A train ride to remember

The highlight this week was definitely the travelling to and fro via railway to Ooty. We arrived at the railway station on Thursday at 10pm to catch our 7-hour train ride to Mettupalayam. Throngs of local families laid all around the station waiting for their trains to arrive. We were fortunate to get tickets for our trip having been on the waiting list right up to the moment we left the hostel for the railway station.

After an uneventful train ride through the night, we arrived at our destination the next morning.

Ooty was a 3-hour bus ride up from Mettupalayam and the further we went up, the cooler it became. What a refuge from the heat wave back in Vellore!

We spent most of our time in Ooty sightseeing and enjoying the weather.

Chocolate shop

115th Flower Festival

'New Zealand' looking place

Check out the litter on the ground!

Meditation gives you wings...

My Havaianas snapped but I got it fixed with some rafia =]

Rose Garden

Before long, we are on our way back to Vellore. This time, only 2 tickets were confirmed and having no choice but to return for posting the next day, we bought 4 general class tickets. Travelling in general class is strongly discouraged by many online websites and travel books, and we are about to find out why.

At the second stop, the 2 girls went over to the guys who had the 2 tickets in third class, leaving the 2 of us to rough it out for the next 6-hours. It is really amazing to see how the locals manage to find even the tiniest of spaces to sit or lie down. Some even improvised a hammock from their saris to coo their babies to sleep. It was really an eye-opening experience =]

Public humiliation at its best

Time seems to fly by and soon we arrived at our destination; we survived the train ride and are proud of it!

The Heart

Heart: A hollow muscular organ which by contracting rhythmically keeps up the circulation of the blood; the seat of the affections or sensibilities, collectively or separately; the inmost or most central part of a thing; the most important or vital part.

The heart is a very mysterious thing. Being attached to Cardiothoracic Surgery this week, I came face to face with it beating inside a human chest for the very first time. That moment, everything around me seemed less important compared to the perfect synchrony of the dual pulsation made by that muscular machine. The heart is an engineering marvel; it promises you what no other thing can – beating for every single second of your life from the moment you were born till the moment you breathe your last. The heart never fails to amaze me in that it NEVER rests!

However, this loyalty comes at a price. The heart can take years of insult without flinching because it was engineered with reserves. It learns to deal and cope with the numerous atrocities we commit against it until it is too late. I have seen patients with hearts encased in fats and wonder how do us humans treat our bodies? It boils down to one simple truth: we took it for granted.

As with many things, once you start taking something for granted, you stop working at it. When that happens, everything goes downhill from then. Is it any wonder then that matters of the heart also suffer the same fate when we take the relationships we have for granted?

I have learnt something today. Whether be it the heart as an organ or the heart as the other definitions stated above, one must never take it for granted.

My virgin local railway experience

I set off by foot from my hotel at Chennai to Egmore railway station on the suggestion of the counter staff when I asked how do I get to Chennai airport other than by auto-rickshaw.

Before long, I was at the station. The walk there took about 5mins as estimated by my information provider. However, chaos ensued as I was the only Chinese person in the ticketing queue. Every local acted like I did not exist, even the ticketing agent! Even though it was my turn to purchase a ticket, everyone else leapfrogged me and got their tickets. I was seriously pissed. I pushed and shoved the locals to get out of that hell hole and after asking around, realized that I was in the wrong queue!

Ticketing hell hole

The railway system is similar to Singapore's MRT

Gosh. I then made my way in search of the right ticketing counter. That was when I met Prabu, a friendly local who was going to the beach with his girlfriend/wife. We both needed tickets for the same platform albeit our trains travel opposite to one another. He brought me to the counter and even helped me foot the extra 1 Rupee for my 6 Rupees ticket as I only had 5 Rupees spare change with me. He told me to ask around for help in Chennai as the locals are very helpful. This was very true! After spending a week here in India, I have come to realize that as long as you ask, there will be someone who will help you. Everyone here is very friendly and helpful (except for those buying railway tickets!)

For the brief 10 stations journey on my virgin railway ride, I felt like I somehow got the stamp of approval from the locals in the same cabin as I was. I was living India.

I have made it to my destination!

Things in context

I love ice-cream. All kinds of them…Today, after a hot day of travelling, I bought a popsicle while waiting for the bus to arrive. A little local boy saw me and started pestering me. I thought he was begging, hence I passed him whatever coins I had with me. This did not satisfy him; he kept at it, refusing to let me enjoy my popsicle. I chose to ignore him at first, but afterwards, I realized he was pointing to my popsicle and the ice-cream stand.

Therefore, to test my hypothesis that he was like me, an ice-cream fanatic, I took him to the ice-cream stand and got him a popsicle at S$0.30. He was finally satisfied.

It is so ironic that the same S$0.30 that some people would die trying to save could make the day a little better for that little boy. I have no idea whether it made his day, but if I could just make him happy during the time he ate his popsicle, I think that it is a good thing…

Ugly tourist

Since when did travelling become an activity like visiting a zoo where the tourist pays and expects to ‘experience’ something? The tourist adopts a condescending attitude in his interaction with the locals, often oblivious to the numerous insults spoken behind his back (or into his face) in their native tongues. He sees travelling as a service industry – I pay for it, I deserve it.

Since when did saving S$0.30 become of utmost importance that people make enemies out of possible friends? In my opinion, the art of bargaining entails a clause stating that both parties should benefit from the deal. S$0.30 might not mean much to us, but it straddles between the ‘hungry’ and ‘full’ line for some locals. More often than not, the ugly tourist benefits, and the local, in order to minimize his losses, strikes a disadvantageous deal. He has no choice, and the ugly tourist often forces this hand. I like the way Bernard views this issue, “I don’t mind paying that extra bit because it doesn’t amount to much when you convert it back and you make the provider of services happy, adding further to the global positive experience of the whole trip.”

No doubt, tourism has evolved over the years into a sort of service industry. People will do all sorts of things to never experience hunger ever again. Hence if they know that ignorant fools from abroad are coming to throw money at them for something they wish to ‘experience’, they will lap at it. There is however a substantial population of backpackers who have managed to preserve the loss art of travelling. They do not pay for experiences, but often get them via communication, genuinity in interaction and love.

I strive to hold myself to the higher standard of a traveler. The traveler knows that he is but a passer-by in a native land and views the locals as fellow human beings; as equals. He immerses himself into the heartbeat of the native land and connects with its life source. The tourist, high up in his ivory tower, often misses out on this aspect. Even if he claims to have experienced some semblance of an immersion, it might not be as authentic as the cash he paid to ‘experience’ it. Hence, the tourist usually returns back home thinking that the trip was ‘nothing much’. The traveler’s experience can never be bought with any currency in the world. He has with him the arsenal of human interactions and connections. He often returns home a humbled person...

 

"There are no strangers, just friends we haven't met" - Professor Low Cheng Hock

Unexpected...

Riding to the hospital is becoming more and more of a routine for me nowadays. However, this morning was something different. I came across a road block on the route I usually travel on. It was a no go. I then asked the officer which way I could take to get to the hospital, he mumbled something in a language I did not understand (thankfully he gestured too). I figured that there must be a detour from the other side and hence decided to explore a new route to get to CMC from Modale. I turned my bicycle around and rode off in the opposite direction, praying hard that I will eventually arrive at CMC somehow.

The new route has less traffic and the road was smoother. It was like a small winding lane where stallholders are busy setting up their businesses flanking the lane. I rode until I saw something familiar then took a turn unto the main road. I had successfully detoured the road block after about 10-15mins of ‘gut instinct’ navigation. It was a wonderful experience having learnt a new route.

I joined my team at the wards where we completed rounds and proceeded to the clinics. All I wanted to do today was to leave after the morning clinics as I wanted to rest before travelling to Chennai later in the day. Somehow, whenever you wish for time to pass faster it slows down; whenever you wish for time to slow down it passes faster. Time seems to be our eternal enemy…

I thank God that I stayed until the end of morning clinics for I had on several occasion felt like leaving halfway. I left today a humbled person for the patients that came in taught me so much and impacted me in so many ways…

The first case was this man who has bladder exstrophy. Prior to today, I have never heard of such a condition before! Apparently, it is quite rare. There is reading up to do tonight…

The next case was this 12 year-old boy suffering from end-stage renal failure awaiting renal transplant. He looked jaded and frail in his dirty clothes, but his eyes and actions told a different story. He was a fighter. He is fighting to live. I later learnt that Dr Ravi has put that boy’s medication on the department’s tab because he is too poor to afford medication. At that moment, it occurred to me that this boy could very well have been fighting all his life – he has got the survival instinct.

I have always felt that modern human beings have lost the edge. We have lost our animal instincts; the most basic primordial instinct needed for survival. Throw a businessman into the middle of a jungle and I bet you he will not survive. We have been too accustomed to the comforts of life – air conditioners, computers, television, mobile phones, cars and the list goes on. Without these inventions, I firmly believe that many of us find it hard to ‘survive’. However, think about it, are all these necessary for survival? I like what Tyler Durden says about such things in Fight Club,

“The things you own end up owning you.”

“It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.”

Human beings are being caught in this viscous cycle of consumerism. We are always on the prowl for the latest, the best. We feel that owning such things define who we are, but do they? Society defines a man to be beautiful when he has status, possessions, and achievements. Now, strip him of all his statuses, possessions, and achievements, is he still beautiful? Does his nakedness, his core still reflect that beauty? Many times the answer is a resounding no, because more often than not we focus too much on the outer man. We heap tons and tons of resources building thick walls on the outside and neglect fortifying the inside. At the end of the day, everyone is just an actor involved in a play called life; everyone is living a double life; everyone has a façade. Are we truly living then?

The next patient who came in presented with a recurrence of his Hodgkin’s lymphoma. When his mother was told the news, she fought hard to hold back her tears, appearing strong for her son who seems to have given up the fight. He appeared nonchalant.

How many of us fail to give thanks for the greatest gift of all every day? The gift of life. We let ourselves be caught up in the rat race, often pushing our bodies beyond what they were created for. Even robots and machines need rest! I find myself to have also at times taken this gift for granted. It is time to cherish what is important and see things with an eternal perspective.

Lastly, there was this 14 year-old boy with a new presentation of a left scrotal mass that has been there for 10 years. I was told to examine him, and I carried out the inguinal hernia CEX. I have never successfully reduced and occluded the deep ring preventing the hernia from re-forming. Today, it worked like what was described in the textbooks! When I removed my finger and told him to cough, the hernia re-emerged confirming my diagnosis of an indirect hernia probably secondary to a patent processus vaginalis. He was listed for a herniotomy =]

Learning here in CMC is a new adventure every day for me. Like a child receiving a Kinder Surprise egg, I find myself not knowing what I will get in a day at the hospital, and I like that feeling…

Paediatric Surgery

I realised something interesting this morning...that I took as fast as the local bus on my bicycle to the hospital. Perhaps it was the early morning traffic where the number of vehicles on the road was significantly lesser compared to the afternoons and evenings. Maybe it could be due to the fact that the bus has to stop at every stop while I rode on. Well...

As I reached the ward, Dr Ravi told me to grab a chair from the nurse counter. I pulled one and was unaware that a computer wire was around one of its legs; the CPU crashed onto the ground and the screen turned hazy. I was at a loss for words. There I was standing stunned in the middle of my team with the senior doctors present. I am so screwed, or so I thought. What came next was a reaction that totally took me by surprise.

"Nice work Norman, I always wanted to do that, seems like you did it for me."

"Great! Now we can get a new computer!"

There was a buzz and soon the attention was taken off me and diverted to the computer. It was really a funny experience I must say. Everyone here is super friendly and willing to teach. Ward rounds are a joy as the doctors explain each case and you really learn a lot from them. One thing I realised today at rounds was that sometimes in life when there is no one the patients can place their hope on, including the doctors, they turn to God (as this is Christian Medical College hospital). I see bibles on beds, people praying in the Chapel and I come to the conclusion that at one's most desperate hour, one will seek a higher power or being for hope.

After rounds, I went to the Operating Theatre where I spent the next 8hrs of my day. As there was only two doctors present in my team today, I was 'hired' for the day. The most memorable surgery I encountered today was this 14 year-old girl who presented with a pancreatic pseudocyst from pancreatitis secondary to gallstones. She was scheduled for a cholecystectomy and pseudocystojejunostomy. I had no idea what the latter was and hence was pretty excited to see it. Apparently, Dr Ravi was going to surgically connect the pancreatic pseudocyst to the jejunum so that the contents of the pseudocyst can drain into the bowel. A Roux-en-Y anastomosis was performed. I was particularly impressed with the skills of the surgeons here. They operate with confidence and have very sleek handling of their equipment. The best part of the surgery was witnessing the two anastomoses being sutured to perfection (such a procedure is usually done using high-tech staple guns in Singapore). One of the main reasons why I chose to do an elective here in India is because I wanted to see how Medicine is being practised in its most fundamental form - no frills. After that operation today, I knew I was in the right place. I always leave the OT learning something new =]

After leaving the OT, I had an early dinner, went to the Chapel and then cycled back to the hostel to settle my laundry before I leave for Chennai tomorrow. The weekend beckons and so the fun begins!

Coincidence? I don't think so...

I am barely into the Preface of Fearfully and Wonderfully Made but I know without a shadow of a doubt that it is by no mere coincidence that I have brought this book up to read in India.

3 years ago, Jesselyn bought me In His Image and after reading it, I was on the prowl for its prequel - Fearfully and Wonderfully Made. The search for that book took quite a while as major bookstores in Singapore did not have stock. I managed to acquire a copy after about a year of persistent trying.

It might come as a surprise to many why I am only reading the book now and not back then when I bought it. I do not know the reasons too, but I can be pretty certain that schoolwork played a major factor. As the months and years pass by, it laid in the midst of my ever increasing 'to read' section of my bookshelf.

Last week, while packing for my trip, I decided to clear some books from that section, and Fearfully and Wonderfully Made caught my eye. It was like the other 20-odd books were not even there. My eyes were only focused on it. Little did I know, the series of events that unfolded would sweep me off my feet...

On Monday, during the welcome speech, I caught a glimpse of a familiar name in the background, Paul Brand. He was the co-author of both Fearfully and Wonderfully Made and In His Image!

Paul Brand's Medal in Orthopaedics

It was then that I realised that I could very well be doing an elective in the very hospital that Paul Brand worked in and served. It was as if I was tracing his steps in history. Prior to making it here, the word Vellore was just another name of a city to me. It was just a word. However, reading it in a book and being here at the moment of reading somehow gave me an invisble connection to Vellore. I felt like I had all along been destined to be here some point in my life - now.

A few pages more revealed that in India where less than 3% of the population claims to be Christian, nearly a fifth of all medical work is performed by Christian doctors and nurses. This is the ideal place for me to experience first hand about missions! This tied in perfectly to what happened on Sunday...

After my practical paper, Weihao and my discipleship group met at my place for our monthly session. If given the choice, I will very much not like to have the session and just have some down time before my evening flight. However, a commitment was made to one another at the very start that attendance for each session was imperative. Therefore, I denied the flesh as it was the right thing to do. During the session, we discussed about spiritual gifts and uncovering them. At the end of the session, we also shared about how we are going to make use of the 1-month before the next session to better identify our individual gifts and areas of ministry. My specific task is to share the gospel with someone in India, preferably through the healthcare system.

As I flipped through the pages, the words that I read resonated so strongly with ideals and beliefs that I have held on to for the longest time. The words rekindled the ember that was almost extinguished in my heart into a raging fire that is burning brighter than ever. It reminded me the reason why I chose Medicine - to uncover the greatness of God through the study of His greatest work, the human body.

Paul Brand wrote, "I have come to realize that every patient of mine, every newborn baby, in every cell of its body, has a basic knowledge of how to survive and how to heal, that exceeds anything that I shall ever know. That knowledge is the gift of God, who has made our bodies more perfectly than we could ever have devised."

When one coincidence occurs, you can label it as such; when two coincidences occur, you can attribute it to good fortune; when three or more coincidences occur, you must be severely devoid of spiritual belief if you are still adamant on it being down to 'good luck'! Therefore, here I am believing firmly that whatever reasons I have being here, God has plans intended for me to grow and mature in faith. Coincidence? I don't think so...

Cycling in Vellore, India

Today, I cycled to the hospital on my rented bicycle. The journey was nothing short of amazing as I find myself falling more and more in love with 'Incredible India'. The lack of orderliness, numerous pot-holes in the road, pedestrians walking like they have a stake in the road's ownership and the unceasing beeping, clinking and honking all culminated in my authentic experience of what it was like to travel like a local.

Throughout my journey, I got responses as varied as weird stares, amused smiles, delightful waving and approving nods from the locals. Many people think I am pretty crazy getting a bicycle (or two-wheeler as they term it here) to travel over here in Vellore but some are quite supportive like Ms Sheela from the Dean's Office. My mother was pretty indifferent, probably due to the numerous things I have done over the years that have numbed her fears, all she said was "be careful".

Cycling here is very enjoyable for me as the traffic flowed like fluid; it moves around you, but never at you. I felt like a fish back in the ocean weaving in and out of traffic, meandering around other two-wheelers and pedestrians; I was in my element.

Another reason why I wanted to travel on the bicycle is so that I can better recognise the roads and places. I always believe that there is no better way to travel and discover a place then walking the ground personally. It is through such first-hand experiences that you connect with the people and become incorporated into their way of life. It is only through such means that one can truly be immersed in culture - you eat, shop, travel and do everything like the locals.

After the ride in the morning, I was even more convinced that I needed to buy a bicycle. Therefore, I rode to the rental shop to meet the boss during lunchtime. He was pleasantly surprised at my offer to buy a bicycle and quoted me 1500 Rupees for a very decent secondhand bicycle. That bicycle looked pretty new compared to the one I rented before and I immediately agreed. I took the bicycle for a spin to make sure that the chain did not keep falling out like what happened on the previous bicycle. It was a smooth criminal; each stroke of the pedal felt as smooth as butter between tongue and palate. I went back, borrowed some tools to true the handlebar to the front wheel as it was pretty off and paid the boss. I was the proud owner of a two-wheeler! Words could not adequately describe how happy I was as I made my way back to the hospital for lunch. I intend to donate the two-wheeler to Modale International Student Hostel when I leave so that if future batches of students ever need a bicycle, it is available! =]

I had the same thing as yesterday, Chicken Briyani, as I wanted to spend some time in the Chapel after lunch.

I found an empty seat in the packed restaurant and asked for permission to occupy it. The man then asked where I was from and we started a lunchtime conversation. His name was Daal and he used to work as a non-medical researcher in Cardiothoracic Surgery. He also shared that he graduated with a degree in English Literature and was currently teaching English. This explains why his English was so fluent and why we managed to even go beyond the superficial formalities of a brief conversation. Daal left after his meal and I went to get another Pepsi and 1L bottle of water as I was seriously dehydrated from the heat. Cool Pepsi never tasted so good! The weather here is so hot that even if you refrigerate drinks, they will never be ice-cold...

Incredible India

10:15pm India time. I am finally here. I was hit by a wave of warm breeze when I stepped out onto the Indian tarmac.

Modale International Student Hostel was a good 3-hour drive out of Chennai, we looked for our driver and was on the road in a matter of minutes. India has its own sense of rustic charm. On the plane looking down, I noticed that the amount of lighted areas were few and far apart compared to the intensely bright skyline of Singapore; I was living in a country of excesses...

Time seems to pass by faster when you are enjoying every moment of it, and before I knew it I have arrived at my accomodation for the next 1-month. I was pleasantly surprised at its level of cleanliness and safety. In my opinion, it is a 3-star accomodation. I proceeded to unpack my backpack and got ready for bed as it was almost 2am!

Army standard layout =]

I woke up at 5.30am and the sun was already peeking through the clouds. A new day beckons and my medical experience in Vellore, India is about to begin. We took breakfast at the nearby canteen and then a short tour around the vicinity before heading to meet Ms Sheela for my posting throughout the 1-month here.

Al-fresco dining at the canteen

Free shuttle bus to Christian Medical College from our accomodation area

I decided that I should learn how to take the public transport to the hospital, hence we hopped onto bus 2. By some strange stroke of fortune, we managed to get seats on the local bus, something which she claims as being very rare. The ride was around 15-20mins and cost less than S$0.30!

On board the local bus

After arriving at the hospital, I was orientated to the grounds and attached to my team in Paediatric Surgery. Monday was clinics day and so I spent the morning in clinics. The clinic had a spartan set up and it resonated with me. I simply love the unassuming-ness of it all. It was basic. It was sufficient.

Dr Ravi, the person I was attached to, was very friendly and always tries to make every case a learning experience. I learnt so much in the brief 2-hours I was in his clinic. Before long, it was lunch time. I decided to explore the surrounding area around the hospital since we had almost 3-hours of free time before exit rounds. After walking through various lanes and streets, we stumbled upon a local food place. Seeing that many locals were eating there, I figured that the food must be pretty good. We entered, ordered and ate. It was delicious! What a benchmark to set on my very first proper Indian meal (breakfast was omelette). Gastroenteritis was a concern no doubt, but I personally believe that every food-seller has a moral and social obligation to uphold and I was contented with this. So far, I have not been proven wrong =]

My first Indian meal

After lunch, we continued our exploration of the area until we could not take the heat any longer, retreating to the chapel inside the hospital to cool down before exit rounds. Exit rounds was concise and every case was an eye-opening learning experience for me. After 45-minutes, my first day in the hospital ended. It was a relaxed pace, enriching learning experience which has whetted my appetite for what is going to happen in the next few days.

Seeing that the hospital was pretty near our accomodation, I decided to purchase a secondhand bicycle to commute between the two. This set the stage for our quest for the old bicycle. Getting around in Vellore is the same as everywhere else - you ask for directions.

Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. - Matthew 7:7

After a long search, we finally found our shop and I rented the old bicycle pending a possible purchase when the boss returns from his business trip. We then got onto the bicycle and made our way back to Modale. Cycling in Vellore is an absolute pleasure. There is a sense of ordered chaos about how things flow and operate; people somehow can read one anothers' minds and everything moves with the precision of a highly-complexed timepiece.

Orderliness in chaos

After washing up, we went to Darling restaurant for dinner. It was situated on a roof-top with a pretty city view to enjoy with the food. The meal was nothing short of delicious and we were both pretty stoned after the meal, reclining back into our seats and enjoying the warm breeze of India typical in this time of the year. Relaxation was the theme of the night.

Pasta and Naan with butter chicken gravy

My old bicycle

Like candles that guide my path...

I guess this academic year has finally taken its toll on me; I am feeling pretty restless and quite jaded before my final paper tomorrow, I just wish it to be over as soon as possible. There are so many thoughts wrestling for dominance in my mind that I find it hard to carry out my final revision for tomorrow. The only thing that I am looking forward to is my trip to India, but even that is filled with its own set of issues. Perhaps I am thinking too much, only time will tell.

It is important to surround yourself with friends who resonate and connect with you as Coach David always say. I find that to be very true. They are like the candles that light up my path in this dark world; the guiding lights that I use to orientate myself whenever I am lost. Thank you for your call; thank you for making the effort to come down and catch up; thank you for your love, care and concern; thank you brother.

Aal izz well (all is well), aal izz well.

To love.

To love is a beautiful, mysterious event; do not miss it.
Be neither too cautious nor too absorbed.
Too many of us reason with our hearts and experience with our heads.
It cannot be so.
The heart knows no logic beyond need and desire;
the head has no senses except the common and the pragmatic.
Neither, frankly, is useful in love anyway.
Rely on your sixth sense, that little voice within.
There is no preparation for or protection from the joy and pain of relationships.
They are inseparable twins. One follows another.
And make no mistake, love is not gay abandon;
it is to be courageous, to take risks and be disciplined. - Author Unknown

C. S. Lewis: Love your neighbour...

It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare...There are no ordinary people. You have never met a mere mortal...But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendours...Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses.

Haruki Murakami: On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl. 

Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.

Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.

But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.

"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.

"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"

"Not really."

"Your favorite type, then?"

"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."

"Strange."

"Yeah. Strange."

"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"

"Nah. Just passed her on the street."

She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.

Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.

After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.

Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.

Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.

How can I approach her? What should I say?

"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"

Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.

"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"

No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?

Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."

No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation,
I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.

We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.

I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.

Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.

Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"

Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.

One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.

"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."

"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."

They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore.

They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.

As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?

And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"

"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."

And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.

The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.

One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.

They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.

Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.

One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:

She is the 100% perfect girl for me.

He is the 100% perfect boy for me.

But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.

A sad story, don't you think?

Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.

Rush not, young one...

One reason why I enjoy running so much, or doing endurance sports for that matter, is because it attunes me to that still small voice of God. This morning, I learnt something new.

In the past few weeks, I have been struggling with the issue of impatience. I found great difficulty in fully surrendering this issue to God even though I chose to believe I have done so. This was not something new to me, I have been a pretty impatient chap all my life. Whatever I set out to do, I will get it done as soon as possible. Many times at the end, I question myself whether what I did was right. I went ahead doing things before thinking about the consequences and inevitably it led to many bad decisions. It is not right to say that I had not at least gleaned some lessons from all my past experiences, but I think I still have a long way to go and God is still moulding me.

I set out to do 16km this morning with a background of 3 10km runs 2 weeks ago and a 12km run a month ago. I thought I was able to handle the distance, but I thought wrong. At the 8km U-turn point, I was feeling really good. I was truly surprised at my level of fitness! However, it was not meant to be when at the 11km mark my right knee started to hurt. I have not experienced such pain before and attributed it to my right ilio-tibial band (ITB). Throughout my years of running, I have never strained my ITB before; when it acted up this morning, I decided to take it easy for the remaining 5km. The first thing that came into my mind then was 'learn to walk before you run'.

How apt. I have been trying to 'run' in my day to day life before I had fully mastered how to 'walk'! I stopped to stretch my ITB and tried to continue albeit at a slower pace. After 1km, it acted up again. This time I decided to walk instead. During that short walk, many thoughts jostled for attention in my mind. However, I was only interested with what God was trying to teach me. I finished the 16km run with a slow jog in the last 2km.

My conclusion at the end is that His plans are always greater and better than what we think is best for us. Therefore, is it not better if we left everything in His hands and let Him map out everything for us in due time?

'For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, declares the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts.' - Isaiah 55:8-9

Therefore, I am to focus on my 'walking' before thinking about 'running'.

'But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh.' - Galatians 5:16

'...so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to Him, bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God.' - Colossians 1:10

'...holding fast to the Word of life, so that in the day of Christ I may be proud that I did not run in vain or labour in vain.' - Philippians 2:16

This summarises everything: 'but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.' - Isaiah 40:31