Quiet Day

My church organized a Quiet Day retreat today. The venue was at OMF which is opposite the Botanic Gardens, so I spent quite a bit of the day there. I had forgotten how beautiful the Gardens were. The spot I found for myself was a hidden bench under a huge tree with aerial roots. Hidden, quiet.

"Come away, by yourself.."

I had looked forward to today, but maybe I shouldn't have gone for the Quiet Day. I already have too much solitude in my life now. Too much quiet. Today, my emotions were all tangled up like those roots. 

Molly

There is an elderly lady whom I see at ARC every time I go there. She is likely to be in her sixties and I've never spoken to her, but she makes me think of Molly. Like this lady, Molly was a Chinese girl who had been adopted by a Tamil family. It was a common practice in the 1950s, I think, but it was startling nevertheless to see a Chinese girl with a pottu on her forehead and speaking fluent Tamil.

Molly was my playmate, my go-to when I needed anything, my smuggler of treats, my story teller. She was also the reason my father first smacked me.

Molly must be in her late seventies now. When she worked as a domestic help for my family she was young, perhaps in her late teens or early twenties. I don't know when Molly started working for my family but she is as mixed up in my childhood memories as my mother is. My day would start with Molly coming to work and my first bottle of milk appearing. My day would end with me sitting with my feet sticking out of the long windows that faced the road, waving good bye to Molly and waiting till I saw my father's car turning into that same road. 

I can't remember exactly how old I was, perhaps 5, and one day, Molly did not come in the morning. My bottle of milk too did not come and instead I was told by my sister I should be drinking from a cup. I remember being sad, I'm not sure if I cried. But one day, my mother put on a nice sari and put a dress on me that I did not like. I remember I cried then, because of the dress. I cried throughout the car ride that followed, because of the dress, until we came to a temple. Molly was there! 

There was a huge crowd and I could only see Molly from a distance and she looked different because she was dressed in a sari that was as grand as my mother's. I remember being thrilled when my parents took me closer to her after what seemed like a long time. Molly was sitting on the floor beside a man, and when she saw me she reached out and pulled me into a hug. I didn't like the smell of the jasmine garland round her neck, I didn't like the roughness of her sari, I didn't like the man sitting beside her whom she made me turn my face and look at, but I liked that Molly was back. 

I remember Molly let me sit on her lap, but my mother made me get up. I remember Molly said I could stay, but my father said we had to leave. I remember Molly telling me not to cry, but my mother didn't care. I remember I cried more during the car ride back than I had cried before. I remember I refused to get out of the car when we reached home. I remember my father carried me out of the back seat. And then he smacked me. For the first time. Because I was crying for Molly.

Dark Mutterings

Crotchety. I like that word. It sounds cross, twisted and scratchy. And it describes my mood today. 

I am crotchety because it poured this morning and I had wet shoes the whole day. Because I had to attend a half day seminar to listen to 2 speakers who didn't give me anything to think about. Because I saw a huge advertisement for a deodorant called "Do:More" and the use of that colon irritated me. Because a mother let her toddler cross a road without holding her hand just because the toddler wouldn't. Because I had left booking a flight too late and paid $180.00 more than I need have.

I fear I'm going to become one of those crotchety old ladies who push people out of their way, mutter under their breath, hit offending elbows and glower. Oh Lord, help me be a nicer person tomorrow.

Anticipation

I'm looking forward to this weekend, particularly, to this Saturday. My church has organized a Quiet Day and I need one. I like the venue that has been chosen - it is opposite the Botanic Gardens and I hope we will be given time for solitary walks. That is one thing I miss about not being in College Park, MD, anymore - the long, winding, quiet paths around the lake. 

I walk here too, but in all the paths around my neighborhood the traffic noise is never absent and that distracts me. 

I'm looking forward to this Quiet Day. I have a number of things on my mind and I know what I need is uncluttered time with God. There is a restlessness in me, a disquiet. A longing for open space. I don't understand it. The house has enough silence, but the silence of my home is a sad one. I need to escape it and to listen to God without my regrets whispering in my ear. 

God of My Tomorrows

When I accepted Christ in 1991, I was the only Christian in the family and I struggled to even keep the faith. Yet I wanted to do BIG things for God – to serve, to lead, to do mission work!

The everyday reality, however, was that after teaching and completing my administrative tasks, I had only enough energy to tend to my own young children. My life was divided between my students and my children and it did not seem as if there was any more that I could fit in. Daily quiet times were mostly 10 minutes before the children awoke in the morning and I had to get ready to go to school myself.

When I first read the paean of the Proverbs 31 woman, I decided that God made some women Super Women and the rest, Just Plain Ordinary. And I knew which category I belonged to. I could barely keep things together and just reading the list of tasks this accomplished woman managed to do exhausted me. Make bed coverings? Please. I was prepared to pass up on all the accolades. It was okay if my children did not rise up and call me blessed, so long as they rose up and went to school. The unnamed woman of Proverbs 31 made me feel inadequate.

Yet one line stayed with me - “Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come.” (Prov 31:25)

This was the one quality I envied. To be able to ‘laugh at the time to come’. How does one do that? In the days ahead of me were school exams, an incomplete post-graduate degree, a strained marriage, paycheck to paycheck budgeting. I didn’t think I could serve God, let alone laugh at the future.

A shift in my understanding came when the pastor of the church I was attending at that time introduced the congregation to the Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatius. This connected deeply with me because as a Literature teacher, I had taught the poetry of Gerald Manley Hopkins, a Jesuit priest. Suddenly, a favourite poem, “As Kingfishers Catch Fire” made deeper sense to me.

“… the just man justices;

Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;

Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is —

Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,

Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his

To the Father through the features of men's faces.”

There was no special work that God blesses, no special work that meant I was “serving God”. 

In God’s eyes, I was Christ! All I was called to do was “keep all my goings graces” – my teaching, my interactions with my students, my parenting, my daily chores. Scrubbing stains, reading to my children, correcting my students’ essays, invigilating exams ... All my “goings”, “to see God in all things”, doing whatever I was doing each day of my life.

In waiting to be called to do “big things” for Jesus, I had neglected to notice that many women who had an encounter with God were just going about their daily life, doing what their roles called them to do that day. The Samaritan woman was just going about her daily chores (albeit at an unusual hour) of drawing water for her household. Then she met Jesus. Lydia was meeting with other women at a riverside (Acts 16: 13 – 15). Then she met Paul and came to know God. Just every day happenings, but God moments.

At that season of my life, when I was longing for grand plans, God had called me to serve Him by serving my family, my friends, my students. Serving small. There came a time when I could do more – teach Sunday School, lead worship, edit the church newsletter, and later after I moved to SJSM, to mentor young adults, to write, to facilitate the ‘Search for Life’ course. Recently, I started a book club with some women; we meet once a month and we share our lives. But I did not do all those things at the same time. As the seasons of my life changed, the tide of service ebbed and flowed.

There were some months when I could not “do” and just had to “be”, when I just needed to tend to myself – to be the hurt traveller by the road and be ministered to by the Good Samaritan. Then in other seasons, I obeyed God when He said “to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God (2 Cor 1:3-4)”.  I learnt through the years, that “Christ plays in ten thousand places / Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his”.

Twenty three years later, my family has changed. A 30-year marriage ended. Babies grew up and became brides. There are still tomorrows ahead of me that I wonder about. Work and parenting that defined so much of who I was have changed. But my God has not changed. He is still the One who taught me that Peter walked on water only when he kept his eyes on Jesus. The One who bends down to listen to me (Ps 116:2) while I tell Him my fears, my wrongs, my dreams, my hopes and cry my tears. The One who keeps account of my tears, erases my slate clean and gives me a new morning every day.

I have learnt how one laughs at the future. It is by doing the one thing I can do now, for one person, today, in the name of Christ. It is by trusting the God of my yesterdays with my today, and my tomorrows. I've made my peace with the Proverbs 31 woman :)

My Sadness Is Mine

I have decided that there is one thing I will never say to a grieving person: "There are others who have it worse than you".

One of the many things I appreciate about 'Search For Life' that I facilitate is the wisdom of letting a person "grieve her grief". This means I sit quietly, I don't reach out to hug or touch the person, I can put a tissue box within her reach, but I don't put a tissue in her hand. Instead I wait and then I ask permission before offering a tissue or a comforting hand. The first time I heard this instruction, I felt it was a cold, heartless thing to do - to let a person sit there crying. But I have since learnt the wisdom of this. Many times, we don't allow people to "grieve their grief". A tissue is pressed into your hand and it sops your tears. A touch can inhibit. But sitting in a circle just grieving gives a person freedom from pretense, freedom to mourn. 

Telling someone "think of others who have it worse than you" diminishes the grief, negates it, trivializes it, infantalises it. It is a way of telling someone, your grief doesn't matter. But it does. Every sadness matters. Whether the pain and sadness come from a lost wallet, a grazed knee, a divorce or death, that pain matters. 

Yes, there can be disproportionate grieving, and yes, sometimes we do have to help a grieving person 'move on' as too much grief carried for too long can cause serious harm and take its toll on us as well as others around us. But knowing when to do this requires discernment. 

I think, maybe, we carry a mental checklist that decides some sadnesses are lower on a scale than others. Maybe even that some sins are on a lower scale than others. But just as a sin is a sin and the gravity of all sins is the same in the sight of God, I believe, every tear is the same to God as well. When the Psalmist says "You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in a bottle. Are they not in your book? (Ps 56:8), I believe that means every tear I cry. That  God did not pour out the tears of anger, or tears cried over harsh words and saved only 'big" tears like those cried over losing a loved one. 

So, yes, I have many blessings and much to be thankful for. Yes, there are people who have lost far more than I have. Yes, there are people who have experienced greater injustices and pain than I have. I will cry for them too. But for now, for a while, I need to grieve my grief. 

Answered Prayers

I've been just reading over my blog entries of the past few months and I smile at the roller-coaster of feelings I have described! From the frustration and worry of my pre-departure days to the anxiety and excitement of my early days here, then the irritation and despondence of settling in and the exhilaration of finding my feet :) Above all, I realise once again how faithful God has been. Every prayer I had listed in my journal on the night before I left Singapore has been answered in loving ways. 

#1 I prayed about my knee. I wrote, "Father, please help me to enjoy my time in the US by healing my knee. I want to go on walks, go trekking. I don't want to be the old woman with the bad knee holding others up." My knee has not completely healed but the pain is a lot less and my almost-daily evening walks along the trails around the place I live are a highlight of my day...

Lake Artemesia, a trail walk I enjoy

A creek just behind The Varsity where I live

#2 I prayed about having friends an about my flatmates. Like a teenager I wrote, "I'm anxious I won't have a friend, Abba." and "I'm anxious about my flatmates. I know You have already chosen them. Lord, help us to help each other..." And my friendship with J & L has been great! We have connected so well, we look out for each other and we enjoy each others' company! As for my flatmates, we are from Singapore, Finland, Argentina and India and we get along better than the UN!

My Singapore 'kakis'

My apartment mates!

#3 I wondered about where I would live, whether my room would be dingy and cold... but no, it is sunny, open and after I did it up, a pretty place I look forward to coming back to! 

My blue-green themed room!

#4 I told God, I was anxious I wouldn't be able to cope with the studies and would struggle to complete the capstone project. I wrote, "Father please give me a conscientious, kind tutor who will help me craft a good project and put me in touch with good contacts." I am blessed to have Dr McA who is the kindest, most good-humoured, humble and caring tutor I have ever met!

#5 I wrote "Abba help me to use the 123 Fulbright days to the fullest. Fill the days with learning, experiences, friendship, travel, enjoyment and growth Help me to find blessings in each day." Then I forgot about this prayer, but 2 weeks ago, I was prompted to do just that - to begin a 100 Days of Gratitude album on Facebook!

#6 I prayed for Christian fellowship. I asked, "Where will I go for encouragement Abba? You will provide encouragers for me, won't you?" and yes, I have been blessed with MCF and the dedicated ministry of the pastor Jeff Warner. It took a lot of courage to call him up and to go to church on my own, but Jeff and his wife Dawn have been nothing but kind. It took me a whole lot MORE courage but I have joined a Growth Group (which is how they refer to their cell groups) AND I have signed up for the church's Fall Retreat! Now THAT is pretty scary for me. But I know I had to step out in faith and I know God's step will rise to meet my foot. I know this is how He will answer my prayer #7 - "Abba may my Fulbright days be days of growing closer to You. Help me to have a closer walk with You and may these days be an oasis of remembering Your goodness to me."

These are my Growth Group leaders :)

And the Lord has watched over my household too as I prayed #8 "Abba, I ask for Your protection over my family, for your eyes to be upon J & R." All has indeed been well, very well - apart from a cockroach invasion :) Two days ago, I couldn't stop squealing when C called to ask for our blessings before he proposed to J ... 

My future son-in-law who ticks all the boxes :)

There is a verse in the Bible that says "Test me in this," says the LORD Almighty, "and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have room enough for it." I have read it and wondered what it would feel like. I have not had such a phase of life before. But now, as I sit with my journal open before me, I know I would be foolish and ungrateful if I did not praise my God , my Abba who heard my fears and comforted me.

In the past, I used to feel fear when things went well. I would not celebrate or share good news because of a superstition that drawing attention to one's good fortune would in some way attract the unwanted attention of evil spirits and that good news would be followed by sorrow. When children passed exams or if others had commented on how cute a child was or congratulated someone on good fortune, the practice was to perform a ritual to get rid of 'the evil eye'. This ritual involved taking a handful of dried red chillies, salt and mustard seeds and then circling one's hand three times around the person who might be the object of 'the evil eye'. Then the person would be asked to spit into the ingredients and the ingredients will be thrown into fire. Of course the fire would flare up and splutter, but this would be taken as proof that an 'evil eye' had indeed been cast and that the curse had now been broken. 

It took me a long time to shake off that baggage. Every time things went well for me, I would wait for the 'inevitable' sorrow that would follow. And of course when I looked for something I would find it. I am emerging from the shadow of that fear of blessings. I am learning to accept the good and the bad from the hand of my Father. I am learning not to fear, to know that God is good. I am happy and I can say 

 "My soul makes its boast in the Lord;
    let the humble hear and be glad... 

I sought the Lord, and he answered me

                                                       and delivered me from all my fears."

Ir-responsible

What I love most about these days is the irresponsibility. Well, no, that word may not have the right connotation, but I can't think of what the opposite of 'responsible' is, so that would have to do for now :) I love not being responsible. I love waking up in the morning and knowing that if I didn't want to, I needn't do a single thing that day. I love not budgetting.

Perhaps this is a phase of growing up I just missed out on. While I was in school, I felt a sense of obligation; I was reminded on every possible occasion that my sisters were paying for my education. I didn't have carefree days in the Institute of Education because those days consisted of lectures in the morning and teaching in the afternoon - so that meant marking and preparing for lessons during spare time. When I got into university, there was again the awareness at the back of my mind that I was there on a govt scholarship and I needed to keep my grades up. Being accepted into the very first Direct Hons programme didn't help matters at all, because I spent all my time studying and writing papers, always, always conscious of the fact that I needed to keep up a B+ average to stay in the course.

So these Fulbright days feel to me like a second chance. To do the things many people did during their university days that I just did not have the courage - or the irresponsibility - to do. I do my readings, but I don't stay up late to ensure I have finished ALL the recommended readings. I do the assignments, but it doesn't matter because they don't get graded. I don't feel the burden of juggling teaching, administrative work, running a household and mothering that I felt when I was doing my Masters. This time, I am in university to enjoy student life - books, cafes, conversations with friends, time to travel, unwashed laundry, trashy tv, drinks at night, meals-for-one, the jangle of pop-Christian-Hindi songs in the apartment. Irresponsible living.

Not Today

I have had a quiet day today. I intended to. I decided to take this one day to just slow down and to allow the hours to pass, without an incessant need to fill every unforgiving hour with yet another experience, or opportunity or learning. There seems to be a frenzy among some of the others here to DO something - shop or travel or attend a concert or sight-see and often I hear how we must make the most of the opportunity we have. Some days I agree. But when I woke up this morning, I didn't want to DO; I just wanted to BE. I know there are 365 things to do in DC, but today I am not in the mood for any of them.

I think my mood is affected by my lack of sleep. And I am irritated by the lack of connectivity. The internet connection in my room is really bad and I spent a good part of this morning just trying to surf. I am in the students' work room now and the connection isn't any better so I don't know if it's my laptop that is the problem. Or maybe it is because the kids are all using PCs, I don't know.

I wonder at my own inertia. This is what I have wanted to do for so long. To study abroad, to travel, visit museums, read. Yet right now all I want to do is find a good book and a cafe. I hope this is just part of the culture shock and that this feeling will soon pass. I can't put a finger on it, I can't name it. It isn't homesickness. It isn't quite depression. I feel disengaged - like a receiver taken off the cradle. Not willing to connect. Not today.

After Work

Especially when I'm extremely busy, my habit of procrastination kicks in with a vengeance. That's when I take computer breaks to surf for holidays or to check my email :) This week I have been surfing to consider options for a Masters degree in Guidance and Counselling. I figure if I do this part-time it will take me 3 to 4 years to complete it and that will be about the time I will retire and I can start another career.This option has been in my heart for a while now and during Family Camp I was humbled by the number of people who shared deeply with me. I feel I need to prepare for a new season. I sense a settledness, as if it is time to stop looking at my pain and failings and to reach out to others in pain. I keep thinking of Paul who asked God three times to remove the thorn in his flesh and when God's answer was 'no', he stopped thinking about it and set about doing God's work, accepting simply that God's grace was sufficient for him. I am no Paul, but I also feel it is time to accept God's 'no' and to move on. It's time to set down my burden and carry others'.

Remembering Appa

Today, I thought of my father a number of times. The second week of June often brings memories of him because his birthday was on 10 June - often this was close to Father's Day - and coincidentally he passed away on 15 June.

This year, I travelled up to Kuala Lumpur on the 10th of June and naturally when my sister and I started talking, the conversation turned to him. M claims that my eldest sister and I were my dad's favourites. I'm not sure I remember being singled out for any such special treatment, but when I think of him, I have a sure sense he loved me. 

Mixed up with that feeling, however, is a strong sense of guilt. Because I also feel I failed him. 

I know I disappointed my father when I married D. My dad was very proud of me. I think my accomplishments were always bigger in his eyes than in mine or anyone else's. He was proud I earned a scholarship to pay for my school fees in Singapore, he was proud I had a bursary to pay for my university fees. He was proud I was a teacher. And when I told him I wanted to marry D, it was the first time I saw pain in his eyes. 

He and my mother had come for a visit to my sister's house in Singapore when I told them. The three of us shared a room that night before I left the next morning to return to my rented room, and I heard him sighing and talking in his sleep. He hardly slept that night. The next morning as I prepared to leave, he told me, "Did you think I am useless and cannot find a groom for you? You have stabbed me in the back." Those were the harshest words my father ever said to me. I have not forgotten those sorrowful words in the past 28 years.

I wonder now at the callousness with which I left that day. How wrapped up I was in my youthful love that I did not stay and at least listen to my father's pain. I wonder what dreams my father had had for me. I wonder what future he had imagined for me. And I wonder if I did the right thing. Every year, when I read Fathers' Day messages in the newspapers and on Facebook, there is a sadness inside me, a regret - for the pain I once caused; for the apology I never made.

Even to Old Age

This morning I looked, really looked, at the bottles and jars of lotions and creams on the shelf in my cupboard. And smiled to see how all of them had one thing in common - they were all labelled "firming" or "anti-wrinkle" or "anti-aging" and my favourite, "age defying"! 

Unfortunately, my body does not seem to have heard the message. Since church camp I have been more aware of the truth that I am growing older. Perhaps it was sharing a room with young C; perhaps it was the ache in my knee that doesn't go away and limited me from some activities; perhaps it was Rod's reminder that we are "jars of clay".

But since church camp, I have been thinking (among all the other thoughts) that I need to shift gears, change the lens I view the world through.

A few months ago I wrote about my anxiety over my ministry with the young adults in church. Wondering what on earth I was doing, turning up on Wednesday nights, but not really achieving anything.

But after listening to Rod at the Leadership Seminar on Sat and during the church camp, I learnt two important lessons - church and ministry are not about meeting my needs and service isn't about counting.

I realise I have been hung up on the idea of leaving a legacy and living a life that counts. I think I had, have, a sense of my own mortality. Especially as it becomes more difficult for me to walk quickly or to carry a baby for as long as I used to be able to, I feel older. And every time I feel that, I have an urgent desire to squeeze more into my days, to learn, to try something new, to make my life count. When I was teaching, I had a sense of satisfaction almost every day. I knew I had made sense of something difficult for my students, I had comforted, I had challenged. But since I left school, work doesn't give me the same sense of satisfaction. Leaving teaching coincided with the season when my daughters left to go abroad and suddenly, there was no one left to nurture - no students and no children.

That's why I decided to serve with the young adults in my church in 2006. It's been 6 years now and I have been thinking over and over again - what have I achieved? Who have I touched? And I kept drawing a blank. To be honest, I did start looking for new areas to serve in. Together with 2 colleagues from work I have set the ball rolling to volunteer with the Singapore Children's Society. I figured I would go where there was a need.

But God has shown me through Rod and C, my room-mate, that ministry is not about 'doing' but 'being'. That service isn't about meeting my needs, but about me meeting the needs of the church. That service isn't about numbers - not how many young adults I have mentored - but about faithfully turning up and letting God make His Divine Appointments.

So, my daughters, I have a new lens for the years ahead.  When I am discouraged again, I will remember Ps 71:18

"So even to old age and gray hairs,

O God, do not forsake me,

until I proclaim your might to another generation,

your power to all those to come."

God counts in a different way.

My Father's Comfort

Church camp was profoundly moving. I wondered, before I left, what I would do during the long afternoon breaks between the morning sessions and the evening sessions. But in the end, I needed those quiet solitary afternoons to just sit and think and journal.

The camp speaker was Dr Rod Wilson, a psychologist who is now the President of Regent College in Vancouver. He and his wife Bev are raising their adopted daughter, Jessica, who is a high-functioning autistic with frontal lobe damage. At camp, Rod shared the pain of raising their daughter, a struggle that continues till today; as Rod put it, "it's been 25 years of pain". The stories Rod shared were moving and I am awed by this couple who knowingly adopted a special needs child, after years of childlessness, in obedience to God. Their faith and their acceptance of their pain - seeing God IN their pain - challenged me in a deep way.

In his pain, Rod has asked hard questions - "put God in the dock". And he encouraged us to ask those hard questions ourselves. He said at one point, "People ask me - can Jessica be healed? And I answered, Bev and I - WE have been healed." And it struck home for me that that was true for me too. 

I too have my "Jessica story". A pain that will not go away, will not get better, a person I will need to carry for a long time. But through that pain, I have been comforted and I have been encouraged. I have grown and seen more than I would have if life had been all I had imagined. I have thought deeper, felt deeper. And through my tears God has stripped away my conceit, my shallowness; showed me my insecurities; taught me to have honest conversations; ask hard questions. Taught me that a life worthy of Christ is one that hungers for depth and authenticity. Is there pain? Yes. But when I hurt, when I fall, my Father kneels down and puts His arm around me and comforts me. The pain does not go away, the wound is still there. 

You may see my wound; but I feel my Father's comfort.

Knotted Up

Would you believe I have a tight knot in my stomach because I’m thinking of the church camp next week?

I feel 9 years old again, coming down from the classroom, entering the school canteen and not knowing where to sit while I eat my bread with butter and sugar.

I am 18 and sitting alone on the swing outside at my class’s graduation party because in my jeans and t-shirt I don’t fit with my classmates who are now in dresses and shirts and dancing to music I don’t know.

I’m 29 and tongue-tied at a group interview for a leadership post and wondering how the others could effortlessly interject and make conversation when I needed time to think about the question the interviewer asked.

I’m 35 and Rita is furious with me for staying in my cabin and avoiding the hordes of students and teacher colleagues on a 3-day school cruise trip.

At 55, I don’t seem to have changed much. Why then am I going?

It’s the pull of the theme of church camp – “Brokenness”.

Changing Faces

This evening we finally bought the dining table. Yes, now we have a place to dump our things on when we get home and a place to leave mail to pile up unopened :) 

Just as we were leaving the shop, I picked up a pretty cushion that I thought would go well with the tangerine wall in our hall; and D said wistfully, "We should have kept the old cushions and not given them away. I could have kept them in the car and when we drive up to Malaysia the girls could use them to nap." I looked at him incredulously. Truly, I think in his mind, my daughters haven't grown up. They are still 10 and 6, curling up each in one corner of the car, or one in the lap of the other, asleep on the pillows we bring with us on our road trips while he drives. 

But our next road trip is not going to be the same. We will not even all fit into the car, and if we decide to drive up to Malaysia, we would probably have to hire a 7-seater SUV. My family has grown - older and bigger. My family has changed - we eat different food, we speak English rather than Tamil, we take turns to watch different programmes on TV, we have different rhythms to our days. 

Come July, my family sitting round the dining table will be different from my family that sat around our old one when we first moved into this apartment in 1998. I pray, in deep ways, it will still be the same.

To My Friend Who Hurts For Me

Dear friend who asked me why I forgive and how I carry on - I can't explain. Maybe you will hear the answer here... Thank you for calling. Thank you for caring. I owe you.

Pre-departure

Today, finally, I completed the tedious process of filling in the forms I need to submit for my impending trip to the US. There still remains the step of scanning and emailing them, but at least the bulk of the work is done and the medical check up is complete.

The medical check up was the most tedious of the processes. In the time it took for me to get my medical history checked and the vaccinations and tests done, I could have flown from Singapore to Melbourne - or Tokyo! 

I would have been in a much worse temper if I had not been so entertained by the staff at this clinic :) There was the nurse who begged me, "Don't scold me ah" before she thrust a needle into my arm; the receptionist who misspelt my name, then corrected it and forgot to save the correction and proceeded to print appointment slips out for me 5 times before she realised why my name continued to be misspelt; and my favourite - the doctor who urged me "Try to remember the exact date of your polio vaccination" and gazed at me hopefully despite me telling him that I was one year old when I was vaccinated.

I'm glad it is done though. I pick up the results on Fri and send off the forms. The first pre-departure wheel has been set in motion!

Introvert Paradise

I was leafing through my old journals a few days ago and found an MBTI analysis I did long ago in 1994. I was quite amused to see my Introversion score - unbelievable :) I also came across pages I had photocopied from Tim Lahaye's temperament analysis that characterised me squarely as a Melancholic! 

I know there are many Christians who believe such personality analyses are un-biblical and I don't know enough to say whether personality analysis borders on the occult as they claim, but I do know that these two analyses helped me a great deal to understand myself and to work at making different choices. 

From LaHaye's book, I recognised Melancholic traits in myself such as my tendency to catastrophise, my tendency to see worst-case scenarios first, my mood swings. I still struggle with these aspects of my personality but one major effect of accepting Christ has been learning to forgive myself when I revert to these behaviours especially in times of stress. I have also learnt to embrace the Introvert in me without feeling like a misfit. And to share with others the truth that I don't know how to make small talk, that I can only spend 2 days at Club Med before the extroversion of the GOs gets to me, that I really do enjoy having a meal by myself and a book, that I cannot for the life of me THINK when I have to work in a group :)

I think it is telling that right after returning from a weekend away with my dear friends, I went on a 2D1N holiday to Bintan by myself. It was a quiet, solitary weekend - introvert paradise :) 

The best part of my trip :)

My friends ask me if it was awkward. It could have been. Twenty years ago I wouldn't have done it. I would have felt as if every eye was on me as I sat down to dinner by myself.  But now, I liked that I had a table to myself, that I could read my book without chatter, that I could watch other people at the restaurant and make up stories.

Chicken in avocado sauce with fresh mozzarella and a lime margarita ;)

I think turning fifty is beginning to have more and more privileges. I am learning to recognise what pushes my button; I am learning to choose a kinder response instead of retorting the first hurtful thing that comes to mind; I am willing to give people the benefit of doubt because I want them to give me the benefit of doubt as well - like Mini who said at brunch today in response to a thoughtless comment from Rita - "I know you mean something else because what you just said isn't like you."

The trip gave me time to think and read and journal.

And the two books I had taken with me, gave me clarity in different ways. I realised anew that I was like the elder son in the Parable of the Prodigal Son quick to climb the moral high horse, wanting the wrath of God to descend on those who have wronged me. And I realised afresh that I am loved by a prodigal God who loves me extravagantly, without counting the cost and pleading with me to forgive and embrace the lost sons like He has. And I realised that I too am made of glue - when things fall apart, I long to put it all back together; the desire to bond, to adhere is there in all of us and we do it to different degrees of success. 

I had a good getaway. And for a while now, I have been at peace with myself.

JI Mamis in Melaka

I had a great weekend! Together with 3 of my friends, I went to Melaka, which is a town in Malaysia, about a 3 hour drive away. It was a departure from the usual because instead of Rita who usually drives us, this time it was Shamala at the wheel. 

Yay! You did it Sham!

I love the company of these friends. We have known each other for close to 20 years and what I appreciate the most is the honesty of our friendship. We don't cover up our struggles and we know each other's quirks and personalities. We know we aren't perfect and we don't pretend to be.

Checking in to Casa Del Rio

Melaka was a great deal more interesting than I had expected. I don't know if it is a deliberate tourism strategy, but there was a distinct emphasis on nostalgia and a celebration of a past way of life that fascinated me. 

The Library at the hotel - dark wood shelves, heavy damask chairs, tea & coffee and lots of books!

Our hotel was easily the most luxurious I have ever stayed in! Good thing the cost was shared by the 4 of us :)

Courtyard of Casa Del Rio

Pavilions @ Casa Del Rio

 I absolutely loved the hotel :) The service was excellent and we had an awesome rain shower in the toilet. I could have stood under it for a long long time. The hotel had a quirkiness that I had not seen in Malaysian hotels before... From the 555 books in the rooms instead of the usual hotel stationery...

These are the notebooks my dad used to give me to keep accounts of my spending in!

to the subtle way in which the hotel suggested we shouldn't steal stuff from the room...

and the request to please not steal their towels :)

Our hotel was close to the Melaka town centre and I enjoyed the old feel of the Dutch architecture which has thankfully been retained.

At Melaka town centre

 Mani and I climbed up to the ruins of St Paul's Church where the remains of Francis Xavier are supposed to be buried. It's  a derelict building now but still has a quiet charm.

St Paul's Church

We were also close to Jonkers Walk which was the main heritage / tourist area and walking along this street was a trip down nostalgia lane for me! 

Jonkers Walk decorated to welcome the Year of the Dragon.

The "tok-tok man"! This is a hard malt candy that the vendor breaks up with a tiny hammer & spatula. Makes a distinctive "tok tok" sound :)

Eating 'chendol' by the river at a roadside stall

Ice batu! This is basically an ice lolly made with traditional flavours and eaten by pushing it out of a plastic bag :)

If not for the astronomic prices, I would say time has stood still in Melaka. My laments that I used to buy the ice batu for 10 cents instead of the dollar I was charged was met with a polite smile by the young girl manning the stall. I'm sure I wasn't the first one to say it to her. The 'tok tok' man was too deaf (or pretended to be) to respond to my shock at being asked to pay 5 dollars for what I used to pay 50 cents for. Ah well.

It was a good trip. And the JI Mamis are the best people to have made the trip with. I'm sure my daughters would have rolled their eyes and refused to eat the roadside chendol or the ice batu and asked when we could go back to the hotel :)