Real Christians---

Primary School Cravings

At 12.20am I am suddenly craving dark sauce fried mee.  You know, the type you get at breakfast stalls at hawker centres.  The ones that usually also sell chee chong fun, yam cake, dumplings and zok (porridge) for breakkie.  Cooked well, dark sauce fried mee is oily, glistening with dark sauce and sprinkled with a small amount of tau geh.  Sooooo SHIOK!

They used to sell it at my first school--the now defunct Alexandra Primary.  I remember how I could get a small serving for 30cents, and a super grand plate for 50.

Strange how these memories hit home so late at night, so far away.

Holding Onto God's Word

Psalm 128 (Amplified Bible)
A Song of Ascents.
    1[a]BLESSED (HAPPY, fortunate, to be envied) is everyone who fears, reveres, and worships the Lord, who walks in His ways and lives according to His commandments.
    2For you shall eat [the fruit] of the labor of your hands; happy (blessed, fortunate, enviable) shall you be, and it shall be well with you.
    3Your wife shall be like a fruitful vine in the innermost parts of your house; your children shall be like olive plants round about your table.
    4Behold, thus shall the man be blessed who reverently and worshipfully fears the Lord.
    5May the Lord bless you out of Zion [His sanctuary], and may you see the prosperity of Jerusalem all the days of your life;
    6Yes, may you see your children's children. Peace be upon Israel!

How often do we trust what we cannot see?

Admittedly, we are creatures of touch and habit.  We like our senses tickled, our emotions appeased.  We only (and conveniently) believe in things that can be weighed.  Or at least felt.

But time and time again, when I open my bible or read a devotional, God constantly challenges me to believe in the things that I cannot see.  Because what can be seen, touch, tasted, is always subject to the laws of time.  And ironically, because we can feel them, they are always temporal.  Even happiness/frustration/trying circumstances, will pass. 

Because if what can be seen is ephemeral, what cannot be seen, must then be eternal.  God's word cannot be seen, it is invisible. It surpasses the physical laws of Nature and confounds the wisest of men.  The only thing that it is, is sure.  And God's word lasts forever.

Maybe if we, being trapped in temporal circumstances, choose to step out and hold onto His word which is eternal, I think we naturally become closer to being truly unshakeable---especially in times of shaking.

Train like a Horse, Eat like a Cow 
7.45pm Dinner:
1 bowl fried brown rice
2 slices of fat omlette
2 plates of tuna salad (just chomped down the greens)
Calamari sticks
Chicken bolognaise balls with mushroom sauce
1.5 slices of brown wheat french loaf, dipped in olive oil
1 mandarin orange
1 small cup of shandy

10.30pm Supper (2hrs 45 mins later....):
Still hungry!   So I cooked and had...
1 big bowl of bee hoon, with egg, stalks of spring onion and chopped up fresh onion, and
1 bowl of cornflakes with milk

Verdict?  Finally, reasonably full.  I should go to bed before the hunger kicks in again!  Goodnight world.  I am so knackered.

Backside Backhand

or, to be more optimistic:

"I come, that you might have Life, and Life more Abundantly."

 Life, as it currently is, is very much similar to the progress of my backhand.  Some days it's awesome, on other days it suffers severe psycho motor sparsticism.

Strangely enough, despite the flux and wane of emotions, I do know that it is improving.

It, being the shot
---learnt a fresh idea about the backhand from a new coach who has joined our group.  When I hit my backhand, I prepare with my chin touching my racquet arm, and after follow through/end of shot, my chin should be touching the other arm

and life in general
---perhaps not the circumstances per se (am running flat out of money), but definitely my view to them (seeing God as the source of my providence, and knowing that things will be okay).

All too often, I still fall prey to worry and anxiety.  My finances are waning (I have about EUR700 left in my bank account), and the initial understanding I had with the Academy to have a left over salary of EUR300/month for the Residence work I do, has "turned" into money that automatically pays for my tennis fees.  Subtitles: out goes the active income.

In many respects, I feel like a banglah---salary, benefits and all.  It disturbs me even more knowing that I try so hard as a Singaporean athlete, but policy makers (unknowingly?) opt instead, on spending millions on a YOG event that stirs no public pride.  Sometimes when I focus on this, I feel disappointment, frustration and a genuine sense of helplessness.

But in the thick of this, thank God for God.  He has continued to assure me through John 10:10 that despite it all, I will be fine.

"I come, that you might have life, and life more abundantly."

"I come"---Not that I go.  Or that I try.  The pretext of Jesus saying that He comes, is that I am standing still, or in a moment of stasis.  Yes, I could be moving too, but the focus is on Him as the enacting one.

"that you might"---In order.  So as to.  For a specific purpose.  Jesus is saying that He comes with a particular end in mind.  And what is that end?

"have life"---Stop and think a while. What does it mean to you to have life?  What is real life?  The rest of the verse seems to push the reader to that contemplation:

"and life more"---So often we ask or wish ourselves to live life like someone else does--because in our eyes, they have more of life than we do.  But the Lord is saying that when you let Him come, you live that exact life that is so much more...

"Abundantly."---an incredible word that we too often forgo.  I don't even think that I understand the word.  My life sometimes seems surrounded by so much lack and limitation.  But perhaps this is also where the greener-grass theory can kick in.  A more abundant life sounds good.  Why not take Him at His word.

He's either telling the truth, or posing as the world's biggest liar.  But while I contemplate this, I'm going to take You at Your word.  You say You'll come.  So come Lord, come!

Silent Noise
As is with every bout of silence, there is an equal, opposite reaction of noise and chaos, somewhere.

This past week has been especially grueling on the training front.  Think playing in four to zero degrees Celsius.  Fingers numbing to the cold and noses dropping off.  On the great side, I think I'm finally getting used to the trawl of the weather.  On the flip side, I am sore all over.

Just a minute ago, I contemplated posting on my FB status:
"Body sore all over, except for triceps.  Maybe I can work those out in the gym...."

More soon.

Morning Dew

The clay was perfect this morning.

So soft, balls rolling by left trails on the naked ground. ♥

To go Home, Or Not to go Home, That is the Question : S

Cute, isn't he? :)  His unfortunate face expresses exactly how I feel.

I've decided to spend Christmas in Europe and forgo a precious opportunity to come home.  The larger question to ask, though, is if I want to come home for Chinese New Year.

I've been having second thoughts about this--especially after my back injury "slowed" progress down.  Tennis is picking up again--and in the midst of this sure quickening cadence, I am asking myself if I want to tear myself away.  Again.

It's strange how when I left home, I thought I was tearing myself away to come here.

And now, it feels just the opposite.

The things being away does!  Last December, my body was just starting to embrace the cold when I had to pack and return.  Just then, my game was peaking.  My coach was happy with my progress.  And I felt strong, happy and fit as hell.

I don't know how things will turn in January.  Things, as I've learnt, always change.  Maybe I will want a break, perhaps not.  Let's see.

4 to 7

Learnt from a coach today that players need approximately 4 to 7 full competition matches before they are fit enough (mentally, phyiscally, stress-wise, etc.) to push their playing level up.  And of course, the player has to be in FIGHT mode in all seven to make it count.

Truly, the best practices is match play.  Everything has to revolve around it.

Tea at Sobiah's

God has blessed me with wonderful friends in Barcelona. 

This week, a bunch of us met at Sobiah's place right in the heart of town.  Sobiah is a Malaysian lady whose been living in Barcelona for the past twenty years with her Spanish husband, Enrique!  Hankering after her fantastic passion for cooking, she invited all of us to her place for a simple but scrumptilicious high-tea of home made teh-tarik, and kueh kueh! :))))

When we arrived at 4.30pm, Sobiah was in the final stages of folding....

 Curry puffs:)

The second kuh kuehs----sweet potato doughnuts---were already done.  Laced in sugar dippings, made with very little flour and a lot of sweet potato, it was just mmmmmm.

Of course, we couldn't keep our hands to ourselves...  Hehe.  Here is Adrian and Susan happily posing with their doughnuts.  I ate at least ten!

While we busied our jaws, the curry puffs soon came out of the fryer. Crispy, golden, very fragrant.

Of course we were very excited.  No time was wasted gathering around the table---here is my fellow Singaporean Bee Ling with her beautiful little girl:

Ines!  All of three years :)

It was really nice sitting down and just talking.  Catch the half-eaten curry puff in the corner.  I think I gobble about....6 of them : P

Had to scoot at 6.30pm in time for work at the Academy at 7.30pm.  Nevertheless, I really enjoyed myself.  To more meeting and eating with my Singaporean friends :)

Upwards and Onwards
Quick note.  Just finished practice and am off to the gym in a bit.  I just have to pen down this momentary ecstasy I'm feeling from having a damn good practice.

Back injury has plugged practices for the past six weeks.  Today marked my fourth practice after 1.5 weeks away from court.  In spite of this, it's always strangely wonderful experiencing how we sometimes come back only stronger after injury.

Today I was hitting the ball earlier.  I could feel my footwork stronger.  Movements sturdier.  The shots coming off my racquet bit in much, much harder.  Best of all, paired with all of this was a deep, knowing calm and an amazing sense of ease.  From that backhand drive volley down the line to that deep forehand cross court shot--I was more preoccupied with enjoying the cool air pinching my breath and the twinge of sun on my skin.

How come the sudden change?  I don't know.  I could hypothesize a thousand reasons, but I guess the main one was God remoulding my consciousness towards His supply during my down time.  True enough, even though I hadn't practiced, I was now hitting the ball cleaner, weightier.  I was strangely reading the ball quicker, finer.  Hitting easier, faster, stronger.

I walked off court today thinking how truly undeserved all of this was.  Truly, Lord.  Through the ups and downs---thank You for loving me xx

Take Your Job and Love It
by Max Lucado

My heart took delight in all my work.
Ecclesiastes 2:10 NIV

Contrast two workers.
The first one slices the air with his hand, making points, instructing the crowd. He is a teacher and, from the look of things, a compelling one. He stands on a beach, rendering the slanted seashore an amphitheater. As he talks, his audience increases; as the audience grows, his platform shrinks. The instructor steps back and back until the next step will take him into the water. That's when he spots another worker.

A fisherman. Not animated, but frustrated. He spent all night fishing, but caught nothing. All night! Double-digit hours worth of casting, splashing, and pulling the net. But he caught nothing. Unlike the teacher, the fisherman has nothing to show for his work. He draws no crowds; he doesn't even draw fish. Just nets.

Two workers. One pumped up. One worn-out. The first, fruitful. The second, futile. To which do you relate?

If you empathize with the fisherman, you walk a crowded path. Before you change professions, try this: change your attitude toward your profession.

Jesus' word for frustrated workers can be found in the fifth chapter of Luke's gospel, where we encounter the teacher and the frustrated fisherman. You've likely guessed their names—Jesus and Peter. Peter, Andrew, James, and John made their living catching and selling fish. Like other fishermen, they worked the night shift, when cool water brought the game to the surface. And, like other fishermen, they knew the drudgery of a fishless night.

While Jesus preaches, they clean nets. And as the crowd grows, Christ has an idea.

He noticed two boats tied up. The fishermen had just left them and were out scrubbing their nets. He climbed into the boat that was and asked him to put out a little from the shore. Sitting there, using the boat for a pulpit, he taught the crowd. (vv. 2-3 MSG)

Jesus claims Peter's boat. He doesn't request the use of it. Christ doesn't fill out an application or ask permission; he simply boards the boat and begins to preach.

He can do that, you know. All boats belong to Christ. Your boat is where you spend your day, make your living, and to a large degree live your life.

Your boat is God's pulpit.

I have a friend who understands this. By job description she teaches at a public elementary school. By God's description she pastors a class of precious children. Read the e-mail she sent her friends:

I'm asking for your prayers for my students. I know everyone is busy, but...
On and on the list goes, including nearly deaf Sara. Disorganized-but-thoughtful Terrell. Model-student Alicia. Bossy-but-creative Kaelyn.

Does this teacher work for a school system or for God? Does she spend her day in work or worship? Does she make money or a difference? Every morning she climbs in the boat Jesus loaned her. The two of them row out into the water and cast nets. My friend imitates Peter.

Suppose you were to do what Peter did. Take Christ to work with you. Invite him to superintend your nine-to-five. He showed Peter where to cast nets. Won't he show you where to transfer funds, file the documents, or take the students on a field trip?

Holy Spirit, help me stitch this seam.
Lord of creation, show me why this manifold won't work.
King of kings, please bring clarity to this budget.
Dear Jesus, guide my hands as I trim this hair.

Pray the prayer of Moses: "Let the loveliness of our Lord, our God, rest on us, confirming the work that we do. Oh, yes. Affirm the work that we do!" (Ps. 90:17 MSG).

Hold it there. I saw you roll those eyes. You see no way God could use your work. Your boss has the disposition of a hungry pit bull; hamsters have larger work areas; your kids have better per diems. You feel sentenced to the outpost of Siberia, where hope left on the last train. If so, meet one final witness. He labored eighteen years in a Chinese prison camp.

The Communist regime rewarded his faith in Christ with the sewage assignment. The camp kept its human waste in pools until it fermented into fertilizer. The pits seethed with stink and disease. Guards and prisoners alike avoided the cesspools and all who worked there, including this disciple.

After he'd spent weeks in the pit, the stench pigmented his body. He couldn't scrub it out. Imagine his plight, far from home. And even in the prison, far from people. But somehow this godly man found a garden in his prison. "I was thankful for being sent to the cesspool. This was the only place where I was not under severe surveillance. I could pray and sing openly to our Lord. When I was there, the cesspool became my private garden."

He then quoted the words to the old hymn:
I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice so clear whispers in my ear
The Son of God discloses.
And He walks with me
And He talks with me
And He tells me I am His own
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.

"I never knew the meaning of this hymn until I had been in the labor camp," he said. God can make a garden out of the cesspool you call work, if you take him with you.

For Peter and his nets, my friend and her class, the prisoner and his garden, and for you and your work, the promise is the same: everything changes when you give Jesus your boat.

From Cure for the Common Life: Living in Your Sweet Spot
Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 2005) Max Lucado

Hip Back Hurray!

Have been plagued with a back strain for the past month, and I always suspected part of it had to do with my bed frame.  Back home, the floor was always my back hugger---not a suspect 1.8x1.2 wobbly metal stand trying to pass off as a sturdy spine supporter. 

Finally took the time to take out the bed frame with Kiko's help. Tough work considering that the room was so small, and even more so the door frame. We had to move the frame out of my room, into the spare room next to ours.  Here it is, finally abandoned and perched atop the spare bed:

Notice how the room is so small, it's impossible to even fit the bed frame face down.  Better yet,  upon closer inspection, I finally understood why I never really liked this lousy bed frame.

Every freaking leg was masking-taped to the divan, because it obviously had fallen off before -_____-"  No prizes for guessing the amount of support this "gave" my back...

As for now, I have settled to sleeping on the floor with my mattress.  If things don't work on the back front, I'll have to think about sleeping on the floor instead.  Floor rest (futons included) can be very comfortable,... even therapeutic.  My dad who used to have back problems swears by it, and... maybe it's about time I listened to him too....

♥ Singapore Food Day ♥

 

This Saturday, Bee Ling, one of the Singaporeans I've been extremely fortunate to meet in Barcelona, invited me to her home for a Singaporean food day.  Together with Adrian and Susan, and Joanne, fellow Singaporeans also in Barcelona, I was soooooo eggggcited to have a shot at local food!  

It was a pot luck and I cooked a pot of brown rice scallop porridge with organic Japanese seaweed.  I think it was a bit too healthy for most of them there, because it hardly got touched compared to the other dishes like Laksa, Mee Siam and Char Kueh Tiao.  But I was happy to just have a shot at eating it all, anyway!

 Here we are all together.  From the left, Bee Ling, Joanne, Susan and myself.  Being Singaporean food deprived people, you can tell from our smiles that we were obviously really happy :)

 Posing with Bee Ling, the chef and her smackalicious char kueh tiao!!!!  (I don't know why my face is so cao4 tah1 in this photo....)

 And here with Susan's little girl Kayla, with Joanne's marvellous mee siam.  She made the sauce from scratch.  It was damnnn shiok lah!

Library = Bibiloteca

Took a much needed break from Academy life today and snuck out to Barcelona in search of an elusive library I've been looking for, for the longest time---the University of Barcelona's Literature and Language library.

It was pretty cool, but before I start yapping away, I'm going to remind myself that concision is precision.  So here it is, in pictures :)

 Was greeted by a host of shrubs upon entering the University courtyard.  There was something in the air.  It wasn't the silent trees or the old concrete that stood yawning ages old.  It was the fresh feeling of campus life all over again.  God, how I miss school.

(Little) Surprise of surprises.  They had a math exhibition going on in one of the foyers.  It included a host of exhibits and one that caught my eye were these bubble prisms.  Here's a diamond shaped mold,

And a strange cube one.  Utterly fascinating.

 

 The path up to the library overlooked another beautiful courtyard.  This one reminds me of a Colosseum, somehow.  Must be the arches.

 

 Library entrance.

The University of Barcelona's Library of Language and Literature.  A humble three storied, two sectioned abode filled with warm light and the occasional beam of sunlight.

 I couldn't figure out how to get to the third floor.

 Interestingly, beneath the beautiful exterior, the library also had dingy shelf sections BEHIND the warm walls.  You got to your real books (and not the bai3 swee4 ones on the walls which no one touches) through a small door along the walls.  Hardly noticeable, once you go through, hard florescent light hits you.  The floor also turns from nice rubber laminated grounds to crappy, noisy metal grates that clank at your every step.  Case in point above!

I spent so much time in the library, I was too hungry to "tahan" all the way back to the Academy.  So I decided to reward myself and go eat at a Chinese restaurant.  For EUR9,95, I got a set dinner that included Hot and Spicy Soup (麻辣汤),

 A plate of commendably fried beef noodles,

Prawns fried in spicy sauce and vegetables, plus dessert, and mineral water!  Throw in the fact that I convinced the guy to give me a bowl of rice FOC (they wanted to charge me EUR1,25!! for it!!!) it was quite worth it, and a definite great end to a good day :)

Luigi Fraboni

Despite the furnace, many good things have come out of burning through my weekend, working for the Academy's latest tournament.  One of them in particular, was making friends with the official tournament photographer--a man called Luigi Fraboni.

Luigi's been a professional photographer for the past twenty years, and has specialized in tennis photography for the past nine.  He's been to the Grand Slams, pictured the likes of McEnroe, Sampras, Safin, Hingis, Sharapova and many more.

Over discussions about photography, aperture, shutter and lense specifications, he very kindly offered to take a couple of shots of me hitting.  Needless to say I was ecstatic.  I played.  He shot.  And now, here's sharing one (of the many) that I really liked :)

http://www.luigifraboni.com/

Trying Day #5

As I speak, the smoke detector alarm has gone off for the eighth time.  Each alarm cycle--I have timed--goes on a painful wailing siren for five minutes.  Be generous and sprinkle two to four minutes of "grace" between each punk cycle, and what you get is a long, painfully drawn out affair of listening to a deafening siren in the dead of the night.  All, yes, at the expense of some punk kid trying to prove his virility through wailing through the thin midnight air.

Yes.  Happy Halloween, everyone.

What a way to spend the night after a tiring ten, no, twelve (!) hour day shuttling between tournament office and the courts, taking, processing pictures, and servicing player/parents.  Couple that with late meals, low glucose levels, and having to deal with an overly pompous, big, B.O. infested fat man, who thinks he is the world.  What do you get?

Stress on the back and overload. 

Well, quite so. 

This fat a** was the main co-sponsor for the tournament, besides the Academy.  He is ugly, smelly, and very touchy feel-ly.  In particular, while my boss, Alexandra leaned over to speak to me over the table in front of me, he took the opportunity to wrap his hand around the curve of her back, and let it stay there.  I was shocked, my eyes trailed from her gaze to his non-nonchalant face, and it told me he was just taking advantage of the situation.  And that he wanted it.

Later, as I showed him some work, he tried to get funny by draping his arm around the back of my chair (too close for comfort), and then reaching over and placing his hand on my shoulder---half-squeezing, half man-handling it (way too close for comfort).  I shifted my body away as suddenly has he leaned over to touch me, and jerked my chair in so that his fat-ass lazy arm had to move away.  I think I made myself painfully clear that I don't stand for this shit.

I asked Alex after that if I could tell him straight up not to touch me, at all.  And she said "Yes, yes!  Of course."  But then as quickly as she said it, she also went on to diffuse it with the excuse that he was Italian and that "Italian men are like that.  (Pause).  Well, not all, but yes."  She then went on to share her experiences with Italian transport (yes, very relevant) and how the problems she encountered (tardiness, unprofessionalism, etc.) were just the way Italians worked.  "Oh really?"  I asked, surprised.  "That happens to me in Spain too!"

Seriously speaking, though.  I saw where she was coming from, but still found it quite disappointing that she was trying to diffuse my discomfort so quickly, especially as I sought her out, as subordinate-boss, and also as woman-woman.

So I went back to sit on my green plastic chair (again), brooding (double again).  When the brilliant thought hit me. 

"God,"  I prayed. "If he touches me again, please strike him down with lightening or do something terrible to him."  The bible always talks about how God protects the righteous, and if ever a time was to exercise this, it was now.  I hope he has a heart attack tomorrow (FIRST), and then gets saved by Christ (later).  Haha : P

 Moments Like This

It was a long, rather (naturally) stressful day again today.

But despite the hustle 

(confronted by my boss for coming in 50 minutes after my morning 1 hour practice, instead of the immediate ten minute shower I was supposed to take.  With hardly time for a snack, I worked all the way until 4pm before I had a shot at lunch),

and the bustle

(was on my feet 11 hours today, walking around, taking photos, helping to service the tournament desk, manning the restaurant gate during dinner, etc.)

I am thankful that I maintained a spirit of composure that only came from Above.  Any unpleasantness, if at all, slid like water off a duck's back.  And to boot, He gave me the present above towards the end of my day.  I captured it, and am keeping it forever on film :)

"Behold, God is my salvation, I will trust and not be afraid; 'For YAH, the Lord, is my strength and song; He also has become my salvation.'"  -Isaiah 12:2

You are the God of my valleys, too.

With a palpable twinge in my lower back and a slight right wrist inflammation (blame my overzealous top-spin endeavors), Nacho the resident physiotherapist told me to take the morning off and to just hit for an hour this afternoon.  I was really looking forward to practice.

But things can always change, right?

15 minutes into the hour, in between balls and loosening, warm sinews, one of the staff from the office came up to me on court.  His lips were fixed, his voice soft but unyielding.

"Sarah, we need you to work now.  The tournament office needs help with players that are coming in and we're understaffed."

I stopped halfway through the rally.  Wha-?

For obvious reasons, I couldn't say no, screw you, I just started, let me finish my practice. 

The Academy's having another European Junior Tour Tournament this weekend, and its brilliant planning endeavors and logistical foresight saw that they needed one more person to help service tournament desk, 10 minutes before all the tournament players were due to arrive.  I suppose better later than never.  And as such, I was asked to hurry the office to help, pronto.  Even with sweat still oozing from my pits, and my cheeks flushed red from practice.  Yes.  Help.  No, work.  Now.

When I rushed to office, disappointingly, all I did was sit on green plastic chair.  Most of my time there was spent waiting around, with no instruction on any work to do.  As my body slowly cooled down, I tried to distract myself from my depressing state.  Come on, Sarah.  Ignore the adrenaline that is still pumping in your body from practice.  My eyes searched the courts through big glass panes.  It watched other, more fortune(ate) kids playing tennis.  Laughing, hitting balls.  My mind inevitably thought how tennis is so easily a rich man's sport.

That was at 3.15pm.  And my day at work just ended about an hour ago.

I am tired.  I have a 7.45am practice tomorrow, for an hour before I start work at 9.  It will be another whole day affair.  And while I will be taking photographs of other rich kids hitting lazy tennis balls, this will pay for my tennis fees. I suppose this is an opportunity to be grateful for.

Honestly, it is easy to feel off with injury and a lack of training opportunity.  To be snatched from practice in the name of work.  Damn work.  Still, I sense God is urging me to stand firm on His word.  I hear His still quiet voice telling me that His word is truth.  And that it is the only thing that will hold in this world that is so naturally unstable. 

Wait.  Again.  What will hold?

The grace of my Lord Jesus Christ.  That though He was rich, yet for my sake He became poor, that I through His poverty might become rich. (2 Cor 8:9)  I believe this richness 2 Corinthians mentions, includes a supernatural strength that out stands these temporal frustrations. 

When I quieten down and think about it, I am convinced that they are nothing compared to the joy that I find in Christ my Savior.  Nothing!

Practice Makes Perfect

Or at least the saying goes.

I played another practice set with the same girl today, and was astonished by how the same mistakes seemed to surface--albeit to a lesser degree.  The double faults were still there, the slow reaction after serving.  The lack of anticipation or any trace of that dexterous fighting spirit I know I have inside me.

In particular, after a 1-6 ordeal, the defeatist experience (and its seeming repetition) got me wary.  I was spending wayy too much time fighting myself instead of my opponent.  More disturbingly, I realised that the root of this self-sabotage came from something much deeper:

I've been suckered into that ominous mentality.  The one we more commonly know as the instant-noodle syndrome.

Fast.  Yes.  That's right.  I want to improve fast.  Fast, fast, FAST!

"Fast?"  I thought to myself.  "Shit."

More like frightening.

Not that there's anything particularly wrong with meteoric improvement.  But improvement itself is never contrived.  On the contrary, it is entirely natural.  To expect it, is being plain twisted.

So no, Sarah.  No.  Do a quick side-step.  Pause.  Re-route the myelin of thought.  Overhaul that mentality.

Instead of frustration, I walked off court today thinking about my approach--the very thing that was leading to my frustration.  As my pastor preached once, there's no such thing as something or someone "making" you feel angry. Or disappointed.  Or sad.  Too often, we use the excuse "s/he made me really angry" or "s/he is making me lose my time" to blame circumstances. But think about it.  It doesn't make sense.

It's not like someone has a buttoned remote labelled "Angry."

INSTRUCTIONS:
Press once to make SP angry.  Press twice to make SP very very angry.

No.  It is we who let ourselves get angry.  Frustrated.  Disappointed.  And the letting, obviously stems from the perspectives we take to situations.

As my soles crunched against beads of soil, I wondered if the root of my exasperation--or poor play, for that matter--came because of my perspective: was I setting my standards too high?  Was it because I believed I could be a better player, that I let that very self-belief become debilitating pressure?

Ironically, that pursuit of perfection created an expectation that ironically embedded my frustrations further.

I know I can play better.  And at a faster rate.  I am hungry for improvement.  For change.  I believe I can concentrate stronger.  React faster.  Hit cleaner.  But therein hidden within that knowledge, is the equal paradox.  That controlling self-belief has to just stop at some point, and I have to learn how to let go.

Let go, let it flow.

Sometimes, that really is the hardest thing to do.

Chewed Up, Spat Out. 
Today marked the perfect case in point of court failure.  I played a set with one of my team mates and just when all started well, I started making the most ridiculous unforced errors after I had set up each point, almost perfectly.

She's running like a rabbit from left to right, getting pushed further and further back.
Then?

I miss an easy volley.

Almost perfectly, eh?

Initially the errors rolled off like water off a duck's back.  Until my coach started talking to me, and I started thinking about my strokes, and thinking and thinking and thinking.  Eventually emotion crawled in, my game wormed in and out in my mind, and everything just crumbled apart.  In other words, I fell like a worm to the chicken beak of anxiety.


Hahaha.  Bad analogy.  But true.

After practice, Toni my coach chewed me up and told me I threw away three full games because I was dwelling too much on what was wrong instead of what was right.  His words hit home, and while part of me fought them (I was trying)----a small voice told me I was getting screwed over because I was trying in the wrong way, with the wrong spirit and the wrong attitude.  I dwell too much on my mistakes in the pursuit of the illusion of instrumental perfection.

I walked off court with a bittersweet taste in my mouth.  Bitter because of the way I got chewed up, and the consequent frustration I felt with myself.  Sweet because beyond the negativities, I knew at least he cared to tell me what was wrong with my game.  I think too much.

Still, I think I need some time to process.  And think (ha) things through.

Relax, Sarah.  Relax.

Excerpt taken from Cheng Man-Ching, the great tai chi quan master, who was also a trained Chinese doctor, calligraphist, painter and poet.  The Chinese Leonardo Da Vinci.  Interestingly, in Hebrew, the word healing also comes from the root word, relax.  But not to digress, here's what Master Cheng has to say:

"I have been practicing Tai-Chi Chuan for over fifty years. Only two years ago that I started to understand the word “relax”. I remember my Tai-Chi Chuan teacher Yang Cheng-Fu who did not like to talk much and he used to sit all day without saying a word if no one asked him questions. However, in our T’ai-chi class he
would tell us to “relax” repeatedly. Sometimes it seemed like he would say the word hundreds of times during the practice so that the word could fill up my ears. Strangely enough he also said that if he did not tell me of this word that I would not be able to learn T’ai-chi in three life-times (meaning never). I doubted his words
then. Now that I think back, I truly believe that if he did not keep reminding me of the word “relax”, I doubt if I could have learned T’ai-chi Chuan in six life-times.

What is the meaning of “relax” in T’ai-chi? Here is an example to help you understand the word. When we go visit a Buddhist temple we usually see a statue of Me-Lo Buddha. The one who has a big rounded stomach with a big smile on his face. He carries a large bag on his shoulder. On top of this statue we see a motto: “Sit
with a bag. Walk with a bag. It would be such a relief to drop the bag.” What does all this mean? To me, a person himself or herself is a bag. Everything he or she owns is baggage, including one’s children, family, position and wealth. It is difficult to drop any of one’s baggage, especially the “self” bag.

T’ai-chi Chuan is difficult to learn. To relax in practicing T’ai-chi Chuan is the most difficult phase to go through. To relax a person’s mind is the most significant obstacle to overcome in practicing T’ai-Chi. It takes a great effort to train and exercise one’s mind to relax (or drop one’s “self” bag)."

-   Cheng Man-ch'ing

A Picture Pays a Thousand Dollars

What does former world #1 Arantxa Sanchez-Vicario, lightweight boxing champion Ray Mancini and golfer Mark O’Meara have in common?  Their connection to Dr. Jim Loehr---world-renowned performance psychologist who helped fine-tune them to stay at the top of their games.

This weekend, Jim Loehr is coming to S-C to conduct a coaching course on mental toughness.  Needless to say, I am excited off my socks because I have been chosen to be official photographer for the event.  While some might see this as extra work---it's over the entire weekend---the bright side to this is I get to sit in, listen and learn from a course that's otherwise charging EUR 700 per head (I think) for this workshop!

The rest of the week starting from this Friday is going to be madness.  We're having a grade 5 ITF junior tournament here and I have been put in charge of photography and Facebook.  That means taking the pictures, processing them, picking out the best, resizing them, and then putting them all up on Facebook.  Read: Hard Work!

I've been given this job because they really liked what I did with the last tournament---the S-C Nations
Cup.  They needed a photographer for the last tournament then.  Shoved a camera into my hands, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Here are a couple of images from the Nations' Cup.  Kids were sent from 8 national federations across Europe--specifically: Romania, Ukraine, the Netherlands, Denmark, the UK, Spain, Turkey and Finland and it was great fun capturing the spirit of the whole tournament.  Albeit very tiring.

Still, optimistically and thankfully, because of a job well done I have this ticket into Jim's class tomorrow... : )

  

At the start, being still yet rather unsure with the camera---I focused on capturing natural facial expressions.  In colour.

Then I started moving onto capturing movement.

 

Played around with tones.

And discovered the joys of black and white (I love this shot).

Yet, still never quite lost that joy for colour.

You can catch more of my pictures here, across the days at the Official S-C Facebook fanpage: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=234471&id=120851087996&ref=mf)

In the Still of the Night

Fireworks that went off across the fields from the Bungalows.

(Almost) every before I go to sleep, I lie in bed thinking about a number of things.
Tennis for the next day
My family
Connecting back with my Maker
The latest reads I'm into (also read: stalling!)
and lastly, ---often with a twinge of guilt---

how i'm simply not blogging as frequently as I'd like to.

Sometimes it's difficult--with the wax and wane of the day.  Fatigue flows in like tidal waves and I often find myself swept away.  Bombarded together with thoughts for tomorrow (faulty processes, perhaps?), I am constantly pressed for time, forced to be selective with the things that will give me life and renew me for the day ahead. 

Needless to say, the silence on this space often doesn't reflect the multitude of things that I have been doing, thinking, engaging in.  They include kick-ass tournament experiences, working as official photographer for the Academy (so much for copywriting aspirations for now....), connecting with God and constantly being put in difficult circumstances that force either of two extremes: hole up and crumble under collegial pressure, or rise up, shrug it off and be the bigger person. 

Sometimes these circumstances suck so much life out of me I hardly have space to breathe---much less type.  I read emails from family back home, or facebook messages, and shy away from any reply that doesn't allow less than a sentence to revert.  I.e.  I don't reply much, because it feels like it takes too much time for which I don't have enough of.  To sit, compose myself, and really reply properly.

I suppose it's slightly ironic that I am the sort that tries to do my best for everything that I do.  So, extended, unless I can't type a good blog entry, I don't bother.  Probably explains the prevailing silence as well. 

But I'm trying to change that.  Somewhat.  The silence is not doing much good---so I'm trying to email back more.  Revert more.  Kick more.  And hopefully in this blog space, it translates to typing more, too.

To more, soon.

In the Still of the Night...I go chomp Chomp CHOMP! :P

11.30pm supper in my belly (now):

(In order of appearance, or maybe, disappearance!!)

• 2 cups of natural yoghurt with peach
• 1 medium-small carrot
• Half a bowl of cornflakes with milk
• Three plums

And I feel....nice.  Worked really hard on court today--slogged it out and lost marginally to girls I always thought  were able to beat me.  Margins were 6-7 (4-7) and 4-6.  It feels great especially on hard court because it's easier tension-wise on the legs  The friction from the ground to my soles somehow give me more balance. Anyway, it's good to get fuel in before bed.

Goodnight world.!

3-6

I'm starting to hate losing. Yes, I really am. 

And to be clear, it's not about of the state of loss, but because I know I have it in me to be the better player.  To know I am not exploiting it but letting it slide, is what makes me mad.

Three months ago, I would have been relatively apathetic to this happening.  I arrived in Spain with no expectations, no money and no support.  But with the months that have passed, I have come to realise in many ways, we are the captains of our ship.  God graces us with the ability to act with boldness and courage---and even with working and training constraints, the improvements I've been feeling and insights I've been getting into my game have been steady.  The downside though, is that with that steady incline, improvement has also translated into giving off an unhealthy mental odour called expectation and impatience.

And as Capi told me once, expectation is the enemy of us all.

Each time I lose matches or even points I think I should've won, I am eaten up by the overwhelming urge to smash my racquet, yell at myself or even flash my middle finger in the air (the latter of which, I have unceremoniously done recently, and of which is also easily mistaken as an angry flash to my opponent!)

It's definitely not the way to go about things.  I just get so invested in my match sometimes, it's hard to control the adrenaline or the emotions.  My sister reminded me that Rome wasn't built in a day, and so the same should my expectations be in my match.  In tennis, or even sports in general, people always talk controlling the shot, your footwork, controlling your balance or your body positioning.  The emphasis is always physical.  But what about emotional control and conditioning?

Maybe that's what being mentally strong means.  Having a strong mental means you can control your emotions.  And be conditioned to the extent that they (fear, anger, anxiety, worry, anything debilitating) do not control you.  But to keep believing and persevering and working through the frustrations and the anger--until we break through into clear day.

As James Blake wrote in his autobiography, everyday he reminds himself his simple priority.

"Work hard, get better."

"Be a nice girl off court, but you have to be a bitch on court."

--my coach, Stefan, after my 2-6, 1-6 loss during tournament today.

Maintenance

Who was it who wrote that novel Things Fall Apart?

I suppose as is with any place that is infested with feisty teenagers, things are bound to get broken.  Every week, I email the maintenance manager about things that need fixing in the bungalow.  This week, was no exception and the list was particularly long:

Bungalow 1: 
1.  Boys have told me that the air conditioner gives off bad air and smells bad sometimes.
2.  The toilet bowl makes a lot of gargling noises intermittently during the day.  Not sure if it is  a sewage problem.
3.  Water from the shower leaks out into the shower room, and also into the room beside it.  The leak is less from the last time I emailed you, but water still flows into the room. 
4.  The fridge door needs to be looked at--it creaks badly.

Bungalow 4:
1.  Door handle of bungalow 4 does not close door properly.
2.  Water leaks from the bottom of the toilet bowl onto the toilet floor.

Bungalow 8:
1.  Toilet door knob is loose and has come off.
2.  Door of bungalow 8 still cannot close properly from the inside.  The boys have to bang or slam the door to close it properly.

Bungalow 9:
1.  At times, when they flush the toilet, the water does not go down but rises(!!)
2.  The door is difficult to lock from the inside of the bungalow.  It is very difficult both to put the key in and to turn it.  Perhaps it needs oil?

Bungalow 11:
1.  Needs a mat for the front of the door.  The boy has asked the cleaning ladies for it many times, but to no avail!
2.  Air conditioner is still leaking, from the left side of the unit.
3.  The shower head needs bleaching--is infested with mold and fungi.

Bungalow 16:
1.  Window cannot close entirely.
2.  Front door also cannot close properly.
3.  Water leaks from the bottom of the shower cubicle, to the rest of the bathroom.

I sent this list to the manager and felt really bad and sorry for the bloke as I typed it out.  Still, the things really do need fixing and the sorry-ier ones I feel for (if there be such a word), are the kids who actually have to live with it!  Maybe I should tab it as simple "character-building".

In Quietness and Solitude

O God, You are my God;
Early will I seek You;

My soul thirsts for You;

My flesh longs for You

in a dry and thirsty land 

where there is no water.
- Psalms 63:1

Music of the moment: Love Enough by Hillsongs
Snack of the moment: Muesli cereal with fresh peach in cold milk
Table scape: Camera, empty communion cup, pencil sharpener, 5 Euro note.

Most of the time when I keep silent on my blogsphere, it's because the going has gotten tough beyond comprehension.  During periods like this, I am constantly fraught with the guilt of not connecting with you all, but also the larger question of transparency.  This is, after all, a ride I am taking you on with me.  Do I stay honest and continue talking?  Or should I exercise some sense of self-censorship, since, after all, this is a public domain? Usually I err on the side of silence--mostly because the act of speaking, for me, gives weight, voice and authority to whatever I am battling with.  To speak, is to give that problem presidence.

Words are powerful things.  They connote thought, which lead to actions.  And actions repeated, lead to lifestyles which consistently describe our self-identities.  Have you ever realised that even in conversations with friends, the loudest and clearest voice we hear, is our own?

Think about it.  When was the last time you had a heart to heart conversation with someone?  Which do you remember clearer?  What you said, and the emotional cognition that came with that?  Or what that person said in return, and the corresponding reactions that that person's words had in you?

I believe the voice we remember most, is usually our own.

And to loop back, I guess that's why I keep silent during the tough times.  It's one thing to share and place our problems through lenses of perspective.  But all too often, we forget that death and life are in the power of the tongue, and to speak or (so conveniently!) disparage about our problems, speaks also of a weak, complaining spirit.

The only perspective that has worked, has been going back time and again to God's word, and letting His words take root in my heart, and take control of my thoughts.  It's been getting better, and hopefully I'll be good enough to talk talk talk again soon :)

Ways You Know Tennis Is Really Seeping Into Your Bones

1.  When typing "tense", you type "tennis" instead.
2.  When your hand twitches in sync with dreaming of hitting a forehand.
3.  When your hands ache from too much chafing, and your proximal phalanges start getting calluses on both ends.

We Speak No Americano

Song of the moment in Spain by Papa Americano.  Absolutely addictive!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1yi8aJR22Rg&feature=fvst

Spanish Student Card, DONE!

After three months of wait, registration anxieties, unbending regulations and maddening bureaucracy. 
Lord you really make a way when there seems to be none!

Project Al Campo--
Adventure Farmland and Bleating Goats Included

What a day.

Earlier this week, the restaurant manager at S-C told me about a great supermarket about 2km from the Academy.  I stepped out this evening with two friends, Vuc from Serbia and Sharvil from India to check this place out.  It was just across a couple of fields from the Academy.  We thought it'd be easy getting there.

How wrong we were!  What was intended to be a short trip, ended up a massive 5 hour detour.  Bleating goats, Narnia gates and farmland included.

The restaurant manager gave us directions on how to get there.  The store was so big (think Carrefour, but x 3 in size!) we could see it's frontage from the back of the Academy.  We had to walk quite a bit, and the roads were quite winding as well.  Vuc, (one in the left), suggested we just cut through the fields.  Good idea!  Sharvil and I thought it made sense.  (This is the part where in retrospect, I start shaking my head...)

It started out fun.  An adventure looking at farm land--something we're so short of in Singapore.

The ground was surprisingly dry too.  Probably because of the particularly hot summer we're having.  That said, the land was surprisingly crumbly.  Feet were somewhat saved by wearing sneakers.  Sharvil and Vuc weren't that lucky, though.  They were wearing sandals and dirt got between their toes.

Didn't stop us from goofing around though.  After crawling through three fields filled with saplings, weeds, and burnt sunflowers, we crossed a brook on a thin branch (holding hands and yelping like puppies, of course).  Finally got to the railway tracks (read: half there!) (also read: what ignorance.  There was so much more to come....

Got past the railway tracks through this gate covered in weeds.  I thought it'd be closed or wrapped shut by them, but surprisingly, it swung open to the touch.

As we continued walking, we came across a number of strange sights.  Like snail carcasses along old, rusted fence posts.

Past the posts, we saw a massive, massive dog come out of a building.  He looked at us, sniffed the air and started trotting toward us.  He had his tongue out, a thick collar on, and Sharvil started getting ready to run in the opposite direction.  Haha!  I convinced Vuc and him to stay, and as we got nearer, realised he was a farm dogs.  Here I am smiling ear to ear (he was so massive, it was awesome), and here is Sharvil, still scared of the other (slightly) smaller one, trying to hide behind me.  Hahahaha.

The kind-hearted owner invited us in, and we were treated to a spectacle of all sorts of animals, Spanish-farm style.!  It was very exciting to explore.

Their mainstay produce were sheep.  When we walked into the enclosure, we were greeted by a cacophony of "Baaaaa-hhh!"-s.  Flies danced around us in excitement.  The smell was also a little over-powering, but still, I couldn't help but think about Psalms 23, which describes the Lord as our Shepherd.  Jesus is also described as our sacrifice, the lamb of God.  How was what I was seeing, exemplary to the nature of my Lord?

I got distracted while thinking, by a couple of goats further down who where checking us out.  Instead of the sheep feeding by the troughs, many of the goats were jumping up and down the pens.  Standing erect, scoping the latest happenings.  Their behavior reminded me of a sermon my pastor preached once about how goats are generally cocky creatures.  Certainly seemed so.  Just look at the one flashing me his ass!

The lady boss of the farm took to showing us around.  Here's a mother hen warming her eggs.

She took out one egg, smiling, and placed it in my hand.  It was so warm.  The best bit had yet to come though...

After she put the egg back, she took out from the same nest, a 5 day old kitten.  "It's mother put her there to keep warm", she explained in Spanish.

Soon after, it's mother came by to look at us.  Wide-eyed.  Such a young mother!  I immediately felt a little embarrassed--I felt like I understood what she was saying with her large, silent eyes.  "What are you doing with my baby?"

Sharvil and I couldn't help ourselves, though.  The kitty was so darn cuteeeeee!

Vuc couldn't resist either :)

We moved on to little chicklings...

Scoping out papa and mama duck just after a quarrel...

And saying hello to the lady boss's favourite dog.

who was so dexterous, he knew how to rest on just one forearm!

We finally said goodbye and moved on.  Came across a wild peach tree (spot the peaches!)

A dead snake.... (Sharvil poked my sides while I was taking this photo---I screamed big time and then slapped him on the shoulder

Who looked a lot like the burger he ate later for dinner.  Hahahahah.

All in all, it took us a painful 1.5 hours to get to Al Campo.  It was quite funny, because at one point, we were so close to the megastore, it was only 1 highway-- 5 lanes and 3 barricades away.  We got past one lane, but got stumped at the second 2-lane section.  The cars were whizzing by so fast and Vuc and I got very nervous meeting the eyes of passing drivers who looked at us like we were some crazy freaks bent on a suicide mission.  I convinced Sharvil to backtrack (despite his "Nooo! We can cross!  It's not that bad compared to India!! protestations)--and we had to walk an extra 15 minutes to get across.  So far, and yet so close. 

This would all be much better if I could get a bike...