Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
So it has been a rainy season, and I have to admit that I have a tendency of keeping very quiet when the going gets tough.  Maureen, my good friend, just sent me this article, and it's too good not to share.

http://www.lookingforgod.com/?/2/god-has-changed-their-life.html/198/jonathan-edwards.html

The sun is just starting to peak through the clouds, and I'm starting to peek out from my shell.  The past three weeks were filled with painful niggling injury (tennis elbow), a terrible flu bout (think hacking green gooey phlegm), starting my new job as night warden for the academy residences (very stressful), and adjusting to the horrid cold (very cold!).  Amidst the obvious roller coaster of emotions, the only thing that stayed constant was God and His abiding patient love. 


So I'm back!  To throw more updates (too much has been happening), and to take a deep breath, and start talking again.

I end with something I saw in the sky after a huge downpour a few days ago.  An amazing, hearteningly wide double rainbow :)

Tomatoes from Little Shop of Horrors,
Egyptian Cookies from London
Robin my Australian friend bought one GIGANTIC mother of a tomato during his rendevous on Wednesday's weekly supermarket outing.  Amir, my other British friend brought over some Egyptian cookies (he's half Eyptian, half English) for me to try out.  I've never really seen either before, and I was so tickled, I had to take pictures:

Juxtaposed against my archaic 5th generation 30GB ipod.  Just look at that!

Sheesh!

From the angle the tomato looks like Botero's backside...haha!

In the background: Robin oogling at a random blog post.

Mother of a tomato with her minions.

I ate one of them, btw. It was pretty good.

 

Amir: Over and showing us his wonderful box of Egyptian cookies (bought in London... hrmmm)

Robin: Frolicking in the empty bunk bed in my room.

"Okay, so there are a couple of different types of cookies here..." -Amir

"These are called ghor-ro-yeh-bah.  You've got either minced dates or mixed nuts fillings in them.  The pastry's made of flour, eggs, sugar and ghee. And coated again on the outside, is powdered sugar."

"These doughnut-like looking ones are the most fattening of the lot,"

"And these pistachio pastries are my favourite." 

They were, by far, the best among the lot.  Flakey, crispy and sweet to the taste.  Fortunately, these came before my diet got imposed, so I got to nibble on a few :)

Back on Court
I'm finally back on court and doing physical.  It's been some week alright--starting off slow and largely stressful for a host of reasons (injuries, staying possibilities, and the general task of tuning my body back to training).  It helped that the coaches were understanding and patient about the recovery process, and it involved more than a few tears and being put on a diet to expedite the healing process.

Food wise, life was restricted to organic produce--no simple sugars, no sauces, no processed, deep or pan fried foods.  Only lots of multigrains, brown rice, pasta, lemons, vegetables, fruits, clear soups and water.  It's no fun eating pasta sprinkled in lemon juice (the teeth get a little edgy)--but still, it's moments like this I'm thankful dad raised us up very organic.  His tirades against soya sauce and ajinomoto have helped me develop a natural, holy love for all things whole and healthy.  I still miss mee pok and hae mee (prawn noodles), but am happy with the food we get here.  By far it's not tasty or delectably finger-smacking, but it is mostly very heavy and healthy.  None of the processed fishballs, chee kueh or simple-carbed chee chong fun we get back home.  A tomato is a tomato, a chicken leg is a chicken leg.  That's about it, really.  And no complaining because it helps you crap on time, and that's something everyone needs here.  Hahahahah.

What I am thankful for is how faithful God has been through this trying time.  I was hit by horrible bouts of home-sickness during the week--I think largely sparked off by the very real possibility that I might be staying here for much longer than I expected.  Wonderful news from the tennis front!!  The coaches seem to like me and so much of my game has improved thus far in just one short month.  But the week-long lay-off, Sunday's late-night fright and the stress of injury recovery played out a melody of strain I hadn't prepared myself mentally (or emotionally) for.  And it was all welling up.

It was particularly bad on Tuesday, when my hamstring started to feel pain again after morning fitness.  I was angry at Roman (the angsty fitness coach) for making me join the main group that morning instead of letting me ease back into the weight of physical training.  I had done a full evening session with Kapi the day before, with a series of exercises to test out the leg.  Roman was there to see it all happen, and accussed me the next morning for slacking off on the rowing machine instead of joining the group for the daily morning run.  "If you could do it then, why aren't you joining the rest of the girls, Sarah?" I didn't like the ice in his voice, or the insinuatory way he stressed "if you could do it then".  Truth be told, my right deltoid was still hurting, my legs were feeling cold, and I didn't want to shock-stress them with a pounding morning run when I'd done a full work out less than 24 hours earlier.  "Stupid ass," I thought to myself, as I looked at his hunched back, accusing eyes.  But it was difficult saying no.  "Sure, if you think I can take it, I'll join the group", I forced out a smile as I got off the rowing machine.   We did legs again that morning and the pain came back

As I felt it, I also felt anger and frustration rising.  "Why the hell did I listen to him?  Why couldn't I just stand up and say 'No'??"  The pain wasn't as bad or sharp or piercing as it was when I first got it, but it was there.  Small, tight, slight, but oh so present.  Predictably, Nacho told me "NO tennis" for the day, and the more I focussed on the inevitable disappointment, the thinner and more stretched I felt.  The tears were welling in my eyes, my breathing was getting short, and I had to blame someone.  Quick, throw it out, lash out.  "Damn you, Roman, damn you." I thought to myself, lashing out at the man with all the honest inner vengeance I could muster.  As I seethed in the blame game, held it tight in my chest, there came bleeding in another underlying train of thought.  "Damn him." -Wait a minute.-  "No, damn him!" -Wait...- "DAMN HIM!!" -Am I sure.?- Why was I so eager?  Was it not really him but actually... damn me?  Damn him or me?  Why do I feel a little guilty blaming him?  Fine, I feel guilty.  Why?  Dammit, what's wrong, Sarah?  What's wrong??  Make up your mind! The questions kept swirling in my mind, turning and upturning themselves in a maddening vortex. 

Lord, I need you here.

And just like that, the thought came true and sudden, like a tired sigh.

I went back to my room, plugged in my ipod, and listened to Hillsongs.  The guilt and anger got stuffed under the rug as I took out my bible and opened my daily devotional.  Take your eyes away from Roman, from trusting that he has the power to make or break your body.  Take your eyes away from trusting in man, and place your trust in Jesus, in His love for me.  As I read about Abraham building altars of worship to God (Genesis 12:7), about casting our cares on that altar that remind us of His love, goodness and faithfulness, new calm came seeping into my soul.  "You are my child, Sarah," was His voice.  "I am here with you, to take care of you, love you.  I'm here!" 

As I logged onto Skype after that to reconnect back home, God similarly moved loved ones and close friends I was thinking of, online.  With miraculously good internet connection, I spoke with five of them in my afternoon off.  I got listened to, loved and supported.  The last person I spoke with was my good friend from NUS, Calvin Xie who prayed for me over Skype.  It was an amazing prayer, filled with the life and the exact promptings that God had been filling my heart with during my quiet time.  Seriously, the power of prayer and the spoken word in faith is full of incredible power.  At the end of that afternoon, my lenses were adjusted, perspectives were refocussed, and my heart was filled with a supernatural love and joy in Jesus and His finished work.  Strangely, after my quiet time, the niggling pain in my right deltoid that had been bothering me for the whole week--had evaporated.  My left ham felt better, I didn't feel any more pain.  Praise God!!  He is indeed faithful, even when we are faithless.  When I went back to the gym that afternoon, instead of scowling at Roman, I couldn't help smiling back :)

The rest of the week only got better--fitness sessions with Kapi were fun fun fun.  On Wednesday we danced the rumba, salsa, tango and waltz (LOL seriously!), on Thursday played this insane three-personed game that involved person A throwing a ball against a wall, person B hopping over it after it bounced, and person C catching it before it touched ground again, all in quick succession!  On Friday we did running and footwork, and on Saturday wrapped the week off with an hour-long stretching session by the pool, in lovely 11am sun.

Court work also went ever-progressive with the coaches slowing the pace down for ball drills and being very, very patient.  The hamstring occassionally felt tight, but there was no more pain and I did all the footwork  effortlessly, with increasing pace as the days went by.  The week off seems to have done good to the footwork, because I can feel myself moving more cleanly on court.  I don't know how, but it's gotten easier getting into balance for most of my shots during the drills now--I can feel my legs stronger, more measured.  In a sense this gives me space to concentrate on my strokes now--which is great.  The next thing now is to keep improving my footwork, learning how to move faster, and translating that into actual game, rally-play, beyond just drills.  One thing that has also changed greatly this week is my serve motion, which has gone through an overhaul.  When I figure how to post up a vid on this blog, I'll be sure to show it off.  Hahahaha.

Look forward to more posts to come this week guys :)

Chicken curry, fireworks, and a series of unfortunate misadventures.
Yes. Things happened in roughly that sequence.

Sunday was such a blast for a host of reasons—misadventures included. I was invited to lunch by a very kind Singaporean family living in Barcelona. By some stroke of God-given blessing, I was introduced to Lenard Pattiselanno—a Singaporean doing his Masters here, a week before I left Singapore. We kept in touch via facebook and over the week, he and his wife invited me for lunch over at their humble home. It was nice getting out of the Academy and getting exposed to a real Spanish neighbourhood and speaking Singlish with fellow Singaporeans, all on the same day. Oh, and I needn’t forget mentioning the smackalicious chicken curry and fragrant white rice Leanne whipped up for lunch : ))

The company was fantastic. Lenard and Leanne were unspeakably warm and helpful answering questions and sharing more about the finer intricacies of getting by in Barcelona. Zachary, their cute little two year old made me feel at home almost immediately, showing me his toys and reminding me very much of my own adorable nephews and nieces back home. So we talked, ate, watched the Singapore F1 on telly, and what was meant to be lunch continued with an extended invite to dinner  As shy and hesitant I was about imposing on them, they were so chill with their “Oh no, no laaaa!” “Don’t worry!” chillness. I really enjoyed hanging out in their living room, just being around people who were from… home  To think that I’d asked Jesus to hook me up with Singaporeans in Barcelona, He really answered my prayers above and beyond by giving me a Christian family to connect with.

Misadventure #1: Close Shave With Determined Pubes
In the interim between lunch and dinner, Leanne and I took a stroll to the supermarkets in the neighbourhood to get some groceries I needed for the Academy. Talking on our way back, we stopped at a pedestrian junction, waiting to cross. It was lovely light afternoon: think Singapore-in-aircon weather, the leaves were rustling in the breeze, calm streets, the body naturally slipped into relax-mode. Standing there, I turned my head to the right to look for oncoming traffic. Unfortunately my view was somewhat blocked by huge recycling bins that were parked by the side of the curb (recycling’s a big initiative in Barca). I noticed a small old man with grubby stubble and shabby clothes, sorting out trash, and while I gave him a cursory glance, our eyes somehow met. He looked like a grim old man, hardened and made small by a long life of grind. His heavy lids were rimmed with that undeniable sick pink that fatigue often brings. His mouth was lined with wrinkles, and the lower lip pursed itself with a sort of obscene, grim, determination. To my surprise, as all this flashed through my mind, this old man in contrast, started unbuttoning his pants with a sick sort of nimble, furious dexterity…

Too focused on the strange way he was returning my gaze, I ONLY realized what was happening when my peripheral gaze registered the sightings of a pale lower abdomen and a brazenly held out, unzipped fly.!!
Thank God I only saw the beginnings of his pubes (pronounced “pew-bb-s”, i.e. slang and short for pubic hair) before I immediately turned my head in the opposite direction. Leanne was on my left. “Oh my God!! I think that guy just flashed me!!” I exclaimed, shocked and eye-balling her to look in the other direction (probably a wrong thing to do, in retrospect…). Thankfully she was the more experienced of us two. She held my gaze, smiled calmly and said “Yes, every neighbourhood has a couple of these old weirdos.”
We briskly crossed the road and right after the initial shock registered, I started laughing really hard at the ludicrousity of it all. No wonder he looked so determined! I just got flashed!!!

*****
After a hearty dinner, Lenard and Leanne sent me off with a big paper bag filled with the 1101 essentials to successful Singaporean living (abroad version). Leanne’d packed me a big bag of milo sachets, 6 packs of Koka and Cintan maggi mee, a red twin pack of Bee Cheng Hiang lap cheongs, and a Barcelona guidebook “on long term loan” :). To balance that off (health-wise), they also passed me a carton of milk and nectarines for everyday healthy living at the Academy. Hahaha. Trust me, it felt like Christmas!
I left their place at 9pm, and by right, it would’ve taken me, perhaps, slightly over an hour to get back to the Academy (it’s actually not very far away—probably from City Hall to Commonwealth by MRT. It’s just that public transport is painfully sparse). Unfortunately, what I didn’t know was that Plaza Espana, the square where my bus stop was, was also centre stage for the final leg of celebrations for the La Merce festival. When I got there, the place was thronged with crowds eager to catch the final fireworks display.

What was cool was that I managed to catch (entirely by fluke, mind you) the final firework display for the festival. By and large, it was a breathtaking display of musical and astronomical genius—the fireworks danced to music played over a massive square-wide sound system. The entire performance lasted for about half an hour, and in a sense it numbed the 2 hour waiting episode slightly. I’ll attach pictures soon, and in advance, sorry if they’re not that fantastic—my mind was preoccupied with avoiding pickpockets and looking out for my bus : S

Misadventure #2: 11.20pm, Shady Streets, No Taxis. Stranded alone.
It’s remarkable, how different a place can look and feel, just by a simple change of light and temperature.

After the fireworks ended, I resumed my position at the bus stop and waited for the throngs of people to clear the square. “The bus will come eventually,” I was staring at the gps display screen at the bus stop:

Bus 94—2 minutes
Bus 95—38 minutes

And so I waited. Faithfully. The elements though, weren’t so kind. The wind started coming in
(think: dipping temperatures),

I started clutching my arms harder
(think: “I’m feeling cold”),

and the buses continued to roll by
(think: damn 94 and 95 weren’t there).

By the time I realized the bus was never going to come, it was two hours past, my teeth were chattering and there were only a few stragglers left at the bus stop. There were a lot of pockets of people sitting in the shadows, just “hanging around” when Leanne’s recount popped fresh in my mind. Some guy had stalked her, then attempted to get her to Plaza Espana with him

I started to get edgy.

Cab. –I thought.
CAB!

Unfortunately, the bus stop was in the direction of traffic was moving out of the city. The cabs were no where in sight—so I crossed the road and tried to hail one in the opposite direction. No luck. The bulk of traffic going city-inwards was taking the expressway underpass about 50 metres up, and to get there, meant trekking through a stretch of poorly lit residential blocks. Not so good either. But what was I going to do? I was tired, cold, and feeling alone. Entirely alone.

—No, Sarah, you cannot freak out now.—

I decided to walk towards a posh-looking hotel down the street, in the hopes that reception might be able to give some advice on where to hail a cab. Sticking out my chin, big grocery bag in hand, and haversack slung close to my body, I started taking long strides, as if it was my place and I knew where I was going. It was probably my best bet against looking vulnerable and uncertain.

As I neared the hotel, I spotted a cab five metres into a dark alley to my left, free and totally available. Immediately, I thought, "CAB!".  And yet, instinctually, something told me not to walk towards it either.  There was a man standing a metre away from the taxi, lurking in the shadows drinking in the last dregs of his beer, and a bike rider on the other side, waiting with his motor running.  Clothed in shadows and pale streetlight, it all looked kinda dodgy.  Not surprising for the area—but none too cool for a young woman to venture towards, either.  So I stood at the main corner, looking into the street, and waited for the cab to drive up. Just as it was edging nearer, an elderly tourist couple waltzed right past me and started hailing the cab.

“Oh nooo…. NOO!”

If I were back home, I would’ve walked right up to them and told them off. But no, I was in a foreign city, I didn’t want to walk into that dark alley, and I certainly had no mind to get into an argument just then.  So I continued waiting like a dumbo, hailing the cabby furiously in my corner—standing pathetically on the light side.

It was Jesus. Or one of His angels that guided the cabby—because the taxi ignored the tourist couple and rolled slowly, but surely right up to me. Teeth chattering, fingers freezing, I was close to tears and relief as I opened that door. Got home in one piece (two detours included), and the cab fare set me back by EUR23. Still, I could only smile and squeeze the taxi driver’s arm just before I got off. “Gracias, tio, gracias.”

A small price by far, just to feel safe.