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.

Everlasting Joy.

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

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

"Much of our modern philanthropy is based on

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

or because we are distressed at seeing them poor.

God never taught charity from these motives:

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

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

becuase we will trust our own reasoning.

But who are you?

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

-adapted from Studies in the Sermon on the Mount,

by Oswald Chambers

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it was all true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The sinseh?"

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

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

"Who's paying for your fees?"

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

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

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

I wanted to hit my head against a wall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He showed it up to me and read it aloud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We wriggle and twist and compromise and think,

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

Try it.

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

that God restrains those who beg. "

-Oswald Chambers

Park benches.

I've been running a lot lately.

My finals are coming, everyone is neck deep into their books. But I've made a decision, to take care of myself and my patients even when the going gets tough, and to thoroughly, (here goes) thoroughly enjoy my remaining months as a final year medical student.

So I've been running. A lot. 5 to 6am morning hour-long runs by myself in the dark to the beach thinking about my last months as a medical student, what medicine and life all means, what turning 24 soon means, what holding this upcoming birthday gathering means, what the recent award means, what a nomination for another award means, what neverending exams for the rest of my life means, and my future holds; I've been thinking about the obstacles faced in publishing this second book (there has not been a stage without resistance), thinking about the unpleasant conversation filled with condescension this week and encouraging myself not to be discouraged by people talking down to me. I've been thinking about impossibilities and possibilities, setbacks and success, weaknesses and strengths.

I've been thinking about the meaning of my almost 24 years of existence. I've been thinking about the defining moments in my life.

All on early morning runs before my day at hospital starts.

I am determined to thoroughly enjoy my last months as a final year medical student. I have never been so excited about medicine before, never felt so thrilled to be a doctor.

What does it mean? What does being at this point in my life, nearly 24 mean?

As I jog along the park connector underneath the carpet of stars, feeling the chilly breeze caress my face, a thick stench interrupts my thoughts. I look to the left, and see a man, no a couple, huddling on the pavement behind a sheltered park bench, sleeping underneath a blue canvas, with a bicycle parked next to them. There is the thick, thick smell of urine. I stop to watch them. They are asleep. I run on.

The next day, I am running. They are there again beneath the park bench, sleeping.

And the next, and the next. My 8-kilometre runs are punctuated by the same stench, at the same place. They are punctuated by glimpses of men sleeping under and on park benches, covered by cardboard, plastic or dirty jackets. I always had school to rush to and hence never stopped for them.

Yea, just excuses.

I thought about Heidi Baker, a famous missionary in the poorest part of Africa who talked about stopping for the One, and loving each person because love has a face. I thought about my vocation, my calling. I thought about my application to meet her and her amazing ministry in Mozambique (the poorest part of South Africa) this coming April after my finals, and my utter hypocrisy- the poor was right at my doorstep, I hadn't the time to stop for them, and here I was filling in an application to fly halfway across the world to learn how to love the poor.

Utter hypocrisy.

Today I ran, and promised myself I would stop for them on my way back. I would at least say hi to this malay couple huddling every day underneath this blue plastic cover. Did they have clothes, did they have a home? Why were they there, and what did they do? Were they chased away by policemen and hiding? Did they not have a place to shower?

They were sleeping. On my way back today, I promised to stop for them. At least say hi, how're you, do you need anything. I didn't know what I could offer.

But there was a another figure 2 park benches away from this stuporous duo, a little old lady in a cap, striped oversized shirt and dirty bermudas, sleeping in a sitting position, with her knees folded on a park bench, back hunched over as she fell asleep.

"Auntie. Auntie," I said. I half-squatted so I could be at face level with her.

"WHAT?!" She woke up with a snarl. I stood 3 feet away from her, worried that she might be startled.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Go away!! I don't need you!"

"How do I address you?"

"GO AWAY! The police chased me away from the void decks. Go away, you don't need my name!"

You don't need my name.

She was rejecting me. You don't need my name means I'm afraid of you, I don't trust you and I am not worthy of your attention.

"Please don't be afraid. I'm not from any organisation. I'm not going to report you. I'm just jogging that's all."

She looks at me in disdain as I crouch down to be at face-level. "My name is Wei- Jia," I say in mandarin. "I'm just a student, don't be afraid. I just want to ask if you need anything."

She softened as the word "student" left my mouth. I'm just a harmless student, that's all.

There was a pushcart full of trash in front of her. "Don't be afraid, Auntie," I said, still half squatting with my quadriceps aching from my position and long run. "Tell you what, can I give you my number?"

She refused. Here we were, separated by the same pride that I had seen in Grandpa Zhou when we first met.

"COME HERE AND SIT LA!" She shouted, pointing for me to sit next to her.

Conversation. That was all she wanted. That is what the elderly and the poor usually want, just some of your time. Not your number or your clothes or your money. All they want is some of your time.

"What do you do usually?" I ask, trying to be polite. "Are you Karung guni?"

Karang guni- it's a slang term for someone who collects and sells recycled material.

"NO! I'm NOT Karung guni!" she said with ferocity, and I was embarrassed by my lack of sensitivity, suddenly aware of its possibly derogatory connotation." I'm... I'm..."

She could not find the words.

"Sixty soft drink cans used to earn me $1.20. Now, only $1.10."

Sixty. At the hospital where I'm at, a can of soft drink is sold at $1.70.

She continued to talk about her husband, and was incensed by his irresponsibility. I put my arm on her shoulder to comfort her.

She looked startled, and stared at her shoulder as if it were foreign, as if my touching her was a phenomenon.

Someone once told me, to always, always touch the poor. Because they don't feel worthy to be touched. It reminded me of Grandpa Zhou, of how he used to avoid my gaze and huddle away when I used to touch him.

"Can I give you my number Auntie?"

There was a tension between us. Age, class, and education. But here we were, on the same park bench because we enjoyed the same cool breeze at the park connector.

"NO. DON'T NEED YOUR NUMBER."

I had to leave. Just before I did, I told her about Grandpa Zhou and asked her for the third time for her name.

"Lee. Auntie Lee."

She wasn't afraid anymore, wasn't afraid of me telling the police. She finally took down my number on a candybar cell phone. I saved my name in mandarin.

"Wei Jia? I've seen that name somewhere. Like the name of someone in the chinese papers this week."

"Oh really?" I laughed. Two weeks after the results of the award were announced, my mum incidentally chanced upon an article about Darren Chua and I on the chinese papers 4 days ago. Darren is one of the awardees who, on suffering a stroke at the tender age of 24 after a year of graduation from medical school, continues to inspire youth today by his commitment to educate needy kids.

Somehow, right there on the park bench underneath the canopy of stars which were winking away into the awakening dawn, something fell into place.

I suddenly realised, that for all the grandeur of our plans, all the complexities of our lives and futures, and all the nobility of awards and medicine and our vocations, nothing really counts if we cannot humble ourselves to share our time and our space with the poor. On that park bench, that little conversation suddenly brought greater clarity and peace and meaning to my vocation and purpose.

I ran home with a strange peace that day. Suddenly, I understood with slightly greater clarity what my vocation means, what the award means, what my future means.

It means very simply that, if I cannot humble myself like the way God did for us, then everything (yes, everything- all our intelligence and high-flying awards and nominations and grand blueprints) counts for nothing. I learnt, that perhaps all we really need is to find a name behind a face. And that yes, it's true, that we very often needn't look far to find meaning in our lives.

Meaning, could just be a park bench away.

Meaning in life, comes not from being first, or being recognised or being respected. It comes not from getting into a specialty programme or getting ahead in the rat race. It means finding out the name behind a face and connecting with it. It means finding time to sit on a park bench and listening to the stories of another world underneath a velvety canopy of twinkling diamonds.

"Thanks Auntie Lee, thanks for telling me your name. You call me if you ever need anything."

This is how I'd like to turn 24.

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.

All I Need.

This Christmas, in the midst of the lights and presents and raucous laughter, perhaps you're feeling a little lonely, or wishing you were someplace else doing something different...

... perhaps it helps to remind ourselves, that somewhere out there, are many who would give the world up to be where we are, do what we're doing, if only they were given the opportunity.

Dear God, thank you for my home, thank you for my family, thank you for dinner at home, thank you that on Christmas Day I have my exams to study for because it is such a privilege to do so, thank you that in a big and scary world out there of fanfare and noise, all I need is You, a piece of Peace in my heart.


Enjoy the video.

(Edited with pictures) The Power of Love.

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

That's the power of love.

Merry Christmas.

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

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

Wayang.

"What would you give in exchange for your life?"

What a question to be asked at an interview. And to be honest, I didn't know what to say. After all, I didn't prepare for the interview. I had struggled with God about this- initially, I didn't even want to fill up the application, didn't want to go through the tedious process of having to submit my portfolio and four 1500-word essays about my life, didn't want to collate all the things these people wanted to find out about me. I was doing my hectic medical internship then- why bother?


It was Mio who told me, "Wayang, all this is for wayang." Wayang means "for show" in malay.

He wasn't discouraging me, he wished me all the best, but what he was trying to say was that all these awards and nominations for our "good works" really aren't the things which matter in life.

He should know. He's been helping needy children in various developing countries for 17 years now and has gone unrecognised because he chooses to keep a low profile. He could have chosen to make a big name for himself, but each time he comes into contact with influential people, it is because they came knocking at his door, and not the other way around.

Wayang. I had prayed hard about it, prayed about whether I wanted to follow through with this when my university informed me I had been nominated for a national youth award in contributing to humanity and children's rights. I'd never even heard of such an accolade before. There were so many other people worthy of the award. I didn't even want to try. Whatever for? I'd just become proud and self-centred, I thought.

With the encouragement of my best friend Jo, I wrote the essays, collated what I needed to and made my submission to the university. But just days before the deadline, I received a call from a lady from school saying that she had forgotten where she had placed my parcel for submission. I was annoyed, then disappointed.

Later, I realised that God was showing me where my priorities were, and what truly mattered. Did it matter that my work had to be recognised? I then had the peace that it was more than sufficient for me to be nominated in God's eyes. And in His eyes, we all are. We all have a kingly place in His eyes.

I let it go. Forget about the submission. God, whatever happens, happens. Never did I expect that the next day, a doctor friend called me to meet up at a hospital with him. Recalling that the lady from university had asked me to submit my items to this particular hospital so she could pick them up from there, I curiously went to find out how my parcel went missing, and in doing so, realised that my items never left the hospital and had never reached my university for submission to the national board. If my friend hadn't called me randomly to meet up at that particular hospital, I would never have found my items. If I didn't find them, I would never have submitted them. And perhaps God had deliberately waited for me to be assured that His award was more than sufficient before He allowed me to find them.

He has His ways.

A fews day ago, I got an email. They requested for us to wear a jacket suit to the final interview. There would be a photoshoot and an interview with about 6 to 8 judges. I suppose make-up and heels would have been appropriate.

But I didn't wear a suit. I wore my white dress and a little half-jacket I had bought some time ago from a quaint shop, looking smart but not overly formal. I didn't wear makeup. And I didn't do my hair. I wanted to go as I was.

"See the nomination as a gift," text-messaged Mio. "And don't forget about my work in Smokey Mountain when you win the award :) "


I realised, that this nomination in itself was a gift, and my sole purpose in life, should really be to gain God's approval, and not the approval of men. So many other people deserve to be nominated. Why me? But I realised that God, perhaps, has a purpose. I've had many people telling me not to shun the limelight because such things are platforms to reach out to more people, to earn the trust of more, to build a reliable reputation and thus have the potential to help even more.

I learnt, that yes, to a certain extent, all this is wayang, for show, but how do we allow them to be shaped according to God's purposes?

I really enjoyed the interview. Simply because I didn't attend it to win, and simply felt it was such a journey of faith just to be there. I was in the midst of wonderful candidates and judges who had gone through much in life to make our world a more inspiring place. And even though I felt I didn't answer the questions too well because I hadn't prepared for them, I felt completely natural, and could joke with the panel. It was fun. The photoshoot was fun.

After the interview had ended, the project chairperson came to tell me how much she enjoyed my submission of A Taste of Rainbow, which is due to be published next year. She asked me many more questions before I finally asked why she decided to do what she did.


"Because we want to support people like you, give you a platform to share your work and in so doing, help you in your cause."



It had struck me before, but there and then, it struck me hardest to realise that God has given me a privilege to have a circle of influence which I must treasure and be thankful for. It is a deep blessing.



Yet, when it was all over, and I had had a good time just by being there, I could not forget one question posed to me, "What would you give in exchange for your life?"



That really stunned me. And I ended up talking about a lot of things. But at the end, one of the interviewers asked me point-blank, "So would you say, you would give up your life for the poor? For the poor in Smokey Mountain, for example?"


And I was embarrassed and laughing at the same time because just a day ago I was writing about myself wanting to live with the poor, wasn't I?

But I didn't give an outright yes either. I was scared. I realised, I was scared of hearing myself say something as audacious as that. When he said the words I could not say, pressure built up behind my eyes. Don't cry, woman. You're at an interview.



Would I give my life up to live with the poor. My gosh, what was I thinking. My goodness, was it that obvious?



But that is exactly what I am thinking of.



So I talked a lot more about my hopes to pursue public health and surgery and other things so I could be more useful to help the needy. And I was also aware that had that been an interview to apply for a specialty, I would have shot myself in the foot because why would anyone want to train a medical person, only to lose her to the mission field?



Then I saw the value of the nomination and award. It would be helpful. It was the project chairperson who told me, "We want to encourage people who have been working quietly that they have not gone unnoticed."



As I left the place, I felt so free. I was carefree because the award didn't matter. Just being there at the National Volunteer Philanthropy Centre was an encouragement, being nominated was an encouragement, having the judges themselves and the project chairperson herself tell me they were touched was an encouragement.



I want to write this down because I want to remember the commitment I have made to the needy- that any award shall not be for my own pride, but to garner greater support for the causes I believe in. Just yesterday, famous Singaporean missionary doctor Dr Tan Lai Yong was on the front page of the national paper for his great commitment and impact on the rural poor in China for the past 14 years. I know him personally as a humble and simple man. I stayed with him for some time in a town in rural China, and we jogged together under the stars before our busy day of training village doctors. I saw how some publicity could bring hope and encouragement to others, including young people like myself.



"You're very relaxed compared to many other candidates I've seen today," said the project chairperson. "I think it's because you didn't come here to win, did you?"



I smiled. Because I realised, that God had brought me to a point where the award truly didn't matter. It is only wayang, for show, in some sense. Man's approval and the world's recognition should not and don't matter. Being nominated was a great privilege and an encouragement and a lot of fun in itself.



But yes God, I am writing this so that if I ever do earn undeserved recognition, help me to remember to use it not for myself, but for the poor and the needy and the hurting, always.

Yes, I would give up my life to live with the needy.

a little girl from Smokey

"She never craved the limelight,

she only stepped into it because it was

the most efficient effective way to accomplish what she was sent here to do."
- quote on Mother Teresa

"There are certain shades of limelight that can wreck a girl's complexion."
— Audrey Hepburn

"Let's do something beautiful for God."
-Mother Teresa

Maleeni art toyok.

"So what did you do there?"

has probably been the most common question I receive every time I return from a trip to a developing country. We urban people are as such. We want to know what was achieved, the number of people helped, the amount of sacrifice it all took... in short, what was done.

And I often smile, sometimes in insecurity, when I say, "I was with the people. That's all. "

Is that too silly to say?

Because after going on some 10 humanitarian trips to developing countries, many by myself, some with teams, some with clearer agendas than others, I've become to see how crazy it is to think we can visit the poor and return to our lives of excess unchanged, to think we can take photos of a place to shock our friends with back home, and change the world in a week. I've come to appreciate the beauty of being with the people instead of doing for them, because the poor don't necessarily need our help, even though we think they do, even though our culture and our friends crown us with haloes of altruism and paint our good-doing in shades of romantic nobility.

A friend shared this with me: Timothy Keller writes of urban people, "While they may give some of their time, they spend large amounts of money on entertainment, their appearance, electronics, and travel. For a great number, then, volunteering is part of their portfolio of life-enriching activities, but it is not a feature of a whole life shaped by a commitment to doing justice, including radical generosity with one’s finances.

Our culture gives us a mixed message. It says: make lots of money and spend it on yourself; get an identity by the kind of clothes you wear and the places you travel to and live. But also do some volunteer work, care about social justice, because you don’t want to be just a selfish pig."

That pierced me.

Have volunteerism and humanitarian deeds become another means to brand ourselves, to fulfill a different sort of self-gratification? Can you live with going on a trip knowing that you have done "nothing", or must you justify your time and money spent by making sure your time is spent BuildingMakingTeachingDoingImpartingExecuting some sort of project for a people you didn't even bother to spend time with to learn their language? We feast on the hospitality of the locals, take a load of photos, carry with us a sense feel-good awe and return to our lives filled with designer handbags and facials and pedicures.

Jackie Pullinger was a missionary to Hong Kong who wrote a famous book called Chasing the Dragon. She wrote of a local person who shared his heart bravely with her, "You Westerners - you come here and tell us about God. You can stay for a year or two, and your conscience will feel good, and then you can go away. Your God will call you to other work back home. It's true that some of you can raise a lot of money on behalf of us underprivileged people. But you'll still be living in your nice houses with your refrigerators and servants, and we will still be living here. What you are doing really has nothing to do with us. You'll go home anyhow, sooner or later... You can sing about love very nicely, but what do you know about us? You don't touch us - you know nothing.

We couldn't careless if you have big buildings or small ones. You can be offering free rice, free school, judo classes or needlework to us. It doesn't matter if you have a daily program once a week. These things don't touch us because the people who run them have nothing to do with us. What we want to know is if you are concerned with us. Now you have been here for four years, we have decided that maybe you mean what you say."

And so I know it sounds ridiculous, but I want to return to Smokey. I want to return because when I was there, it felt so... right. It was ugly, it was dirty, the fumes from burning coal and the smell of trash was so noxious and the sight of children with skin and eye diseases so heartbreaking that I should have hated it. But it was where my heart was. It is where I want to return to. It has confirmed that God-willing, I should like to return to a developing country to serve them for a long time. I was looking forward to my graduation trip- hoping to perhaps finally visit a developed country and dreaming of going on a cycling tour round Europe. But I look forward even more to the smell of Smokey again.

The smell of Smokey- it is still with me. It is in my hair.

That day, when hoards of children came for the feeding programme in Smokey Mountain, and I, tired from dressing the wounds of yet another kid who had infected ones, asked the Pastor if I could spend 5 minutes talking to the kids.

"Maleeni art Toyok!" I said. Clean and dry. I was trying to get the kids to learn it as a jingle so they could take better care of themselves.

Who was I kidding? Who did I think I was, coming into their world for a few days and thinking I could earn their attention simply by being a foreigner.

I want to live with the poor, and I'm not sure if I can.

The day I returned home, my toes and feet were black because of the ash and mud of the place. Because of the sludge, it was impossible to wear covered shoes. Wearing slippers, however, meant one's feet often slid into muddy glue, disturbing the colony of houseflies resting on it. A friend and I were talking that day about my inability to love myself at times and certain emotional issues I was grappling with because of my perpetual inability to love myself in certain ways. Upon seeing my tarry toenails, she was horrified, then challenged me to go for a pedicure. "It is your inability to love yourself that makes you harsh sometimes, both on yourself and others. It is something you need to deal with."

I knew she was right, and as a symbolic act of humility to acknowledge and address my fears of loving myself, I went for a pedicure on the same day as I had returned from Smokey Mountain. How ironic, I thought. Yet, it was an emotional breakthrough on a different level and so I allowed it for a different reason.

Nonetheless, it got me thinking about how much I have yet to give up, how much I can and hope to.

That night, my dad, on seeing my photos with the children, expressed his fatherly concern that I might catch a disease by being so close to the kids. I didn't say much, didn't tell him that the kids rolled on piles of trash during playtime and that I hugged and kissed countless children without thought because touch, I've learnt, especially to the poor, is a powerful love language. It tells them you're not afraid to be on their level. It tells them you see them as human beings, too.

But my life and theirs still does not match. I have a thousand-dollar worth of facials in an upper-class spa bought for me by a lady at church I hardly know because she said she just wanted to bless me, I have a two-thousand six hundred dollar roadbike which my friends and family bought for me, and even though I don't do them often or regularly, I love pedicures.

What then? What now? God, deal with my inconsistency.

Because after all, if life is a journey of seeking of seeking balance amidst imbalance, and seeking reconciliation amidst conflict, then I am seeking for an equilibrium between my world and theirs. As far as God was concerned, He loved us so much that even heaven's distance from our fleshly carnality did not stop Him from seeking us out and bringing us closer to His divine love.

I have a long way to go.

But I know one thing, that I will not forget those moments I played with 7-year old Ricky and loved him as if he were my son, nor forget the dream I have about living with and loving the poor, because as we sat by the pier that day overlooking the trash-filled sea, I realised that one of my most treasure moments was sitting close to Ricky and playing with our blackened, unpedicured feet and realising that being with the poor was joy in itself, that being close to them was a blessing in itself and that to truly impact the lives of the needy through healthcare or education or policy-making, I would need to live, love and be with them for a long time.

God did not see as us projects. He did not establish programmes to fix us. He simply came to live and be with us.

Maleeni art toyok. To change lives, requires more than a day. Sometimes, it requires a lifetime.

Smokey Mountain is calling.

Photos with Ricky

"For you know the grace of God,

that though He was rich,

yet for your sake He became poor,

so that you through his poverty might become rich."

-2 Cor 8:9