reflections

Blind Man Leading

2012-02-04T10:34:00.000-08:00

My dear friends, I always tell my girls: There is one type of handicapped that when you meet them, you should drop all things to assist them. And that is the blind. Imagine a world of darkness.

Once on the bus, I saw this young chap listening to his mobile phone intently. I dare not disturb him but observed as I thought there might be some application running on his mobile phone that tells him when to alight (yeah, please laugh at me, to think I used to work for HP…). Later, I learnt that that was his source of entertainment so he’ll listen to it ALL THE TIME!

When we go to church at certain times, I’ll keep a lookout for Andrew who sits right in front. I remembered that once I was so tired I told my husband: Alamak, he’s here. He can’t see me but I can see him!

Andrew is more extroverted than I so I always end up hearing more. When I first met him, he would tell me about a certain rose who’s in the choir. Recently, when I caught a glimpse of this beautiful rose (I had imagined her to be beautiful since he always talk about her so kindly!), she said, “So Andrew you are now baptized and you are now part of the community!” – and with that, she left him with me!

I really admire Andrew for going places. He tells me he’s going to Chingay soon. Chingay! I thought people go to Chingay to see the floats… here’s one who’s going to hear, feel and experience the party! He described to me the colors of the floats. Can you beat that?

I have never heard Andrew once complained about life. Which puts me to shame – I complain so much about how tough things are and manipulate those around me so I seem like the one who’s handling the tougher deal. When you need perspective, I recommend you meet A.

So, parishioners of my church, Do Not be Afraid when you see Andrew: he will not ask for a ride, he will not ask for money. All he asks of you is to walk him to the bus-stop. And he walks fast too! jeanne anne hsi

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

2011-07-18T11:42:00.000-07:00

Dearest Adnil, You asked me what it was about “Think Yourself Happy - The Simple 6-step programme to change your life from within” by Dr Rick Norris that I said helped me break out of my depression (not discounting that I have been depressed for a long time and it helps that I AM determined to break out of it). I didn’t do the book justice by being tongue-tied: for I can’t give witty replies quickly hence I can never be a politician –very often, I have to think it thru’ and thru’ and GET IT when the fire’s over.

One of the most important points I fail to mention is that the book says that different people, by virtue of the traits they inherit, get stressed by different things. For an example, some people get totally stressed with relationship breakups but find other things in life easier to cope. Some daddies get stressed by their kids’ antics but cope well with work. I suddenly understand that I find (some aspects of) parenting the most stressful thing I have to deal with in my forty years of life (or perhaps I have forgotten the past stresses that I have dealt with, haha!).

It doesn’t help that deep down inside me, I feel that a good mother should be able to cook and put her children to bed early, both which I have no talent in. I have lots of ideals about how good mothers should behave –like being patient and gentle with their children ALL THE TIME. Of course I fail 99%. Ya ya, I know I have to let go of my ideals!

Another thing that helped me is recognising that I feel good about completing small projects (hierarchy of needs on self-actualisation). For now, I cannot handle big projects (translate to): I’ll lose my confidence and it’ll become another pile (plus spiral effect of feeling lousy with myself). So, for the catechism classes, I have insisted on sticking to small projects like making prayer cards/ song sheets. Now I feel so much better.

For a while, I was trying to translate songs to Mandarin on my own. I did that poorly, I was banging my head against the wall and not moving. The community has since pointed to me a couple of Chinese choir folks. I also get my MIL’s –Mother-In-Law- help. Perhaps in the process my MIL gets to experience God? (But no, this is not in my agenda. What’s in my agenda is that she leaves a legacy for us. I truly believe that faith is God’s grace.)

I’ve changed your name as I’m sharing this letter with others. ThankYOU for journeying with me this life, as always! Love, jeanne

The beauty of Muslim and Buddhism worship

2011-03-31T09:11:00.000-07:00

Recently, my three-year-old went with her school on a field trip to a mosque. I learnt that a mosque is kept simple, with space drawn on the carpet for each individual to worship and the “lack of” furniture and things are intentional –so that the worshippers concentrate on saying their prayers and not get distracted with the materials. I think this is a wonderful and beautiful idea.

I remember on one of our inter-religious visit to a Buddhist temple that each visitor had to put on a black robe –this is for uniformity… Again, so that we do not distract each other with our fancy clothes.

I find these two practises enable worshippers to pray reverently. Perhaps it is not a bad idea to impose certain rules in our Christian churches, provided it is done in a loving manner. jeanne anne hsi

A balanced-life? Not in this lifetime!‏

2011-01-15T00:50:00.000-08:00

I have not met any person who leads a well-balanced life: that is, in all aspects of life from lifestyle to beliefs. Well, sometimes we try. Often however, we are either too something.

Too religious, too anti-religion.
Too much of an exercise-freak, too “boh-chap” about one’s health.
Too sacrificial, too self-centred.
Spending too much time dolling up, too lacklustre about one’s appearance.
Too workaholic, too “eat-snake” about work.
We overspend, we collect too much junk.
Too independent, not working with people at all.
Too rigid, no backbone.
We worry too much, we don’t care.
Too judgemental, no opinions at all.
Too passionate about a cause or too shui2bian4 (lukewarm) about all things in life.

Is it so hard to be all-rounded in life? Can we say our prayers daily and still have time for social? Or could it be like a food guide pyramid, where the nutritionist says to look at the intake value over a 2-week period instead of over a 24-hour cycle? If that is the case, what would the length of a period be? Or should we categorise the frequency by nature of the activity?

If you disagree and will like to nominate a well-balanced person, please send a description of your nominee to well-balanced-life-person@nominate.com , jeanne anne hsi

Part II

My charming better half’s comment is that I didn’t define what a balanced-life is. But that’s the thing. HP and i agreed - as in every other things in life - that everyone defines it differently. I only wrote the reflection because I felt so overwhelmed, trying to cram everything in a day. How can I sleep 8 hours (ie, recommended) and still do so many things? So I try, I get interrupted short hours of rest and it’s another day. I have not finished doing everything and now it’s TIME TO GET READY TO SLEEP. Good day! Love, jeanne

The reluctant catechist

2010-10-12T02:55:00.000-07:00

At my first job, I was surprised to hear of two male senior engineers teach catechism on Sundays. I thought it noble of them and that I would never ever, ever do something like that; it was just not my cup of tea to face little children with church teachings.

A few years ago, after we had our first child, my friend L-K shared with me very young children’s needs: Orderliness and repetition. She told me about The Atrium (CGS’ classroom) and Catechisis of the Good Shepherd: A Montessori-styled Catholic catechism for children from 3-12 years. Again I said “No, thank you” even though it sounded the ideal education, ‘cos I thought it was just too much work (well, this part is true! And I cope now by the “Divide and conquer” rule).

After a few years of child rearing, I could not get back to doing the things that I love doing, because of its risks and unsuitability. For self-centred reasons, I joined the noble ranks of teaching catechism to the little ones whom I thought was beneath me and realised how much I learnt from them instead. They respond to their inner joy and showed me how fully present they were whenever they come for classes. I learnt much, especially how the world has progressed (Eg. how do we explain the word “virgin” to a child in this century?)

I now feel very privileged and grateful to be part of this CGS community; many (“mainstreamed”) catechists teach the syllabus on their own, source for materials on their own, get their own spiritual inputs but for the CGS community, we readily have a group of people who work together with the same intent: to provide the children an environment where they may experience and know God on their own.

I am particularly edified by Marilyn (pseudonym), whose children are not in the catechism classes she teaches. She does it, responding to her mission, that spiritual seeds are sown in the very young. Because of her vision and great love, many many children benefit from this one selfless woman’s work. It is mind-boggling perhaps but like what I read in The Little Prince, that at least she’s someone who does things for others, other than for herself and because of that, I like her.

I suppose I am still somewhat reluctant (who wants to face more kids after we’ve had one of our own!?) but very much inspired. I also find the community extremely gratifying. jeanne anne hsi

the essentials

2010-09-30T03:43:00.000-07:00

Hmm, hmm. Breathe in, Breathe out.
the essentials...
Our Breaths.
Money to buy food.
We have food to cook.
Many do not even have food to cook (of
course i do not like the cooking hour, when
kids are cranky, tired and do not help out..
and they go "Mama,mama,mama...".. Oh, shut-up!).

the essentials.
OR would we rather not have kids?
No,no,no... we want them.
But i guess it comes with the crankiness...
the hunger
it is an essential.
it is proof that we are alive.

the essentials.

What are the essentials?

In CGS, i feel...
a lot of things
are NOT the essentials.
It is GOOD TO HAVE the materials.
for the children to experience
what Jesus went thru' in
The Empty Tomb.
How it was like
@The Cenacle.
What a mustard seed looks like
And How Big a Shrub it may Grow Into.

But, if a catechist is not slowed down,
How is she (/he) going to impart
the essentials?
the essentials is necessary
'cos the kids are going to
ask Curious Questions (we may need to
guide them to ask Relevant Questions)
-throw the Catechist off guard
to
the essentials.
To what it means to be grounded
and yet detached.
The "Wonder" Questions.
The Patience.
The Acceptance.
The Wisdom.
We are instruments transforming and taming the young.
Allowing them to be tamed.
To be Loved.
To be Accepted.
In their restlessness, their immaturity.
We are instruments allowing the smart alecks to feel that
not everything works on intellect. One does not lead with
intelligence and strength alone but Leads Well with The Heart
and with The Spirit to serve. Sharing with you what are my
thoughts on the essentials. love, jeanne anne hsi

Our Curious Questions

2010-08-30T00:08:00.000-07:00

“When she died, people asked, ‘Where did Princess D’s soul went?’ They were divided mostly into two groups: one said she went to heaven and the other, to hell”, said the visiting priest –v.p. (His homily and the man himself perked my interest and I went forward to sit at the front pew, for this was the priest who married HP and i)

The v.p. continued, “I thought to myself, how Jesus might have answered such a question.”

Perhaps Jesus may say to the reporters (who represent the mass media) this, ‘The question you should be asking is, “Where will MY soul go?”’

He continued to point out that the mass media is always interested in these types of questions and that Jesus has no time for curious questions. Instead, we should be asking relevant questions and if the other party is not asking ‘well’, we should direct them to ask relevant questions.

I was so happy to hear this homily, for it gives me an idea of how I may respond to the numerous queries from the little children where I teach catechism. In my enthusiasm, I shared this with my missionary friend, Hot Radish and he was apt in pointing out that he can understand why children asks curious questions but that if adults continue to ask these type of questions, it can be irritating.

While in HK, I met up with my refugee asylum-seeker friend. It has been seven years and United Nations have still to grant them a country to be despatched to. I have always been inspired by this friend who has been through so much, even though she is a decade younger than i. At this meeting, she shared with me three curious questions people pose her, at her expense.

“Jeanne, how will YOU respond if people ask, 'Why haven't you left your husband, who has been unable to provide for you?' ”, my friend asked earnestly (HK's law does not allow asylum seekers to work while waiting to be despatch).

I felt terrible that there are people who fulfil their curiosity needs, by asking such personal questions at the expense of hurting a human being.

Another frequent question she gets is regarding her three children: why or how many children she intends to have? (ie, read-between-the-lines: when she seems to be in this situation of not being able to provide for them). To which she replies in a jest, that she has four more at home or that she intends to have four more. I understand this curiosity as I had posed this question to a single, missionary friend some time back. To which my friend enlighten me with, “To have children is their way of life.” And that was enough to satisfy my curiosity.

Finally, the question “Where are you from?” triggers a negative reaction from my friend. Her body language shows it: she takes two steps back and says, “WHAT DOES IT MATTER where I am from?”, in her English-French accent.

I thought that was a pretty decent question to ask someone whom you’ve met for the first time.

She explained, “Whenever I tell people where I am from, or that I am a refugee they would distant themselves from me… or they would say, ‘Oh-your country is so poor!’ ” I felt so, so sorry. I cannot take away her pains, her sorrows, the insults hurled at her. I only feel privilege she shares them with me. And that I learnt a lesson from her experience.

I recall in my ecumenical prayer meetings with Christians of different denominations, that the mature, peaceful ones would normally not ask which church the other party comes from. Indeed, it is not necessary. It IS a curious question. We cannot stomach what the other person has taken to get there.

If you have the opportunity to meet my friend, you will find that she is a Joyful person, not a cynical one. She must have dealt with peoples’ noisiness and hurtful remarks far too many times.

Did your curious question kill someone today? jeanne anne hsi

Birth Story – vba2c (Virginal Birth After 2 Caesareans)

2010-07-03T00:18:00.000-07:00

How did we end up here?
First child’s emergency-c
I had my first child Zoë by emergency-c in HK. I was three weeks away from the due date, in my gynaecologist’s office. HP was with me, as with most prenatal visits and we were there during his lunch hour. Just before leaving the ob’s office, I re-opened the door and said, “Btw, I’m still spotting blood on my panties; any concern?”

“Let’s have a look.” The ob said.

That was the start of the nightmare.

He had tweaked something in my virginal and he couldn’t stop the bleeding. He was very calm when he said, “Take a cab to the hospital. In the delivery room, there are brighter lights and leg supports where it might help me stop the blood flow.” We were in the city (like Orchard) and heading towards our booked hospital (distance: like travelling towards K.K. hospital).

In the meantime, he had used a metal gauze to stop the blood from leaking out..

At the hospital, after a couple of attempts, he still couldn’t stop the blood bleed. So he decided to perform an emergency-c, to save the baby’s life then resume with stopping the blood bleed.

Second child’s “pressurised”-c
I felt that my second gynaecologist changed his tune towards the final weeks of my pregnancy. Firstly, he had seen how I squirmed whenever he gave me a virginal exam. I couldn’t handle any pain or equipment(s) (with the shape of scissors) used to open up the virginal for examinations.

Secondly, he said, “You are past your due date and the baby’s getting bigger.” But the thing that got my goat (actually, I was more anxious than angry) was when he said, “Tomorrow’s Sunday, I can’t wait indefinitely for you!”

The first stage of labor
Tuesday 22nd June 2010 9am: I had a show of blood on the panties. I learnt from the previous experience with Cayla, having “tried” to go into labor for twelve hours after that show, that a show may mean nothing for a week or two. This time, I was excited but expecting nothing may happen. I was also due to see my gynaecologist on Friday, at 40-weeks gestation.

I resolved to be like LK, my friend who labored outside the hospital for as long as she could, even enjoying a dinner with family so that the hours spent labouring at the hospital might be short. What do I know about labor, anyway!?

So I spent the morning anticipating and cooking vegetarian fried rice for my vegetarian friend Eve, whom I haven’t seen for a couple of years. Later, I realised I was privileged to have her company while in early labor. Eve wasn’t just any friend I was entertaining: even though we haven’t been in regular touch, she was someone I lodged with for a couple of nights when I fell out with my family years back. I even felt something for Bukit Batok area because that was where she stayed then.

When Eve arrived, I pre-empt her about my tummy aches and the possibility of me being in early labor. After lunch, she decided to accompany me to the hairdressers. I drove there and back. At four plus, she decided it was time to head home to beat the after office hours traffic. I insisted on walking with her and her younger child to the bus-stop. I said that the walk was good for me. I think she was really worried about me. She said she would have headed for the hospital the moment she felt any contraction pain. …

By dinner time at six plus, I was convinced I must be in labor. The surging contractions were obvious. The only thing I wasn’t sure was when to go into the hospital. I sent a text message to my doula to inform her that the intensity was about 20s, with a 5-minute interval. And that I would continue monitoring.

By seven plus, the tummy aches were getting a little painful. At one time I was pushing Cayla, my two-and-a-half years old away and she cried… I text my doula and informed her that I would like to be at the hospital by nine. She called to have a chat with me about the duration of the intense pain. Her comments were that at 20s, I might find myself labouring for a long time at the hospital. I asked if I really have to wait till the duration was 70s long before I head for the hospital. She said no, perhaps 50s.

When HP got home at about eight, I didn’t care anymore. I was on my fours at one point when the contraction surge came. I WANTED to go into the hospital. I feared that I may not be able to take the car ride with the pain.

8pm: I can never forget how I managed to mend Zoë’s shorts with a sewing machine between the contractions surges. Doing something took my mind off the pain.

The second stage of labor
During the car ride to the hospital, I was still ambivalent about taking the epidural anesthesia during labor. The “natural delivery” books I’ve read and the doula I’ve had meetings with make it seem as if taking epidural might be detrimental towards a natural delivery, by slowing down the contractions. I asked my obstetrician PT about it and his take was that the pain relief epidural might be good for some women - because these women need the respite and when it’s time to push, they are able to do it.

8.30pm: We got to the hospital and I was convinced I wanted the epidural: I could not handle the increasing intensity of the contractions.

9+pm: People have been giving me feedback that the doula I hired is pro drug free. So, I felt bad about asking for the epidural. I tried to ask her about the different lying positions on the bed that might help advance the labor and her comment was that “it doesn’t matter anymore, you’re taking the epidural.” But, with each contraction surge she would come over to help me with the breathing, by voicing it aloud with her low soothing voice (she said “in, out, in, out”).

Shortly after, my obstetrician PT came in to say hello.

I responded, “Are you going home?”

He chuckled, “Of course, there’s no point for me waiting here.”

Then the anesthetist followed right behind him. This was my first encounter of the gentleman who was about to give me the pain relief. He looked at my notes and with a grave, negative tone he said, “You’ve had two caesareans before, are you sure you want to do this natural delivery?”

“Yes,” my faint reply, through my pains of the contractions that was going on (I’ve been forewarned by the doula, of people who might not be so supportive).

He said these words before giving me the epidural, as if it’s his disclaimer, “Then you know that your baby might be compromised.”

i can’t remember how I reacted towards him but I know I felt angry at his insensitivity at saying these words - when I was in pain, and fragile and also when we would have already make the decision for a VBAC weeks/months back.

“Creep!” I thought, without voicing it aloud.

Before leaving, the anesthetist said it’ll take twenty minutes for the epidural to take effect. I waited and waited for the epidural to kick in, to take away the pain. Time crawled like never before. At one point I kept asking them why I still felt the intense pain. The nurses came in to administer a higher dosage. They also had a maximum dosage specifically for my VBA2C condition, where they didn’t want to mask off the pain totally, and I had to inform them if I felt other tear pains (ie, unlike the contraction pain which comes and goes, the tear of a rupture would be a constant pain).

I spent the next 2-3 hours labouring in pain. It was close to two am when I felt more relieved. It was also about this time the doula said she’s going home for a rest, since the epidural kicked in. We had no idea how the labor would progressed.

After she left, I managed to sleep for about an hour. When I woke up at about three plus, I felt no contraction pains. I started to worry that the labor wasn’t progressing and that it had come to a halt. I rang for the nurse. She looked at the machine and said that the surges were still there, that the epidural had kicked in and so I wasn’t feeling the pain. This was good news but it lasted not more than an hour.

After that good hour of rest, the surges came back. The nurses had already administered to me the maximum dosage of epidural. I remember feeling that laboring was like conducting an orchestra: its rhythm was: intense pain, (short relief), intense pain, (short relief,), intense pain, (short relief), intense pain, (short relief), intense pain (short relief)… Each time the pain peaked, HP could see the contraction surge on the machine and he would walk towards the bed and hold my hand. This was the best advice that I read from one of the books: that the spouse support by being there for EACH CONTRACTION.

6am: I felt that I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked HP to text my doula, to inform her that I’m feeling awful about the whole thing (we had called her earlier to say we were “not OK, and then OK - when I had that hour of sleep”). I begged for General Anesthesia (ie, to perform whatever it takes to stop the pain –emergency caesarean… at least I tried!). As an alternative, the nurses gave me the mask to breathe in the gas each time I had a contraction. It couldn’t mask off the pain but at least I was doing something whenever the pain peaked.

The doula came in and said that the doctor was coming in.

I have no idea how I passed that hour.

After 7.30am, closer towards 8am: PT came in. I asked him to give me the epidural and he replied that he couldn’t give it to me just because I asked for it. He examined me and said I was ready for the delivery. He said he’ll use the vacuum (I was so thankful when I heard this!) to take the baby out but that I had to be the one to push. He tried to get me to move a little here and a little there, to get ready for the delivery but my body wouldn’t budge. He even asked, “Why are you so sleepy?” When he was ready with the vacuum, I was ready to push (it was my version of “caesarean” – if I get him out, the pain will all come to an end).

8.05am: And that was how Ethan (meaning: sensitive) came into this world. He was 4.015 kg at birth.

The hospital listed it as “vacuum” delivery. That meant we could have two separate bills (vs “normal” delivery). I was surprised TLC used the “normal” lift (ie, shared by the public) to wheel us (newborn and me) to the room.

Reflection
I thought a lot after Ethan popped. I wondered why I equate death to pain. I am sure God wouldn’t want us to die in pain.

I began to feel thankful we had a caesarean for Cayla’s birth. If we had delivered her naturally, I felt, in the immediate aftermath of the delivery, that we might not have tried to have Ethan. I remember that with Zoë, I was naïve about raising a child. With Ethan, I am naïve about labor pain.

HP said that putting all the emotions (‘cos I felt so violated about Zoë and Cayla’s being taken out from my womb so abruptly) aside, he felt that my low threshold for pain and my quicker recovery from caesarean (I was able to walk within two days whereas for the “naturally” delivery, I got out of bed and walked *normally* after a week!) makes it seem more suitable for me.

Q & A
1. Most people asked me this question: Would you do it again (ie deliver the baby naturally)?

Well, ask me this question immediately after the delivery and the week that I was still in pain, I honestly don’t see how I can ever do it again.

A week after the delivery, I would give a thinking answer: If we have the support for a week’s recovery, we might try again (in this case, my mother-in-law was looking after the other two children). Even though the pain was more than I can take, at least I didn’t suffer the depressive thoughts of a baby taken out of the womb so abruptly.

2. Hypnobirthing
A buzzword for delivering a baby into the word using self-hypnosis. Honestly, it’s about “mind over matters”, where you focus on something (like a safe place, Eg. A beautiful garden) when the contraction pain comes (and when it goes, you relax).

–I wondered what my safe place was and I found it in the deep and fulfilling relationships I have with people… so, I thought I’ll think of all the people who have inspired me with their words when I’m confronted with the contraction pains. In the end, the practise was too short (I believe like meditation, one has to practise). I ended up hitting the railings whenever I was in pain.

I had a few prenatal visits with my doula. Firstly, I wrote down all my fears regarding this pregnancy, the delivery process and the anxiety of having this child. After that, she taught me to use words to combat those fears. Eg. I was afraid of having a boy, ‘cos we’ve never had one. And my “positive” column had words like “God gives us what we can handle.”

I also made a motivation list for having this natural delivery. I was told to read it frequently, to prepare for the birth.

3. How do we know we’re in labor?
i) Frequency of the contraction surges (Eg. it gets closer and closer; from 5 minutes to 4 minutes)
ii) Increasing duration of each surge (it gets longer and longer; from 50s to 70s)
iii) Surges will increase in intensity (more and more painful)
iv) Physical signs like much stronger bowel movement sensations or there may be more and more bloody show

4. Questions for the gynaecologist
i) If labour does not start by 42-weeks, what happens/ options are available to me (Sweep/AROM induced labour)?
ii) If labor slows down or stalls, what options are available to me?
iii) Do you have guidelines to show if “labor is progressing”? (Eg. Dilation of 1cm every 1-2hours?)
iv) How long will you be comfortable with my VBAC labor duration?
v) Do you measure the thickness of my skin, for my suitability for VBAC?

5. Birth plan
State everything you want for the doc/the-ever-changing-shifts nurses/doula to read. It’s like your “*” commandments. You can state your preferred delivery room, subject to availability. In my next birth plan (if we are blessed with another child), I would include this: Immediately after the delivery, do NOT place the newborn directly into my breast for feeding. Place just below the nipple. [I would like the wonder of seeing the newborn crawl towards the nipple].

6. VBAC obstetrician in Singapore
I will certainly use PT again. (PT: Paul Tseng. Note: only actual name used here. TLC Clinic, Thomson Medical Centre)

In progress

Becoming real

2010-05-12T04:46:00.000-07:00

I think I fantasize too much about mission work. When we first got married, sometimes I felt as if I had sacrificed my first calling of becoming a missionary for marriage.

I asked my mil’s helper what food she misses most from her country. I promised to bring her out for a meal the week that everyone’s away.

When the time came, I was eager to fulfil my promise. Travelling to the designation was not a problem. It was when we were selecting the cafeteria that I almost chickened out. In my mind, I was toying with the idea of asking her to pack what she like so that we could go elsewhere to eat food that I am more used to. What a terrible host! I was lucky that there were two dishes at an eating place that were appealing to my taste buds.

My five year old enjoyed the meat on the stick and the dessert. I was glad my mother came along ‘cos I felt safe with her around. It was truly an experience of stepping out of my comfort zone: how can I fantasize so much about mission work when I am not even adventurous about putting a morsel of foreign food into my mouth? jeanne anne hsi

mil: mother-in-law

Stress Reactivity

2009-12-26T17:33:00.000-08:00

I'm quoting, instead of reflecting...

"There are two kinds of stress: acute and chronic. An acute stressor is one that happens suddenly and is over with quickly. You experience an acute stress response when you are in sudden danger. When stress is chronic, the stress keeps coming instead of being resolved. A chronic stressor is a problem that doesn't change much over the short term, like not making enough money to support yourself and your family."

"Cortisol is the hormone most closely associated with stress. Normally, as soon as the amount of cortisol in your body gets to a certain level, another system kicks in to shut down the stress response. However, the shutdown system doesn't always work properly. It could be that you have inherited a shutdown system that takes longer to engage. You may always have been the kind of person who takes a long time to get over being upset. If the shutdown system doesn't work properly, our bodies keep releasing cortisol. After a few days of having a lot of cortisol in our system, we begin to feel tired, helpless, and depressed." Whiffen in a secret sadness

Laura

2009-11-10T03:55:00.001-08:00

I have not met an inspiring teacher for the longest time. Yesterday, the English Language Teacher, Miss Laura spoke to a few of us and two things she said gave me new perspectives.

“God is very fair; He gives me two of everything: I am hearing-impaired on one side but I still have the OTHER ear. One of my kidneys failed me but I still have ONE other.”

“When parents of special needs kids tell me that they are tired (looking after their child), I ask them to think who should be more tired: the parent looking after that child or the child who is grappling with living in this world with the handicap?”

I feel that the world would be a happier place if we have more Lauras, jeanne anne hsi

Her name has been changed to protect her identity.

A Perfect Day

2009-11-07T17:23:00.001-08:00

At the end of that Friday, I felt physically exhausted but not mentally. I was refreshed, renewed and inspired by these two catechists (teachers of catechism, Christian-catholic instructions) whom I’ve met barely two to three months ago.

In the morning, I went for a walk with a friend at Mac-Ritchie Reservoir. We walked by the banks of the reservoir and took the path of the inside up-and-down hills coming back. We barely spoke a word while doing our power walk but this was what I liked – silence is to be enjoyed, not dreaded and feared or a bore.

I remember two girl-friends during the walk. And this is what I like best – the good memories we have with people we love: one, my best friend who lives in the states. We used to run 10km weekly along East Coast. Again, we barely felt the need to fill every silence with words –we were there for the work-out and we just enjoyed one another’s presence, laughter and having a jogging partner of the same physique.

Another girl friend lives in HK and I know she’s quite an outdoors person. We will enjoy pushing the kids on the stroller along the platforms by the river bank.

After the walk, I met a contractor who was punctual. My lowering of my expectations with contractors taught me that this is not a number one priority on their list. I was enchanted by his knowledge, politeness and sales talk. I even forgave his cigarette breath; it comes with the occupation, I tell myself.

In the late afternoon - this is after picking up two kids at separate time home from school - I went to church to “set up the atrium”. This is my second mop for the day, the first was at home. We usually spend a minimum of two hours cleaning and setting up the atrium for the children’s catechism environment. There were lots to clean up – the floor, the paints and chasing off of house lizards. Preparing how we present the materials to the children. One catechist pointed out that it was no longer appropriate to define “virgin” (as in Virgin Mary) as an unmarried woman ‘cos there are many single mums these days. We had a lot of fun coming up with a new way of explaining. But seriously speaking, we were learning the Gospel in today’s context. I cannot use a single word to describe my whole experience with these two ladies: they have families, with children and here they are, extending themselves to the larger community of the church. What sacrifice, what love. How inspiring! (Compare this with people who “think mostly of their own demise all the time”)

When was the last time you had a great day? -Or you’ve never had one because of the way you see things? jeanne anne hsi

A lesson on kindness

2009-03-02T23:10:00.000-08:00

We are writing to thank you, Mrs Noriko Shibuya, and to share with your family your generosity. In our hearts, you are our heroine and life-saver!

In early January, we had a car accident while attempting to drive up Snow City. (see attached ‘Reflection’.)

Mrs Noriko helped us call the police. All the travel guidebooks we’ve read said it is not in your culture to invite foreigners into your homes. We feel we imposed on Mrs Noriko that day and she went beyond her comfort zone, presumably, and offered us and our two young children (four and one years of age) her warm home. I dare not imagine how we would have survived the bitter cold without her help.

She offered us food: served us her finest titbits, toast and warmed the milk for us! We are forever grateful for her generosity; her time and kindness, an act which we are indebted and cannot repay.

Connecting at a heart level

We even sang a Japanese folk song in our respective languages together (We sang in Chinese, Mrs Noriko sang the song in Japanese) :) !

Hopefully, we can “pay it forward” to another person in need; or if we have the fortune of having you or your family come visit Singapore we would love to be your guide around the city.

We are not sure if this letter will reach you as Zoe had over-written Mrs Noriko’s words with a thick marker.

Take care, ThankYOU once again and God Bless!

Live To Tell: My brush with almost losing the kids.

2009-01-10T04:33:00.000-08:00

My unabridged story. If you ask them, the guy and the girl had totally different perspectives.

It was a pretty long drive from Tokyu Hotel in Nagoya to Snow World, Nagano Prefecture. It would take about an hour or so, as dictated by the GPS, registering a little more than a hundred and fifty kilometres. We were travelling really fast, burning holes in our pockets with paying thousands of yens in toll fees, hoping to get there quickly to taste the highlight of this holiday trip: skiing in the snow. In our minds, our four-year old would be having fun sitting on tyres sliding down gentle slopes.

After driving through the longest tunnel –possibly 8km- it wasn’t snowing where we entered and snowing where we exited, we were beginning to understand why the GPS showed that we still had a good twenty to thirty minutes to get to our destination. We were down to ten kilometres. We were at the foot of the mountain. Beautiful snow. Almost there.

The roads were winding.

Naïve and totally unaware of the dangers ahead of us, we continued driving slowly into the snowy roads. We thought driving slowly meant that we are driving carefully and safely. We had no notion of the tools used in this part of the world: snow tyres or chained tyres, necessary for the course.

Our eyes were glued on the GPS, which we now swear by as it had gotten us quickly and reliably into (two) cities, even though we do not read Japanese. In short, we were still “Right On Track!”

We came to this narrow steep slope. Something probed my mind: how could two cars in opposing directions share that narrow roadway?

Anyway, there was Only ONE way to go on the GPS (to be honest, it was because we didn’t check!): and it was UP.

Still going.

Turning.

Driving.

Slowly.

Easy.

Navigating.

Barely a few slopes and making a few turns, we came to this part before a right turn where the wheels JUST WOULDN’T bring us forward (ie, it was too icy and slippery… imagine you had to put more force to prevent slipping).

Frightened.

We stopped.

Stuck in the ice –we don’t even know if we were “stuck”; but the car was not going forward on this icy slope and we were in the middle of nowhere without a soul in a foreign land with two young children.

We tried again.

HP stepped on the accelerator so hard that if that got us the momentum to go forward, we would have gained enough speed to fly straight ahead, off the cliff [he told me on retrospect that that wouldn't happen because he had the steering wheel steered in the right direction, so instead of flying forward, if anything, the car would have had a bad knock against the mountain side.... i have my reservations on this; what IF that collision throws us off the cliff?].

We were terrified!

Both of us got off the car, leaving the two front doors opened.

I implored and pleaded with him not to proceed, that is, if we could get out of the stuck-in-the-ice situation... i felt a premonition about the precarious situation we were in and i wanted to do what i normally do in such situations: Abandon the project, seek help and get out.

But he would not have it. He, being the cleverer man, the better driver, the scientific and rational one said: "Tell me what we should do! The ONLY way is UP." (There was no space to do a reverse). And YES, it does look more dangerous slowly reversing the car 'cos it does seem we would slide.

I calmed down when he said, "Let's get the kids out first, then we’ll decide what to do."

I was on the passenger's side, with the door still opened.

He walked to the driver's side.

The gear was on Parked mode.

The handbrakes were on.

The moment he switched off the engine (wouldn't that be the safest thing anyone would have done in that situation?), the car began to slide. i was pushed by my side of the door and i started sliding, without the strength to push the car. I could see that HP was trying with all his might to push the car on his side (he said afterward that he was trying to restart the engine - which he didn't managed to).

The kids were still in the car!

Those few seconds of desperation went: slid, slid, slid. i felt as if i was in a tsunami, having no control, completely swept by its force. The difference was that the impact was swift. i was pushed down the cliff and dropped a few metres. i was blocked from falling further down the cliff by the numerous trees in that spot.

HP called out in a weak voice, "Jeanne, are you there?"

i reached out and held the trees and climbed up.

From where i stood, part of the car was out in open space (this is where HP had his version –that only a teen weeny bit of the car was sticking out in the open- we held on to our versions, possibly because our viewpoints were different from where he and i stood). We were blessed that the events took place this way. And i kept saying Thank God for those trees in the precise location!

Lesson Learnt:
Not to be overly reliant on GPS (on paper it looks simple but the actual road conditions can be very different) AND Mapquest.com (an internet address search. Once, we were going to Yosemite Valley and I did not verify that it was the ONLY address… Apparently, there was another place with the same name. I was lucky my friend gave me a physical map to bring along and that saved us from being too lost, when we realised that we wasn’t quite heading for the right place).

To be Cont'd

Part II: Getting out; Our Heroes and Heroines