Wild Cards.

"Believing in God is as much like falling in love as it is making a decision.

Love is both something that happens to you

and something you decide upon.”

— Donald Miller

I remember, during lunch with my friends at the hospital one day, I dropped a coin. It rolled a far way away on its edge, before getting caught in a tiny crevice in the ground and standing perfectly perpendicular to the ground.

The wind was blowing but because of a tiny catch in the wooden floor, the coin stood perfectly on its edge.

One of my friends exclaimed, "Hey look at that! What're the chances of that?!"

Another said, " Yea, it's like striking lottery!"

For some reason, they were so amused. There the coin stood, on its edge, after I'd accidentally dropped it on the ground.

In a tone of mock drama and grandeur, I said jokingly to them, " Friends, I declare this year to be a year of miracles. This is just the first of many miracles that will happen this year."

Everyone burst out laughing.

"Yea, some miracle huh-getting a coin standing vertically by accident!"

"No la, Wai Jia! All your miracle points have been used up by this one standing coin!!"

For some reason, we were rather amused by the Accidental Standing Coin.

For some reason, this event stays etched in my mind. For all that's happened this year already, I truly believe this will be a special year.

On the fifth of January, I received an award which I thought would be impossible to win; On the twenty-seventh of February, A Taste of Rainbow was finally, finally launched; and on the fifth of February, an online friend whom I'd never met but was living a life parellel to mine in a wintry place in a different timezone, flew halfway across the world to see me, over a surreal whirlwind of a weekend.

There were so many obstacles to each of these momentous events: my nomination and application for the award got lost by the university just days before the deadline closed; my book faced hurdle after hurdle and nearly missed the mark for the launch; and my online friend? Well, he wasn't supposed to come. I said no- I insisted he would and should remain an online friend. To be honest, I didn't believe he would come anyway. I said I was too busy, and what would my friends and family and church folks say?

But who but God would have planned his mission trip to Cambodia on dates which were perfectly timed with my weekend public holiday. Who would have thought my church mentors were actually game with the idea because of his background. Even then, he very nearly didn't make it because of his elevated liver enzymes on a blood test. But we prayed, and the enzyme levels came down just in time for him to embark to Asia.

All close shaves. Near misses.

As if anything significant were by some stroke of luck.

Luck. I don't believe in luck. But I do believe in divine interference. I believe in the wild cards.

I believe that even though there were so many obstacles in medical school- my illness, my missing class to see the doctors, and the book launch happening so close to the exams... that I will pass my Bachelors of Medicine and Bachelors of Surgery(MBBS), and pass well. Not because I'm brilliant, but because of God's compassionate grace to see me through.

We both also knew that the chances of us, two individuals from opposite ends of the world, actually having any sort of chemistry were down to less than one in a million.

But we did.

It was just crazy. We had squeezed Possibility from the stark realities of chance and statistics. What were the chances, really.

And then you had to go. And the days following that were hard, for the both of us.

I got fed up last Sunday. At church, I told God I was fed up with this. It didn't make sense and it wouldn't work out. I don't believe in long-distance. I don't believe in Disney. I'm the one who doesn't watch chick flicks or romantic movies because I DON'T BELIEVE in any of that high drama. That Sunday, I told God, that I was fed up with this because that weekend was just too surreal and this was too tortuous and strange a situation to be in and maybe all of this was just a big mistake from the beginning. Maybe it was all an accident, but it was time to face reality.

You kept saying you had something to tell me, but it "wasn't sorted out yet". You were waiting for something and would tell me when it was finalised. Whatever it was, I wanted to move on.

So I wrote a letter, saying it was better for you to get on with your life and for me with mine. So what if we both have a heart for missions, and the poor in developing countries. I am stuck here for the next 6 to 7 years to complete serving my bond as a medical doctor here and to further my training. Our paths would no longer cross. We are almost ten thousand miles away, literally. We don't even live in the same time zone- who cares about parallel lives?

The sky fell on me the next day, when you had, in timely fashion, received news about what "needed to be sorted out". I hadn't known a thing about this, but all this time, you'd been sourcing for an opening here in Singapore. You'd been praying crazy-hard about this, harder after we met, and the doors finally opened for you when you found a missionary placement at the Overseas Missions Fellowship headquarters right here, where my best friend's dad also happens to work at.

About 2 weeks after we met, you stepped down from your leadership role at church to announce you would be leaving by end of the year for missions. It was then I knew you weren't joking. You were dead serious about this.

I flipped out.

I completely freaked out. YOU WHAT?

And I didn't write to you after that because my mind went crazy after I received the news. ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND.

I had a million and one things to say: This was just absurd. I thought you coming for the first time was crazy enough, and now, this? I'm going to be a houseman (junior doctor) soon, I'll be working almost a hundred hours a week, I'll be grumpy and moody and sleep-deprived all the time, and what if my defense mechanisms kick into full gear to shut you out? Is it worth it? Are you seriously doing this? What's going to happen to your job? Your friends? Your community?

I was bursting with a million and one emotions raging against each other like fireworks and completely overwhelmed because I get unnerved by the way you make me feel. This is out of my control. Ever since we met, I feel so acutely my position as a spectator at a theatre, with God as the scriptwriter and you as the protagonist.

It's bigger than my mind can conceive.

It's bigger than your mind can conceive.

I'm scared.

You're scared.

But God has His ways. And at not one point did each of us go our own way- He guided you and I separately, and somehow, the doors opened this way.

We both know, perhaps none of this would work out. You're not getting paid for this because it's more of a missionary stint for a few years; You might not get funding to come here; Your blood results could go wonky again (you are on long-term medication for your liver transplant even though you've done an Iron Man) and you might not be able to travel because of that. I keep telling you, this could all be a mistake- I could be an ogre, this could be a waste of time, what if you hate this place?

But I guess, God had all of this worked out. For years you'd already been praying about being a missionary to Asia. And this worked itself out to be an open door.

So you'll be coming before the year ends. You're doing the biblical missionary thing- selling everything you have and coming to a foreign land to do God's work, using this place as a base to travel to Cambodia to work with ministries involved in child trafficking and such.

And I guess, to see me. Or else, why Singapore? To be a part of my life. Be my real friend instead of a virtual one.

You had been called to Asia from the start, and where I am, is Asia too.

Is this God? Or just some kind of freak accident, some chick flick comedy that weasled its way out of the big screen into real life?

There's only one way to find out.

You have no money now. You'll have to give up your community, your job and your life there to serve God here. You'll have to give up your standard of living and comfort for a different sort of life. Singapore is no where near third-world but you'll be living differently, far more simply, for sure, perhaps with stints to Cambodia and such. Your life will be turned upside-down, literally because our day is your night. There'll have to be a place here for you, people to fundraise for your new life as a missionary, and there's no telling whether your liver enzymes will come down... (why do they keep getting deranged?)

And there's no telling if you might see much of me either.

What if this doesn't work out?

I didn't say any of this to you because my mind is constantly dwelling on the negatives. I keep thinking and telling you that this won't work out, it's not worth it for you and there's too much of a cost to pay. I keep telling you WHAT ARE THE CHANCES. There're too many obstacles between us, geographically and otherwise...

...and God Himself had to break me to surrender my thoughts.

You are always grinning and having something up your sleeve to give me another heart attack. You are always dwelling on the positives. You never look at the grim statistics that I constantly look at. You are always betting on the Wild Card.

Prayer, is the Wild Card.

Faith, hope and love are the wild cards.

You pray all day.

"Wai Jia, I gotta remind myself i have nothing left to lose... You, on the other hand... can you imagine spending time with me day in and day out..remember that time we were at Starbucks...?"

You are always joking.

You said that this wasn't really Work because you weren't getting paid, but you were happy to receive "your heavenly reward" as payment as a missionary. You said that God was the host, and we were just "invited to join him at His crazy partaaay". You sent me this video about giving up everything to follow God's call for your life.

In the quiet of the park yesterday morning where I sat in before going for my exam, God spoke to me like a thunderclap, that I had to pray too. I had been freaking out and freaking out at Him and asking Him how this could possibly be happening and felt Him telling me that He would not force this on me. He wanted me to know, that just like loving God, faith is a decision, too.

I could push you away, just like how I've pushed others away.

Or I could pray.

So this morning I prayed for you.

Minutes later, I got an email from you about your blood results. AST and ALP are still deranged. I had woken up with a startle and prayed for you at 6am because I had a dream you were jaundiced and your blood results weren't good. That's when I realised that God was telling me, I had to pray. You are doing everything you can to follow God and His plan, and I do no one any good by shutting you out.

Prayer, is the wild card.

I don't believe in Disney, but I believe in miracles.

"But God doesn't call us to be comfortable.

He calls us to trust Him so completely that

we are unafraid to put ourselves in situations

where we will be in trouble if He doesn't come through"

— Francis Chan

* Wai Jia will be taking another exam tomorrow. It is a 100-minute exam where each round of 10 medical students will each be shoved into 10 rooms for 10 minutes to deal with various role-played scenarios such as dealing with angry patients, acute emergencies, counselling patients on various procedures and many other unpredicatable scenarios. In a friend's words: It's going to be a carnival! She is thankful for your prayers and support.

Whose eyes.

From one of the most lyrical quotes by Kundera:

"We all need someone to look at us. we can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under.

The first category longs for the look of an infinite number of anonymous eyes, in other words, for the look of the public.

The second category is made up of people who have a vital need to be looked at by many known eyes. They are the tireless hosts of cocktail parties and dinners. They are happier than the people in the first category, who, when they lose their public, have the feeling that the lights have gone out in the room of their lives. This happens to nearly all of them sooner or later. people in the second category, on the other hand, can always come up with the eyes they need.

Then there is the third category, the category of people who need to be constantly before the eyes of the person they love. Their situation is as dangerous as the situation of people in the first category. one day the eyes of their beloved will close, and the room will go dark.

And finally there is the fourth category,

the rarest,

the category of people

who live in the imaginary eyes

of those who are not present.

They are the dreamers."

- Kundera

Whose eyes do you live under?

Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God?

Or am I trying to please men?

If I were still trying to please men,

I would not be a servant of Christ.

-Galatians 1:10

Miracles.

It would have to take a miracle, I told myself. I was washing my hair when I said aloud in the echoey bathroom: It would have to take a miracle.

"Please get your hair done, put on make-up and try to rent a long gown for the night. The results will only be announced on the night itself, but whether you win or not, dress your best, okay? The press will be there. There'll be lots of photoshoots and interviews."

I refused to spend money just to look extra good for a night. Besides, I was sure I wouldn't win.

I mean, what were the odds. I was just a finalist. Kitesong was old news. Besides, the past awardees were professors, heads of start-up companies, doctors leading in their fields, founders of humanitarian organisations, people who had empowered hundreds or thousands of youths and made their mark on the international arena . I had done nothing compared to them. Kitesong was a one-time endeavour. The rest of what I had shared with the committee, is pretty much what you see on this space-my normal life. Dad always told me, "Never dwell on your past achievements. Past achievements are exactly what they are- in the past. Look ahead, move on. " I was sure I would not win. I did not spend money to fix my hair.

I felt awkward. Reporters had called me the night before to interview me, and I was put in front of a videocamera on the night of the gala dinner. There were flashes, chandeliers, bright lights and plush furniture. It was a black-tie occasion, and my plum-coloured dress stood out against the dark sea of mostly men. I was very tense, especially since I was quite certain I would not win. Why were they asking me how I would feel if I won, or what I would do if I got the award? You guys are interviewing the wrong person, I thought to myself.

Among the finalists, were founders of NGOs, public heathcare practitioners, heads of startup companies and social enterprises and a deputy public prosecutor. Among the committee, were ministers, secretary-generals and chairpersons of large organisations. I felt out of place, to say the least. An old school friend my age was there as well, and I was impressed by his achievements to found movements and SPLAT! organisation to engage and empower 45'000 individuals to offer 2nd chances to youth-at-risk and ex-youth offenders. Dominic had represented Singapore overseas at international forums. He was involved in politics and people's welfare.

A young man limped very slowly toward me and introduced himself as Dr. Darren Chua. I was excited to find another medical person, only to realise he had suffered a paralysing stroke a year after graduation and had now gone on to start an education centre to teach and empower students. He was humble, and yet, thoroughly inspiring the way he was.

I was amazed, overwhelmed. But I had worn the only evening dress I had, bought by Dad 7 years ago for my high school prom, dug out second-hand make-up given to me last year, and had refused to spend money for a temporary hair-sprayed do. And it was just as well, I thought. I would be there as a supporter, celebrating the wonderful achievements of these outstanding individuals. I was sure I would not win.

"Jia, stop eating. It's going to be your turn."

"No la, Mum. Won't be me," I said jokingly, placing another mouthful of vegetables in my mouth and manouvreing a large parachute of a mushroom onto my spoon.

But it was. And I trawled up on stage, relieved that I hadn't tripped over my heels and that my half-chewed spinach was swallowed just before reaching the minister's hand. Everything after that, was surreal.

Till now, I still can't quite believe it.

Stirred:
The similar questions different reporters had asked me stirred me deeply to reflect upon my vision, values and dreams.


"How would you feel if you win?"

I said I would feel happy and blessed. I said that being awarded would make me even more acutely aware of the countless individuals who had sacrificed their lives to give selflessly and tirelessly to others. I thought about Mio, and the thousands of missionaries who had silently poured out themselves for the poor, without recognition; I thought about my many friends and young people out there who had touched so many lives by being who they were (specifically, I thought of Jo, my closest friend who had devoted so much of herself to build me up again); I thought about how Kitesong even came together in the first place, and how much my publisher and his wife had supported me to make this dream come true.

I learnt, that I have been blessed beyond measure. And this is the perfect example of receiving God's undeserved grace.


"What would you do with the award?"

I had said I would be encouraged and spurred on to pour out more of myself to the community. I said I truly hoped that it would serve as a beacon of light to encourage other youth to continue living their dreams. I also said, that I really hoped this would spread the message of hope and love, widen my reach to more people, and garner more support for the causes I believed in and stood for. I determined in my heart, to use this award to find more opportunities to get sponsorship, support and means to equip myself to better serve the poor and the hurting. God, please show me if you want me to further my studies in public health or otherwise overseas.


I learnt, that to give is better than to receive.



"What was your greatest discouragement?"

I said that it was being told I was too young to write Kitesong. What I didn't tell them was the countless nights I had spent being anguished at God, struggling with myself and Him, overcoming my formidable FEARSDOUBTSINSECURITIES. What I didn't tell them was how A Taste of Rainbow was a thousand times more painful to publish because of the resistance I had faced, the struggles I had to overcome with the illness, and the sense of loneliness felt.

I learnt, that if you want to accomplish something great, some part of the journey will be lonely.


Awed:


I thought about the person I was 5 years ago- insecure, needy for approval, overconfident. I wanted to be seen and heard. I wanted to make my parents proud, wanted to prove myself, wanted to be recognised. Then God broke me, through anorexia and depression, the way a Potter breaks an imperfect jar to remould it into something more useful, more beautiful. Through pain, illness and suffering, God humbled me and taught me humility and security, developed in me resilience and a certain brand of daring. I don't care what people think as much anymore.

It's funny. At the time I craved recognition so much that I received little. Only after God had chastened me and I had grown to dislike attention and the limelight, only after I had developed peace not to need a prize to feel validated, only after I had learnt to find my security in God and not in men, did I suddenly receive this.

I learnt, God witholds good things from us, because He has better things in store.

It reminded me of a quote by one of my favorite missionaries, Elisabeth Elliot, "Let's never forget that some of God's greatest mercies are His refusals. He says no in order that He may, in some way we cannot imagine, say yes. All His ways with us are merciful. His meaning is always love."

Tickled:
After the final round of interviews, Dad kept asking me what the interview panel had asked. There were almost 10 interviewers in the panel, and because I was so sure I wouldn't win, I went in completely relaxed and we had a couple of good laughs.

"You like spending your daddy's money on all these overseas missions trips eh?" the head of the committee had asked, before the entire room of us started laughing.

Just before I left, I remember he had looked me straight in the eye to ask, "What can we do to encourage someone like you?"

I was about to laugh when he said, "Don't answer that question. I'm kidding."

I smiled at all of them, laughed my girly laugh in my white dress and blogshop jacket, thanked them and walked out.

I learnt, that clingly loosely to earthly things radiates an unexplicable ease from you. And people sense it.


Relieved:
I remembered how it was so hard to convince myself to be worthy of filling up the application after I had been nominated, how I had to talk it through with my therapist even just to fill up the form because I felt really undeserving of it. I remembered how my application nearly got lost through the system and how much headache it had caused me.

I learnt, that if God plans for something to happen, somehow, even lost documents can miraculously re-appear.


Spurred:
This award has been an encouragement, indeed. I feel like a huge burden has been lifted off my shoulders.

All this while I had been living my life in a dream, protecting myself from naysayers because I didn't want to know what they thought of what I did- I hadn't realised just how much heartache I was actually tolerating, from brickbats thrown at me. You need to spend more time doing clinical research projects if you want to get ahead of the rat race. You ought to specialise and earn money in the fast track. You gotta be practical and stop doing all these things which put your life in danger. You shouldn't do so much writing or blogging, there's no tangible benefit-how many people read your writing? You shouldn't be so open about your dreams about missions and what you've been through- it will affect your chances at a career.

And at school:
Huh? Don't you know this? How would I know something esoteric when I don't spend three-quarters as much time as someone else on studying becuase I'm doing other things? I keep swallowing my pride, and tell myself, my aim is to be a good doctor, not the most academically elite one. So what if I haven't heard of the name of an esoteric bacteria? I was spending time with Grandpa Zhou last night.

Doing community service has changed my social circle tremendously. In the past 5 years, I have watched perhaps a total of 3 movies with groups of friends. Most of my social circle are people far older than me, who are also involved in similar ministries. To be honest, once in a while, I do feel lonely. But it's the life I chose, and it's fulfilling too, albeit different.

I learnt, that to go on doing what we believe in, we need to spur ourselves on. Besides, God is your greatest cheerleader.


Affirmed:

Huh? you've seen a therapist before? What was wrong with you?

When I think about it, I sometimes feel like crying, because I feel like the award is almost God's clear way of telling me- you're on the right track. It doesn't matter what people think or say about you. It doesn't matter where you've been, or what you've been through, because it is your ending and not your beginning that matters most.

I learnt, that you can't let anyone but God tell you how to live your life. And it doesn't matter how bad they laugh at you because of your experiences. It's okay.


Humbled:
To be honest, I'm not used to all the limelight again, not used to having lots of un-answered emails, a flood of replies on Facebook (I regret sharing the videos online, heh), amidst having to prepare for my finals. Ever since I got injured by pride after Kitesong, I'm a lot more wary about the sin of pride. If I have one prayer request, it would be for me to walk humbly before God and man every day of my life, in spite of all the attention, and to use this only for God's purposes, to help the people around me more.

(I'm also sorry if I have not replied to your email, I am very very grateful for every note you send and ask for your understanding as I am preparing for my final exams and the launch of Rainbow as well. Thank you for walking with me all these years. Thank you all for all your encouragement, yuor random emails and notes of love.)


Inspired:

When I think about what has happened, and think of all the people in my life who have poured out part of themselves for me, I cannot help but be filled with gratitude.

Thank you Jo and Jes, for always being there for me, whenever I needed you, for tirelessly giving up yourself for my sake, especially in my times of darkness; thank you Cornerstone, for being such a loving church; thank you all my triathlon and cycling buddies, for nourishing me with your friendship and laughter that I may give out to others; thank you Thomas, for the wonderful photos that night; thank you Mum and Dad for supporting me; thank you to my publisher and Aunty Anita, for making my dreams come true, and for changing my life in such a profound way. Thank you to every one of you who have prayed for me and walked with me in some part of my life. I feel like this award belongs to so many of you.


Thank you God, for healing me. Thank you for making me whole again.


And thank you to you readers, for walking with me, especially to those of you who have written to me before. Thank you for your support. Thank you to a particular "Mrs Lim", for all your encouraging emails during my time of bleakness. Thank you God, for this unexpected gift.

I just want each of you to know, that each of us have an Outstanding Person inside of us, waiting to be unleashed. Yes, in the face of the odds and circumstance, it can sometimes take a miracle for things to happen. Just like how I thought it would take a miracle to be awarded in this way.

May you continually be inspired. May you become an inspiration.

I was so sure I would not win. I told the committee honestly I did not have a clear idea which specialty to pursue, I was honest in my personal sharing to them that I had suffered from depression and anorexia, I honestly said that yes, many times I feel discouraged. Amongst all the other truly outstanding finalists, it would take a miracle for me to be awarded, I thought.

When I was asked what messages I wanted to share with people, I said one of them was this: If God can use someone normal like me who was once so broken, He can certainly use someone like you, too.

There is an Outstanding YOU inside of you,

waiting to be unleashed.

Keep dreaming,

don't stop.

Yes, some things may need a miracle.

The wonderful news is, miracles do happen.

God gives, when we learn to let go.

Thank you God for this miracle.

Thank you for sharing my journey. Enjoy these other inspiring stories from the awardees.

Video 1: Advice from Young Outstanding Singaporeans
Video 2: How I Changed My Life

And just so I remember,

Today I want to make a commitment:

To walk humbly before God and man,

To use this recognition as a means to better reach out to youth,

garner support from the public,

and to give back to the needy

with God's love.

All glory to You, God.

Thank you for miracles.

"Teach me to do Your will,

for You are my God.

May Your gracious Spirit lead me on level ground."

-Psalm 143:10

Creed for Young Outstanding Singaporean Award 2011:

That faith in God gives meaning and purpose to human life:
That the brotherhood of man transcends the sovereignty of nations;
That economic justice can best be won by free men through free enterprise:
That government should be of laws rather than of men;
That earth’s great treasure lies in human personality;
And that service to humanity is the best work of life.

Why not me.

*story published with permission.

From afar, I knew he was on longterm medication. To be precise, I knew he was on steroids.

Moon-like facies, peripheral wasting, central obesity. The medical list of the spot diagnosis came up in my head, and my mind ran like an automated printer churning the list of complications that this patient might have even before we spoke. Medical school trains us like that- to think 2 steps ahead at all times.

Osteoperosis (brittle bones). Hypertension (high blood pressure). Diabetes Mellitus. Hypercholesterolemia. Depression.

It turned out he had had them all before.

From afar, I also knew he was different. A big black book with golden edges sat on his table. He was about to open it when I walked over.

"Is that a bible?" I asked tentatively.

He smiled. "Yes."

There was something about his countenance which lit up that dark, quiet ward, beneath the whirling fans. I smiled. I was a little nervous about approaching him for an interview to take his medical history (an exam skill which we need to hone), since many hoardes of students must have, like me, 'pestered' him before, but he put me at ease.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. S, many students must have come to speak to you. Is it all right if I ask you similar questions?"

"Of course. Come, sit down."

So we talked. Some people like to find out what the patient's medical condition is first. I prefer to know his age and occupation, for it helps build rapport and speaks volumes of a person.

"I'm a pastor. Actually, I'm a missionary."

Time stood still for 2 seconds and goosebumps came up all over me.

"Did you say missionary? Where to?"

"China."

"Oh my, do you know Dr. Tan Lai Yong? The missionary doctor?"

"Yea, I do. We work with similar rural tribes."

"Wow, you know, I entered medical school to be a medical missionary too."

A clean, cool presence swept over us. Smiles broke out on both our faces.

"I was diagnosed with lupus when I was 25. The doctors said my kidneys would fail me in 2 years. It was then that I started to believe in God. My kidneys eventually stabilised, I went on to become a pastor and missionary in China... But I got TB (tuberculosis), and cellulitis (skin infection) from the immunosuppressants I'm taking, so I'm back here for treatment."

"When you were diagnosed with lupus, what else did you suffer from?"

He laughed. That surprised me. Most patients, on recollecting their suffering, recount it in neutral tones of grey, brown and black. But he told it in colour, in hues of emotion and reminiscence.

"Back then, it all started with mouth ulcers, and skin rashes on my face and cheeks. Here's my picture before." His boyish photo taken 25 years ago showed the typical butterfly rash of lupus patients.

" Then I had seizures, low blood counts, and depression. My kidneys failed, I had to take medication and then I became severely depressed."

I grew quiet, I was speechless for a moment. I had studied the signs of lupus before, and seen many patients with various degrees of this illness, but never had I met someone who had suffered the full blown manifestations of this terrible autoimmune disease.

Malar rash. Discoid rash. Photosensitivity. Mouth ulcers. Serositis. Nephritis. Haematological disorders. Neurological disturbances. Depression. Joint pains.

He had had them all. This did not even include the side effects of medication.

I sat there, in awe at the quiet resilience this man's experience had developed in him, in awe at his joyfulness and most of all, in awe at his commitment to serve the less fortunate in spite of the odds. I looked for wrinkles of bitterness, of resentment perhaps, and of resignation on his face but found none.

"May I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"I mean... after all this that's happened to you, don't you ever ask God why? I mean, why you? You're a good man, serving God and the needy. Don't you ever ask why all this had to happen to you, question the injustice of it all, become envious of the normal life other people live? You were serving faithfully as a missionary, don't you get angry with God? Why you?"

"Why me," he said. "How about, why not me?" He chuckled.

He actually chuckled. What was funny about this?

My mind somersaulted, and flipped over like a tossed pancake.

"Why not me?" he said, " You know, I believe God planned illness."

"Whoa whoa whoa," I said. This was senstive ground. "No, illness is from evil- God did not create evil, but yes, I believe He does allow certain things to befall us in light of a greater plan."

"Well," he said, "I agree and disagree. Yes, the devil created evil, but God also plans and orchestrates it into our lives for a grander purpose that we may not understand. I don't think my theology is wrong. Look at the man named Job in the bible. He suffered. Big time. And only because God gave the devil permission. But it all turned out for the best, there was a greater purpose behind it, it was not for nothing."

"Why not me," I echoed.

What a paradigm shift. I had heard this phrase used before, but to hear it from the lips of a man who had been through such hardship was powerful, to say the least.

I thought about my previous hamstring injury, about how I struggled and questioned God about my pain- God, why does this happen to me? I do so many things for you and am faithful to do my best to balance my sport with serving others- why do other people get away with things so easily? How unfair can you be? I thought about the many excuses people like myself make for not going to the mission field to help the less fortunate when we have healthy bodies. Oh I have work, I have this constraint and that constraint... ... I won't be hardy enough, it's too tough.... I thought my previous long struggle with anorexia and depression and how I had thrown my fist and thrown tantrums at God for His apparent silence.

Why not me?

When we think about our lives, full of mistakes and errs and blunders and offenses, as being bought over and redeemed by God's love for us, we then begin to cherish the fact none of what we have is deserved. Yes, I suffered lots for my illness 3 years ago but who ever said life ought to be easy? Yes, I tore my hamstring this year- it might never be the same again, but who said I had the right to do triathlon in the first place? My bike, my legs, my cardiovascular system are all blessings, gifts of grace. Joy, is a gift.

And that, was the greatest lesson Pastor S taught me.

As he spoke, tears started to dam up behind my eyes.

He was married too, serving together with his wife in China. "If you remember, please tell your wife that even though I've never met her, I admire her faith and trust. Both are you are very special."

I remember a question my colleagues and I were discussing, whether we would marry anyone with a long-standing medical illness. We were surprised at how varied everybody's responses were. Not everyone has the kind of courage or nerve to do so.

"Now I have a question for you," he said. " I'm very encouraged by your passion for God and the needy. You have only believed in God for 5 years. That really surprises me, because you talk like you've known God for ages. Can you tell me, what makes you so passionate, so committed to your calling?"

Silence. My mind winded around my heart like a sinewy vine and gripped it.

"It was my illness. When I was ill, those years really tested and grew my faith."

That's when the tears fell.

"You see, God has a reason for everything."

These few days, I've been struggling with God with regards to the illnesses that some of my friends struggle with, namely cancers and infections. Why do they have this lot in life? Why God? It was at that moment that I saw, that everything had, has a reason. Till today, a part of me still resents the fact I had suffered those years. Why did they have to be in medical school when I had a price to pay. But now I see how those years have shaped me, given me a kind of resilience towards life, a kind of compassion for my patients and a daredevil-attitude when it comes to going the distance and taking risks for causes I believe in.


"All my life, I've only met 2 humble doctors. I'm sorry to say, I think most doctors are very proud. I think you are the third one. I will pray for your final exams."

I suppose, illness has its way of keeping us grounded, reminding us of our feet of clay. And God has His way of humbling me when my feet drift off the ground.

Do you struggle too? Are you in a trial which you feel is unfair, unjustified? Are you bitter? Do you, like me, often ask why me?

Then like Pastor S, ask, why not me. And perhaps, the world will spin on its right axis for you again.

"Thank you Pastor S. Meeting you has been a great blessing."

"I feel like I've been blessed more than I have blessed you, haha."

When we begin to see the little things in life as gifts and not rights, and learn to appreciate the cost God paid to love us, we give room for gratitude and personal growth in our lives.

Why not me.

Thank you Pastor S. You get well soon, and hope to see you in the mission field someday.

“It is good for me that I was afflicted,
that I might learn Your statutes.”
Psalm 119:71

“This is my comfort in my affliction,
that your promise gives me life.”
-Ps 119:50

Fairytale dreams.

When I was little, I used to watch the Discovery and National Geographic channel all day long. You know those people who flew to Africa and Afghanistan and South America to give help to the poor? Doctors Without Borders, Red Cross International... I wanted to be one of them, in the thick of the action.

I didn't really care what I would become. Journalist, videographer, correspondent, ambassador, nurse, or doctor... I just wanted a part to play. I didn't know how I would get there, though-the possibilities were endless.

Yesterday, I met up with a team of dynamic people from Doctors Without Borders. In particular, I met up with a surgeon whose travel experiences really opened up my worldview.

I realised, that the possibilties are still, endless. There are so many ways one's path can take, so many options. If you, like me, are always thinking about the future, then surely you are familiar with that overwhelming sense of loss and awe at the infinite options the Big future holds for us.

It worries me, still. Because at the brink of graduation and having undergone 2 internships, I have come to have a foretaste of the stark realities of working life and the grip this world has on us. Materialism, climbing up the corporate ladder, getting ahead and impressing people, all walk out like ogre characters from a fairytale into real life.

I never really understood why missionaries made such a "big" fuss about staying focused on missions and helping the poor in the midst of work and life and "the temptations of this world". I used to think, What is so tempting about this place? But now I see.

It is not drama or stereotype which concocts anecdotes of people buying fast cars and expensive houses and living the high life. It is not that they are bad people. Work happens-it takes away weekends and drives people to self-indulgence. Life happens-it takes away one's focus. We are weak. And temptation wears a good disguise.

I should have left the meeting feeling more invigorated, more inspired, more... focused. But it only left me with a sense of smallness in the greater scheme of things. The road to missions is a long and rocky one, with plenty of temptations in the way. One needs to keep walking ahead to keep one's eyes on the horizon.

A few days ago, someone asked me a question which I am frequently asked- how do you find the time to do all these projects you're engaged in?

I don't have 36 hours in a day. So while the rest of the world is rubbing shoulders with big names and scrambling to write prolific research papers and getting them published to get ahead of the pack, I am simply doing what I feel needs to be done. And God, in His own funny way, has honoured my time. One thing which I must constantly remind myself is: I did not become a doctor to win an award, or to become most revered fastest. I did, because I dreamt, still dream, of helping the poor.

And how this will happen I do not know. Because like one of the humanitarian logisticians told me, There is a price to pay. Sacrifice is needed.

What will happen to my family? Will I get to settle down? Does this mean I will never get married? What will happen to my surgical training? Will it need to be disrupted? Which organisation will I work for or will I (as I've always dreamt) pioneer my own ministry? How will this happen? Where will I get the skills? How many more degrees and how much more studying would I need to know enough about transforming communities? How does this fit into my future timeline?

I don't know.

All I know is that as time passes by and I walk closer to the milestone of becoming a doctor, the possibilities are endless. At the end of this stretch of road, lies a multitude of paths. Which one will I take?

What about you? What do you want to do with your life?

Once upon a time, did you have a dream? Did you get caught up with the realities of life and paradoxically, fold yourself into the fairytale space of pages lost within an unread chapter in a forgotten book somewhere?

At church today, I listened to a family leading a huge team of youth to various parts of the world ministering to abused children. This family is leading the Royal Family Kids' Camp, and their dream is to create positive memories for hurting children all around the world. I watched them and cried. Because they carried their dream to fruition in spite of all that the world told them. The couple was in their forties- surely the realities of life had had their fair share of eroding their dreams. But here they are, transforming communities. There were endless possibilities, endless ways to make a difference, endless ways to bury their dreams too, but they found a way.

With God, they kept walking by faith and found a way.

So I'm praying, that God will continue to be my source of hope, not just on Sunday, but all through crazybusyhectic Monday to Saturday as well, and in time, unfold His story for me. And when the time comes, I'm hoping to walk right into the page in that written chapter and take on the role meant for me, because God can certainly make dreams come true.

For I know the plans I have for you,”

declares the LORD,

“plans to prosper you and not to harm you,

plans to give you hope and a future.
-Jeremiah 29:11

Choosing to lose.

When the interviewer asked me that question that day, I was just completely stunned. "What would you give up in exchange for your life?"

I went on a great deal before the next interviewer eventually asked me, "So would you say, you would give up your life to live with the poor?"

What a question. If I could answer that question all over again, I think I would say, I would give up my life in exchange for bringing the message of hope to the poor, the hurting and the needy.

Days after I returned from Philippines, a close friend chided me in mock anger about my writing about death before I left because it unnerved her a bit. I guess, what I really meant to imply was that, since much of what I do is, to some extent, dangerous, I just don't want anyone to feel bad about losing me if they ever did, don't want them to feel bad for letting me pursue missions or travel to developing countries or live my life this way, should I ever lose my life in a freak accident or riot or infectious disease in my journey to medical missions. What I mean to say is that I would gladly, very gladly give up my life in this way, without regrets.

Last Saturday, I went for an interview for a nomination for a national award for service to humanity. To be honest, it was a great struggle for me to go through with it, since I didn't think what I do was really worthy of recognition and also, since most of the past winners are either hotshot doctors, ministers or famous people. What I've done is merely a drop in the ocean. Nonetheless, that question really got me thinking.

Today, on Facebook, an acquaintance sent me a message:

Hi Wai Jia..

This may come as a surprise to you.

About a month ago, I was feeling down and I went to your facebook. I was looking for some encouragement.

When I was browsing through your photos, suddenly, I felt God asking me to ask you a question. If He were to ask you to give up everything, what would you choose to lose first? What is the thing that you will give up first?

I am always encouraged when I talk you or hear your testimonies. I heard that you gave up your bicycle to help others and God provided you with another one...

Thank you for your encouragement.

Warmest Regards,
K

And tears welled up in my eyes because just minutes before reading the message, I had to make another one of those easy yet difficult decisions that killed my flesh. It turned out that all nominees for this award would be invited to a gala dinner regardless of their win, because the whole purpose of it was to celebrate the contributions of each nominee to Singapore to make it a better place. My old man, in his love and generosity, had offered to buy me a table where we could invite our family and friends to join in the joyous occasion because he felt proud of me. It really touched me, because a table would cost $1200.

$1200. That's the exact amount of money that would sustain the weekly feeding programme for the community of children in Smokey Mountain for 4 weeks.

So I brought up the incredulity of the issue, and how it was simply painfully ironic for us to readily spend on a lavish dinner to celebrate my so-called contributions to the poor when this same money could be used for them.

"But I can't give you both, Jia. You have to choose. It's one or the other."

It was like deja vu. Shortly after I made my choice clear, he walked out of my room with a smile. We'd been through this before- we had had the $2500-cheque written out for my suppposed racing bike, and it required a choice to give it away because simply put, my wants simply do not justify the needs of others.

If He were to ask you to give up everything, what would you choose to lose first? What is the thing that you will give up first?

Is it my possibly high-flying career in surgery. Is it marriage. Is it good reputation.

I do not know. All I know is that with sacrifice, comes temporal grief which eventually gives way to joy and breakthrough.

So I guess it's okay. It's no big deal. Sure it stings- I had already planned who I was going to invite to thank them for all their support- my publisher and his wife, my mentors, my relatives, Jo...

But I think they would understand.

What would I choose to lose if I had to give up everything?

Help me to lose myself in You, God. For things greater than myself, and things greater that this world has to offer.

Looi, a 4-year old boy who wouldn't let go of me

during the weekly feeding session at Smokey Mountain,

where each child was fed a portion of white rice

and a fatty sausage no bigger than the size of a meatball.

That was probably their best meal of the week.

"Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss

for the excellency of the knowledge of God:

for whom I have suffered the loss of all things,

and do count them but dung,

that I may win Him,"

Phil 3:8

Binson.

I was shocked when I heard his reply. I had asked the question as a conversation starter, but little did I expect the conversation to twist that way.

I had asked Jerry, the little twelve-year old boy who had grown up all his life at the dumpsite, "Do you like Smokey Mountain?"

He smiled at me beautifully before saying, "Yes."

That shocked me. Because next to him, all the other boys who were his neighbours squirmed in disgust.

"Why?" I asked.

" Er..." he cocked his head in a child-like manner, "It is... beautiful."

Beautiful. How could this place filled with trash and ash and flies and dirt be... beautiful? Said the Filipino photographer who had come with us, "He probably has never ever been out of Smokey Mountain before. He probably has never seen what beauty is and so has nothing to compare his home against."

Jerry's response shocked me- what was beautiful about Smokey? But it marked the beginning of my journey in learning how to respect the people, instead of carrying my own mindsets, my own culture and my own sense of what was good and correct, my own sense of superiority to someone else's world.

Smokey mountain. This was his home, where his loved ones were.

Jerry

On my first day at the dumpsite trudging through the mud in the pouring rain with Mio's friends, a little boy in the distance caught our eye. He was limping in the rain, against a backdrop of mountains of trash and smoke.

"Cerebral palsy," I thought resignedly, "Nothing we can do." We went nearer, and I saw his right leg contracted in spasms. Completely naked, the little boy crouched down low, shivering in the cold. The medical student in me leaped out and I began to examine his right leg. On closer inspection, we then saw terribly infected wounds on his injured leg. He was limping severely, not because he was crippled, but because he was in great pain. Yellow pus oozed out from where he was hurt. He was shivering, shivering, shivering, and did not answer any of our questions.

"Can we get him a shirt?" I asked. "Maybe from a store nearby?"

"Anung panggalan mo?" I asked in Tagalog. What is your name?

"Bunso." Pronounced Boon-sor. It means Little One. His real name was Vinsen, pronounced as Binson.

He was shivering, shivering, just as we were, except that while we were clothed, he was as bare as a stone. His brown skin glistened in the chilly rain like brown marble. Mio's Filipino friend, Aji, another photographer whom he had linked up with online and just my age, took off his white shirt and I clothed him.


"Come," I said. He was afraid of us. Aji asked him why he wasn't clothed and he said he had no shirt. We walked him home. Little Bunso in a large oversized shirt.



His home was a little makeshift shelter on low stilts made from wooden cardboard and plastic, situated right in front of the coal-making sheds, where it would get full measure of the noxious fumes. It was next to the coast as well, so any floods (which were common) would make his home most vulnerable. We found his mother, who spoke good English because she had gone to school till she was 15.

I learnt, that many of the people in Smokey Mountain live there not because they are "stupid" or uneducated, but simply because, coal-making is, to them, a decent job, one of integrity, a better alternative to other options, and it was a place they were familiar with, away from the big world out there which had no place for people like them.

Back home, at least they felt accepted.

Binson sat on the floor while we asked his mother to bathe and clothe him. She was a dark, strong woman with a face like a horse and a charming smile. His wounds on his leg were raw, oozing with pus and covered with black soot. Three days old, she said, Got injured from hot coals.

Hot coals. They were everywhere. This was the children's world. Trash heaps were beanbags and coal pieces, their building blocks. Just the next day I was horrified to find four three-year old kids crouching around a small fire and playing with it with bits of plastic they had found.

It was common to find children helping their parents collect coal from the shed. I saw a little girl, who could not be more than 7, scooping up rusty nails with her bare hands, caked with black soot, to return to her parents for reuse. It was no wonder Binson got injured.

"Come, come in, " said his mother warmly. Mio and team waited outside but I did not refuse. Inside, were 2 chairs with torn cushions and a plastic sheet on which they slept on. I watched as she bathed Binson with scooped water from a bucket, with him wincing and grimacing in pain. Tears oozed from his large, soulful eyes. I must have looked a little too hard at their house because she said with a smile, "We are poor."

She was apologizing for being poor.

Water does not come easy. I later learnt from the local pastor, Ps Nickson, that one has to walk out of Smokey Mountain, onto the main highway and queue up for water, dispensed from a horsecart for hours before getting some. It is not even drinking water, but water from a hose which they must use for all their cleaning and bathing and drinking, too. I cringed on hearing that, as I remembered Binson's mother offering us her water to clean our feet which were caked with mud.

From a wooden shelf she pulled out some clothes, but every one was too large for Binson. He had four siblings and there was not enough to go around. He shivered in a large towel wrapped around him. Finally, he was dressed in his father's clothes. The family was reluctant to take him to the clinic.

"We'll come back tomorrow with medication," Aji told them. "But tonight, can we take him out for dinner?"

Mio has worked as a social worker, counsellor and some sort of freelance missionary for many years. He and I both understand that we are not to practise "touristy generosity", for such things can backlash and create an unhealthy reliance and expectation from foreigners. But he had built close ties with some of the people there, and we felt it was all right to take some of them nearby for a simple meal. In the drizzle, Mio carried Binson on his back. He waved cheekily at me from above.

Even then, the children were modest, not taking more than they could eat, gently refusing when we doled out more food for them.

Ricky is a 7-year old boy who, for some reason, endeared himself to me. As we walked along the streets at night and young teenagers whistled at me, he held my hand and agitatedly spoke to me in Tagalog. It was the pastor's wife who told me that he was telling me how he "would not let the big boys court me" and would protect me from them. Later however, he started crying halfway through dinner as some hooligan boys, not more than ten years old, crept in during dinner to threaten to punch him if he did not share his food with them. They stood outside the coffeeshop, perched like hawks, watching us eat.

Ricky and I

Such is the situation in Smokey Mountain. The Sunday School Teacher in me wanted to rise up to teach those bad boys a lesson, but when I looked into their eyes and saw their ragged clothes, I saw that they, too, were poor, hungry and empty inside.

Along the way, we dropped by a pharmacy to buy antiseptic cream and alcohol to clean Binson's wounds. I learnt, that Ps Nickson had started a feeding programme that fed hundreds of children in Smokey Children, but they had hardly enough funds to sustain that, much less start a hygiene programme for the children. Each feeding session, which provides every child aged 4 to 11 a packet of rice and a piece of sausage the size of a small fishcake, costs about $300. They need a continuous supply of $1200 each month to nourish the scrawny children there.

We had a delicious meal that night. We were all famished. We nursed Binson's wounds over the next few days, cooing "Magandang, magandang (be brave)" as he winced and teared from the pain. It frustrated us, me especially, to know that the soot continually infected his wounds and nothing could keep him indoors for long. At one point, I chided him, and him, in his shame, cried and tore himself away from me. Just the day before, we were best friends.

Binson's tears reminded me of what Jerry had shared with me, that Smokey Mountain was beautiful because after all, it was his home, their Home-it was where his friends and family were; His tears reminded me of the pride and dignity the people had in that place- they were kind and polite to me, and made an honest living collecting trash and making charcoal. They were not stealing, merely making a living; His tears reminded me, that I had no right to assume I knew better than them, had no right to barge in and tell them the grand ideas I had to lift them out of their poverty, and demand that they should have a hygiene programme or a new project or another new scheme.

This is their home. God tells us to serve one another in humility, and not to lord over one another in pride and self-righteousness.

The next day, even after I had chided Binson, I found him lying in a soot-covered hammock under a coal shed, with his wounds all covered with a carpet of black smoke. I learnt, that we cannot impose ourselves on the poor. This is their life. This is their charcoal-making, soot-filled, trash-surrounding life which they chose to live in with dignity, and that is the dignity which I, too, must choose to accord them with.

As we walked back home that night, I saw once again how much the poor had taught me about life. As I carried Binson in my arms, I suddenly knew at that moment once again, with renewed conviction, what I wanted to do with my future. I still don't know exactly what God wants me to do post-graduation, but I do have some idea. I do know, that God has called me to transform communities, and to help underprivileged children, not by running the place down and telling the people how to live and what to do, but in God's own gentle and quiet way, to live with them, to understand them and to encourage them, and in doing so, to love them.

That is all.

"Is this not the fast which I choose,

to loosen the bonds of wickedness,

to undo the bands of the yoke,

and to let the oppressed go free, and break every yoke?

Is it not to divide your bread with the hungry,

and bring the homeless poor into the house;

when you see the naked, to cover him,

and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?"

-Isaiah 58:66

*photos by Mio and I

Freedom.

* story published with approval & permission.


" If I could turn back time, I would."

You see, he was crucified and flogged, and then, on trying to save himself, was forced to tell on his best friend and watch him beaten to death by the guards when they were caught for stealing food.

"We were just hungry."

They were only 11 then.

I met him through my publisher, who found his powerful photos online. Social reportage photographer, Mio, who asked me to come with him has been visiting Tondo regularly for more than a decade now, exposing this other world through his blood-stained eyes. Even though you'd mistake him for just another Chinese Singaporean, he was born in Cambodia. Since seeing the grotesque killings and atrocities in his childhood, he has used photography in his mission to help underprivileged children, in his attempt to bring hope to a new generation, freedom to captives, and bring healing to his guilt-ridden past.

"I used to have nightmares every night. Every night, I would go back to the prisons in Cambodia and see my friends screaming in pain. After I believed in God, I started praying for them, and since then, every time I dream, I've been able to free someone."

He sets captives free.

Guilt for causing his best friend's death no longer plagues him. During one of his trips to Cambodia, he met a small Cambodian boy named Tira, who looked just like his best friend who died. On getting to know his family better, Mio found out from his parents that Tira had had nightmares since he was 4 years old, of guards flogging him to death. Tira grew attached to Mio and now calls him "Father". It was if God had used Tira to bring healing and forgiveness to Mio, and to set him free, too.

"Wai Jia, come with me to Smokey mountain in Tondo? I work with an organisation there called Malaya Kids Ministries. Malaya in the Filipino language means Freedom. "

Smokey Mountain. That's what all the local people of Manila call it.

Smokey, because of the burning ash. Mountain, because of the formidable heaps of rubbish piled up to the sky, with rolls of rancid smoke rising up like chimneys from the chopped wood burnt to make charcoal.

Smokey Mountain at Tondo. Tondo, it is a dirty word, in many senses of the word.

I know, because we hailed and were rejected by more than 10 taxis before we found a driver who would take us there, even though it was only 15 minutes away. Even then, he was only willing to drop us on the highway, and no where nearer.

Tondo. It is where the air is still and the smell of soot, trash and most of all, dreams hang still in the air. I have been to more than 10 humanitarian trips to various developing countries, but nothing could prepare me for what my eyes and heart had to take in.

It started to rain. The heavens grieved and moaned, shaking its bottled melancholy out of its clouds, as if it were a strange foreboding of what was to come. There were tall buildings and working streetlamps and nice cars and boisterous crowds and colourful markets, and then suddenly, a bridge-a bridge over troubled waters and then a long, grim line of black and grey houses fashioned from wooden boards, rusty mattress rings and plastic. A gigantic rubbish truck stationed itself at the end of the long road where a group of children prowled around to raid the loot from the putrid present.

Tondo. We're here.

As soon as we tumbled out, it was as if the skies could no longer hide its grief, and raindrops fell like shiny, pin-like guillotines onto the ground below.

"Come, Wai Jia. Stay close," he said. A Filipino and another Singaporean photographer whom Mio had connected up with online came too. Each had a heart to help the people of Tondo through telling the hidden, untold stories of this public atrocity.

Through his photographic endeavours, Mio has raised funds for the poor, brought hope to the needy and also caught the eye of famous people in the likes of the President of the Philippines. He has formed ties and bonds with the poor, and helped many. This time, he was on another photographic adventure, and hoped that by bringing me to see this world through my own eyes, God, too, would be able to use me to help.

The rain only got heavier. Our clothes stuck to us like clingy orphans to loving arms. We waited under a zinc roof, but the rain showed no signs of abating.

"Are we still going?" I asked Mio.

" Of course," he said gently. "This is nothing, the last time I came, there was a thunderstorm. No problem, God is with us... let's go."

And off we went again. Suddenly, the long empty road ended and the stark landscape before us gripped me like a strangulating vice.

"Oh, Mio," I said. But he was walking ahead already. I remembered what he had told me before-Living in the midst of montrosity as a child had made him immune to any kind of tragedy and given him an eye to convey the deepest of emotions through his photography.

Towering piles of rubbish, heaped like grand mountains, loomed over us like an evil fortress. Billows of white, acrid smoke in the distance came to greet us. I shuddered, half out of the cold and half, in seeing children in various states of undress hiking up the mountainous terrain of trash in the pouring rain, taking the chance to bathe or play.





My eyes trailed the horizon, searching for some glimmer of colour or hope. But all there was, was tragic, bleak black-browness and a rancid odour. The ground was carpeted with black, soggy trash, compacted by a million barefooted footsteps bearing the weight of heavy charcoal and bags of trash. Used plastic bags, old sacks, thrown-away slippers, broken wooden planks and filthy food wrappers tiled the ground. Piles of broken wooden planks, rusty bicycles, bags of empty bottles and old toys and stacks of worn tyres flanked the path. Everything was either old or used or worn or broken or faded. There was debris everywhere.

It reminded me of the time I went to Sichuan on a medical relief trip after the earthquake- there, was death and destruction. Now, before my eyes lay a similar picture, except that this place was full of life, full of the sense of people building and working and trying to eke a meagre living out of whatever they could.

We had no umbrella, only broken hearts, and so trudged through the terrain, fraught with the danger of rusty nails, sharp wood and uneven ground. It was cold, and heaven's tears soaked our grief-stained clothes.

Brown houses and grey slates flanked the muddy paths, dented with tyre teeth and filled with puddles of water. As we trudged through the mud, sometimes almost slipping, clouds of smoke billowed up like white pillows in the distance. The smell of soot and the sight of piled charcoal, overwhelmed us, even in the rain. Children streamed out like snails on a rainy day catching a breath of fresh air. Our feet and slippers sloshed through the murky water, sometimes getting stuck in the mud.


Little kids, covered with soot, dotted the black landscape, hiding behind the veil of angry, choking smoke because that was their parents' livelihood- picking trash and making charcoal from burning wooden planks.

This, is Smokey Mountain.




A naked child ran barefoot in the rain, up the steep trash hill, and squatted down promptly to defacate. Then I realised, that the children were everywhere, enjoying this God-given relief of hydration, oblivious to the plight of their own states. Thousands of homes were embedded in this dumpsite, homes which contained mothers and fathers and teens and young children. A little girl runs with abandon across the muddy ground barefoot, over the dangerous trash, smashes open a plastic bag which explodes with a white potpourri of snow and gleefully starts to play in the muddy puddles. Her little friend skips over, skewers a plastic cup with a sharp stick to make into a funnel and joins in the fun. It is dessicated coconut, and she kneads it like dough, moulds it like plasticine, and when it is finally all brown and squeezed out of life, she and her little naked friends use them like water bombs to throw at their bullies in glee.

"Oh, Mio," I say, but he has walked ahead. This is not new to him.

It was raining heavily, but life went on. Just like how even though there was trash everywhere, even though there was choking smoke everywhere, even though life was picking a huge bag of trash and earning less than a dollar a day, life went on.

Life went on.

I stood in my tracks, overwhelmed by it all. I had seen poor people live before- but nothing came close to this. This was a dumpsite, and everything, from the homes they lived in to the toys they played with to tools they used... were made of trash. Houseflies buzzed around in swarms.

There was trash, trash all around. And perhaps, the taxi drivers who were afraid to drive us there didn't want to because they saw the people as such too.

Said our Filipino friend, "It is very common for taxi drivers to refuse going to Tondo. They think the people are bad."

That night, I left heavy-hearted. I saw the stark reality of poverty and captivity, trapping the people in a vicious cycle. I saw the children rolling on top of bags of trash, pretending they were beanbags; I saw the children working amidst the coal, breathing in noxious fumes and getting covered in soot; I saw the people living in cramped, dirty, spartan living conditions. I saw trash, trash and more trash.

Today was a hard day. Even though I had left the place, my heart was broken and any talk of the place and the children only soured my nose. I have been on more than 10 mission trips to various developing nations, but none has been more heartbreaking than this.

And then I knew, that God had called me there for a reason. There was a reason why I saw a rainbow after meeting Mio for the first time. There is a reason why I did not grow up in poverty, amidst the smell of burning coal and putrfying trash. There is a reason why we have the privilege of living the way we do.

"Pray for us," said Pastor Nixon, the young Filipino man who started a ministry to help the poor. "I was a Smokey Mountain boy before, living in these sort of conditions. The people here have no hope. They are trapped. I set up Malaya Kids Ministries because I want them to know they have a hope. They can be set free. Malaya in Filipino language means Freedom. All is not lost. Look at me now."

All is not lost. Freedom awaits.

Melaya means Freedom. The sun will shine someday.

"If God therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed"
-John 8:36



"For the Lord is the Spirit, and wherever
the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom."
-2 Corinthians 3:17

It's okay.

"No. My answer is no."

I have gotten used to hearing that. And sometimes, the more resistance I face, the more my inner being feels that it is something worth giving a long shot for.

They say it is good to listen to wise counsel and I agree with that. But I have also learnt, that most importantly, one must listen to that still small voice that comes quietly in the night.

I have a feeling, that my 2 greatest decisions in life- what I do with my job and the person I marry will not be conventional choice either. And they will be decisions I will have to stick by in spite of the resistance and naysaying.

"No, my answer is no. Why are you asking again? I've already told you. They just had a shooting incident. No."

I remember being torn that whole week. My folks didn't want me to go to Manila, not with this amazing photographer person whom I'd only met once, even though he was my publisher's friend. They didn't want me in that crazy city, where they just had a shooting rampage going on and some innocent Hong Kong tourists were recklessly shot to death.

But I really had to go. It was not so much that I wanted to go as much as I knew God wanted me to. I heard that still small voice. That day after praying, I saw a rainbow. And I knew, I was due to go.

I wanted to book the air tickets anyhow, but somehow, a greater respect for my folks stopped me. So I prayed. And prayed. And quit asking, and prayed some more.

Then a week later, my greying hero walked into my room and said, "It's not safe. If you ask me, I'll say I don't like the idea. But if you feel you really must, then book your tickets. We'll pay."

So I've taken leave from my crazy surgical internship to go to a dumpsite in Manila to visit some children living in dumpsites. Me, and 2 other guys, one whom I've never met before. They work closely with an NGO there on a regular basis.

God said Go, so I held Him to His word. So even if anything happens, know that I will die an incredibly happy and fulfilled person.

And just because I've witnessed too many heartbreakingly unexpected deaths of late, I just want to say that Mum and Dad, know that you have given me life to the full by releasing me. Know that I am thankful for your love that allows me to share God's love with the world. Know that whatever happens, I will forever be thankful I had the chance to live life this way. This is the best life to live.

Jo, thanks for praying for me- make sure there're lots of colourful balloons and emo Coldplay and David Crowder music at my funeral and you can have all my photos, dresses and ear-rings. Jes, you can have all the upgraded parts of my bike and fit it onto yours. Aunty Ay, please give all my money away to a foundation for needy kids in Africa, because that is the one place where I've yet to hug the children in.

It's a reckless trip, I know. Someone told me there's some terror alert going on in the area but it's okay. I'm okay. This isn't any different from when I went to Nepal or India or Indonesia.

Your prayers are appreciated.

"Go into all the world..."

-Mark 16: 15