Journey to Ironhood: Week 6

Week 6 (14-20 Feb):

This week saw me attempting something very silly. I've read about it, been advised against it, yet I turned a deaf ear and did it anyhow. I went on a low carb diet for 2 days. Given the intense and daily training I'm undergoing, it's rather insane to go on a low carbdiet - I'd need all the carbs I can get to fuel my muscles. For every silly decision that you make, you'd have to pay a price for it. I did - my energy level dropped to an all time low; I could hardly walk or stand and needed to lie down to rest because my head was spinning wildly.

I couldn't train for a day and even when I tried to eat, I couldn't take in much. Yet, despite my weak condition, I forced myself to swim the next day, rode 45km the day after and by the third day, I rode 150km from Singapore to Desaru with a group of fellow triathletes, surviving on power gels and chocolate, and lots of adrenaline.

I have since picked up my carb diet, although my appetite hasn't increased dramatically.

All good for now and pressing on to Week 7!

Journey to Ironhood: Week 5

Week 5 (7-13 Feb):

In all your getting, get wisdom. In all your training, get efficient. And undergird them all with sustainability. That, in essence, is a major lesson learnt in week 5.

To put it simply, here's how I build up my training; in fact, this model undergirds every other aspect of my life, including work and personal life.

It's hard to stop learning, when the more we learn, the more we realize how little we know. So as I progress in my training, I'm acquiring life's lesson to better myself not just physically, but wholly.

Journey to Ironhood: Week 4

Week 4 (31 Jan - 6 Feb):

It's hard for a type A personality to slow down, and this scheduled week of rest and recovery has been a trying one!

As I'm writing this now, the sun is shining brightly outside, and I'm fighting the urge and a hundred good reasons why I should be out swimming. I literally have to turn away from the window and quell the desire to pack my swimming gear and head out the door. Because relationships with people are just as important, if not more important. This IronMan may be a significant event to me, but I wouldn't have been able to push through the strict training regime if not for loved ones who built a nest of warmth and support around me, to enable me to train, guilt free.

So this week is dedicated to them - first and foremost, my husband; and secondly, my parents in law - sorry for all the mornings I couldn't have breakfast with you guys because I was out training! And larling, let's head out for coffee later! ;)

Clothes maketh a man; humanity maketh a society

Where in the past families were poorer, hand-me-down clothes were treasured possessions fought for by siblings; in these modern days where new and fancy clothes are easily affordable, second-hand clothes are looked upon with disdain and to be quickly discarded.

I wonder if this speaks true only in better-to-do economies. What about under developed countries where basic necessities are still lacking?

It's so easy to replace convenience with economic wastage.

Or perhaps it's not economical to transport old clothes to under developed countries.

So why are we fixated with having everything new? Why the fixation with gloss and shine? Why do aesthetics appeal so much to the human eyes?

Our practices are a culmination of our cultural environment. Singapore, a small nation run on human resources and break neck speed progress, fixes her gaze at only one thing - to get ahead of all competition and be nothing but the best. It's people, regardless of citizens or foreign workers of the economy; are likewise, conditioned to be single minded in the pursuit for greatness; in the process of which, it is inevitable that secondary things get sidelined. Secondary things which are often values that make us human; values that are found only in the species called man. Values like compassion, humanity and kindred spirit.

Consider China. In its desperate attempt to grow exponentially to make up for the years of closed economy and catch up with the superpowers of the world today, how often do we read of unscrupulous acts of officials and businesses that strove for economic gains at the expense of general health, safety and compassion? To picture this graphically, imagine a sprinter that rudely shoves off his screaming and adoring fans lined at the side of the track, within touching distance of him, who clamors and tries to get a hold of him; the sprinter doesn't look back once. He surges on ahead and even if he has to trample on a member of the crowd that has fallen into his track, he will not stop, but continues sprinting forward - he cannot stop, because time will not stop for him. Such is China, India, and dare I say, our nation, if we lose sight and emphasis of our humanity.

Journey to Ironhood: Week 3

Week 3 (24-30 Jan):

Started the week on a high - barely slept for 2 hours, woke up at 4am and ran 14km. Fueling up more on fruits & vege these days. Added tomatoes to my list of new best friends. The small and crunchy ones. They fight anti-oxidants which abound in an athlete's body. Brilliant!

Just got started on interval (run) workouts. Intervals aren't exactly fun - they drive you like a slave master, and you often feel like bailing out, but if you stick your guns, you'll be thankful when you see marked improvement. Learning to recognize and appreciate good teachers, like intervals.

Enjoying long Saturday rides with my speedster friends, only to find myself pretty worn out and napping for an hour or two after. Like a hyper child made to nap and recharge - ha!

Journey to Ironhood: Week 2

Week 2 (17-23 Jan):

Body is beginning to feel sore and stiff. Occasional headaches. At work, things are picking up pace, so longer hours at work plus intensive training is draining me a little. Keeping myself happy by eating well. Eating averagely 5 smaller meals now. Bread and oranges are my new best friends.

Sustained a fall in the bathroom on Thursday after my bike ride (a sign that I'm lacking rest - currently sleeping averagely 4.5 hours each night). Thankful that accidents happen at home, not on the roads.

Caught a flu on the last day of week 2 - didn't manage to run and swim as planned. Can't wait to be back on track... looking forward to week 3!

Hard worker

Looking at her, I'm sure she will get somewhere someday. She may just be working in a bread shop toasting bread and serving them, but she does them brilliantly fast and well. I'm intrigued, watching her intent focus and speed on the job. A seemingly menial and low paying job to most of the office-working patrons in the financial line in this area, she may look insignificant, but her excellence in her work far outshines the mediocrity of it all.

Her name is Joyce (she wears a name tag), and she works at Toast Box at Plaza Singapura. Do drop by for breakfast if you're in the vicinity in the mornings, and tell me if you notice the most outstanding worker of them all in the shop.

Journey to Ironhood: Week 1

This is the first of 20 weekly updates from now till May 29, the day of my IronMan race in Tianjin, China. Am keeping a journal to share my experience in this arduous journey to Ironhood... stay with me! ;)

Week 1 (10-16 Jan):

All good - week 1 went very well. Very excited and had to resist the urge to clock above and beyond the planned mileage. Only slack was my Sat 90k ride - woke up 45mins past 4am and only managed to ride 60k with the Dawn Riders. That's how much you lose in an hour - 30k. Wow.

A Literary Love Affair

We live in a sea of resources that doesn't quite run out, no matter what economics tell us. There is always alternatives, and ways to make things work good, if not better. There was abundant oil reserves, it runs out, no problem, we research and discover alternative sources of renewable energy.

Likewise, books. They don't run out. We are a fortunate generation living in an advance age of unprecedented technology and communication and never found wanting of media resources.

I always cherish good books like I do a precious, new found treasure, and as much as I relish every word read, I dread every page turned, because that spells the end approaching. As I bask on cloud nine each time with a terrific book, I fall into bouts of despair at the end of each read. I'd caress the book gently, re-reading the cover page and back credits, and skimp through the folded pages which bear lines and sentences that I favor much. After a day or two, I reluctantly drag my feet to the local library and watch the bookdrop swallow my friend whole. The vicious cycle doesn't end there. I'd mull about aimlessly, like a ship without anchor, lost in a sea of restlessly, until I start running and listening to podcasts on books and authors and make a mental note of titles that piqué my interest. I'd hunt the title down on the library online catalogue, find the book and reserve to pick it up; or if it's dead urgent, where I gotta have the book instantly as if my life depended on it, I'd make a special trip to the library during my one-hour lunch break, never mind the rush, and march triumphantly out of the library, with my new book-bride in hand.

Yes, I'm eccentric, and I make no apologies for my frequent, short-lived, literary love affair. If anything, my husband wholly supports it.

Running places

Maybe, deep down, I feel that running might bring me places - across the Great Wall, the Gobi, the Sahara, the Copper Canyons. Maybe, just maybe. And that dream fuels my running everyday.

I'd always wanted to travel; to experience cross cultures. When a lack of finances deprived me from studying in Australia after high school, I held on to a dream that I would visit Australia still - somehow, though I didn't know how then. And sure enough I did, albeit 10 years later, on my honeymoon.

That's just one small example of how my achievements in life don't usually take the typical route, mostly due to financial depravation, but God is mightier than both my internal and external limitations. He has been gracious all these while; and even more so with each passing day. He makes me stronger as I wait, and eventually manifests His multi faceted way of doing things. Indeed, He's never late; He's right on time.

Of course, I haven't quite gotten acquainted to His timetable. Maybe that's because I like to know what and when to expect; while He's more relaxed than I am and unfazed by how desperate or impatient I am. He's cool while I'm not - I'm hot headed and am always wanting to get ahead of myself. It's time I trust Him a little more with my aspirations. Or much more. Or entirely. Because I'm sure what He has in store for me's gonna blow my mind. Simply because He's big and I'm in His plans.

Running for You

When I run, I feel You near; I feel Your joy.

I am free to be who You've created me to be; to pursue my dreams and passions and use them for Your glory. There aren't fixed set rules on how I can glorify You with my pursuits; I listen to the still small voice and pulsing heartbeat that rhyme with peace.

I am not mediocre and will not remain so. I am built for success, great things and much more than I'd ever imagine myself accomplishing. I run to begin the journey of discipline and pursuit that You've placed in my life.

Something marvelous happens each time I run - I end each run feeling bigger on the inside than when I began. My spirit grows bigger and bigger; my dreams higher and higher and my reach wider and wider.

I experience internal transformation I've never experienced before, and the intensity of such encounters heighten with each struggled morning run. It's as if the greater the resistance to run each morning, and the overcoming act of running still; no matter how painful, unfulfiling or unsatisfactory my performance may be; I develop internal muscles of discipline, tenacity, grit and can-do.

What Teddy taught me

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory or defeat.

-Theodore Roosevelt

Running Prayer

It’s a great pleasure to be able to run like I do - to have the support of my husband and in-laws in the pursuit of my fitness and running goals; to sleep by 10 each weekday night and wake by 5 in the morning; to still wake up by 5am on weekends for longer, harder trainings, despite sleeping later on weekend nights, simply because lingering in bed past sunrise irks and frustrates me so.

Thank You Lord, for peace and security in this country that enable me to run early and safely everyday.

Till the day I outrun this tiny island-state from end to end, bring me to bigger pastures and more magnificent landscapes to begin a fresh journey of running and exploring the beauty of Your creation.

Let me never stop running, and may I add, cycling and swimming. Let me never stop, but with every breath of life, let this human body never be limited.

Bigger, better, higher

I need something visual in my life, something that will remind me everyday of the gift of life that I've been generously dealt with. And that is why I write - to draw remembrance and gratitude for all I have, scars from points I've fallen and lessons learnt from them.

Love is the foundation from which dreams are built and visions take flight.

My God, being the magnificent Father that He is, decided that not only would He give me the best possible man to live an amazingly great, fulfilling and rich life; but also incredible support from his parents who love me like their own. With this enclave of an existence of life and destiny (from my God) and this rock solid foundation of love (from my husband and in laws), it has become impossible for me to live nonchalantly, not taking stock of what I do with my time, gifts, talents and abilities.

Discontent at non-progress rattles within my bones. I work, with a vision of expansion. I run, with a vision of position. I give, with a vision of mission. I live, simply with a vision of Him - and as long as I do, I keep dreaming bigger and stepping onto higher plains.

His legacy

As I sat sipping my coffee and munching my toast, with a pen in hand to write my usual morning reflections, I saw a middle-aged father walking in with his teenage daughter. He was dressed simply in a grey collared tee and dark blue berms, carrying a black backpack slung over one shoulder. She was in a bright pink top and white shorts. He ordered breakfast for his daughter and himself, and repeatedly turned over to check that he had ordered sufficient food - he wanted to ensure she had enough to eat. She had rice, while he merely had bread and coffee. They ate mostly silently, except for a few exchanges of animatedly-spoken Indonesian conversation.

The sight of them reminds me of my dad, and created a wishful longing for quality time and intimacy which has been missing from my life for over 10 years.

As I thought of him, I'm puzzled myself that I did not long for a similar intimacy with my mom. Though she played the crucial role of sacrifice in the family (my only recollection of her is just that - lots of hard work and sacrifice), there was almost no exhibit of intimacy, support and encouragement; no providence of knowledge and recreational fun. She was constantly labouring away, making sure there was money for household expenses, the children's education, and savings. There was never a moment of indulgence or luxury. Everything was spoken in terms of money saved. Growing up, she never told me she loved me, was proud of me and never indicated the need to spend time with me, to bond with me.

My dad, on the other hand, though an extremely hard, stern and ready-to-punish man, gave me what every child needed - love, support, encouragement, knowledge and recreation. His declaration of love and demonstration of fatherhood was never conventional - while maintaining a stoic and practical demeanour (at all times - he has never let up or changed, all through the years), he supported me in my love for language; brought me books (from relatives, having not enough money to buy them); encouraged me to read and write extensively; was a strict teacher at home to ensure my good grades; made me read the newspaper and watch the news at nine every night; prohibited me from watching drama serials which to him were a complete waste of time and uneducational; played with me; encouraged me to play with kids in the neighbourhood, saying all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy; brought me and my friends to places adults wouldn't usually bring their kids to - abandoned houses with drug addicts, seedy back lanes of red light districts - in an effort to teach me 'general knowledge' and expose me to the 'real' world.

For all of that, I am very grateful. He was very real, very human. He never tried too hard to become anything he wasn’t. And when I say he was a hard man, he really was. And still is. For all the fond memories he brought me, so many more were painful, for I endured excruciating beatings for my disobedient ways and constant rebellion. My sister was often privy to the display of my bloody wounds, now healed with time.

How very often I've tried to write about my mom, a woman far virtuous and gracious above any other I’ve known, but I have ended up writing about my dad instead. This is yet another instance, a true account of my life, even as I'm still searching for the right words to pen them all down and do justice to those whom I’ve not credited enough.

Innocence lost

It's disquieting, this stew of fondness stirred in regret

The sidelong glance
The shy curves of a smile
The gentle moves of the limbs
The high regard of a trusting heart
The complete yield to a restless brute

Oh the tragedy of innocence lost

This Call

It's been far too long now that my voice has been shut up within my bones, without a drop of ink to etch these words into permanence.

Today I hear a knocking on my door. No, it isn't so much a knocking as it is a persistent rapping; almost rude sounding, for it grows impatient everytime I ignore it. What you are born with will never let you go. It wraps its arms firmly around your heart, mind and soul - embracing your perfections and imperfections, and simply stands in its place throughout your lifetime, without so much as move an inch or yard. It is a reflection of the Creator's faithfulness to you - the calling is irrevocable.

Today I hear Him, open the door and sit down to write.

Creatures of comfort

It's easier to be served than to serve. My eating breakfast at Macs most weekday mornings serve to confirm that. I could jolly well prepare my own breakfast of fragrant toast, wholesome oat and hot coffee, at very little cost, but no, I'd rather fork out a substantially steeper price for instant breakfast not even specially prepared for me like French cuisine usually is, but mass produced by retirees and students earning less money per hour than the cost of my ultra unhealthy n innutritious breakfast set.

This morning I was resisting the urge to buy a cup of cappuccino but bought it anyhow to prove a point to myself – that men (and by that I mean women as well) are creatures of comfort – we'd rather be served than serve. Unlike animals, whose primary instincts are survival, which includes hunting, preying and evading attack – they are creatures of service.

Yet to serve, to work, is an absolutely essential tool for survival in a highly competitive and rapidly progressing world. Which brings me to this point – much as we yearn for comfort, we weren't created for such. We are created for work, as animals and plants are. The need for comfort and relaxation comes as a reward for our hard work, not a natural given. In short, we should strive to serve, to work hard, and after all these, enjoy the fruits of our labor in moderate proportions. Then, and only then, will we be fulfilled as creatures of both service and comfort.

Covenant Song

Lord give me one heart & one way

That I may fear You forever

That all may go well for me and my children

Make an everlasting covenant with me

That You will not turn away from me

Nor will You withhold good things from me

Put Your fear in my heart

That I will not depart from You

Yes, rejoice over me

Pour Your blessings over me

Plant me in this land, in Your house

Forevermore

adapted from Jer 32:39-41

Step into the sunshine

Today I sit at Macs and take in the cacophony of sounds, especially the high decibel of chatter from secondary kids. What on earth are they doing here in the mall so early in the morning, invading the audio space of working adults preparing to get to work? Don't they have school?

It's too stark not to notice the gregarious bubbles of the youth, compared to the stoned, cold pillars of the adults, mulling over work while chewing on their sausage mcmuffins and sipping hot coffee.

Ah, the weight of the world carried on the shoulders of adults!

Have we grown from enthusiasm to sobriety?

What we lack, we desire.

What we desire, we envy in others.

How do we stop this vicious cycle?

Break the ice that locks you in a segregated and cold world, and step into the sunshine.

Welcome to a better, happier world.

The Book of Eli

When was the last I watched a movie that significantly affected my mental & spiritual disposition? I can't remember, but I did today. The Book of Eli shakes the core of my beliefs in what I have been living by since the day I was born - my faith and walk with Christ.

The Book of Eli invokes a renewed love and reverence for the precious Word of God, an abiding guide to this walk of life and a very present help in times of need.

He is the voice that leads me on a journey of faith, my protector, my shield from harm, my deliverer. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for He is with me - He never leaves nor forsakes me. He neither sleeps nor slumbers, He is my constant victor. In Him will I trust, from this day till journey's end.

Running for Fitness

For those of who have always wanted to start running for fitness (having read or heard that running burns the most calories in the shortest amount of time - yes, you've read and heard right) but lack the willpower to, here is a piece of practical tip on running that I shared with a friend recently. Read on for bite-size, manageable pointers to help you run consistently every week...

Here are some things I started out with, which you could replicate, but do tailor according to your own needs, ability and schedule.

Are you a day or night person? When are you at your best? You could start by running in the morning before you start school/work. Which means you have to get up an hour earlier than your usual time (tell yourself it’s not so bad; it’s just an hour – I can do it!).

Start by running 20mins 3 times a week, for a month.

By the second month, increase to 25mins, and if possible, run 4 times a week.

As much as you are able to push yourself, do push yourself to go further and longer, and more often. But don’t push yourself too much too quickly, or you might tire yourself out and stop running altogether.

Always remember “sustainability”. You have to develop a running regime for yourself that you can sustain for a long time, and not burn out too quickly. If 25mins 3 times a week is sustainable for you, then do that. As you progress through the months, and your body and muscles get accustomed to a regular running regime, you’ll want to, and good news, you’ll be able to run further and longer.

And on and on it goes. Before long, you’ll be running distances you never think you could run before. It took me a year and a half to be able to run 10km daily. So no hurry, be stern, yet, gentle on your body. It’ll take you places. Most importantly, have fun running! Put on a smile and watch how your smile brightens up someone else's day! ;)

She runs

She runs on the soft green grass and falls. Rolling on its soft and moist cushion from the morning dew, she closes her eyes and dreams of lovely days now tucked far away in the crevices of time. When love and laughter filled her home. When dad and mom would talk about bringing her on holidays to beautiful places. When her sister would cook her favourite chips in tomato sauce, burning herself occasionally from the hot oil jumping on her arms from out of the old, worn wok. When she would play with her friends in the neighbourhood chasing down cats and burning their hiding holes.

She was rid of such joy the day her dad left home and her mom called, weeping.

Khon Kaen, Northern Thailand

City

Khon Kaen is characterized by its many big and narrow streets winding through every possible corner of the city; bright colored vehicles; squiggly-charactered signboards hanging on run down, grim-looking shophouses; roadside peddlers selling all sorts of grilled and smoked meat including pork, beef and chicken; wandering stray dogs of various breeds and colors; and many a big-trucker 4WDs, amongst other vehicles mostly of Toyota make.

We for one, drove a rented 3-litre Toyota Fortuner for the 8 days that we were there. My friend, Andre, who's been to Khon Kaen annually for the past 7 years, drove us throughout our trip. He is a display of aggression on the road – he had to, else our 4WD would hardly move an inch amidst a flurry of big and small vehicles, motorbikes, pedestrians, stray dogs, narrow roads and bad traffic.

People

More importantly, the largest city in Northeastern Thailand is characterized by its extremely warm, gentle and humble people. 

In fact, if humility has a face, the Thais in Khon Kaen wear it well. I believe I have never encountered a culture more subservient than the Thais in Khon Kaen (I can't speak the same for Thais in other cities including Bangkok and Udon Thani). They have need for little extravagance. It is common sight for peddlers to bring their children with them everywhere they go – putting little ones to sleep on dirty rags of mattresses next to their mobile stalls.

Accommodation

Our accommodation at Tonwa Resort is every bit a natural experience. A mere 5 mins drive from the city centre, Tonwa Resort is set amidst a village – I'd wake up in the mornings to the sound of sparrows chirping, open the door to my room balcony and breathe in the fresh cool December breeze.

Running

After a quick gulp of milk, I'd run the streets of Khon Kaen, attracting many a puzzled looks from the locals. Despite an international marathon held every year in the city which draws runners from all over the world, Khon Kaen has very few tourists. In fact, for the 8 days that I was there, I saw no more than 5 foreigners in the city.

As I ran, I was greeted by the sights and smells of a city deeply rooted in humility. Monks walked bare-footed on the grease stained roads, and on several occasions, I saw locals bowing down low on the ground at the feet of a monk as he chanted a prayer of blessing before making his way to collect more alms. Stray dogs are everywhere in the city – they roam every big and small streets. I was barked and chased by a dog once, ran into a nearby shop, asked the shop owner to walk me down the street and learnt not to run when I see a dog, but to walk on slowly.

Children


We attended a local church service conducted in Thai on Sunday morning, and though I did not understand the language, I closed my eyes and took in the presence of God, and wept at one point when we sang 'Amazing Grace'. Next to the church is Khon Kaen Christian School whose students are a lively bunch of friendly and gregarious boys and girls.

On the third day, we painted the fence wall of the Gerald Khoo Harvest Family Centre, a Christian foundation that reaches out to children in the slum areas adjacent to railroad tracks – providing love, care, shelter, protection and education for the children. I grew acquainted to a mischievous boy named Fhuc. He warmed up to us easily and by the next day when we visited the school, he leapt when he saw my husband Jason, ran towards him and hugged him tightly. I was surprised by the expression of affection from a young Thai boy, and took a deeper liking for this boy whom I have affectionately come to call 'my Thai son'.

Apart from Fhuc, I came to know many other boys and girls in the school who readily smiled and posed for my camera – a sign of openness to a stranger who doesn't speak their language. I wish to return to Khon Kaen again – simply for them.


Moral degradation

Each passing day makes me more welcomed and at home in Khon Kaen, until I learned of a secret that lurks behind the city door – a tale of moral and sexual degradation. A majority of married men in the city has; besides their wives, children, homes and businesses; young teen lovers who are either still in school or dropped out of school as soon as they could in order to earn quick, extra bucks in the sex trade.

In a city where the monthly income of a lower class household does not exceed SGD$300, it is extremely tempting for these young girls to exchange their morality for comfort, especially when they may not be educated on the gift and preciousness of their femininity.

Tales of little girls left to be taken care of by grandparents while their parents are at work, and male neighbours who offer the grandparents alcohol in order to intoxicate them so that these men could rape the girls – are common.

My heart bleeds at the knowledge of such rampant immorality that rages through the city. I may not have been long in the city, but the atrocity against women and the spiritual oppression of lust and greed in the city are real – and in dire need of help and salvation.

I have been privy to the land, people and culture – and I carry now a burden for its soul.

A learning journey

I'm headlong into my work, loving every bit of it, but something within me halts sometimes, starts to shrink a little and feels a little intimated by an exciting world I know very little about, one that I'm very much on a journey of discovery, a step at a time. 

Why this pit stop - I'm not sure. Maybe it's the better of me doing a self-check: have I the necessary traits to soak in this learning experience? Have I humility? Openness to instruction and correction? Because without these traits, each step I take will either lead me down or back to the starting point. 

Thus I realise: the more I learn, the more there is to know. The wheel never stops spinning - the learning never stops. And humility is key to lifelong learning and progress.

She is gone

She is gone and I have not lend her a hand or an ear, when I could have.

She is gone and I don't know what to feel - I have done absolutely nothing within my capacity to bring joy and love to her, when I could have.

She is gone and I wonder if I have done the biggest wrong by not reaching out to her, when I could have.

She is gone and I don't know whether to scream & cry, or cower and hide, disgraced at my inaction all these years.

She is gone and my heart is torn.


Related entry: Called Out of the Dark

Pain of abandonment

There is a pain that hurts deeper than physical affliction - it is a pain that transcends and numbs all physical, emotional and spiritual senses - it is the pain of abandonment.

For a long time now I have been thinking of him, and penning a thousand words in his honour. I write stories upon stories of his undeniable strong influences in my life; angry now that I will not be able to publish those stories because he is no longer the same character as that in my stories. This new character is one debauched; now far removed from the rightful image of one who bears, raises and loves his offspring.

Darkness engulfs, sparing none who strays in its path, not even the foolish, or seemingly ignorant man. This foolish man strays onto the path of darkness and finds himself walking with the light behind him; with each step, his shadow is further and further removed till darkness swallows him whole.

I watch him and let him go. Maybe he has never held me close.

I recline to the corner of my soul, close my eyes and wish that this is but a solstice, that even this will pass, and the sun will move from its spot and shine again.

Kuching

A land of excesses - vast land, abundant food, welcoming hospitality, bountiful sunlight and sweltering heat. A city with expansive land sparsely populated - 3 times the land size of Singapore but less than 5 times the population size of Singapore - imagine, some 1,863 square kilometres inhabited by just under 600,000 people! Kuching, capital city of Sarawak, the biggest state in Malaysia. 

The weather averaged an unbearable 38 degrees for the five full days I was there. What made it bearable however was; besides my husband, the 14 middle-aged men and women that make up the entire tour group I travelled with. It had been a great joy, being a part of this bigger family of generous and fun-loving aunties and uncles. There was never an awkward moment watching them. Away from the usual humdrum of family life and children, they were like kids on vacation. I saw them goofing around, laughing out loud without a care in the world, jesting and teasing each other as kids on a school excursion do. In fact, I so enjoyed my time with them I dreaded the last day as we departed from Kuching for Singapore. Onboard the plane, watching them steadily falling asleep one after another, I felt a pang of sadness, akin to those moments leading up to a farewell fanfare between tearful family members at airports. 

In every place that I visit, my happiest moments are brought about by cultural exchanges with its natives. I observed that women open wider doors to cultural experiences than men. Natives of a place are friendlier and more willing to share of their lives and experiences to a woman visitor. Kuching is a land of warm people and wide smiles. I spoke to many local men on various occasions, engaging them in their native tongue (Malay) and was warmly received because I spoke and sounded like them. I even look like them, given my tan complexion. I found out about their families, struggles, grips with their vocations, the city, the country.

 

A man I engaged in a conversation with at Sarawak Cultural Village left a deep impression in me. A good-looking middle-aged Orang Ulu (a native tribe of Sarawak), he carried a sorry tale behind his friendly demeanour. He allowed me to photograph only the top of his head, without revealing his face, and in between our conversation, I found that his wife died at child birth. He never remarried, but raised a daughter now 26 years old. I admire his strength, for I cannot imagine raising a child all by myself without a soul mate. 

In many places, rivers are an important source of life to its residents and a source of fascination to tourists. The Kuching River is no different. For just RM30, Jason and I relished a slow cruise along the river onboard a small, dingy, wooden boat half-rowed and half-run on motor by an elderly Malay man well into his 60s. The trip up and down the murky river, observing many a local and simple life of its Malay natives evokes a sense of tranquility unlike that found in a bustling city life. We chanced upon a welcoming sight of 4 boys playing at the shallow end of the river, stark naked.

We captured many a splendid scenes of and around the river and breathed in the simplicity of a people so humble it beckons a reflection on my part as to what I value as important. To me, constant progress is essential - thus my love for a city life. To these river folks, a day's wage and a close-knit family are sufficient. As a visitor to this beautiful land, I'm glad they retained this laid-back pace because every once in a while, we need a secluded place of refuge. For me, I found it this time round in the sleepy town of Kuching, though many a times I think I make a lousy tourist because I bring my city experiences to a quiet town and wonder what its natives do to occupy and humour themselves; and, silently, pity them. Maybe, similarly, unbeknown to me, they pity me, for my surrealism. 

One of the best ways to explore a city is to run through it - navigating its nooks n corners, eating places, retail stores, mechanical repair shops, dogs guarding many an industrial area. Running in Kuching must be a rare affair. I ran and attracted many a surprised and often second look by the locals, especially men, who nudge their fellow counterparts to look upon a stranger striding down the not-so-well paved streets, under a scorching sun and trapped humid heat, perspiring profusely, hair a wild mess and eyes scanning the vicinity and observing the everyday life of its inhabitants. 

The beauty of a place lies not just in its landscape, but in its people. Kuching may not offer the glitz and glamour of a modern city life, but it has certainly charmed me (and I believe many others) with its simplicity, hospitality and alluring Sarawak laksa. 

Why I Run

Recently I have been asked by quite a number of friends: why do I run so much and for so long? And how do I find so much time to read? Here's why and how.

I started running a year ago when I was desperately bored with my previous job and needed something to perk me up in the morning. I'd wake up at 5.00am in the morning and run before work.

It was grueling, waking up early, and worse, I didn't enjoy running. So I started filling up the agony of running by listening to podcasts.

I did not enjoy running for one full year. It wasn't until sometime this year that I began enjoying it. What's more, I discovered a book titled "Born to Run" by Christopher McDougall (introduced on a book podcast I was listening to then). Reading (or rather, listening to the audiobook version) further fueled my passion for running. I ran longer and faster while reading/listening the book - I was thoroughly inspired! It is a fantastic read, even if you are a non runner - the coverage on history, culture, anatomy and ultra running is amazing.

So, how do I find time to read? I don't read physical books as much as I listen to audiobooks, while traveling in the mrt and while running in the mornings. That's easily 3 hours (2 hours traveling to & fro, and 1 hour of running).

And why do I run? Because it totally disciplines me. It disciplines me to wake up early in the morning, ignoring my tired body, not lazing in bed but heading straight for the door, enduring an hour long run; and at the same time, I'd pray, meditate, and gain a whole world of knowledge by listening to podcasts & audiobooks.

The benefits are simply too much for me not to run.

I breakthrough

I have been trained to be independent from a very young age. I learnt to stand up for myself and deal with situations when I was bullied, sad and down. 

I was constantly blamed, accused and judged.

Even as I write now, I write each line beginning with “I”.

Because that was how I was taught.

Thus in their times of need now, I recoil from them. I don’t know how to reach out and sympathise.

Can I be blamed? No and yes.

No, because I am a product of my upbringing.

Yes, because I am a new creation in Christ. The old things have passed, behold, He makes all things new.

I need not be a victim of my circumstances.

I cannot control the events that shaped my life, but I can choose not to be reduced by them.

Therefore I choose to take steps towards them, to embrace them, and to love them.

I am certain that this is the only right thing to do.

Short Story: Called Out of the Dark

She huddled in the corner of the room. Her small hands clutched her ears tightly, shutting off the berating in the living room and the monstrous sounds in her head that cursed the miserable life she did not choose to be living. The air in her lungs could not flow in and out properly and her lungs clamped in on her fast beating heart. Her vision narrowed to nothing more than a deep black tunnel that stretched to the end. She was so afraid; she shut her eyes so tightly she could see red through her eyeballs. The unnerving trauma cast a shadow over her life and terror gripped her soul. She felt everything around her caving in on her and wished for death to consume her right there and then.

“Take this wretched life away from me!” she yelled at the top of her voice, and collapsed into a motionless lump on the sweat drenched floor.

She awoke with a shiver and felt a dry lump on the side of her mouth. Unable to see in the dark, she could only smell her own sweat, urine and what was that familiar smell? Ah yes, blood. Dried blood. That was what was caking up on the side of her mouth when she fell unconscious on the floor and knocked the sharp edge of the lamp table. She put a hand on her heart and was surprised at both the silence outside in the living room and the slow, constant beat of her heart. She almost smiled when she shook her head hard to make sure she was not dreaming. No, she was not. She was breathing and living – in the dark.

“If only my husband was still alive – none of these would be happening to me,” she lamented to herself.

130708

A tribute to my aunt who lives in torment and neglect following the demise of her husband. Once the humble wife of a rich car dealer, she now lives her daily life in shambles and abandonment, reliant on support to get around, or for most part of her miserable, slow-crawling days, lies on her side, reminiscing the once good life she had when her husband was alive, by her side, money in abundance, and no one disrespected her. She cries each time I visit her, but the pain and emotional wreck it leaves me after each visit stops me from seeing more frequently than I would like to. I need greater strength to love and care for one in such desperate need. For now, I can only write of her sorry tale.

KL, my perspective

Every journey offers lessons to be learnt - the responsibility lies on us to see them as such and grab hold of the opportunity to reflect, learn and grow; and not simply to view them as a passing phase in life - what a waste that would have been!

My trip to KL this time round was short (2 days, 1 night) - but eventful and colourful nonetheless. It was a last minute trip planned for the weekend - for my husband, it was to be a time to rest and relax; for me, it was to seek the historical and cultural heritage of the city. I have read of 3 famous buildings in KL: the Old KL Railway Station, Sultan Abdul Samad Building and Masjid Jamek. I have only seen photographs of these beautiful structures on the internet, and would like to view them from a fresh perspective - mine. And so as we depart from Larkin Bus Terminal in JB for KL, I was like a school kid on an excursion, anticipative of an adventure. As far as I can remember, I have always been fascinated with KL - the capital city of Malaysia, the land of my birth. Although I was born in JB, I have an affinity for KL shared by fellow citizens, whether or not we agree with the political administration of the country.

It is a city messy and congested - crowds of city dwellers and migrant workers dot every street and corner like ants in their colony; roads, flyovers and highways intersect at all points and junctions like wire mesh; old low-rise buildings, new skyscrapers, paint-tattered shophouses line the streets and wide land mass on low lands and high grounds - all of which evokes a sense of chaos yet unexplained congeniality. Looking at KL in a glance - one would think the city planners probably did not put much thought into its urban planning. But take a harder look and you'll see some serious planning and accomplishments in certain, concentrated areas. The downtown KLCC (Kuala Lumpur Convention Centre) arena, for instance.

There is the jewel-in-the-crown, the magnificent Petronas Twin Towers. Seen from any angle at any time of the day, this behemoth of a structure is sure to leave you spell-bound as you marvel at the ingenuous architecture and engineering that goes into the design and construction of this impressive landmark that has come to be identified as the symbol of national and economic progress for Malaysia to the rest of the world. 

The Philharmonic Hall lies in the heart of the Twin Towers, making yet another statement - that it is both grand and cultured. Walk through the corridors and stairway of the Philharmonic Hall and observe its grandeur, made more poignant by the congregation of distinguished, international musicians, performers and artists. 

The huge shopping mall, Suria KLCC, attracts both locals and foreigners to its wide and diverse range of retail outlets that cater to both the middle and upper class shoppers. In front of Suria KLCC is a large park, lake and jogging track for urban dwellers to enjoy nature's beauty against the backdrop of the gigantic Twin Towers. The Aquaria KLCC and Convention Halls draws throngs of people to its many trade fairs and exhibitions of international class. I must say, I am impressed by the modernity of them all.

Now, back in the city, walking under a scorching, tropical sun was no laughing matter. My husband and I had a few moments of conflict over my taking too many pictures, rendering him hot, burnt and frustrated in the sweltering heat. But I had to see those 3 historical monuments - they were the reason I came to KL. My hair messy, my tee-shirt clinging to my sweat-drenched back, my skin burning from the immense heat, I braved the natural elements to capture their glory on film. These 3 structures share 2 common traits – they are slated for conservation under the National Heritage Act, and the architects who designed them were all British and inspired by the Moorish architecture of Muslim mosques in India.

Jason and I travelled around the city on monorails and LRTs - the best way to observe a city and its people. It is my personal belief that the best place to observe the lives of ordinary citizens of a city going about their daily routine is in the city's trains (monorails/LRTs). There you'll see sleep-deprived blue collared workers dozing off, students wearily making their way to and from school and a whole string of remedial classes and extra curricular activities, white collared workers clutching their briefcases and speaking into their mobile phones, mothers cradling their newborns while fathers hold the hands of toddlers or push the pram. Everyday people about their everyday lives - a city in motion. It struck me then that people anywhere all round the world are the same - we are all trying to survive in our respective environments; no matter how harsh or comfortable, backward or modern.

Now back in Singapore, sitting in my comfortable tall-backed chair, typing on my computer as I look out into the greenery outside my window, I reflect on KL with nostalgia. I do love the city, despite its chaos. I do love its people, despite its often high crime rate. I do love its history, despite its lack of proper upkeep. I do love its government, despite its many apparent flaws. I guess I can rightly conclude that I do love the land of my birth, no matter how imperfect and slow its national progress is.

Short story: Home - where we belong

No matter how many times she swore never to let her father's voice torment her, it always did. She was always living in fear of her father's sudden temper outbursts and the pain and shame from caning that she has come to associate her father to a tyrant, a sort of autocratic leader like Stalin who ruled with an iron fist. She sometimes joked with her elder brother Wallace that father was a 'communist' – when he spoke, no one dared to interrupt. What he says goes. No one could question nor defy him.

Yet she understood the hard side of her father. She has heard him scream in the middle of the night, while he was asleep, a scream so tormenting she found it hard to sleep after. In the morning, as she took her usual seat at the kitchen table, she would eat her breakfast in silence and observed her father intently, looking for any sign that could explain the mystery the night before. None. His face offered no answer; in fact, he did not look bothered at all. She winced in disappointment. Finally, unable to hold her curiosity no longer, she caught her mother when she was alone cooking, and creeping up quietly behind her, while stealing glances at the kitchen doorway to make sure her father did not step in, asked in a low tone, "what happened last night?"

Her mother, wiping a film of sweat off from her forehead, answered softly: "He dreamt that he was being beaten up by his father. He always does. Even at this age - can you imagine? You see, your grandfather was a very violent man. And your father had it the most. He was most severely beaten by your grandfather all through his boyhood. And when your dad dreams, it was real to him. He still feels the agony of his childhood..."

Mindy's heart broke. 'So that was why he was always so hard on us,' she thought to herself. Excusing herself, she went up to her room and closed the door behind her. Tearing out a piece of paper from her notebook, she sat down and wrote her brother Wallace a letter.

"Dear Wallace, I miss you. It has been three years since you last came home. Dad and Mom miss you too. We all do, you know that, don't you? I am writing to explain why Dad hit you so hard the last time you came home announcing your plans to drop out of university. Please understand that Dad placed high hopes on you to be the first graduate in the family. You know Dad, he was always studious, reading late into the night, even bearing hopes of going back to school himself. Can you imagine? At 58? But that is Dad. He loves knowledge, and had hoped that you would too. It was understandable why he reacted so strongly when you decided to drop out of university. You were given an opportunity he never was.

You see, Dad had a rough childhood. He was a hard working boy, and had big dreams of being a policeman, but his father could not afford to send him to high school. When his father found out that he has not been tending to the chickens and pigs in the farm, but had instead been hanging out in the backyard of schools to listen to lessons being taught, he became furious and chased him around the 'kampong' compound, hitting him again and again with a thick wooden rod.

How do I know this? Mom told me. You see, last night, I heard Dad scream in his sleep. And when I asked Mom this morning, she told me the whole story. Dad always dream the same dream - and he is 58 years old! He is still being tormented at this age. I am not writing to justify the pain Dad caused you. I am writing to make you understand why Dad leashed out on you in such anger.

Wallace, stop running away from Dad. Stop running away from our family. I don't want you to get married some day, have kids, and still dream of being beaten by Dad when you are old and grey.

Come home soon ok? I love you, big bro.

Love, Mindy."

That year, her brother Wallace came home to visit. He brought with him a new girlfriend the family has never met before - a young, sweet-looking Thai girl whose age was the same as Mindy. Since Wallace's return, things at home brightened up. For one, Mindy's father came to smile more often, and spoke kinder to them both. His outbursts became less frequent. Mother cooked nicer dishes too; an occasional Thai dish or two; a new skill she learnt from Eleenikrabot, Wallace's girlfriend. Even the family dog barked lesser, Mindy noticed, which has found for itself a new joy - chasing birds across the front porch on hot, lazy afternoons.

Growing up, she has always wished she was born into a different family, in a kinder home. Yet through the years, she has come to thank God for her imperfect parents and her intolerable brother Wallace. She has come to realise that even her parents have their past demons, and even they are learning to deal with it. She realised that no one set of parents have it altogether, that no matter how hard they try, they would be less than perfect.

Standing at the church altar with her handsome groom in hand, Mindy turned around to look at her aged parents and a beaming Wallace with his newly wedded Thai wife by his side. Mindy smiled and under the veil, she prayed that as she steps into a new phase in her life, into a family of her own now, she would always carry with her a valuable lesson learnt – that there is no greater place on earth but a place to belong to, a unit of identification, a family to call one’s own.

Loneliness sobers

At 66, he confessed that loneliness knows no age – it strikes anyone, anywhere. And loneliness cannot be explained – it has to be personally experienced to be understood. He has probably not felt lonelier than he does now, with the absence of his wife who has never left home for more than a month at a stretch. She is halfway across the world in dark and dreary London, to care for her daughter who has just given birth to a lovely baby son. 

He used to live his life around a fixed routine – waking at half past five in the morning, have a simple breakfast made up of two slices of plain bread and a cup of hot drink, then jog for an hour at the park nearby, before heading to his shop to clean up the drains and surroundings, picking up dried leaves, watering and trimming the plants. He comes home by noon, cooks himself a simple lunch of plain porridge with lots of vegetables and a few slices of fish, reads the newspapers for a couple of hours before taking his nap. He wakes in the evening to go out for dinner with his wife, strolls by the beach as the night wears on, before heading home to read some more, and off to bed by half past ten. 

He seemed perfectly fine with this routine, until his wife left for London. He initially tried to stick to the routine still, but after a few days, the reality of being absolutely alone sunk in. He started to loathe the emptiness in the house, of not having someone at home to talk to, to banter with. He dreaded returning to a lifeless, concrete enclosure, and would rather hang out in coffee shops and eating places with old friends and chat till the wee hours of the morning. 

Such is the power of loneliness that it has made him sober up in his parenting and social skills. He has time, lots of it, to reflect on his strict upbringing of his four children, who are now residing in various parts of the world, returning home to visit far fewer times than he would have preferred, given the geographical distance in between. He is sorry for his lack of tact in his interaction with his family and friends. 

At 66, he is making a conscious effort to be tactful, patient, gracious, caring and loving. For this I am extremely proud of hm. He is my father. 

Called out of darkness

"You're white as snow, but you have a mind of a slave." - a line from Human Stain, a moving movie starring Anthony Hopkins, Wentworth Miller & Nicole Kidman.

I too, am a prisoner of my own mind. I am a prisoner of my own fear. When I was 10, I feared the apocalypse - prophesies of doomsday, the destruction of earth and mankind. I was both fearful and indignant, thinking if the world is going to be destroyed, what was the point of studying? Of learning? Of living lives? Such was my fear and indignance that my dad brought me to my church pastor, the gentlemanly and neatly-dressed Pastor Nicholas, who looked me very kindly in the eyes and said: "Angeline, Jesus has called us to be faithful where we are planted. So until He comes a second time, we have to do what are called to do. As a student, you have to keep studying hard. You got to keep growing and learning, applying your mind to be your best, until Jesus comes. We mustn't slack."

His words, though simple, struck a deep chord in the core of my being, and from then on, I promised myself and my God to live the best I could. And live I did. I studied hard and played hard. I loved much and broke many a hearts, as mine was many a times similarly broken. I did not turn away from Pastor Nicholas' words, until recently, when another fear gripped me - the fear of evil.

Bombarded by news of terrorism, sex syndicates, school shoot-outs, brutal sexual assaults, cold-blooded murders, domestic violence, acts of perversion - I feel like a country mouse trapped in the black dungeon of a city in ruins. I am fearful of the darkness that surround me, the environment that I live in - and I can't seem to find a way out. I am almost turning into a reluctant paranoid.

Realising the dire situation I am allowing myself to slip into, I decided I need help - I need to reach upwards and climb out of the dark dungeon of paranoia. As I write now, I am stepping out.

This I know and this I confess:

I have been redeemed - I am white as snow. I walk under a divine covering. I choose therefore to stop thinking like a slave. I am free. I walk with my head held up high. Though I am not complacent of the fact that evil surrounds me still, my banner of victory is lifted higher. I walk in full assurance of His love, grace and mercy. I am free indeed.