Along the way.

We are standing up against gravity. We are moving forward against wind resistance. We are living against death, are we not? Everyday, forces from all sides assault and assail us, ageing us with monotony, dimming out visions with disappointment, and dehumanising us with digits, statistics, efficiency. Living, in its very self, requires a constant struggle against something, for when we let go and give up, our environment becomes us, becomes something we can be ashamed of.

Work dehumanises us. At the office, one is labelled a "staff"; at the hospital, we are labelled "students". You are a staff in an office who needs to churn this report out; you are a student who ought to be a shadow behind a doctor, and see X number of patients with X disease- no matter if you can't remember their names because there're ten other patients waiting outside who've been waiting for an hour who need you to treat their conditions. Cause no trouble, meet your quota, and you will be okay. I have come to a point where I realise, that if one does not constantly fight against this deadening gravity which convinces one that one is a faceless, nameless labourer in an organisation meant to complete tasks and hit marks, one shall surely live, only to give in to death.

Suddenly, I became aware, that if I do not stay on guard and fight against this force called Medical School, this institution which claims to nobly produce humane and compassionate doctors, shall very well dry me out and kill me- like the many casualties before.

What Mdm H wrote that day sobered me. Because I realised, that in spite of her kind words and encouragement which really moved me, I had fallen in the same places, erred at the same corners, made the same mistakes, too. Being an idealist, I have a picture of what a doctor should be like too. And while it disappoints me to hear bad-doctor experiences from others, I now realise that if this erosive force could assail these doctors who once bore noble ideals and aspirations, it could happen to me, too. Worse, I realised that, it has been happening to me, and is happening to me now, too. That incident was only but one- but I have failed many more times before.

A typical day for a medical officer starts at 6 in the morning because you've got to report at the hospital for morning ward rounds at 730am. You review all the patients and make plans for each of their issues. Two hours pass quickly and at 9am, you are either at the clinic seeing patients till the evening, or at the operating theatre. Lunch is quick, if present at all. One or two days a week, there is a night call, which is a 36-hour shift, where one has to handle all the emergencies of the ward for the night, only to bathe briefly to attend the next morning's round at 730am. The cycle continues, every day, over and over. You rush from one crisis to the next, but the work never ends. There are always new patients to see, and the existing ones keep asking the nurses, "How come the doctor only comes to see me for 3 minutes every day?" New people fall sick- it is a fact of life, and unless you enjoy your work, the routine shall surely poison you.

Mdm H's writing was a wake-up call for me. I realise that as much as I wished to, I could take no credit for the kindness she had lavished upon me- for I am but a medical student in my favorite module, and under the same stresses of a doctor's life, I cannot say I would not behave in the same detached and professional manner that doctors may often do. Would I have the time then to sit with her to chat, listen and pray? I do not know. It woke me up to the reality which is shaping who I am. And I learnt, that I do not like the way some parts of me is becoming- stressed, curt and too efficient at times. There is a forcefield out there draining us out, and we must be on our guard to fight tooth and nail against it- all the time.

I am learning, that even though we have the end in mind all the time, our success lies in our vigilance in the day-to-day, every day. Very often, in our journeys to reach our noble goals, we lose ourselves along the way.

Perhaps the greatest challenge we face, is not when we are at the starting point visualising ourselves at the end, but what we do and think in between those two points.

I think that was what I was most afraid of while training for my first triathlon-losing myself. I was afraid that Ed would creep back into my life. But this time, God has been gracious, sending angels to battle for me against the many forcefields which ought to have embittered and disenabled me. There were points of discouragement, but God sent people to remind me never to be complacent, never to be so enraptured by the endpoint only to forget the process along the way. Even though the race is tomorrow, I feel like I've already won the crown, for it was the journey till the race which was the greatest challenge, not the race itself, and so the victory has been won- for this is the first time I have journeyed this way with so much peace, joy and freedom. This is the first time I have learnt what it means to surrender oneself to God in sports, what it means to really trust Him and enjoy the gifts He has blessed us with. This is the first time I've learnt so much- physically and spiritually. This is the first time I've had so much fun learning along the way.

And I hope the journey in medical school, or for your work will be likewise too. That it will be the many victories along the way that we will allow to shape us, and fight against the gravity of this world, instead of letting our destinations distract us from the importance of growing through Process. I hope that realising this will give me hope to be the kind of doctor Mdm H had envisioned, and not the doctor I am becoming now (sigh). I must remind myself of the importance of fighting against this resistance- with joy and courage, every day.

Tomorrow, many people will stand at the starting point of the swim, bike and run, bracing themselves for what may be one of the biggest challenges of their lives. But I think I shall stand, albeit at the beginning of a very short and modest race, knowing that the greatest challenge has already been fought for me, by His angels-

- and then the fun will begin.

Thank you to all my friends who have made this journey so exceptionally exciting-

To Fungus who inspired me to try a tri;

all my friends at Joyriders for training with me, teaching me and for your unfailing encouragement (esp. Derrick, Alvin, Jeslyn, Mabel, Peter);

Amos, Raymond, Norman & Jiajie for teaching me freestyle swimming;

Michael for showing me God's way of doing sports;

Aunty Ay and Jo, for keeping me accountable;

my church, for helping me grow;

all my other friends (you know who you are, yes) for your encouragement

and Prof Kok, who sold this idea to me like a drug peddlar since the beginning,

for your example to me and all your help

along the way :)

This is going to be so much fun, not least because I know that I'll reach the finish point tomorrow. But only because of what all of you and You taught me, and the victories You helped me win- along the way.

Life is a journey, not a destination,
the joy is in the travels & experiences.

-Anonymous

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Reality.

It pierced my heart through and through, to realise that I was bound not only by fear, but by pride, too.

I have been doing a lot of thinking about this. The only explanation I can think of for the random and yet cohesive string of events, encounters and conversations challenging my view on relationships is that there is a godly conspiracy going on- God is using circumstance and people to make me sit up and think about my narrow-minded, unrealistic and proud views about this before it becomes too late.

It was Amos, my swim coach-friend, who lectured me most candidly, amongst many others.

" Look. You can't be so proud, okay? Yea, I'm not surprised you know- you have high expectations, a mind of your own, you want to be a surgeon, you're doing sports and this and that... Hey, get real okay- you're not going to find someone who fits all of your expectations and to be honest, I think you're pretty scary doing all that you've been doing."

Well, I can't help it if my blood is made of adrenalin, but I ought to be able to do something about my pride. This week, for the first time, I confessed to a friend, that for all my vehement denial, I am first, proud, secondly, unrealistic and thirdly (and also least willing to admit and most ashamed about), a diehard romantic at heart. Darn.

I defend myself: I am a writer. Those of us who write, paint, sing... will know that our imagination takes our reality to dangerous places. Our idealism takes us many frightful miles away. In a few minutes of daydreaming, we have been somewhere else for ages, basking in the comfort of a fairytale set in medieval times, where chivalry and beauty and righteousness play out in perfect cinematography, writing it down, and the effort of swimming back into everyday reality can be painful. It is almost a shock. Because we take it upon ourselves that our job is to remind an ugly and failing world that true love, chivalry, beauty, faith and loyalty exist, and to do so we convince ourselves that it all is true. We take it upon ourselves that it is our job, our responsibility, to make sure that the sword we wield reminds the world that the good guys win, that amazing stories are true, and that a fool’s hope may be the best kind.

I avoid romantic films and romantic novels like the plague, for my pride says I am above all the marshmallow mishmash, even though I do secretly enjoy them. But it is out of self-defense- the writer in me insists that only what is Real is beautiful, and so I feed on non-fiction and true stories of love, inspiration and goodness. But the down side is, the exceptional and extraordinary stories of reality become my standard for the norm, and I suspect that is just as serious as contracting a fantasial infection, if not, worse, because I expect it to happen for me, too. Or at least, I entertain the possibility with great seriousness.

The past few weeks have been a hazy, difficult struggle to swim back to a reality I am not sure I have recollection of. Within a span of a few weeks, I had news that 3 pairs of my friends had broken up, 2 pairs had just formed and 2 pairs were getting married. All their stories were laced with struggles, heartaches, uncertainty. I am not sure if I have the courage or humility to go back there. I have been swimming out there for a long time, maybe all my life. Now that the waters are choppy and I am afraid of being left alone out there as sharkfeed, I am trying to head back to shore.

This has been very hard for me- I am an artist, an idealist. And now I have to deposit my scrolls and scrolls of manuscript of ideas of love and romance in a jar and give it to God, tell Him I want nothing more to do with them unless He wants to make use of it. I have to stop the unconscious comparisons of the present with experiences of the past, because those who were too expressive and suave were frivolous and unsteadfast- so for all their creative pursuit and impressive resumes, how can they be yardsticks? The artist argues why can't one have the best of both worlds, and she realises at that point, that the currents have become dangerously strong and the shore has disappeared from the horizon.

Amos says I need to get real. So do another 2, 3... 6 people who have come to tell me of late. Aunty Ay agrees that God is taking me through this process so I can renew my mind to learn humility, reality and love. Aunty L and Aunty Ay say that even though I may have shot myself in the foot multiple times in the past, God can still redeem the many mistakes I made along the way. Whatever will be shall be, they say, whoever it is should still be there in spite of my stupidity, and it will become apparent in God's time, even after walking one big circumlocuting round.

Perhaps loving someone in reality is like owning my bike. It is not perfect. It is not a dream machine. My bike costs a third of what a basic one would cost and so it is one size too big for me, the handlebars are 3 inches too far, it has 7 gear chains instead of the normal 10 which means I have to pedal much harder uphill, it weighs 12 kilos instead of the usual 10 kilos, and its gear shifters are at the wrong place. So many people have told me there is a better, faster, lighter dream bike out there with a better fit. Somewhere out there, Perfect is waiting, they say.

(with a two thousand-dollar bill.)

But I have refused that offer. My bike is right for me because it is what it is- modest. It is what I can afford at this point. It is what God has allowed me to own at this point. It has taken me places, it is dear to me, I love it for what it is. It has been a blessing from God and I didn't deserve it in the first place. Sure, I have to live with the fact that the gears aren't very good but for all it's worth, it is special to me. And if you were to give me a swanky, better bike at this point, it would only fit me worse- in an over-pretentious, opulent sort of way. My bike is plain and modest- but that is what makes it beautiful and perfect to me. It is real. I know I would love an upgrade, but is it what God wants for me? Does He not use our circumstance to teach us gratitude and modesty and simplicity? (I know the kind of person right for me would not buy kate spade for me or take me to fancy places all the time, and that is unfortunate only in a temporal kind of way.)

And if I constantly allowed myself to swim out to entertain what could have been, what it could be, would I not be utterly miserable, and miss my beautiful reality for a non-existent fantasy? I am wondering if this is a lesson I am to learn- that Beautiful is what you want to make out of your reality, even if it is far from fantasial perfection. After all, carriages which turn into pumpkins may not fare so well in our urban times.

And tears well up in my eyes to know that I am very far away and must swim back to shore, even if it would cost me an arm and a leg. Because it is the only beautiful and true way to live.

Even as a writer.

In Reality.

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Hideo, again.

How it amazes me to be constantly reminded of how small our world is. How mind-blowing it is to know that one life can weave across and thread through the tapestry of so many lives, all over the world.

Today, I received in my email a note from the 6th passer-by from overseas who has bumped into Hideo, who left a comment on a post I had written which he must have found surfing about him online:

"I've just come back from Japan, where I spent two weeks touring, and I was trying to figure out how I could write some nice post about Hideo Asano. I met him one night in Osaka while strolling along the canal; I was feeling a bit miserable and, all of a sudden, this man approaches me and says "Are you a German?". I told him I was not -I'm a Spaniard- and then, as I was reading Hemingway's short stories at the time and he had a copy of Hemingway's poems, we engaged in conversation.

I took him for dinner and then we spent about five hours talking about literature, philosophy, religion, history... I gave him some money, bought him some beer and felt exactly the way you felt, I guess. He seemed to be a great man and it made me so sad to see him homeless and longing for a place to settle and a woman to care for him. It made me really sad when my time to leave came, too.

It's a wonderful thing to know he has left the same mark on some other people all around the world, because this is a memory I'm sure we all will keep for our whole lives.

Thank you for wirting it down and thank you for doing it so beautifully!

Cheers from Madrid!"

It amazes me to realise how a simple elderly man with an open heart can impact the lives of so many random people strewn across the globe, and how small technology has made our world.

So remember, that you are not a digit, a number, or another face, but really, someone who can make an impact on every person you meet along the way. Just like the way Hideo did.

Cheers to you too at Madrid, from Singapore.

One by one.

When he appeared before me, I nearly jumped out of my seat. I had sat down at a table in a food centre and had no idea he was seated there too. This old man has the name Michael as well, and it was the third time in three months where I had met him in three different places. I looked at him, squinted in disbelief, and if I were in a comic strip, would have parted the sky to wag my finger at God.

Like, come on. Seriously.

The first time we met, I was in the train when a very, very elderly man walked into the carriage and started talking very loudly to another passenger. The old sinewy man, full of energy nonetheless, was thin, balding and had thick-rimmed glasses and a pocket watch. Clad in simple paper-thin formal clothes in exceptional neatness, he clutched a large bible, a grammar book and thick english dictionary in one hand and a large umbrella in the next.

"Can I help you with that?" I asked.

"OH NO! I'M FINE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH YOUNG LADY! IT'S VERY KIND OF YOU BUT I'M QUITE FINE!"

At this point, people surrounding us were beginning to stare. He continued, "I'LL TELL YOU SOMETHING. I AM ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. I AM THE OLDEST STRAITS TIMES JOURNALIST IN SINGAPORE AND I'M STILL GOING STRONG!" He pronounced every word with spectacular precision and gesticulated animatedly, even with his arms full.

Not meaning to be impolite, I carried on the conversation with him, even though I felt every eye around descend upon us now. "Where are you off to and what do you do?"

"OH, I USED TO BE A PASTOR. NOW I GIVE ENGLISH LESSONS TO DRUG ADDICTS AT A HALFWAY HOUSE AT GEYLANG."

"Oh, you mean at High Point? Hey, I volunteer there too!"

At this time the entire train carriage filled with people had actually quietened down and were listening intently to our conversation. One young man even laughed and shook his head at me in amusement. There was something intensely quirky and charming about this old man- one couldn't quite decide if he was real or not, out-of-his-mind or not, and yet, a certain earnest charm held him together. He carried on to say, "I WAS BORN IN 1894. I WAS CAUGHT BY THE JAPANESE SOLDIERS AT ONE POINT, AND I AM THE OLDEST REPORTER HERE IN THIS COUNTRY! HERE, LET ME SHOW YOU MY POCKET WATCH. IT IS VERY VERY OLD TOO."

He reached his stop ten minutes later, got off and as the train doors closed between him and another two lines of passengers in front of me, he shouted, "I AM ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN AND STILL GOING STRONG!"

Two stops later, I alighted and as I crossed the road from the train station to my home, a young man, perhaps only a few years older than myself, stopped me and said, "I just want you to know it was very kind of you to ask if you could hold his books. People were watching and I just want you to know you made a difference."

I nearly teared as I walked home. I remember looking at the night sky and asking God what I had done to deserve such kindness from a stranger.

He didn't have to bless me with his kind words of encouragement, but he did.

The second time I met the old man I was with my father, outside a supermarket in the city. We chatted with him, and I gave him my phone number in case he needed anything in the future. He had 6 different coloured pens in his shirt pocket, and very meticulously, he copied down my name, number, address and age in journalistic, squiggly short-hand, with each detail in a different colour. My father was amused.

So a month later since the second encounter, when I sat down at the table at the food centre after my flute lesson in the east and saw him sitting right there, I think you can understand my sheer fright at the freak coincidence. I don't quite believe in coincidences, only divine appointments and godly conspiracies. So, even though I was in a rush, I asked him, "Michael? Remember me? Oh my, I've met you three times in three months in three different places!"

"OH YES, IT'S YOU!"

I then learnt that he had sprained his ankle days ago when a passer-by had brushed past him and knocked his thin, willowy frame over. "How are you feeling now? And how are you going back?"

"OH, IT STILL HURTS. I'M GOING BACK TO GEYLANG NOW, TO THE HALFWAY HOUSE. I STAY WITH THE DRUG ADDICTS THERE."

And then I realised it had all been planned. Had I not met him for the third time, I wouldn't have had been frustrated enough with the 'coincidence' to ask if there was anything at all I could do for him. I couldn't let him go home by himself, so my father drove down to send him back.

It was all very dreamlike. This happened more than a month ago, and I didn't write it down because it was too... surreal. The history of this old man was surreal. The way we met and kept meeting was surreal. Only the various characters which wove in and out of our interactions convinced me I wasn't dreaming.

Today, at a different train station, I met Esther, for the third time in the third different place as well. I met her previously on a train and in another station at town. She gave me a pink balloon craft and a green balloon craft the last two times we met. The last time we spoke, she kept telling me how not to worry about my calling to missions because God had a plan for my life. Today, as her eyes lit up when she saw me, she gave me a purple balloon shaped as an apple. "Ah, this morning I was just thinking of you as I listened to a CD. It was a sermon about callings. Ah, I shall make a copy for you and call you so I can pass it to you."

In the afternoon, when I got home, I received an email from a patient I had met at hospital. It was such a surprise, such an unexpected gift. *(link disclosed with permission) I had been thinking about her ever since I met her, about her radiance, her patience, her faith and trust in God, in the positivity she emanated.

Most times, I don't understand these random encounters in my life. All I know is that each time, I am blessed. And in the times where no tangible answers may be found, I learn that at times, it may be our turn to be used by God to bless others too. I am learning, that every single person is placed in our paths for a reason. They don't even have to be strangers- they could be our friends, and family, even. But every interaction is an opportunity to love, encourage and give- and through that, how surprised are we to find that we receive, too- so abundantly.

One by one. God uses us one by one to bless each of us, one by one.

Sometimes we receive, sometimes we give- but at all times, we are all part of a chain of events which can leave us and others happier, leave us and others closer to God and that fragrant sense of haven.

I am learning, that as we bless, we too, are blessed.

"Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier.

Be the living expression of God's kindness:

kindness in your face,

kindness in your eyes,

kindness in your smile.”

-Mother Teresa

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Ants on the Mona Lisa. (edited)

"Sometimes, we're just like ants. Ants on the Mona Lisa."

"Huh?"


I fell. It was such a silly fall, at an unpresumptuous spot. I heard the sound of bones breaking, saw the bleeding abrasion on my right palm and closed my eyes to suppress that dead feeling of dread inside of me. After so many times on my bike, how could I have fallen- again? It was such a silly fall, at such an unpresumptuous spot. I shouldn’t have fallen. But I did.

It reminded me, that no matter how far we’ve come and what we’ve done, we can still fall, over and over, even at the same places. We can make the same mistakes, twice, over and over, if we are not careful or presumptuous. Just because we know how to ride a bike doesn’t mean we’ll never fall again. In life, perhaps complacency is one of our greatest pitfalls, and we can stumble at any time. Falls- they remind us of our weaknesses, and of our innate need to rely on and trust in God.

Fungus shared with me how he used to return to the Spinal Cord Injury support group at the hospital to speak to and encourage patients with his journey. I marveled at that because it must take so much of him to do that, to recount the tragedy, to be reminded of his disability, and to go over the pains of coping with life now. Do you know what it is like for someone to have to stick a tube inside himself several times a day to extract urine because one has lost his urinary functions? Do you know how inconvenient it is to have to get out of the house on a wheelchair? … I can hardly imagine it. And I almost teared when he shared it with me, because I told him I hadn’t, and couldn’t return to my own support group at the hospital. “It’s too hard,” I said, “I’m not ready.”

Because though I can write and bring it up on my own accord if I feel it would help someone, it’s still hard to talk about it when people ask. Close ones know I don't like to talk about it. I've not written about this in months because I wanted to put it aside for a while. It’s hard to go over what happened, hard to come face to face with people suffering from it, hard to return to the same rooms which I want to lose the keys to. When I fell off my bike yesterday, at a most unlikely spot and position, I realized that though I have been doing so well, we must always be on our guard, and that we must never let over-confidence or our presumption trick us into complacency.

The more I train, the more Ed will try and take revenge. I am probably the heaviest I have ever been in my life now but I’m happy. God has been bigger, and my greatest challenge is not the race itself, but the victory in being free from Ed all the way till the race itself. God has blessed me with many angels of late, people to run, swim and cycle with- and that has kept Ed far, far away because he hates company. Perhaps that is why I like company, too.

The fall off my bike at such an unlikely spot and position forced me to realize that one must never be complacent. People working in factories doing the same things every day get into accidents; people who don’t continue reading develop Alzheimer’s; Great kings lose their kingdoms because of lust when they lose focus. And relationships break down when not watered every day.

I’ve read that the three-year mark is a gold mine. Being relapse-free for three years gives an outstanding prognosis for life-long cure. That will be when I graduate. One down, two to go.

Because of my fall, my mood to ride for the day had been ruined. I sat by the sea, watching the waves and along the way back, said hello to a fellow biker as I often do to other riders or joggers. His name was Michael, a competitive biker training for the upcoming Florida Championships. We talked, and as we rode, felt God connect us as we shared about our journeys in sports. Just like Amos and Fungus, he, too, was looking for a church- and each of them have laughed at how God put me in their paths to provide them with that extra push to go back to find the centre of their beings, to build their spiritual health. And I laugh, at how the exchange is balanced by their inspiration to me to build my own physical and emotional health.

Against my initial plans, we rode to the city, trained around a loop and talked more. Michael is a living example of how God is still centre of his life in spite of his great achievements. “Anytime God wants me to stop this pursuit, I am ready,” he says. “But it’s a daily process, you have to check yourself and listen all the time... ... God has put me through some difficult times, but very often, Pain helps us put things in perspective. Sometimes, we're like ants on the Mona Lisa. We don't know why God puts us through what He puts us through, but when you look at things from His perspective, the big picture is always beautiful. ”

He was another one of those random angels God had placed in my path to remind me of His message and love to me. And as we sensed His very real and almost goosebumply presence around us, we both teared at the lessons and messages He had used each of us to send to each other. “God has complete restoration set for each of us. He gave you your experiences for a reason. ”

There are no coincidences, only divine appointments and godly conspiracies. In the bible, Michael is the name of an angel.

I was glad I fell.

Through the fall, I met Michael. And through Michael, had what I had learnt through the fall reinforced in my being. We cannot be complacent, be it in our physical or spiritual training, because we can fall in the same silly places.

Someday, like Fungus, I would like to be ready and brave enough to go back to the support group to share my story. Someday, I would like to know that I am so different from who I started out as when I first met God because I didn’t give room for complacency. Someday, I would like to know God gave me a second chance and didn’t allow my wrist to break yesterday because He is loving enough to send us reminders for us not to get carried away.

At many points in our lives, we may not understand the reasons for the pain, experiences and journeys God puts us through. But we just trust, that we may be ants on the beautiful Mona Lisa which God sees and paints.

I was glad I fell.

"Do not forget to entertain strangers,

for by doing so some have unwittingly entertained angels."

-Hebrews 13:2

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Ayano Tachibana

Japanese actress and idol who has until now released 10 film and 2 TV dramas she look sexy and her teeth are weird I mean differ from another.