I once fell very deeply in love, and remembering him today brought back memories. Memories that I am happy to say are faded, but yet which you know will never really go away. Moments we spent are cherished, albeit tucked away in those drawers of the heart as you go about your daily (I refuse to say 'routine') life. Life is short - think Michael Jackson, whom I salute as an excellent performer notwithstanding any issues one may find - and I dread to plod along believing I will never love in this way again. I realise I say this, sometimes in the third person narrative, perhaps because a large part of me wants to distance myself from it all. He was, and I believe in some sort of way, will always be my first true love and a very special someone and that will never change. I am no longer (years ago actually) hung up and I thank the Lord for that. Although I admit I have yet to see His hand in this, I am living life believing His heart (that all things work for the good of those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose). Some part of me knows none has yet fit the bill and I am trusting Him to find him for me. I recognise this might be the (very little) alcohol speaking, but what the heck, this is the place like I said that I lose myself. I thank God for how He has brought me through and I cannot wait to see what lies ahead that He has planned for me.xoxoclaire.
I was in the States when I heard her - "Oh I cannn't wait - to end this day with a glass of red wine in my hand and to kick the cat as I lay back on my rocking chair."'Is she nuts?' I asked the Friend, who proceeded to roll said eyes at me (which is rather normal; I know I have some weird Friends). Teetotaler me was actually referring to the first part. That was a mere two years ago. Then poor frog in the well me discovered beer. It could be European beer or Tiger beer. Give me my beer anytime, any brand. Kick up your leg in the most unglamorous way ever - on a leather armchair - and lean back and really savour and breathe as you sip. Mmmmm. Oh, Tiger Beer, hire me as your model already - I could bring you trillions a year. (yes I am kidding.)Except of course I have this very lovely deficiency in acetaldehyde dehydrogenase (ALDH2), which they call the Asian Blush. How very not discriminatory. As I use the wonderful Google mechanism, I discover that this deficiency results in a higher risk of esophageal cancer. As Dear Tiger Beer sits happily half drunk on my coaster, at this very moment. Poor remaining Tiger Beer shall visit the sink soon and stay in the pipes forevermore. All of a sudden, I feel an immense annoyance towards the Google brainchild. Honestly, ignorance is bliss.I am tired and need to cease typing so I can sign off without any elaboration or ado. Sounds very familiar; the Client wrote it in his e-mail today. I yearn for the day when Every Email shall include that - pretty much like a signature sign-off. (Oh, you know, the day before I cease to be a Shark; I mean lawyer.)a Very Asian Blushed Outclaire.***I am increasingly depressed as I find a PLos research finding that confirms the increased cancer susceptibility in us Asian Blushers. Now, now, who will save us from the dearth of alcohol? That doesn't sound terribly Christian I'd admit. But take away the pretence and wanting to be seen in pubs superficialities, I truly enjoy a good beer or cocktail, in the same way that I love my can of real coke (yes, I mean Coca-Cola).
That aside, the Lord is good - I now know why He sent me crashing and subsequently self admitted to a hospital because I drank and ate some stuff that clearly didn't like each other very much (and all that which resulted in that episode is a glass of vodka mango; yeah it's sad I know). That trip eliminated alcohol in all sorts and forms for months, and I never quite figured out what the Lord wanted to tell me, till now. Praise God. And let me go now to silently mourn the demise of a Very Celebrated Friend in my life.claire.
Faith is difficult - that much I'd confess. I am learning still, to live each day by faith, whether I have that 'emotional' feeling or not, whether life made sense or not.
The Lord spoke to me (twice) with this very divine truth that we all need sometimes - a lighthouse in the dark:
'Let me use disappointment as material for patience.
Let me use success as material for thankfulness.
Let me use trouble as material for perseverance.
Let me use danger as material for courage.
Let me use reproach as material for long suffering.
Let me use praise as material for humility.
Let me use pleasures as material for temperance.
Let me use pain as material for endurance.'
- Philip Yancey in 'Prayer. Does it make any difference?'
Days still linger where I ask 'How long, Lord? Will this never cease?'. Yet on other days I know He will bring me through.
In other news, Megan Fox is a man? (alright, this is old news I know) Watch the video - in all of a few lovely minutes, I deduce she is either a. on drugs, b. crazy (still on drugs) or c. still still on drugs. Come on already, who at this stage of her smoking hot career would admit on national (and global) TV that she is a he? She is definitely, all of the above.
Disclaimer (occupational hazard..): The foregoing is merely my personal view, taken on a completely biased basis and without further investigation. I do not proclaim to declare it as the absolute truth and you should not believe a word.
claire.
I am a recovered anorexic and I cannot begin to tell you how much that means to me.
It put me in prison for 5 years (or perhaps more if you count those initial stages). No, I don’t mean literally. Albeit a mental one, it was no different from being locked in physically and perhaps worse. No day, hour, minute or even second goes by without my obsessing over what I should not eat. I would drift off from conversations simply because I had to count the calories I had consumed that day. If I fell below target, I would be moody and lose interest in the conversation and pondered at length what I should not eat to make up for it.
It was difficult falling asleep at night because it was too painful to lie on either side or on my back; I would toss and turn trying to find a spot where it wouldn’t hurt so much from the bones coming into contact with the bed. I would look into the mirror and see my collarbone and ribs protruding so prominently, yet I did not see what was wrong. I would wake up each morning hating the day ahead because it spelt long hours of efforts not to eat; of trying to fight that hunger; of hanging on for that bit longer till the hunger passes by. I would feel unclean if I ate what I thought was too much; I grade the day according to how much food I consume – if I ate below 1,000 calories, that day was perfect! Sweet and rosy; although it gave me moments of fainting spells, it was simply worth it. I would feel light and clean and most importantly, thin.
I could think of nothing every day but food; not how gloriously blessed I am to be able to eat at will if I wanted to; not how wonderfully crunchy those French fries might have tasted if I would just bite into them; but how I could not, should not, must not eat. It was hell, it was torture and it was nothing short of a physical prison. I was constantly in a state where I felt I could tear my mind apart just so I could stop thinking about food. I hated myself. I wanted to die; I contemplated death; I was desperate to get to a place where I could just stop thinking about food. I got thinner and thinner and then very very terribly thin, falling below 40 kg (about 88 lb) at one point. I lost my period for a year. I was very very ill, falling so sick I had to admit myself to the hospital several times, and the doctors could not tell what was wrong with me. They say it was my lymph nodes (which for some reason became very swollen) and I had to go for several rounds of injections and consultations, and nobody really knew what was going on inside of me. I was alone in a foreign country. I had to go to school every day, go through those lectures and tutorials and eventually take exams. With my then body and mind, I was in no state to do so.
Fear gnawed increasingly at me. So I did my research, desperately 'googling' on the medical condition, anorexia nervosa (abbreviated as anorexia). Through the websites and books, it was obvious that I had it. Anorexia is not funny – it has been used very loosely to refer to the hordes of teenage girls trying to lose weight. That’s not what it is – it starts that way though; slowly but surely it begins as an innocent weight-losing grand scheme and develops to a full-blown psychiatric condition that eats you alive, and you won't even realise it till it's hit you.
My best friend (whom we shall call K) was the one who shook me up. It was as if I was lost in this world of food and self-imposed deprivation, losing touch of the world around me. K was and is and I know will always be my beloved dearest friend, without whom I would have literally died in the hands of this disease. K was the one who alerted me (after many, many, many failed attempts) that I had a problem and I need to first recognise it before I could walk out.
So it began, the long hours of conversations that K and I had. K told me I had to seek God, the Lord Jesus Christ in whom I could walk out of this valley of the shadow of death. I was then a Christian but a year away from home and the comfort of the home church had somewhat shaken my faith and I had drifted very far from Him. I no longer did my quiet time daily and I no longer leaned on Him each day nor trusted Him in each decision I make. I began to pray so hard each day; I told the Lord that I could not do this anymore, that everyday was a huge struggle and I felt I could never come out of this mental jail, that I was always thinking about food, that if I so much as ate a packet of potato chips, I would feel so dirty and guilty those thoughts could almost kill me. I prayed to God to bring me out of this; I told Him that I really needed His help and His Holy Spirit to get me out of this very dark place in which I was suffocating.
I would not say it happened overnight, but deliverance came. Praise the Lord: Months later, it came. Recovery was staggered and at times I would lapse into the ‘I need to eat less’ state but my dearest friend K would remind me that I should not go there again. I did not seek professional help nor took any medicine.
I want to give full credit to my Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, for healing me completely. It took a pretty long time and much heartache and literal pain, but I am very excited and pleased to tell the world that my Lord Jesus Christ healed me. To an unbeliever, it might sound strange – how can your God heal you just like that, without any medicine or psychiatric help? That is my Lord for you. Nothing is impossible with God. I did not believe, I must admit, that I could ever walk out of this. Time and again, I have doubted that God could help me. Yet time and again, despite my unbelief, the Lord Jesus has gently shown me that I was wrong.
So today, I want to shout and sing of His goodness, of His sovereignty and most of all of His Love. He loves you - and Jesus wants to heal you of any illness, any disease you thought it was impossible for Him to heal. If you are a believer but somehow had come across setbacks in your life, I want to share with you to Keep Knocking On His Door. It took me many months of constant knocking and seeking and seeking and knocking before deliverance came (think the parable of the widow who would never give up). The Lord loves you, so don’t you ever forget that.:)
with blessings from above,
claire.
This restless yearning inside me; when would it cease? Sleep my soul; rest well and toss no more.
The Secretary is going on a six month sabbatical. So I learn today (while The Secretary is on her week-long holiday) through the HR department.
Apparently the word is that The Secretary is 'very stressed' from leaving at 6pm everyday, from never having to eat in during lunchtime, never having to type in amendments in Word, Excel or otherwise, and from her sole daily duties of printing, filing and doing up draft bills that sometimes never get paid. So my HR person tells me the last thing they want is for her to 'collapse in the office'. Has it ever occurred to said person that when The Secretary is printing emails, docs and what have you for (say) fifty files, yours truly is doing the work in respect thereof?
They say you shall respect your elders (The Secretary is perhaps a good ten years older). So I will in all my lovely silent self permit The Dear Secretary to leave for her mighty sabbatical, never to return - the HR Person says The Poor Dear shall not return to her 'very stressed' life which will not be any different six months later. Therefore, they will assign her a wonderfully relaxing job somewhere else in The Firm. What ever happened to the recession. Now if you do find one, would you be so kind as to notify me?
Forgive me while I go repent of Secretary Abuse.
claire.
So I have (finally) jumped on this 'bandwagon' they call blogging. It's not so much a fad that I'm following (yes I noticed that has passed, thank you very much) but rather it has been a 'burden' on my heart for a while. I feel that I have to share what I went through six years ago in a faraway land that's at least a sweet twenty hour flight from this sunny island.
It took me a while to walk out of that valley. If you know me now - or even then for that matter - you would never have guessed the pain that enveloped me. Amazing how you and me we hide so much beneath that exterior we call a smile. I will come back with my story; even if it were to touch just one heart, I would have done what He had called me to do.
Time to snooze. Work awaits in a couple of hours. If it will be balm to your curiosity, I am a lawyer and am not proud of it. It is just a job - very un-Ally Mcbeal and it makes you wear a persona that I don't recognise at times or like very much. It connotes that you are smart, arrogant and you think the world owes you a living. That is of course true, for some but not others. As with most other jobs. What a world this is: people behaving so much like those things that swim and love blood (sharks) you secretly hope they will literally turn into one and vanish into the Singapore River; you deal with things you never imagine you would five minutes ago (and you must act like you deal with them oh just ten times daily); and five years in practice doesn't make it easier. For better or worse, they don't prepare you at Grand Old Law School for what is to come. Now that is all very boring for all you Lawyer Haters out there. So I shall sign off quite abruptly.
xoxo.
claire.
