
But that is so untrue- God never needs us to earn His love.
God's love is given freely, and till now, that is one thing I have been unable to grasp fully. You must work hard to get into medical school, you must torture yourself and get 9As to enter. You must suffer greatly and push yourself before you are worthy enough to be noticed.
Treacherous lies, seeded from a long, long time ago. Lies, which served me well till now.
Yesterday during a gathering, I heard the Big Boys complaining about how excruciatingly slow some of the new riders were, and how they were slowing them down.
I chuckled, half-worryingly, "Haha, don't be cruel. When I get back on the bike next week, I could be just as slow or slower!"
To which they kept reassuring me that I wouldn't be. Even then, they still wanted me back. When are you joining us again?
I keep forgetting, I don't need to do anything more to be loved any more. God loves us the way we are, just the way we are. And I keep needing to remind the little insecure girl inside myself, that my friends don't love me because I used to ride with them at 43kmph down the roads. They love me because of who I am. I didn't need to try to earn their love. They took pains to give me my new bike, Faith, because they loved me for being someone to give my bike money away to someone else who needed it more. They loved me for me.
Why don't I get that?
They don't love me for my achievements, for my swim timing, or my training schedule. They don't love me for how many medals I've got.
And neither does God.
He loves me that I like cycling, that even after so long, I still have trouble balancing with one hand. He loves me that I'm not stick-thin and that sometimes, I can let go and eat whatever everyone else is eating. He loves me that I sometimes talk too fast and laugh too loud, that I have to speak up when I see injustice, even if sometimes my mouth works faster than my head.
Why does it take us so long to realise, that He doesn't love us for what we can do, but for who we are.
Like my bike Faith, spiritual faith isn't earned, but a gift.
So I think I'll join my cycling buddies on their ride again this week. I'm going back on my bike, Faith.
You are loved just the way you are.
"For by grace you are saved through faith;
and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God:
Not of works, lest any man should boast. "
Not of works, lest any man should boast. "
- Ephesians 2:8-9
Sunday, August 29, 2010
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.
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...
Friday, July 16, 2010
Your place.
I had been stalling it for ages. Deliberating about it deliberately because I still wanted it, wanted it in my house, wanted to see it, wanted to be reminded of the memories it brought back.
Then, with the injury and God teaching me about idolatry and letting things go, I decided I had to take the initiative to sell my old bike, the one my friends knew was too big for me and hence had bought me my new one called Faith.
Friends were pretty darned sure I could fetch a good price for it, egging me to post it up for more than I had paid for it.
I did so. But somehow, it just didn't feel right. And I held on to it even longer.
Months later, I changed the price online to a lower one. Three hundred dollars, negotiable.
The boy who wanted my bike contacted me. I could sense his earnesty over the many text messages he sent to me, making great efforts to my place to view the bike. He was 16 years old.
"My bike is pretty whacked up, you know," I said. "Look at all these scars."
"Yea, more than 3000 kilometres in a year is quite a lot."
"Yup, it's my first bike, so I've fallen quite a bit on it. Crashed on my first race."
" Well, could you give me a discount?" he said.
"Like what?" I was expecting him to mark the price down far lower, then bargain upwards.
"$270."
My heart broke- he was such an earnest boy, I thought he could've made a hard bargain to $200. He knew this bike was whacked up. I was honest about the lousy brakes, the basic groupset, the number of times I crashed and fell on it. One of the spokes was even faulty. Still, he wanted it, without finding fault and making things difficult for me- even though he really was an experienced biker, biking since he was five.
"All these are small things," he said. "I can fix them or make adjustments, don't worry."
"Where'd you get your money from? You had to save?"
"I sold my old mountain bike. And I got some money for my birthday 5 days ago."
"You sold your bike for?"
"$200."
He put $200 in my hands, and asked if he could give it to me as a deposit, so he could pick it up and pass me the balance another day. It was most bizarre, but it felt truly right to say, "Can I charge you $200 for it. Like, take it as a belated birthday present or something-your birthday was 5 days ago, right? I don't know, just feel I'd really like for you to enjoy the bike for what it's worth."
"Wow. Thank you." He was kind of stunned. Then awkwardly, he stretched out his hand to give me a handshake.
Then, with the injury and God teaching me about idolatry and letting things go, I decided I had to take the initiative to sell my old bike, the one my friends knew was too big for me and hence had bought me my new one called Faith.
Friends were pretty darned sure I could fetch a good price for it, egging me to post it up for more than I had paid for it.
I did so. But somehow, it just didn't feel right. And I held on to it even longer.
Months later, I changed the price online to a lower one. Three hundred dollars, negotiable.
The boy who wanted my bike contacted me. I could sense his earnesty over the many text messages he sent to me, making great efforts to my place to view the bike. He was 16 years old.
"My bike is pretty whacked up, you know," I said. "Look at all these scars."
"Yea, more than 3000 kilometres in a year is quite a lot."
"Yup, it's my first bike, so I've fallen quite a bit on it. Crashed on my first race."
" Well, could you give me a discount?" he said.
"Like what?" I was expecting him to mark the price down far lower, then bargain upwards.
"$270."
My heart broke- he was such an earnest boy, I thought he could've made a hard bargain to $200. He knew this bike was whacked up. I was honest about the lousy brakes, the basic groupset, the number of times I crashed and fell on it. One of the spokes was even faulty. Still, he wanted it, without finding fault and making things difficult for me- even though he really was an experienced biker, biking since he was five.
"All these are small things," he said. "I can fix them or make adjustments, don't worry."
"Where'd you get your money from? You had to save?"
"I sold my old mountain bike. And I got some money for my birthday 5 days ago."
"You sold your bike for?"
"$200."
He put $200 in my hands, and asked if he could give it to me as a deposit, so he could pick it up and pass me the balance another day. It was most bizarre, but it felt truly right to say, "Can I charge you $200 for it. Like, take it as a belated birthday present or something-your birthday was 5 days ago, right? I don't know, just feel I'd really like for you to enjoy the bike for what it's worth."
"Wow. Thank you." He was kind of stunned. Then awkwardly, he stretched out his hand to give me a handshake.
He didn't realise, he had done me a bigger favor than I did him.
That bike money didn't mean much to me. He was studying, he had saved up, he was so earnest. He wasn't poor or anything, but I knew that extra saving meant more to him than a few extra dollars would to me. It was about letting go of material idols and possessions (the bike), of the enslavement to money (the thrill of getting a good deal), and of the need to ride.
Pastor Y said before, we should never try to make money out of someone else, especially when we know how much we had paid for the original- never mind if the other person was agreeable to the quoted high price.
"If this first bike means so much to you, why don't you keep it as a momento?" he asked.
"I've got only 2 legs, not 4, friend," I joked.
As I mulled over how money has usurped a part of each of us, and yet how few of us are willing to admit our greed, it made me conscious of our consumeristic, me-centric culture. I like. I try. I buy. We less often think twice when we're spending on ourselves, because unconsciously, we measure ourselves against the people around us, and surely, there are those better-off than us, those who spend more than us. I find myself unconsciously reminding myself that I hardly ever buy branded things and when I do buy from MANGO, it's always during a warehouse sale. I've never bought an item at TOPSHOP, Dorothy Perkins or Forever 21. Ever. (See how I try to justify myself, even here.)
But I buy things all the same, even when I already have enough tops, enough shirts, enough shoes. And then I find myself stinging on people. Calculating. How much of a discount should I give you, how good a deal can I clinch. As I was buying groceries for Uncle Z, my friend said to me, "Here, this brand is cheaper."
"No," I said. "Let's get something better."
Why should buying groceries for the disadvantaged always be a look-out for discount items? Why can't I spend the money I would use for that extra shirt on myself to buy something a little more decent for someone else who may not have the privilege to enjoy it?
I sound very noble for now, but only I know my consistent inconsistency.
So the boy came, very sportingly allowed me to take a picture of him and my last look at my first roadbicycle and wheeled him off. An hour later, another friend came to collect the bike-trainer he had lent me. (A bike trainer is a contraption one places on one's bike so one can do stationary cycling at home.) Now, I truly can't train anymore on my roadbike.
I went to an osteopath today for the newly discovered scoliosis they found and he said, "I'm not sure if you should ever return to doing triathlons." The tears just came. I couldn't stop them.
Thank you God, for teaching me to release my idols slowly, be they a possession or money or a hobby. Nothing else should take Your place.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
10 out of 10.
Nothing prepared me for the intensity of the pain. It hit me like a dummy crash-car into a wall and strangled the life out of me, draining strength from my legs, tummy and chest. God, what is happening?
The pain came at the wrong time. I was on my way to deliver groceries to Uncle Z. A day ago when I checked in on Uncle Z, he said that his son had run away. His 20-year old son had threatened to take all the furniture in their one-room flat except the bed, and said he wanted to move out. Uncle Z had just been discharged from the hospital for another near-death episode as he does not comply with his blood-thinning medication, essential for his condition of having 2 prosthetic heart valves from previous open-chest surgery. His wife, Mdm N, was diagnosed with severe hypertension and dementia last year. Uncle Z said, "Ever since our son left, she cries every day. She sings and cries, sings and cries."
My friend, D, had agreed to come with me and pray with them. My pain lingered, I tolerated it, but even D could tell I was suffering.
"You okay?"
"Yea," I said, in between breaths, "This is very unusual, I never have this sort of pain normally. But I got to say, this pain, is definitely worse than the pain of a half-marathon."
By the time we reached Uncle Z's home, and sat to chat, I knew the pain was only growing in intensity, but I kept a straight face, and Uncle Z didn't suspect a thing.
As soon as we left and his door closed, my upper body collapsed in pain. I then realised this was what guys are most afraid of hearing, "D, I think it's cramps. Crap. I usually never have pain- at all. This is really unusual."
D had to rush back to work, and so left me. He knew I'd be okay. I knew it too.
Little did I realise that the pain only worsened. By the time D had left, I could hardly walk.
God, I said, you have such a sense of humour. Today's the first day I don't feel pain in my fracture site and this is what you replace it with? Okay, like, please talk to me now if there's something you're trying to tell me. My ears are peeled.
At once, the words of my physiotherapist, AL, rang in my ears.
That day as she meticulously recorded the events of my injury, she asked, "When did they do the X-ray for you?"
"About 6 weeks post-injury."
"What? How come they didn't do it immediately?"
"I guess they weren't really suspecting it. They said muscle tears can be excruciating, too."
"What was your pain score at the Emergency department?"
I remembered myself being in so much pain I had to be put on a wheelchair. "I told them 8 out of 10."
"Really? It was 8/10? You sure? Then how bad was your pain 6 weeks later?"
"Er... 4 out of 10."
"Yeah right. They won't do an X-ray 6 weeks post-injury for a pain score of 4/10. It was more like 6/10, wasn't it."
"Maybe."
"Trying to be a hero."
Trying to be a hero. Yeah.
It was then, in the spasms on my pain, that I suddenly realised that therein lay pride, too. As my menstrual pain escalated progressively, I felt God was showing me what a pain score of 8/10 really was, and what the pain that day should've been.
It was 12 out of 10. And I only took 2 tablets of painkillers, refusing the rest.
By the time I had realised this, people at the train station were watching me and giving up their seats for me because I probably looked like I was about to collapse. As soon as I reached the train station near home, I bought Paracetemol, then deliberated about taking it. It's the freaking wrong time of the month for this sort of pain, I cursed inwardly. My pain score continued to increase, it went beyond 8/10 to 10/10. I could hardly stand anymore, much less walk. So I took the medication. Shortly afterward at home, the pain left. But I was so tired it felt like I had just finished a triathlon.
Today's pain taught me, that I really do need to surrender, more things than I thought. It taught me, that I have deeper idols to release.
Yesterday, I read that while our idols can be money, possessions, people etc, within us lie deeper idols, such as a sense of security, control or vanity. As I sat at the botanical gardens this week watching swans go by, I suddenly realised that the deepest false god in my life was not anorexia, or sports, or myself, even. It was a sense of needing to be in control. When things at home started to spin out of control years back, Ed became a way to regain that sense of stability; I enjoy cycling and long to learn horseriding because that sense of control on a bike, an animal is incredible; but the scariest revelation I received as I prayed was that, I am single, have been single, largely because...
... it gives me a sense of control. Being in a relationship makes me feel... vulnerable, and out of control. Who's to say the person doesn't turn out to be a jerk? I've met them before.
What is your deepest idol? Look at the patterns in your life, identify all your false gods, then see if you can find something in common. I did.
These days, I have been praying for God's mercy, that I will learn these lessons now and not when it's too late. I pray I learn to let go of self-sufficiency and the importance of a strong spiritual core before I rip my muscle again and cause a recurrent fracture. (The fracture was a non-contact injury- it broke where the muscle was attached too because the muscle tore too forcefully.) I pray I'll learn to destroy Aphrodite before she destroys me. I pray God'll help me to trust Him for my life partner and not let me realise this when I'm 45 and dying of loneliness in a mission field.
I have spent the last week by myself. It is our break now, my parents went overseas, my good friends are attached, some getting married, and I was unable to train. Some days were depressing. I had a lot of time to myself, and for one of the first times, wished someone would drive me out on Saturday night with the likes of Coldplay and Beatles on the stereo to Dempsey Hill for waffles and ice-cream.
God has never let me down- every time I prayed for company, like today in delivering groceries, someone always would show up. But I realised, that in the tough moments to bear, only someone who really loves you would go the extra mile for you. I don't blame D for returning back to work. But I know when I was hobbling home in pain, I really wished someone would call a cab for me, lug me back home, buy Paracetemol for me.
Today's pain showed me that I have to surrender. I need to learn how to say God, I am weak. I need help. I can't do this on my own. I have to realise many factors in life cannot be controlled. I cannot control when or how severe my menstrual pain will be (who cares if it's the wrong time of the month?), I cannot control who will love me and who I will love in return. I have to stop chasing things which give me a sense of control and security, because that pursuit will ultimately end in an uncontrolled manner.
God, not me, controls my life.
And I guess what I'm most relieved to know, is that He who controls our lives is indefinitely loving and kind, righteous and true. So because of that, I can let go, I can say okay, I won't resist You or love or run away anymore.
Because of that, I can finally say, I'm broken, and my pain score was 10 out of 10.
The pain came at the wrong time. I was on my way to deliver groceries to Uncle Z. A day ago when I checked in on Uncle Z, he said that his son had run away. His 20-year old son had threatened to take all the furniture in their one-room flat except the bed, and said he wanted to move out. Uncle Z had just been discharged from the hospital for another near-death episode as he does not comply with his blood-thinning medication, essential for his condition of having 2 prosthetic heart valves from previous open-chest surgery. His wife, Mdm N, was diagnosed with severe hypertension and dementia last year. Uncle Z said, "Ever since our son left, she cries every day. She sings and cries, sings and cries."
My friend, D, had agreed to come with me and pray with them. My pain lingered, I tolerated it, but even D could tell I was suffering.
"You okay?"
"Yea," I said, in between breaths, "This is very unusual, I never have this sort of pain normally. But I got to say, this pain, is definitely worse than the pain of a half-marathon."
By the time we reached Uncle Z's home, and sat to chat, I knew the pain was only growing in intensity, but I kept a straight face, and Uncle Z didn't suspect a thing.
As soon as we left and his door closed, my upper body collapsed in pain. I then realised this was what guys are most afraid of hearing, "D, I think it's cramps. Crap. I usually never have pain- at all. This is really unusual."
D had to rush back to work, and so left me. He knew I'd be okay. I knew it too.
Little did I realise that the pain only worsened. By the time D had left, I could hardly walk.
God, I said, you have such a sense of humour. Today's the first day I don't feel pain in my fracture site and this is what you replace it with? Okay, like, please talk to me now if there's something you're trying to tell me. My ears are peeled.
At once, the words of my physiotherapist, AL, rang in my ears.
That day as she meticulously recorded the events of my injury, she asked, "When did they do the X-ray for you?"
"About 6 weeks post-injury."
"What? How come they didn't do it immediately?"
"I guess they weren't really suspecting it. They said muscle tears can be excruciating, too."
"What was your pain score at the Emergency department?"
I remembered myself being in so much pain I had to be put on a wheelchair. "I told them 8 out of 10."
"Really? It was 8/10? You sure? Then how bad was your pain 6 weeks later?"
"Er... 4 out of 10."
"Yeah right. They won't do an X-ray 6 weeks post-injury for a pain score of 4/10. It was more like 6/10, wasn't it."
"Maybe."
"Trying to be a hero."
Trying to be a hero. Yeah.
It was then, in the spasms on my pain, that I suddenly realised that therein lay pride, too. As my menstrual pain escalated progressively, I felt God was showing me what a pain score of 8/10 really was, and what the pain that day should've been.
It was 12 out of 10. And I only took 2 tablets of painkillers, refusing the rest.
By the time I had realised this, people at the train station were watching me and giving up their seats for me because I probably looked like I was about to collapse. As soon as I reached the train station near home, I bought Paracetemol, then deliberated about taking it. It's the freaking wrong time of the month for this sort of pain, I cursed inwardly. My pain score continued to increase, it went beyond 8/10 to 10/10. I could hardly stand anymore, much less walk. So I took the medication. Shortly afterward at home, the pain left. But I was so tired it felt like I had just finished a triathlon.
Today's pain taught me, that I really do need to surrender, more things than I thought. It taught me, that I have deeper idols to release.
Yesterday, I read that while our idols can be money, possessions, people etc, within us lie deeper idols, such as a sense of security, control or vanity. As I sat at the botanical gardens this week watching swans go by, I suddenly realised that the deepest false god in my life was not anorexia, or sports, or myself, even. It was a sense of needing to be in control. When things at home started to spin out of control years back, Ed became a way to regain that sense of stability; I enjoy cycling and long to learn horseriding because that sense of control on a bike, an animal is incredible; but the scariest revelation I received as I prayed was that, I am single, have been single, largely because...
... it gives me a sense of control. Being in a relationship makes me feel... vulnerable, and out of control. Who's to say the person doesn't turn out to be a jerk? I've met them before.
What is your deepest idol? Look at the patterns in your life, identify all your false gods, then see if you can find something in common. I did.
These days, I have been praying for God's mercy, that I will learn these lessons now and not when it's too late. I pray I learn to let go of self-sufficiency and the importance of a strong spiritual core before I rip my muscle again and cause a recurrent fracture. (The fracture was a non-contact injury- it broke where the muscle was attached too because the muscle tore too forcefully.) I pray I'll learn to destroy Aphrodite before she destroys me. I pray God'll help me to trust Him for my life partner and not let me realise this when I'm 45 and dying of loneliness in a mission field.
I have spent the last week by myself. It is our break now, my parents went overseas, my good friends are attached, some getting married, and I was unable to train. Some days were depressing. I had a lot of time to myself, and for one of the first times, wished someone would drive me out on Saturday night with the likes of Coldplay and Beatles on the stereo to Dempsey Hill for waffles and ice-cream.
God has never let me down- every time I prayed for company, like today in delivering groceries, someone always would show up. But I realised, that in the tough moments to bear, only someone who really loves you would go the extra mile for you. I don't blame D for returning back to work. But I know when I was hobbling home in pain, I really wished someone would call a cab for me, lug me back home, buy Paracetemol for me.
Today's pain showed me that I have to surrender. I need to learn how to say God, I am weak. I need help. I can't do this on my own. I have to realise many factors in life cannot be controlled. I cannot control when or how severe my menstrual pain will be (who cares if it's the wrong time of the month?), I cannot control who will love me and who I will love in return. I have to stop chasing things which give me a sense of control and security, because that pursuit will ultimately end in an uncontrolled manner.
God, not me, controls my life.
And I guess what I'm most relieved to know, is that He who controls our lives is indefinitely loving and kind, righteous and true. So because of that, I can let go, I can say okay, I won't resist You or love or run away anymore.
Because of that, I can finally say, I'm broken, and my pain score was 10 out of 10.
"If you are too afraid or too enamoured by love,
it has assumed godlike power,
distorting your perceptions and your life."
- Timothy Keller, Counterfeit gods
" Be shattered, O you peoples,
and be broken in pieces!"
-Isaiah 8:9
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Destroying Aphrodite.
"Something is safe for us to maintain in our lives
only if it has really stopped being an idol.
That can happen only if we are
truly willing to live without it,
when we truly say from the heart, '
Because I have God, I can live without you.'
Sometimes, God seems to be killing us when he's actually saving us."
- Counterfeit gods by Timothy Keller
Most, if not all girls take some pride in their appearance. Conventionally pretty or not, females were made with the desire to be beautiful. Vanity becomes a problem when beauty and pride become central. Eating disorders, shopping addictions and insecurities manifest.
It was not until today that I realised, God was not only asking me to let go of my sport, but my security in fleshly things too- things I never thought were wrong. After all, which human being doesn't take some pride in his appearance?
I was at my church bookstore buying the last copy of Counterfeit Gods when at the counter, a parent of one of my sunday school kids came up to tell me, in a perfectly matter-of-fact manner, "Oh, you've put on weight, yea?" And I looked at her, momentarily stunned, and wondered if that tone of voice would have been more appropriate at commenting on the weather. I smiled. "Yes I have... I fractured something lately so have been unable to train." I said it after hesitating a little, not too defensively, yet, as if I had to have explanation for how I am now.
In the female world, commenting on somebody else's weight has many implications- there are typically undercurrents suggesting one's lack of control and one's inability to manage oneself. It is not a topic to bring up unless it goes in one direction-downwards. Yes, the female species is complex, indeed.
As I made my purchase of the book at the counter with this lady in front of me, I knew, God was testing me. What was my counterfeit god? Triathlon, my bike, and... Aphrodite.
It wasn't until then that I realised, I have always taken a lot of pride in how I projected myself. Aphrodite, is an earthen goddess- horses are sacred to her; Beauty, is my a false idol- my bike is paramount to me-for more reasons than meet the eye.
Just very recently, I finally found the physiotherapist I had been praying for. Out of so many contacts I had been given and I had spoken with, she is the only one who clearly understands this particular injury of mine. When she heard of my case through a friend's friend, she buzzed me and said, "How old are you?"
"23."
"Are you a runner and a biker?"
"Yes."
"Are you vegetarian?"
It was then that I knew she understood. The fracture of the inferior ramus at the site of insertion of the adductor magnus is a very rare sports injury, common only in a specific subgroup of athletes- the young female athlete with a past history of a poor diet, eating disorder, amenorrhea or all of the above. My history was classic.
"Oh, you must be surprised," she said. "That's because my research project was based on adductor tears and these type of fractures. Sure, I'd love to help."
Most physiotherapists have hardly even heard of this injury, much less encountered it. AL was the first one who knew what she was talking about, who understood with such depth the intricate relations of all the muscles, tendons and bones involved in this painfully slow-healing injury. She predicted my sites of pain even before I told her, understood exactly why I was hurting in both my legs even though I had hurt only one. She spent a long time with me. I had never seen anyone so meticulous before.
Our first session was not easy. A lot of my strength had left me. I had put on weight. I was tired of exercising in any way, because of the pain. Doing core exercises and pilates looked slow and effortless but was in fact, very tiring. As we went through rehab exercise after rehab exercise, I suddenly understood the humour in the whole thing: God had given me exactly what I had prayed for months ago, when I asked Him to teach me what it meant to work from a posture of rest. I wasn't moving from my spot, but it sure was a lot of hard work.
All this while, I realised, my appearance had been my counterfeit god, my source of security, something I knew the world could see. My training in triathlon was my counterfeit god, because it helped me control my weight, maintain my tan, and was a great conversation topic to boost my self-esteem. I never did core exercises because I didn't see the value of strengthening myself from the inside, since no one would see the results anyway. Running, swimming and biking and being constantly on the adrenalish rush-go was far more exciting. I didn't realise till today, how superficial my mindset has been, all this while, all these years.
Do you sometimes, in some ways, live for others too? For just, a brief moment of their applause?
In the same way, running around being involved in projects and ministries and being busy was also a false god in itself. I knew it was something the world could see. Like cardiovascular exercise, the spiritual endorphins made me feel good about myself. But I neglected my spiritual core, not taking enough time to study the bible in depth. After all, doing things has always been far more glamorous, a much easier way to gain praise and honour from men.
Who enjoys sitting in one place doing painful core exercises? Who likes to sit in one place studying the bible? Boring, isn't it, compared to being on stage performing an acrobatic act. I didn't realise, that I had always made myself my own god.
"Wai Jia, you know, one's cardiovascular activity must be matched with one's core strength. This was like a time-bomb inside of you. With your history, diet, weak core muscles, and scoliosis, this would have happened, sooner or later. It was a ticking time bomb. "
I know. My activity should have been matched with taking time to strengthen my spiritual core, too. And the time bomb blew because I had allowed training and Aphrodite to rival God's place in my life. That day, I compromised on my work ethic. The junior doctor said it was a public holiday and a sunday, hence I needn't show up at the hospital for my shift. But I knew, deep down, that I ought to have showed up. Why should I base my actions on other people's standards? I compromised on my work ethic that day because something else, something counterfeit, took priority that day. I wanted one last training session before my race. I relied on my own strength. I wanted to burn more calories. And I adjusted my bike seat higher than it should have been because someone said I would go faster.
Idolatry, insecurity, self-sufficiency. Foolishness. That's when the time bomb blew.
Hence, I got injured, spiritually and physically. It would have been sooner or later. I never knew I had scoliosis.
In the bible, there's a story about a man whose central prayer in his life was to have a son. When God finally did bless him with a son named Isaac and promised that he would have many descendants, He told him to kill Isaac. God told him to bring Isaac, the son he so dearly loved, up the mountain to kill him. And the man obeyed, because he trusted God. Just at the moment of slaughter, God intervened and Isaac was spared.
How can God be so masochistic. On the outside, it seems like He was being cruel. But really, He was dealing with the destructive idols in the man's life and teaching him to put his value and security in God alone, rather than in his son. Nothing on earth belongs to us, nothing.
A friend had jokingly asked me a week ago whether his wife could ride my bike since I was now injured. I laughed out loud, because surely he knew it was an almost $3000 gift, and almost brandnew. Days later, I wrote to him saying he could come anytime, because God was teaching me to cling loose, to let go.
As I walked out from my phyiotherapist's home, a tree with sinewy roots caught my eye. It reminded me of a dream and vision I had years ago, and served to remind me not to make physiotherapy, pilates or anything else for that matter, my new god.
I am learning, that it's time for me to go up the mountain and lay my Isaac down. I've to let triathlon go, have to accept there could be a possibility of me never biking with my biking buddies again or taking part in another race. I have to accept that I will inevitably gain some weight during this process and learn to have more compassion for myself and others. And I must realise, that I could possibly gain the weight and never lose it again. Would I be okay with that?
The pain at the fracture site lingers still. "Be patient Wai Jia, this sort of fracture takes a really long time to heal because it's very hard to immobilise that muscle. I understand it's painful."
My publisher says my next book, A Taste of Rainbow should be out by October, that's also when my self-imposed 100-day bike fast ends. May that healing (spiritual, physical and emotional) be wholly complete by then.
Meanwhile, I'm going up the mountain with my Isaacs. Aphrodite must be destroyed.
"We need to find a way to keep from clutching them too tightly,
of being enslaved to them...
As many have learned and later taught,
you don't realise God is all you need
until God is all you have."
-Timothy Keller
"I also want women to dress modestly,
with decency and propriety, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or expensive clothes,
but with good deeds,
appropriate for women who profess to worship God. "
-1 Tim 2:9
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