In Pencil.

All through my life, even until junior college, I remember I always favoured writing in pencil more than in pen. The artist in me simply liked it more. I could erase, shade, sketch. Pens were downright boring to me. It was only when I entered medical school that things changed, and writing in pen became a good habit to keep, because a doctor ought to write in permanent ink inside his patients' casenotes.

Do you prefer writing in pen or pencil?

Some years ago, when I first visited Dr Tan Lai Yong in China by myself, I was taken aback.

What will the programme be like? What will I do? What kind of people will I serve? Where will I stay? What is the food like?

I had a truckful of questions to ask, legitimate ones at that, to which he replied to all of them, "Just come."

So I did. And I spent the first day walking around the city by myself, drinking tea, doing nothing much. Some days were busy. Others, not. Yet, it was one of the most fulfilling trips I had ever made.

I didn't realise that this was part of his way of showing us what life with God and missions is like-unpredictable.

On Thursday night, as Dr. Lai Yong shared with us his heart on how to use our professions as doctors to transform communities cross-culturally, he said, "You need to remember 2 things: one, learn to lose control. Plan all you want, but do so... in pencil.

And two, be curious. It helps."

I suppose, a lot of things in life cannot be controlled, and if we try to, we might just go insane. In the same way, A Taste of Rainbow could not be hurried because God had His timing. I cannot try to hurry Him.

A lot of people have expressed how surprised they are at how well I am taking my injury. The truth is, I am too. Deep down, I know this is a supernatural peace unfamiliar to my wilful self. A fair number of jabs into my inner thigh and many strange manouvres later, the physiotherapist said to me yesterday that I am still unable to run or take my bike out- apparently, I severed a fair number of muscles and suffered a Grade 2 injury. I am surprised by how happy I am to rest, because I am learning so many lessons along the way. The minute I let go and surrendered control instead of holding on to all my personal dreams and hopes of wanting to achieve this and that, to do this race and that, life became so much more enjoyable, and it became easy to learn, to rest, to enjoy. It's quite nice not to have sore muscles all the time.

A lot of missionaries drop out because they stop enjoying the journey. A lot of people end up giving up because they can't let go.

Do you write your plans in pen or in pencil?

This is a crossroad season of my life. Many transitions are happening, and I am learning to give God the eraser so I can keep rewriting as He sends angels to tell me my next step. These past few months of interning in the specialties I thought I was interested to pursue made me change my mind about many things- I'm not sure if I'd like to be an obstetrician for the rest of my life, or do eye surgery forever. I'm wondering if Public Health ought to be a bigger part of my life. Because of the great overhaul in the medical education system, we have to decide soon what we'd like to specialise in, even though we are only but big kids floundering around in this vast, vast world called medicine. My mind keeps shifting. I like this, but it's bad for my family; I don't like this as much, but it has this; I wonder what life would be like in this specialty...

I'm not sure where to go during my next 2-week break in June- I have too many options. I don't know if I should sign up for bible class. I'm not sure I should go ahead with another project I have in mind. I am contemplating not doing any more triathlons or the marathon I had planned, simply because I have found great joy outside the race ring, too.

Options.

Someday, I'd like to be the kind of doctor Dr. Lai Yong is today- dynamic, adaptable and altogether effective in his ministry to serve both the poor and the rich, to impact both developing and developed communities.

And I suppose, the first step I can take, is to keep writing in pencil. Unless it's in a patient's casenotes.

"Write your plans in pencil and let God have the eraser."

-Erwin Lutzer

Letters of Hope (2)

Letters of Hope

are a series of letters I have chosen to write in response to questions I receive regarding recovering from Anorexia.

I am not a professional, and I don't have all the answers, but I hope that sharing my experience and thoughts may help answer some of your questions, and encourage some of you towards Recovery. It is my hope that this sharing may also help some of you better understand and support someone suffering from Anorexia, now or in the future.

hey...

I dont know if you remember me, but this is N :) We met a couple of times at the support group… … I just returned from my trip to X … but I think I'm like relapsing. Reading your blog really inspires me to wanna recover. I was just wondering, if you could like tell me how life is on the other side (after recovery) and how you managed to. I really do want to recover.

thanks :D

love, N.


*Names and places have been changed.




Dear N,

Of course I remember you and I’ve been wondering how you’ve been too. Thank you for writing- I’m really glad to hear from you! : )

On Relapse

I haven’t attended the support group many times myself because by the time I found it, I was almost all right. But remember once we talked about how it is possible to recover, and to recover fully? Believe in that with all your heart. I had a Relapse before too, a few times over the past year actually. I've had to learn that it’s perfectly normal, and nothing to beat yourself up about. The road to recovery is a winding one, and relapsing doesn’t mean getting lost- it means accidentally taking two steps back because of tripping over a stone of some sort. Sometimes, the new perspective helps you learn more about yourself, and you can move forward faster, with more strength to your stride.

Relapse doesn’t mean anything but a learning experience. We can choose to accept it and use it to learn more about ourselves, or stay discouraged and give up. You’re really brave and determined to decide for yourself to want to move forward, and you’re on the right track : )

Finding your stones

Write them down

One thing I can't do to help is to give a sure-fire formula on how to recover, because each of us are so different. This is what makes Anorexia so difficult to treat- Each of us have such different Stories. But I can tell you one thing- that you can recover, by looking out for your own stones.

Stones are things that trip us, things that bring back bad thoughts and self-destructive behaviour. They could be anything, and I had to take time to think about what my stones were. By beautiful chance, I met a British lady, Ll, who is a marathoner, who used to suffer severely from Anorexia, and who is working on becoming a counsellor to help people suffering from this. She taught me to recollect past situations which triggered off destructive thoughts and behavior and I had to take a lot of time to write down what those things were, find out what my stones were.

They could be anything. Every one has different stones. After a lot of thinking and recollection of past experiences, I learnt that some of my triggers were lonliness, events which triggered insecurity, stress from work, eating with people who talk excessively about calories and exercise and weight, and being inundated by a storm of unhealthy societal expectations. These were my stones, things which tripped me up.

Take a baby step- Find out what your stones are. Write them down in one column, and on the second column, write down the things you can do to avoid tripping over them. In other words, look for those stones, and pick them up before they trip you.

My Stones

Insecurity and stress tripped me up real bad. My worst stone was feeling lonely as I've a lot of difficulty articulating my feelings especially when those feelings are anger or frustration- I've been brought up in an environment where those feelings are labelled to be "bad". Realising what my stones were helped me to think of ways to cope whenever I bumped into them.

For me, picking up stones meant making sure I made an effort to eat with normal, healthy people who made me feel at ease; it meant journalling my thoughts and talking to God whenever I had strong feelings about something, instead of running away from problems by literally going for a run; it meant me making a conscious effort to say how I felt; it meant me avoiding trashy fashion magazines featuring anorexic people.

It meant me spending time for myself and with God, and not just being busy trying to please everybody else. It meant me avoiding situations that I knew would trip me up.

It meant taking time to find out what I could do to pick up those stones before they tripped me.

You can too. Find out what your stones are, and where they lie. So the next time you see them, you can pick them up, and walk forward- well.

As you get better, your trip-ups get fewer and further between, and that's when you know you're on your way to being completely Well.

Asking WHY

This was the most challenging part for me.

Once you've figured out what your stones are, and what you can do to pick them up, here comes the real challenge. I had to find out WHY those stones tripped me in the first place. Why does eating with people who obsess about fashion and weight and exercise trigger a self-restricting response? Why do I feel insecure? Do I need to feel insecure?

This takes a lot of time because it goes so deep, runs so far back. It can be very frustrating and challenging. You may even need some help from someone professional to help you through this. I was already seeing a counsellor then because of my journey with depression, and it dug out many ill beliefs and damages which I had absorbed unconsciously as a child. I learnt so much and gained a lot of self-awareness through this process.

Remember to be faithful in writing down your stones using your two columns, and to ask yourself WHY.

Pressing in

There will be times you feel like throwing in the towel, and times where you feel like bursting out in tears because nobody seems to understand. People around you can say and do things that hamper your recovery, and this can be extremely exasperating, I know.

Hold on to one thing- that no matter what people say or do, no one can take away your decision to get better. No one.

Getting Support

I had a friend who would force me to eat whenever he was with me, and I found it extremely stressful. Many times I felt like bursting into tears, tell him he didn't understand, or ask him to leave me alone. But he was a good friend, like a big brother, and I wanted to get better. So I explained my illness to him, let him read a book on how to help me and asked him to support me by giving me time and space to recover.

It's not too much to ask- they want to help, too. If it helps, you can take the iniative to tell your close friends how they can support you in your recovery. Instead of just getting mad, or crying, you can choose to press in, and make your recovery work.

Rationalise

Growing up in a family where members count calories, make fun of larger people and give one another second looks when you take an extra spoonful of rice was difficult for me. Many times I felt like exploding. But instead of getting mad, or crying, I chose to press in, rationalise in my head that they don't know how to help, rationalise that I can make a choice to nourish my body, rationalise that what they are saying hurts me but I can press in and be determined to eat well, be well.

There are always 2 voices in your head- the healthy one, and the unhealthy one. Whenever you feel like going back to old ways, let the 2 voices thrash it out with each other until the good side wins. Rationalise things in your head. MAKE SURE THE GOOD SIDE WINS.

Desperation

Desperation is a good thing during recovery. It keeps you determined. Be desperate for recovery- write your reasons for doing so down and keep them as reminders.

For a long time, I kept my scale, even during recovery. But this incident broke me down completely, and made me desperate enough to want to be Well, not just partially, mostly but COMPLETELY Well. I was completely set free only after I threw it away.

Be desperate for recovery, and throw it away.

Most of this world does not understand Anorexia. When they don't, and say or do things which hurt us more than help us, we need to press in. Press in, in desperation, and make our recovery work for us.

My White Place

Church and God helped me a lot. They are the reason why I recovered so quickly.

There is a principle in the bible which helped me a lot- that is, the principle of "dying to yourself so you can live". It's really about putting to death our destructive worldly, human desires so that we can live victoriously. I applied it to recovery. Every time I felt the desire to return to the old ways, I would pray, put those thoughts to death, and do the complete opposite- if didn't feel like eating for example, I would pray, then be determined to finish a meal.

This can be very difficult. But there is something powerful in believing in God with all your heart because He has the power to unchain shackles, transform lives, set captive people free.

I do believe there is a time and place for professional counselling, medication and taking steps to recover. But at the end of the day, I believe all these methods are human constructs- there is something powerful about believing in the power of God that can break down strongholds and set you completely free, in a way even the best self-help book can't. Not everyone will agree with me on this and that's all right. This is my personal opinion from my experience.

There was a lot of crying. A lot of crying. But God heals- I know He did for me.

Life on the Other Side

Green Hills and Blue Skies

It is completely different here. Here, I am free.

Anorexia is tiring. It tires you mentally, physically and emotionally. For me, it was also a symptom of depression. Getting Well meant being set free from obsessive thoughts, having a healthier body, and learning how to get in touch with my feelings.

I feel better physically. Being Well means feeling more energetic, having a better memory to study well and looking much, much better. You'll be surprised, but being well gives you a glow Anorexia will never be able to give you. Being Well is what truly makes you beautiful.

I feel better emotionally and mentally. The process of Getting Well taught me so much, and likewise, you, too, will become stronger, more compassionate and more sensitive to other people through this process.

Life on the other side is victorious, and Free. You finally see how much more there is to life- people to meet, places to go, meaningful things to do. What do you want to be when you grow up? Remember, you can be good at what you do, but only without Anorexia.

On the ground

I'll be honest with you. There are still things I struggle with, like learning how to say I'm angry. A lot of times I don't, and it takes me a few hours, or days to admit to both myself and someone else that I'm angry and that it's a valid feeling. These are things we can continually work on, and which make us better people.

The Person Inside

Recovering is a beautiful process. It helps you to find out who you really are inside.

Anorexia takes the real YOU away. It numbed my feelings, set rigid rules, and took away my freedom. Reovering meant having the courage to unpeel the many layers I had chosen to hide under, unzipping the costume I was wearing because I felt so insecure. Recovering meant being a child again, exploring what foods I actually do like to eat, and to have them without anxiety. Recovering meant being open and honest with myself and finding the person inside.

Who is the real you? Be excited to find out : )

You'll be completely Well, N. You know, not many people would come this far to seek help regarding Relapse- You're very brave and determined : )

You'll be completely Well. Believe in it with all your heart.

God loves you very much dear.


Love,

Wai Jia

The Wedding Banquet.

* To read the Full Story of Grandpa Zhou, click here.

I attended a wedding dinner last night at the Shangri-La Hotel. It was a very grand wedding- men were dressed in suits, and the women were clad in sequin-studded gowns, pursing their scarlet lips, trying to breathe under their corsets. They had faces caked with make-up. It was a very grand occasion and the golden chandeliers gave an air of added sophistication to the entire event. It was a very grand event.

I couldn't sleep last night.

This evening, after dinner with my Complete family, I asked my father if I could go and visit Grandpa Zhou. "He seems all right, you know, " Dad said, " I saw him the other day at the train station too- you dont have to buy him dinner every week. You can't save the world, you know, Jia. There're too many of them."

My parents have a heart of gold. They really do- but I sensed it was out of concern that I was being taken advantage of that Dad voiced his concern.

I explained that I had learnt Grandpa Zhou had been born with a disability on his right arm and both feet, and that recently, his feet had swelled up very badly. I had called my friend, a doctor, the day before and she had told me swollen feet can mean a few things- heart problems, kidney problems, gout or malnutrition.

Malnutrition. That must be it, I thought.

Dad frowned. " I see... I didn't know that. Sure, go. And make sure you tell him to see your doctor-friend too."

So I went.


" Zhou yeye, nin hao! (Hello Grandpa Zhou!)" I chirp. I squat down beside him. I love sitting next to him on those dirty steps.

He beams at me. I love to watch him when he opens the styrofoam box of food delivered to him. There is always a look of gratitude washed over his eyes. He holds the precious box, heavy with an extra portion of rice with both his hands, lists everything he sees in that box in great detail, and tells me a little about each dish. "This vegetable, " he says, " this is bai cai. Haha, bo cai is very nice too."

"Oh dear," I say in mock sorrow, "I didn't get your favorite vegetable!"

He shakes his head. " Ni mai de, wo dou xi huan... Yin wei... ni shi zhen xin mai gei wo de. Ni kan de qi wo. Ni mei you dang wo shi qi gai." ( I like whatever you buy... because you bought it for me with a sincere heart... You didn't look down on me, you dont treat me like a beggar.)

Again, I thought about the many times I had, in my heart, considered him a well man trying to cheat passers-by of their spare change.

People walk by us and look at us.

"Grandpa Zhou," I ask very carefully, "Remember the last time you told me to tell you about your swollen feet? I asked my doctor-friend, and she says it could be due to a few reasons but we won't know till a proper doctor has a look at it. Can I take you to a doctor?"

"That would need money right?"

"No, you'll be seeing my doctor-friend. I've spoken to her. Free-of-charge."

"Really?"

I tell him about HealthServe, a clinic along Geylang that serves the marginalised- construction workers, prostitutes and those who cannot afford basic healthcare.

He tucks into his dinner and we talk. I ask him about his daily meals and routine, and he asks me two questions that chill my heart.

" Hm.... Is it okay to eat cold food? Like say, if I bought food like this and left it aside? And oh yes, expired canned food is okay right? If I boil expired sausages in hot water for a rreeaally long time, it's okay right?"

"No it's not okay and it's not all right, Grandpa Zhou. It's always better to eat warm food, and canned food should not be expired. And no cup noodles. No cup noodles, okay?"

We talk some more, and he tells me about his past when he used to work at the cinema.


"Wai Jia!" I hear a voice calling me from behind. I turn around, to see a familiar face, a junior from the medical faculty. She looks at me from the top of the flight of steps while I remain squatted next to Grandpa Zhou. "I thought I recognised your hair from behind. What are you doing here? Doing CIP (Community Involvement Project)?"

There is an awkward moment. I laugh, then I smile the smile I always smile when I dont know what to say. "No, I live here. Good to see you." I smile some more. She takes some time to understand.

Grandpa Zhou finishes his meal. This time, I didn't buy him beancurd because I'm not sure if he has gout. People with gout should avoid beancurd and beans.

"Wah, fish and egg today, thank you so much. You know, I don't understand one thing. One thing, I will never be able to understand.... The people here at this train station- they are so lovely. I've met so many kind souls... I don't understand... Why do you people do this for me? I don't understand..."

"Because God loves us so much I want to share the love that I've received with you. Is that okay?" I smile.

He nods.

We agree to see the doctor. "They're open only on Saturdays afternoons and Tuesday nights. Next Saturday afternoon or following Tuesday then. Closed on New Year's day. We'll go together."

You can't save the world and you can't help everybody. Many people had told me that before and the words rang in my ear loud and clear. How they stung.

Yes, we can't save the world, but in the first place, that is not our responsibility. Our responsibility is to love, one person a time, from our families first, inside and out. If we all helped one person, on top of loving our families, perhaps everybody would receive the love they needed in different places. More people would be less broken. More people would be loved in the right places, in the right ways.

And then I realised why I could not sleep the previous night. The wedding made me think of many things. I remember asking the missionary doctor while I was in China, " Do you ever feel oppressed by the lifestyle here in China? Restricted by the lack of material comfort? I mean, life here is so... simple."

The missionary doctor had looked at me, beamed brightly and replied, "Back home in Singapore, don't you feel oppressed too? " He grinned, " By the opulence?" I thought of the many garish-looking, sequin studded gowns I saw last night.

I also remembered another missionary I had met in China, a lady in her seventies serving people with leprosy since 1960. Because of her dedication to the poor, she had turned down two proposals. Two.

So that was what I was disturbed by. The wedding banquet made me think about many things, about whether I would grow to like fancy cars and big houses and extravagant eighty-thousand dollar weddings someday. If I would have mine at the Shangri-La myself. If I could bear to serve the poor and share with them photos of my eighty-thousand dollar wedding, and my designer wedding gown.

Or if I would have a proper, simple but beautiful one, and have a table inviting people like Grandpa Zhou to it.

Or if I would have one at all.

I couldn't sleep last night. And now I know why. I was just, wondering.

That's all.

But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind...

- Luke 14: 13

Grandpa Zhou, have you had dinner?

Grandpa Zhou.

I never did like that old man very much.

Often, he sat by the train station, playing his harmonica, singing a hoarse tune with a dirty box with spare change inside. A few times, I had Stopped to ask him how he was, if he wanted any food, and each time he would turn my question back on me, saying, “You want to give me ah? Just give me money la, then no trouble to you!”

I thought he was very cocky. He was shriveled and small, but looked very alert. He seemed to play his harmonica un-intently, sing his hoarse songs without any sense of pride. I never did like that old man very much.

The last time I saw him was before I left for China. I thought to myself, one day I have to talk to him.

Last night, I did.

“Uncle, have you eaten?”

He looked up at me, recognizing my familiar face and question, for I had asked him that many times before, and had returned with a box of noodles or a bun from a nearby convenience store. Again came the reply I had expected- “You want to buy for me ah? Can la! You buy la, buy la.” Ha waved his hand as he spoke.

“What do you want Uncle?”

He seemed unpicky at first, but later started to become more specific. “I want anything… No, er… maybe just some snacks… curry puffs or, no no no, bao (Chinese bun). I want a bao.”

“Okay, Uncle. I’ll get it for you.” I walked into the convenience store in front of us, then turned back to ask, “What kind do you want? Is it enough?”

“Chicken. I want chicken, not as if they have pork what. Of course one bao is not enough! Very, very hungry...”

I looked at him sitting by the steps. He was being cocky, and trying my patience too. People often warned me of being taken advantage of, and I thought this may be that instance. His requests, from a hungry old man, were legitimate, but I hated his cockiness with me, that air of disdain and presumption. I never did like that old man.

I returned with a Chinese chicken bun. He thanked me very briefly.

Every mission trip changes me in ways I can never fully explain or understand. Cambodia grew my wings for independence, Nepal opened my eyes to orphans and my heart to Strangers, India broke my pride for going solo and China… China gave me new eyes to see, and strength to enlarge my tiny heart.

I wanted to leave, but didn’t. Church didn’t teach us to be like that. God loves us so much He gives us strength to love the unloveable. He Stopped for everyone, didn’t He? To love, that is all He asks of us. Not just callously, in a salve-your-conscience kind of way, but deeply, thoroughly, genuinely.

“I’ll get you noodles then,” I said, “You like that? Or rice? There is one packet of nasi lemak (coconut rice) and one packet of noodles left. Which do you like?” But as I turned towards the convenience store, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it.

I stated the obvious. “It’s cold ya, Uncle? The noodles from the store… they’re cold ya?”

“Or you can get me the hot one then. The instant cup noodles! Yup that would be much better!”

Given a choice, I would never serve anyone cup noodles. And I would have to be in dire, dire circumstance before consuming waxed junk that tried to imitate itself as food. Something in me broke when he asked for cup noodles. He was old enough to be my grandfather, and though I never saw both my grandfathers, I would never, ever serve my own grandpa food from a Styrofoam cup.

I wanted to go home, I was carrying many things, I was tired, and the Chinese stall was two streets away. But something in me broke when he asked for cup noodles. Things shouldn’t have to be this way.

I stooped down and crouched next to him. “Uncle. You like Chinese mixed rice? I buy for you, can? Tell me what you like.”

It was then that I noticed. I had always thought he was normal and healthy. Cocky, but normal and healthy. But it was then, when I Stopped, when I crouched down next to him to take his order that I noticed- his right forearm was unnaturally shriveled like a toothpick and his feet were swollen with distortion. I had never noticed it before, because he always huddles his limbs together. Congenital disabilities.

“I want cabbage. And chicken. Two dollars only, I know… Or three vegetables, that’s two dollars too! I know all the price of everything!”

As I turned to leave, he shouted behind me, “And extra rice! Extra rice!”

I returned with his meal. This time I didn’t want to leave. “Uncle, please eat. It’ll get cold and then it wont be nice.” He looked at the food and was pleasantly surprised.

“Sometimes I only eat one meal a day,” he said.

We talked. For more than an hour. People stopped to watch us, some intently, others glancing back for a second glance as they walked past. It must have been a strange sight. Young girl with long hair, fancy dress and high heels sitting by dirty steps with a shriveled old man, listening with fascination to his Stories. He was surprisingly very, very knowledgeable.

Suddenly I loved him. Loved his Stories, loved his interest in my life, loved that underneath that cocky façade was an old grandpa who just wanted some food and company. Grandpa Zhou, I called him. Very old men who are not lewd have a soft spot in my heart. The lewd ones, on the other hand, make me want to gouge their eyes out and burn their… nevermind.

“You… you must be one of those who believe in Jesus right?” he said, as he tucked into the first warm meal he had had in a while.

“That’s right, Uncle. Heh.” I said.

“Yeah, I know… You Jesus-believing people like to buy food for people, ha. I don’t believe in any religion though. It’s not as if anyone has ever seen God, you know. Right? Ya, but I don't hold anything against you all...”

We talked about many things. Chinese politics, his background, his suffering from congenital disabilities, my life and my future… “I like your harmonica-playing,” I said.

And played he did. I never thought he would finish such a large packet of rice but this tiny, shriveled old man finished every bit, including the bao too. And when he did, he sang his favourite Hokkien song and played on his humble harmonica for me. “I love to sing,” he said.

We agreed to meet on the weekend so he could teach me a tune or two.

How I had wronged him. I thought he had no pride, but it was just that he was old, and his voice was hoarse; I thought he was cocky, but it was just that he was preserving his dignity- after all, he never asked for money from his son; I thought he was taking advantage of me, but it was just that he hadn’t eaten a good meal for a long, long time.

We keep thinking these people don’t really need our help, keep thinking we need to travel far and wide to help the less fortunate, keep thinking that underneath that façade, these people have quite a good life cheating passers-by of their money. But he earns $300 a month, tries to save by spending $2 a day on food and needs the rest to support his wife and pay for utility bills.

"I can't sleep every night, you know. Sometimes I drink a little beer just so I can sleep. But now, I don't even do that because do you know how expensive beer is?"

"Beer is not good ya. Don't smoke or drink beer okay? Beer can cause liver cancer ya..."

"Ya I don't anymore. I want to be healthy. I'm past seventy already."

I shared with him my pictures from China which were in my bag. He was fascinated, especially with the picture I had taken with the patients from the Rehab Centre. They too, like him, were crippled or had handicaps, but were joyful and grateful for their lives. I explained the reason for my visiting China, and told him about the missionary doctor who had given up his comfortable life here to be there to serve the poor.

“What a noble man. You, too, are very noble ya,” he said pensively, blinking his eyes. “ You are very blessed too. You have money, good life, so you can bless other people. Study hard.” He paused before he continued. “I don't think God is real cos I've never seen Him but one thing is for real… I don’t believe in any religion but you Jesus-believing people… you fellows that Ive met are very kind, always loving people... that I know for real.”

As he looked at his takeaway box, he said, “Thank you. Thank you for the food- this is more than two dollars. Thank you for sitting to talk with me. Even my daughter has never done this before…”

It was late, we had talked for more than an hour and I was becoming tired. “Take care, Grandpa Zhou. I have to go. Thank you so much.”

“I'm not fit to be your grandpa- I'm too poor... I should be the one thanking you. Thank you for stopping to talk with me.”

We think it strange for us to stop to talk to Strangers. Some of us put a coin or two to salve our conscience, some of us buy a packet of bread, leave it by their side, smile and walk away. But I will always remember what Grandpa Zhou said, “ There is this other lady who always buys things for me. She always leaves it by me and walks away. But she never, ever stops to talk… … How Strange.”

How strange.

How strange that we think it strange to stop to talk, but it is stranger still not to.

I thought of all the times I had wronged him, all the times I had chosen to walk away, all the times that my actions were driven more by the need to salve my conscience than the genuine desire to love, to love the way God loves us.

I thought of all the times we chose to give our love to Strangers, rather than the people in our own homes, all the times we took love for granted, and the times ahead that we can create, can change to bring that kind of love under own own roofs, for our own mothers, and fathers and siblings- people who were destined to love us deeply, thoroughly, genuinely till the end.

How far I fell short. How far we all do.

“Bye Grandpa Zhou. God loves you very much. See you on Saturday.” I gave him a side hug.

“Bye bye, and see you. I’ll be here till late on Saturday... Bring your harmonica!”

"I will, Grandpa Zhou. I will."

"... Love one another..."

John 13: 34-35

Happiness in a Nutshell.

Happiness is waking up every day at 6am in the village, jogging in the freezing cold underneath a canopy of stars with the missionary doctor, chatting about God and life, and eating hot, steaming roadside fare.

Happiness is spending the first day of your trip exploring the place by yourself, with no guide, nobody at all- and feeling completely at ease in the midst of humble, quiet people.

Happiness is taking public transport by yourself on your second day in a foreign land to a lake with thousands of seagulls, sitting on a stone bench and overhearing a conversation in simple Mandarin:

" Mama, wei shen me zhe zhi mao mei you er duo? (Mommy, how come this cat has no ears?" A little boy comes up to where I am sitting and stares curiously.

"Yin wei... yin wei ta bu ting hua ya... Ni kan, ling wai yi zhi mao duo ting hua ya! (Because... because it was naughty and didnt listen to what its mommy told him... See, the other cat has ears because it was a good boy!)"


The little boy, holding his mommy's hand, uses his other hand and scratches his ear, before coming over to feel the ear-less, naughty cat.

Happiness is enjoying colourful messiness, and seeing Beauty in it.

Happiness is seeing a poor villager's life changed- being able to function again after having a leg and fingers burnt by acid- because of what the missionary doctors and God's love have done for him. Happiness is seeing the missionary doctor give him a haversack, and a jacket and seeing him overwhelmed with joy and thanksgiving.

Happiness is seeing how a little girl, dulled by mental retardation, constantly salivating and frowning because of her inability to walk, go completely ecstatic when you take a picture with her with a flash. Happiness is hearing her scream and shriek with joy, and seeing her mother smile.

Happiness is spending two hours to travel to another hospital, and helping a village family pay for their hospital expenses, partly with money a classmate gave you " to use it in whatever way you want to help the poor, I don't care how you use it...". Happiness is praying for the family and the father who has terminal cancer, and seeing their tears of gratitude when you open your eyes.

Happiness is laying shoeless on grass, and seeing nothing but blue skies, and clouds

Happiness is walking by miles and miles of sugarcane fields, and biting refreshing sugarcane freshly chopped in front of you by the village farmers.

Happiness is throwing up all night, feeling giddy and weak but laughing the next morning at church, grateful to God for the Beautiful experience.

Happiness is feeling physically weak from puking and pooping, and emotionally exhausted- but knowing you could do it all over again.

All over again, because it makes you Happy.

Beautiful People.

Thank you all for your thoughtful emails, notes and prayers for me.

I arrived at 2am this morning, after a memorable gastronomical spewing session on the aircraft due to the result of staying for a few days in a village and eating with the beautiful people there. Miles and miles of sugarcane fields, endless cloudless blue skies, and humble, hospitable, quiet people. It was worth it.

I'm sorry I could not share Stories with you all till now. For some reason, I wasn't able to access this space during my stay in China. Apparently, some sites are restricted in China, and this happens to be one of them.

Many sights, sounds and Stories broke my heart there. Talking to villagers stricken with lethal diseases but too poor to afford a stay at the hospital, listening to the poor tell you how they wanted to end their lives after losing their limbs in unfortunate accidents but could not afford even the most basic operations, and seeing how humble and simple people can and ought to be- can break your heart in ways you don't even imagine.

Then you see how missionary doctors there send out teams to collect the poorest and neediest villagers, from the most inaccessible of places in the mountains, send them to hospitals to give them new hope for a new life; you see how they give them money, friendship and love; you see how they give them hope to want to live again- and something deep inside you breaks in a Good way. Like you know you could do this someday. Like maybe, for all your pampered upbringing, you could. Maybe, more than maybe- you could, and will.

The place that broke my heart the most must have been the Rehabilitation Centre.

I was on my way there when I crossed a huge park in the city, bustling with activity. In the morning, crowds of elderly people exercised, danced, played instruments and played with their grandchildren. It was a joyous, beautiful sight, brimming with energy and life.

At the end of the park were dozens of people squatting by the side, offering to polish the dirty winter boots of passers-by. I hardly stopped to look at each of them because there were so many, each doing the same thing for a living. Different lives doing the same thing to live. But she caught my eye. She caught my eye because there she was, sitting in the sunshine on a frosty winter's day, squatting by the side, waiting to polish the dirty winter boots of passers-by... and she had no feet. Where our feet start, hers ended in stumps, as if her feet were buried under the cruel metal concrete ground below.

She had no feet, and yet, squatting by the roadside, she held a polishing cloth, waiting to polish the dirty winter boots of passers-by, boots that enveloped the very things she did not have. I watched her, rooted to the ground, outraged by the audacity of the irony. Suddenly, in that poignant moment, everything faded away. I wanted to go up to her, talk to her, but what could I say that would bring comfort or peace to her? So I watched her, rooted to the ground.

I caught her eye, and I did the only thing I knew- I smiled her my best smile.

In return, she smiled her Best smile back. It was a radiant, Beautiful smile, shining in the winter's sunshine, without a hint of malice, or resentment at the lot life had dished her.

I turned the corner, then had to sit by the roadside where she could not see me. And I started to cry.

I pick myself up and make my way to the Rehabilitation Centre, the place where villagers who have met with devastating accidents are given new life and new hope because of what the missionary doctors have done for them. "Go and talk to the patients and spend time with them. Just, spend time with them." the missionary doctor had told me.

I am a stranger there. With no one to tell me what to expect, I find myself shocked and deeply saddened by the sight of a man, burnt and terribly disfigured from head to toe. His skin is deep red, brown and pink. He hardly has eyes or a nose. He comes up to me with a group of patients and I brace myself.

I find it very awkward at first, and they seem not to welcome me very much. But they soon open up, and I make friends with Mei Yun (Beautiful Cloud), Xu Hai, and Tian Zi Shu.

They all grew up in villages. Born with a disability, Xu Hai cannot walk normally. Mei Yun lost sensation of her left calf when she was little but surgery at the Rehab Centre allowed her to walk again. Tian Zi Shu sits in a wheelchair. His legs are tiny, shriveled, but his face is determined, radiant even. His leg muscles hurt when he was fourteen- they still do.

They all had one thing in common- they all told me they had wanted to die at some point, but coming to the Rehab Centre, learning about God's love and purpose for their lives gave them new hope, new life, made them want to live again.

Xu Hai

Mei Yun (Beautiful Cloud)

Tian Zi Shu

We sit in the warm sunshine, talk, eat fruit. I meet Yang Yao, a man with long hair tied in a ponytail, and with one leg. He lost his hearing in one ear and his left leg after a mining accident.

“I heard the tssssss…. of the dynamite wick and knew haha, it was over,” he says with a smile, "I thought I would die actually."

I ask him how long he has been at the Rehab Centre and he replies, “Oh, my treatment has long been over. My lover. This time, I'm here cos of my lover.” He says those two words with a charm I cannot fully reconcile with.

“My lover,” he says, “My wife, she is having treatment. She lost both her feet because of severe burns. Her legs are stumps. I have no job now, but we’re thankful we earn enough because she polishes boots in the day.”

Later, I learn he is the husband of the woman I smiled to at the parade square, the one who made me cry because of her Beautiful smile.

There are other visitors too. One of them comes up to tell me, “I was watching you just now with all the patients. I just wanted to say you have this special gift of involving everyone in having fun. It's a special gift, just wanted you to know that.” Another young lady comes up to talk to me and says, “ You look like you’ve been working here for a long time. You really have a way with these patients.”

I had been there for an hour at most. One young girl who had lost her leg in a tragic car accident when she was sixteen spilled her entire Story to me within the first 5 minutes of our encounter, without me even asking her. I was afraid to ask, really. Some hurts, we as Strangers, have no right to ask.

It took me days to figure it out. And suddenly, it came to me- the reason why we became friends so easily, the reason why the patients told me, "I don't usually share this with people. But somehow, I feel I want to share this with you."

The answer was very simple. We, not just they, had one thing in common. We all knew the taste of depression, what it meant to want to kill yourself. We had been there and back, been there, played and toyed with it until we knew what God's love is, what it does. We had that one thing in common, and that was enough. In that warm sunshine, we talked, and ate fruit, and became instant friends.

That night I woke up at 3am, and could no longer sleep. Something inside was stirring within me. Haunted by the day's events and haunted by the inner demon I had promised myself to deal with, I could not go back to sleep. All my life, I have been battling with my inner demon of low self-esteem, of not feeling pretty, smart, good-enough and that night it haunted me with a hollow Blackness.

The next evening, I returned to the Rehab Centre. Cui Hua, a village lady who had lost both her legs just two years ago shared with me, " You know, this made me feel like a lesser person. It made me feel like I wasnt good enough for anything." She sighed before she continued, "But then I knew God, and then I felt life was worth living all over again."

I looked at her, sitting in a wheelchair with her thighs as stumps and it hit me like a train. It made me feel like I wasnt good enough for anything, she said. The tears started to come, and I had to leave. " See you all soon!" I said, trying to hide my tears as I turned to leave.

That night, I wept myself to sleep. I wept so hard the lady who housed me had to hold me in her arms, warm my cold, cold hands and tell me it was okay to let it all out, okay to let it all out.

Here Cui Hua was, saying she wasn't good enough for anything- the exact same thing I have been haunted with for the whole of my life. Here these poor villager patients were, with limbs and skin and faces lost, saying they felt like they wanted to die- the exact same thing I had thought before. Except that- they had lost limbs, skin and faces... and I had...

-Everything.

That night, I wept myself to sleep. I wept so hard the lady who housed me had to hold me in her arms, warm my cold, cold hands and tell me it was okay to let it all out, okay to let it all out.

Suddenly I was ashamed, ashamed and thankful to the point of tears and weeping. Weeping because I was ashamed and thankful at the same time. Thankful because I felt blessed to have had the peculiar privilege of understanding the taste of sadness, of understanding the hollow, empty feeling of not feeling good enough but having my limbs, skin and face intact. I wept that night, and I kept having to feel my legs. Ashamed also, because I had everything that should seem not to warrant any of those feelings at all.

I wept my heart out that night.

I thought of the poor villager patients, their limbs, skin, faces lost. Thought of their thoughts, and mine, thought of their lives, and mine. I thought their traffic, mining and occupational accidents, and anorexia- how anorexia had been my accident which amputated my limbs, skin and face.

Most people don't understand what a weighing scale means to someone with anorexia. It means a number, and self-worth. They are obsessed with the number, because everything in their lives rest upon it. It is an altar which they worship. Everything revolves around it, and everything important in their lives rests upon it. In deep sickness, they can weigh themselves up to more than ten times a day. I was that ill before. Even on my worst days now, I am never that ill anymore. But though I have thought of ridding it many times before, I have never been able to.

That night, I wept. And finally, I knew what it meant to be blessed. I knew the meaning and weight of being blessed. I wept myself to sleep, kept feeling my legs, legs that had cartilages worn out too soon, too early by an illness but were intact, and made a Promise to myself.

I will always remember these Beautiful people, people who were brave, strong and humble enough to grab hold of pain, wrench it dry and re-fill their lives with a brand of hope only God's love can give.

I got home, and threw away the scale today. It went down the chute, just like the stack of micro-skirts, and my trophies. It just isn't worth it.


Beautiful People.

To China.

Don't be mistaken. I'm not exceptionally brave. A cocktail of emotions always brew within my heart before leaving for a mission trip alone. My parents are often more jittery than myself, so I have to be the calm one. I'm cool, until my feet touch the ground of the foreign land.

Those moments, between landing and waiting for my baggage on the conveyor belt, between getting my baggage and finding the foreign face that is supposed to pick me from the airport to the unknown destination- are the most anxiety-ridden ones. Leaving my parents from the airport, laughing and re-assuring them that I'm a big girl now, have been a big girl since Cambodia, Nepal and India, is difficult too.

I'm a big girl, dad, I'll be okay. No mum, I don't need that siren-gadget to get away from muggers, or rapists. I'll take good care, and stay close to the missionary doctors. Promise. See, I have a mean face too, to scare bad people away- RRAAAH.

For the first time before I leave for a foriegn land alone, I feel very much at peace this time around. Scared, too, yes, but largely at peace. I know Someone's looking after me. At peace, but also emotional. This missionary thing challenges me from a place deep within. I cannot think about it without feeling like crying. I'm still a little girl inside after all.

I just need some time to myself. Breathe some fresh air, read a few good books, and study in between while I can for my exams which are after Christmas. I have been physically very, very tired- and I know going for a mission trip isn't exactly one's idea of taking a break or a vacation. But I like it where there are trees, clouds, quietness and simple, humble people. My soul cannot rest in a city. I want to be completely Well. I want to know what Being Well means. I have been getting well, I have been well for some time, and I want to continue being well.

I was walking home from the train station that day, lugging a whole stack of health-education pamphlets I had got for the missionary doctor, for the health education programme he was organising in the village he is going to take me to. It was very heavy, and amounted to weighing a good twelve-kilos. I never quite figured out how I managed to lug the stack back home by myself.

I thought about Illness. What it meant. To us, and to the poor.

The body is a reflection of our spiritual and emotional states of health. The gaunt, starved body is a reflection of one's emotional hunger inside. The lack of periods, which really is a disorder of the body's natural rhythm, is a reflection of the disorder in one's life. When my emotional states were healed, and my White Place put everything back into divine order, I became Well.

They said the pain in my chest, around my heart, is an inflammation, a self-attack on body tissues, mainly on the bone and cartilage around my chest area. Nothing serious at all, but could well parallel the many self-hurting thoughts I grew up with. Anorexia wastes a lot of bone and cartilage, and amenorrhea speeds up the process exponentially. I remembered that documentary- a thirty-year old woman with amenorrhea for a year and a half will have the bone density of a seventy-year old woman. There are consequences, but I will be well.

I am unlearning many things, so I can learn what the right ones are. And when I do, I know this pain will go away. For good.

The body is a reflection of our spiritual and emotional states of health. It's going to be All-Right.

I'm going for this trip to learn more about what it means to be a missionary, and to listen to what God has to tell me about it. I'm going there to breathe some fresh air, and learn what it means to be well.

And what being well means to the poor.

It's going to be All-Right.

I promise to share with you interesting stories when I've the time and inspiration while I'm there. Where I'll be, except for the few days in the village, the internet will be too. Rest, books, time alone with God, simple people and peculiar strangers.

Thank you all for praying for and loving me.

I feel very loved. Thank you for all your notes, prayers and love.

Thank you for walking this journey with me. I will miss you.

It's going to be All-Right.

Isaiah 6:8