The Perfect Fit

You know how it is - moments when some say it better than you do. Today's such a day and I leave it to His child to reflect my thoughts on the one too prevalent thing I see, in myself and others: a God-shaped vacuum.

"As a little girl, I had longed for a daddy to pick me up, swing me around, and tell me I was lovely and loved. When this childhood longing went unmet, it became an adult emptiness and brokenness that drove me to seek out all kinds of misguided remedies.

My primary remedy was to look for someone or something that would make me feel loved and significant. It's as if I carried around a little heart-shaped cup and extended it to whatever or whomever I perceived might fill it.

I presented the cup to my education: "Will you fill me?"

I offered it to my husband: "Will you fill me?"

I held it out to my child: "Will you fill me?"

I extended it to my material possessions: "Will you fill me?"

I presented it to each of my jobs: "Will you fill me?"

Within these questions were many more entanglements: "Will you right all my wrongs?" "Will you fill up my insecurities?" "Will you make me feel significant?" The more I offered my emptiness hoping something could fill it, the more frustrated I felt.

And when I had grown in my faith, I was especially perplexed. Wasn't being a Christian supposed to fix these kinds of issues in my heart? What was I missing?

Have you ever been there?

Why is it so tempting to look to things of this world for fulfillment? This notion that worldly things can fulfill is all around us. It's on TV, the focus of countless secular songs, and it's what dominates American advertisements. I can't even stand in the grocery store checkout lane without being bombarded with suggestions for a more fulfilling life. A better husband. A better body. A better career. A more beautifully decorated house. The magazines seem so slick, their promises so enticing. They sneak into our thought processes and make us think, "If only I had _______________, I'd be so happy. I'd be so fulfilled."

So, we chase and chase until we bankrupt our relationships, our bank accounts, and our very souls. The reality is every single thing the world offers is temporary. No person, possession, profession, or position can ever fill the cup of a wounded, empty heart--not my heart, not your heart. It's an emptiness only God can fill.

Whatever "if only I had" statement we are struggling with, we can replace it with solid truths from Scripture that will never leave us empty. It's a bold statement to make and might even sound a bit trite, but it's true.

When God's Word gets inside of us, it becomes the new way we process life. It rearranges our thoughts, our motives, our needs, and our desires. Our soul was tailor made to be filled with God and His truth; therefore, it seeps into every part of us and fills us completely. It is the only perfect fit."

- Lysa TerKeurst

Missing that connection

A couple of weeks ago, amidst dollops of fresh udon and mouthfuls of chirashi don at a fine dining Japanese restaurant in town (maybe not so fine dining, but the prices pretend to be), a dear old friend, R, and I concluded that we miss the good old secondary school and junior college days. Of what, we could not initially put our fingers on. Finally, dear lovely R hit the nail on the head: "I miss that connection."

Still happily dipping said chirashi in large saucer filled to the brim to almost overflowing with soya sauce and a huge lump of wasabi, I was partly listening to the conversation and partly to the hunger pangs that could not cease embarrassing me. "Huh?", as I furiously dipped my salmon, overturned it and drenched it further in yet more wasabi. This place serves some terrific sashimi; I'm convinced they are air-flown from Japan.

"I miss that connection. You know, when we were younger and could so easily connect with another."

R got me there. Indeed: it was not too long ago when we were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. When things were simple, people were simple - when they smile, they are smiling (that sounds superfluous but really, if you meet an everyday shark like I do, it's not), when you could confide in your next-door neighbour at Physics lab and you know he or she will not tell it all, will not judge you, and will be your friend (as Oxford dictionary defines it, not the society as it does now).

I miss that connection, too.

Lunch today reaffirmed that loss. Seated across each other in a tiny pseudo food court filled with loud, incessant chatter and a cacophony of noises (some gossip, mostly complaints) across the various tightly intertwined 45cm x 60cm tables (alright, I am no mathematician but you get the point), the claustrophic environment does nothing to hide the lack of conversation and the pathetic effort at making any. Let's just eat and get back to the office - you could almost hear the hushed grunts of our hearts as we stared deeply into our chicken rice and fish noodles soup, wishing they would hurry up and disappear into our tummies so we could just return and finish our work and leave the d*mned office for the day. Collegiality. Colleagues. Alliteration could never bring the two any closer, could it?

I miss that connection, so much.

claire.

Food poisoning and some 'put-pocketing'

So a double bout of food poisoning of late taught me what I knew but never really knew: without health you have nothing.

Funny how a Client (one of the nicest ever, Mr R from a certain huge bank) told me the same thing last week - "to take care of my health and spend more time with family". Before you think - it's not so bad being a lawyer if your clients are angels. Pause now, take a deep breath: back to earth now children. He is one in a trillion. Of all the clients I've met to date, easily one of the almost extinct genuinely nice souls.

I digress. Food poisoning. Granted, it might not be life-threatening in many cases. But it has to be ranked as one of the worst ailments ever. Honestly, I never felt like dying this much. You throw up, your stomach is perpetually crampy and in pain (with what you don't know since you cannot consume any solid nor liquid), you cannot cease visiting the washroom (in a very civilised manner of speaking), your fever refuses to go away, your head throbs so badly it threatens to split, you cannot eat - anything and everything makes you nauseous, you wish you are dead so you sleep and you sleep and you sleep. And you sleep some more. Until you are that tad well enough to lift yourself out of bed and get to a doctor. You get the point. All that because of some bad beef (before Cambodia) and who knows what (after Cambodia).

Yet I thank the Lord for this. It made me see that I have all this while perhaps not entirely unconsciously taken my health and perceived youth for granted. I've subject my physical body to so much stress and dare I say torment - the lack of sleep, the endless hours of heightened adrenalin, the severe overdose of caffeine, and the lack of sleep and yet more lack of sleep. Sometimes it's inevitable - you either sleep or you be responsible and do your job well so perhaps some bank can make more money but since it's your job you answer to God and not to man so you jolly well do it well. I have no complaints about that. I came into this with eyes wide open.

But on the other hand, I admit I keep late nights even when I'm not working. Because of all those hours spent working, I felt compelled to milk every other second to do something else: be it meals with loved ones, some serious shopping therapy, chilling out with friends, watching a movie, or reading a good book notwithstanding that it's 4am and the poor body is calling out to please let it sleep already. Yet in that blind pursuit of what an enriching life appears to be, I've let my body go. So through this, I felt the Lord say: my body is His temple and it's time I start taking care of it.

In other news, London is promoting "put-pocketing". Part of an advertising campaign of a mobile phone operator (what's the link again?) which will be extended to other parts of Britain next month. Self-proclaimed reformed pick-pockets play Santa and distribute a grand 100,000 pounds (no there is no typo) by dropping cash into the pockets or handbags of unsuspecting passer-bys on the streets of London such as Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square and Oxford Circus. How very intelligent an idea, given that it promotes the same stealth and 'skills' as pickpocketing and while they are at it these reformed ones say they feel less guilty about taking money out from peoples' pockets all these years (so now there's a cure to crime?). Anyhow, if you are headed for the UK, go hunt down those "Rejoice! Put pockets operate in this area" signs, loiter and go nuts! Tell me if you make more than 20 pounds.

xx
claire.

Love your enemies

"But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.

For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet your brethen only, what do you do more than others? Do not even the tax collectors do so? Therefore, you shall be perfect, just as your Father in heaven is perfect."

- Matthew 5:44-48

I don't know about you, but this is one of the hardest commandments to obey - for me. Difficult when I feel suffocated, daily, by the unkind words amidst smiley faces and exclamation marks in e-mails; amidst the feigned laughter when the rolling of eyes would be more appropriate in the context of what has been said; and amidst the pretences so false you wish you could ask them to just please quit pretending. (Don't ! :) me when you really mean to swear. Please.) But the Lord is good and He does not test us more than we can bear. Where His will leads, His grace will keep us. And I need to remind myself, each moment, of that.

Claire.

Phnom Penh and the sad state of law school

So much for National Day Pride. (Quite unlike this amusing display of a cab on a could-not-be-brighter Monday morning a week ago.)

A couple of us (best company ever) took off on a flight to Phnom Penh over the long weekend. Not the most exciting of holidays one would imagine. Snide remarks aplenty, when some hear of my destination. "That's so Not Me. I'm too atas for that (i.e. that is so below me.)" "Phnom Penh? I thought holidays are meant to be happy?" You get the point.

I'd admit that expectations were not high. After all, it was a city ravaged by those haunting three years eight months and twenty days (when Pol Pot was devil incarnate). Albeit having occurred some 30 years ago, time clearly failed - and fails - to eliminate the bruises and scars left amidst the lives of the people even if you suspect it somehow assuages the pain. Wounds are not as fresh and the nation is slowly stepping out of those shadows. Deep down, however, being human will tell you that it could take generations to recover from the depths of such depravity.

Yet it is a gem Phnom Penh, a hidden, unpolished one, perhaps, but undeniably, a gem. Our trip had a bit of everything - S21 (the high school turned security prison in Pol Pot's era), the Killing Fields, the National Museum and Wat Phnom, for a taste of the city's recent dark history and cultural background; the intertwined and quaint, little streets just around our hotel, for some of the best Amok fish (Cambodian favourite dish) and to die for chocolate sorbet; a ride on the tuk-tuk for a glimpse of the simple Cambodian life; a visit to the fresh market and caught back-to-back, arms and legs amidst the local Russian market, and strolling along the very dirty streets witnessing the hustle and bustle and raw reality of the poverty that abides in the people; joining the Cambodian Cooking Class: being embarrassed by how simple pounding could be so difficult, realising how we the very well fed are so weak in comparison to the gaunt Cambodian women, but emerged learning the beauty of Cambodian cooking such as the intelligent use of spices (I love their Amok fish - Best Dish Ever; beats Thai food!); and retiring to our lovely oasis of a home in The Kabiki, one of the best boutique hotels hustled away in a tiny corner, one step from the city noise, yet in its spaciousness and grand decor, miles away from the grind and dirt of the cobbled streets of the city.



So I say: this was one of my best trips ever. Unexpectedly, but undeniably so. Reaffirmed once again: the company maketh the trip. And never say never to any city or location for travel. Cities amaze you for their history, their culture, and perhaps most of all, a reminder that we are so blessed where we are but amidst our 'busy-ness', our preoccupation with the things of the world and our preconceived notions of so many things, we fail to see all that.

Some nuggets of the trip:


Home sweet home at The Kabiki



First dalliance with the Amok Fish



In goes the oil

Of unspoken suffering and pain - the S21 Security Prison

Tuk-tuks galore

Simple joy outside Cafe Yejj

French cuisine - wonderful lunch









Ze Appetizer, not that we need any









Our Salmon Trio









Main course: yet more salmon covered in some cream sauce (I know, I am bad with names)








They do Khmer cuisine too: some more heavenly Amok

Amazing architecture @ the National Museum

Outdoor bathing, anyone?

One of my favourite: signifies that fighting Cambodian Spirit









Yes, Swensens exists in this place









Crossing the maddening traffic on a typical street in Phnom Penh - on the way to a hot stones massage







View from tuk-tuk - amidst a blind trust that the driver can get us to our desired destination (hot stones massage. hot stones massage.)









Not exactly pleased at being hauled out of bed on Monday morning for a Cambodian wet market excursion. But hey this is the stuff of holidays. Reminded me of Tokyo's Tsukiji, somehow.

Dagger glares a second before this was shot.
Perfect timing. And the things that photos never tell.

Cambodian Cooking Class.
Join one and hope everyone washes their hands. Yes you eat what you make.

Our first dish - Chaio Yor (Fried spring rolls)
Taken a moment before the remaining ones flew off the plate.
Positively divine.
Try it: 2 cups taro root (shredded), 2 cups carrot (shredded), 25 spring roll sheets, 1 tbsp peanuts, 1 beat up egg, 3 cups cooking oil, salt, sugar, pepper (to taste)

The Pounding Machine - I turn garlic, shallot, red pepper and hot chillies into mush. What Electronic Blender?

The Bodybuilder takes over

In less than 5 minutes, she achieves what I could not in perhaps double the time (or more)
*hangs head in shame*

Finally, the Amok brews happily in pot.
Try it: 30g young nhor leaves, 3 tbp fish sauce, 3 tbsp kaffir lime leaves, 3 chilli peppers, 500g fish (we used tiger), 3/4 cup coconut cream, 2 cups coconut milk, 1 egg, beaten

Tada.
Oh alright, so the banana cup collapsed. Whatever: my first Amok Fish!!
Could not be heavenlier (I'm not even using English)

Indulge me, please. Another view of The Concoction.
Note to self: Banana Cup Should Not Leak.






Road out of The Kabiki - where no cab or tuk-tuk is allowed. Further left is apparently home to the most VIP of the VIPs of the city. Strangely, deserted keyboard vanishes within the hour we were gone.







Landmark around hotel corner.
Turn left for a quaint conclave littered with shops and restaurants and The Best Chocolate Sorbet Ever.

Extra Bitter Chocolate Sorbet
So Good it Hurts.

Serious Chocolate Overdose

Could not get in a shot without
The Earnest Reporter from Japan snapping away.

Wiped clean: our last and immensely satisfying meal in lovely Phnom Penh. Do yourself a favour and pay the city a visit, won't you?

In other news: the Lil Sister is at this moment deeply preoccupied with Introduction to International Law. On the second day of Law School. Seriously, they used to teach that in the third year. Stress: do they believe this needs to grow with generations?

xoxo
claire.

Wolf in sheep's clothing and running, running.

It baffles me unceasingly why human beings resort to so much hypocrisy.

Honestly, does it make them feel better about themselves, when every word is a double-edged sword aimed at slicing you apart? No, this is neither a rhetoric question nor a sarcastic comment; but a genuine disbelief at what or where some believe outright lying or conniving will make them feel or bring them (No I have not forgotten what you told me last week, and yes it’s the complete opposite of what you are saying now). Seriously already, is your physical body that dysfunctional that putting someone below you at every given chance creates some sort of mutant endorphins that makes you insanely, deliriously happy? Do you not see that your scathing sarcasm is not obviously subtle, although it appears to be disguised as such?

Forgive me, if I fail to understand why some or, should I say, too many more than some, believe you are the sweetest darling alive, my Sweetest Shark in the Fish Tank.

In other news: nothing like a good, long run to clear one's mind. Plugging on my beloved ipod, with the Lord's music overwhelming my ears and thoughts, I liken the journey to my spiritual one. I love to run, primarily, I have come to believe, for this reason. Me and Him, we always have a good chat during those times. Sometimes, He is quieter than I'd liked, yet I always come through knowing He is there and He listened and is listening still. I always tell Him, that all I want really, is that when I see Him face-to-face, to be able to say 'I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.'

xoxo
claire.