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Sitting here with a splitting headache and dark circles under my eyes I have decided what would make a splendid 21st birthday present:

A climb to the top of Mount Kinabalu or Mount Ophir.

Hopefully both eventually. I’ve seen Nigel Koh and Zheng Yang’s pictures from their climb a few months ago. I must climb too. Amoz climbs Mt. K. this week and has offered to do Mt. O. with me upon his return during my holidays.

There’s only one problem (besides the fact that I’ve never climbed anything more than some Mount something in Perth and Bukit Timah), I can’t seem to find a girl who would want to do something like this with me. I’m not too fussed about going alone with a few guys but I’m pretty sure my parents would be against it (and rightly so!).

So maybe it’ll have to wait.

Yet another thing out of reach! hohum.



Stop asking. Please stop asking. Everytime you ask you interrupt my train of thoughts; you wake me up from my dream.

Reality is no longer as nice as my imagination. So I imagine – I imagine it all.

And then pinch myself awake.


I just made a butter cake with slivered almonds. As the almost-glossy cake is baking happily in the oven, I read stories from Doctors without Boarders (MSF) and their desperate need for midwives. I think what strikes me more is not MSF’s need for midwives but the countries’ need for them. It goes beyond being a midwife. They need someone who will fight for them and their rights to the medical services we so freely enjoy here.

Before going to China last year the entire 80+ of us from NP trooped down to a conveniently located and air-conditioned clinic for our tetanus injections. Just beyond this safe island are dotted, if not filled, with a multitude of people grateful enough to be taught practical ways to avoid tetanus disease.

My heart reaches out to these people and I feel drawn to work for a few years as a RN in one of these countries before training as a midwife and going back. The thing is, what about my dream? I know I said I try not to hope about the future of my life in this world, but what about a family of my own? A comfortable life here and a nice house, a husband, kids and a fulfilling career? I am torn between the two. Who would follow me to a disease striken country and leave behind all the promises Singapore has to offer?

I know, you could very easily reply “well, maybe you’ll find him out in the field already working!” or “pray that God will show you”. And these statements, among many others, are all too true. But are only possibilities.

Whatever it is, I just have to keep reminding myself that I still have a 3 year bond to fulfill and where God leads, I will follow. It’s not blind. Just keep walking a day at a time.

God has bigger dreams for me. And maybe, as my heart aches for these peoples, he is showing me a very small glimpse of his dream for me.


Hallelujah from the heavens
Hallelujah in the heights above the earth
Hallelujah all His angels
Hallelujah for the last will be first
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord

Hallelujah in the morning
Hallelujah for the beauty of His scars
Hallelujah in the twilight
Hallelujah sun and moon and shining stars
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord

When the night seems so long, throw your hands to the sky
You can sing a new song, wipe the tears from your eyes
When you’re weak, He is strong
He can heal your wounded soul
And calm the storm inside

For all your times of laughter
In every hopeful prayer
When the world weighs on your shoulders
Through sorrow and your despair
With everything, with every breath, praise the Lord
Let everything, let every breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord
Let everything, let every breath praise the Lord

I have come to realise that I can better tolerate bad SPOKEN English than bad WRITTEN English.

When I blog hop or read other people’s comments about various issues (eg. Ris Low’s episode) I cringe. A great number of them keep dissing her for her English while using bad grammar themselves! It’s quite infuriating. If I could, I’d use a red pen and correct all their bad English. It just irks me and so I couldn’t help myself when I corrected the bad grammar on the evaluation form for OT today.

Sigh. I try to be tolerant but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel like laughing and rolling my eyes when I see the really simple and silly mistakes people make. I mean, if they read it out loud wouldn’t they hear the mistake?!

And then, despite having absolutely appalling grammar, they make the dire mistake of attempting to use “big” words to sound impressive. Seriously??



Right now I am not in the mood or the right frame of mind to craft a well written, stirring post. I’m tired. Mentally and emotionally.

Meeting up with Meidan was great especially after a day of almost complete stagnation of my mental faculties. I had a chance to listen to her and a chance to find common ground about our frustrations regarding life in general.

I’ve cleared my room (mummy and tita did most of the clearing) ready for the painters and floor-men to come tomorrow and friday. It felt like I was moving away from home and as a stood back, looking into a rather bare room, I felt empty. It wasn’t a nostalgic sorta empty, nor a mindless empty but rather a queasy empty. Like I’m at breaking point and might just snap at any moment. Nevermind. After this I’ll just sit and read. I want to be with God, alone and try to cling onto him.

The thing is, I need to remember that it’s not just me holding onto him; he’s holding on so tight to me even when my fingers have long let go of my only stronghold.

He just holds on.


Somethings remain out of reach for a seemingly long period of time. And maybe it’s for a valid reason that it’ll always remain that way. And sometimes it only remains out of reach until we’re big enough to get there.

Whatever the reason, we keep reaching until we fully realise the futility of that simple action. We reach out in hope that we’ll get there someday.

One day.


Ingrid Michaelson sings about it, the beatles sang about it and we saw it in fruition today. Not to say that it’s very uncommon, but it was beautiful and amazing nonetheless.

When the number of wrinkles on my face are almost equal to the number of hairs left on my head, would there be someone who still thinks I’m beautiful and amazing?

Liz and I saw this couple on the bus today. The little old lady sat snuggled up to her older husband and they watched the world go by. I watched them and wondered: what were they like when they were younger? were they more loving? more affectionate? more “good-looking”? May be they were. But the way she looked endearingly up to him and the way they seemed to almost finish each other’s sentences was quite something to behold. It wasn’t all perfect and lovey dovey. At one moment she must have said something that seemed positively ridiculous to her husband but quite in her character for he just frowned a bit and answered/corrected her. But it was all quite normal, or so it seemed anyway.

Is there someone whom we can be absolutely honest with? Grow so close and old with them that they know every single dirty little habit we have but still want to hold our hands on that cold bus ride. Is there someone we can know all those amazing things about? Someone who will ultimately be as vulnerable with us as we are with them? A single glance, a squeeze of the hand, a whiff of their cologne, a sigh from their lips and we know it all. Their thoughts, feelings, troubles. We know it and we know just what to do.

Someone to grow with. Someone to live with until it is quite impossible to do otherwise. Someone to be one with.

I hope I find that person.


Right now, I’m an OT nurse. A scrub nurse, circulating nurse, recovery nurse, reception nurse.  The thing is, I don’t get a high from surgery. Patient care, to me, is pretty much nil. Unfortunately the patient on the table doesn’t feel like a fellow human being but more like a chunk of meat that the surgeons chop up and dig their hands into in search of some “problem”. I like to talk, comfort, hold, touch and heal someone with more than medicine and medical methods.

OT is not my thing.

The scrubs may be cool, the scrubbing, gowning, shiny metal bling you play around with in that immaculate theatre may be really amazing, but its high is only temporary for me. So, as soon as I can (which will be next friday), I’ll be out of that place and to ED. That might be slightly better.

I want to decide my speciality sometime soon. My gut feeling tells me that I’ll be headed back to 55B. Urology is okay. Simple and pretty much uncomplicated. But I’m quite attracted to something else. Neonatal. Whether it’s the general nursery or ICU. I’d like to opt for neonatal. I know, people have warned me that it’s rather depressing. The thing is, I’m pretty fine about death, blood and very sick people. About these mini patients, I’m not too sure yet. But I know this is something I can do. I can be there for them. I can be their nurse. I can be theirs.

Well, maybe it’s a tad bit too early to say. So I’ll sleep on it. ((:


The way You make me feel, it’s way beyond amazing.

I just need to remember that more than anything.


“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” John 14:27