Everlasting Joy.

* Wai Jia has just completed 2 surgical exam papers and will be embarking on 180 brain-numbing multiple choice questions tomorrow morning. She is thankful for all your prayers and support during this time. She is also going through a season in her life sorting out new matters of the heart and seeking God about them.

This post was written early this morning after she'd finished her lot of studying.

"Much of our modern philanthropy is based on

the motive of giving to the poor because they deserve it,

or because we are distressed at seeing them poor.

God never taught charity from these motives:

He said, "Give to him who asks you," not because he deserves it...

We can always find a hundred and one reasons for not doing so,

becuase we will trust our own reasoning.

But who are you?

Do you deserve more than other people the blessings you have?"

-adapted from Studies in the Sermon on the Mount,

by Oswald Chambers

I was surprised at my reaction. It was first to say no, I'm sorry. I can't help you. Help yourself. This has happened before and you need to learn how to get yourself out of the pit. It was then that a blast of realisation hit me in the face and knocked some sense into me.

It was M, the orphaned girl whom I'd met at hospital before, the one who was abandoned as a child in the Philippines, had suffered the guilt of "causing" her Singaporean foster mother's death since she was 14, and been wandering outside by herself bumping from odd-job to odd-job with recurrent admissions for her severe skin condition since then.

"I'm so sorry, Wai Jia. I'm stranded outside. My pay check for $500 comes only next week and I've no money in my transport card. I'm really really sorry but could you help me? Could you transfer $10 into my account? Please?"

When I saw her number on my phone, I half-guessed that it would be for money. I hesitated for a long while before picking the phone up, half hoping she would give up and hang up. She didn't. I was preparing for my final exams and wanted to say: Look, stop being so dependent. You can't keep calling me for money. The last time, you called me for twenty dollars and now this?

She could be a phoney. A trickster. Just finding an excuse to cheat me, right? Or so that's what people would tell me.

But I remembered, that the last time she asked for twenty dollars and I brought her instead to the Community Services division of my church, she brought all her documents to prove who she was, where she was born, how she was fostered and where she was working. I remember looking at all her documents in some shame and awe because some part of me didn't believe that dramatic life story she shared with me that day.

But it was all true.

Just the day before, I was reading my Oswald Chamber spiritual study guide, something I've decided to embark on to stay rooted in God during my exam period. It wrote:

"And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles.

Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you." -Matthew 5:40-42

I remember being convicted by it. Now, God was prompting me to do the same. It wasn't about the amount, but really, about the attitude of my heart. Did I really think that all my life, all the help I had got from others was that which I deserved? Were they not extended to me out of the grace and compassion of others? And now, when faced with the same choice to help the "undeserving", did I feel I'd the right to judge their situation on my lofty place and lecture them about their financial insufficiency?

My best friend, a girl with dreams of becoming a longterm missionary as well, was studying with me when M called. How much does she need, she asked. I can help.

It was then that what I had read the day before became real to me. When we go the first mile for others, it is often from our own strength. But when we go the second mile, it is not for their sakes nor ours, but from God who lives within us.

Something more divine kicked me out of the house to transfer the money to her account. Twenty instead of ten. Two miles instead of one.

Not everyone will agree with the decisions I made. And that's okay.

Last night, as I sent a friend who came over to study with me to the train station, I saw Grandpa Zhou.

"Oh, Wei Jia," he said. " I have something to tell you. My feet, they became swollen again and I'd to see the Chinese sinseh."

"The sinseh?"

Sinseh. It means Traditional Chinese Practitioner. My heart sank.

"Yea, he's very good. It was $50 and he says I've to go back and see him again to be fully cured. He makes a lot of sense. He told me my tummy is "cold" and that's why my feet swell. You don't learn this in Western medicine, right? Yea, but he's good. Okay okay, you may not agree, and that's okay."

"Who's paying for your fees?"

"I borrowed. Didn't use the money you gave me because I know that's for all my follow-ups at the hospital. I won't have enough for this sinseh so I borrowed."

I was aghast. I had heard stories about Traditional Chinese Practitioners swindling people before. I heard about some of them charging exorbidant fees and dispensing steroids mixed with herbs, or chanting spells over patients, or giving patients false hopes. I had the last straw when my mother's fractured hand was being wrapped superficially with a piece of flimsy cardboard after she decided to see a sinseh and it took me ages to convince her she needed to go to the hospital because the sinseh had reassured her. The glaring X-ray of displaced fractured bones would have put the sinseh to shame. Since then, I've always been wary of them. That anger never quite dissolved.

So I was furious when he told me that. His feet were swollen because of the anti-hypertensive medication he was taking for his high blood pressure. It was a transient side effect. It would pass. We had gone through this before. But no, he said the "cold tummy" logic made sense, and he truly believed the sinseh was brilliant.

I wanted to hit my head against a wall.

But I also remembered one of the hardest and yet most important lessons I had learnt from the mission field. That is, never to impose our expectations and standards on the poor, because the love we share with the poor ought not to be conditional.

If I decide to give money to say, Africa, and the people from the organisation decide to use it to build latrines instead of schools, then I respect them for it; If I give money to Smokey Mountain and they decide to build more homes in the trash dump instead of revamping the whole site, then I respect them for it, because that is their home, not mine. When one decides to give, one must make the decision to give with respect, with allowance for autonomy to be exercised by the recipient, and if not, perhaps it may be better not to give at all. What makes my "first-world" mind think I know what's better for them? Do I have the right to bring my colonial uppity better-than-thou attitude into my giving and so-called philanthropy?

"I also want to ask you, after what I said to you that day, are you angry with me?"

That day. Yeah, sure I was. About three weeks ago after my birthday gathering, Grandpa Zhou had gone on and on about my friends who had come for my gathering. He knew one of them was trying to win my heart and went on a home-run shooting him down.

"Someone like you should be with someone else, someone who can give you Eternal happiness! How much do you know this person? How far apart are you two? I just don't want you to get hurt."

He went on and on, but didn't realise, that all his words already did that day.

Yong yuan de xing fu. Everlasting happiness. He kept repeating that over and over. He wanted me to have yong yuan de xing fu.

"Hey, actually, why don't you consider L? You know, he actually likes you. Really, he does!"

That really frustrated me. I guess having a bad day at school and struggling already with a myriad of emotions just added to the brew of emotions simmering inside.

I know, why take him seriously, right? Other people may think, he's just an old man. He's just an old busker sitting by the roadside. But he is a special friend. And for some reason, maybe because of all the other things that I was going through that period, and my sensitivity to this topic and what I felt God was speaking to me during that period, I was affected by what he said. He had voiced all my insecurities about relationships, about the one which had surfaced itself in my head, and the insecurities were all those which God had Himself convicted me that I should let go off.

"Yes," I said. "To be honest, I was rather angry. And I also disapprove of you going to see the sinseh."

"Okay," he said. "Sure. I'll find a way to pay for it."

"I have to go," I said. "I've another exam tomorrow."

It was then that he whipped out a piece of paper.

"I wrote this for you, Wai Jia. This is my prayer letter for you. I wrote it out so that I can pray for you every day, twice a day. So that I can follow it and not forget to pray about anything for your life."

He showed it up to me and read it aloud.

"Dear God, please protect your precious daughter Wai Jia. Please help her to become a good doctor to help the poor and needy. Please help her in her studies, please watch over her and please grant her everlasting happiness in her relationships and "heart matters". Please bless her with Everlasting, Everlasting Joy. Amen!!

I looked at him reading the letter. I thought of M, who had asked me for ten dollars. I then saw his receipt to the sinseh and realised he had gone to a fairly reputable one at Eu Yan Seng and not some bomo. I thought about all the money I had spent on physiotherapy and sports massage for my own injury, and all the money God had blessed me with on my birthday through the generosity of others and about what I had learnt about respecting the poor, and not judging them even though we may not agree, and finally felt at peace.

I had exams the next day but some things in life are just more important than another paper. After all, I am studying to serve the poor. I went home, put his medical fees in a red packet and wrote him a note on a little card which I redelivered to him.

I wrote, Thank you for your earnest prayers for me. Don't worry about me, God will protect me and take care of my 'Everlasting Joy'. May He bless you with good health."

"Love God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.” -Mark 12:30-31

Over the past few days, I had been thinking about my attitude towards the poor. Have studying for exams consumed me so much I have no time for them? I thought about the two men sleeping on the park bench along my running route, and about an elderly lady who picks trash to recycle (who works as what we call a karang guni) who has been phoning me to ask for a place to stay and who has refused my help to refer her to shelters because she wants "her own place"... and wondered if my heart had grown cold.

I learnt, from these two experiences, that I find it impossible to love the poor with my own capacity- I am judgemental and emotional and proud.

But God is big enough to break my heart of stone and to teach me, that the spring of giving is not impulse or inclination, but by the divine inspiration of God, and a choice to love not man, but God Himself.

We wriggle and twist and compromise and think,

" It is absurd; if I give to every one who asks, every beggar will be at my door."

Try it.

I have yet to find the person who did so who did not realise

that God restrains those who beg. "

-Oswald Chambers

M.B.B.S

It's my last week of study break before I start gearing up for the merciless final exams in March.

It's called the MBBS. Bachelors of Medicine and Surgery.

So I thought it'd be nice to bring Grandpa Zhou out for dinner. Tomorrow is when I start my surgical internship. From here on, life will mean early (I mean 5ish to 6am kind of early) mornings and possibly 14-hour work-days, followed by studying for my finals in and through the nights... every night... not to mention the 36-hour sleepless calls at hospital once a week for the next one month. From here on, there will be no looking back. There'll be no more long endless cycling rides, no more flute playing, no more frivolous time to waste. There is only one goal- to be a good doctor and do the best for my finals.

5 years of work in 5 months. That's a lot of work. And I just realised why sometimes, doctors marry doctors, or why the medical community can be pretty insular. Who else understands with such great clarity and empathy of what "busy" means, and what "I'm tired" means. "Busy" means not having had more than 5 hours of sleep for months, perhaps not having a single off day for weeks. "I'm tired" means I spent the night taking blood for an endless list of patients, answering calls of sometimes unhelpful nurses and responding to belligerent superiors... instead of sleeping, like everyone should be. It means 36-hours of on-your-feet serving and a home to go to later where you only want to sleep in. To someone else, not replying an email or a text message may just be plain rude, or show an inability to prioritise one's time; to someone who understands, it means you nearly crashed trying to finish your work to be a responsible healthcare professional. How do we tell you we still love you when we don't spend time with you? How is it possible to study all day?

The M.B.B.S is a jealous thing.

From tomorrow, life will be different. January and February will be crazy. As my senior told me today: Eat. Pray. Study. That will be all. Is it worth it? Yes. Absolutely. Other people don't understand how serious we are when we mean we study all day. What is all day? If you're in medical school, you'll probably understand- it's probably what you did some time back to get here.

Wake up at 6am. Study till noon. Eat. Study till dinner. Eat. Pray. Sleep.

I wanted to take Grandpa Zhou out before this season started.

4 friends or rather, 2 couples joined us. Ronald and Ethel is a couple I met through my Creative Writing community- Ronald, a law student, was inspired by Uncle Tay's story and his community work in Social Justice and hence is excited about a project he has to inspire youth to reach out to the elderly in our society who fall through the cracks.

Glorijoy is my junior in medical school. She and her boyfriend, SJ, have a real heart for people, and SJ is one who donated all his Chinese New Year red packet money from his relatives to Grandpa Zhou's medical fees for a year.

I've been living near this famous restaurant all my life and never tried it before!

I should have taken a photo of the gorgeous food

before we starting eating...

but this tells you how good it was!

"Grandpa Zhou, remember today! You're in a Mercedez!"

Haha, I realise Grandpa Zhou doesn't smile in photos.

Ron & Ethel, myself & Grandpa Zhou, Glori & SJ

All right, here goes. MBBS, here I come.

And to the rest of the world, thank you for understanding our lack of sociability for the next few months or so. We still love you and life, and we'll be back in April.

But for now, toodles!

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.

" So they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything, and followed Him"

-Luke 5:11

Stilts.

*Disclaimer: This post may be sightly offensive to some.

It was only recently that I noticed, that he always wears a cap. A worn-out, shoddy-looking cap, so that as people above walk by him, his eyes may avert their haughty gaze. It was only lately that I noticed, that sometimes when I spoke to him while I stood up, he would never look up at me, only to the dirty ground, as if he was not used to eye contact.

So today, I decided, to always be at eye level with Grandpa Zhou.

As some of you know, Grandpa Zhou is the 80-year old busker who sits at the dirty steps of the train station near my house and plays the harmonica for a bit of money. It's been three years since we've known each other, and each of our lives have been drastically transformed through each other.

Today, as I squatted by him in my PrettyFit flats, PepperPlus office skirt and white collared, ESPIRIT office blouse, people, as usual, stopped and stared.

Once upon a time, when I used to buy dinner and sit by him in my running shirt and shorts and slippers, I never felt awkward sitting by him. But as I progressed in my medical training and started to come home in collared shirts, high-waisted skirts, and sometimes, heels, with my handbag strategically hung over my arm for style, and my stethoscope tucked neatly into it, one day I realised, to my horror, that I felt awkward sitting by this old man who wears the same shirt for 4 days and smells odd because of it.

It's much easier talking to him while standing up. Surely fewer people would stop and stare. But was this what we were called to? Years ago, when I was younger, when I sat at the interview room with grand ideas of saving lives and nursing the sick, did I not say Medicine was my dream because I wanted to heal the sick, be close to the people? Did we not promise we would keep our feet and heads on the ground, where the poor and needy needed us?

Did we not promise that lives, not money, mattered; Ideals, not comfort, drove us.

I now see the challenge, and feel it too. Up and up we go, building stilts for ouselves, leaving the rest of the world down below. We grow to think, it's too dirty down there below. Perhaps, it takes a maverick to chop his stilts for something better on the ground.

A year ago, our education system changed. With the new residency programme that seems to favour those who apply for specialties early to climb up the corporate ladder fast and furiously, the entire medical faculty has been thrown into a mad flux of competition and anxiety.

APPLY NOW.
DO ALL IT TAKES.
IF YOU DON'T, YOU'LL BE LEFT BEHIND

are only some of the insidious messages broadcasted into our subsciousness. Now, all of a sudden, everybody wants to be a surgeon or an opthalmologist. ASAP. Everyone wants a bite of the cake which promises fast rewards and a fast-tracked career to success, prestige and honour. We have taken axes to make stilts for ourselves, no matter if this process destroys the forest. My stilts matter most.

I have nothing against this new system, mind you. Only something against the spirit of self-striving, insecurity and backbiting in one's effort to get up there, somewhere at the expense of someone else. Or so I've heard.

I'm not sure how realistic it is to apply for a specialty so early in life. Many senior doctors have cautioned, are still cautioning us against it, for it could produce a breed of doctors too specialised and narrow at too young an age, when experience has yet to fulfill its responsibility to our hungry minds. After all, junior doctors often specialised only after working and gaining experience in many fields after a few years.

I've nothing against this new system. I suppose, if God has called one to apply for a specialty, by all means, one should go for it. Nonetheless, axes have been drawn out of insecurity, stilts have been built out of fear of being left behind, and the ground has become a faraway place for some, a place we once thought we would be close to, close to the people we once said we would genuinely serve, not for money, not for pride, not for prestige, but out of love, genuity and compassion.

So everyone has been asking me what I've applied for. Is it Obstetrics and Gynaecology which was my first love? Is it General Surgery because of my fascination with the operating theatre? is it Ophthalmology because of what God spoke to me? Is it Paediatrics because of my love for children? Or is it Internal Medicine so I can pursue Infectious disease or Geriatrics in the future? Or maybe, Public Health?

It took me a long while to decide,

that I don't want stilts.

I don't want an axe to make my own, nor an axe to chop off the stilts of someone else.

I emphasize, there's nothing wrong with applying for a specialty early,

as long as one's feet are on the ground. As long as one knows it is what God has called one to do, and not because one is afraid, or insecure, or anxious.

I do not claim the higher moral ground for not applying for a specialty so soon. Each has its own benefits, depending on what God has called one to do.

Nonetheless, squatting next to Grandpa Zhou today reminded me, that once upon a time, when we learnt about bedside manners, we had learnt about the importance of sitting at the patient's eye level.

It made me wonder: how many of us do that now? As we move from third-year to fifth-year of medical school, our eye levels shift upwards too. We amass more knowledge, we begin to feel more important, and talk down to our patients who lie down, who crane their necks like flamingoes just to hear us spout long phrases and words like colonoscopy and aspiration pneumonia.

Yes, you need a colonscopy, sir. Please sign on the dotted line.

A man in a black shirt stood on the train platform above Grandpa Zhou and I. I saw him from the corner of my eye. Way above us, he peered down, and it reminded me of the many times I had stood and "talked down" to my patients, the many times I had stood to chat with Grandpa Zhou instead of sitting at his level while he huddled by the train steps. The man above was a spectator, uninvolved.

It made me wonder, would I become the kind of high-powered, money-churning doctor who sits high above, peering down at the lives of my patients? My patients, who live in one-room flats and sleep at the void decks and who come into my clinic complaining of gastritis because they ran out of food to eat? Yes, this happens in sunny Singapore.

Would I become a hands-off spectator peering down at my patients, uninvolved in their lives, prescribing medicines too expensive for them to buy, speaking in English with an accent I acquired from a post-graduate degree overseas?

I will never forget, that before we were friends, I hated Grandpa Zhou because I thought he was another lazy old man trying to earn easy money. It was only when I sat down by him one day, at his level, that I saw that he had deformities in his feet and right arm. Work is difficult with a handicap.

So in my PrettyFit shoes, PepperPlus office skirt and ESPIRIT white collared shirt, I forced myself to squat, and told Grandpa Zhou while looking into his eyes, "I have a special task for you. You've got to think about what your favorite food is and let me know the next time we meet, okay? We'll go to a nice place to eat when I have my break in 2 weeks time-a friend of mine is very eager to meet you."

So I write this down, in the hope that I may always remember, even years after I graduate, never to chop a tree down for my own stilts.

Meeting Grandpa Zhou, has been one of the greatest blessings in my life.

The Village of Stiltsville

Perhaps you don’t know,
then, maybe you do,
about Stiltsville, the village,
(so strange but so true)

where people like we,
some tiny, some tall,
with jobs and kids
and clocks on the wall

keep an eye on the time.
For each evening at six,
they meet in the square
for the purpose of sticks,

tall stilts upon which
Stiltsvillians can strut
and be lifted above
those down in a rut:

the less and the least,
the Tribe of Too Smalls,
the not cools and have-nots
who want to be tall

but can’t, because
in the giving of sticks
their name was not called.
They didn’t get picked.

Yet still they come
when the villagers gather;
they press to the front
to see if they matter

to the clique of the cool,
the court of the high clout,
that decides who is special
and declares with a shout,

“You’re classy!” “You’re pretty!”
“You’re clever!” or “Funny!”
And bequeath a prize,
not of medals or money,

not a freshly baked pie
or a house someone built,
but the oddest of gifts—-
a gift of some stilts.

Moving up in their mission,
going higher they aim.
“Elevate your position”
is the name of the game.

The higher-ups of Stiltsville
(you know if you’ve been there)
make the biggest to-do
of the sweetness of thin air.

They relish the chance
on their higher apparatus
to strut on their stilts,
the ultimate status.

For isn’t life best
when viewed from the top?
Unless you stumble
and suddenly are not

so sure of your footing.

You tilt and then sway.
“Look out bel-o-o-o-w!”
and you fall straightaway

into the Too Smalls,
hoi polloi of the earth.
You land on your pride—-
oh boy, how it hurts

when the chic police,
in the jilt of all jilts
don’t offer to help
but instead take your stilts.

“who made you king?”
you start to complain
but then notice the hour
and forget your refrain

It’s almost six!
No time for chatter.
It’s back to the crowd
to see if you matter.

Stiltvillians still cluster

and crowds still clamour

but more stay away

They seem less enamoured

since the Carpenter came

and refuesed to be stilted.

He chose low over high,

left the system tip-tilted.

"You matter already,"

he explained to the town,

"Trust me on this one,

Keep your feet on the ground."

-Fearless, by Max Lucado

Tiny seeds.

Who would imagine that such a tiny seed would grow into a towering, formidable, life-giving oak tree?

It's like how we would never imagine that our tiniest acts would have such a large impact on somebody else.

Sometimes, do you feel like what you do doesn't matter? Does it feel like a smile, or a kind act you give out evaporates almost instantly, leaving nothing but a memory in the atmosphere? Does the answer of only God knowing and seeing what you're doing dis-satisfy you? I know I felt that way before, but less and less.

A few months ago, Grandpa Zhou stopped me in my tracks.

"Wai Jia!" he said in mandarin. "Do you know a Marcus?"

In mandarin, he had pronounced it as MAH KER.

"Mah-ker? There are many Mah-kers around, Grandpa Zhou. Which one are you talking about?" To be honest, I wasn't taking him very seriously.

"He says he knows you!"

"Well, okay. Tell me more?"

"Well, this boy. This boy who's a little older than you came to sit by me just the other day! He sat down and played the guitar with me, bought me food... and so I shared with him about my god-daughter, you, and about all the things you did for me which touched and changed my life... And I said you were very kind... and surprisingly, he asked for your name! And when I told him, both of us got a shock of our lives because HE KNOWS YOU!!! He's from your church!"

Mah-ker. Mah-ker. Ah yes, I know a Marcus! I remember now!

It was beautiful, to know that someone from Home would see Grandpa Zhou through a different set of eyes from the world-not my eyes, but the eyes of God.

A week later when I spoke to Marcus over the phone, we both chuckled. Grandpa Zhou plays the harmonica and busks at a train station in the north on some days and on other days, in the east. Marcus had met him in the north while I had met Grandpa Zhou in the east.

"What made you stop for him?" I asked Marcus.

"You know 2 years ago when you wrote an article in our church magazine on Loving the Poor and Stopping for One? (pg 7), it impacted me really greatly. So I told myself I would do the same. I didn't think the old man whom I stopped for was the same old man you had written about!"

What a small world.

Marcus has been seeing Grandpa Zhou regularly, buying him food, bought and watched a movie with him at a cinema and even accompanied him to a mid-autumn festival event last week.

Last week, I got another email from a stranger through Facebook:

Hi Wai Jia!

You must be wondering who I am. Ha, I'll tell you something amazing! You know the uncle who sits outside the Kembangan mrt (train station)? I know him too! Only this week did I find out that you are his "gan sun nu" (god-daughter). Haha, anyways, I forgot to intro myself, I am ZX from your church too. Nice to meet you! The uncle says you're very nice! It's amazing how God brought us 3 to know one another. Haha C:

God bless,
ZX

Today, Grandpa Zhou told me that when this teenage girl and her mother stopped to talk with him, and when he shared with them about this god-daughter he had, that I was from a church in the east called Cornerstone, they exclaimed that they were from the same one!

Last Friday, I got a phonecall from another friend.

"Wai Jia, I need to talk to you."

"What's up?"

R is a final-year law student, a budding artiste, a friend who has encouraged and inspired me greatly in many ways. He is always full of ideas and just set up his own theatre company to put up Christian theatre works.

"I read your story about Uncle Tay and his 5 shirts. And I read your story about Grandpa Zhou. I'd been organising a series of lectures lately for our law faculty- the latest one being on the topic of Social Injustice. The speaker challenged us to find one aspect of society to pray for and to take action in during the next many months... and to set small goals... ... So, well... I want you to know I'm starting a movement, to raise awareness about helping the elderly in our society who fall through the cracks. I've been speaking to various social workers and agencies to compile a list of helpful services and hope to bring this to people, help people help others. And I need your help, because you're what inspired me."

We talked.

"So what made you stop for Grandpa Zhou the first time you met him? That's what I wanna know, that's what I feel we can impart to our youth today."

"To be honest, R," I said- I knew I was about to spoil his poetic moment, "if you read my writing, I hated Grandpa Zhou at the start. He was mean to me. And I was darn impatient. I was too proud to stop for him. I didn't want to. It was God who made me stop, changed my heart. He humbled me. That was how."

Just as I left Grandpa Zhou today and gave him another fifty-dollar note from a pool of money given to me by my junior's boyfriend (he, whom I've only met once, had given me all of his Chinese New Year money given to him by his relatives for any purpose I wanted) for his medical fees, I caught sight of Rachel, my 7-year old girl from my Sunday School class.

I had shared with my Sunday School children the story of Grandpa Zhou before. I had taught them the value of loving the needy. I remember she was most attentive during those lessons, and she even asked me several things even though she was normally quiet in class.

Now, she saw me bending low to talk to Grandpa Zhou. She saw for herself what she had heard in class.

All these tiny incidents served not to remind of my own goodness, but to remind me of how God could use someone as self-absorbed and proud as me, to reach out to someone else, and how just such a tiny act of obedience can have ripple effects on numerous people, things and circumstance around us.

You just never know.

So the next time you do good and feel weary about doing so, remember that God is not the only one touched. Your smile, your gesture, your one small act of love does not evaporate into thin air.

Like a tiny seed which is the beginning of a giant tree that can bear fruit and provide shade and beauty for many others, your tiny act of love, too, can go such a long way.

I never knew.

Thoughtful notes

Thoughtful things in my mailbox today:

Hey Wai Jia!

How've you been? I just got promoted (yay!) and it comes with a payrise so I wanted to help with Grandpa Zhou's bills and Uncle Zainol's groceries. How are they by the way? Is that all right?

- from the kind army boy

" Hey Wai Jia,

I was reading someone's site and found this quote....

"God who comes to us in revelation is not a projection, but a person. He wrestles us to the ground, takes away our pride, and leaves us walking away from the match with a limp so that we will never forget the encounter.

-Too Good To Be True: Finding Hope in a World of Hype

Hmm how true is that..

Have a blessed day!"

-C

Thank you D, and thank you C, for reminding me this season in my injury, that this world, for all its bitterness, coldness and pain, is still a warm, kind and thoughtful place. God is good.

Generosity.

He greets every patient with the kind of smile that lights up a room. He makes sure he speaks personally to every single patient, and often squats on the floor just so he can be at eye level with those who are bedbound. He treats students like myself as his equal, always patiently answering our every question and turning every query into a discussion, instead of dismissing us as we so often are. He makes every person feel so important, so precious.

I have started a new module at another hospital. My stint at the previous hospital had left me jaded and rather discouraged, making me question my vocation. Now every day, I am reinspired by his enthusiasm for his work, passion to teach and dedication to his patients. I used to dislike Internal Medicine as a subject because I found it so incredibly difficult to master. Because of him, I now enjoy it tremendously.

There was something so effervescent, and genuine about his personality. (I hate to admit this, but doctors are valecdictorians of Making Other People Feel Like They Are Taking Up Their Precious Time.) And it was not till today when I could finally pinpoint what it was about him which made me marvel.

He is patient, passionate. But most of all, Dr E is generous. Generous with his time, and himself.

Generosity. It refers to the quality of being gracious enough to give unselfishly, abundantly. And in the context of the bible story of the old, poor woman who, out of her poverty, gave all she had (just 2 copper coins), I believe it also refers to the quality of giving, not merely out of one's abundance and convenience, but also out of one's need. It is sharing in times of pressure, giving in times of lack.

Morning ward rounds became a battlefield today. 3 patients suddenly went into critical condition around the same time and Dr. E had not only to resusitate patients, but had to make phonecalls, make decisions, confront anxious relatives and teach his junior doctors at the same time. Yet, that cheeky smile was never far from his lips. Even in crisis, he could laugh at himself. Later, he told us, "No matter how badly your patient is doing, I always smile because it makes them feel better. A smile can halve a patient's pain, you know."

I saw, how generous he was with his smiles. Even in busy moments, he would pause to smile at me, "Wai Jia, I'm a little tied up now, so sorry. We'll have a discussion about strokes in a minute." He makes every person he comes into contact with feel important and cherished.

Grandpa Zhou came to visit me at the hospital today. I made him come, because he refused to see a doctor at a clinic, and would not let me take him. When I sat next to him by the steps of the train station yesterday, I saw that both his feet had swollen to grotesque proportions. Bilateral pitting edema. This is not a good sign. I remember I was very tired yesterday, and half-hoped I would not see him. When I did, I wanted to simply go home instead of stopping to chat. I was tired, and stingy with my time. How God shamed me. Because it was just when I sat down next to him that he handed me a bottle of medicated oil and a loaf of bread, saying, "I bought this oil for your leg many days ago, and was hoping to pass it to you as soon as I could-for your torn muscle. And a loaf of bread, because I'm terrified of bread, and you like to eat bread, haha."

Grandpa Zhou was generous with me. But I had not been so with him. I am always rushing somewhere, going off to study or train or meet somebody. I'm glad my injury has given me more time for the people around me.

Last night, Grandpa Zhou was adamant about not seeing a doctor. "I don't need one! My feet are swollen because I drank green tea yesterday!"

I cut him short. No, Grandpa Zhou, nonono... I wanted to tell him GREEN TEA DOES NOT MAKE YOUR FEET SWELL AND I WANT TO TAKE YOU TO THE DOCTOR. He wouldn't budge, so I made a deal with him, that he would give me a call the next day after I had asked Dr. E if he could see Grandpa Zhou's feet on an informal basis. He agreed.

Dr. E had had a busy morning. 3 of his patients were in critical condition at the same time. One elderly gentleman had a drug overdose (suspected suicide case), another had widespread infection and had just suffered a transient stroke causing temporary blindness and intestinal death, while the third was having fits after they had started treatment. The patients needed close monitoring, and many phonecalls had to be made. Dr. E had every right to be tired. Yet, when I told him about Grandpa Zhou, he smiled that same smile and said, "Sure, I'll be happy to see him."

When I picked Grandpa Zhou from the lobby, he finally admitted he was in pain. He was hobbling the way I was when I first injured myself. Pushing him down the long corridor in a wheelchair, I was astounded by my initial self-centredness- I nearly walked by him the previous night because I was afraid that he'd talk for too long, and... I was tired. I wanted to go home. Yet, today, all he wanted to know was whether his oil worked, whether I was better, if I could do triathlons again.

But when Dr. E saw him, he made Grandpa Zhou feel like the most important person in the world. Dr. E squatted down, listened to Grandpa Zhou's convoluted explanation about green tea and cucumbers causing foot-swelling and talked with him patiently. Dr. E was busy. Grandpa Zhou was a little long-winded. I was asking for a favor.

But Dr. E made us feel, in those 10 minutes, like the most important people in the world. The ten minutes felt like gold. It felt like forever, in a good way.

And in utter humility, Dr. E, instead of belittling Grandpa Zhou's explanation for his swollen feet, said, "I'm not very knowledgeable about how foods affect feet, Grandpa Zhou. But from my limited knowledge, I believe this may be a side effect of your hypertensive medication, and a sign of mild heart failure."

I learnt, that true generosity is giving someone else what they need, and not what I have excess of. It is not giving bread away to the person by the wayside and treating them like a charity case for my conscience's sake. It is sharing with them what is important to me, too, while respecting their dignity. Very often, it is being inconvenienced.

After the consult, I wheeled Grandpa Zhou downstairs.

"Haha," I laughed. "You and I, both of us are PAI-KA (Hokkien dialect for 'crippled')."

"Go back to work," he said, "I'm taking up your time. I'll handle myself, don't worry."

Why am I so stingy with my time. Did I make Grandpa Zhou feel like he was taking up my time? If I can spend 2 hours biking, why can't I spend this time listening to a explanation about green tea and swollen feet. Why am I always rushing about. It struck me, that perhaps, Grandpa Zhou had walked on his painful, swollen feet just so he could get the medicated oil for me specially.

Grandpa Zhou had shown me lavish generosity.

Dr. E, in his busyness, then sat down to teach me about anti-hypertensive drugs.

He is generous with his smile, and generous with his Time-something senior doctors have so little of.

Just before I left, I wanted to thank Dr. E for being so Generous with his time with Grandpa Zhou, with his time teaching me, and with his time in taking us students out for sumptuous lunches so he could get to know us better as persons, not functional entities.

But before I could open my mouth to express my gratitude, he said, "I just wanted to thank you Wai Jia for introducing me to Grandpa Zhou. It was an honour meeting him. I hope you had a good day, you must be tired. "

I stood there, speechless.

Thank you Dr. E, for reinspiring me, and for reminding me, that God has an abundance of grace and love and resources, of which we can tap on to share with and give others. Thank you for generously giving yourself to the people around you, be it through a smile, eye contact or simply making me feel like the most important person in the world when I'm talking to you.

And thank you Grandpa Zhou, for the medicated oil, for the bread and for praying for me. But most of all, for teaching me yet again, the grace of giving.

"For I bear witness that according to their ability,

yes, and beyond their ability, they were freely willing...

But just as you excel in everything—

in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in complete earnestness and in your love for us—

-see that you also excel in this grace of giving. "

2 Corinthians8:2,3, 7

*This post is dedicated to Dr. E, whose love and passion for medicine and his patients refreshes and inspires me every day.

Terrified of Bread.

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

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

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

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

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

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

dinner at my place

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

It was Grandpa Zhou who taught me this lesson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is it not to share your food with the hungry

and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—

when you see the naked, to clothe him,

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

- Isaiah 58:7

Sitting with the Lonely.

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

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

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

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

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

It is not hunger that kills. It is loneliness.

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

We shall never know, indeed.

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

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

So who has blessed who more?

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

It was over, because of a piece of linen.

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

"One minute, do you have one minute?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do not forget to entertain strangers,

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

-Hebrews 13:2

In Your Eyes.

"Wo na tian zhen de hen kai xin." It means, I was so very happy that day.

"Na zhong chang mian wo mei you kan guo." It means, never before have I seen an occasion like that in my life. I was really happy.

Grandpa Zhou said he was really happy that day, just singing and laughing with everybody. Friends, you really made his day, did you know that? Now, that memory will forever be inscribed in his heart, will forever fill what once used to be a void in a dark, angry place.

Something of eternal value bloomed in his heart that night.

"Okay, but tell me, Grandpa Zhou, what was the most memorable part about that occasion for you? What was the greatest lesson you learnt?"

"Oh I was so happy! Everyone was singing with me! And clapping! Oh I had so much fun! All your friends.... they were calling me Grandpa Zhou (Zhou yeye)! Grandpa! (Yeye!)"

He went on. He couldn't stop telling me about the many people he met, about what he thought about my friends, what he thought about my new bike, and about the sharing I gave...

"... okay Grandpa Zhou, but tell me, what is the GREATEST lesson you learnt that day? Ni you mei you ke fu? Did you overcome?"

He paused, had that frozen, blinking look in his face, before saying, " Yes, I overcame my fears. I no longer feel inferior anymore. Shang di de yan guang gen ren de yan guang shi bu yi yang de! The way God sees us is vastly different from the way people see us, and only God's eyes matter! I had a lot of fun that night..."

"Did you feel anyone was looking down on you?"

He laughed out loud. It sounded like a chuckle. "Ha, no! In fact, I was having so much fun it didn't matter! I didn't even care!"

"Wow, what a breakthrough, Grandpa Zhou. Do you know, that overcoming one's fears is one of the most beautiful things in the world? Did you feel free?"

"Yes."

"Liberated? As if you didn't have a worry in the world?"

"Yea! God's opinion of us are more important than that of the world's!"

Wow, what a breakthrough. What a breakthrough from the time he used to put himself down, and made me cry.

I asked him if he had had dinner, and just as we were talking, a tubby-looking, pot-bellied, balding man with a plastic bag slung across his right shoulder (pardon my unforgiving description, I'm sure you sense my great affection for him) stood right there in front of the two of us who were seated at the steps of the train station and just stared. He just stopped right there, frowned and looked us up and down. He looked me up and down, me in my college shorts and bright red tee which said "God is GOOD all the time."

There was a look of utter derision and scorn in his face as his eyes stripped me, up and down. Who did he think he was?

Suddenly, I understood what Grandpa Zhou meant- what it meant to feel despised and trodden upon. What it meant to kan ren jia de yan guang. It means, to be looked down upon.

The pregnant man walked across the road and I said to Grandpa Zhou, "Did you see the way he was looking at us?"

"Of course," and he laughed, "... there're people like that all around. What do you think I meant when I told you people look down on me? You, a young girl sitting on the dirty steps on a train station talking to a man like me, why wouldn't he stop and stare?"

I was appalled. "Don't you ever let anyone ever look you up and down like that," I said. "The next time anyone does this to us again, I'm going to stand up and ask him what his problem is. Humph. In fact, I'm going to ask him what his problem is right now.."

Bald, pregnant Mr. look-you-up-and-down was walking across the road by then. I was about to get up and go after him (because I am crazy like that sometimes) when Grandpa Zhou said in a gentle, humble way, "I just told you, what matters is how God looks at us. Who cares what people think? You know what's amazing? The more we are despised and the more down-trodden we are, the more precious we are in God's sight. "

Say that again? Suddenly, I smiled. I was beaming. All these months I had coaxed, chided, lectured him on overcoming his inferiority complex to no avail and suddenly when I felt that someone had given me an undeserving scornful look, he had the grace, wisdom and strength to tell me that it didn't matter because God loved us, and we found favour in His eyes. And that was all that mattered.

24th of February. When everyone was singing and clapping to his tunes. When all of you welcomed him and called him "Grandpa Zhou". When you accorded him dignity and respect. That's what you guys did for him- you gave him a breakthrough. You made him so happy.

It was at that moment I learnt a very important and timely lesson. Today, I met up with Miss B because we needed to talk about A Taste of Rainbow, about whether I was ready for media publicity and public exposure about my Story. She asked, "Are you comfortable with your publisher printing it now?"

"Yes," I said. "It's a good time. I'm ready for it to go to print."

"Are you comfortable with all your friends, family and relatives knowing how, why you wrote this book?"

I didn't answer this question as readily.

"With support, yes. In God's time, yes. I guess some people will judge me. Some people will look at me differently, won't they?"

"Yea, that's reality."

Today I learnt that there are all sorts of people in this world. I told Grandpa Zhou that my second book would be coming out, and there would be people who would affirm me, and others who might scorn me. "Don't think only 'people like you' get despised, Grandpa Zhou. We all do. And when my next book comes out, I'll have to prepare myself for people looking at me differently, too."

What Grandpa Zhou said suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks- "It doesn't matter how people look at you. What matters is how God looks at you." It doesn't even matter if people stop and stare, or look you up and down, because at the end of the day, it's about who you are in God's eyes, and what you do that pleases Him.

As we talked, a malay man came by, smiled, shook Grandpa Zhou's hand before giving him two dollars. A bald caucasion man stopped in his tracks, watched us, smiled, then fished out a ten-dollar bill for Grandpa Zhou before making his way home.

I learnt, that the world isn't fair but God is just. Though there might be evil in this world, He also sends angels to affirm, protect and strengthen us.

"Thanks Grandpa Zhou. I really learnt a lot from you today. I'll remember that when my second book comes out. I'll read it to you, okay? And I'll translate it in mandarin for you."

I was about to leave before I remembered to ask about his next hospital appointment. "Ah, a stranger reading my blog wants to help you with your medical fees." This beautiful stranger had donated almost 400 dollars. He's about my age.

"Oh really? You mean D? The boy at your party?"

"No, someone else. Another kind soul."

Randomly, he asked, "I've a question, Wai Jia. What does Hallelujah mean?"

"It means praise God, Grandpa Zhou. You say it when you're happy."

Like now. Hallelujah. Because it doesn't matter how other people look at us, as long as we look mighty fine in God's eyes.

*Wai Jia wants to thank each of you who made Grandpa Zhou feel so welcomed at her place that night. You gave him the biggest breakthrough in his life, and the most precious of gifts- dignity and strength. He can laugh at the days to come. Thank you for your donations to his medical bills. They are much appreciated.

"God is close to the brokenhearted

and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

-Psalm 34:18

Examing my Faith.

It's one thing to say you believe in something. And quite another to actually do it.

Like me, do you find yourself inconsistent, too? Telling yourself how terrible it is to be a spendthrift, then buying the next thing which catches your fancy; teaching your younger brother how terrible it is to lie, then telling a white one yourself; nodding your head to forgiveness then finding it so very hard to let go of a past hurt.

It got me thinking.

My next triathlon is coming up. I will be trying my first sprint distance, which is half the Olympic distance. Hence, I had been keeping a lookout for an affordable tri-suit on discount. A trisuit is a kind of amphibean attire many triathletes choose to wear for their swim, bike and run. I finally found 2 I liked, of which I would buy one. Thinking about what I had read about The Power of Half, I felt justified since they were on 30% and 60% discount.

I don't know why I still couldn't buy it.

There is a concept called The Power of Half. And then, I thought, there's also God' s kind of power- the Power of All. Do I really need a trisuit. Sure, it's more comfortable, it looks better. After all, the price is slashed. But slashed or not, it still is ridiculously expensive, for a piece of apparel I will only wear a few times a year, for a less embarrassing appearance on other people's facebook pages at the end of my race. I'm only doing this for fun and to stay healthy.

I remember, it was the day before my birthday that I received the email from the beautiful stranger, who wanted to donate all his money received over the Lunar New Year to me to support whatever cause I wanted. And as I thought about it, tears welled up in my eyes.

On my birthday, the prayer devotional for the day was about being consistent. The book writes: Is your faith consistent with your way of life?

That line struck me. I understood it on 2 levels. One, are my values and my belief in God consistent with my behaviour? Two, how is my bicycle Faith reflected in my life?

I wanted a bicycle. I found a bicycle. My father gave me money for Christmas. God gave my money away to a 4-year old girl who needed to hear more than I needed to bike. I was sad. Then many little miracles happened. And Faith, the bicycle arrived on my birthday. It was perfect, far more perfect than the previous bicycle I had set my heart on. And as if God had had a hand in the whole thing, Faith was ready exactly on my birthday.

Faith, the bicycle, was only possible, is only beautiful because she reminds me of what it means to give and to obey totally, sacrificially and abandonedly. I read today, that no material possession is worth sacrificing the display of God's grace. In God's world, there is no room for a desperate attachment to things, and when given the opportunity to show what is really important to us, we must take it. Things, offer us nothing we don't already have. There comes a time where we must decide which is more important to us, a defense of our possessions on earth or a hope in our eternal treasures in heaven.

It made me think, do I value my possessions more than God's way? Do I really live and behave in a way that shows I believe God supplies more than I need?

That email brought to my mind the pain involved in having to give something I wanted up. My eyes soured at the memory of it. I thought of how God turned the whole situation around for me and blessed me with the love of friends and family and their very sweet gesture, I thought about what the stranger wrote to me about his friend being impacted by that whole ordeal and then suddenly... I just didn't want to buy anything anymore.

Days before my birthday, I found a place which straightens hair for a third of the market price. I had planned to do it, after being tired of having my hair made fun of, then after reading that article, thought to myself it was really silly and unecessary to do so. Do I really need a trisuit? Do I really need straight hair. Silly girl.

You know, if you add up all of Faith's parts, she actually is quite expensive. That sobered me, because although she is a beautiful gift, it made me think about how this would affect my choices in future. Would I want even more things, or would this blessing teach me to be even more thankful for what I have.

You won't believe this, but right about 2 paragraphs before this point while I'm blogging, my swim coach/ elder brother/friend whom I affectionately call "Huncle" (think a mishmash of Hunk and Uncle because he really is quite a hulk) calls me to tell me he wants to meet me at the train station. And just about 20 minutes ago, gave me that exact trisuit I had tried on that day. I had put it under reservation, and he'd gone to get it for me.

I feel like I'm having my birthday all week. I get the message, God. I really do.

You win, God, you win. You expect all, only because you give all. The biggest lesson I'm learning, is no matter how much we have, and how much we are blessed, in God's world, there is no room to be attached to possessions.

Faith, the bicycle, reminds me, that instead of being a symbol of extravagance, it really is a symbol of God's provision and sufficiency when we dare to give all and set our eyes heavenward. Faith is beautiful, but at the end of the day, it is still what it is- a possession, a chunk of metal, something which will fade away with the things of this world. Things may come under our stewardship, but our eyes must always have that faraway glimmer in them, always looking not at the visible, and not at our possessions, but at the invisible, the divine, and the things which truly matter in this world.

" Turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity;

and quicken thou me in thy way."

-Psalm 119:37

"Examine the relationship between your faith and your way of life.

Are they consistent? Are God's words your driving force?

God will be God of all

or He will not be God at all."

-One Year At His Feet Devotional by Chris Tiegreen,

24 February

* Wai Jia had the most wonderful birthday gathering this year and wants to thank you all for making it very special for her. Grandpa Zhou also had a ball of a time. She will write about it soon.