Beasts and Idiots :D

I couldn't help but post this up when I saw it a couple of days ago- This is hilarious on so many levels!

1. In my trio of girlfriends, we picked for one another "Disney princesses" to represent ourselves, just for fun. One of us was Ariel, because of her love for dance and music; one of us was Pocahontas, for her love of the great outdoors, and they picked Belle for me, because she dreams big dreams :)

2. Check out the glasses! Great for taking exams!

3. And I received a particular song lyric from someone today, taken from a song by U2.

(hurhur, very funny, mister.)

Every beauty needs to go out with an idiot
How can you stand next to the truth and not see it
Oh, a change of heart comes slow

- I'll go Crazy if I Don't Go Crazy Tonight,

by U2

Not Blind.

*name changed to protect identity

"Oh yea, my wife doesn't talk to me anymore. Since I had this, she's pretty much left me by myself."

"Oh," I said. "I see."

Last Friday was the last day of my time as a medical student in the hospital wards. From now, we are barred from seeing any more patients as our final examinations are coming up. They include the recruitment of real patients from the wards, and hence, any attempt to be around patients from now will be seen as cheating.

Last Friday, Uncle Wee* spoke to me for a long time.

"Yea, sure. I would love to tell you more. Help you to be a good doctor. I speak to many many students all the time. Come, sit down. I'm here because of back pain. Very, very painful. I sound like I'm normal right? Haha, I'm in a lot of pain all the time. Morphine doesn't help much!"

Back pain. It sounded innocuous enough. Perhaps it was a slipped disc. But further questioning unravelled a story which wrapped itself round my neck and gripped me.

"Oh, and er, this."

He pointed to a few jelly-bean shaped lumps on his forehead.

"And this," he pointed to a darkened reddish patch on his arm. "And this, too- all over my body. This part's a little reddish cos of previous radiotherapy."

It was everywhere. Enlarged lymph nodes and radiotherapy marks. That only meant one thing.
"Yea, I got lymphoma. Long story, you want to hear? Cos of my medication for my kidney transplant. I had chronic nephritis when I was 9 years old, kidney failure when I was 30, so I paid $200'000 to buy a new kidney. Have you heard of cyclosporine? I take it to prevent my body from rejecting my kidney."

Cyclosporine. Why of course.

I know its side effects well. Obesity, gum enlargement, excess hair growth, hypertension, high cholesterol, diabetes, gout, possible seizures. But also, more maliciously, an increased risk of skin cancers, liver cancers, lymphomas and osteoperosis- which explained his terrible back pain from a compression fracture.

"Did you fall?"

"No, I didn't. But my doctor says my bones are so weak. I'm only 50 plus, but because of cyclosporine, my doc says I've the bones of an 80-year old. I sat down one day, heard a click in my back and there it went. I've been in constant unbearable pain since then. My pain score is 10 out of 10 all the time without morphine."

We talked a lot more. I looked into his eyes and saw peace.

"I know a lot about cyclosporine. I know all my complications now are because of it. Come, I show you- see my gums? See my radiotherapy marks behind my ear for my lymphoma? Not everyone gets these side effects, but yea, I did. Stage 4 of cancer already."

He talked about his life, his job, his wife. There was no trace of bitterness. "When things like that happen, one must be determined. Yes, there is chemotherapy and going in and out of hospital... But life goes on- look at me." He smiled. "The will is very important. My two children are my main motivating factors."

He looked out of the window.

"But just a word from my experience, you don't have to take it from me okay? Love doesn't last," he said. " When you're in courtship, love is so strong that it blinds you. My wife married me knowing I had kidney disease. Love is blind, my dear. Love is blind. But after marriage and children, things become different. Ever since I got lymphoma, my wife has not talked to me. She has not visited me once at hospital. What to do? Life goes on."

Love is blind. Where have I heard that before. But is it, really?

Our conversation was both deeply enlightening and traumatising for me, on many levels. I was trying very hard not to cry. It also brought to my mind a couple I had met less than a year ago.

He was a special speaker invited to my church. From afar, he was quite a sight. He was a tall, formidable man. But half his face was badly scarred, his right hand was a stump and his greying hair was a sparse combover. He spoke about his thrill-seeking life as a young man, how he chased after fast cars, hot girls and his one consuming passion- skydiving. One day, as a young man, his plane crashed into a mountain and burned. He was right under it and just freeing himself when his engine exploded. Since his lifechanging near-death experience, he started to believe that God existed and was giving him a second chance. Since then, he has become an inspirational speaker and pastor.

Next to him stood a beautiful woman. She was old, yes, but she aged beautifully. She was a dancer. I looked at her in quiet admiration as I imagined how much she must have gone through to see her husband get injured and then heal. I imagined her devastation that the handsome man she married was no longer even a shadow of his former self in terms of appearance. To be fair, he was hideous. You would not walk past him without being startled.

Much later on, I was even more shocked to learn that she met and married him after his accident. She married him this way.

Love is blind? Really?

I say she went in with eyes wide open. Perhaps, she even married him because of it.

Once I asked a group of my medical friends what they would do if they found out their partners had a serious debilitating illness. It was a sobre conversation, even more so because of our medical background. We understand and have seen the severity of illnesses, and how they take lives away. I also remember asking, if they would consider being together with someone if they knew they had a longterm illness to cope with. Like lupus. Or a kidney transplant. Or polio.

Some of them were honest and said they would not consider anyone who was obviously a healthcare liability.

"I mean, it just doesn't make sense," said one.

I suppose, it doesn't.

It reminded me of paraOlympian Gregory Burns, whom I had trained with and participated in triathlon races 2 years ago together with his teammates. He had polio and cannot use both his legs, but is an internationally acclaimed athlete, painter and inspirational speaker. His lovely wife is a photographer and exudes radiance and beauty.

It reminded me also of a young mum that Js told me about the other day. During a young-mums get-together, she said she met a lovely young mother in a wheelchair, probably no more than 35. She was an avid sportswoman who was struck by lightning during sailing. Since then, she has been paralysed tummy down. She probably is unable to relieve herself in the normal way we do. Her then boyfriend married her. They have a child.

The night of my birthday gathering, my special speaker Dr Darren Chua (a doctor who suffered a debilitating stroke soon after graduation) waved me goodbye as he waited for his wife to pick him up. Till today, he walks and performs actions with considerable difficulty, as one side of his body was paralysed, though he has made much progress. He shared with me, that his wife met him after his stroke.

It reminded me of Pastor S, whose wife married him knowing all the conseqences of his longterm steroid therapy from his lupus condition. Obesity, recurrent infections, osteoperosis, hair growth, high blood pressure, limb-wasting, cataracts, glaucoma, depression... That did not stop them from serving the underprivileged in rural parts of China together. They are a close-knit family of 3 now.

It reminded me of some people I know in relationships, where one of them has lupus and the other, in a different relationship, a genetic condition. Lupus can predispose one to recurrent abortions, among many other things. It's treatement, steroids, has a multitude of obvious side effects. Neurofibromatosis can cause seizures, eye problems, skin problems and bony deformities. I know these couples well.

Were they all blind? Did love put a veil over their eyes, cloud their sound minds?

I mean, it just doesn't make sense. Or does it?

Why, I'm sure they faced ridicule, and pressure from their friends and family. Were they ready for such a "liability" for life? Were they ready for the complications? Some conditions affect fertility; some treatments predispose one to cancers and infections in future; some, like a facial surgery, are simply too hard to hide from ignorant onlookers.

Were they all blind? Was love blind?

Once, someone chided me, " You better make sure you find someone who is of equal standing or higher than you in every way. So he doesn't become a liability."

To which I replied, " I see. And who is to say a rich, healthy man will not die of a car accident, or contract stomach cancer, or have an affair with another woman?"

Till death do us part. Who is to say who will develop cancer, get into a debilitating car accident, or be struck by lightning later on in life? What would happen then? Like Mr. Wee, would they then be abandoned? Here's the news- 1 out of 3 Singaporeans will die of cancer.

Do we choose who we want to spend our lives with based on liability, rather than character factors?


If so, then we should all go for genetic tests, and strike off people with genetic predispositions to certain conditions. Shouldn't we all stand in a line declaring what medication we take, and sort ourselves out according to liability strengths. Shouldn't I be striked off because of my history of anorexia- after all, what IF it recurs?

Yet, who am I to judge. If it happened to me, could I do the same too?


I don't know. It is easier to maintain one's high moral ground when argueing theoretically. Being in the medical profession heightens one's senses to so many things- we see scores of people suffering from late-stage cancers, infections, chronic illnesses, traumatic accidents, devastating injuries... to the point where I understand why some of my medical colleagues would seriously think twice about marrying someone who was ill to begin with. I suppose, most, if not all of us would.

It's very painful to think about. It's even more painful when you've actually seen the worst of so much, and helped to manage their treatment.

It's painful to see patients in palliative stages, who have the conditions your loved ones have. It is difficult hold back tears when interviewing very sick patients with illnesses you know your loved ones have and may progress into. It is depressing to read medical journal articles about poor outcomes, and potential future complications of their medication. I have had to fight tooth and nail not to cry in front of patients as they shared their stories with me, as I think of loved ones who may also progress to that stage of the disease someday, sometime.

Mr Wee said, "Can you see yourself going through all this with the person? Love, it dies you know. It dies after courtship, and marriage and children."

I ask myself sometimes- could I do the same? It makes me wonder, what runs through the minds of people when they say, "in sickness and in health"? Were they blind? Did they know what they were signing up for?

What would you do? Walk away, walk into it with love blinding your vision, or would you be able to, like these courageous and faith-filled people who saw beyond the decay of flesh and reality, walk into love with eyes wide open? Could I do the same?

I don't know.

We see far more florid diseases than a normal person ever should. We know far more about the complications, and consequences of illness and treatments than we ever should. We have access into medical publications and journals which we don't want to read, because they would break our hearts. It is no wonder that illness, or the possibility of illness, scares us to death.

They say love is blind. But I wonder, if it is not courage, indomitable resilience and formidable faith which have opened the eyes of these brave spouses.

What were they thinking?

Perhaps, it is not that they were blind, but that they went in, with eyes wide open, because they saw what the eye cannot see.

What would you do.


http://asofterworld.com/index.php?id=642

"Not all flesh is the same:

People have one kind of flesh, animals have another,

birds another and fish another.

There are also heavenly bodies and there are earthly bodies;

but the splendor of the heavenly bodies is one kind,

and the splendor of the earthly bodies is another.

The sun has one kind of splendor, the moon another and the stars another;

and star differs from star in splendor.

So will it be with the resurrection of the dead.

The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable;

it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory;

it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power;

it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.

- 1 Cor 15:39-44

Early Birthday.

I used to hate birthdays when I was younger- mainly because it was in February and people forgot it often. It was too early in the year for people in new classes to really get to know you enough. My family isn't into parties.

When I turned 21, things changed. A crazy bunch of friends knocked on my door at noon, whooshed me into a car blindfolded after putting a sack over me (so much for trying to simulate kidnap), and surprised me in a glasshouse cafe where everyone was waiting for me, with a self-written song to my then favourite tune of Yellow by Coldplay.

Birthdays have never been the same since.

This year I wanted to celebrate it with everyone I know. I wanted to thank the people who matter to me in my life because each of you have sown into it. I turn 24 on the 24th of February this year. It also happens to be my zodiac year. But it's too close to the final exams and also in the week of my book launch, so...

... I'm celebrating it tomorrow. With everyone I know. Yes, everyone is invited.

This year, some rules from last year's gathering still apply. One, no presents. I'll be honest with you to say gifts do make me incredibly happy, except I didn't want everyone who came to feel obliged to get something for me- after all, it's my way of saying thank you for being a part of my life. I know my die-hard present-giver friends are already plotting something, and that's enough for me.

Last year, I wanted many things. After my injury, I wanted a new saddle, then new gloves and a bicycle-trainer. I needed a new helmet and glasses as well. As the year went by and I never got the things I needed (namely because every time they went on offer, someone snapped it up first), I realised I never really needed them in the first place. I eventually got used to my present saddle, and realised I don't enjoy stationary cycling enough to warrant a bicycle training contraption.

I learnt, the important things in life can't be bought.

Looking back, however, I see the time my friends spent with me as I nursed my injury, see the encouragement they gave to me and the words of affirmation they lavished on me to spur me on, and realise that is what I cherish the most. Memories of crazy-early morning cycling through the city as if we owned the world, of spontaneous lunches and lazy swims, of over-the-phone prayers and long letters... made 23 worthy to remember.

But 24 is soon here, and will soon be over.

I learnt a lot being 23. I learnt about the importance of clinging loosely to everything (like sports for example), about the importance of loving myself (this was hardest to come to terms with), and about the importance of making decisions.

Turning 24, means all of those things and more. It means embarking on a new mission, to seek out the expanse of what being a grown-up and a woman means. Maybe I could still hide behind being a Big Girl while being 23. But 24 is a Woman's age. I will graduate this year. My second book will be out this year and I will be talking to the press. I will take care of real patients and earn my own pay. I am going to Africa myself after my exams. There's nothing girly about that anymore.

Still, I can't quite bring myself to let go of two things- falling in love and learning to drive are just too crazy to do. I would gladly try for another triathlon (injury-free of course), gladly take 3 flights to a remote part of Africa (that will true, by the way), but falling in love is too much of release and driving is too much of control for my own comfort.

Those are things I must learn.

But for now, for tomorrow, I'm just thankful for those of you who'll be there. For those of you who would put aside Chinese New Year celebration plans on a weekend night to make your way down to an out-of-the-way cafe- restaurant just to spend a night with me. There's a programme lined up, I've been dead tired trying to organise this thing together, and I hope you will leave more inspired and hopeful with the things of this world.

So yea, I love gifts. Bring one if you want. But more than that, I love a handwritten card, love you coming down and allowing me to share my life with you.

Just friends, good music, simple food, and a lot of laughs. Ice-cream, rainbow-coloured sprinkles and heartfelt sharing.

I just want to thank each of you for being a part of my life. Thank you.

Fireworks.

To all my readers, thank you for making 2010 special for me. Whether it was a note, an email, lots of emails (haha), or face-to-face "Are you Wai Jia? I read your blog", you have been a part of my life.

On this brand new day of 2011, I just want to thank you for walking with me and say:

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

You have never been, and never will be.


And I just wanted to record down the beautiful things you've shared with me that have kept me going as well:

Just wanted to let you know how time and again the things you've penned in your blog has brought hope and encouragement to my sometimes weary, disillusioned, bitter heart haha...

But reading your entry on snowflakes was yet another timely reminder that our circumstances do not give us an excuse to be upset and stubborn and then try to hold out on God! And that it is all right, whenever our plans don't turn out just the way we want them to, as long as it is guided by God. And that, it is fine and life in a new year can still be purposefully & meaningfully entered into without a detailed TO DO LIST. hahaha.
So thank you, for sharing your thoughts, your struggles, your triumphs and falls. For it is thru honest sharing like yours, that I am reminded God is truly at work in this world. And it is thru lives like yours, that I see how much more potential we have, to lead each day of our lives meaningfully & purposefully. Thanks for letting God mould and use you for His work & glory!

Keep falling like a snowflake, my dear. Fall into His arms :)

I also want to thank you R, and C, for your regular emails and encouragement about my fears and the season of life I am going through.

I feel I have changed. The girl who wrote Kitesong is different from the girl who wrote A Taste of Rainbow. This girl is not a girl anymore. She is not as insecure, not as uncertain, not as needy of approval. 2010 has made me hardier, more focused, more daring, but it has also made me, in some ways, colder, more grown-up.


The girl who wrote A Taste of Rainbow is also not the same girl as I am now.


Perhaps, 2010 may have frozen some bits of us, but today, we can make the choice to say, that whatever we've been through was not for naught.

We can make the choice to say:

Today, I believe in faith and favour,

grace and gratitude,

hope and healing.

I believe in dreams and daring,

princes and possibilities,

faith and fireworks.

Go into 2011 believing that you'll find a part of yourself that is

startling and beautiful and warm.

There's a firework somewhere hidden in you,

waiting to be sparked.

Watch this- I really like this video except for the gay kiss :/

(Edited with pictures) The Power of Love.

Are you a gift sort of person? I mean, is that your love language? If it is, Christmas is probably a busy time for you, and perhaps, a time of emotional highs and lows, too.

A couple of weeks ago, I read a book from church about the hardships of marriage. The authors are husband and wife, and illustrated the challenges in communication between a couple.

The husband used to buy flowers for his wife frequently after work, swinging by the florist outside his workplace, thinking to himself proudly, "How many men would actually still buy his wife flowers after all these years?" He did this frequently, expressively, but grew to resent that his wife started showing less and less appreciation. He stopped buying them altogether, resenting even passing by the florist and one day, sat his wife down and haha, said he "wanted to talk". (Which is great by the way, because it's usually the woman who "wants to talk" and the man who dreads it.)

And they do. And the wife says, " It's because everytime you give them to me, they look half dead. And you go on to tell me each time what a great deal they were, how many extra flowers you got for your buck. It makes me feel they were got out of convenience, and I feel cheap."

Silence.

And he replies, "So you want me to drive an hour downtown to Bloomington during the busy lunch hour so I can get em fresh, get the same flowers at about 5 times the price wrapped in a wrapper which says Bloomington so I can give the same thing to you?"

To which she replies, "I think you're beginning to understand a little of what Romance means."

I sighed at this story. Because it only goes to show how much grace we need to love one another, not on our terms, but on somebody else's. I could totally relate to how the wife felt. Totally. I would've felt the same-every woman wants to feel valued above all else by her man. But the man had already gone out of his comfort zone to buy something out of his "practical" mind such as flowers for her.

I suppose, love, when wrapped in a gift, can only release its full measure of power when both it's giver and recipient meet on the same levels.

Recently, I was a little offended by a gift which obviously looked like it was a pass-on, and then later, on reflecting upon myself, realised that perhaps I was guilty, too.

I was slighted. Petty? Maybe. But I suppose, no one likes to feel like a convenient salvation army garage sale, good for second-hands only.

Simmering a little, because I like to think I spend effort writing and making cards and buying thoughtful presents with the person in mind, I then thought of the many children in Smokey Mountain, in Nepal and in many other developing countries this Christmas who might be jumping gleefully with joy at bags of hand-me-downs and collected clothes from people like us who don't want them anymore. Do they feel second-rate, too? Or do they feel privileged even to be considered "second-rate"?

Once, I met a missionary who related a story about a toaster to me. She said she was hurt during a collection event for missionaries, when people donated really awful things to them, thinking that they were fit for use by them. One of them was a toaster, which could only pop up not two, but one slice of bread because one side was faulty.

To be honest, I didn't see a big deal in it. I even thought she might have been a little petty. After all, isn't a faulty toaster better than no toaster at all?

But now I understand. I understand what charity organisations mean when they say they're tired of receiving broken things, or things which were put in their collection bin that you might have to be pretty close to Einstein to figure out what their use might be.

The truth is, no one likes to feel second-rate. A gift often represents what you feel about the person's worth, and no one likes to feel like they were cheap, or that you thought they were.

So each time I clear my wardrobe, I've begun to throw more things out, and started learning to give away things I actually liked to organisations that needed them.

At Smokey Mountain this Christmas, the church there organised a treat for a thousnd kids by ordering Jolibee (their equivalent of Mac Donalds) for them, hired the red and yellow bee mascot to entertain them, and gave out shirts, slippers and groceries to families. A large sum was raised- 14 USD per child. They had their once-a-year treat of spaghetti and chicken nuggets, compared to their usual meagre meals of lentils and cheap rice.

Too extravagant? Some would think so. Generous? Perhaps. Is calculated love still love? I don't know.

I am learning, that sometimes, the power of love is magnified and multiplied when an element of sacrifice is present. That one hour's drive to Bloomington? Yea, that's what I'm talking about. That sweater you kinda like but know you haven't worn for months? I had to remind myself that it could be put to better use when I passed it to the scrawny uncle who mops the lifts at my block. He was so cold that day.

Not that one ought to have high standards for gifts given to one. After all, it's often the simple, thoughtful things like a text message or email which melt our hearts, aren't they? But I have been challenged, to give out of sacrifice, and not out of convenience.

But I have been guilty. I have bought stacks of books at book sales, to give them out through the year to people. But you know what? They never feel the same. They never feel as special. Because very often, those were "could-do" gifts and not "WOW, for me?" gifts.

Yet, even the recipient's attitudes play a part for love to blaze like a firework. A friend shared with me yesterday about a garage sale at her church, organised for needy families. While some had sacrificed things they loved to bless others, there were those who simply bought items simply because they were cheap, even though the bicycles were too big for them, or the rollerskates didn't fit.

Love, is a precious thing. I am learning, it needs to be given, and received with care and gratitude. I am learning, that we ought not to exult in feel-good self-righteousness at our altruism since it is the recipient's response which determines how much love is actually conveyed successfully. I am learning, that one also ought not to be offended at gifts- do we not believe that our lives are already filled with good things from God? Are we not secure enough in His love for us? Why should we doubt our worth based on what we receive?

Just as I took a break from writing this post, I found a package for myself on the table, wondering who it could be from. This is from the inspiring mother of one of my paediatrics patients (the cutest little 3-year old boy) whom I'd met more than a year ago, who even till today still prays for me. Thank you so much for the beautiful necklace. It matches what I'm already wearing today perfectly. I love it, but I love your beautiful, gentle spirit more :)

To all my friends and family, thank you for everything that you have blessed me with. Beyond gifts, you have blessed me with your time and love, encouragement and support. Who cares about pass-on gifts when we have one another.


Above all, perhaps we can be thankful for the greatest gift of all that God gave us on Christmas, thoughtfully bought, at the highest cost, with the greatest sacrifice.

That's the power of love.

Merry Christmas.

"...for you were bought with a price:
glorify God therefore in your body."
-1 Cor 6:20

Not for naught.

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.

Rain on me.

It's like leaving clay out in the sun.

What was once mouldable and pliable becomes rock solid, and when faced with harsh elements, fragments into pieces.

I guess, I didn't see this day coming. But when I sat down yesterday, with the pile of work and unstudied material before me and realising just how much I've missed spending time with God, I wrapped my fingers over my heart and found it... hardened.

It's hardened without me even knowing it. Who put it out in the sun?

I suppose, what they said about growing up and becoming a junior doctor really was true. That the process would either draw one crazily close to God or drive one away from Him. The routine of work, the fatigue from the hours and the constant demands of the world (sometimes unreasonable ones) erode one's core unconsciously, constantly. I came home from church yesterday, still angry at certain people at home and at work regarding certain situations which I had felt completely wronged about, and started to cry.

It didn't used to be like this. Once upon a time, I sorted these things with God every day. Every day, I put my heart of clay out to be watered and soaked in His love so that it would be soft and pliable, so that He could even out the creases and wrinkles put there by harsh words, unconstructive critique and the wear and tear of this world. It was painful being kneaded, but oh, the next day brought new hope and freedom, to be a new masterpiece.

Then surgical internship came with its crazy hours, and preparation for the final exams came. Day in day out, I plodded along to the song of this crazy world at its crazy pace, allowed the elements to weather my heart and hardly took time to allow God to water and soften and knead out the roughened places.

I found myself on a Sunday afternoon, bitter and frustrated and tired, and full of putrefying anger and resentment at him, her and you. I wanted to shout at someone, say it wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair. I wanted to scream and say I deserved an apology, that what was done was horried and unjust. I wanted to say God, how can it be like this? Aren't you seeing this? Why aren't you putting a stop to this? How can it be that people can be so... frustrating?

I wanted to draw a line and cut these people off from my life. And all that made me wonder- How did I get to this place?

How did I become so angry. And it scared me, because I knew at that moment, that my heart had been hardened. I just didn't want to care, didn't want to try anymore. I just wanted to go away by myself and hide under a tree so I could study another chapter about colon cancers, surgical procedures and liver conditions, away from the grating elements of this world.

It's been too long. I'm sorry, God.

Last Sunday at Sunday School, the little children learnt about keeping their hearts soft and tender, like the ploughed soil of the earth, so that good seed could grow in it and flourish. We learnt about saying sorry, and about being receptive to You. What had happened to my plot of soil? I was certainly not feeling anywhere close to saying thank you or sorry. A hardened heart builds strong fortresses.

I know you've never left me, and I'm sure you know I've never once thought of leaving you, too. But why is it then that on a Sunday afternoon, when finally, time has availed itself and unfolded before me, that I find myself crinkling up and hardening into a rock, a fireball, a seething, empty whirlwind?

I want to be soft again, God. I want to look at patients, even the angry, whiney and demanding ones at 4am in the morning, and be genuinely concerned with their lives. I want to look at the people who have caused me hurt and suffering and be able to bless them, instead of being mad. I want to put all this anger aside and say, it's okay, you had a bad day and you took it out on me in an unacceptable way but you didn't know how else to vent it out but nobody's perfect and it's okay.

God, I can't do this alone. Come, rain on me.

“Today, if you hear his voice,
do not harden your hearts.”
-Hebrews 4:7b

"In your anger do not sin:

Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry..."
- Ephesians 4:26

TOO MUCH FUN!!!

This is what happens when you get 3 crazy girls in the same room together!!!

I got blocked for saying "boobs" twice and my amazing friends got themselves blocked too so that we could all be blocked together! How sweet!!!

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

Hope.

Today is World Mental Health Awareness Day.

A Taste of Rainbow, my second book which I wrote in the hope of inspiring others to be brave to seek help in times of depression and overcome stigma was originally supposed to be launched during World Mental Health Awareness week.

It is macabre almost, that instead, during this time, we lost a friend.

Grief soaked us for days. We weren't close, but my fondest memory of you was when we didn't know each other but I introduced myself to you 2 years ago when I overheard that you, too, attended the Coldplay concert. You didn't look the sort. You were very studious, smiley always, the sort I thought would listen to Bach and Beethoven and not some emo-rock band with a lead singer who had a stringy frame and a voice dripping with molten liquid. I liked you immediately, because even though you didn't know me, you asked if I wanted one of your plastic butterflies you picked up at the concert. It was like asking if a Beatles fan wanted Paul Mc Cartney's cigarette.

Those plastic butterflies. Do you still remember them? When the roof exploded with a million psychedelic butterflies to one of my favorite songs, Lovers in Osaka and the crowd went wild. You were in the mosh pit, you had the best tickets- wasn't that awesome? I went crazy. I was in the second tier, the butterflies were too far away. "Lovers, keep on the road you're on, Runners, until the race is run, Soldiers, you've got to soldier on... Dreaming of the Osaka's sun..."

I thought we would finish this race together. This journey we call medicine. No one knows how or why you left, but it made us realise, that many of us suffer in silence out of fear, shame and stigma. We are doctors-to-be, why can't we treat ourselves. If I get help, I will be marked and it will be career suicide. How can I tell anyone? After all, I'm going to become a doctor.

Lies. All lies, the whole pack of them.

I couldn't sit around doing nothing. So I rallied my juniors and classmates and said we had to do something. I organised a meeting. We met our deanery. I will organise another meeting this week to discuss with the various leaders our action plan. In the process of collating feedback, I received a flood of emails from people who were suffering, who had suffered, and who now want to make a difference.

We can make a difference. I don't care what the skeptical group of people out there say about nothing ever coming to fruit when working with the deanery. I have worked with the team before, and they do care about us. The new team has already begun helping people. We need to help them help us.

To my juniors, I need you. I will be graduating soon. And if you want to make our so-called first world medical school a better place to grow in, come and join this cause. You've got the emails, you know what we need. Join us.

During our first meeting last week with the professors, I had just come from the meeting with my publisher, Singapore General Hospital, Singhealth and KTP Foundation. So I shared my story and the online version of Rainbow with everyone. My message was that there was nothing to be ashamed of, and there is hope after depression.

How can I bring this message to the public-at-large if my community doesn't even believe in this? I cannot tell anyone, my career will be ruined. I won't get the residency of my choice. I'm going to be a doctor, how can I get help? So my publisher and I are getting to work, to circulate an online version which is specific to address the needs of the medical community.

We work 36-hour shifts without sleep once or gasp, twice a week. We see death and suffering and injustice and pain too many times more than the normal person should. We work ourselves to the bone, competing with one another for specialties of our choice, making sacrifices towards a future which tells us we make less than a cashier at Mac Donald's per hour as a junior house officer and we will become but yet another number in the workforce serving an endless line of wants and needs and aches and pains.

I really believe, every medical student goes through some sort of crisis of faith in his journey. Being a doctor is nothing like what people think it is.

But never have I wanted more to be a doctor than now. There is hope. When a patient told me, "Thank you doc," and she thanked me most sincerely because I was most junior and looked after her most often, everything was worth it. I could curse the hours, but never my vocation.

There is hope. There is always hope. And my appeal to you is for you, my juniors especially, to realise we have feet of clay, too.

Getting help will probably be the best decision you made in your life. It will strengthen you and make you a better doctor than you ever thought possible. I know it changed my life, and God will use the most terrible of experiences for the good of others if we let Him.

We can make a difference. And it starts from you.

If you need help or know a friend who needs it, get it. After all, you're going to become a doctor.

There is hope.

"Lovers, keep on the road you're on,

Runners, until the race is run,

Soldiers, you've got to soldier on...

Dreaming of the Osaka's sun..."

-Lovers in Osaka by Coldplay

" For you have been my hope,

O God,

my confidence since my youth."

-Psalm 71:5

Change is coming.

The past week has been insane.

A friend committed suicide. One emergency meeting. One wake. One realisation that it makes no sense to be raising awareness of depression and the need to overcome stigmas to seek help in the public the message is not even being conveyed in my own community. One talk to students to share with them my heartbeat for this. One meeting with Singapore General Hospital, Singhealth, my publisher about launching my next book, A Taste of Rainbow next February and plans to bring the message of postive self-esteem to students, back to back with another meeting I had coordinated between students and my school regarding improving mental health support among students. One meeting with someone who will doing up the new website for Kitesong and A Taste of Rainbow to raise awareness of these causes. There were many emails to write, many Big People to convince, many hearts to convict to stand with me on this cause- we have to do something. One test on Geriatrics. One phonecall from the Insititute of Mental Health expressing their interest in my next book. Many, many, many emails. Maybe fifty, over the past few days.

Absolutely crazy week.

Like all my other friends, I was grieved. We were traumatised. Every day, one person in Singaporean commits suicide. I just never thought one of them would be someone I knew in such close proximity. I couldn't sit back, and hence rallied all my batchmates and juniors together to help make our communities safer places to be in. There is something which can be improved in our system. We cannot change the system, but there other things which we can change.

We mustn't lose people this way anymore. I'm doing this partly for you, K. Why did you leave us this way.

And it amazed me, just a little, to find out that all this happened this week, which is also World Mental Health Awareness week. There is something worthwhile to be done.

But I'm tired. So I'm going to slink away by myself to a quiet place with my brown imaginary horse and sit by a quiet imaginary stream to read a good book by Malcolm Gladwell and thank God for the chance to be a part of Change.

We can change things if we believe we can.


That is something I truly believe in.

"We know that all things

work together for good for those who love God,

who are called according to His purpose.

-Rom 8:28"

Great Expectations.

I realize, I was, am scared, just dead scared.

A lot of people say it’s all up to you. Up to you to choose who you like, up to you to find somebody. If you don’t, it’s because you never tried hard enough. But is it true, really?

It’s a little funny perhaps, but the closest analogy I can find for this right now in my tiny limited span of existence was finding my bike Faith. You know when I got the money to buy myself a new bike, I was ecstatic. I thought I had found the one. And then God says, no, it doesn’t belong to me, that money belongs to a deaf girl who needs the money for an operation to hear again- how did that feel? It was terrible. The money was gone, it was over. Nothing else, no matter how much it caught my eye, satisfied me, because I knew it wasn’t mine. It didn’t fit. There was no peace.

People always say, wait for the right one. He’ll come. But you know, at that time, when there were so many right bike fits at the time, none of them were truly right. There was no peace. Until we found the bike called Faith. And God used my friends to perform a miracle. Then things became… right. I could’ve gotten any of the previous bikes we’d gone to view before, but none would have had a story half as beautiful as that which we waited for.

Sometimes I feel there’re so many people out there who could be the right fit. And they could all turn out to be pretty darn good people. So why the excruciatingly long wait?

Two days ago, as we sat amazed at how soon I would graduate to become a doctor finally, my dad asked me how come I "didn’t bother" to "spend some time looking out for someone" in university. It was, according to him, the best time to “find someone”.

“I don’t like boys in medicine,” was my reply.

“What’s wrong with them?”

"Nothing. It's just that I don't like, you know, "chilling" with people from a similar field."

"I'm sure they don't talk medical all the time."

This wasn't working.


“I don’t know, dad. Maybe I find them too busy, too stressed. Too… stuck up.”

Well, obviously, this isn’t true. But I had to say something.

Yesterday, a much older friend asked me, “So dear, how do you find C?” All this while, my friend had been trying to get us to go out. We did, we sort of hung out, but I think as usual, I make a lot of my guy friends feel like a buddy more than anything else.

“I thought you two had chemistry.”

“Yea, we did. But…”

“But what?”

“He’s a great buddy, that’s all. Heh. I don’t know, I mean, you know the guys in medicine? Like people I hang and chill out with? They’re perfect gentlemen...”

“Like how? And so?”

“Like around them, I’d never have to open my own door or clear my own plate or find my own chair. And if it’s raining I can count on someone to give me a lift. These people are only my acquaintances. Haha, so... er... it’s their fault that they’ve raised my baseline cos right now, I’m definitely one spoiled princess with a very high baseline and low threshold for unchivalrous behaviour.”

“Wait a minute. Who are these guys you speak of?”

“Medicine guys.”

“And you told your dad and me that they’re too busy, too stressed and STUCK UP. Look who’s the STUCK UP ONE!”

And we bowled over with laughter because we knew it was true.

The thing is, part of me sort of wonders, if there would ever be that right one. Dad always says I should go out more, be less busy, see more people. But that part of me which sees the end first could never go out with someone without an end in mind. What's the point? Like the time when my friends kept asking me to view bikes with them, I said no. Please don’t make me waste my time, you don’t understand, I’ve given the money away, I’m not getting it back, this is painful. Don't you understand, I can't get a bike anymore.

But they made me go anyway, so I guess when they finally found my bike, I knew just how good it was. It’s not perfect, but I liked it more than any of the ones we’d seen.

My friend had driven all the way from home to the hospital to pick me up for lunch, simply because it was raining and there was no shelter from the National Skin Centre.

"See, people like you.... spoil me!" I laughed.

"Hey, it's not my job to be mean to you. YOU, have to manage your expectations."

So heck, maybe I just should. Go out and see people. Let them take me out.


But that's not the only decision I'll have to make. I'll first have to decide not to be half as stand-offish and resist the urge to put something out there, say something that totally puts sixty feet between the other person and I. I know I'm pretty darn good at that.

Okay. I've decided. I'm taking dad's advice then. But really, I've always found non-medical people more interesting, heh.

Ah well, we'll see.

Lessons from my Injury.

One day this week I woke up, realised I am definitely the heaviest but possibly the most comfortable, secure and happiest I have ever been in my life:

I realised that your mistakes can break your hip, but God won't let them break your spirit.

I realised that good friends are those who can love you 14 kilos up and down, and still say you look like a bomb any day, because they see you for who you are inside, and who you could become, not who you are now, and how you look on your worst or best day.

I realised how important it is not to succumb to external pressure, how important it is to say, NO THANK YOU. I appreciate your advice, but I have my own way of doing things. It's okay to say that sometimes.

I realised that putting on weight has its benefits- it gives you free boobs.

I realised that God can use our illnesses and circumstance to teach us lots about ourselves.

I realised, I'm a sucker for intensity and addictions-I know I get a high from sucking the marrow out of any aspect of life, be it in my studies, art, sport or adventures. But this is certainly a lesson I will remember for life. I realised that as much as I value discipline, I need to have the discipline to draw lines, say no, know when to Stop.

I realised this injury was a big blessing in disguise. It gave me time to reflect upon the furious plunge into sports over the past year, it gave me space to think through and consolidate my thoughts, it gave me fresh insights and new revelations into my motivations, and purified them.

I realised that truly, this was the perfect time to sustain an injury- during my final year before my exams so I could finally settle down and focus, instead of spreading myself so thinly. The time I spent away from the road and on my books was very valuable, and helped me establish my confidence and focus in the wards again. I realised God has indeed been merciful.

I realised that God loves us so much that He sometimes waits to heal us (even though He could do it in a jiffy) because we take time to learn certain lessons. I realised that more than sacrifice or swears or vows, He treasures a surrendered heart that says, okay, I can do with or without.

All these revelations were revealed to be little by little over the past 4 months, and consolidated over the past week.

So I suppose it was apt timing when Dr. Ben Tan showed me my X-ray and said, "You can start running now," I knew it was because God had finally got his lessons through that thick skull of mine.

For my medicine juniors- spot the pathology! (and note the scoliosis!)

"But I need you to stick to the programme I give you. Go slow, because this sort of injury is notorious for relapse. I need you to continue with physiotherapy, with your vitamin D and calcium and... I need you to change your bike saddle. No racing till after your finals. "

And I realised God wanted me to remember for life, the consequences of relying on a selfish, self-striving spirit the way Jacob did, because the next time my hamstrings and bone snap because of my self-sufficiency or greed, it could mean surgery.

"I think you can try a run today."

I was apprehensive, but all through the run, there was no pain, even though I was still experiencing pain a week back. Because of all the core work, pilates stretching, and myofascial release we had done during the period of rest to realign my muscles and bones, I was running with a far better posture than I ever did before. I used to run with a very unstable pelvic swagger, and a really bad forward tilt, as if there were weights tied to my neck. Now, I was running "as if there's a medal on your chest", as M would have said. I then realised, God puts rest in our lives sometimes to rebuild our core, to re-establish broken foundations, to realign our intents and purposes, thoughts and dreams.

"Your pain is there because of disuse, so we need to rehabilitate you. You've got to step up slowly. I think you need to wait a little more before you start biking again, but meanwhile, please start running. You need to."

I realised, sometimes God wants us to spend a little more time sorting ourselves out, because a period of fasting from our indulgences can be essential to spiritual progress. Today is Day 50 of my bike fast.

I realised, our sufferings never, ever go to waste. But sometimes, with a bit of common sense, we can certainly spare ourselves the heartache.

And I realised, what real friends truly mean. They can love you 14 kilos up and down, and walk you through every difficult step along the way. They don't dump you just because you don't can't do sports the way you used to. They don't rub salt into wound. They don't pressure you to return to what caused you to stumble at the expense of your recovery.

They encourage you when you feel like giving up, visit you when you're down, and patiently await your return- the way our King awaits our return Home, the way the father awaited his prodigal son's return.

The past 4 months of rest have been incredibly fruitful and fulfilling, in a different sense. I'm not sure if I would go to the extent to say that I wouldn't have changed anything had I the chance to live that fateful day of injury again, but I know for sure, the lessons learnt from this have been precious.

"You need to continue doing all the stretches and rehab work I've taught you, okay?" said my physiotherapist. She's a marathoner, swimmer and a pilates instructor as well. "You see, the human body is so exquisite, it needs to be in a constant state of BALANCE. That's why I don't just run, or swim, or cycle. Take a little bit from the best of everything and you'll stay injury-free, okay?"

I realised, the most important lesson I learnt, was balance. How to balance my work and play, sport and health, calling and duty, friends and family. My injury was primarily due to a muscle imbalance. It is most commonly sustained when the quadriceps is more than 60% stronger than the hamstrings.

It's all about poising yourself on the straight and narrow path, I suppose.

I've still a long way ahead to recovery, but it certainly felt good to run again, even if it was only for a short while.

Thank you God.

J, me and T stealing a shot before sitting for our paediatrics paper-

Love you two to the sky and back :)

"He heals the brokenhearted

and binds up their wounds...

...His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse,

nor his delight in the legs of a man;

God delights in those who fear him,

who put their hope in his unfailing love.

-Psalm 147:3, 10, 11

Olympian.

Thank you so very much for this surprise in my mailbox, from someone I have never met before in my life. It was such a deep encouragement to me.

Hi Wai Jia,

... Here's something I read last night which will hopefully encourage you to strive on...

"They [Great spiritual leaders] have all asked God for relief, but they also asked God not to take them off the operating table until they learn all he wants to teach them. This reveals the heart of the spiritual champion. These spiritual Olympians would rather walk with a limp to possess life wisdom and a closer relationship with God than to escape the trauma of the match. They learn, like David, to take their pain to God. Like Paul, they come to exult in their thorns."

You have prayed for deliverance, but everything feels like more shots and surgery. Knowing that God is not happy about your hurt, the key is to keep looking into his face and talking with him while the soul surgery takes place.

- A Work of Heart by Reggie McNeal...

have a blessed week!

-C

Hijacked.

"You know, R, I sense that I'll be entering a season of suffering soon. Things aren't going to be easy. I'm just girding myself for it. It's going to be painful. But then again, that's how we grow right? Through suffering."

I receive a disbelieving look from R. I continue, "Oh come on, surely there is beauty in pain."

This time, her disbelieving look actually bores through my eyes like little laser beams. I go on.

"I mean, like, suffering pain and emerging beautiful and strong. Surely you believe in that, right?"

"Oh you mean like, as in, SHOES."


Silence.


YES. I STILL LOVE YOU FOR RUINING MY POETIC MOMENT.


*As of tomorrow, Wai Jia will officially be a final year medical student. To suffering, Cheers!

Nobody's nobody.

"I'm not the nobody! YOU'RE THE NOBODY!"

"NOO!! YOU!! YOOUU AAARRREE THHE NOOOBODY!!"

That sounded like a situation which really needed a time-out. Both boys were tearing one another's hair out and yelling at each other like angry porcupines. The big boy was about 4 times the height of the younger one, but both were sizing each other up like gladiators in an arena ring.

"I'M the REAL Noah. YOU'RE the NOBODY!"

"NOOO! I'M THE REAL NOAH. YOOUUUU ARE THE NOBODY!!"

This went on, back and forth. Big Noah was 12 years old. Little Noah was just about 4. Both boys, with the same name, were arguing who deserved to be the REAL Noah.

Like boys, seriously, I wanted to say. You can fight about girls later on, but this? Man. But I reminded myself they were kids and that I used to say really dumb things myself (still do sometimes) and so instead I said to the two of them at Sunday School during church camp, "Hey! Who's calling who names?"

Both stopped. Then both started at once, "I'M THE REAL NOAH. HE'S THE NOBODY!!"

With the amount of vigor and conviction they both said it, you would have thought they were running for presidency against Obama.

"BOYS," I said firmly in my teaching voice, " Hey. Nobody's a nobody here, okay? You are BOTH precious to God. And you're BOTH the real Noahs."

Looking at Big Noah, I said very firmly, "Just because you were born first doesn't make you more real."

And looking at small Noah, I said, "And just because you're younger doesn't mean he's the fake one."

"Okay? Both of you listen to me. It's not nice to call someone else a NOBODY, okay? If you wanna talk about age and who's real, then both of you must be fake, because the REAL NOAH with the BIG ARK was born many many many years ago, waaaaay before either of you, okay? Look at this. You guys just did this exercise. What did you learn?"

I pointed to the charts the children had put up on the classroom wall. They had written down their confessions about how they had disobeyed God and how they could stop doing those things.

"Both of you, this is BULLYING. This is NOT KIND."

(Yes, I thought it was kind of scary reading the charts as well. Scary- both because of the content and the... grammar. )

Both fell silent.

Looking at Big Noah, I said, "Noah, I think Noah deserves an apology."

"Sorry Noah."

Looking at little Noah, I said, "I think Noah deserves an apology, too."

"Sor-wee, Noah."

"Noah, do you forgive Noah?"

"Yes."

"Noah, do you forgive Noah too?"

"Yes."

"Love one another. Remember, love one another, okay?"

It was hilarious on hindsight, and yet sobering, too.

And it reminded me, how like children, we can, so very often, learn a lesson then forget it almost immediately. It reminded me, how powerfully dangerous our tongues can be, how we use it aimlessly and thoughtlessly like children to maim one another. If only we knew how much our teasing and unecessary words brought destruction and not edification, hurt and not restoration.

Love one another. It reminded me of that ever resonant voice which would permeate through the walls of the orphanage in Nepal when the house parent would say over and over to the orphans whenever they got into arguments, "Love one another."

Love one another.

It was then that I realised, that the lesson was for me, too.

"If someone says, "I love God," and hates his brother, he is a liar;

for the one who does not love his brother whom he has seen,

cannot love God whom he has not seen."

-1 John 4:20

"For though by this time you ought to be teachers,

you need someone to teach you again the basic principles of the oracles of God.

You need milk, not solid food... "

-Hebrews 5:12

Peter-pannish.

You know, when we were lying on the picnic mat watching the sky turn from yellow to gold to pink and melt into a dark hue, something gave me great comfort to know that nothing in the world could take that moment away from me, from us. I wanted to lie on grass and you didn't think I was crazy (or maybe you did but that's nothing new to you) and all you wanted to do was to take silly pictures of me because you know deep down inside I'm just a die-hard photowhore.

So there we were, me in my light white-and-turquoise sundress and crazy hair kicking off my sandals lying down on grass and you bringing the mat and food and sharing your life with me and taking random photos with my camera letting the world pass us by. And playing good music on your computer and showing me awesome pictures of your exciting travels. Only you have such a way with words that could bring Croatia to where we were in an instant. I could see the "crystal clear water and gardens dripping and bleeding with flowers", only because you painted it with such twilight beauty.

As the evening melted into the darkness, and we marvelled at how the sky never really turned black because the huge white clouds smothering the skyscape reflected a pink glow over everything, I randomly said that the sky looked Peter-pannish.

Peter-pannish. You knew exactly what I meant and I asked where you'd want to go if you could sail off in a ship-shaped cloud to a never-never land with someone you loved and owned your heart. And you said, "It doesn't matter. "

And I agreed, because why should it matter where we are going if we are in a ship-shaped cloud in a Peter Pan sky going off to heaven with someone we love?

I love the fact I can tell you anything, and we can chide one another in love for all the things we confess about. You're like the only ones who could tell me I don't have a right not to forgive, and make it come out lovingly.

So there we 3 lay and talked and laughed and tickled and I wondered if we could stay like that forever. Talk about our futures and hopes and dreams and the kind of people we would marry and what we would do for one another if we had to plan one another's weddings and funerals.

"Okay," I said, in a theatrical, comical sort of way, "Just in case I die before you 2 do, please cater apple crumble for my funeral. And lots and lots of multicoloured balloons and rainbow-coloured flowers. Don't say I didn't tell you!"

"Apple crumble with ice-cream or not?" you asked.

"With vanilla ice-cream, thank you very much."

Because even though it's morbid to talk about such things, I just like to say them in passing anyway because you just never know what will happen, whether I would die someday travelling, or on the road. Life, is so short. And if I die, I would not want you to think you didn't know what I wanted. For sure, I'd want you to know you mattered enough to me to know about apple crumble and vanilla icecream, ha.

Ah yes, and remember also to take care of my 2nd and 3rd book which are all with my publisher and start a foundation to help people or something. Preferably for underprivileged children and women in developing countries.

So there we were, us 3 on a picnic mat watching the world go by. That was the best moment I've had in months.

And you know what? I wouldn't exchange it for anything in the world, except maybe a ride on a ship-shaped cloud to a Peter-pannish place off to heaven.

*The necklace I'm wearing is made by the widows suffering from AIDS in Uganda, who have children in the same plight. Bought them from this awesome lady who co-founded ROWAN(Rural Orphans and Widows AIDS Network), which aims to move people from helplessness to hope. If you're like me and like funky jewellery, you can get them at Food For Thought (one of my favorite cafes! It's also a social enterprise)in Singapore. If you're overseas, write to them :)

It always feels good to say,

I forgive you. We are definitely still Friends.

My debt.

I was angry. Just plain angry and disappointed.

I've always been wary of reporters. My publisher had warned me about them. And maybe I'm critical, or idealistic, or just plain biased, but I never like the way their agenda is put above everything else. I've had friends hurt by them before- being told one thing and then stabbed in the back by an oversensationalistic headline that distorts the truth and brings shame to them. Once, in an office being interviewed by someone, I wanted to walk out because she kept asking me, "So what else have you done besides Kitesong? Do you have photos of patients you helped? Can we interview them? We need to pitch our story well. How about your next book? We need a good story."

"I don't think the patients would be comfortable with the press."

"But we need a good story, and the public likes personal stories from patients themselves."

A good story. So that's what it's all about.

I felt used. I felt like a tool. By the time she was done with her questioning, I felt like my dignity had been stripped off me like bark off a tree.

So today when It happened, I was disappointed and shocked and just, plain angry. We were having a conversation, like friends do, and I shared about what had happened to my Sunday school kid, about her tumour and what she was going through. Then the words, "Hey, you know what, this sounds like a good story..." stabbed me like a knife in my heart.

A good story.

Is this what things have been reduced to? A good story?

And then I thought about all the times you wanted to spend time with me and talk to me and meet me, and how you kept asking if I knew so-and-so and this doctor and that doctor, and if you could have their contacts, suddenly I felt I didn't know you anymore. Was that why you always seemed so interested in my life, about what was happening with the next book and my work and all? Was this all about getting a good story?

I left shortly.

Later, as I thought about things a little more, I remembered a story from the bible. Once there was a king who wanted to settle accounts with his servants. One who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him, and the king demanded his entire family be sold. In desperation, the servant begged for leniency. Moved with compassion, the king forgave him the debt.

However, later on, when this servant found a fellow servant who owed him a hundred denarii, he took him by the throat and demanded repayment. Even with pleading, he threw his friend into prison till he would pay the debt. Later, the king found out about this and was enraged, and sent that unforgiving servant into the hands of torturers.

It made me think- was I not like the unforgiving servant as well?

As much as I felt like a tool, or that I was being made use of, have I not committed the same sin against others before? In the hospital, our countenance lights up and we turn on our charm just to have patients speak with us, to allow us to examine them- all for our own learning's sake. After which we are back to our grumpy selves and petty routine. Without giving patients due respect or perhaps, in being overzealous in our warmth towards them in the hope of gaining something in return, have we too been guilty of seeing patients as examination material, as what we call "cases", rather than unique individuals, with lives and families? Have I, in that sense, "made use" of others too?

I know I have been guilty. I know I, too, have been guilty of going into automatic questioning mode when my medical radar picks up a medical condition from a friend, simply for the sake of learning.

If you, like me, have been just a little bit nicer to someone else because you knew you needed his help, or just a little less warm to someone whom you knew would never cross your path again, you have been guilty, too. So who's clean? I know I have not been entirely consistent.

Perhaps, the point of realising this, is not in wailing against our own sordid failings, but rather, to see our tainted hearts for what they are, and to realise, the importance of extending grace to others whom we feel may have failed us too- because after all, who hasn't?

I thought about the times I asked to meet someone because I was inspired by him/her, made friends with seniors at hospital because I needed their help, and realised, that I had little right to sit on my moral high horse. I suppose, there is nothing wrong in connecting with people, but have we given the word "networking" a bad name because of our eagerness to gain benefit, and our failure to value people above our agendas?

Agenda. It is another dirty word, isn't it.

Later on, as I thought about things and realised that I could not and did not have a right to harbour this resentment, I asked J a rhetorical question. "Do you think I should forgive him?"

"You don't have a choice, Jia," J laughed. And then, I chuckled along, too, albeit a bit more nervously.

I suppose, if you look at things from a certain perspective, what we really owe one another is not another apology, or a hundred or ten thousand denarii, but really, a debt of forgiveness and love.

"Therefore the kingdom of heaven is like a certain king

who wanted to settle accounts with his servants.

And when he had begun to settle accounts, one was brought to him

who owed him ten thousand talents.

But as he was not able to pay, his master commanded that

he be sold, with his wife and children and all that he had,

and that payment be made.

The servant therefore fell down before him, saying,

‘Master, have patience with me, and I will pay you all.’

Then the master of that servant was moved with compassion,

released him, and forgave him the debt.

“But that servant went out and found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii;

and he laid hands on him and took him by the throat,

saying, ‘Pay me what you owe!’

So his fellow servant fell down at his feet and begged him, saying,

‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you all.’

And he would not, but went and threw him into prison till he should pay the debt.

So when his fellow servants saw what had been done,

they were very grieved, and came and told their master all that had been done.

Then his master, after he had called him, said to him,

‘You wicked servant! I forgave you all that debt because you begged me.

Should you not also have had compassion on your fellow servant, just as I had pity on you?’

And his master was angry,

and delivered him to the torturers until he should pay all that was due to him.

“So My heavenly Father also will do to you if each of you,

from his heart, does not forgive his brother his trespasses.”

-Matthew 18:23-35