For those of you who don't know what the durian is, it's a thorny tropical fruit which you either love or hate. It has a pungent smell, irresistably aromatic to some and simply intolerably foul-smelling to others.
Abalone is a prized delicacy in the Chinese culture, served only at the most expensive of wedding dinners or on special occasions. It is incredibly costly and tasty to most, but for some reason, I find it absolutely grosteque. It tastes like rubber to me.
Indeed, one man's meat is another man's poison.
This evening, Grandpa Zhou, the army boy D (the one who came to befriend me through my blog because he wanted to bless Grandpa Zhou with a hundred dollars) and his church mentor, Uncle Dm, came to my place for dinner. Uncle Dm, having heard of Grandpa Zhou's plight through D, had asked if I could arrange a meeting where he could meet with Grandpa Zhou personally.
I deliberated for a long time whether to invite them over to my place or if we should eat out, which was a much more convenient option. I eventually settled on the former, because of what I am learning this season.
dinner at my place
I am learning, that loving the poor does not take a lot, if only we learn to stretch our hearts. Love, requires one to love on someone else's terms, and not our own. It means finding out what someone else needs and then fulfilling that need, and not simply giving up something extra we own.
It was Grandpa Zhou who taught me this lesson.
Many times when we see the poor and feel compelled to give, how many of us take the trouble to ask them what they really need? I have been guilty of buying whatever is most convenient, whatever is cheap, fast and nearby. Very often, this is a loaf of bread.
Because my metabolic rate has shot up due to a new training programme I'm on, I was still hungry even after dinner and started to munch on a slice of bread.
As I walked Grandpa Zhou back to the train station, he said to me in mandarin, "You like to eat bread eh?"
"Yes, I love eating bread, ha. Especially the wholegrain kind, it's really yummy."
"Me? Ha, I'm really scared of bread! Really really scared of bread!" Wo hen pa chi mian bao!
I started to laugh because his expression brought to my mind the image of a large slice of bread morphing into a monster and scaring him like a ghost.
"You know the last time I gave you 2 bagels? I brought them for you from the church near my home which was giving out free food because I know you love bread. I, on the other hand, am terrified of bread! Wo hen pa chi mian bao! Because that was all I ate during the times I was hungry but had no food to eat. That was all people bought me when I sat by the roadside. Bread, bread, bread- all day! Oh, I'm TERRIFIED of BREAD!"
He said it so enthusiastically, expressively and repetitively that it made me laugh out loud.
At the dinner table, Grandpa Zhou had such a hearty appetite. We had white and brown rice, grilled chicken and mushrooms, cabbage and eggs, fish soup and fruits. He was laughing, smiling, and just before he left, he said to me, "You know, I want to tell you something from the bottom of my heart. Before I met you, I was a practical man. I only believed in what I could see-trees, science, human beings. I never believed in God because I could neither see nor feel Him. But now, ha, you'll think I'm mad but, I feel so close to Him ever since I met you and the people from the church near my home who've blessed me so much."
God convicted me to invite him over. If not, I would've chosen to meet him at a coffeeshop outside. A home-cooked meal is a rarity for him. It convinced me that I need to challenge myself to be inconvenienced. This is not easy for me to do, especially for my peers and family.
Grandpa Zhou's detestment for bread reminded me of my adverse reaction to durian and abalone, and the number of times people, out of goodwill, had offered these delicacies to me, only to have me force a polite smile while trying to quiet my churning insides. It reminded me of the first time I met him, where I was angry with his insouciance with me, because he listed down exactly what he wanted to eat (fish not chicken, with chilli at the side, vegetables but not the hard kind, more rice but not too much more etc etc) when I had offered to buy him a meal. I am ashamed to say that my first thoughts at the time were, Shouldn't you be grateful someone is buying you a meal? I'm appalled by your specific requests, really.
But had I not asked him at the time, I would have bought him bread, and felt good about salving my conscience. And it would be like someone offering me durian or abalone. One man's meat is another man's poison.
Now I see clearly, that really, it doesn't take a lot more for us to make the extra effort. Yet, it surely means a lot to those who need some concern.
Two weeks ago, I revisited Uncle Z, the muslim patient who was the subject of my community, occupational and family medicine project (COFM) almost a year and a half ago. At the time, he had heart failure, was jobless and rather depressed. After the project ended, we continued to stay in touch, and I linked him up with my church's community services department, which visits him regularly, gives out food vouchers to his family on a monthly basis and has given him a small job at church wiping tables and chairs twice a week. One day, he sent me a text message which wrote, "Psalm 100:4- Enter into God's gates with thanksgiving in your heart."
The little message brightened up my day. Three weeks ago, however, I learnt that he had been readmitted to hospital because he was on the verge of yet another heart attack. The day D and I wanted to visit him, I thought of bringing him some groceries. But what to buy him?
Ask him, silly- I told myself. And this is what he text messaged me: condensed milk, instant noodles curry flavour, wheat crackers, oatmeal.
When I got to his home, his kitchen shelf was quite barren, though he did have a new addition of a little bird cage in his living room, which had been given to him by a friend.
Curry flavour. Perhaps the specificity of the request appalls you? Oatmeal. Isn't that a luxury for the poor- why can't bread do for breakfast? A bird cage in his living room. Well, he can't be that poor if he's owning a pet, right?
I wanted to buy him lunch, then realised that muslim food sold outside really is loaded with oil and grease. My domestic helper helped to cook him and his wife, who was recently diagnosed with dementia and a mild stroke, a healthy meal instead.
Sometimes I wonder: Are we harsher to the poor than we are to ourselves, and do we have double standards for different human beings? I know I have been guilty.
If it had not been what Grandpa Zhou had taught me about the poor, if it had not been for God humbling me through the past year, if it had not been Him teaching me about making extra effort, those specific requests would somehow have irked me a little, if only just a little.
Why can't bread do? You should be grateful.
Yea, what's wrong with durian and abalone? I should be grateful, shouldn't I?
When Grandpa Zhou sat in my father's chair at dinner, I learnt to see him as my elder, and not another man swept away by the wayside with a coin box sitting pathetically by his feet, ignored by passers-by at the dirty steps of a train station.
So I'm glad we had dinner together at my place. Because I'm learning, it just shouldn't be any other way.
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