Wheatfields.

My backbone has been too straight. Worse, it's been arched so far back with my chin held so high at a sickening angle that God had to jolt me back to reality.

We see it everywhere- in offices, schools and in the media. We see backs so straight and arched so far back with pride and pretense that one wonders how their spines have not snapped. Culture teaches us to appear as what we are not, in the name of survival, of appearing better than we really are.


Have you walked through an endless field of lallang, and noticed how, like the stems of wheat which are full of grain and ready for harvest, the arches of their slender stems are curved gently downwards, their spirits bowed low in broken contrition?

When we bear fruit in our lives, do we, too, like the humble grain, have it inside of us to bend down low in gentle humility, or do we arch our backs with our chins held high to parade the full grain of our harvest?



Each and every day since the illness, God has been teaching me a little about Pride and Humility, about my too-high chin and over-arched back.


Perhaps what is deadlier than having no faith at all, is having presumptuous faith- being proud that you had your prayers answered, that you realised your dreams, that God's power and success was manifest through you.

I was too busy battling depression when Kitesong was published, so Pride took a back seat then. Later, however, as good news about the funds raised trickled in, and people gave me pats on the back, Pride crept in through the back door. A kind lady passed me a book over a birthday lunch she bought me- "Here, this is for you. I just want you to know the boys were thoroughly inspired by Kitesong." It was a collection of poetry written by some secondary school boys, inspired by artists with disabilities from the same charity organisation, VSA (Very Special Arts), which I and a team of friends had organised a Charity Run for just over a year ago.

I was genuinely happy at first, but it didn't take long before a wave of pride welled up.

What was a sweet thing became cloyingly sickening. Pride ruins goodness.


One can be too proud for too many things, and yet be painfully unaware of it. We can be proud of our studies, our physique, our attitude, our character, and even more sinisterly, our goodness. Yes, one can be proud of one's goodness, and tragedy befalls the man on the day it happens. When one starts to become proud of helping the poor, righteous of his own standards, proud of the risks he took, challenges he overcame to do the sacrificial things he did, and worse, indulges in false humility ( Oh no, it's nothing really...) he forgets the great privilege he was given to do all those things, and falls to his own demise.

God can take away that privilege from us anytime. A bout of illness, a or just a simple turn of events could be all it takes to be displaced from that beautiful postion of helping someone else. What fools we are to place ourselves on pedestals.


I've been guilty of that- and the lesson has been excruciatingly painful to learn. Have you, too, been guilty... of vanity of your own goodness?


In some ways, I am thankful and relieved that my intended second book, A Taste of Rainbow, didn't come through immediately. God made me wait, I am still waiting, and the waiting could be indefinite. Yet, it was through the delay that Patience and Humility was birthed. And I am thankful. I am thankful.

Waiting for the reply from the crisis relief team going to Sichuan to help with the post-earthquake efforts was a humbling experience in itself. After all the trauma of anticipating, praying and finally taking the step of faith forward to avail myself, I learnt that the relief team may not have a space for me. That news crushed me. It crushed me like a steamroller over an empty metal can. On my knees in my bedroom I started to ask God why. And in between my sobs I heard Him say to let go. To let go because Pride still had a hold on me. Deep down inside, I never realised just how proud I was to travel to an earthquake zone to serve people, and this prolonged period of delay was just God's way of sanctifying the intents and purposes of my heart.


God's delay and timing is always for a purpose.


It took me days to let go completely. To bow my head low and to admit that there is no disaster, no crisis, nothing in this world which needs me so bad that makes me indispensable. To admit that God is in control of all things, not me. To put my trust in God's infinite goodness and wisdom that He knows what He's doing, including His decision of sending me there or not, even it it runs contrary to my own agenda.

When I wiped my tears away, I thrust both my arms in the air, smiled and said out loud, in a half-crazy way I would only do in the privacy of my own room, "I trust you God! And it doesn't matter if I go or not, because I want to learn Humility- I've availed myself already, but I'm just going to trust you!"

A huge burden lifted. It was as if the huge boulder which had weighed my back down and caused it to arch in a backbreaking manner had suddenly disappeared.


And just in line with the theatrical way God so often likes to use, I received confirmation of my acceptance into the team that very evening.


Indeed, God cares far less about our actual acts than our hearts from which the acts were birthed from.


Are we too proud to admit that for all our goodness and availability, we may not always be needed? Are we too proud to admit that our goodness without redemption is largely vanity?

That evening, I learnt an important lesson- that for everything in life which we undertake, we can choose to see, myopically, our own goodness, or choose to see our position to help others as the highest privilege in the world.


They say that wheat fields are one of the most beautiful sights on this earth. When their heads are full with fruit, they bow down in lowly humility instead of proudly displaying themselves.

I was reminded today- that as long as the wheat plant stands proudly straight, it is not ripe for harvest. And as long as we remain proud, God cannot use us, no matter how much potential for goodness we have.


Because goodness without humility will almost always only be vanity.


The only way to solve this humanistic dilemma is to kill that part within us which rots our hearts. For only when Pride dies, truly, can we serve, help, and love with the fullness of God's generous spirit. It is only when the wheat plant ripens, bends low, and dies, that its grain falls to the ground and gives birth to new life.


Are we humble enough to feel privileged?

Photo by OY

"I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds."

-John 12:24

Being Happy.

“ You should have got Best Actress, Wai Jia. That’s what people are saying, I hope you know that. But it’s an intra-faculty play competition and they have to divide the prizes equally across the levels.”

It’s funny. After the performance, as I left that stage, left that part of me which was true, there, I told God that I was thankful for that performance. Out of all our rehearsals, my final performance was my best shot, and that was all that mattered, that I gave it my best shot. There was such a deep sense of peace.

Random people came up to me today to tell me how much they felt for my character, people whose names I never even knew. That was my best moment. That was enough.

What may have been even more beautiful was that after the performance, after I had done my best, I felt validated already- by knowing that through it all, God was with me. He gave me this opportunity to release my Story this way, gave me the strength to do so. I felt adequate, sufficient, without needing anyone to commend me. I prayed to do my best, and I did, and there was an indescribable peace from within. I left early, didn't even stay for the prize ceremony at the end, because I had no expectation, and there was a deep peace welling up inside.

Two years ago when we moved houses, my father asked me what we would do with the twenty over trophies, plaques and awards I had accumulated over the years- art competitions, calligraphy competitions, school awards… My parents displayed them in the living room, and were prepared to pack them into boxes to move into the new house. Holding up my first trophy in her hands, my mother said, “You got this when you were five, remember? Don’t you want to take a picture with all of them- to remember all your achievements?”

“No,” I said. It was a final and firm no. “We’ll throw them all away,” I said, “Throw them all away.”

We kept not a single one from the old house. Trophies, prizes, awards can be dangerous things. And sometimes, it is their absence that makes us True-er to our hearts. Re-reading newspaper articles or material about your achievements is dangerous, very. So in some strange, peaceful way, when I didn’t win, I felt… more settled, almost as if it was more fitting, more appropriate. To know that I had delivered my Story in its true spirit, in a way that had evoked people, touched hearts, in a way that had elicited the sense of injustice in people for me- that was enough, more than enough. It is more beautiful this way, in some strange way it sits better, that I gave something true for nothing tangible in return.

It is like missionary work, isn’t it?

But I’m hardly that noble. Of course there have been moments where I regret not keeping those medals, those objects of achievements. And I’m sure of moments in the days to come where momentary pangs of sourness may challenge my peace and resolve in not being validated by a prize for this performance. But it is like being trained for missionary work, isn’t it- to give your all without being awarded, recognized, and to find complete satisfaction and adequacy in your own spirit, that spirit of doing your best. Thousands of nameless saints work among the poor, selflessly, wholeheartedly, without any form of tangible reward, any recognition.

I’m hardly that noble, but I am learning.

I quit being in the executive committee of the Medical Society, quit being put in a place which made me vulnerable to seeking validation from other people, or awards, or prizes. I remember we organized a Charity Run last year, but I enjoyed it far less than doing Kitesong, mainly because there were so many people to please, so much validation that the Medical Society was needy for. Ten thousand dollars to raise, guest-of-honours to please, right things to say, decorum, standard procedures… Too many things that digressed from the spirit of the event, which was essentially, to spread love.

People like us, perfectionists, try too hard to please everybody else. Sometimes, maybe, we just need space to be ourselves, to be happy with who we are. To do things because we love doing them, with no tangible returns. We write because we like to, we paint because we feel like doing so, we act because we love performing. We love because we love God, because we love to love. That is all.

Sometimes, maybe we just need to do things that have no return. It is a deeper blessing, more beautiful this way, so we learn humility before getting stumbled by pride. I need to learn how to deal with not being awarded, rewarded, validated by others, need to learn how to stop being so needy. So in many ways, I felt the radiance of God’s love when I heard the news. I felt like for once, I am learning what it means to be validated by my own spirit, by God’s love.

“I hope you’re happy, Wai Jia. Because you put up a great show. I just wanted to say I thought you deserved the award, that’s all.”

It is simpler, more beautiful this way. I am happy.