Tears at church.

A song I'd never heard before was played at church today and my tears just streamed down as I listened to the words.

This song says everything I need to put into words about my life.


4 down, 6 to go. 2 more weeks before the end of the final examinations.

God I need you to hold on to me...

...Savior, keep saving me.

-Savior, Please by Josh Wilson

Bachelor of Surgery and Medicine: 8-27 March.

As a child, Examinations were like huge monsters to me, or formidable towers. Legend had it that they would ruin you if you couldn't fight them. In medical school, they became more frequent and a routine part of our lives, but their reputation for making grown men weep stayed.

It's funny. I really ought to be worried that tomorrow, the onslaught will begin.

But I'm not.

If God has brought me through so many examinations, even through my illness 3 years ago where I was certain I would fail, He will certainly bring me through this time. Since recovery, I have gone into every exam with the mindset of having already passed the test, and simply going there to do my part, so God can do His.

It's funny- as I started to release more control and surrendered more of myself to Him, and trusted that He would bring me through, I started to fare far better in school than I ever did before. I rely on His strength, not mine, and the stress of the examinations dissolves away.

So here goes: 3 surgical papers and 1 series of practical exams this week, 3 medical papers next week, and another 3 practical hands-on exams the following week.

A friend encouraged me, in the midst of another Crazy piece of news falling upon me today and giving me a heart attack (this is a Story with a Capital S, for another day): "Focus on getting pass the exam...it's just like triathlon....just one step at a time..first the swim...then the bike...then the run.... ;O)"

Three weeks. Swim, bike, run. One week at a time.

When God is in control, we have nothing to fear.

So here goes, let the fun begin! :)

"You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you."
-Isaiah 26:3

Not Blind.

*name changed to protect identity

"Oh yea, my wife doesn't talk to me anymore. Since I had this, she's pretty much left me by myself."

"Oh," I said. "I see."

Last Friday was the last day of my time as a medical student in the hospital wards. From now, we are barred from seeing any more patients as our final examinations are coming up. They include the recruitment of real patients from the wards, and hence, any attempt to be around patients from now will be seen as cheating.

Last Friday, Uncle Wee* spoke to me for a long time.

"Yea, sure. I would love to tell you more. Help you to be a good doctor. I speak to many many students all the time. Come, sit down. I'm here because of back pain. Very, very painful. I sound like I'm normal right? Haha, I'm in a lot of pain all the time. Morphine doesn't help much!"

Back pain. It sounded innocuous enough. Perhaps it was a slipped disc. But further questioning unravelled a story which wrapped itself round my neck and gripped me.

"Oh, and er, this."

He pointed to a few jelly-bean shaped lumps on his forehead.

"And this," he pointed to a darkened reddish patch on his arm. "And this, too- all over my body. This part's a little reddish cos of previous radiotherapy."

It was everywhere. Enlarged lymph nodes and radiotherapy marks. That only meant one thing.
"Yea, I got lymphoma. Long story, you want to hear? Cos of my medication for my kidney transplant. I had chronic nephritis when I was 9 years old, kidney failure when I was 30, so I paid $200'000 to buy a new kidney. Have you heard of cyclosporine? I take it to prevent my body from rejecting my kidney."

Cyclosporine. Why of course.

I know its side effects well. Obesity, gum enlargement, excess hair growth, hypertension, high cholesterol, diabetes, gout, possible seizures. But also, more maliciously, an increased risk of skin cancers, liver cancers, lymphomas and osteoperosis- which explained his terrible back pain from a compression fracture.

"Did you fall?"

"No, I didn't. But my doctor says my bones are so weak. I'm only 50 plus, but because of cyclosporine, my doc says I've the bones of an 80-year old. I sat down one day, heard a click in my back and there it went. I've been in constant unbearable pain since then. My pain score is 10 out of 10 all the time without morphine."

We talked a lot more. I looked into his eyes and saw peace.

"I know a lot about cyclosporine. I know all my complications now are because of it. Come, I show you- see my gums? See my radiotherapy marks behind my ear for my lymphoma? Not everyone gets these side effects, but yea, I did. Stage 4 of cancer already."

He talked about his life, his job, his wife. There was no trace of bitterness. "When things like that happen, one must be determined. Yes, there is chemotherapy and going in and out of hospital... But life goes on- look at me." He smiled. "The will is very important. My two children are my main motivating factors."

He looked out of the window.

"But just a word from my experience, you don't have to take it from me okay? Love doesn't last," he said. " When you're in courtship, love is so strong that it blinds you. My wife married me knowing I had kidney disease. Love is blind, my dear. Love is blind. But after marriage and children, things become different. Ever since I got lymphoma, my wife has not talked to me. She has not visited me once at hospital. What to do? Life goes on."

Love is blind. Where have I heard that before. But is it, really?

Our conversation was both deeply enlightening and traumatising for me, on many levels. I was trying very hard not to cry. It also brought to my mind a couple I had met less than a year ago.

He was a special speaker invited to my church. From afar, he was quite a sight. He was a tall, formidable man. But half his face was badly scarred, his right hand was a stump and his greying hair was a sparse combover. He spoke about his thrill-seeking life as a young man, how he chased after fast cars, hot girls and his one consuming passion- skydiving. One day, as a young man, his plane crashed into a mountain and burned. He was right under it and just freeing himself when his engine exploded. Since his lifechanging near-death experience, he started to believe that God existed and was giving him a second chance. Since then, he has become an inspirational speaker and pastor.

Next to him stood a beautiful woman. She was old, yes, but she aged beautifully. She was a dancer. I looked at her in quiet admiration as I imagined how much she must have gone through to see her husband get injured and then heal. I imagined her devastation that the handsome man she married was no longer even a shadow of his former self in terms of appearance. To be fair, he was hideous. You would not walk past him without being startled.

Much later on, I was even more shocked to learn that she met and married him after his accident. She married him this way.

Love is blind? Really?

I say she went in with eyes wide open. Perhaps, she even married him because of it.

Once I asked a group of my medical friends what they would do if they found out their partners had a serious debilitating illness. It was a sobre conversation, even more so because of our medical background. We understand and have seen the severity of illnesses, and how they take lives away. I also remember asking, if they would consider being together with someone if they knew they had a longterm illness to cope with. Like lupus. Or a kidney transplant. Or polio.

Some of them were honest and said they would not consider anyone who was obviously a healthcare liability.

"I mean, it just doesn't make sense," said one.

I suppose, it doesn't.

It reminded me of paraOlympian Gregory Burns, whom I had trained with and participated in triathlon races 2 years ago together with his teammates. He had polio and cannot use both his legs, but is an internationally acclaimed athlete, painter and inspirational speaker. His lovely wife is a photographer and exudes radiance and beauty.

It reminded me also of a young mum that Js told me about the other day. During a young-mums get-together, she said she met a lovely young mother in a wheelchair, probably no more than 35. She was an avid sportswoman who was struck by lightning during sailing. Since then, she has been paralysed tummy down. She probably is unable to relieve herself in the normal way we do. Her then boyfriend married her. They have a child.

The night of my birthday gathering, my special speaker Dr Darren Chua (a doctor who suffered a debilitating stroke soon after graduation) waved me goodbye as he waited for his wife to pick him up. Till today, he walks and performs actions with considerable difficulty, as one side of his body was paralysed, though he has made much progress. He shared with me, that his wife met him after his stroke.

It reminded me of Pastor S, whose wife married him knowing all the conseqences of his longterm steroid therapy from his lupus condition. Obesity, recurrent infections, osteoperosis, hair growth, high blood pressure, limb-wasting, cataracts, glaucoma, depression... That did not stop them from serving the underprivileged in rural parts of China together. They are a close-knit family of 3 now.

It reminded me of some people I know in relationships, where one of them has lupus and the other, in a different relationship, a genetic condition. Lupus can predispose one to recurrent abortions, among many other things. It's treatement, steroids, has a multitude of obvious side effects. Neurofibromatosis can cause seizures, eye problems, skin problems and bony deformities. I know these couples well.

Were they all blind? Did love put a veil over their eyes, cloud their sound minds?

I mean, it just doesn't make sense. Or does it?

Why, I'm sure they faced ridicule, and pressure from their friends and family. Were they ready for such a "liability" for life? Were they ready for the complications? Some conditions affect fertility; some treatments predispose one to cancers and infections in future; some, like a facial surgery, are simply too hard to hide from ignorant onlookers.

Were they all blind? Was love blind?

Once, someone chided me, " You better make sure you find someone who is of equal standing or higher than you in every way. So he doesn't become a liability."

To which I replied, " I see. And who is to say a rich, healthy man will not die of a car accident, or contract stomach cancer, or have an affair with another woman?"

Till death do us part. Who is to say who will develop cancer, get into a debilitating car accident, or be struck by lightning later on in life? What would happen then? Like Mr. Wee, would they then be abandoned? Here's the news- 1 out of 3 Singaporeans will die of cancer.

Do we choose who we want to spend our lives with based on liability, rather than character factors?


If so, then we should all go for genetic tests, and strike off people with genetic predispositions to certain conditions. Shouldn't we all stand in a line declaring what medication we take, and sort ourselves out according to liability strengths. Shouldn't I be striked off because of my history of anorexia- after all, what IF it recurs?

Yet, who am I to judge. If it happened to me, could I do the same too?


I don't know. It is easier to maintain one's high moral ground when argueing theoretically. Being in the medical profession heightens one's senses to so many things- we see scores of people suffering from late-stage cancers, infections, chronic illnesses, traumatic accidents, devastating injuries... to the point where I understand why some of my medical colleagues would seriously think twice about marrying someone who was ill to begin with. I suppose, most, if not all of us would.

It's very painful to think about. It's even more painful when you've actually seen the worst of so much, and helped to manage their treatment.

It's painful to see patients in palliative stages, who have the conditions your loved ones have. It is difficult hold back tears when interviewing very sick patients with illnesses you know your loved ones have and may progress into. It is depressing to read medical journal articles about poor outcomes, and potential future complications of their medication. I have had to fight tooth and nail not to cry in front of patients as they shared their stories with me, as I think of loved ones who may also progress to that stage of the disease someday, sometime.

Mr Wee said, "Can you see yourself going through all this with the person? Love, it dies you know. It dies after courtship, and marriage and children."

I ask myself sometimes- could I do the same? It makes me wonder, what runs through the minds of people when they say, "in sickness and in health"? Were they blind? Did they know what they were signing up for?

What would you do? Walk away, walk into it with love blinding your vision, or would you be able to, like these courageous and faith-filled people who saw beyond the decay of flesh and reality, walk into love with eyes wide open? Could I do the same?

I don't know.

We see far more florid diseases than a normal person ever should. We know far more about the complications, and consequences of illness and treatments than we ever should. We have access into medical publications and journals which we don't want to read, because they would break our hearts. It is no wonder that illness, or the possibility of illness, scares us to death.

They say love is blind. But I wonder, if it is not courage, indomitable resilience and formidable faith which have opened the eyes of these brave spouses.

What were they thinking?

Perhaps, it is not that they were blind, but that they went in, with eyes wide open, because they saw what the eye cannot see.

What would you do.


http://asofterworld.com/index.php?id=642

"Not all flesh is the same:

People have one kind of flesh, animals have another,

birds another and fish another.

There are also heavenly bodies and there are earthly bodies;

but the splendor of the heavenly bodies is one kind,

and the splendor of the earthly bodies is another.

The sun has one kind of splendor, the moon another and the stars another;

and star differs from star in splendor.

So will it be with the resurrection of the dead.

The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable;

it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory;

it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power;

it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.

- 1 Cor 15:39-44

Unfulfilled Promises.

The past month has been a little overwhelming, to say the least.

My early 24th birthday celebrations, the production and print of Rainbow, having interviews scheduled with the media, and having the most surreal and crazy whirlwind encounter with someone over the span of a few days, and realising I have less than 3 weeks to my final examinations to graduate... has just very much left me in awe and wonder and speechlessness.

Tis a crazy thing called Life indeed.

Within the next few days, all of us final year students will be choosing our hospitals for application and the specific departments that we wish to work for. The choices are limited, but they are choices to make nonetheless. Once, things were straightforward. There was this glorious thing called General Surgery which I would have applied for without batting an eyelid, because I thought I'd be by myself all my life, and that would match the 14-hour work days and 36-hour on call shifts 6 times a month which I'd have to do.

Now things have changed, and I'm on my knees again. I am certain about becoming a doctor, but what kind, in which department and where, I am less certain. I've asked to take a writing break from someone (we used to write daily) because of the need to focus on my studies at this point. I also think we both need time by ourselves to think about and through a lot of things, hard and practical questions beyond the heady feelings. Yet, I doubt if things will get better after my exams end.

Thereafter, will begin the 80-to-100-hour work weeks, me ending work at hospital at night feeling completely drained and spending forever on public transport to get home because I can't drive, feeling resentful for missing dinnertime again, and the cranky evenings because one is sleep-deprived and exhausted from the day's battles fought between life and death, and between one impatient senior and another angry patient.

Is this the life I chose? I always joke with my friends how unfortunate I think are the partners of housemen (1st year medical graduates) because of how little they may see of them. The thing is, I really am not joking. It is a true test of the endurance of a relationship, a baptism of fire of sorts for both the houseman and the couple, because housemen can be, when finally knocked off from work, tired, grumpy and cranky. There are stories of partners of housemen waiting patiently at hospital lobbies for them to knock off- there is yet another emergency to attend to upstairs.

After the houseman year, things do not necessarily get better.

Last night, as we ended yet another lecture at 8.15pm at night ( I was in school by 8am, ha), I was joking with a friend that perhaps, the only fair way to exercise kindness would really be not to get married at all, to spare the innocent other half of this undeserved solitude and injustice. I knew, a large part of me wasn't joking. Many months ago, I made a promise to myself, that if "nobody found me and I found no one within housemanship", I would go ahead and marry GS (General Surgery), my first love anyway, and be one of the few female surgeons who dared to tread this unforgiving path.

It's so unfair, to both parties.

I was telling a friend about the craziness of the things which have happened of late, to which he, now a doctor further into training said to me, "Are you sure he knows what life for you will be like in the next few years? Does he really understand? Maybe he'll change his mind after he sees reality."

Maybe he will.

More than 80 to a 100 hour work weeks. My on-off evening crankiness. This crazy, crazy life. Even if I don't pursue surgery, this will be my life over the next few years. And contrary to popular belief, we don't get paid very much, nor get very much privileges.

But people get through, somehow. People get through housemanship, get married, have some semblance of a life.

Somehow, I just have to believe, that God, and not me, is in charge of sorting this all out. If He has sorted out my life thus far, He will continue sorting it out. Sometimes, things we least expect, happen in ways we least thought possible.

Last night, as I leafed through the first copy of A Taste of Rainbow in my hands, I started to cry as I thought about the many obstacles and the many previous moments of discouragement and almost-lost hope. The publishing of rainbow had been an unfulfilled promise for 3 years. I thought it would never be published, but there it was: a thousand copies sitting fresh in my room, and another three thousand copies to be distributed to public bookstores, and all the national libraries.

He keeps saying he will come. Perhaps he should re-think. Because for the next many years, I will have little control of my time. And there will certainly be moments (hopefully not too many) of crankiness, moodiness and difficulty. My dad has seen and heard it all. That is why he laughs out loud, in great candour, when people tell him "what a wonderful daughter you have".

The future is uncertain, but as we hold on to the promises in our hearts, let's always remember, that He who promised is faithful.

As much as we feel overwhelmed and as much as we don't believe so, things will sort themselves out.

But for now, let's pass the exams first.

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess,

for He who promised is faithful."

-Hebrews 10:23

Take that step.

I was excited and anxious and giddy with joy and fear about coming to this moment.

The Professional People had told me before, that for Rainbow (my next book) to work, for it to achieve its cause of bringing hope to those who were hurting and raising awareness about this treacherous thing called Anorexia, I had to be comfortable with sharing my story. I had to be comfortable with my past and present. I had to be comfortable with the media.

It's not easy.

The Mighty People had warned me before, that this was a Dangerous path to choose. It could affect my career, my life plans, my image. People will mark you down for your past. It is not a forgiving society. Once you go public with the book and your previous illness, there will be no turning back. They had warned me against it.

But God is funny, with ways and thoughts higher than ours. Who would have thought that the committee which gave me the award thought this as courage. Who would have thought that the award was timed just perfectly before the launch of Rainbow, that I may be encouraged and affirmed?

Faith, is all about trusting in the unseen and what we do not yet have. It's about following your heart in spite of naysayers.

Like going to Nepal during the rioting. Like writing my first book. Like learning to cycle and picking up triathlon. Like booking my flight tickets to Africa to visit this ministry- this time this next trip really scares me (3 flights to get there-golly!) All the choices which instilled most fear in me turned out to be the most life-changing ones.

So here goes. Yea, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of doing the wrong thing, afraid of screwing up, afraid of consequences and afraid of the process. But that's okay.

That's okay.



from: here

"Live life fully while you're here. Experience everything.

Take care of yourself and your friends.

Have fun, be crazy, be weird.

Go out and screw up!

You're going to anyway,

so you might as well enjoy the process.

Take the opportunity to learn from your mistakes:

find the cause of your problem and eliminate it.

Don't try to be perfect;

just be an excellent example of being human."

- Anthony Robbins


Your past is just a story.

And once you realize this it has no power over you.”
— Chuck Palahniuk


"Be strong and of good courage,

do not fear nor be afraid of them;

for God is the One who goes with you.

He will not leave you nor forsake you. "

- Deuteronomy 31:6

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.

M5: Legends and legacies.

"Got cases?"

"Cases galore. 65/12. 45/18. 31/02."

"Good ones?"

"Just the first 2. Last one is... okay."

So it was true. Even though each of us swore against it, it was true. Once upon a time when we first entered medicine, each of us swore within our hearts that nothing short of death would come between us and loving our patients like our very own loved ones. We'd call them by first name. We'd know their occupations, where they lived, what they liked to do in their free time. A sinister legend had it that as we progressed into our higher years of study, things would change. Patients would become "cases" and diseases and bed numbers. So have you seen the LUNG CANCER at 4513? We swore it would never happen to us.

As the final exams draw nearer and every minute of the day becomes precious, I see with my own eyes how the legend may be... true.

"Is 45/13 a good case?"

"Yar. Must see. Damn good lor."

Who cares about his name. The location is more important. Numbers tell me his location, his name does not. 45 tells me it is say, a respiratory ward, giving me an indication of his illness. A Mr. Mah, however, does not.

"Uncle, how are you today? My name is so-and-so. Thank you for letting me examine you."

The over-rehearsed twang to the introduction gives its politeness away. After all, a proper introduction is 1 mark out of 15 in the final examination.

"So, Mr. Mah, what is your occupation?" A friendly tone scores points.

"WA, LET ME TELL YOU AH. I HAVE WORKED SO MANY JOBS! TOO MANY TO COUNT. LET ME TELL YOU....! IN MY YOUTH AH, I WAS SMOKING, AND I WAS LAZY... SO I...."

Panic ensues. Perspiration, like blood, drips onto the ground. The clock is ticking. 14 minutes left to interview the entire complicated medical history of this gentleman. To be honest, the occupation doesn't really matter most times. It is the presenting complaint. Fever or no fever, chills and rigors? Nausea? Vomitting? Bloody or non-bloody? Any neck stiffness? Photophobia? Rash? Diarrhea? Pain? Where? How? When did it start?

13 minutes left.

"WAH, I TELL YOU AH. I WAITED SOOOO LONG AT THE POLYCLINIC. THE BUS-STOP IS SOOO FAR FROM MY HOUSE. I TOOK 15 MINUTES TO WALK THERE, THEN WHEN THE BUS CAME, I SAW THE NUMBER WRONGLY! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 95, BUT I TOOK 92... IT STARTED RAINING LIKE ANYTHING YOU KNOW. WA, I SHOULD HAVE CALLED AMBULANCE, BUT SO EXPENSIVE...!"

12 minutes, and one's heart turns stone cold.

A train runs through one's head: (Look Uncle, I've studied 5 years in medical school to graduate. I have 15 minutes to find out what's wrong with you, 2 minutes to make an educated guess, and 8 minutes to be grilled and barbecued by an examiner who looks like he could pulverise me if he wanted to. I really don't care what bus you took. )

"So, what color was your vomit? "

"EY, I TELLING YOU MY STORY! CAN YOU LISTEN TO ME?"

"I'm sorry Uncle. It's just that, I have a time limit. Can you help me please? Do you have diabetes?" One hangs onto this questions like a baby onto its mother's breast.

"DIABETES? YA HAVE!"

And one's mind starts running like lightning.

10 minutes 55 seconds seconds left. Meanwhile, one's mind scrambles for a diagnosis while one tries to appear calm. Is it gastritis? Is it oesophageal varices? Secondary to alcoholism? How about bronchiectasis?

Thirty questions to ask about diabetes before time runs out. When did you have diabetes? How did you find out? Do you go for follow-up? What medications do you take? Do you have eye, kidney or foot problems? Heart surgery? Previous stroke? Laser done? What? Did you say you were admitted before? Why? You can't remember? No Uncle, not Anlene. IN-SU-LIN! Do you take INSULIN?

4 minutes. Do you live in a flat with a lift-landing? Do you need financial assistance? Do you smoke? Take alcohol? Tried to quit? See a doctor regularly? (Uncle, please answer me crisply. My future depends on you. Don't tell me it was raining and that you forgot an umbrella. Help me, please. I beg you. )

"YOU ALL AH, ALL THE SAME. WHY ALWAYS ASKING ME THESE SAME FEW QUESTIONS!"

Therein lies the dilemma.

I always knew this tension existed. Except that at no moment did it hit me more acutely than when I had a foul taste of my own medicine last week.

The night before the results for the award were announced, two reporters called me up for phone interviews. So when did you do Kitesong? Why? What inspired you? Oh, you had what? How come? Really? Tell me more. Huh, why not? You mean you what? Okay, yea sure."

"So yea, that's why I..."

" Uh-huh. Oh, sorry to interrupt you mid-way. Okaythanksbye!"

The phone hangs up abruptly. Excuse me?

It reminded me of past interviews that I had had- bad ones. Somehow, something of the dysrhythmic uh-huhs and over-zealous thankyou and hang-ups after a very intense conversation with scripted questions and little natural responses left slightly rancid tastes in my mouth. For the bad interviews, I had felt used, if only just a little. I felt wrung dry. As if all my experiences had been reduced to an assignment. In those instances, I could hear, from the noises over the phone, that my words were sifted- what was newsworthy and what wasn't?

Suddenly, it hit me- did my patients feel the same way about me too? Did I make them feel like just another case, another write-up or research project?

I'm sure not all of them did. Some are most happy to furnish us with information, knowing it would benefit the next generation of doctors. In the same way, I oblige to interviews with the hope that my message may spur others on. And I know that many, if not most reporters do have good intentions. Yet, these grander purposes make no excuse for our bad bedside manners and lack of human touch.

Did you feel tired, after hoardes of us had asked you, over and over, what do you have? Did you feel just a tinge of being used? Did you? Did you ever?

I'm sorry. I understand how you feel. You are not an assignment, you are not our case write-up. You are not Ward 65, bed 12. You have a name, a family, a community. You have a hobby, a life outside this illness. This illness is not your name. You are God's child. You are everything we knew you to be, before we were assigned 15 minutes to interact with you to pass our exams. You are and continue to be our greatest teachers.

Till today, my most fruitful and memorable experiences laden with the most learning value have been those meaningful interactions with patients I still keep in touch with today.

But it is not that we are heartless. The medical curriculum is extremely rigorous, and to look into the whirlpool in the eyes of every patient to try to see the glimmer of fear and anxiety and grief of their cancers, chemotherapy, degenerative diseases and incurable illnesses can be too much to bear. Keeping a distance, even with clinical jargon and fancy terms, helps us in some way, to maintain our sanity. Picking up scientific clues and piecing medical jigsaws together is stimulating and carries us through to the next day.

We see patient after patient after patient. 75/13. 65/09. 96/12. What? 76/03 doesn't want to be examined anymore? Oh man. It was a supposed to be a good case.

Has our very endeavour to become noble doctors driven us further from our ideals?

Last week, as I left hospital, the father of a paediatric patient told me, "Before my daughter had this condition, I always thought doctors were normal people. But you are not. You are extra-ordinary. You are special people."

I wonder if he knew about the 36-hour no-sleep calls we had to do 6 times a month. I wonder if he knew that we work more than 80 hours a week, and get paid less than $10 an hour for running around handling emergencies on overnight no-sleep calls. As he said this, his nose soured as he looked away at his cherubic daughter with curly hair lying on the cot with Pooh bear next to her.

" You have to be. It is people like you who let people like me sleep better at night."

At this point, tears poured out from the edges of his eyes, as his fingers lingered across his little girl's cheek. She had a hole in a heart and a transposition of the major arteries.

"Thank you sir. I just want you know, it is the courage of parents like yourself which keep me going, too."

My finals are coming. Every moment has become precious. But there is no other occupation I would rather be in, nothing else that would satisfy this hunger in me that can only be called a calling. Today, I want to make the decision, to do my best to call and remember all my patients by name, and remember them as human beings, as God's precious children and not numbers or diseases or by their scars.

Sinister legends can stay that way- sinister. But I want to remember all my inspiring professors who choose to tarry by their patients' bedsides to chat a little, who choose the more courageous path by looking at those whirlpools in the eye. They are inspiring, and legendary, in their own rights. 15 minutes or not, one must try to be a decent interviewer, and not a crazy information-sucking machine designed to churn out diagnoses and treatment plans.

After all, legends are exactly what they are, and are as true as we make them to be.

"Thank you Mr. Mah. It was great talking to you. I hope you recover soon so you can get back to looking after your grand-daughter and walking her to school again every day like you used to."

Let's write our own legacies.

"I see God in every human being.

When I wash the leper's wounds,

I feel I am nursing God Himself.

Is it not a beautiful experience?"
-Mother Teresa

Whose eyes.

From one of the most lyrical quotes by Kundera:

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

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

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

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

And finally there is the fourth category,

the rarest,

the category of people

who live in the imaginary eyes

of those who are not present.

They are the dreamers."

- Kundera

Whose eyes do you live under?

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

Or am I trying to please men?

If I were still trying to please men,

I would not be a servant of Christ.

-Galatians 1:10

Miracles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


"How would you feel if you win?"

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

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


"What would you do with the award?"

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


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



"What was your greatest discouragement?"

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

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


Awed:


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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


Affirmed:

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

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

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


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

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


Inspired:

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

There is an Outstanding YOU inside of you,

waiting to be unleashed.

Keep dreaming,

don't stop.

Yes, some things may need a miracle.

The wonderful news is, miracles do happen.

God gives, when we learn to let go.

Thank you God for this miracle.

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

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

And just so I remember,

Today I want to make a commitment:

To walk humbly before God and man,

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

garner support from the public,

and to give back to the needy

with God's love.

All glory to You, God.

Thank you for miracles.

"Teach me to do Your will,

for You are my God.

May Your gracious Spirit lead me on level ground."

-Psalm 143:10

Creed for Young Outstanding Singaporean Award 2011:

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

No turning back.

Now that the year is ending, my finals are nearing and I'm moving on to a different chapter of life, I just want to give thanks for the past 5 years of my life in medical school.

Just lately, some people have been sharing with me about difficult stages of life they've been going through, and wondering if they would make it through. It reminded me of how different I was 5 years ago, and how indeed, God can use our trials and struggles to strengthen and refine us.

Once upon a time, I was prone to insomnia and anxiety, insecure and unfit, depressed and in despair, wondering how on earth if it would be possible to ever graduate. Once upon a time, things were so bad I thought ending things would be easier and that I might never make it through. Once upon a time, I thought my second book would be junked and God would turn out to be a hoax.

But today, I sleep like a lamb every night, I take exams with the perspective that I've passed them already, I've picked up triathlon, and I've never been more excited or motivated to graduate to become a doctor.

I really am excited.

Today, I just want to thank God for how He's changed me, from a hopeless rag doll to someone hopeful, from someone who always needed to look to someone else for comfort to someone who can put her confidence in Him. Things have changed, in ways which I thought were impossible, and I'm just amazed. Because just some time ago, I thought it was impossible.

I come from a background which doesn't really promote positive thinking. I ended up pushing myself harder than I ought to, beating myself up harder than I should, and believing that divorce, separation and conflict were the norm rather than the exception. But church changed all that- I started to believe in a God who believed in me, ended up enjoying the flow of work and play and started to see that loyalty, commitment and love, while not perfect, are real things that can happen to real people. Only lately, because of how my eyes were opened to 2 special couples at church with interesting histories, I think, finally, I've started to believe in romantic love again- if only a little.

That's a real big step for me.

God, You changed my life and gave me hope.

At one point, I wanted to end this all. Today, I am in awe at this newfound joy in marvelling at the study of medicine and this newfound hope and faith in a future which is uncertain and scary.

At one point, I bashed love. Today, I think it is possible.

At one point, I thought God was a meanie. Today, I know He is a loving teacher, someone who makes dreams come true. If all goes well, A Taste of Rainbow should be launched in February.

God, thank you for my church.

Thank you for helping me believe in myself,

and to believe that a 180-turnaround is possible.

Thank you for helping me believe

that with faith, hope and love,

miracles really do happen.

I've decided to follow You, and there's no turning back.

Picture by Ian Ho, modelling/concept by Wai Jia



"I have decided, to follow Jesus...
No turning back, no turning back..."
- No turning back

(my favorite hymn)

Why not me.

*story published with permission.

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

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

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

It turned out he had had them all before.

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

"Is that a bible?" I asked tentatively.

He smiled. "Yes."

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

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

"Of course. Come, sit down."

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

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

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

"Did you say missionary? Where to?"

"China."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure, go ahead."

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

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

He actually chuckled. What was funny about this?

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

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

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

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

"Why not me," I echoed.

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

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

Why not me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's when the tears fell.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why not me.

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

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

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

Fairytale dreams.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don't know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

For I know the plans I have for you,”

declares the LORD,

“plans to prosper you and not to harm you,

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

Rain on me.

It's like leaving clay out in the sun.

What was once mouldable and pliable becomes rock solid, and when faced with harsh elements, fragments into pieces.

I guess, I didn't see this day coming. But when I sat down yesterday, with the pile of work and unstudied material before me and realising just how much I've missed spending time with God, I wrapped my fingers over my heart and found it... hardened.

It's hardened without me even knowing it. Who put it out in the sun?

I suppose, what they said about growing up and becoming a junior doctor really was true. That the process would either draw one crazily close to God or drive one away from Him. The routine of work, the fatigue from the hours and the constant demands of the world (sometimes unreasonable ones) erode one's core unconsciously, constantly. I came home from church yesterday, still angry at certain people at home and at work regarding certain situations which I had felt completely wronged about, and started to cry.

It didn't used to be like this. Once upon a time, I sorted these things with God every day. Every day, I put my heart of clay out to be watered and soaked in His love so that it would be soft and pliable, so that He could even out the creases and wrinkles put there by harsh words, unconstructive critique and the wear and tear of this world. It was painful being kneaded, but oh, the next day brought new hope and freedom, to be a new masterpiece.

Then surgical internship came with its crazy hours, and preparation for the final exams came. Day in day out, I plodded along to the song of this crazy world at its crazy pace, allowed the elements to weather my heart and hardly took time to allow God to water and soften and knead out the roughened places.

I found myself on a Sunday afternoon, bitter and frustrated and tired, and full of putrefying anger and resentment at him, her and you. I wanted to shout at someone, say it wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair. I wanted to scream and say I deserved an apology, that what was done was horried and unjust. I wanted to say God, how can it be like this? Aren't you seeing this? Why aren't you putting a stop to this? How can it be that people can be so... frustrating?

I wanted to draw a line and cut these people off from my life. And all that made me wonder- How did I get to this place?

How did I become so angry. And it scared me, because I knew at that moment, that my heart had been hardened. I just didn't want to care, didn't want to try anymore. I just wanted to go away by myself and hide under a tree so I could study another chapter about colon cancers, surgical procedures and liver conditions, away from the grating elements of this world.

It's been too long. I'm sorry, God.

Last Sunday at Sunday School, the little children learnt about keeping their hearts soft and tender, like the ploughed soil of the earth, so that good seed could grow in it and flourish. We learnt about saying sorry, and about being receptive to You. What had happened to my plot of soil? I was certainly not feeling anywhere close to saying thank you or sorry. A hardened heart builds strong fortresses.

I know you've never left me, and I'm sure you know I've never once thought of leaving you, too. But why is it then that on a Sunday afternoon, when finally, time has availed itself and unfolded before me, that I find myself crinkling up and hardening into a rock, a fireball, a seething, empty whirlwind?

I want to be soft again, God. I want to look at patients, even the angry, whiney and demanding ones at 4am in the morning, and be genuinely concerned with their lives. I want to look at the people who have caused me hurt and suffering and be able to bless them, instead of being mad. I want to put all this anger aside and say, it's okay, you had a bad day and you took it out on me in an unacceptable way but you didn't know how else to vent it out but nobody's perfect and it's okay.

God, I can't do this alone. Come, rain on me.

“Today, if you hear his voice,
do not harden your hearts.”
-Hebrews 4:7b

"In your anger do not sin:

Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry..."
- Ephesians 4:26

3 months to go.

I know, I haven't been writing.

With the final medical exams just 3 months away, most of us feel like we've been thrown head first into a deep cold pool, freezing and gasping for air frantically. We know it's probably best to stay calm, because the more one struggles, the higher the likelihood of drowning. But it's hard sometimes. Sometimes, we panic. So our instincts kick in, we try to swim against the current, half-flailing and half-swimming, and brace ourselves for the worst. After all, we did know it was going to be this hard.

There's no study break. We see patients and attend lectures and bedside tutorials at hospitals from 7 in the morning till late in the evening, reach home dead tired and force ourselves to study. There is no option.

The medical exams consist of written component with essays and multiple choice questions and slide shows, and a nerve-wracking oral component where each candidate is grilled by examiners after being given a very limited amount of time to examine real-life patients. This goes on for an entire month.

There is just no option. There is so much to study. It sounds terrible, but I remind myself of what God has called me to and find myself focused again.

"Your aim is the be a good doctor, a safe and competent one," said a professor to us that day. "If I wake you up at 4am while you're on call for an emergency, you must know exactly what to do. It's like riding a bicycle. You don't forget how to ride at 4am, do you? If you must ride, you must."

It's like riding a bicycle. And I remember all those times I had woken up at 4.30am in the morning to train before school, how that isn't feasible anymore, and how just as I overcame my fears of cycling and mastered it, my aim now must be to overcome my fears of doctoring and master the art of being a safe and competent physician.

There is just so much to study. General Medicine. General Surgery. Orthopedics. Paediatrics. Obstetrics and Gynaecology. Oh Lord.

And I'm reminded that this won't get better either. Our hours will only get longer, our rest days shorter. Because of the exams, I won't be able to celebrate my 24th birthday on the 24th of February next year, something I was very much looking forward to.

But there is nothing else I would rather do. Yet, it scares me. The future, sometimes scares me.

"Twenty-four and no boyfriend," said my dad 2 nights ago, when I mentioned that I might celebrate my birthday far earlier instead. I had been wishing to gather some friends together.

But like, how? I'd be such a terrible partner. If I do end up pursuing Surgery, I'd be absent so much of the time. Stuck in the Operating Theatre, staying over at hospital, spending my youth under a fluorescent light trying to learn how to stitch a vessel at 4am while increasing my risks of breast cancer, ha. An article a friend shared with me scared me. I've attached it below.

I suppose, one can only take a day at a time. There's no point panicking.

I suppose, this whole ordeal is just like swimming, you got to take one stroke at a time: when you think about the distance left uncovered and panic, you only start to drown. It's just like riding a bicycle: you've got to put in enough effort to make it second nature.

And I suppose, this whole ordeal is just like completing a triathlon: it's a heck of a lot of hard work. You start off alone, and fear you'll either never finish or end off alone. But you've just gotta hang in there, and trust that God'll somehow bring you through to the very end, and perhaps, if you're blessed, with someone to run alongside you, too.

You've just got to try your best.

It's going to be okay. With God, we'll get through this.


By Pepper Schwartz:

The experience of love is unique for every person, and using that feeling to measure the potential success of a relationship is even more subjective. Nonetheless, at some point most of us face the timeless question of what makes a relationship work. Though we can't quantify love, we can look at variables that help us choose the right partner. Research shows that a few crucial compatibilities make the difference between making up and breaking up.

We are a love culture. Unlike some societies that think of passionate love as a nuisance that can undermine sound reasoning about whom and when to marry, we think passion is our truest guide. When we say, "He did it all for love," we mean it as a compliment. In many cultures it would be said with pity or contempt. But we sigh with happiness when witnessing lovers who barely know each other connect as powerfully as lightening striking the Earth.

This approach is romantic, but it's also a little daft. Sure, being passionately attracted to someone is a great elixir, but making a commitment based on hormone-addled logic is a recipe for disappointment, if not disaster. We shouldn't be misled by fleeting moments of bliss. Love is not all you need, and you will not know—across a crowded room or even on a first date—that this person absolutely is the One. While some hunches work out (and, of course, those are the Cinderella stories), most do not. There is a real danger when you think that fate has delivered the One: You may stop looking for disconfirming evidence, even if there are big problems (like his tendency to drink too much or her occasional disappearances).

Theories about love that are based on fate are not only untrue, they aren't even in the best interest of love. Of course, Cupid forbid, if the One does not work out, you might think you've lost your true love and forego giving other people a chance. Choosing the right partner is arguably the most important decision you will make. Since 1993, a multitude of studies have shown how bad relationships can negatively affect job performance, physical and mental health, financial security and even life span. Certainly, such an important decision requires more than the adrenaline rush of infatuation.

When considering what it takes to make love work, it is useful to look at those who have tried and succeeded as well as those who have tried and failed. Besides observations from my own work, I have included data from The Enrich Couple Inventory, 195 questions developed by David Olson, Ph.D., David Fournier Ph.D., and Joan Druckman, Ph.D., that were administered to 21,501 couples throughout the country. The researchers compared the answers of the happiest couples to those of the most unhappy and found that the differences between their answers to a few key questions tell a lot about what makes love work. If we are willing to be rational about love, we can learn from others' experiences—and perhaps find and maintain a true love even after the initial chemistry fades.

"My partner is a very good listener."

■Percentage of unhappy couples who agree: 18%
■Percentage of happy couples who agree: 83%
"My partner does not understand how I feel."

■Unhappy couples: 79%
■Happy couples: 13%

If you want to feel alone in a relationship, be with someone who hasn't a clue about what you are going through. Or worse, someone who does have a clue but cannot understand why your pain is a big deal. The two of you can be totally different people in a number of ways, but if a partner is sensitive to how you see the world and experience life, then those differences are unimportant.

Ruth, who has been married to Alex for 31 years, puts it this way, "When we got married, nobody thought it would last because we are so different. Alex is from a working-class family; I am Jewish, he is Lutheran—everyone thought it was a non-starter from the wedding day on. But what they didn't know, and what has been the most important thing in our relationship, is that Alex knows how to listen. Really listen. No matter what, he can see how I'm feeling and he can feel for me. Trust me, that solves a lot of problems."

"We Never See Each Other Anymore... "
"We have a good balance of leisure time spent together and separately."

■Unhappy couples: 17%
■Happy couples: 71%

"We find it easy to think of things to do together."

■Unhappy couples: 28%
■Happy couples: 86%

Although it sometimes works if people have different priorities, most often, being out of sync is damaging in the long run. Allotting time in your day, your week and your life for your partner is an important ingredient in a relationship. If one person wants to spend every Saturday and Sunday relaxing in front of the television when the other wants to hike, bike and explore, both will feel deprived. This may not show up in the busy early years of child raising, but over time it can become a real problem. As Marty, an executive for a shipping company, says, "The best thing my second wife and I do together is hang out, just be friends sharing the same space. My first marriage was all about seeing things, doing things, as if just being together wasn't enough. Well, maybe it wasn't with her, but it is one of the greatest joys I have with Ellen."

"Do You See What I'm Saying?"
"I am very satisfied with how we talk to each other."

■Unhappy couples: 15%
■Happy couples: 90%
"We are creative in how we handle our differences."


■Unhappy couples: 15%
■Happy couples: 78%

Marriage exists in a constantly changing world. Couples need to be able to talk about these changes, how they feel about them and what they want to do in response. They need to have a sense of teamwork, one arrived at by discussion and joint action. If one person refuses to discuss things, one or both persons will feel the relationship is not intimate and perhaps unfair. And if no one's talking, there is no way to fix a problem and keep it from getting worse. Life is not static, it's messy, and it requires communication.


"Why are You so Ambitious?""Making financial decisions is not difficult."

■Unhappy couples: 32%
■Happy couples: 80%
If one person is ambitious, and the other person wants a lifestyle that doesn't support that ambition, there will be growing resentment. Lisa, a young woman who has a small home-based mail-order business, became increasingly unhappy with her husband, Rob. Both wanted a higher standard of living, but he had also promised that he would be "a good father to our children." Instead, he was around less and less as he became more and more entangled in his work. He wanted to spend more time making money; she wanted him to be home more often. Neither she nor Rob had given serious thought to how incompatible their personalities might be. As life went on, she felt more deprived, and he felt more resentful. Ultimately, they separated.

"Since We're Alone... "
"Our sexual relationship is satisfying and fulfilling."

■Unhappy couples: 29%
■Happy couples: 85%

Sexual incompatibilities can be fixed, right? And sexual disappointment isn't the worst problem when so much else is good about the relationship, right? Wrong and double wrong. First, while it is true that sex therapy can help many problems (especially mechanical ones such as erectile failure or pain during intercourse), it has a woeful track record when it comes to creating or resurrecting sexual desire. Second, while therapists can improve a lover's skill, either you have compatibility in bed or you don't. You can put someone on skates and they can learn to make it around the rink, but triple lutzes? No. Sex isn't important if it isn't important to both of you. But, if one partner is interested and the other is not, the interested party will rarely be content to just forget about it.

"If it Makes You Happy... ""We are both equally willing to make adjustments in the relationship."

■Unhappy couples: 46%
■Happy couples: 87%
"I can share feelings and ideas with my partner during disagreements."

■Unhappy couples: 22%
■Happy couples: 85%
Although it may be mistaken for strength, rigidity is not a good personal or marital quality. If someone doesn't like to admit they are wrong or show some flexibility in how they view problems, the partnership will be either fragile or full of anger and loneliness. Rachel, a woman who describes herself as a "giver," believed she could change her husband's inflexibility. "I thought I could bring him out, make him less rigid by doing so much for him, by always being ready to see his point of view. But he just took and took. When I backed down, he would see it as weakness, not flexibility. Finally, I just couldn't take being so unloved, so I left." There is no marriage in which the ability to apologize and be flexible isn't necessary.

"You Just Don't Get It"

"My partner understands my opinions and ideas."

■Unhappy couples: 19%
■Happy couples: 87%

In the beginning of a relationship, conversation is mostly self-revelation, which is interesting at first. But over time there are many circumstances that allow you to see the quality of a person's mind. It's OK to be awed by your partner's intelligence, but beware if you think she is less than overwhelmed by the way you solve problems, come to conclusions and think about life. The bedrock of mutual respect is comfort and admiration for each other's opinions. If that isn't present, contempt is just around the corner.