Last post-ballet car conversation

Emily (in an aggrieved tone); MEE REE YUM

Me (thinking she was going to say how much she'd miss me): I'll miss you too

Emily: YOUR EYEBROWS ARE SO BEAUTIFUL

I still will miss her though.

The gardener of my heart

'I used to be dead' is such a strange but true thought.

In (On? In? During?) my last fellowship, Caleb reminded us all that life before Christ and after Christ is completely, utterly, different.

It's a bit like the structure of poems, as I was reading 'The Poem and the Journey' earlier in the day. Life before Jesus is the strophe, meeting and accepting Jesus is the volta, and life after (or rather, with) Jesus is the antistrophe. All altogether it is the beautiful poem of your life.

Previously, my heart was a garden of weeds. (like the secret garden before Mary found it again - overgrown, sad and angry and walled) There was nothing but weeds, worlds of wanwood leafmeal, the sursurrus of my own desires through it's trees and undergrowth, a mirkwood of myself.

I think sometimes people have the impression that converting to Christianity is akin to Jesus entering the garden and doing a slash-and-burn process of radical change (like the irresponsible farmers in Indonesia cursethisPSI) so that suddenly our hearts are a haze of bible verses and prayer and quoting John Piper and singing songs with our hands raised - we are no longer ourselves, we have become 'Christian robots'.

But it isn't like that. It isn't like that at all. Jesus comes in, a wanderer in the woods of our heart. The weeds resist him, tearing at his skin, the walls try to climb higher to block him. The critters that have ruled the garden for so long, making us nice-for-niceness'-sake, letting us believe we are better than another person's heart-garden, hunker down and tremble because his footsteps doesn't say 'Let me distract you with another fleeting pleasure'. It says, 'My father made this garden long ago. There are seeds here that can yield beautiful fruit. This place needs me to make it my home. I am here to stay.'

He enters, and the process begins. He pulls weeds out so the tiny flowers that were choking below can breathe again. He levels the walls so that sunlight can come in again. The flowers grow because he waters them, not because they want to outshine another garden. The trees bear fruit because of his gentle touch, not because the heart needs another distraction.

He comes to a clearing in the garden. It has always been empty. Sometimes critters came in and stayed there, building lairs of  ambition, success, sensuality, cynicism. They all moved out after a season - the clearing did not fit them, and it was left emptier than ever.

'Here I will build my tabernacle.' He says, 'Your heart is the most perfect place to be my dwelling place.'

He soothes the scars left by the scratches of the critters, he clears the rubbish, begins building his house. His person already fills the place, and the garden feels, complete.

No one knows that garden was ever the mirkwood that once existed. That place has died and an Eden lives in it's place. But it really is the same. The gardener makes all the difference.

Exhibition M

Today, feeling helpless, I pulled up my harem pants all the way up to my chin, and tucked my arms into them so I was just a head on top of some harem pants and legs.

I went up to my Mum on the balcony and said 'Mum.'

She looked at me and said,

'How odd, I sent my daughter off to Cambridge with two arms, two legs and a head. She came back, no arms, not sure about the head - the legs are pretty good still though. But now she's not very useful for museum work. The NHB didn't know what to do with her, so they made her an exhibition. For 6 years.'

chewing slowly

On last Wednesday before fellowship I was waiting for the bus and realised something was amiss.

I used to look for the bus with a desperate kind of necessity, as if the bus carried my breath and every minute it took to arrive was an asphyxiation gasp. On Wednesday I realised I was looking for the bus, while thinking of whether I would feel cold in the room later on, whether I ought to eat my dinner at the church or at the benches outside the art museum,and who on earth invented squares when they are so rare in nature and why do humans like squares so much and why did we decide we need a name for shapes anyway - no longer was my mind fixated with single unwavering intensity on the arrival of my journey - is this normal?

As I made my way to the church, I focused on walking slowly - something my friends know is not in my nature. (Weixin and I sometimes wonder if we're close because we often walk ahead of the rest of the group together, our leg frequency pitched higher than theirs, like how whales with complementary frequencies become mates)

I sat in the church and ate the dinner I had prepared in the 5 minute rush I always have before leaving the house, and ate it slowly, chewing. (Mum says Grandad told them to chew each mouthful 40 times before swallowing for good health, although it does not prevent cancer)

I thought of 'I am Sam' and wondered if he would be proud of me.

                      Long pause.  Rita slowly eats her pie.

                                SAM (CONT'D)
                      It's good to chew.  You're eating more
                      slowly.
     
                               Rita laughs and nods.

needing that peace-that-passeth-all-understanding

Today has been just a little bit mad.

The blender broke in the morning - not surprising since it's quite a cheap one. But I discovered that you can use the handmixer to make sort-of-nice-cream, and I hope it can make the bliss balls I plan to bring on the plane tomorrow as well. Since it is a public holiday, we sat down to what will be our last full-family breakfast. Mum made the pancakes she's made since we were tiny, out of a 'Be-ro flour' cookbook which calls the pancakes 'dropped scones'.

After that, I signed up for all the orientation things (aka. the library induction tour) that I needed to in short bursts because the internet was going just slightly haywire, and then tried to pack. My clothes are still everywhere, and I don't know which suitcase to put the rice cooker in and I really want to bring 'the Diary of Anne Frank' but it might come to choosing between that and something by George Eliot which is on my optional reading list, and when that happens do you choose something  something comforting or semi-official?

The packing was going nowhere, and I was getting so worried about it, so I took some time out to do some yoga (no more hardcore workouts until my hip repairs itself) I felt a little less heartbeat-in-head-frantic after that, but I tried diving into packing again and it was about half an hour before I was going 'okay okay okayokayokay' to calm myself.

I said I wasn't hungry for lunch but Mum made me some rice and vegetables and squeezed my hand and I sat down and ate while sorting through which earrings to bring, and noticed that I hadn't realised I was hungry until I started eating.

Tonight is the leaving party.

Tomorrow is the leaving.

2 suitcases and a flight at 10 45 pip emma.

I shall wear stripes to the airport.

It's so soon

So I haven't packed.

And I'm leaving in 3 days.

There have been so many lasts recently - last day in Grace Baptist Church, last tuition sessions, last sleepovers, last lunch-with-daddy, last ballet lesson, last steam boat dinner with the family (which meant 5 bowls of Ama's delicious tang hoon, and two long hugs breathing in her damp, savoury smell - it is strange but Grandma always smells sweet and Ama always smells savoury).

The realisation really hit on Monday morning, when I woke up after a sleepover at Wei xin's house. As usual, my mind raced to plan my week, and suddenly, I felt as if someone had pulled a carpet away from under my feet, because my usual schedule was completely thrown aside for this week of lasts. I didn't have to plan a tuition session because I had already finished preparing for my final one on Monday, I didn't have fellowship on Wednesday because I am going instead for my last ballet lesson (with Mrs Cheong who has taught me for more than 10 years) This week was actually a week of doing everything I possibly can and want to with the people I love before I leave them for close to three whole years.

Today I started off with a big bowl of hazelnut-chocolate and mixed summer berry nice cream (I carefully hoarded enough bananas last week to make sure I'd have enough for nice cream breakfasts every day this week!) and I spent so long making it look gorgeous that I had to pop it back in the freezer after taking a photograph of it to firm up before I ate it because it had begun to melt!

I tried to do an exercise routine, but unfortunately my hip has been getting more and more painful, and yesterday I rashly pushed through the pain and did a whole work out, and so today twenty minutes into the hour long work out it started hurting so bad I decided to stop before I hurt myself! I want to walk onto the aeroplane at the end of the week, not be wheeled onto it!

My Mum had booked a massage appointment for herself, my sister and I (and may I add that I go for a massage on average once every 6.33 years) and so we all went to 'Healing touch' for an hour long full body massage. Their tagline was 'knead your cares away' - cheeky!

Because massages aren't something I do often, I was at a bit of a loss when the masseur led me to a room and then promptly walked out of it. I sat on the massage bed, for a little while, expecting her to return, but she was taking a while so I dithered about and drank some water and wondered what I was supposed to be doing - was this some sort of alone time for me to get into a zen state of mind?

She came back in, looked a little surprised, and explained that I was supposed to undress.

'Oh!'

She left again and I stripped down to my undies, put on a little covering they give you, and lay on my front on the massage bed. The massage was incredible. Although a test I took said my love language is quality time and words of affirmation, I think physical touch is magical, because I felt completely soothed. I could literally feel her almost twisting the knots in my shoulders and back away (which did hurt a little but felt wonderful afterwards)

After that, we took a taxi (because Mum had a session quite soon after and we needed to save on time) to the living cafe. Unfortunately, we got stuck in a bad jam, and had to listen to the very negative taxi driver rant about the inefficiency of the government. Well. I know one person now who didn't vote for the PAP in the last election.

Thankfully, we got the the living cafe not too late. We tried a tofu and sesame burger, and their salad. Neither was incredible, and therefore not worth the price in taste (though I am sure they surpassed it in nutrition), but the dessert (aka the blueberry cheesecake) made up for it.

It isn't so often that I get to have a day out with my Mum and sister, and I was so happy we were together. We're all very very different people - Hannah is very analytical and assertive, Mum is sensitive and others-centred, I am simple and averse-to-negative-taxi-drivers. But we all complement each other (how many times have I needed Hannah to help me be a little more directive)

Now the late afternoon sun is casting a golden glow every where and I am getting ready for my last ballet lesson.

Anxiety is behind my ears

One time he and I were sitting in bed and I said “Where do you feel stuff?” and he said “What do you mean” and I said, “Here is anxiety” and pointed to my bottom left rib where the spiders start. He pointed to his throat. “It’s here for me.” I keep anger in my breastbone, he holds it in his hands. i feel sadness on my shoulders, he feels it in his lungs.

We play this game until we come to love, and I realize that I am terrified (jugular vein) of what might come. What if it is not the same. What if he feels it somewhere else, what if it is just a flash fire, not the slow burn, what if it is congealing in one place instead of radiating, I try to change topics, flight response (sternum)

He takes my hands in his and puts them over his ribs and says, “Everywhere, everywhere, like a sun is trying to escape me, like I am being consumed and you are filling up where used to be empty.” I say, “don’t be ridiculous humans are 99% empty space,” I nervous laugh (spiders down spine), he holds his gaze with me. “Everywhere,” he repeats.
—inkskinned


It's just 7 days till I fly off, and I'm incredibly excited for this new adventure. In August, I kept writing my dates as September because I felt like I was constantly dreaming of that moment where the plane wheels would lift off the ground, and my heart would say 'Truly truly it's time to go!!!'

But I'm also really really anxious. I don't know if I will make friends - judging from the 2 CUMSA meetings, where in the first I was to tired to start conversation with any one and waited for people to come up to me, and in another I thought I was doing very well talking to people until someone asked me if social events like these tired me, and I realised my secret was found out. I shall miss the habits of love that surround and support so much of my life right now.

I also don't know if I will be able to cope with the work and rigour of Cambridge. Perhaps I am just unused to studying after such a long hiatus, but getting through my reading list has been an honest struggle. Often I find myself reading portions of text just for the sake of finishing the book, and of course I don't retain information that I don't read with passion, interest or intellect. Certainly some books have made deep impressions and I've enjoyed the stories and the learning, but others... I hope I really hold this quote (given to me by a dear dear friend as we battled the A levels together) to my heart as I begin learning: “Promise me you will not spend so much time treading water and trying to keep your head above the waves that you forget, truly forget, how much you have always loved to swim.” – Tyler Knott Gregson

Jesus, please give me courage.

Different sorts of fear in public places

When an unknown, faceless voice calls your name over your shoulder

When a bus passes barely an inch from your face and you can feel the breadth of your life compressed into that one moment of almost-annihilation

When you see someone you so do not want to meet that you let out an involuntary 'no' almost as a plea to the universe to direct their path away from you

When you walk out of a toilet and everything in front of you seems completely different

When it's late at night and you hear foot steps behind you

Getting lost, loster and lostest when you are already late, late and latest.

And you don't have a phone or a friend

18/09/2015

'The right reader of a good poem,' said Robert Frost, 'can tell the moment it strikes him that he has taken a mortal wound. That he will never get over it.'

I read this line in 'The poem and the journey' by Ruth Padel and felt like crying - so many pieces of my heart have been hacked out by beautiful words.

Is this what it means to lose one's self? It is as bad as how I imagine falling in love to be. 

In other news I am more than 2/3 through my reading list! I also made 37 cupcakes and probably about trillion hazelnut-cinnamon cookies for tomorrow's gracehaven event and I am ALL. BAKED. OUT. I think this has officially put me off cupcakes just as how continual manning of the wxxfle machine in On The Table made me visually allergic to wxxfles. (Censored to preserve my sanity.)

17/09/2015

I woke up in a haze (both literally and figuratively - this weather is just ugh) still caught in the sticky web of sleep, and went to the kitchen for my overnight oats. I love how I can look forward to delicious breakfast every morning without having to cook when my still sleep heavy hands are liable to knock everything over and leave gas rings on...

I prepared for my tuition session while my workout loaded on youtube, and then I tried to get the Instagram widget to work on the bottom of this blog but the HTML coding is still defeating me... Trial and error, I tell myself, trial and error, trial and error, trial and gggrrrrrrrrr

The hazy grey-sy sky has meant that I'm avoiding running outside until the air clears, and I haven't been on my beautiful greenway track for a while (although I intend to at least once before I fly off - YOU CAN'T STOP ME SUMATRA) Thankfully there are a whole host of baffling work outs of youtube to try out. I finished a WHOLE WORKOUT today without stopping to mime death on my lounge floor, so I was pretty proud of myself.

I was having lunch with Bramina, who's flying off to York in 5 days! I haven't seen her since I went to the Ethos book launch (where she played a part in editing a local book!) and it's always nice to catch up with someone who has grown up with me. We're both very different people, she's had a lot more experience in this wide world than I have, she cares less about what people think of her, she is far more tough ad independent. I think she's completely ready to brave and English winter whereas I will probably be wrapped in blanket in my room weeping here and there and wishing I had friends and some sunshine. But we shall see.

We had lunch at a place called graintraders, near the raffles place MRT. It was delicious, albeit overcrowded.  I had a big bowl of quinoa, with 5 lentil falafel, grilled beets and carrots, marinated peppers and wafu tomato, some nuts and coconut curry (which was a little spicy for me so I used it sparingly).We had to stand around with our tray of food for about 5 or 10 minutes before we manages to snag a seat, but I would go back (although after the crazy office lunch hour!)

We left quickly so office people with actual schedules could have their lunch, and we walked along Cecil street and sat at a starbucks table that had someone's old cappuccino on it so it looked like we actually bought something and had a right to sit on a chair in the street so we could have conversation.

I managed to get my visa, very quickly which was such a blessing. As I headed out, the visa collection centre people asked if my visa had been approved and when I said yes they all smiled and said 'congratulations!' It made me think of the refugees who are still caught between states - it is so hard for them to gain entry to a country when they have no where else to go, whereas just because I scored a few letters in my A levels I score entry into a safe, beautiful country.

I had a lot of time before I was due to give tuition to Kendra and Hiu wai later that evening, so I did a spot of grocery shopping for the hazelnut and cinnamon cookies and blueberry muffins I'm making for the Gracehaven children on Saturday. I'm praying the cookies in particular turn out well, since it is  a new recipe and it's a vegan recipe! I also popped into Cold Storage, where they had dragon fruit on sale (how I will miss that strange, scaly fruit when I leave...) I also looked at the bananas for the half priced ones, but I couldn't see any. I spotted an old man labelling some fruit on the other side of the shelf, and went round to ask if there were any over-ripe bananas for sale?

'Over dry bananas?' he said, 'Wait ah you walk round first and come back I haven't label yet.'

I realised he was grading the fruit and vegetables then, deciding which were worthy of discount, and so I browsed the aisles before coming back. He was in the process of labelling the bananas and asked how many I'd like (3 bunches). I explained that I liked buying the old bananas because although they may be brown and spotty outside, inside they are sweet and delicious. He gave me a cheeky grin and said' Ah, so you know the secret! Next time find boyfriend must also remember that.'

Apology

I often have many thoughts when I walk that I want to write so badly down, but when I arrive back home, they’ve slipped from my mind like leaves down a storm drain. Perhaps writers are people who actually remember those small thoughts.

Today I was walking home in a downpour after lunch, in the little cocoon of dry that my umbrella I started belting out Christmas songs ('Chestnuts roasting on an open fire' got a good five minutes and a couple of encores) as the water swirled through the gaps between my toes and under the archway between my foot and my slippers.

The world is beautiful but I think I'm having writers' block.

The living cafe

This morning I walked around in public holding a quarter slice of a watermelon. I got some pretty strange stares, but I didn't heed them because I was very very excited - I was going running with Ellis! Unfortunately it was too hazy for that - the PSI is over 100, and so we decided to stay indoors and do a work out instead. Ellis was pretty good at it, I was puffing and panting all over the place. We lay and listened to 'Humble' by Audrey Assad for a while after that, and did some yoga to ease our sore muscles.

Before we showered, I had a quarter of a watermelon, and one of Ellis' amazing almost-vegan chocolate tarts. Then we visited the organic grocer near Ellis' place, although we didn't buy anything because it is all so expensive (although I was highly tempted by three nak'd bars for 5 dollars) We kept going, on to The Living Cafe, which I'd been meaning to visit for ages! I was determined to try raw food, since it's a rarity in Singapore, and so I got pesto zucchini pasta, which filled me up SO fast! Ellis had a brown rice bowl, which looked lovely and home-y. I still had room for dessert though (I always do) and got the blueberry 'cheese'cake, and Ellis had an avocado cake. That cheesecake was the best not-cheesecake-cheesecake I have every had (although it still can't beat the REAL pear and cheese cake I had in brunetti. Sigh vegan world you gotta up your game.) and I'm crossing my fingers that I'll be able to have it again before I leave.

We talked about 'if we didn't know sin was sin would it be sin?' (which is sort of like the if a tree fell and no one heard it fall...? question) and role models and pastors and how she might come over to England in December (!!!)

A boy on a train

On the way home from the airport yesterday, on the train there was a sweet little boy who was enamoured with the train. He would sit with his forearms held together, mimicking the closed doors of the train, and when the train pulled into a station, he would echo the recorded train-station voice (once he said 'hahaher' instead of 'lavender', bless him) and then, forehead screwed up in concentration, separate his forearms as the doors opened.

'Please Mind the Gap!' he would say with glee at every station.

'dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee deeeeeee' he would say as the doors opened with their accompanying beeps.

His mother occasionally tried to shush him, and his enthusiasm would abate - until 'next station, bugis' was broadcasted, and then up went his arms, in anticipation for the doors.

When I've seen his same behaviour in adults on the train, my subconscious immediately thinks that they have a mental slowness or syndrome. But what if they are a fortunate few who have somehow not lost the constant wonder of a child at the mundane?

"To children, the world and everything in it is new, something that gives rise to astonishment. It is not like that for adults. Most adults accept the world as a matter of course.' - Sophie's World

(Am I an adult? I don't even know. )

Emirembe

My Mum is lying in bed asleep. I think it's the first time in at least 2 weeks that she has been in bed before 11pm.

I realise that I want to be that person who calmly tells things. She calmly told me, I calmly told myself, she calmly told the man... I want to be someone sure of herself, sure of the moral and spiritual authority behind her values and actions. I don't want to be the person who scares other people off with emotional rampages and rants, or the person who panics when the house is on fire and thrusts her baby into the arms of a stranger. I want to be able to breathe and think of Jesus, the unshakeable, who calmly told the waves to be still during a storm, and calmly drew in the dust and then told the Pharisees to look at their own hypocrisy in the middle of a crowd lusting to stone a poor adulteress.

Auntie Sheila was very good at remaining calm. Mum told me that she never ever saw her ruffled, except for once, when her most extreme expression of exasperation was 'Oh, I wish David wouldn't do that.'

I know my heart often feels like a shaking aspen, but I hope that I will grow in wisdom to become an oak, steady strong and true.  

Doing 'The White Tiger' and 'Special Green' during tuition today after reading A Ballad of Reading Gaol yesterday felt like listening to Justin Beiber's 'Baby' on a faulty radio after a John Mayer concert.

(I apologise for all these nameless snippets but life is like that right now)

I had 2 injections on last Wednesday, and the nurse was so skilled that it didn't hurt too bad! Until Tim punched my arm RIGHT where the needles had gone in, and Hannah side hugged me around my sore shoulder, and I bashed my sore shoulder against a shelf.

Sigh. They say be kind to yourself but that's very hard with furniture.

“I used to feel so alone in the city. All those gazillions of people and then me, on the outside. Because how do you meet a new person? I was very stunned by this for many years. And then I realized, you just say, “Hi.” They may ignore you. Or you may marry them. And that possibility is worth that one word.” - Augusten Burroughs

When I was running through the greenway on a Saturday morning, I passed an Indian man also running, his red shirt damp with sweat. Usually runners along that road ignore each other, or nod briefly (I always assume to acknowledge the shared breathless, leg aching feeling of running). The Indian man looked me straight in the eyes, smiled, and said 'Good morning'. I (very inadequately) smiled back.

After I doubled back, and started heading home, I passed the same man. He had slowed to a walk, and as I passed him, I smiled again, and said 'Keep going! You can do it!'

Another time when I was running a man in those cyclops-type reflector sunshades did the star trek 'live long and prosper' sign.

07/09/2015

Yesterday I walked all the way to the library to borrow three books. It was quite hot and I realise I really have no concept of seasons - I couldn't imagine Auntie Sarah in winter, much less myself. Is it really cold? Of course, but what is cold? How can it be cold all the time? How can the sunrise so late and set so early? The sun has always been a constant, but soon very many constants will shift.

On my run I saw and old woman running who looked very fit and I thought 'I want to be like that when I grow old!' One of my best memories with my Grandma is of the two of us, Auntie Sheila, and Tim, playing catch around a table in the lounge, and I hope that when I grow old I will be able to play with my children and grandchildren like that. I also distinctly remember my Mum always refusing to come and jump on the trampoline with me because of her weak knees. One day she came on, and I was so afraid of shattering her bones that I jumped as little and as lightly as possible, each jump giving me terrible visions of an earthquake tremor in her knee caps.

I also saw two shaggy black dogs.

Mum and I tried to make soy milk with her soy milk machine, and what ended up happening was that the minute we plugged the machine into the wall, we short circuited the house and all the lights went off and we were plunged into darkness and dissolved into laughter. This happened twice. It made me realise how strange lights are. Imagine a world without electric lights - it would be almost imperative to end activity when the sun set. So many conversations would happen in the comforting embrace of darkness. Would people speak to each other more? Would we be more cognizant of how each other's footfalls sounded like, as we heard fathers mothers sisters brothers pad through darkened hallways?

Goodbye, Auntie Sheila

On Thursday last week, at about 8.10 pm Singapore time, Auntie Sheila, the lady who gave me my first bottle feed and faithfully sent birthday cards every year and showed me how a human could be so close to Jesus Christ, passed away.

Passed away. I think passed on is a more apt phrase. One of my greatest comforts in grief is knowing, without a shred of the spectre of doubt, that she is in heaven. While drifting in and out of consciousness in the Raigmore hospital (the hospital she had worked in for a large part of her life), between Wednesday and Thursday, she murmured that she could see Angels, and said 'Thank you, Lord Jesus, for all you have done. I'm so glad it is time. I am in heaven. I can see the Lord... Jesus, thank you.'

I can hear her voice when she said that last part. It was something she said all the time.

I kept thinking about the text message I sent her when I found out she had gone into hospital. She never saw it. It's strange but I assumed that she would, in this day where every one has their phone with them. Whatsapp crosses continents, phone calls pierce space and time. But you can't bring your phone with you when you die. I wish I had replied her previous text earlier. I wish I'd called her.

I went for lots of runs. I realised that Auntie Sheila, who had had a hunch back and hip operations and always walked with a slight shuffle and her hand on a wall or an arm to steady herself, can run in heaven. I imagined her running to the rims of clouds, peering over into Singapore, New Zealand, England, Scotland, all the places and people with hearts that mourn for her.

Thursday and Friday nights were pretty much spent curled up on my bed crying and trying not to wake Tim up. Even now, pangs of sadness creep up on me at the strangest times - while I'm singing a worship song, while I'm doing a cool down stretch after a run, when I hear anyone say 'shepherd's pie', or 'treasure', when I spy a birthday card from her poking out of the piles of paper on my desk. Every lament is a love song.

On Saturday at Desaru, just after we arrived, Mum went to sit on the beach while Tim and Dad played table tennis. When our room was ready, I walked over, and she was so beautiful, sitting, back straight, looking out to sea.

I sat, with my head tucked into the space between her head and shoulder (I wonder if God creates children in a way that they fit into their parents laps and arms and neck spaces like puzzle pieces?) and she told me, she imagined this is what Auntie Sheila saw in that strange limbo between heaven and earth that she was in for a while - a sunny horizon, the waves crashing, wind blowing in her eyes and making her squint a little, and then the figure of Jesus appearing , walking on the water towards her saying, 'Come on, it's time to go.'

Part of me knows her soul is finally in the place her heart has been yearning for her whole life. Another part of me just wants to hear her say 'Hello treasure, lovely to see you' again so so so much. I miss her.

"It had been a long day, and I don’t mind saying that I cried a little bit. There is nothing wrong with crying at the end of a long day."

- Lemony Snicket, When Did You See Her Last?

A whole week of bananas

Last week my Dad bought three bunches of bananas. In a couple of days some of them were so ripe they began dropping off the bunches and so every breakfast became an adventure. (Also Banana nice cream is possibly one of my favourite things especially in Singapore's hot weather, and I am so so glad that old bananas go for 10p each in the Cambridge market place.)  

Chocolate and Summerberry Banana Nice Cream (with hidden spinach!)

Blend:

1.5 frozen bananas + a couple of handfuls of frozen summerberries + a handful of spinach + half a cup of oats + some plant milk

2.5 frozen bananas + 2 tablespoonfuls of cocoa powder  + a handful of spinach + half a cup of oats + some plant milk

Banana Pancakes

Blend:

1.5 cups of quick oats + 1 cup plant milk + 1 Banana + cinnamon

Fry that and drown in maple syrup

(Disclaimer: my batter turned out rather thick and heavy when I tried this which wasn't very delicious,  and so the next time I make this, I'm going to add in some water and more plant milk. Also I'm not going to leave it standing for as long as I did, because I realise oats soak up water which was why my batter slowly became thicker and thicker to my dismay!!!)

Spinach and Acai Smoothie Bowl

Blend:

3 frozen bananas + one normal banana + one packet of acai (which I find doesn't have much taste...) + a couple of handful of spinach + half a cup of oats + some plant milk

I topped it with some plain banana nice cream, some of the roasted nuts Auntie Kit Wan gave us (which are completely addictive), bluberries, toasted coconut, chia and some kiwi slices (DID YOU KNOW YOU CAN EAT KIWI SKIN??? I just discovered this and I am completely mind blown)

Desaru

Day 1:

I woke up really early to get my overnight oats in before our car ride to Malaysia, during which I slept most of the way, curled under a sarong. I haven't woken up so early for ages, the world was still dark when I crept into the kitchen and by the time I finished my breakfast the sun had risen. My whole world went from darkness to light in one hour which never fails to fill me with wonder - daybreak and sunset are two such huge changes our planet goes through every day and I am afraid of leaving my family and of people leaving me.

Before we got to our hotel, (which my family - my parents first, and then the children when we were born - have been going to for 25 years) we stopped by to eat some roti prata. I haven't had one in ages, and this one was heavenly, lighter and less dense and oily than the one I usually have in Ghim Moh, and with a delicious vegetable curry on the side.

At the hotel, our room wasn't quite ready yet, so Dad and Tim played some table tennis while my Mum went for a walk on the beach. Tim is getting so very big and strong, while Dad is growing a beer belly (not from beer though!), but Dad still beat Tim even though he had been driving for hours - what a champion! Here is his victory pose:

When our room was ready, I walked down to call Mum from the beach. She was sitting very upright, staring out at the green waves, and I didn't have the heart to break her moment of peace, and so I sat down beside her and lay my head on her shoulder.

When we did get up to the hotel room, we immediately got into our swim suits. It might seem foolish, given that it was about 12 noon, and the sun was f i e r c e, but the thought that in less than a month I'll be heading into an English autumn and winter and any beach swimming will only happen in my dreams meant that I didn't want to waste a second of my time by not being in the water.

The waves were just. perfect. The last time we came the sea was very placid, and calm, which would have been alright for paddling but it was also full of jellyfish. This time mercifully the jellyfish had chosen another holiday location, and the wind was cooperating but giving us plenty of lovely, lifting waves.

So we went right in. Something my Dad has always told me since I was young about swimming in the sea is that you've got to let the waves carry you. If you struggle and panic all you'll get is a faceful of salty water and the horrible fear of drowning. It reminded me of the lyrics from one of my favourite worship songs, Satisfied in You:

'So when Iʼm drowning out at sea
And all your breakers and your waves crash down on me
Iʼll recall your safety scheme
Youʼre the one who made the waves
And your Son went out to suffer in my place
And to show me that Iʼm safe.'

So often God's plans seem to drown me. He gives, and He takes away, and I'm left wondering 'why?' I kick and struggle and try to out swim His ocean of sovereignty, when all I'm doing is blinding myself and tiring myself out, running from Someone who cannot (and will not) ever leave me or forsake me. It's so much better, so so much more fulfilling, to let go of my stubborn desire to direct the wind and waves, and let God's current pull me where it will. I need to dance with His waves.

Literally dancing with the waves right here

Dad also has this thing he likes to do, which is laying in the shallows of the ocean, where the waves break, and let the foamy breakers toss and turn him along the shore. It's the best feeling, of utter helplessness and release. You get a lot of sand in your hair and every crevice and pocket in your swim suit, but's it's completely worth it. I used to believe the Grimm tale that said the foam that encrusts a wave is a dead mermaid, and as I was tossed and turned by the white shore-foam, I thought, ' I'm basically in a mermaid graveyard right now.' Strange.

When Dad and Tim went to the swimming pool, Mum and I stayed on the beach and read for a while. I read T.S Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, and we put our legs in the sun and the rest of ourselves under the shade of the trees that have looked at beach revelers for years and years.

Tim came back, and pushed me on the swing. And then we dove back into the water.

When the sun glare had made me sufficiently dizzy and the sea had parched me so much that I felt the terrible irony of 'The Ancient Mariner':

'Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.'

only then did I head back to the hotel room, to shake the sand from my swimming costume, pad around the cool hotel room in a towel, and eat some of the banana bread, papaya and blue berries I had brought.

And it wasn't long before I was back in the water, with Dad this time. Time alone with my Dad isn't very common, and time sent talking with my Dad about unpractical things is less common still. But in the waves of the late afternoon, Dad told me about his Father's business, and the failure of the business during the 1973 Oil Crisis, and how his success had been built on a reputation of honesty, and a strong bond of trust with his customers. Our conversation was punctuated by particularly strong waves that washed over us, pushing our hair back from our faces and stinging our skin, lifting our legs from the sandy, muddy depths of the ocean and setting us lightly down again. I had a strange mental image of us as we were, but without the sea - we were literally levitating in space. That gave me the strangest shivery feeling of delight - swimming is a miracle.

Day 2:

The day dawned bright and early, and Mum and I took advantage of the morning sun to head down to the beach to do some early morning yoga and tai-chi.

We had breakfast after that, I had a heaping plate of watermelon and two  plates of nasi lemak rice with a vegetable curry called 'sayur lombok', and then some chinese porridge with shallots and soy sauce. I finally feel like I do justice to the breakfast buffet, compared to past times where I would eat a few measly pieces of toast and butter.

The sea was calmer today. I looked at its surface and marvelled at the waves. There are big waves, the ones that lift you up, and there are smaller waves on those big waves, and smaller undulations on those small waves. And each wave has travelled an ocean to lift you.

 I was loathe to leave it when the time came.

But it did, and by 12 we were out of the hotel, stopping to eat Nasi Padang and buy some things (including a close to 6kg watermelon!) before we came back to Singapore.