The Driver's Seat.

"Have you noticed, that... your life has been very... challenging?"

I knew she was on to something. And I knew, she was about to help me discover something magical, something that smelled refreshing and nostalgic and ancient and fresh. So I stayed on track, trying to catch a whiff of the trail.

"Yea, I have. But what am I to do?"

Silence.

"So, what are you saying?" I asked, smiling a little, not wanting to sound confrontational.

"What I'm saying is, I've noticed that your life seems to consist of climbing one mountain after the next, and all I'm wondering is, whether you feel tired, and if you exercise enough self-care. Like what we talked about at our last session."

We were on the topic of my next book. About it going to be published soon, about the difficulties which came with it and which will come along with it. We were talking about my upcoming final examinations, my ruminations about how my previous illness had taken away what I wished it hadn't. We were talking about that recurrent topic in our conversations, about that melancholic sense of lonliness inside of me because of my desire to do missions and to live my life differently.

"So how does doing all these things make you feel?"

"I mean, I guess I feel fulfilled. But to be honest, sometimes I do feel lonely. I mean, on the outside it looks great. Like, people think I have it all together- studies, community service, friends etc. But hey, I only got 24 hours in a day, so something's gotta go- I end up doing a lot of "purposeful" things. You're right. Sometimes, I get tired. And it feels lonely. But I mean, I've come to accept it- because, I feel called to do this sorta thing."

"Sure."

Silence.

"But I guess, part of the roller-coaster bit of my life, part of my previous illness was because I tried so hard to be in control. There're so many factors in life- I can't control the results of my studies, I can't control my future residency, I can't control what people think of me, I can't control where I'll be headed next, so the eating disorder was the best way for me to feel in control."

"Absolutely."

Silence.

"So do you see, how you've compartmentalised God? Like you give Him control over this, this and this, but not over that, that and that? And because of that, do you see how you tend to climb your own mountains, one after another, to experience that temporary high? But they're barren mountains. They're all barren. All that unecessary drama was from you driving by yourself because you feared that God would take you elsewhere you feared you wouldn't be able to cope."

Epiphany moment.

"Yea... you're... right."

Do you, like me, struggle to be in the driver's seat? Do you fear the change in scenery, the feeling like you don't know where you're being driven to, and if you'd be taken to a place where, gasp, you might not be able to cope?

I know I do.

I've always striven to be behind the wheel, so I think I know exactly where I'm going. The truth is, even with both hands behind the steering wheel, we never do. How can we, for only God knows our futures and our lives. The ironic part is, we, in our ignorance, in spite of our best intentions, then often drive ourselves up mountains that we were never meant to climb.

"Why do you want to drive up barren mountains, when God wants to bring you to lusher, grander, more beautiful mountains on the other side? Has it occurred to you, that perhaps, in spite of all your fears about not knowing where He might take you, you may very well be driving yourself up a far more difficult terrain than what He has planned for you?"

I thought about my previous illness, my publishing journey in writing and illustrating books as well as my self-striving in terms of training in triathlon. I saw the common pattern of how my own ideas of success became my own stumbling blocks- caused me unecessary afflictions, anxiety and injuries. It was time-consuming and on restrospect, silly.

God wants to bring us to grander scenery- why do we fear? He wants to take us on the best ride. His cross for us to bear may not be as big as the ones we impose on ourselves.

"So yea, continue to let go. Let Him take over the wheel."

Towards the end, I brought up an issue which I had been thinking about a great deal over the past few months. About a friendship which I wanted to cut off and abandon because I was too afraid.

"I mean, this is crazy. What's going to happen?"

"Precisely. You don't know. Let God decide, let Him drive. Because when you do, you'll feel a sense of freedom."

"Aw man, no. You don't understand, this is a mountain coming. You said that my life is full of roller coasters, didn't you? This is, for sure, going to be a huge mountain and He's driving me right into it! I haven't been able to stop it, He drove me right into it!"

"Who said life was about avoiding mountains?"

"Ah, I see. So it's about climbing the right ones."

"Exactly. And as far as I'm concerned, this is the one opportunity where you can finally give God the chance to show you that He's a better driver than you."

Okay God, I'm getting out of the driver's seat and onto the passenger seat. But before you take off and hit the road, let me fasten my seat-belts. I know you're a safe driver and will never let me come to harm, but I know, you're a much bigger adventure junkie than I could ever be.

Let go. Let Him take over.

And hang on tight.

“For this is God, our God forever and ever;
He will be our guide even to death.”
- Psalm 48:14

Loving Amy.

I suppose, you can figure out, why there's more than one reason I like this video.

Enjoy.



Things which don't matter:

1. thunder thighs

2. flat feet

3. big hair

4. bad nails

5. crooked teeth

6. hairy skin

7. chubby cheeks

8. stubby nose

9. big butt

10. small boobs

11. boyish calves

12. stretch marks

Because only one thing matters:

We are dearly, dearly loved by the Creator of the Universe.

(I wonder if God rides a bike.

Just, wondering.)

"... for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Marvelous are Your works,
And that my soul knows very well.
My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth...

... How precious are your thoughts to me, O God!
How great is the sum of them!"

-Psalm 139:14-17

Just so I remember.

* Letter pubished with permission

Hey Waijia,

I'm not sure if you remember me. I came to support group with X about a year-ish ago and at that point, I think you had just recovered... I remember the initial impact you had on me- that you were a genuinely caring person that I could trust and would want to be in contact with. And I remember texting you and talking to you.

At that point, I was still really sick and really far and distant from God. You invited me to church countless times, asked me out, constantly reassured me that everything would be okay. I knew you cared, and you seemed to understand, but at that point, God to me, was just there. He wasn't real. He was just some figure that I guess had somewhat of a role to play in everything. But I had no real relationship with him, he was more of an authority figure with a fullstop. Not a friend, not a father and it just scared me to think of him to be anything more than that- I didn't want to commit or deal with more hurt than I had at that point, that I continue to have. I can't remember when we exactly stopped talking but I just want you to know Ive been reading your blog, and sometimes I even see you around the hospital...Yeah, sad to say (I guess..), I'm still looking and trying to recover.

But recently, I'd say, its been different, I've DEVELOPED and grown so much in God and with God and I think I'm really starting to learn that he plays a role in my recovery. That I need to recover for him and can only do so through him.

Theres so much I want to say through this email but mainly, I guess thanks :) Thanks for being there at that point, thanks for writing and I just want you to know how much of an inspiration you are to me (and I'm sure many others). Reading your blog gives so much hope and its just incredible :)


Cheers and God bless!


XX

P.S: I just have a pretty random question, was it more a process for you? Or was it just a "great awakening" one day? In terms of realizing that you had to fully give it up and surrender it to God?

Thank you for making a difference to my life, too dear. And for letting me know my experience was not for naught. In the same way, your experience will also help someone else along the way someday.

To answer your question, Recovery is all about Process. Walk your journey with God.

Love.

Near midnight, I received a text message from a face I hardly talked to:

Hi Wai Jia, I was reading your blog and am greatly encouraged by your writing. Thank you for sharing so richly :)

Thank you for your precious words. They mean much to me. I just want to remember these 2 letters which came in yesterday so I can read it again when someone hits me in the face in malice about my writing, which does occur from time to time. Philip Yancey says it takes 17 postive letters to erase 1 hate mail he receives, ha.

Thank you.

A Good Place.

* Warning: This post may be graphic and offensive.

With the rancid smell of smoke in the air, gaudy streetlights, throngs of foreign workers, angry traffic and the blaring noise in the background, it just didn't feel like Singapore.

There were a entire line of them standing by the roadside, each one so different and yet, so similar.


They were different: Some were tall, slender and willowy, others shorter, plumper. They were the same: Each of them had their own bewitching charm.

They were the same: Their porcelain, painted faces were perfect, framed within straightened or permed locks. They were different: Some painted their beestung lips as their highlight, while others chose to use mascara and fake eyelashes which went on forever to their advantage.

They were different: Some were laughing, some were teasing, while others stood aside, frowning and guarded. They were the same: All of them stood at precisely-measured intervals along the road, not unlike lamp-posts or bazaar-stalls, and were all waiting, waiting, waiting for the same thing.

They were different: Some wore micro-skirts; some wore lingerie; some wore translucent clothes which teased your imagination. They were the same: All the clothing was skin-tight, minimal, -just- enough. They all wore dangerously high heels. They all bared maximal cleavage, just stopping short of crime.


This was pornography in its full glory come to life. They were sex sirens, and they knew it.


The back alleys of our red-light district.

This Chinese New Year, as I joined HighPoint again for their community outreach programme to bless the marginalised of our society, I saw a side of society, humanity, and God which shall forever change my life.

HighPoint is a community social enterprise aimed to serve the fringe community such as migrants, sex workers and drug offenders through rehabilitation, medical and education services. Healthserve, the medical clinic which serves the needy, is part of this wider umbrella, through which I came to know about HighPoint.

It was nothing much really. We were just walking the back alleys of Geylang, giving out mandarin oranges (as part of tradition for the Lunar New Year) and blessing the people in the area, inviting migrants for the free reunion dinner held at the social enterprise hub and showing care for the sex workers. HighPoint, like a city on a hill, aims to shine its light and be a beacon of hope for the many lonely souls living in the trodden places of our society by spreading the enterprise of kindness, even in little ways.


Migrants. Sex workers. Drug addicts. People whom we hate to associate with, because of the way they spit, live and go to waste. Or so we think.

The poor. Prostitutes. The broken-hearted. People whom God came especially to love.


I don't know why I felt such a great burden for these precious people. For a long time I had considered being part of this ministry, and this year, I determined to make the effort to be involved. A profound grief swept over me as I gave out the customary mandarin oranges to the gorgeous girls lingering at the basement of the fluorescent hotel signs. I looked away as a man made fun of a woman's football-sized breasts, scantily covered. It was as if, though we were worlds apart, I understood some of that emptiness inside.

In a line such as this, where lusty men grin and chide mockingly as they pass you, how hard it must be to believe one is worthy of love. Competition is intense, and your value is priced on the size of your tits. Did they believe they were beautiful, that God loved them too? Did clinching a deal mean victory over your comptetitors, a boost of your self-esteem, or loss- if the client turned out to be a brute?

For a large part of my life, I think I too, like many women, never knew what it meant to be beautiful. When Anorexia arrived and Ed entered my life, my body too, was abused, used and pricetagged base on what Ed thought of me. I remember telling Miss B (the ED therapist) I could not sleep because I felt him touching me all over. It was a psychological nightmare, and the tired mornings brought little respite- one felt compelled to be purged from the uncleansable filthiness. The more Ed penetrated me, the emptier, more cheapened I felt. But the sick pride from the attention he gave me fed me the way drugs feed an addict, and the victories were pyrrhic, at most- like the victory from a clinched deal, perhaps.

They were so beautiful. Precious. But they never knew, still don't know.

Do you know how loved you are today?


As we walked out of the last lane of the streets of darkness, my heart heavy, I gave out my last set of oranges at a traffic junction to a lovely girl with straightened hair, clad in a mini-skirt and leather boots.

"Where're you from?" I asked. She was the only one I engaged in conversation, for the rest, though by the roads too, were on the job.

"Sichuan."

" Ah, I just went there last year!"

Touched by our gesture of love, she was clearly grateful and delighted with the unexpected gift and words of warmth. She was so young, perhaps younger than myself. She was so precious. But after a few minutes, she left me as she scurried off into the darkness of the back alleys. I looked back at her scurrying shadow, and as if surprised by our love and hungering for more, she turned back to smile and wave at me, not once, not twice, but three times.

I waved and smiled back. How her smile still lingers.

My heart sunk lower still as I trudged back home, away from the likes of sleazy karaoke lounges and Happy Hotel. It was as if, though we were worlds apart, some part of me understood that language of shame, humiliation and abuse. And I nearly wept as the extent of God's love suddenly wrapped around me, hugged me, and held me close. I had no right to judge them- these people with families, lives, souls. And an unthinkable love for them came over me, as I too, felt the extent of God's love over the wretchedness of man, the sinfulness of humanity. I wanted to cry. As I felt God's longing for the lost, I too, felt His heartcry for my soul during all that time I abused myself. My body is redeemed and saved by God from Ed's abuse. When I sleep and awaken, I feel His body next to me, and His wing of protection covers me in safety.

I can sleep in peace now.

Oh, how His love never stops calling after us.

Can we love the sinner, the way God loves them. Can we humble ourselves to see that it is by God's grace that we are saved from such circumstance? That put under the same situations, forced by the same hard circumstance, perhaps we would have turned out no differently?

My life will forever be changed by that one night. In one night, I saw the curse and destruction of man's lust, the trap of poverty and the debauchery of mankind, screaming out for salvation and repentence. I determined to open my eyes to see them for who they were inside. I also determined never to let myself be found by a man who did not respect and love me through and through for who I was inside.

There is so little and yet, so much to do. Loving unjudgementally, respecting the downtrodden, serving the marginalised- the way God did for us. There is so much to do, and perhaps, that would be a good place to start.

" Jesus said to them,

'I tell you the truth, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you.

For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness,

and you did not believe him,

but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did.

And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him.' "

-Matthew 21:31

Special Day.

"So what does this mean?"


"It means you've Recovered. We're discharging you, that's what. I see a grown-up young woman before me, and I'm excited for you."


So what does this mean.

It means I've struggled, grown, matured, and overcome. It means God kept His promise, it means He heals, it means He makes everything beautiful in His time. It means that He has a purpose for everything.

It doesn't mean I've reached Perfection, but it does mean I've reached Acceptance, and can walk everyday in deeper humility, and self-awareness. It doesn't mean I can put aside what I've learnt, but it does mean applying it every day, and making sure I keep my eyes on God. It doesn't mean I've fully arrived (who has?), but it does mean God has been and will be with me till the end of this long pilgrimage we call Life.

It means what God broke, He broke in order to heal; what He destroyed, He destroyed in order to rebuild; what He imprisoned, He imprisoned to chasten, discipline, purify, love and finally,

Set free.

Sweet Lord, I've been waiting so long for this day.

Deepest thanks

to my friends, whose prayer and love I'm grateful for, for your faith in me and walking with me.

to Aunty Af, EK and Aunty Ay, for your guidance and encouragement,

to the team at Singapore General Hospital, for your patience, dedication and tough love,

(with special thanks to Miss B: you inspire me to know my patients in the same way)

to those of you who've written me emails, left notes here

( your words of encouragement are cherished and remembered

- with special thanks to "Mrs Lim")

to Mum and Dad- I could not ask for better parents,

And to You- for being by me.

For setting me free.

Thank you for walking with me on this journey.

" For He bruises, but He binds up;
He wounds, but His hands make whole."

-Job 5:18

"Therefore, if God makes you free, you shall be free indeed."

- John 8:36

Riding Bicycles.

"Er... weellll....yes I'd love to join you cycling but..."


Pause. Violent laughter.


"You mean you can't cycle! You're 21!"


" (sheepishly)... Heh, yes... well, technically I do know how to cycle, but I've a morbid phobia of cycling because of past accidents on the bike. Anyways, yes, I'd love to pick it up again sometime... "



I remember I used to love cycling. When I was a little girl, I used to ask my mother for all sorts of colorful ribbons from gift hampers so I could tie them to my bicycle handles. I was estactic when I got a bicycle with a basket at the front- I'd imagine myself riding on fields with my silver ribbons waving in the wind from my bicycle handles, with a bunch of multi-colored balloons tied to my backseat trailing behind me, floating off one by one into the sky as the wind flirted with my mane of hair...

And then it came the time when I became too tall and grew too big to be seen unembarrassed with the two side wheels on my bike. Daddy took the side wheels off, I took to roller-blading instead and that was that. Years later, when it became too embarrassing to confess one's inability to master the world's commonest mode of transport, I tried again.

I managed to learn cycling at a later-than-usual age, only to land myself in 3 accidents, of which I never describe in detail with the exception to pointing to a huge scar at the back of my calves, lightened over the years.

I took to running and swimming instead, and never admitted how much I missed the thrill of zooming through space and having the wind caress my hair; I never admitted how much I missed having a bike of my own, with ribbons and a basket at the front; I never admitted how much I missed feeling so free, riding through the neighboorhood with my favourite toy gun in my basket. When I was little and if I was feeling blue when some of the neighbourhood kids weren't being nice at the playground, I'd take my bike out at night and cycle round and round the swimming pool downstairs, stop beside the squeaky swing and swing till it got too chilly. I never admitted how much I missed that.

After my accidents, I became intensely afraid of cycling. More than getting hurt again, I was afraid of losing control. I'd hold on so tightly to the handles that my palms turned chilli-red, and my eyes would be fixated onto the handles or onto the ground. Needless to say, I crashed, over and over, because I set my sights too near, didn't trust myself, and held on too tightly. Being on a vehicle strikes a pathological fear in me, simply because of the way it challenges one to be in control, in charge.

Because of past accidents, so intense was my fear of losing control again that I simply held on too tightly to the handles, so tightly that I could never find my balance. Because of certain circumstances in a period of my life, so intense was my fear of my life spinning out of control that I clutched onto Ed like my bicycle handles, so tightly that I crashed, again and again.

The more I wanted to be in control, the more I wasn't. I became afraid of cycling, afraid of trusting myself again.

It reminded me of what Miss B* told me during Therapy- that to recover, I had to set my sights further into the future- well and recovered, trust myself, and let go, to stop holding on so tightly.

Sometimes, being in control really means letting go.

"You know, I love the analogy of riding a bicycle," Miss B said. "Look at the way children learn- they fall off, get up, and ride again. The fall hurts, and it may be incredibly painful, but what matters most is that we get up on our feet to try again. It's like recovery, isn't it?"



"Yes, it is, Miss B. I will cycle again someday."

Today was a public holiday. I got up bright and early, took a stash of money, went out, bought myself a whacked up fifty-dollar second-hand mountain bike, and wheeled it home.

I cycled for an hour today. I cycled for a whole hour and couldn't stop- first at my basement carpark, and then through the park connector, past playgrounds and roads, houses and trees, upslope and downslope, and past other cyclists.


It was incredible.


With the wind teasing my hair and the sunshine kissing my face, I whizzed through time and space, letting my lost years come to maturity as I wheeled through the arcs of curved roads and bends. Holding the handles lightly and setting my eyes into the distance, I learnt how to let go as I wheeled freely and crazily and beautifully downslope. Had I tried to be in any more control and braked, I would have flown off my bike and land myself into Unforgettable Accident Experience No. 4.


Perhaps, being in control really means letting go. Perhaps, mastery really is surrender. And perhaps, for all our worries about life whirling us crazy, all we need to do is to let go, surrender and trust- both ourselves and God.


I bought back my childhood today for fifty dollars, and gained faith, trust and control. I felt like that ten year-old girl riding round and round her neighbourhood pool, absolutely content and giddy with glee.

It was incredible. To let go, and yet, be more in control than ever. It felt apt, to conquer my fear of cycling as its lessons paralleled the lessons I'd learnt in my journey through Recovery.


How I love the feel of the wind flirting with my hair and the sunshine on my skin. And I thought running was good.


How I love my bicycle.


I think I'll get myself some ribbon this weekend.

"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me."

- John 14:1

*Miss B is the Principal psychologist at the Life Centre in Singapore General Hospital, working with people healing from eating disorders.

Superheroes. (edited)

Every child looks up to some sort of figure. In fact, the child in us looks up to some sort of figure even till we grow old. An elder brother, father, teacher, politician, rockstar... or a superhero, even.

Firemen and policemen become the perfect idols for little boys. Little girls on the other hand, with their innate, eternal longings to be loved and protected, often find themselves seeking protecting figures all the more. No matter how big we grow, there'll always be that vulnerable part of us that remains as that little doll yearning for protection and love, longing to be rescued from the dark forces of this world.

In times of need, we constantly look to those higher, bigger, wiser than us for advice and protection. Even Grown-ups do so, and sometimes to their own detriment when they place their security and expectation in ageing parents, abusive or irresponsible partners, or untrustworthy friends, even. But even the most loyal of friends and family can't be there for us all the time, can't shield us from all storms, can't rescue us from every evil attack.

After all, they're human. Not Superheroes.


But the longing lingers. And we live our lives misplacing our security and pinning false hopes onto individuals, hoping, waiting, longing to be saved, valiantly rescued.



We wait for Superman, but he never comes.



I was at Sunday school the other day, and my first reaction to what I'd just heard was that of shock, followed by a brief repulsion and feeling disturbed, but soon after, amusement, being tickled, and only much later, awe and wonder at the profound wisdom of what had been said.

At one segment of class, the children were given some freedom to share whatever they wanted with everyone. One by one, brave souls trotted to the front to share with everyone the admirable dreams and good goals that had conceived in their little hearts of late. Their child-like innocence, goofy grins and yet bold announcments of purity and nobility could melt a heart of stone- it made you want to give each tiny tot a big, bear-crushing squeeze, and envelope each one with oodles of love. Then, a little boy with a huge mop of curly hair ran up to the mike sheepishly and said, shyly but surely, " God says I can be Superman, and I can be real good!"

There was a split second of stunned silence.


Out of the ordinary, quite. No?


The statement disturbed me considerably, and I won't deny that I frowned. What a dangerous thing to think for a child, I thought. What do mean an invisible being told you that you could be a Superhero. Did He tell you that you could leap off buildings and fly in the skies, too? Oh dear, I thought. Oh dear. I must have looked like I had been scandalised, as if someone had just publicly cursed me on the podium during the opening ceremony of the Olympics.

But it was the Grown-up in me making the judgement, and I forgot, that children often express themselves hyperbolically, and his idea of goodness, strength, integrity and helpfulness merely translated into an action figure he found he could relate most closely to. So the audible silence broke into laughter, amusement and relief after that seemingly dangerous-sounding statement was clarified and understood on his level.


Dangerous-sounding, and yet, that statement was, in a way, profoundly true. Wise, even.

It lingered in my spirit and for days, I could not shake it off.



God says I can be Superman, and I can be real good.



I had hit another rock in Recovery. The demands of medical school and various stressors bearing down all at once had finally bore into me and the discouragement ate into me like a worm.


I hadn't seen Ed for a long time, but Ele appeared sometimes, acting as Ed's snare. She was sometimes there in a red-and-white swimsuit with her yellow float when I went swimming, and unconsciously, I'd wish for my superhero to come swoop down and save me from drowning. As therapy sessions got fewer and farther between, I found myself having to rely more and more on what had been built within me previously during the journey. But things got hard, and one day, overwhelmed by it all, I felt hard-pressed on every side, crushed, almost. It was tempting to run away, to run back to what felt familiar.



Miss B* wrote to me, " This is actually what recovery is really like. It's not always easy. There will be times when you get stressed and it's not triggered by Ed but it'll make you want to run back to Ed."



"We're here to support you but not to rescue you."


How simple, honest and true. And profound, too. People are here to support us, love us, but not to rescue us.


Even when it seems so tempting for us to run back to grab a hold of that yellow float which we used to run back to for help, or wait for a Superhero to come save us, there comes a time where we need to brave the waters, gulp a few mouthfuls of chlorinated water, and learn to swim on our own.



There comes a time where we need to finally realise that as we lean on God's power, we do have what it takes to rescue ourselves.





God says I can be Superman.


And all at once, I understood the message behind the statement which dwelled in my soul and stirred within me. I think in some way, God says we all can be Supermen, not in a I-don't-need-anyone-else or I-am-invincible kind of way, not in a I-can-do-everything or I-shall-save-the-world-on-my-own kind of manner either.



But with Him in us, we can be Supermen, in the sense of finding security, protection and courage from within, without outwardly pining and desperately looking externally for some man in blue tights and red underwear to save our day. We're here to support you, but not to rescue you. How many of us are often disappointed by others who just aren't able to solve our problems, because in truth, it's really not their responsibility to. There is a place in Recovery for seeking help and making connections with others, and yet, another milestone is also in reaching a place where we can find enough strength within ourselves to solve the little crises which crop up and allow them to toughen us up, without succumbing to despair or waiting for a Superhero to swoop down and catch us before we suffocate under the waters.

How ironic, I thought, that when I first put Ed onto paper in a drawing, it was Miss B who noticed before myself- "Why, did you realise you've drawn Ed as if he were a Superhero?" It was true, and I hadn't even realised it. Whenever things got dark, Ed became who I ran to, who I chose to be rescued by because he was most willing to. It was a short-cut, the easy way out.

Little Anna, Ele, behind a mirror, and Ed

But things are different when we trust in God, in His infinite goodness and grace for us. With His strength in us, all we need is Him. And with His power in us, perhaps it isn't such a far-fetched idea to think that with God in us, we become like Superheroes, too. Not that we become infallible, invincible or unstoppable. Not that we suddenly grow Phelps-like muscles overnight and swim through the currents like a torpedo. But simply, becoming more secure, stronger, and steadfast within ourselves; more able to save ourselves by the divine wisdom deposited in our spirits; more able to rely on our emotional resources, built up from studying God's word, when the currents flow against us.

Are you tired of waiting for your superhero who never shows up when the storm rages, the floodgates open and the waters start to rise?

And so now, I can smile when I think back upon that curly-haired boy who raced to the mike to say "God says I can Superman and I can be real good."

Because maybe it's not so dangerous, not so scandalising, and not so far-fetched after all to think perhaps then, that really, it makes perfectly sound sense to say that-

-because of God's grace, power and love with us...

... we truly can be Superheroes in Him, and we can be real good, too.

" When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you... Since you are precious and honoured in my sight, and because I love you..."

- Isaiah 43:2a, 4a

" ... growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to His glorious might..."

- Colossians 1:10b-11a

All posts under the link Therapy chronicle her journey to recovery from Anorexia and depression with professional help from the team at the Singapore General Hospital. By sharing her journey, she hopes it will help shed light on these highly misunderstood illnesses, and encourage those of you considering professional help to take the brave step forward to confront your challenges. No one recovers by themselves- take the first step foward.

*Miss B is the principal psychologist at the Life Centre department of SGH.

The Best Policy.

It's true when they tell you Recovery is a road of twists and turns.

Re-cov-er-ie: even the four syllables and the alternating hard-sounding consonants and soft end of the word suggest the convoluting journey till the end.

It's true when they tell you that it's not a straight road- but an uphill one full of tiny stones along the way. It's true when they tell you that if you're not careful, you could slide down, back to the beginning, and it could seem like you never started out in the first place. It's true when they tell you that you never know what to expect, that you can't plan your own timeline, that every step is a step of faith.

We see that in hospitalised patients all the time. Every patient wants a concrete date of discharge, wants to know the day they'll get well, or die. But nobody knows, and not even the best doctor can be sure.

Re-cov-er-ie. The convoluting juurney till the end. And the only way we'll ever make it through is by being honest with one's journey, one's progress. Too many patients want to discharge themselves- they tell you they feel perfectly fine even though test results shout otherwise. So many of us are trapped in denial, and dishonesty could perhaps be the greatest hindrance to Recovering well.

I met an old lady yesterday. I was told by my professor from the breast oncology department to go speak with her to learn more about her condition. Breast Cancer- one of the deadliest cancers which affect women today.

I tried to be most gentle with her. Mdm Z was an old, frail lady, and she lay on her bed listening to an old radio playing the latest Malay hits. I greeted her in malay and her eyes lit up immediately. Being able to converse in malay is something I thank God every day for.

"Apa kabar, macik? (How are you, Auntie?)"

Her lifeless, sallow face broke out into a smile. " Baik, doktor. Terima Kasih. (I'm well, doctor. Thank you."

"Saya tidak doktor. Lagi bachar! (I'm no doctor, I'm just a medical student!)." We both laugh.

"Manah yang sakit? Kenapa mari hospital? (Where do you hurt, why did you come to the hospital?)"

It was then that a darkness swept over her. It was as if a fog came over her eyes, and her countenance fell. There was no anger, no sorrow even, just a faraway look of bewilderment. A poignant moment, thick with amnesia, hung in the air. Her eyes travelled to the ceiling, searched the walls, and then finally rested on my face.

"Saya... lupah... (I... forgot.)"

It was impossible. She had had a masectomy a while ago, and her wound was sorely infected. She must have been in pain. But she said she was fine, perfectly fine.

Denial- our last resort when our greatest efforts to keep ourselves sane and hopeful fail.

Why are they keeping me here, she asked me in malay. Her eyes looked into the distance. To all my other questions, she merely stared squarely at me, smiled weakly and said, "Saya lupah. (I forgot)."

As I leaned over her to ask about her son, the only one topic which seemed to interest her, she looked into my face intently, held my chin gently and said in english... "You... so sweet your smile."

And I lost her again.

Possibly the hardest thing to remember, is that Honesty is the key to Recovery. It's most important, because being honest with yourself ensures you stay on track, and hardest, because it can be so difficult to share, so difficult to accept, especially when things have been either too tragic to bear or going swimmingly well. In tragedy, the pain is excruciating and alienating, to hard to face. In making progress, everyone's congratulating you, you're waving your own coloured flag, and there's a banner flown in the sky with your name on it, above a cheering crowd with bright pom-poms shouting your name... and you can't bear to tell those who love you that you've hit another rock in the road, and that you need some time, some space to find your way around it. It's not that you've given up, it's not even that you've messed up big time, but it's just the way things are with Recovery.

Re-cov-er-ie. Ups and downs, round and round, but falling doesn't mean failing. Not everyone understands that. And so, being honest can be difficult. It's easier to say, I don't know where I'm at. I've given up. Or simply, I forgot.

Saya lupah.

Recovery is not a full-stop. It is an everyday commitment. Every day is a fresh start, and one awakes with a fresh commitment to be an overcomer.



Ed has been far away for a long time. The Professional People helped to put him and Ele behind bars. Over the weekend, however, I saw an article in the papers about an animal breaking loose from the zoo, and I saw Ele, right there on the front page. I went swimming last week, and she came along into the pool right with me.


Re-cov-er-ie. Ups and downs, round and round, and it can be discouraging.


In life, why do we fall in the same place twice?



Once, someone shared with me that she wanted to give up because it was too hard, because it's been going on far too long falling down in the same places over and over, because she couldn't see the end. But I said that each time we fall, things are different. Every time we fall, we fall differently, with the experience from the previous one to help make the climbing up easier, more manageable- and we become stronger, yes.

Being honest is the first step, and the bravest one. The discouragement of a little fall can be enough to floor you, especially when it happens the second, third, eleventh time. But much is lost when we deny the truth and hide behind the shadows of self-soothing.

I interviewed another young lady today who found out three years ago that she had breast cancer. She was in her twenties then. She never smoked, never drank. She had no family history of cancers, no predisposing factors. She was young, pretty even. She was about to marry her college sweetheart.

Angry, traumatised and fiercely in denial, she wanted nothing done. You got the test results wrong! she had told the doctors. Three years later, now, her cancer has spread to her lungs, spine and legs.

The truth then, was too hard to bear. It was easier not to face the truth, easier not to be honest with oneself.


Life can be harsh, even to the best and kindest of people. But it takes a true believer, to grit his teeth and believe that God allowed it and is in control, that He is fair and just, and that He understands, will see us through- again, yes again, all the way to the end.


In Recovery from anything- loss, disppointment, grief, or even in the process of self-improvement, Honesty really is the best policy. It tells you where you came from, where you stumbled, and where you think you're going. A year back, before Therapy, I told myself and the world I was well. Yeah, I got better by myself reading books. Denial made life easier to cope with, it's easier to say I... forgot... forgot everything like a bad dream and I'm okay now. And we forget, that bad dreams can be recurrent, and unless we solve our problems, our nightmares haunt us forever.

So it's okay, I think, to share that I saw Ele again in a red-and-white striped swimsuit in the swimming pool last week, with a yellow float. Pride makes it hard to acknowledge, but I can accept that because Honesty... really is the best policy. It may not be the most pleasant thing to do- but it gives us the truth, helps us and others to help ourselves, keeps us on track.

Because on the day I am completely well, I want to say that I walked through the road of Recovery well and bravely, want to know that I stayed real through it all, want to remember all the times and places where I fell so that I could share it with others, help them help themselves too.

I want to be honest so that I can look ahead to a better destination. I want to be honest so that I can look back and remember these precious moments, and use them to help others, too. I want to be honest so that you see that Recovery isn't as straightforward as most think it is, that you're not alone and that being Honest in fact brings us closer to Being Well.

And at the end of the day, I want to be able to hold my head high and say that I remembered every battle fought and won. And that through it all, God never forsook me. Anger, denial, grief and guilt, He was with me through the deepest of valleys.


Honesty- it is the harder but braver choice. It is the best policy.


And on the day of victory, I want my eyes to be full of the light of hope and triumph, of gratitude and joy, and not the faraway bewilderment of loss, confusion and amnesia. I don't want to say... Saya lupah.


I will say Saya ingat. I remembered every bit of it.


And Victory, with the remembrance of the full journey reaching it, because of one's honesty to face every little obstacle, will be all the more sweeter then.

Waiting Room.

Being a Big Sister to the little children at Sunday School has been one of the most phenomenal experiences. Though it takes another early wake-up call on what should perhaps be a sunday sleep-in, the rewards have been incredible, and joy bubbles within me like a hot stew even days before Sunday.

Sunday School is where parents leave their little children while they attend church. It is a place of jubilant song, uninhibited laughter, and energetic dance; a place of teaching and learning; a place of bright colours and simple fun. One beautiful day, I will wake up to find myself grateful and joyful, teaching a class of my own- but for now, I help out the teachers in their lessons, and learn the tricks of the trade along the way.

Last week, the eight year-olds learnt about the value of Patience. It was nearly the end of the class, and everyone was starving. The teacher, endearingly addressed by the children as Aunty L, brought out a bag of yummy strawberry-filled biscuits and asked if anyone wanted one. Hands shot up into the air like fireworks.

"But how about if I told you- that if you could wait a little longer till the end of the class, and forgo this treat, to receive a better gift at the end... Would you still want this strawberry biscuit?"

An exchange of gazes. And then, a resoundingly bright and unanimous- "NO!"

Aunty L opened the bag of strawberry biscuits and the aroma tickled everybody's noses as it was being passed around. Nobody took a single one.

Perhaps it's been a while since I taught little children- the last time I did, I was in Nepal... but their maturity surprised me. Their trust in Aunty L's promise amazed me. They waited patiently in wide-eyed wonder, and soaked up the simple lesson like a morning waffle drenched in maple syrup.

" I want all of you to wait here patiently while I get your present. Jiejie (Big Sister) Wai Jia will keep an eye on you and tell me who behaved and who didn't."

Her return was accompanied by squeals of delight, which rang into the air like a thousand silver bells, as Aunty L brought back tiny bite-sized ice-cream treats. The children went wild with simple joy and gratitude. Tiny squeals of laughter burst randomly like bubbles.

And there I sat, watching them silently, smiling, as each of them filled me with their infectious euphoria. Class ended, and each scrambled off with chocolate-covered grins.


Sometimes, to receive something better, we need to wait. Waiting comes with trust. It comes with hope for the best, trust in the Person, and faith in the outcome. And if it's God we can trust, then it's always worth the wait.


I thought of the depression I sank into when A Taste of Rainbow didn't happen "on time", amidst other things. I thought of my impatience while Kitesong was being published. I thought of the discouragement that simmered slowly as the project idea for turning Kitesong into a video animation on a CD for further fund-raising purposes fizzled out, and when the building project for the orphanage was delayed.

Depression, discouragement and despair- because of dwindling hope, unsteady trust, and wavering faith.

A week ago, the missionaries from the orphanage in Nepal returned to Singapore for a conference and invited me to their gathering. Because of the political upheaval and other delays, I learnt that the building project was scheduled to a later date. The past two years of waiting, however, did not go to waste. Time gave them the opportunity to revisit the drawing board, remould their ideas and sharpen their vision; Time gave them the reward of receiving more funds; Time gave them the luxury of watching the orphaned girls grow up, and realise the importance of establishing a ministry where the older girls could find work and earn a living in hospitality and tourism- perhaps by expanding the project and building a cafe, or a hostel, in addition to the much-needed orphanage.

At about the same time I learnt of this, I received news that the song for the Kitesong CD had just been composed. After a year and a half of waiting since its conception, it was ready. After a year and a half of seeming inactivity from both sides, I received news from two ends of the earth within the same week. We are to go review the CD for the first time in a few days.

One and half years of seemingly doing nothing. One and a half years of seeming inactivity. One and a half years of waiting, simply.

But Time was in control, and God in control of Time. The two groups of people, one in Nepal and one in Singapore, coincided in perfect timing- God's timing.

I never quite understood what people meant when they said to trust God's timing. What does it mean to trust Somebody you can't see and who doesn't know the urgency of things? But... does He really not?

One and a half years, of me spinning, falling, sinking, climbing, healing, and walking again. One and a half years of learning what it means to find God not just in Big Projects, but in tiny things, like living every day like your first and last; of learning what it means not to be strong all the time, but to confess your vulnerability and ask for help; of learning what it means not to tie oneself to the pride of worldly achievements, but to root oneself in what the eye cannot see- the important things in life.

One and a half years- seemingly, but most certainly not wasted.

I thought A Taste of Rainbow would happen this year, 6 months ago. It didn't. I thought I would have recovered 6 months ago. I didn't either. One day at church, 6 months ago, as the heavy burden of holding on too tightly to an unpublished book lay upon me, a missionary I had never met before came up to me and prayed aloud, "You aren't in the season of bearing fruit yet because there is still a season of Pain you have yet to walk through. No fruit will be borne- yet. But when it does, it will be on schedule, in God's time, and you will be so amazed. You will be so amazed."

Looking back at his words, I'm amazed already at how they strangely forebode the excruciating healing process I walked through soon after in Therapy, how they may strangely forebode the future, in good Time to come.

It was a good thing A Taste of Rainbow didn't get published then. I wasn't healed; I didn't thoroughly go through the tough journey of Therapy; I wasn't ready for the next Big Thing. I didn't know humility, didn't know meekness, didn't know self-worth. Six months later, I see how these fruits, in the cold of winter, have been borne, and are still ripening, slowly. So perhaps these are the fruit of the spirit which are to be borne, never mind if Rainbow never becomes reality- because part of the lesson is about letting it go. Not in resignation and despair, but in hope, and in surrender to God's timing.

One and a half years of waiting. Just, waiting. Six months of watching time pass. Just, passing. Minutes of time being lost through the cracks. Just, being lost.


Perhaps we forget that in God's understanding of eternity, a year is but a breath in the air.


Are you in the Waiting Room, too? Itching with urgency, perspiring with anxiety, swelling with frustration? Do you not trust that the greatest works are done because of Waiting?


So this is what waiting on God means.


Trust, hope, and faith. Ice-cream, and chocolate-covered grins.


I have learnt, and I am learning- that sometimes, to receive something better, we need to wait. Waiting comes with trust. It comes with hope for the best, trust in the Person, and faith in the outcome.


And if it's God we can trust, then it's always worth the wait.


Because all things become beautiful in His time.

" To everything, there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven...

He has made everything beautiful in His time."

- Ecclesiastes 3:1, 11

Final Destination.

Hot, tight and smoggy, one easily feels like a green bean being rattled silly within a hard metal shaker, fried to a smoky crisp on a hot summer's day. It's a large country, and a ride easily takes hours. Winding around perilous turns on steep mountain slopes, blind to oncoming mega-trucks which swerve out from nowhere, it can even be quite a hair-raising experience. You count yourself lucky if you don't, through the many hours stuck in one place, share a seat with a farmer's goat and huge brown sacks of potatoes.

A ride on a bus in Nepal can be quite an experience in itself, really.

But no matter how long the journey was, I remember I was hardly ever frustrated by it. Songs filled my mind, and I hummed and sang my way through. Twice, I went to Nepal to visit the orphanage which Kitesong is raising funds for, and both trips were filled with incredibly long bus journeys. It was only but once that a trip became unbearable for me- and only because I had caught a food-bug which blessed me with incessant diarrhoea, and the art of projectile vomitting which flew across the bathroom like a multi-coloured rainbow with a perfect trajectory.

I never got bored. When I did, I hummed, or I sang. While I itched to reach the destination, I lapped up every precious moment of the ride, like a scrawny cat does to pearl-white milk, bobbing my head to the symphony inside my head, or to the heart-thumping Nepali music playing on the bus stereo. The land was beautiful- wide rivers interweaving through emerald mountain ranges, tiny shacks dotting a quiet village, unending fields against a mountainous landscape... I enjoyed every moment of what ought to have been interminably long bus rides.

The time where it got too hot and tight for comfort, I simply climbed onto the bus-roof, on top of all the other travellors' luggage, together with 2 other American backpackers- a seventy-year old adventurer and his son who both had a taste for adventure, and clinged on tight to the nylon ropes, ducking overhead electric wires which came fast at us, as the bus swerved daringly past turns, edged bravely along the thin mountain passes, and whizzed crazily along the dusty Nepali roads.

There was never a dull moment.

What a far cry to my attitude on public transport back home, here. What an irony- here, the trains and buses provide the comforts fit for a king, but time here ticks far faster, and I'm constantly looking at my watch to see what time I reach my destination. This station to this station. 22 minutes. Are we there yet? Oh gosh, a traffic jam- I hope I won't be late! Oh dear me.

As we journey through different stations of life, do we, too, place our focus so much on the end, the Final Destination, that we forget to enjoy the journey?

It could be becoming a competent worker. A more-than-mediocre student. A famous writer. A good doctor. A person who is completely well and free, fully able to exult in the joy and liberation which a life with God promises. But... why is it that no matter how far we try, these ideals still seem so far away, so distant?

It can be so discouraging. Daddy, why aren't we there yet?

Just a month ago my heart was heavy-laden. I had been trying so hard in Recovery to make little breakthroughs every day- why was I still so far from the end? I had made significant progress, but why was there -still- such a long way to go?

It would take me another 3 years to graduate to become a doctor, an extra 3 years to specialise and become skilled in my area of interest, and another 3 years to serve my bond before I could leave the country for any long-term missionary work. Why is the journey so long? Why am I so far from being who I wish to be? How come I'm not like him, or her, or her...?

How long more?

Merely the thought itself tired me, as I looked down at my watch and stared at the minute hand creeping by sluggishly, in an excruciatingly slow manner. I became frustrated, discouraged and the song-bird within me grew old, and died from sorrow.

Why does the end seem so far away. Why can't we be perfect... tomorrow?

And perhaps we forget, that it is precisely the distance from the destination which gives us the opportunity to live, and the privilege of time to explore our weaknesses, discover our strengths and experiment with our ideas. Perhaps we forget, that the distance from our destination may be a blessing in disguise, giving us time, space, freedom... to grow, mature and ripen.

Have we become so preoccupied with the destination that we forget to look out and enjoy the ever-changing scenery? Have we become so engrossed with the minute hand on our watches that we neglect the other passengers on the bus with us, and miss out on the divine encounters, exchanges which could have been? Have we become so frustrated with the sheer distance left to cover that we forget to celebrate the progress we are making every moment, one step closer to our final stop?

Indeed, one finds it difficult to enjoy the ride when one is so focused on reaching one's destination.

So maybe we can't see the end. Maybe we're not there yet. Maybe it feels like we'll never be.

But I open my eyes now to take in the trees I never noticed before, the charming, rustic landscape I was once blind to. I lift up my head to see the people taking the ride with me, and form friendships, relationships with them, accepting their help when I stumble during a bumpy ride and reaching out to hold them if they fall. I look at the person I've become and the maturity birthed within me, simply from the ability to admire beauty, embrace humanity and celebrate process.

It's a Process. When we see our lives as a process, and not a destination, we find ourselves free to live again. And we celebrate even the time which was given to us as a gift of grace, for us to find ourselves.

And so when my heart becomes heavy-laden with discouragement, I stop to ruminate on the milestones I've reached; stop to marvel at the wonderful people I've met in the support groups, in the medical community, through this space; stop to take in the profound transformation that has taken place within me ever since I believed in God's love for us. I start to enjoy the journey for itself, and luxuriate in the privilege to bask in the hope of the End ahead, in the privilege to delight between anticipation and fulfillment, between a vision, and a dream-come-true, between hope and faith sealed with love.

And then the journey becomes bearable, becomes beautiful, becomes a blessing again.

We learn Patience, faith and hope.

And once again, I can sing.

" But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently..."

-Romans 8:25

Eternal Infancy.

Do it again. Do it again. Please, can we do it again.

A child sits on a swing and lunges his body forward rhythmically, exulting in repetitive jubilance. He rejoices in the same pendulous routine of ups and downs, not out of boredom but out of joy, not in the absence of but in the excess of life, not out of compulsion but out of sheer giggle-filled, chuckle-bursting liberation and indulgence.

Do it again. Do it again. Please, can we do it again.

A child celebrates repetition.

Anna loves to swing, too. And I think the inner child in each of us do, too. The Professional People told me that Anna had to grow up before Ed could fully go away, but it is not that we need to kill the child within us before we may be healthily grown up. Grown-ups have inner-childs in them too, and those who do, are often happier for it. What's important, perhaps, is which parts of our inner child we keep- innocent wonder, child-like faith, startling boldness, and which we choose to throw away- selfishness, tantrum-throwing, emotional blackmail, even.

The bad bits of Anna need to grow up, but the most of her can stay.

But in this dangerous age of shades of grey, which embatters us too much too often, too many of us grow old overnight and lose the strength in the stuff children are made of. The irony is- to be truly Grown-up, our inner childs do need to be preserved- correctly and beautifully.

But we act like grown-ups on the outside, while our inner childs struggle between infancy and gawky pubescence, innocence and knowing, and are thrown into confusion, anxiety and loss. They become angry, jaded and grow altogether cold, old. We grow older on the outside, and our inner childs either wither overnight, or become stuck in timetravel, becoming enraged, bitter and sulky.

Do it again. Do it again. Please, can we do it again.

A child exults in repetition, but we grow old too soon. For why is it, that as we work and live, doing the same things over and over, day after day, that we grow weary by the pendulous swing of routine, and become exhausted, drained by the humdrum of everyday life. It is as if we had chosen to get off a rusty swing, a swing in whose heady rush of wind and exhilarating heights we no longer took pleasure in.

For adults work and grow cold. We sin and grow old.

And in doing so, lose their child-like strength to exult in and triumph over monotony. For every day becomes the same as the last, except perhaps being, only more dead. The days are flogged to death with sameness and the adults grow old and cold in their jobs, dead before they die, processing data, typing in numbers and flicking people off, for they have little energy for anything more.

And it would take Strength the size of a jumbo-set, the size of Noah's ark, the size of God's hug to infuse life back into the living corpses we've allowed ourselves to become.


I was in the hospital drawing blood for and taking the medical history of the umpteeth patient when I found myself slumped forward, tired, asking the same questions over and over, going through the same motions again and again. It was a scary moment, to learn how routine can become monotonous, how repetition can flog you to death. But all at once, when God's love for that person hit me hot in the face and opened my eyes, I found new strength again to listen to the same answers, to do the same things, to perform the same procedures- simply because this was a different, unique Person- special and precious in God's sight.


Perhaps with God's love, we just may be- enabled to.

Enabled to work, enabled to answer, enabled to love, over and over, without growing old, without growing cold.

Enabled to Grow up well, with our inner childs still preserved to enjoy the simplicity of celebrating repetition.


For could it be that for all His ancience and age, God's love is strong enough, to inspire newness into old things.

Could it be then with God's strength in us, looking through His eyes, we can find freshness in routine, forgiveness in raked-up anger, fire in a heart reeking with frost.

Is it then that we can go to work doing the same mundane procedural things, seeing the same things, going through the same motions- and yet all differently, by seeing every person at the counter, by the corridor, at the office cubicle, not as a digit, a statistic, just another case or patient or bed number, but as a Person, a child whom God loves so much that He would give up the world for him to know so. Who loves him as much as He loves me.

Is it then we can listen to the same glib promises men say to us to impress, pursue us, and yet, not allow our hearts to become hardened, dulled, embittered, and still find the courage, dignity and strength to be pursued and loved again by another- and this time differently, because our eyes are opened and we now see the difference between truth and falsehood, deed and cheap talk.

Is it then we can die a hundred deaths, over and over- yet without dying, only because our death produces new seeds for new lives, blooming into new shoots of vitality and vigour.


Because, well, could it be that God takes great pleasure and delight in the same creations every day, over and over? He draws the silken skies of dawn and dusk like coloured curtains, fingers the lips of chaste lilies and browns them to their graves, brews clouds over our lives for seasons of sunshine, rain and frost, creating the same creations over and over... and then, all over again.

Could it be possible that for all of His eternity, God delights in perservering steadfastness and unchanging faithfulness, fulfilling His promises of a new day, every single day?

Could it be that just like the child who sees every swing ride as his first exhilarating adventure, that for every sky and flower and Person, God sees them differently, too?

It may not be the law of cog-wheel convenience that necessitates cycles of repetition. It may be that God chooses to paint every ceiling canopy differently, craft every flower separately, and love every Person uniquely. Painting the skies in the same areas with a different brush, crafting the same flowers one by one, listening to and forgiving the same sins over and over, again and again. Yet diligently, faithfully, because each sky is admired by a different child, each flower plucked and chosen for a different lover, each sin committed by a different Person, with a different Story.

Can we do that too? Go about doing our daily grind and growing bigger, and yet looking at everything with child-like wonder and starry awe, simply because every Person encountered in the process was different.

Do it again. Do it again. Please, can we do it again.

I sometimes wonder- Could I be the kind of doctor who sees every patient with the eyes God sees them with? After weekly 36-hour shifts running around meeting demands, could I still see each Person differently, serve each patient faithfully as if he were my first, with dedicated humility and dignity? It would require a choice.


It may be that God has the infinite capacity for infancy, the eternal hunger for child-likeness, because He chose to.


For we have worked and grown cold. We have sinned and grown old.


But we have hope in knowing that God in us may help us preserve our zest and zeal, our eternal gratitude for every sunrise and dusk, every flower which blooms and dies, every human being which passes our way, as long as we make a daily choice.


Because perhaps, very simply, our God, for all His ancience, age and eternity, could simply just be-


- younger than we.

"Therefore whoever humbles himself as this little child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."

- Matthew 18: 4

Kingdoms Lost, Kingdoms Found.

I remember that I nearly dropped the picnic basket when it caught my eye.

I was lugging an entire basketful of fruits, crackers, sparkling juice and cookies, trailing behind some friends on the way out of the Botanical Gardens after a surprise birthday picnic party for a close friend- when It caught my eye, and gripped me like a vice, immobilising me. The stark sight was so unusual, so grotesque in its own stark way that each of my friends stopped to marvel at the ugly wonder.

It was nary but a black tree stump, glowing and glistening in the wet drizzle, with the soil around it dug up to reveal its scary, sinewy roots below, which twisted and turned like black serpents. There was a huge crater around it, and it stood out in stark contrast to the lushness and greenery of the beauty around it.

At once, my limbs went soft immediately, and I nearly dropped the picnic basket as my hands tried to cover my open mouth.

"Wai Jia, you okay? You look stunned-what's the matter?"


This incident happened months ago, just weeks after I had the dream about trees. I remembered the dream so starkly and realistically, because of how it gripped me, even many days after. It was pulsing with God's message to me, yet I couldn't quite pin it down. I remembered the vision of a large tree stump, glowing and glistening, with its roots all exposed in a crater from a bird's eye view. It left me wondering about its Significance, the message behind it.

At the time, thick into Therapy, I remember I was still feeling quite low, quite confused during that phase of Recovery, as I had felt all my abilities had been taken away from me, that I lost my ability to run, to lead, to compete, to serve, to love, to live even, and that all I had was my empty shell waiting to be filled up again.


That day as we walked out of the Botanical Gardens, past the tree stump with its roots exposed and naked, goosebumps broke out from my skin at once.

"Wai Jia, you okay? You look stunned." A close friend, Jt, came up close to me and asked.

To which I whispered back, in frozen shock, "Nothing... you won't believe this... It's just that I had a dream exactly of this sight just a while back... You won't believe this... It looked... ... exactly the same... Oh my..."

I stood transfixed, the picnic basket nearly falling to the ground as my limbs went buttery.





"Oh my... I mean... how often do you dream about tree stumps... and how often do you see a sight like that?" I stuttered, a little hoarsely.

I found out later that the tree roots were being carefully excavated as material for an arts exhibition later in the year. It would be gone the next day.


What does this mean, God? I asked there and then, struggling to balance all the items spilling out from the picnic basket. I seldom brush my dreams aside, simply because so many of them come true, or warn me astutely about times ahead. There are others still, but for another post. This time, seeing the vision in my dream in reality before my very eyes paralysed me in shock. It was deja vu, eerie, frightening and yet powerful all at the same time.


I felt God telling me something, something I had yet the ability to fathom at that moment. That was also the period where God revealed to me many beautiful insights about trees and their seasons.



It was Jt who told me, "Jia, there's a part in the bible about a tree stump too. Maybe God has a message for you there."


That night as I flipped open my bible and asked God to speak to me, I felt a deep and real presence descend upon me as my eyes read the words of a story which I never remembered reading.



My skin broke out in goosebumps once more, as I learnt of the eerie coincidence- in that particular story, God had given a king a dream about a tree stump, too.

"The command to leave the stump of the tree with its roots means that your kingdom will be restored to you when you acknowledge that Heaven rules."

-Daniel 4:23

Immediately, the skies parted and I felt a warm wind caress me. I was cold and hot and excited and afraid all at once. The verse spoke to my core like a sword through flesh- I understood God's message to me.

It was exactly what The Professional People had been telling me all this while- that to truly Recover and be restored, I had to learn how to let go, let God, and trust with all my faith that God is in control, in other words, that Heaven rules.

The verse revealed what I was feeling at the time- that I had lost my abilities and talents, the equivalent of my kingdom. Anorexia and Ed had taken them away from me, and it was as if, in line with what The Professional People had been telling me, God was telling me that my "kingdom" would be restored to me when I learnt to trust God with my life, let go and let God.



It's been roughly 4 months since the day I had that dream and saw the tree stump.

4 months later, my legs and my health, my concentration and my mind, my heart and my ability to serve others and in community and at church has finally been restored to me. It feels so good to enjoy running again for what it is, and not because of how Ed uses Ele to taunt and mock me; it feels so good to be able to enjoy studying again and be confident enough to help out and learn skills in the Operation Theatre; it feels so good to be able to lead meetings, jumpstart projects spontaneously, and to be able to sing-along and help teach Sunday School children at church. To be able to run, lead, learn, study, perform, teach, serve, love, live again- it feels like the glory of a lost kingdom being restored to its king.


What ease and joy there is now, because the heart behind these things have changed. The heart no longer runs, works, strives from a place of desperation, pride or insecurity. Rather, it is beginning to work on the infinitely lasting fuel of passion, temperence and wisdom. It is beginning to love and live boldly, because it can trust God's control in matters, even in matters of the heart.


And it happened only because I let go of what I thought would kill me if I did- Ed, and all the other coping mechanisms and compulsions he introduced me to.



It happened only because of God's grace to help me let go of pride, when I decided to trust His plan for my life. It happened when I decided to acknowledge that a force greater than our humble selves governs our lives, a great and beautiful and trustworthy force, so I needn't worry, needn't hurt myself, needn't bear the unecessary weight of the world on my shoulders.


I look back on that dream, that picture of the Tree, and the story in the bible, and close my eyes for a moment to take in what I've been blessed with.


Indeed, "The command to leave the stump of the tree with its roots means that your kingdom will be restored to you when you acknowledge that Heaven rules." -Daniel 4:23



How true.

It was a hard but simple lesson to learn. And through the journey of Recovery and learning how to trust God in faith and humility, my kingdom has, indeed been restored to me. Even when I received shocking news last week, I was able to rejoice, find peace and relief within, and thank God that He protected me from what could have destroyed me, what could have been a disaster. Instead, I've grown to be more confident, more secure, more discerning... trusting God more in the big and small things.

For some strange reason, I suddenly received a generous dole of more than 5 unsolicited compliments over the past week about how much more "fresh" or "radiant" or "healthy" I look now, as if people noticed a sudden and sharp change in my disposition. When a kingdom has been restored to a king, can he not look aglow? When one has been protected from disaster and finally knows the truth and no longer needs to be bothered by grating men, how can one not feel a great sense of freedom, release and relief? O, what relief. And when one realises just how faithful and in control God always is, even in the most uncertain of circumstance, how can one not feel secure, confident?

The radiance comes from having my kingdom restored, but more importantly, from finally trusting that we have a Big God who loves and takes care of us- even in the face of the most terrible, shocking news or horrible cirumstance.

Through depression, disappointment and despair, in people and in things, He is always there.

If you think so much of your life has been taken away from you, just remember that perhaps, even through this, a lesson can be learnt- that God is in control, and when we trust Him with all we have and what we are to have, all that we ever dreamed of having and all we ever had- our kingdoms- will indeed be restored to us, wholly and beautifully.

Not only that, but much more.

"The command to leave the stump of the tree with its roots means that your kingdom will be restored to you when you acknowledge that Heaven rules."

-Daniel 4:23

Special Run.

It was a Special run through the city, underneath a blue sky speckled with white, white clouds.


Special, because it bore witness to the long journey travelled in Recovery; Special, because it was the first race ever in my life which I took part in with a sound mind and healthy body; Special, because it was like a present from God, and His sweet reward to me. It felt like honey on a bitter tongue, the burst of a juicy pear in one's mouth.

For some reason, during the time I was ill, I never thought The Professional People would let me run again. My knee and hip joints had worn out, my chest muscles hurt from inflammation. But they did. During the time I was ill, I never thought my family would understand, or would try to understand because of the fortresses which had been built up over the years, the gap which lay between generations. But through therapy and a lot of their love and sacrifice, they did. During the time I was ill, I thought I might never make it through to the next year. But I did- and I'm in hospital learning about operations and doing stitches in the Operating Theatre.



The more I let go of my diseased sense of control and allowed The Professional People to help instead of insisting on recovering on my own in my way, the more control they returned to me to make sound choices about food and exercise; The more I ate, the better my metabolism became and the healthier my weight gain was, giving me radiance instead of lethargy; The more I relaxed and allowed God to take over, the more efficient and involved I became.


Such are the Paradoxes of Recovery.


But one thing I know for sure, that Life is like a run through an unknown city of twists and turnings, and we destroy ourselves, worrying ourselves silly about finishing the race on time exactly the way we want it. The truth is, we'll never know when our legs will give up on us, when the next stitch or cramp will attack us, when our breathing will become too laborious- our bodies, minds and spirits are all in God's hands and timing.

Perhaps it is when we stop worrying about how we'll fare for the race and focus on the now that we'll make it till the end. It is when we take one step at a time, and simply take each step trusting God for our futures, that our race becomes easy, enjoyable.


My legs stayed faithful to me through most of the run. At some point, however, I felt a tangible heaviness in my chest on discovering my legs had turned to lead. The ton of bricks in each of my feet came as an unexpected surprise. Every step then became a conscious effort, a decision, a deliberate action of faith. There was still a long way to go, and the distance became discouraging, even. A passing thought flit in- would it be okay if I just stopped for a little while?

But I understood that moment. It was filled with immense Power. At that moment, I had the choice to stop or to continue.

It is like walking through life with God- at any point, when the going gets tough, we have the choice to continue or stop. Yet, by making the decision to put one foot in front of the other, in quiet trust in His faithfulness to take us through to the end, we can develop an attitude of humility and faith by realising just how vulnerable and yet determined we really can be.

And the best thing was, Ed wasn't with me. Swift and tender, fast and light, heavy and slow, and plodding till the very end, overcoming a thousand battles with every step, not out of insecurity, pride or fear, but because of trust, and faith and humility.

Through it all, Ed wasn't with me- I was running for the pure, decadent love of it, not because Ed likes running; I put one foot in front of the other for the healthy growth of my mental strength, not because Ed was pushing me to; I ran and I lived and I lapped up every bit of it (even the hard, miserable bits) because I felt such a profound release to know what it means to Run Free and Run Well, what it means to start eating, moving, trusting, loving and living without Ed.

It was a Special run through the city, underneath a blue sky speckled with white, white clouds.

" Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air..."

-1 Cor 9:26

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith..."

- 2 Timothy 4:7

Ele's Evolution: Frameshift.

Have you been to a Carnival before? And do you remember the special tent they put up, and the crazy maze inside where they put in funny mirrors at every corner? One moment, it looks like you're normal, and then you're Humpty Dumpty, Dolly Parton, the Incredible Hulk, E.T, and Mr. Stick-insect.

Different reflections elicit different reactions. And thank God that through it all, we have the confidence to know that those mirrors are lies, and that in truth, we're still who we are.

But life isn't always like that. The Carnival can be so overwhelming and we can get stuck in a maze long enough for us to start believing what we see. We let our problems become our reflections, and allow our reflections to define who we are.

Even if they're not true.


It doesn't matter what problems we're facing- when we're stuck in a rut, maybe, just maybe, all we really need is a Frameshift. A changing of mirrors, an alternative perspective.

Frameshift

Ele is an elephant.


Ele is not real.


Ele is an elephant who lives in the funny mirror in the crazy maze in the big red tent at the Carnival.


What is Ele like?

Why does Ele evoke such strong feelings of frustration?

Is it because we think Ele might be real?

That she might be a reflection of who we are,

And that people might find out,

We're not as perfect as we hoped to be.

Maybe?

Do we fight hard to get rid of Ele?

I've been trying so hard- why won't you budge!

Are our problems and struggles like that too? We've tried every possible method known to us, and yet- they just won't move an inch. Like Ele, they seem to reflect a part of ourselves, the part of ourselves we don't like-our inadequacies and failings, and they can make us feel so hopeless, so frustrated, so very angry.

The scary part is, because Ele is not real, and because Ele lives in the mirror in the big red tent at the Carnival, there's nothing we can do to get our hands on her.

Are we looking at our problems through the right looking-glass?

Or do we need a different perspective.

A complete Frameshift.

A Brand New Way of looking at things? A Way we never even imagined possible.

Maybe it's through a different perspective that a Breakthrough will arrive.

And maybe, just maybe, we'll realise, that our fears, just like illusions and nightmares, never really existed in the first place...

And that Ele never was real, never really existed...

that the power to change our minds, and perspectives lay within our own control.

Frameshifts.

In life, may we always thank God that through it all, we may have the confidence to know that those mirrors we spend so much time looking at are lies, that we have the power to remove our garments of dirt and costumes of deception,

and that in truth, we're still who we are.

Children of God.

" Now Joshua was clothed with filthy garments, and was standing before the Angel. Then God answered and spoke to those who stood before Him, saying, 'Take away the filthy garments from him.' And to him, God said, 'See, I have removed your iniquity from you, and I will clothe you with rich robes."

-Zech 3:3-4

" "He who overcomes shall be clothed in white garments..."

-Rev 3:5

Wai Jia would like to share the good news that she's been making good progress in Therapy and will be participating in her first race tomorrow since her health was restored. She would like to thank her many friends, those of you journeying with her, and the therapists at Singapore General Hospital for being ever supportive and seeing her through thus far. Facing the truth helps you to start living authentically again- take the first step forward.