Happy Food

Aaah... check these out. Had a meal with some friends at The Rakuzen in KL. (clockwise starting at 12: Sashimi, Dragon Roll, Beef slices, Salad, Hotate)

Bento

Dessert

The entire meal was 3 hours long, plus dessert. By the time the bento arrived, we were stuffed silly and unable to consume even one more morsel. Happy but satisfied, I left the restaurant, only to spend another 3 hours in Dome with a longtime friend discussing deity and religion.

Aaah... a day well spent!

Grace Sufficient

Today is my second day in bed. Severe tummy cramps and headache. An ongoing menstrual condition for many years. Everytime I bleed, I collapse on bed in pain... ALL DAY AND NIGHT (sometimes two). During these times I often wonder why my grand plans for hysterectomy didn't hatch; maybe it was because of protests from everyone who knows. But then again, I am hardly one who adheres to popular opinion.

However, this morning a radical thought flashed across my mind. I have never thanked God for menstruating. Always seen it an inconvenient body function, a hindrance, a pain, a curse of fallen (wo)mankind if you will. But I have never thanked God for having a normal body. And Paul said we are to give thanks in all situations.

OK, fine. So I thanked God for my menstrual pain. I really did, in all sincerity and honesty, I burst out in heartfelt gratitude to God despite what I was feeling.

Well, I wish I could say that the pain went away immediately, I was transformed and given a spanking new body with perfectly-formed organs draped over by flawless cellulite-free skin. I wish I could declare that the pain that plagued me every month for years and years was finally gone, and I can go around telling everyone how God has healed me. What a great testimony! What faith it will build in its hearers!

The reality was - the pain grew worse and I could not even go downstairs to eat (much).

Paul also spoke of a thorn in his flesh. We all can relate to that, I suppose, to some degree. Everyone has one embedded somewhere, some of us have more. There is something in God's reply that was universal too. "My grace is sufficient for you."

Is this some kinda joke? What kinda cold, uncaring retort is that supposeda be? Did someone mistakenly slip this statement in the Bible? Why won't God spare us the pain? He loves His children, doesn't He?

To be fair, God didn't spare His son either, when he hung on the cross and bled. And guess who he died for.

Then when I think about it, I am actually thanking Him for the privilege of the pain that helps me draw nearer to Him in a helpless, dependant sort of way. Makes me sound like a loser and wimp, but that's ok. Christians live in an upside down world where the first shall be the last, and what is important in this world (money, fame, health, status, etc) is but a passing vapour in the eyes of eternity. The bigger question is: Am I living like His grace is sufficient?

Gulp.

Faces of Nepal 13

Pokhara: Woman finding respite from the afternoon heat. Just a short distance away, the astoundingly beautiful landscape of the Annapurna range beckons - snow-capped peaks, crystal clear lakes, turbulent rivers with deep gorges and Tibetian monasteries.

Faces of Nepal 12

Pokhara: This lady in Tibetian-inspired garb is quite someways from home.

Faces of Nepal 11

Kakarvitta (Indian-Nepali border): Young girl, about 4-years old, was running around in tattered garments, playing with an old comb. This is my favourite expression - carefree, innocent and full of possibilites for the future.

Faces of Nepal 10

Kathmandu: A woman watches as the world passes her by at the market square.

Faces of Nepal 9

Pokhara: Passed from one generation to the next, carpetry is a trade involving long hours, nimble fingers, a good eye for detail and an abundance of patience.

Faces of Nepal 8

Pokhara: It is not easy earning his keep, as this elderly peddlar found out. As his wares are targeted at locals, his market in this tourist town is considerably curtailed. Nevertheless, it seemed a good way of ekeing out a living.

Faces of Nepal 7

Terai, near Chitwan National Park: "Namaste" means 'may the gods be with you', a standard greeting in Nepal, equivalent to a hello.

Faces of Nepal 6

Kathmandu: So what if the gods don't sleep. Local shamans need to take a break. Especially when the afternoon gets long and ... drowsy.

Faces of Nepal 5

Kathmandu: Found this woman outside the temple in Durbar Square. She's probably used to foreigners (aplenty in Thamel), but still stared intently at the camera. Being the only Hindu kingdom nation, Nepalese are deeply religious and there are plenty of shrines and places of worship scattered around Kathmandu.

Faces of Nepal 4

Kathmandu: Man selling his ware at the busy market of Thamel, where the souk is a perpetual maze of shops, peddlers, restaurants, motorcycles, bicycles, trishaws, tourists and locals. The smells, sounds and sights of this place make great distraction for the traveller en route to the Himalayas and Annapurna.

Faces of Nepal 3

Terai, near Chitwan National Park: Children gathered to play and gawk at the camera on a dusty gravel road one hot December afternoon.

A boy enjoying his burden.

These excellent photos were taken by my friend Adriel McIntosh.

Faces of Nepal 2

Pokhara: Handwashing her clothes by the alley next to a busy street, this elderly lady shyly obliged for the camera lens.




Despite being the "Disneytown" (re:tourist trap) in Nepal where prices are escalated, poverty is commonplace amongst its folk. 'Retirement' is a hardly-known term for the elderly.

Faces of Nepal

Deep at the foot of the Himalayans, the border of the Kingdom of Sikkim and Tibet: A very young girl carries her infant sibling as she climbed up the hillslope. They do not go to school. The nearest school was miles away, and had no electricity nor water. Her parents worked at the farm. This girl helped to care for her younger siblings. They served salt tea to visitors (no cream). Respect for the local 'Lama' is prevalent and runs deep. "He helps us protect our crops".

Cholesterol City!

Had this (amongst plenty others) for dinner two weeks back at a restaurant in town. Good thing I didn't wipe off the entire plate. Would have needed a plunger to unclog the arteries.

Thru the Lens

Sometimes things become clearer when we use the right lens. This photo was taken several years back in my bedroom in Carlisle, England. I used my old faithful Nikon F50 SLR (a relic now by most standards) with a Sigma-compatible lens mounted.

It worked fine. Did the job despite the heavy beating it took with my crazy travelling schedule back then. I am so used to its timing, settings and everything else that it is getting hard to adjust to a digital counterpart.

OK, OK... given that film cameras are going the way of the typewriter, I am still clinging to my old faithful contraption. After all, it gave me countless snaps of great (and some totally disastrous) shots, and it stuck with me through all the abuse across the foot of the Himalayas to the summer nights at the train stations in Europe to the slums of India and back again to the rainforests of Malaysia. And all that was in between too.

Through the lens of this camera I saw the world. And myself.

I guess one day, I would really have to put aside my film cam and go totally digital... more cost and time effective. But as for now, I am allowing myself to linger...

Go Local

Was at the MATTA fair this weekend with LP and we scoured every available booth selling packages to Egypt. Turned out the cheapest trip was going to blow our budget. Sigh. Blame it on the fuel hike. Malaysian Airlines' profitable route's gonna stay that way to bail out the rest of their no-gooders. Sheeesh...

We were pretty tired after walking around the two main halls and decided to eat instead. Started to exit the building when it began to drizzle. Looked as if we were in for a thunderstorm. So we went back inside and had nasi lemak instead.

By then both of us were fizzled out, LP from disappointment and I from hunger. I wasn't really that disappointed - God must have wanted me to steward my resources in other ways; by using the travel funds elsewhere. It's cool.

Anyways, we decided to go inside Hall 3 to see what's going on. They have some really nice local tours. LP spotted the Kenyir package. I wasn't really that keen, as I had been there before, trekked up the waterfall, visited the caves, survived a raging river with deep undercurrents, fell into the lake while riding the jetski, ran into a really frightening thunderstorm which almost sank our boat, camped at an elephant feeding site, etc, etc... (fun!)

So we booked the Kenyir package, which is open for occupancy all year. Great. Now we can drive across Peninsula and just lepak while sinking our teeth into all those wonderful Terengganu / Kelantan delicacies.

Sinai, Sinai...

Oh no... now that I've discovered St. Catherine's monastery in Sinai, I'll just have to go there. After all, if I am going to Cairo, Alexandria, Luxor and Aswan, what's a little trip eastward to the shores of the Red Sea and then to Mt Sinai???

LP and I spent 3 hours at Borders last Sunday after church so we could pore over every single travel book on Egypt that we could lay our hands on. We wanted to get the Lonely Planet (the ultimate travel bible), but the last print was Jan 2004's and the next one will only be published in May. So we piled up all the other travel guides, settled on the sofa and started ploughing. Of course the staff were none too happy when we turned our sofas to face each other, but they didn't stop us. Hah!

Result - must-go places: Egyptian museum (yay!!!), Islamic & Coptic Cairo, Pyramids of Giza. Fayoum Oasis. Thebes. Karnak. Valley of the Kings (yipee!!!), Temples of Seti, Rameses, Hatsheput, Abu Simbel (if we can make it that far... it's near the Sudanese border).

LP thinks I am nuts. I think she's a killjoy. All I could think of when I turned the pages of colourful artifacts and landscapes were how and when I am gonna get there to photograph them; and all LP said was, "how much is this gonna cost, how much do we have to pay..." I guess we come from different planets. But complementary ones, mind you.

Anyways, I would love to be able to get to Sinai, climb up the mount and do some camping. After spending more than a year studying the life of Moses, a field trip would be a perfect wrap to that experience. :)

Wow... imagine just standing at the shores of the Red Sea and facing the vast impossibility, like what Moses experienced before the parting. Ok, ok... so I am a hopelessly romantic dreamer, but hey, it's free and who knows, maybe I will get to stand on the ground where Moses once stood and relive in my mind's eye the miraculous deliverance of the Lord.

True Friends

Some people have one or two friends who will stick though thick and thin with them. I am fortunate to have three. In our 20 years of friendship, BT, LP Liz and I have weathered two marriages, several boyfriends, 1.5 kids, some long separations abroad, a backpacking trip, fights, misunderstandings, persecution, pains of puberty, young adulthood and now early motherhood.

I often wonder how four so incredibly different people can get together and stay friends for such a long time. All of us know each other like, inside out. It's just so uncanny. We share a very strong bond that boggles even ourselves. We may not have given much thought to it, but the centre of our relationship has always been God. We all came to know Jesus at different times (BT and mine being closer in proximity) and in some strange, unplanned and natural manner we just gravitated towards each other. We liked different things, but found that heck, we just liked each other's company enough to forego our own preferences.

There were serious times of misunderstandings too. Like when boyfriends started to come into the picture. And when BT got married, we wondered how the face of our relationship would alter. And then Liz followed suit. Changes in career stole our time too, and in our pursuit of security, cracks of compromise started to surface in our relationship.

One thing that remained unchanged though, was God's constant care for us. Though not perfect, that care was reflected in our friendship in many ways - unseen sacrifices that were made for each other, timely encouragement delivered with honesty and kindness, firm words of correction accompanied by love, and many, many instances that grew us into the people we are today.

During dinner tonight, the four of us remembered how precious this gift of friendship is, how much we mean to each other, and how easily this bond can be broken. It is one of those beautiful "God" moments.

Thank You, Lord, for the great privilege of having friends who understand me so well; be there for me, and strenghten my walk with You.

Not so Soon

It could be a serious slip of the mind, or just plain ignorance. Or perhaps it's the early onset of dementia. In any case, all are poor justification for failure to understand one phrase - "Soaring like an eagle".

I mean, how hard can that be?

Very, apparently.

Fifteen years ago, a visiting missionary prayed for me (and several other people, my godbrother and good friend BT included). I forgot much of the prayer, but one phrase burned in my mind for years - soaring like an eagle.

Since I had absolutely no idea what the prayer meant back then, I looked up all the references in the Bible about eagles and other birds. In fact, I looked up eagle habits in every available encyclopaedia, thus making myself some kind of self-proclaimed guru on those solitary birds. And of course, related episodes of National Geographic were not spared either, I scoured every single one I could lay my eyes on.

I was still none the richer in my quest. Something was still missing... I had all the head knowledge, but the real meaning of that phrase still eluded me.

Years passed. One miracle after another happened in my life. Impossible situations were reversed, against natural odds. God's hand was evident in every area. And I was still wondering what that phrase meant.

Tired, I gave up thinking and allowed it to die a natural death.

One day in recent time, BT brought up the matter again over tea.

"Do you remember the missionary who prayed for you, MY? I started thinking about her and what she said about you soaring like an eagle all those years ago..."

I was taken aback. Here was my buddy BT, who's reknowned for her absent-mindedness and weak attention to details, telling me in great detail a prayer uttered 15 years ago... hmmm... something is definitely going on here...

I started thinking on my bed that night.

And suddenly, in the stillness of the night, just like that, an answer came. Fifteen years and numerous adventures after the initial thought was sown.

Soaring effortlessly at great heights is but a mirror image of the extent I am willing to descend. The issue was never really how high I can soar but how low I am available to stoop down to.

I chuckled myself to sleep. It wasn't dementia after all. :)

Just a Child

I whacked my niece today. She was screaming uncontrollably and wanted her way, so I caned her. Actually she had been quite good over the past 8 days, didn't cry nor scream in the mornings and even got a small treat from me for commendable behaviour. However, she forgot and started to throw her tantrum today. So she got spanked and nobody could come to her rescue; her parents were at work and I insisted that my mom stay out of the scene while I was disciplining her.

Aha.

It worked. After two whipings she stopped crying. (And put on a pitiful look). Well, that didn't work on me (much) and she was promptly sent off to dress for kindergarten. Ten minutes later, she was all dressed, friendly and chatty again.

The wonderful thing about kids is that they can forget their misgivings so easily. Spank them, they'll cry. Then they would forget and life would go on. And they will come back to ask you to play with them.

Have we as adults lost that childlike quality?

God, no matter how much I think I have grown, remind me that I am but a child in Your eyes.

Flowers in my Room

Every time I look at the dried flowers in my room, I remember my uncle, who died of Stage Four liver cancer 5 years ago. He stayed with my family till two weeks before his death. His own family had turned him out.

My uncle was an amiable fellow, well-liked because of his pleasant personality. He was also a great conversationalist and a real ladies' man. Perhaps that was why his family wanted nothing to do with him, even until his death. To this day, his wife says she is still unable to forgive his philandering ways.

Two weeks before his death, uncle was a real wreck. He could not eat nor sleep, kept throwing up and even walked with a limp. He suffered in pain. My mom and I would take him to the market with us, or wherever he wished to go. We would try to cheer him up by taking him to places he wanted and buying small treats for him (he hadn't much appetite).

One of those places was a tea shop in a back alley of the busy part of town. I took my uncle there one hot, blistering afternoon. The shop was located 3 floors up, and we had to climb. He was panting at the first few steps, but insisited on continuing. Half a flight later, he took off his cap to reveal a bald scalp, and continued his ascent.

My heart slowly sank.

After what seemed like a long time, we both reached the shop. Took off our shoes and uncle fell on the chair panting. We ordered tea and some dumplings. He started to say how much he missed and appreciated the long, lazy afternoons sipping tea with company. He talked about his death.

I listened.

He told me how ready he was to face it. He had aceepted Jesus in his life just a couple weeks back, while he was staying with my family. Though oscillating between hope and fear, he held on to the little shred of hope that in a short while he will meet his Maker.

In what was to be my last long conversation with him, my uncle told me about my roots: how his late father (my paternal grandfather) was a murderer who, while on the run from the authorities, found himself in Malaysia and started a family.

He told me how he wished that his family would one day end the decades-long feud over property and pride. He wished that the feud would end with his generation.

From a dying man's point of view, nothing was more important than having the right relationship with the people who mattered. For a person whose claim in this life was slipping, he looked up and saw what he could have done differently should he had more ... time.

The flowers in my room remind me of my uncle, yes, because they were his last gift to me. But to a greater extent, they tell me to to take time... make time ...to love unreservedly, unpretentiously and hold nothing back.

Dust and Ashes

Why do I exist? A friend lamented when faced with the onslaught of rising fuel prices, car debts, mortages, bills, bills and bills. Couple that with doomsday messages blasting over the pulpit and you've got a recipe for despair. Especially so when you've got extended family and kids.

Another friend has been losing money in his business for 5 years running. He is tired, discouraged and wondering why his trial lasted so long. By all counts, he is a good follower of Jesus. "Good" as in he actively serves in church, gives his time and finances, helps people in need, etc.


#1. As believers we are supposeda expect all these (and more!) to befall us. And rejoice.

#2. God is not as interested in the outcome of our faith, compared to the process. The key message in Job is not so much that, in the end, he regained all that he had lost in the wager between Satan and God. Job's outcome could have swung either way; he could have lost everything and that would be that. But God was gracious enough to record the "happy ending" result. IMHO,the real message in Job is encapsulated in 5 words: Repent in dust and ashes.

God never answered Job's questions. Essentially, Job never needed them to be answered. What Job needed was a revolutionary perspective of a Creator's relationship with His creation. God is God, and we are not, according to the cliche.
Sure, Job had gone as low (physically, mentally, emotionally) as he could. But did God spare him the suffering? Not until he was positioned in the 'optimal' spiritual condition - repenting in dust and ashes.

In that place, Job's focus was off his suffering, off his pain, off his circumstances. A pristine clear view of his own spiritual state dawned upon him. What a horrifying - and humbling - moment it must have been. He realised that as a creature, he was making demands on God, who owes him nothing and gave him everything.
Repent in dust and ashes.

I had no answers for my friends. I am going through hard times of my own too. Uncertainty, a forebrooding future, and a bleak prognosis. But God does not make mistakes. And He orders every single day of our lives according to His purpose. Therefore, no matter how hopeless the situation may be, we are people made for this moment.

May we be found spiritually supple before you, Lord.

Slipped the Eye

It didn't look that great hanging on the rack, but I took it down anyways, coz I had just ripped my regular pair and needed a new one.

So I tried it on, looked at the mirror and thought, "well, this ain't bad. For RM15 I shouldn't ask for much."

Paid the cashier and went merrily home. Upon closer inspection, there was a bigger price tag on the other side of the garment, which I hadn't noticed earlier. The pair of Benetton jeans I bought for RM15 was supposeda have been RM309, before discount.

How many other instances have I been blind to the many blessings in my life? God, pry open my eyes...



(Also, those darned retailers!)

All the Important Lessons

Two weeks ago my mom stood up to respond to an altar call. I forgot what the message was all about. Before that, I was seated with my eyes lowered, thinking what futility it had been, me taking staying home all these years freelancing and not being able to really get my life going. In one word, my life had been characterised by "routine" and that is Public Enemy #1 where I am concerned.

My mom just follows me to church and we would do our lunch and weekend groceries together. I love holding her hand when we cross the street coz it reminds me of her holding mine when I was young. It is also the most routine and boring kind of life anyone can ever imagine. A few years earlier, I certainly could not see nor be able to accept that I would be leading this kinda life... think I would rather die.

But. Life has its many turns. And humour. I found myself doing exactly what I dreaded the most... being settled. I mean, this is worse than getting a college diploma. For a person who guffawed at a high school diploma (or for that matter, any diploma), I think I would have gladly heaped a degree rather than sink into a routine.

However, if this is the price to get my family rooted in the love of God, it is definitely worth it. I have a family most would envy. We are not rich, but we are together. All of us have come to know Jesus and lay claim to eternal life. All of us live (sometimes unconciously) under the grace of the Almighty.

All of us still sin.

Darn.

Anyways, my mom. She surprised me by standing up to respond to the message. Something stuck after all in our countless evenings of conversations. I am not running a futile race - there is a deep, silent work the Holy Spirit is doing in her heart, and it required me to be at home.

I can live with that.

Dear God, it'ld be nice if all our seedlings grow strong and mighty overnight... and yet, thank You that they don't. We would have missed all the important lessons.

Not Exactly Popular Fruit

The fruit of the Spirit is something I didn't ask for, nor would I want it at this point of time. Nope, all I want is to assert my rights and have a little bit of my privacy back. I mean, I am not asking for much, I only want to be able to sleep my 7 hours each night; and even that is being abruptly cut short by my 5-year-old niece's screaming and yelling every single morning at 7am.

So who cares that I write and work late and sleep at 3am? I still get woken up at 7am, and would still have to resume my 12-hour workday on my feet most of the time. People who suffer from sleepiness causes road accidents, if that makes the news at all these days. More importantly - lack of sleep aggravates my arm pain.

So for the past 2 years, I kept silent with the screaming. I did bring up the matter with my brother and sis-in-law (the parents) several times and they basically did next-to-nothing. Never disciplined their kid. In fact, the kid commands them around.

Today, the screaming continued. I had enough. Went to talk to my bro and gave him three options:
1. Soundproof the room
2. Carry his daughter downstairs where her piercing voice is outta earshot.
3. Allow me to discipline his kid.

He was reluctant to perform any of the above.

I told him I would have to move out if the condition persist. At that point his kid came down (what else!) crying. Her dad and mom told her to be quiet but to no avail. I took out a cane and told her sternly that if she continues to be disobedient to her parents I would personally see that she gets licked by the rod. She bawled even louder and ran to her mom, who promptly rescued, cradled and pacified her. The bawling intensified. Tragic.

In the mid-morning I had cooled down considerably to send text messages to my bro and sis-in-law to apologise for over-riding their authority earlier. They expressed no intention to discipline their kid (anyways, why start now, since they had never done that before??)

I fear.

I know my bro's family is just a small representation of believing families caught in an endless cycle of parents working long hours, grappling for time, mothers spending hours away from their children, buying expensive toys to substitute their presence.

I fear.

Through permissive parenting we raise up a godless generation who thinks they are "saved from damnation" yet have little regard for moral values. Because their parents did not think it was important. Because a good academic education is preferred. Because "healthy emotional growth" is more... pressing.

I fear.

Fathers losing their authority because they had never practised their God-given role. Children disobedient and downright treating authority with disdain -a generation the Bible mentions will be prevalent in the last days.

But I cannot change things. Except pray.

Sigh, and so I live, one day after the next, screamings and all.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
(Galations 5:22)

Desire & God

All my desire is before Thee, so wrote missionary Elizabeth Elliott when she hadda give up the one thing that she desired most (to be married to Jim Elliot, which she eventually did, before he got martyred). Though I may not understand why she would desire to be married, the feeling of desiring some object is certainly not an alien concept to humankind.

Ahhh... if only I didn't want it so much! If only I could have it, I would be happy, satisfied and want no more. Yeah, wrong. That'll make it something I want more than God. He gets pushed out of the equation in favour of something lesser. Creation takes precedence over Creator. Back to the cycle of sin regenerated. Ugh.

I wonder why God even bothered. Man is so mah-fan, a definite pain-in- the-neck at most times and deperately in need of being rescued at others. But I guess that's what I will never fully comprehend with my head - His patience, His kindness. His love.

He has silenced me with His love, and all my desires are now before Him.

Thoughts of Banana-ism

Being a banana (yellow-skinned, white insides), I concluded, is preferable to being a durian (prickly outside, mushy inside). At least that's what I tell myself anyways.

For the n-th time today, someone commented that I was a banana. I don't think he meant it in a deragoratory manner, but in an unguarded moment, he spoke what was in his heart. He wasn't the only one that thought so either, my closest friends liken me to being that way and honestly, I don't really care. I have gone past the point of caring lah.

What's the use spewing all those Chinese / Malaysianese buzzwords in perfect intonation when all they do is conceal an already Westernised mind? My friends ask me that. I ask myself that. Maybe in time, being a hybrid banana would be fashionable... who knows...

I believe

I am half-convinved that I am in the wrong industry. Am on the verge of turning down another job, when people like me should be scrambling and kissing feet for it. Aaaah... if it wasn't for conviction...

LP says I have way too many convictions. she reminds me that I have already turned down several lucrative offers because of my "convictions" - not allowing myself in situations that would threathen to compromise integrity, ie, bribing, underhand dealings, etc. Seriously, I hope I am not turning into a legalistic zealot. I do hope that at the end, it is God's righteousness that is shown forth. I hope that I am not making a mistake.

But I do believe that the Spirit works in our consciences and somehow, in His faithfulness God helps us despite of ourselves. I believe God will bring in the right jobs, the ones pleasing in His sight. I believe His blessings are the ones that carry no sorrow with them. I believe in Providence. And I believe, in the end, every single thing we do and every single thought (and the motivation behind them) will be brought to God face to face.

And I'd hate to be ashamed on that day.

Dear God, steady me in my decisions. Especially when the alternatives get very tempting.

Floating the Tithe

I find the issue of tithing quite fascinating. More so, when I have to make decisions on how much. Traditional opinion suggests 10 percent of gross income, or more. But is that all to it?

Of course, you have well-meaning people whose testimonies of "not being able to out-give God" plastered and heralded all over. These are people who have endured very trying financial situations (to the point of not being able to feed their children, etc) and still gave whatever paltry sum they had to God. And they testify of being rewarded; they miraculously got out of debt (usually by someone else's intervention) or whatever difficult situation they were in, and is now giving glory to God. That's really good, don't get me wrong. It gives tremendous stimulation and encouragement that God is certainly good, generous and above all, very concerned about the welfare of His children.

But doesn't that make some people think that God is some kind of vending machine? Slot in a coin and get whatever you want? Or worse, a one-arm bandit... just push in your "investment" this time round and see how God "miraculously exponentially returns it?" Or sublimely more dangerous: pay your tithes, it is an insurance against financial calamity and other woes?

In Old Testament, the people of God were required to give a stipulated amount of their possessions back to God, who owns everything anyways. It was part of the Law. No arguement there.

New Testament devotees were told to give sacrificially, with a cheerful heart. That means it could be anything from 1 to 100 percent. Let your heart attitude determine the giving barometer. That's the essence of the freedom Jesus came to give those who believe in Him. Absolute, but with an awesome sense of responsibility. IMHO, no longer can we hide behind the excuse of the law in a fixed numeral tithe. Now it is our hearts which determine the amount we give, and by that, indicate a clear reflection of our spiritual condition.

To be fair, not all people who give great amounts are spiritual giants. The same is to be said of the opposite - not all who give smaller amounts are spiritual gnats. I had known people who had so little to live on, and they do not have anything leftover. Should they be made to feel quilty over their "lack of giving"? I had also known a congregation where one had no qualms of going into debt to "pledge in faith" for an impending church project.

I fall into the 10 percent or more category. Had been there since the day I put my faith in Jesus. Of late, my mind had been brought back to the issue of "getting out of the fixed numeral box" when tithing. Since then I had been sensing the danger of 'floating my tithe' (danger of injury to my own wallet, that is.)

For the first three months, I held back from normal tithing, all the while holding my breath to see if any financial catastrophe will overtake my 'insolence and rebellion'. Nothing happened. Which made it worse as I merely expected the bad things to snowball and hit me harder.

At the end of the third month, I was quite nervous. Never in my Christian life had I failed to tithe, and this experiment was coming to a point where it should have its conclusion, or so I thought. Then, it so happened that a missionary friend visited. One thing led to another and I ended up giving out a generous amount to my friend that covered more than my normal tithe over the same period. It wasn't forced giving, nor was it out of compulsion. It was a natural thing that was devoid of much contemplation nor thought. It was very... spontaneous and natural.

Hmmm... I was relieved when I got tithe out of the way after the third month. It was God's grace upon this little experiment of mine. He knew I probably couldn't take the stakeout much longer, and He also showed me that I had a restricted view of giving. Don't get me wrong, giving should be a consistent discipline, but over the long haul, it should more accurately reflect the condition of the heart rather than a mere adherence to a common practice.

I still "float my tithe". With less guilt (every experiment is a new experience!) and more confidence these past few months, though. A general observation is that I tend to give more after the floating has begun, but the fact that I don't know exactly how much more is a good sign that my head - and heart - had started to lose count.

To Nile or not to Nile

People ask me why I still type with pain in my arms. I usually ward off those kinda questions with a timely joke or a swift change of subject. Handy to have some of those up the sleeves. If you take away writing from me, I would... waste away? Granted, I don't make the prolific writers' list, but hey, who says you've gotta be Indian to enjoy good curry?
Just like you don't need to be an Egyptologist to be fascinated by that ancient civilisation down the Nile. One of these days (I am hoping it would be this year) I will make that trip down the Valley of The Kings and hang out at the Cairo Museum, do the tourist thing (something I haven't done in a long time) and basically be enamoured by the great historic and cultural landscape all around me. Aaaaah...

Man, gotta go rough it out before I get too old and need dentures to chew through my salad. Or else just stock up the backpack with porridge mix. Can't wait to to wander, wander, wander... maybe I should just hook up with a professional wanderer to do a global circuit thing.... hmmm...

Year of The Dog

It's Chinese New Year and my phones haven't stopped ringing! Relatives, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends... the killer calls are the ones from a couple time zones apart, waking you up with enthusiastic "Xin Nien Huai Le"s while you grope around trying to place the receiver on your ear.

If that doesn't prove a health hazard, the monster eating sprees would soon settle that score. Food, food and more food! Increasingly, Chinese New Year has become an excuse to just pig out shamelessly (and thereafter forking out another bundle of moola to gorge our bodies in super slimming therapies to rid the guilt). How much more decadent can we get?

Anyways, I didn't eat much this year coz I was still recovering from flu, plus the fact that I wasn't in the mood for celebration. I've got a couple of angpows though, so that's not too bad. And I could see some good things happening - three of my aunts have responded positively to me taking them to church next Sunday (I hadda wrench them out from their very tight weekend mahjong schedule). I mean, these are aunts who had seen how impossibly bratty and spoiled I was as a young child.... so I guess they wanna check out just what kinda institution could "religionise" a person like me. Whatever.

Today I gotta get stuff from the market so we could cook for a deluge of relatives coming tomorrow, on top of my cousin and his girlfriend who's staying overnight tonight. I love having people around the house (so long as they don't try to matchmake me).

This being the lunar Year of the Canine really brings back wistful
memories of my three dachsunds, all of whom died in the same year. Two were run over by cars, and one died of old age. There were many visits to the vet and I wished I had known about dog insurance back then. Just that pet insurance wasn't very popular. These days, people are more market-savvy and would definitely shop around and compare to settle for the best pet insurance in town.

But hey, Chinese New Year is the time for celebration, rejoicing and of course the big feast!!! And who knows, I may recover and get myself Dachshund #4.

Weekend Rant

Conversation between two friends.

MY: It's the year of the dog. That means it's "our year". We are old farts.

BT: But we have been old farts longtime ago, buddy.

MY: True, but I sure didn't feel like one till... ok, till I had that darned carpal tunnel flipping syndrome, ok? At least I thought I was still immortal...

BT: ...till the delusions dissipated. Wake up, woman! We are old, old! In medieval times we would have had grandkids at our age.

MY: In medieval times we would have died from childbirth, too. Or worse, from some bubonic plague and childbirth. I dunno which is worse - dying young, bloodstained and naked with bad skin, or dying old with botox and bad skin.

BT: Either way you still die.

MY: Yeah, but I sure want to make my life count! I mean, I am an old fart and still haven't done all I am supposed to do!

BT: Aren't you supposeda wait for God's timing?

MY: Easy for you to say! You're not the one in stucksville (or should it be "sucksville") wondering if you'll ever go out to frontline missions again!

BT: As far as I know, Abraham waited plenty years before heading out to the unknown yonder.

MY: Excuse me, Abraham also had plenty of property, not to mention camels and whatever animal-stock while on his wandering circuit.

BT: So now you want some camels?

MY: Very funny... but come to think of it, a new set of wheels wouldn't hurt...

BT: But would it help?

MY: I guess not. (Beat.) No amount of material possession would, not when it is merely used as a substitute for a deeper hunger. Thing is, I have been out of action for 5 years. And that's a mighty long time! I've been waiting for open doors all these while and... I am tired! I will get old and frail and unable to be of any use anymore!

BT: Hmmm...for that, I think God will imprison you a while longer.

MY: I really hate talking to you...

Dear God, when I get impatient, help me to understand that ultimately, it's not my will nor desires that matter.

Relinquishing Control

I have only responded to altar calls in my new church ("new" as in the present one I am attending, of which I had become a member of, and am currently worshipping in) two times.

Number 1 happened years ago when I was hopelessly lost and drifting in a sea of confusion after an upheaval of faith. Number 2 happened today. It was a simple message, a call to go to missions, and it basically spoke to every part of me. Usually I would be sceptical and wary of making an emotional response (especially during altar calls), but today, none of those things came to mind as I got out from my seat and ran the distance to the front of the stage. There was no conflict or whatever of that sort as I whizzed past the aisle. All I was thinking was: "I really want to be prayed for... I am commiting myself to this thing, come what may... and if I perish, I perish... so help me God."

As I got out, I saw that I was the only person out there. In a congregation of 2,000 people, I was the only person in front, where every pair of eyes (that'll be 4,000 eyeballs, thanks for the math) were watching. Great job Michelle, always ending up being a spectacle when it is least desired. Anyways, it was too late to pull back (nor did I intend to), so I walked right up to the front of the stage and basically avoided looking at the musicians right in front of me, just in case I find them staring back.

Thankfully, some other people trickled in after that. One guy I've seen several times in church came and stood beside me. When I saw him I instinctively gave him two thumbs up. He reciprocated. (Must have been a sight, two people in full view of the entire congregation giving each other finger signals.)

Some people prayed for me (two ladies, to be specific). I got prayed for by a second lady coz I didn't leave the altar after the first prayer (I didn't know I was supposed to).

So, this is it. The entire thing is basically in God's hands. My arms still hurt, but heck, I'll take pain over loss of sensation anyday. I am so thankful my hands are still functioning, if somewhat painfully. Some people don't even have that luxury.

Meaning in Pain

Executioners of that day drove their spikes through the wrist, right thru the carpal tunnel that houses finger-controlling tendons and the median nerve. It is impossible to force a spike there without crippling the hand into a claw shape. Jesus had no anesthetic. He allowed those hands to be marred and crippled and destroyed. (In His Image, Dr Paul Brand)

It is good to be able to type again, no matter how briefly it may be. Heck, it is good just to feel the keys on the (newly-installed, 2nd-hand) ergonomic keyboard. After weeks of being misdiagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome/ arthritis/ fibromyalgia; I am glad to be back in action, thanks to my mother who took really good care of me. She should consider a career in nursing.

Pain is a terrible thing. Or it can be a wondrous gift, depending on which perspective one happens to be swaying towards. On one hand, it is a situation no one wants to encounter but which everyone does, in one form or another. No one is exempt. Pain visits your body, emotions and mental faculties, gnawing where it matters and leaving a trail of vivid memories.

But is there meaning to pain?

Ah... the age-old medical question! In physical terms, pain is an in-built human mechanism that naturally triggers a warning when something goes wrong with our bodies, or when certain areas need attention. Talk to a leprosy patient and he will tell you how he wished he could feel pain. I know because I shook the right stump (what had remained of his hand) of one such person and saw the shocked reaction on his face. I guess he didn't see that gesture coming at him. He had lost his left arm, some parts of his face and his right palm because he was unable to feel pain.

In fact, pain is a gift that not many people appreciate nor ask for. Many would seek explanation for medical issues associated with it, and the lucky ones will find a diagnosis. Others live with it. And sometimes it goes on for years. Ask me why a loving God would allow His children to suffer and I definitely would not be able to answer satisfactorily. But note: It is exactly the love that is God that allowed the cruelty of the cross - raw, non-edited, on-your-face. It is something the natural mind finds hard to comprehend. It is grasped by faith, a total reliance and belief on a Person and on that Person alone.

Wait and Ponder

As of today, I will not be using my arms anymore, not unnecessarily anyways. *sigh* (my friend Crystal is typing this post) I have a few more hours til nightfall, so I can actually drive myself home, bring a book to a friend, umm.., return money to another friend (who actually paid for my wrist splint) and eat my meal without being fed.
I HATE CARPAL TUNNEL SYNDROME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Complaints aside, what is God teaching me through this? Do I actually need more pain in my life? Hmm, maybe I do. First, my right arm was gone, then my left arm decided to follow suit. Great. One of the things about pain and suffering is that the more you get it, the more you get used to it. It's a sick way of being positive but I guess compared to the pain and suffering that Jesus went through, what I have is peanuts (not that I want more...)

So I walked through the bookstore today and the horrible thought struck me, "What if I permanently stay this way? I would be totally dependant on someone else to drive me around, type out my thoughts, open the car door for me... AARRGGHHHHH

*Another sigh* So I read all these books on pain. On suffering. Our humanness. But to go through it is another thing altogether. And it would help if it doesn't hurt that much to hold up a book to read either. Always told God that He had better take me home than to allow me to remain on earth as a vegetable. But I guess I shouldn't be dictating the scene of my martyrdom, huh?

Being incapacitated on both arms, although not entirely, is a new experience and a new kind of imprisonment. Seeing how much I value freedom, this has got to be the lowest of the lowest pit. Ugh. But God has a plan, God has a plan. Maybe this is a time for me to rest. Not just physically, but to really slow down in every area of my life and wait. And ponder.

*Sigh*

Retirement Town?

Maybe. It's a great place to spend an undisturbed quiet weekend, but not terribly thrilling for city slickers used to nocturnal excitement and bright lights. Sleepy town of Bagan Dato, Perak, West Malaysia.

Raw Palm Fruit

Shaggy and husky stuff on the outside

...can be removed to reveal the naked fruit...





...up close.

Pain and Suffering

The thing about being disabled is that beyond the frustration, pain and inconveniences, one learns to adapt. Whether it is a temporary setback or a permanent condition, the adaptation curve of course, largely depends on one's attitude.

My friend's wife suffered a series of minor strokes last week. She had platlet complications as well as diabetes and high blood pressure. We prayed in the face of a very scary situation. She bounced back, and will be discharged from hospital in a couple more days. She lost motor funtion on her left body though, and will have to go through extended periods of physiotherapy.

I have lost the full use of my right arm for close to 3 weeks. First it was frozen, and when it thawed out it hurt when I moved my wrist. Practically lost my ability to grip. People prayed for me too, but my condition seemingly got worse. I figured this was the "forced rest" that my body needed, although my brain keeps psycho-ing it to push the limits just a little bit more.

Adapting to a disablement is never easy, even when it is not serious. Frustration and anger may be initial responses as nerves and tendons gang up on you, especially with looming deadlines and gazillion other things to do. Stressful.

Then acceptance dawns. That one is not immortal after all, that one day (nearer now than before) we all die and what remains is how we have lived - either for ourselves or for God. Then you start to look at people in a different light. You see beauty in places you've never really appreciated them before - in a deformed child, in a badly-burnt victim, in a multiple sclerosis patient. No, you don't just see beauty in them, you identify with them. For a moment, you actually know how it feels to live in an imperfect body.

Does it take pain and suffering to open our eyes? And our hearts? Granted, pain and suffering mean different things to different people, but one thing binds us all in common. We flee from suffering like it is the plague.

It would take longer for my friend's wife to recover than it would for me. For that, I am thankful. But more so for the fact that I've had the chance to partake of this side of humanity that is (understatedly) unpopular and shunned, that many obhor and avoid. And was able do it because Jesus had gone ahead of me.

School's Out!

Two village girls taking a breather from playing. Its the school holidays and their parents are at work. No better time to get into mischief...

Wisdom

As Os Guinness puts it:

As we get older, our reflexes are slower and our powers of retention smaller, and we certainly have no more idea now of what the future may hold. But a large part of wisdom comes from the accumulated experience of knowing what the future will not hold, and that vital wisdom increases as we get older. In other words, comprehension and wisdom improve even as memory falters. Wisdom is a matter of the quality of what we know, not the quantity.
--- (Prophetic Timeliness - A Challenge to the Idol of Relevance)

How comforting.

Seat With A View

Advance booking required for this seat



Grand view but you need to fit in here

And be constantly excited by the sight of raw food

Starting Young

Blissfully innocent and completely curious, this little girl tagged along with her parents while they shopped at the evening market during the fasting month of Ramadhan.

Rising From Mud

Was it worth getting stuck in super-mud (soft, coastal muck that sticks to your feet like cement), feeding 20 mosquitoes on one arm and risk getting camera lens wet in the drizzling rain to shoot a half-ripened pineapple in the middle of a village field?

Yes.

He Cares

Finished studying the book of Ruth this week. Good exegesis, but personally I found it bordering on the stuff romance books are made of... you know, widowed woman who "just so happened" to glean at elibigle bachelor's field, caught his attention, found out he was a kinsman-redeemer (a relative who in ancient Israel was responsible for the welfare of his relatives), hatched a plan to propose and eventually married him. Ahem.

In a nutshell, that's how God providentially cares for his people (in this case Ruth, as a foreigner, didn't even qualify). But He cared nevertheless. Makes me think of how His grace had worked and provided for my life, even at times when I didn't acknowledge or wanted Him to be around.

I do see Him around, though. In many instances in my life. One of them is during dinner. Mealtimes can tell you a lot about a family. I never really had that chance while growing up coz our family stayed apart - I was at the babysitter's, my brother with granny, dad was away for very long periods and my mom worked till late. Oh, we had meals together during festive seasons, and even that felt wierd. Made me long for my companion the tv (or books) instead.

But a strange (and wonderful) thing happened 2 years ago. My brother and his small family moved back with my parents and we started to have meals together, every night. In the beginning it was surreal. Here we are, all grown up and doing things we didn't get to enjoy while we were kids. Of course it was awkward at first, conversations were stilted and uncomfortable, but after two years, this practice slowly crept into our lives and took root.

Now conversation flows freely (most times), and dinnertime has become the most important part of the day where everyone pauses to thank God for His blessings. God is honoured at the dinner table. Guests who eat with us are are often blessed, even as it is our privilege to have them.

What a contrast! In the place of swearing, yelling and violence, we now have peace, kinship and care. Our family is the first amongst both maternal and paternal clans to experience this kind of goodness. My take? God's invisible hand has been working behind the scenes all these while after all...

Breaking Fast

Woke up at 4.30am to eat leftovers from the earlier day's supper, along with some friends. Well, at least it beats having cheeseburgers...

Occupy, occupy

Nothing is so unbearable to a man [sic] as to be completely at rest,
without passions, without business, without diversion, without study.
He then feels his nothingness, his falseness, his insufficiency, his
dependence, his weakness, his emptiness... (Blaise Pascal).

I really think so too, Blaise. How can we, bunch of do-ers as we are, ever reconcile the fact that in our innermost beings we are actually frail, insufficient, dependant and weak? We don't. We just ignore and hide it. By doing things.

My problem is that I am always doing something. Or thinking about doing it. Even in my emptiness, I still devise plans on the next project, next undertaking (worthwhile or not is another matter altogether). Blame it on the Type A syndrome, or high sugar intake, or grandma's super strong influence (she never seemed to stop doing housework - nor any work for that matter).

Hey, I dunno why I am wired this way, ok?

I do know however, that this weekend's photo shoot at the coastal village would be fun. Sure, it's work. But it's paid fun, so that's gotta count for something. In fact, the troops leave in exactly 6 hours. Can hardly wait.

Not Just Music

I watched the Eagles Farewell Tour (I) today with my godbrother. I have not done that since... forever. We used to play in the same band many years ago, he played the drums and lead guitar, Jason the bass, Jim would alternate on drums and the sound console, Bea on the piano, Su Yin on vocals, me on keyboards. We were a close-knitted group, hung out together most of the time, definitely had fun playing together, cared deeply for each other, etc, etc

At one point, I thought my existence depended on the music practices and the tea-drinking sessions that ensued. I hated the actual performance days coz it lacked experimentation and spontaneity. And I hated the fact that there was actually an audience listening and watching every move I made.

I left the band first. Sailed on a ship (amongst other things) and didn't really return till 5 years later. In between, Jim and Bea left too. Inevitably, we are all part of each other's memories. We may have grown apart or even estranged, but there is something in our relationship that just wouldn't die - despite the passage of time, opinions or new faces.

I hadn't asked them yet, but I suspect each of them - in their heart of hearts - harbour this desire to play together again. It was not just the music. It was the bond that was nurtured by hours of insane practices, between sheets of chord charts, fired by the passion to let the music soar. It was the sound of worship.

Yup, we will probably play together again. When the time is right.

Money Wheel

She was waiting for my friend and I. Medium height, hair pulled back in a ponytail, she adjusted her plastic-framed glasses and gave us a broad smile as we both sat down opposite her at the Indian diner.

My friend and I were prepared. Since the meeting was inevitable, we braced ourselves for the onslaught. And just like any hopeful recruiter, she was eager, motivated and dead-set on the belief that her internet business program would pave her way to financial freedom.

Sometime in the middle of the meeting her story disgorged – she still retained her corporate day job while trying to build a business to support her ageing parents and siblings. Her weekdays are spent working long hours and weekends occupied with business meetings. Commendable. I am surprised that after 4 million similar stories she still had my full attention. Actually, it was more of feeling sad for her.

My friend reckoned that it is “the system of this world” that’s the root of all these problems. She was reading Exodus, the part where Aaron and Moses approached the Egyptian pharaoh and asked for a 3-day reprieve for the Israelite slaves to make sacrifices to God. But the request backfired and the pharaoh was like, hey let’s make these lazy Israelites do more work, since they are paying attention to all these lies about sacrifice.

Are people hamsters? Trapped running on a tyrannical money-wheel that screams faster, faster, faster? How much productivity is enough? How much money is enough?

Sigh.

The brainwashing continues…Outdo! Outsell! Outrun! Out-think! Very soon it would be lights out, kiddo. And our lives would have accounted for little more than just having existed to make up the numbers.

Never had contentment been that elusive. Never had it been more needed.

Fatigue

In the past 24 hours, two guys (on separate occassions) whom I had not met in a couple months told me my face had turned green. As much as I appreciated their honesty, I didn't find their observation very flattering. Of course, it was tactless but at least it was the truth. I checked in the mirror. Disturbing. Sure, I had just recovered from a frozen arm and fever, but I hadn't realised my skin had turned to the colour of chrolophyll in the process.

Sheesh... I hate it when I tire easily and feel weak! There are so many things I cannot do (but would still attempt anyways). I felt so groggy today that I almost became a road menace while driving. Ugh. I hate it when my body doesn't obey. Hate, hate... think I need to sleep now. Too tired to think...

Left-handed Momentarily

Aaaargh! Lost use of right arm and now typing with 1 finger on left hand!!! Several possible reasons - Tennis Elbow. Writers' Cramp. Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Stressed nerves clumped at base of neck.

Either way it is not good.

Alistair

I met Alistair Davidson in 1997 when LP and I were visiting the Carlisle Cathedral. In his 50s, portly and good-natured, he was the guide who really kept us entertained and interested in gothic structures and the "rich history of north England's religious past".

It must have been some sort of wild chemistry, coz the three of us hit it off straightaways. Imagine wicked humour, mischevious demeanour and witty sarcasm all lumped into one brewing concoction. No stirring needed.

Anyways, Alistair had a ball of a time (which prob explained why he invited us to his home for Sunday dinner that week). Since LP had gone back to London, the invite was directed at me.

I accepted with glee, being the social animal that I was (and still am). Any kind of social activity was most welcomed in Carlisle, and I was eager to know Alistair and his wife Pat better.

Unfortunately, as the dinner drew nearer, I started to have reservations and doubts. Why had I been so rash to accept? What if they are serial killers who prey on foreigners and proceeded to serve body parts the following meal? Eeek... paranoia working overtime....

The big day arrived. I had to keep to my word. Made my way to their house on the other side of town with a real sense of unease. I just didn't know what to expect.

When Pat opened the door, I thought I was doomed. She reminded me of the photo of the English serial killer I saw while browsing the crime section of the bookstore. It didn't help when their house was dimly lit, stuffy and overheated. I was asked to sit on the sofa, and was offered a drink while we made small talk.

All these while my mind and heart were racing, "calm down... locate the nearest exit, lock your attention there while showing these people how interested you are in their conversation...and don't drink too much... might be spiked..."

Finally dinner was served. It took me a while to get used to mushy peas and really tender roasts, but Pat's Yorkshire puddings were to die for... until today I can still taste it at the tip of my tongue...

We talked a lot that evening, about everything and anything. In fact, I spent almost every Sunday evening with Alistair and Pat for the next 2 years. Alistair retired working at the train station and was an avid modeler. He made all those 'cute toy soldiers' which he would display on his shelves at home. He loved history, and would take me to the much lesser-known parts of northern England and Scotland to show me castles, cathedrals and churches. Of course, I accompanied him on his trainspotting trips as well, though that has never really caught on.

Alistair loved to paint too, oil, watercolours, you name it. I had grown to love this man and his wife, both unassuming, kind and just regular people. We did something every Sunday. In the summer months it would be fishing, visiting the Fells or birdwatching at his huge backyard. One year he wrangled an invitation for me to speak to the children in his grand-daughter's school (they wanted to know more about people from Asia). During winter we would stay heated indoors while talking about anything from the state of world affairs to the price of beans.

During the last few months of my time in England, Alistair's health had taken a turn for the worse. Instead of his usual walking stick, he needed to be put on a wheelchair. Still, he was spirited, and even attended one of my church's services. Later, he would be confined to his wheelchair in his bedroom upstairs. Even so, he would be snarky when I spoke to him over the phone halfway across the world. I realised his strength was failing, even though his spirit wasn't.

During our last few conversations, we talked about life, death and eternal salvation. He assured me we will meet again, if not on earth.

Meanwhile, I miss my friend.

Wed and Dead

Just got the news. Alistair passed away couple hours back, in his home in Carlisle, north England. Don't feel anything yet - prob because the reality hasn't sunk in. I still have his paintings and cards and stuff in my room, his wife Pat had sent them years ago.

Right after Pat's email bringing the sad news, another friend messaged her anticipation at her upcoming wedding. Life goes on, we are hardly masters of our fate.

Not a Pervert Title

Aaaah... read "The First Time I Got Paid For It" at Kinokuniya this afternoon, during a downpour downtown. Mostly 2-pager snippets describing rags-to-riches accounts of (now) famous writers who were scraping-barrel-bottom poor at one point of their lives (but now have their dream Swiss chalets, villa in the country and are just short of heaping more onto their money pile at the expense of the hapless book buyer).

Strange thing is, books as such seem to be very popular, mostly coz they hit a vulnerable spot - a weak link, chink in the armour or what-have-you in their targetted audience (ie, those who walk around with a "In need of recognition... of any kind" sign emblazoned on their foreheads).

Anyways, with nose buried between the pages I read thru' half the book in two hours (had to be extremely good or really bad - go figure...)

Of course the Hollywood bigwigs had their obligatory say, most of them describing how their big break came about. It was pleasant reading, you know, writers reading about other writers, and wishing stuff that happened to them would happen to you too... (actually if they are real writers, probably half the stuff are gross exaggeration anyways...) And it wasn't just about the money either (though that would help). If you are writing for money, you may as well jump into the feng-shui bandwagon and get rich telling people what common sense had been trying to do all these while. While at it, throw in some obligatory seminars, workshops and TV appearances to cash in on the rakings-er-ratings. Perfect.

Anyhow, it was good encouragement to know that even writers like Bocho, Alda, Ephron and Goldberg had suffered the short end of the hustling game at some point... then again, for every Alda, there are probably 376 wannabes still bussing tables trying to edge their scripts onto the studio executives' desks.

One fella they didn't have in there was Akiva Goldsman (he wasn't a 'somebody' during time of print). And who could ever leave Orson Welles out? And live? No matter what stories other writers tell about themselves, nothing beats personal experience, I believe. That way, there's always a ring of authenticity to the story, no matter how many times it has been rehashed.

And yeah, decided to save my money and not contribute to Swiss chalet #3 for some hot writer who already make a ton of money.

Whenever I kick myself senseless over the rubbish I churn out, remind me God, to be thankful for the ability to write in the first place.

Lately unschooled

I often wondered what they teach kids at schools. Today I had a sneak preview. In fact, Joyce, this 8-year-old daughter of a friend, had sneaked up on me and pipped a question about geometry. Which was great, considering I had a consistent record of failing miserably in all manner of mathematics - applied or implied.

Joyce was undeterred.

"Jie-jie, do you know what a vertex is?"

"Do you mean a vortex?" I asked.

"No, no, it's a vertex. Can you tell me where the vertex is?" she opened a textbook that revealed an array of different geometric shapes, their names and descriptions.

"I have never heard of a vertex, are you sure it is part of your lesson?"

"Yes!" she thundered, getting impatient. "How come my teacher knows what it is and you don't??" A hint of exasperation there.

"Tell you what, Joyce," I said, "we'll google it, go to wikipedia and sort the entire thing out in 2 minutes, ok?"

One minute later, two other adults joined in to decipher the wikipedia explanation. "In 3D computer graphics, the a vertex is a point in 3D space with a particular location, usually given in terms of its x, y, and z coordinates. It is one of the fundamental structures in polygonal modelling... etc."

"OK, Joyce," I cooed in my most assuring tone,"don't sweat it. We now only have to find out what a polygonal model is, and then we will know what a vertex is all about! Easy, right?"

"But my teacher knows it and it is very simple! Why can't you explain it to me???? I just need to know where (in relation to the diagram) it is...!"

"Be patient, Joyce, ok, here is the explanation for a polygonal model.... (blah, blah)..."

By this time, all three adults were staring at the computer screen trying to crack the polygonal code. It may as well have been in hieroglyphics.

Joyce meanwhile, has disappeared from the room. (Maybe she finally decided that she wasn't going to waste her youth talking to baloney-spewing bozos, albeit articulate ones.)

When she returned, she opened another textbook which showed in great detail the different shapes, their names, and what each line and edge and corner is called. And there, there was the mighty vertex, in full view and in unmissable, distinct wording.

"Nah," she said, "look at the book. It says the vertex is the pointed tip of a cone or a pyramid (which traditionally points to the sky)." Satisfied, she finished her homework and went her merry little way, leaving us adults in a wake of incredulous shame.

I need an aspirin. Or go back to school.

Aspirin. Less tormenting.

Beauty is in the Heart

A friend asked me to comment on beauty and the media. (He must have thought I was some kind of vocab factory capable of churning out profound quotes at the drop of a hat... hey, I am flattered). But I have to accept my limitations - I ain't no vocab whiz and certainly not in a position to comment on topics of such aesthetic nature with dexterity and wit.

But the thing is, if beauty is measured according to what everyone (including the media) says - from both inside and outside - then why are we still hankering after the external? Why do we desire to look good in order to feel good? Why should the standards of beauty be determined by celebrities whose existence depend on an army of makeup artists and photoshop backroom boys?

An accquaintance who worked at a popular slimming establishment once told me that the expensive slimming programmes actually put the clients in a worse-off situation than before they had walked into the shop. Sure, this is not news... but wait... if this is so, then WHY ARE PEOPLE STILL FLOCKING TO BE FLEECED?

The cosmetics industry makes serious bucks, along with their advertising and mass media compatriots - all to create, sustain, persuade and manipulate this desire (to be beautiful according to stipulated standards) and more importantly, to make this desire attainable.

It's like, if being more beautiful is within your reach, why not grab it with both fists? And throw a few more bottles of botox, some collagen, and a pair of silicone implants into the basket as well. After all, we all deserve to be beautiful and happy. Da de dum...

I guess people (despite the lip service) had forgotten that beauty has more to do with the inside rather than the outside. They'd forgotten that there was a time when beauty was used to describe goodness, truth, integrity, meekness, patience, selflessness. There was a time when character - not looks - made a man.

Why are these qualities a rarity in the media? Why the persuasion towards the external? To satisfy our base desire to covet? To feed envy? If so, we are in D.S., if we aren't already.


God, help me identify real beauty when it comes my way.

Babette's Dream

There are many things I like about the movie Babette's Feast. The colours, the cinematography, set dressing, the story, the emotions attached to it, the characters, aso asf.

But mainly I like it for its depiction of giving.

Everyone gave something in that story. The old father, his two ageing daughters, their maid Babette, the murmuring villagers, the general, etc, etc.

I guess in a world of take, take, take, that's an absurd, awkard and even stupid thing to do. Why give when you can keep? Why be selfless when it's your right to have it all?

But then again, why not?

Babette came from a world of aristrocatic splendour, of French royalty at its hedonistic zenith, to a drab existence of ale-soaked fish in the sleepy fishing village of Jutland where people involved themselves in petty talk about their petty lives.

She subsequently wins a lottery and instead of going back to France to live in her villa and dine on caviar everyday, she returned to Jutland to prepare a feast for her former employers and their bickering villagers - spending all her money to do so.

What on earth possesed her?

Maybe a hint of the answer is found within herself.
Maybe she has grown to love her employers of 14 years - two ageing sisters who, despite their age and own struggles, faifthfully knock on the door of each needy villager to cook, bring food, help and warmth.

Perhaps she had grown tired of the hollow extravagant parties in high society, the stress of keeping up with the Joneses, the futility of staying on top of the social ladder. Maybe.

My favourite interpretation however, is that Babette had a dream. In that dream she saw a place, a city actually, teeming with people. There is something different about this place because the animals roam around, and instead of ending up on the dinner table, these creatures co-exist with humans with ease. (People must have turned into vegetarians). There is a sense of purity and serence calmness about this place... it's uncanny, ethereal yet real.

Babette must have saw this place from afar, a place where:

Love and faithfulness meet together
Righteousness and peace kiss each other
Faifthfulness springs forth from the earth
and righteousness looks down from heaven

Just Another Day

Things done today:

1. Renewed company's registration at the Registrar of Companies
2. Renewed LP's company at the same place
3. Took mom to the bank and clinic and back again
4. Drawn blood for some haemo-test at the lab
5. Emailed my daily portion to adopted father
6. Fetched my niece from kindy

All before noon!!!!!! (Good, good, good...)

Then, for the rest of the day:

7. Get Saturday's schedule sorted out (helping a friend to take some Zimbabweans out for lunch, movie in the evening, etc)
8. Rush to cinema to get tixs
9. Return DVD to another friend (long overdue!)
10.Go to OM office to meet the guys and rant about newsletter

Er - at some point I gotta get down to some reading. Have 4 books in line, begging to be flipped opened. Man, life is good!

Who you are...

One of the moments that really got me while watching "Clear and Present Danger" (probably for the n-th time) is this:

Admiral James Greer (played by James Earl Jones - better remembered for his portrayal of the voice of Darth Vader) lay in the hospital dying. His protege Jack Ryan (Harrison Ford), the Deputy Director of the CIA was struggling on whether to investigate a growing scandal. The admiral's last words to his protege were:

"You took an oath, if you recall, when you first came to work for me. And I don't mean to the National Security Advisor of the United States, I mean to his boss... and I don't mean the President. You gave your word to his boss: you gave your word to the people of the United States. Your word is who you are."

Your word is who you are.

Trapped... with Joy

Joseph of the Bible has always been great bedtime fodder when I was a kid. Sure, his story had everything that would put a Hollywood epic blockbuster to utter shame - extraordinary plot, great characterisations, important historical context, colourful settings and a happily-ever-after ending to boot.

But that was when I was a kid.

Years and countless character studies later, there are still lessons from this psychedelic-wardrobed (well - he did walk around in rainbow-inspired clothes) personality that stuck.

RT Kendall writes:

When God deals with a man in an extraordinary manner, He almost always puts him in through unusual suffering. The essence of that suffering is often the bleakness of the future. (Gulp!) What makes suffering suffering is the complete absence of hope, humanly speaking. (No kidding!) God chastens those He intends to use in an unusual way by bringing them right to the edge of despair (now, that sounds familiar...). This way (here comes the clincher!) they can never question the explanation for their deliverance when it comes.

Of course, he was talking about Joseph being incarcerated without fault of his own. About the suffering that ensues as each count the cost to follow Christ. I think anyone who seriously wants to follow Jesus would arrive here at some point.

Despair in my dictionary is described as rotten, suckky, yuckky, maggoty, phu-thuey, crap, aso asf. But then again, I am describing the reaction associated with the condition. The actual feeling is one of helplessness and despondency. Of being trapped, suffocated, gagged, handcuffed, bound, tied, shackled... you get the picture.

How easy to tell others that all would be well and beautiful when we become Christians! Liars, liars, pants on fire!!!! (Then again, if someone was to have told me the cost involved in following Jesus before I had made the decision, I would have darted off in the other direction at the bat of an eyelid.)

When Joseph was in the dungeon he simply wanted out. But God had far, far more in mind for him than a mere release from prison. Many of us have ambitions that, in their carnality, are way, way short of what God has in mind for us.

Little did Joseph know what he was being prepared for. As with us. Little do we know about the things God has in mind for us.

"Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God has prepared for them who love him" (1 Cor 2:9)

In that case God, please keep the light streaming in to the prison window. Please.

The Face of Faith

What does faith look like?

An exerpt from "Believing God" by RT Kendall, on the chapter describing Abraham: (This was when Abraham has demonstrated great faith turning his back on Ur and pitching tents in Canaan - the Promised Land. But darn, there was a famine in Canaan and here was what Abraham, the great father figure mentioned in all three theistic religions of the world, did to save his skin).

"Once Abraham made the decision to go to Egypt he began projecting. His projection was the vehicle of his unbelief. What is a projection? It is a defence mechanism by which we superimpose our own fears on to our ideas of another's actions."

To make it short, Abraham projected that Pharoah would be attracted to his wife - he was spot on. (Sometimes our fears can be justified).

Then he projected that in order to stay alive he had to tell a lie, that his wife was his sister - he was wrong. (Projections can lead to unbelief).

The slippery slope of self-projection can spiral to sin of unbelief.

Abraham by this time, has degenerated from awe-inspiring greatness to a considerable muddle of mess.

Of course we know the end of the story. Abraham eventually became the great father from whom the Jews and Arabs draw their religious ancestry. He died a great man of faith, according to the Christians, and was awarded quite a bit of Bible publication space.

Despite that, Abraham's sojourn to Egypt was not mentioned in the book of Hebrews, in that famous chapter that dealt with faith. Possibly, Egypt represented the time of his spiritual descent, a time where his human reasoning led to paranoia, and eventually to a dark, sorrowful chapter in his life.

So what keeps me glued to this issue?

(Because I am at a place which I think is the Promised Land. However, I do not know for sure, and on top of that, there is a famine right here. Due to lack of (mostly external) confirmation, I began to doubt the promises. There is of course, the option to move elsewhere without famine, like Abraham did. But to do that would make null and void the very important principle below:)

"It is better to be in the will of God without the external confirmation - even in famine - than to be out of the will of God with all its inevitable sorrow."

I am VERY, VERY glad there is a Bible to slap me outta delusions and keep me in the straight and narrow.

Seventh Commandment

Adultery. Bad news wrapped around illicit acts with deliciously tempting Hollywood frosting. Of course no well-intentioned person ever starts off wanting to commit adultery in the first place, but hey, this is an increasingly confusing and liberal age we live in, and ever so subtly our emotions draw us to the accessibly forbidden, masking it to be absolutely legitimate.

"If it feels good, just do it."

"Do whatever makes you happy."

"Follow your heart."

All around us, culture, society and the media (which shapes the culture anyways) repeatedly pound us with the benefits and pleasures of unbridled sex with anyone we happen to fancy at anytime we feel inclined, omitting the hassles of commitment and obedience to God's word. It's supposed to be cool to have multiple partners, be homosexual or even a bisexual. Yup, let's celebrate our differences (in sexual preferences). After all, the 10 Commandments were only applicable to the people of old and not to our modern-day society. What does the Bible, which was written so long ago, know about the people of the 21st century anyways?

Years ago, when I was making plans to co-habitate, it felt like the perfect solution for a person of my temperament. What is marriage anyways, besides a piece of paper from a poor rainforest tree sawn before its time?

To cut it painlessly short, all those lofty domestic plans came to naught when I met Jesus. Not only, I discovered, that I was supposed to stay sexually pure; I had to work at it too (which means I am responsible for guarding my heart and mind from wandering - a fulltime pre-occupation since I am prone to daydreaming).

So God, help me understand this. How is it that You created men and women and then clamped them with all these restrictions?

Possible things to think about (in order of priority):

1. Partnership
2. Pleasure
3. Pro-creation

I may never understand completely why God only allows sex in the context of a monogamous marriage, but I can see its benefits. I can see how faithfulness is displayed in these relationships, reflecting the character of God. I can see how God's promises are fulfilled in the sphere of a permanent and committed relationship. I can see how God loves enough to want this kind of relationship and work at it.

Question is: Do I love enough to reciprocate?

Hope

Hope is a good thing... perhaps the best of things. And no good thing ever dies...
(Frank Darabont, screenplay of The Shawshank Redemption - 1995)


Several things happened yesterday:
1. I had a discussion with someone about producing a feature film documentary.
2. I met up with my friends from Wycliffe, who have moved on from OM.
3. I also met my senior from The Star, who urged me to return to journalism.

Immediately after #1, my heart soared with possibilities. Ideas were beckoning from the back of my mind... but I was still cautious (didn't want to be hurt / disappointed / disillusioned again).

Then #3 happened. My heart did a little number again, but it was not as high as what happened in #1. My senior (I keep calling her that because she was my "babysitter" whilst I was a rookie reporter doing the court beat) hadn't seen me in 10 years. She's now Asst. News Editor and kept urging me to go back to journalism. Wow... another skip.

By the time #2 occurred, it was already w-a-y into the night. I spent the evening with a friend who worked in the Doulos pantry with me. Back then, we had lots of fun learning the ropes of evangelism (and pantrydom), conquering our fears, struggling to give up our rights and to prefer others. Tough but critical issues. This friend is now overseas with Wycliffe, still undergoing life's struggles but has grown to tackle them as they come. I am so proud of her. She came back with a future husband in tow too... great going!

So what's that got to do with hope?

Plenty.

After three years of not knowing what to do with my life, I was basically on the verge of losing hope. In God's plan, in my confidence, in the future. I thought I was a has-been, despite all the assurance God has said in His word. I began to doubt because God was silent on those matters. I began to think that He has forgotten me. (I tried to be content in that but somehow it oscillates between coming across as something self-manufactured and a rested confidence...) I see my friends, peers, mentors and 'mentees' moving on in ministry, work and basically life in general and I am happy for them. It is a genuine kind of happiness, but joy was elusive.

Back to hope.

I told my friend that I see this period as a testing time for me. God is working on my charatcer and I don't understand what He is doing. (Not that He consults me or lays out the entire blueprint, you know). I am the type who would find it easier to fight the enemy in the battlefield than stay at home. So I reckoned, God is zeroing in on my weakest point (dread of boredoom) and perhaps wrenching out the dregs of carnal flesh so it can be used later. The entire problem is - it's SO DARN HARD to allow that to happen! I don't want to go through this process! I want an instant solution! Aaaargh!

Yet, hope makes things easier. Somehow the sky seems brighter on a starless night, and the world seems larger in a prison room. And hope makes possible what is presently perceived. I can dare to hope again...



Help, Lord Jesus, to catch me at times when hope falters and I despair.