To the Cameron, Ipoh and KL by train, car and coach

By blogpastor, 19 April, 2010, 4 Comments

Night train for a change

Normally, I would take a coach to the Cameron Highlands. For a change, and at Kim Eng’s suggestion, my wife and I booked online the sleeper “malam” train of the KTM (Malaysian railway). The last time I took it, I was going to the same place: Gua Musang in the southern part of Kelantan. I boarded at about 6:50pm and settled into a lower bunk bed. Each bunk had a window view, and was curtained for privacy. I forgot to bring something to secure my luggage to the rail, so I put my bag in my bunk bed. I could sleep and woke up when my phone alarm rang at dawn, and later the trainmaster informed us that we were at the Gua Musang train stop.

Gua Musang welcome

The Chuas, who were members of wrpf, met me with a warm smile and welcome, took our bags and drove us to their home in the midst of a smallholding oil palm plantation. The trees were a geriatric 30 years old but they were still yielding fruit and oil. They couldn’t replant new ones because of the lease contract terms. Nevertheless the Lord has been blessing them with better palm oil prices in recent years, and they are, more importantly playing a strategic spiritual role in that town. We had aromatic espresso, chatted and rested an hour before we left in his car on a pleasant 2 hours journey to the Cameron Highlands. It was good to escape the heat of the city. The air was markedly fresh as the small car climbed up.

We arrived just after James Tan Ah Lek and his wife, another Kim Eng. they had taken a day train from Singapore to Ipoh, a good 8 hours, and a 1 hour plus bus ride to Cameron. We smelled muffins, and we had tea and warmed up as a group with our faith sharing. We ate the fresh corn raw and they were delighfully sweet. It was a good start. All the other guests were OMF missionaries from Germany and Switzerland, working in Thailand. We got to know a few of them better. After dinner, we slept in.

Concerning faithful dogs

In the morning, I walked by an old dog with fur so thin I could see its red wrinkled skin. I remembered how this dog used to be a favorite: energetic, with lively eyes and thick brown fur. It had served well as fun dog by day and watch dog at night. Now it laid around without fear of the new caretakers. In human years, it was about 80 or 90 years old. The grounds however sparkled with the barks and leaps and frolics of a young Corgi, the new kid in the block. Seemed like succession was in progress.

Message from above

I hardly noticed the roses. During the four days and three nights stay, I was most aware of the stars that greeted us from clear night skies. The sounds, especially the sounds of birds, filled my mind and took up space, as I sat in stillness in an easy rattan armchair, out in the open, overlooking a beautiful valley. Violating the green expanse was an ugly swath of exposed brown earth. Cameron’s development has increased, and I hated that. One early morn, between sleep and alive, the Lord whispered his message of comfort to me: the birds. I knew what He meant, so I went back to the beloved’s privilege: more sleep.

All of us met up with Ezekiel and Aurora, a Malaysian Indian and his Hong Kong wife. We were charmed by the story of how they met, fell in love, got married and came out to Kelantan to serve. There is something about interracial, transnational marriages that is romantic. Maybe its because its riddled with obstacles, and that makes for tension and a lively story. So we ate at the Kowloon, and thought that the nine month bride would find some comfort in the name of the restaurant: the Father’s loving attention to details.

Towgay in Ipoh

Later that afternoon we boarded a bus and headed for Ipoh where we stayed a night at the Syuen hotel. Dinner was hawker fare: Uncle Lau Wong’s famous plump towgay (beansprout) and steamed white chicken with Ipoh kway teow. Since these dishes were legendary I was not about to disagree with everyone, and spilled out my obligatory, shiok, wah, umm, and cheap. I must admit the towgays were plump and succulent. No more photos to show as I forgot my recharger. I liked Ipoh in the morning, where the tim sum culture seemed to be very much alive. I liked the beautiful limestone hills and mountains surrounding it. There’s a kind of enchantment, an alluring feel that invited you to sell all that you have to retire there.

Later, we travelled first class in the KTM to Kuala Lumpur. First class meant more space, less passengers, and bigger seats, three to a row. I liked it, though as a spoilt Singaporean, I thought: why don’t they re-upholster the faded seats. Well the reply came quickly, It is so that you can say Cheap, cheap, cheap when you travel by train in Malaysia. Stop being arrogant, you Singaporean!

Misadventure in KL

Nobody told us it would be difficult to walk in and get a hotel room over the weekend at KL Sentral. In fact, our Malaysian friends recommended the Hotel Sentral, My Hotel, and the YMCA – but they were all full. There was no room in the inn. We finally opted for the only room in that area: a tiny widowless bare hotel room for 78 ringgit, and please clear out tomorrow at 12. The bemusing name: Hotel Florida. The Meridien and the Hilton were nearby but room rates were as high as their twin towers.

We spent the rest of the day at the Mid Valley shopping mall, something a colleague kept raving about. Yep, it was a comfort to get out and stay out of the dingy room with no carpets, a snowy TV screen, and broken ventilators on the air conditioner. Midvalley felt like the crowded Singapore mall. We ended up with a late nonya lunch in a basement cafe. We ravished the several items we bought. We decided to shorten the holiday in KL and aborted our dinner with Aileen and Christine Tan on Sunday night. We bought our bus tickets at Bukit Jalil from the makeshift bus hub relocated from Puduraya. Now we don’t have to worry about tickets on Sunday. Little did we know, on the next day, a Sunday, we would be hit by a common KL plague.

Yes you guessed right. We had street market congee and ching cheong fun for breakfast and early Japanese lunch at Midvalley mall. We still had time. Murphy’s Law took over and we were pushed to the edge. Trusting God at the edge of a cliff can be nervewracking. At KL Sentral we waited just 10 minutes; others had already waited for 40 minutes! At Bandar Tasik Selantan, we waited another 30 minutes. We were still waiting at 1 pm, the time our coach would leave. At first we panic-prayed the Rapid KL would really be on time if not rapid; then we panic-prayed that the Transnational coach would be inefficient and delay its departure. Neither happened. We missed the coach. Took the next available and comfortable Konsortium coach. Verdict: misadventure. Tuition fees in Malaysian ringgit. Lesson learnt: give ample safety margin for train delays.

Somehow God works all things for the good of those who love Him. In this last leg, we got to know a Catholic by the name of Joo Hock who just returned from a trek in the Camerons and we exchanged contacts. Perhaps on the cards is a trek to Gunung Brinchang.

Church of our Savior with sails hoisted

By blogpastor, 12 April, 2010, 4 Comments

Visit to megachurch with a blogging friend

Daniel Ong drove me in his orange Suzuki to the side road car park in front of a former theatre. It was about 8 plus in the morning. He usually parked across the main road and MRT track in the multi-storey car park but in our banter he forgot and we happened to get an empty lot nearer. Never is easy to park in Singapore churches, both mega and small.

We entered the worship hall 5 minutes early and there were many empty seats. By the time worship began, most of the seats on the ground floor were taken but not the balcony. I noticed the planets mural were all gone. Missed them. The congregation were mainly folks in the second or third part of their lives. Nice worship, singing songs more familiar to me.

There was no sermon that Sunday but instead a report by their Harvest & Souls ministry- one that reached out to the poor communities in Redhill. I was impressed with the penetration into the dialect speaking world, the practical help they gave, the people who came to Christ, the cell groups they formed ( that met in the common corridor), and the children’s clubs they started (using the void decks). In the end, I had two messages from prophetic people, one on paper from Magdelene and another from my host. I also bumped into Dr Lorna Khoo but we had no time to catch up.

Prophetic painting

I had coffee with Paul, the pastor in charge of the creative arts- the drama, dance and now the prophetic painting ministry. I was of course curious about the latter and inquired about it. They had picked it up from the Bethel Church in Redding, California, a church better known for its equipping and releasing of members to preach and heal the sick out where the people are. They are evidently very open to the winds of the Spirit and all His expressions through people, one of them being the employment of art in giving prophetic messages and in combination with words of knowledge and other gifts. Pastor Paul shared three stories of how God used paintings to revive a backslider and lead people to Christ.

Incredibly open to the winds of the Spirit

It struck me that the Church of our Savior has been incredibly open to the winds of the Spirit. It takes after its pastor Derek Hong, one of the pioneer and key Anglican priests, in the charismatic movement. He was an “early adopter” in the 70’s and his open innovative posture towards the new things God has been doing has never changed. His posture was “Dive!” or “Chiong”. He would hoist his sails and catch the wind whenever it passed, and that moved the church forward and kept it fresh. So it was no surprise to me then that while some people may have been debating about healing rooms, sozo, Bethel, and now prophetic painting, he had already gone full steam ahead with them.

Monthly COOS have someone painting prophetically on the stage as the people worshiped. I have read about emerging churches doing this but it’s probably the first and only church that does that in Singapore, with prophetic inspiration added. Probably this first in status will remain so for some years.

A few months ago COOS was associated with AWARE and the bad press from a bad press. Forget the past, and see what the Lord is doing in this new day!

RGS elitism?

By blogpastor, 11 April, 2010, 1 Comment

I have published below an eloquent well written piece about elitism in Singapore that I couldn’t put down. It was from a letter from a reformed elitist by the name of Sim Soek Tien (Ms) published in the Straits Times forum. Perhaps its time the Ministry of Education created a level playing field with only one method of enrolling students for Primary schools: a straight ballot whenever there are more applicants than projected places- no favors for old boy’s, old girl’s, 2km limits, or school volunteer merits. Dismantle the whole system so that the children of the lower income has as much chance as the children of “elite”; and the children of the rich and educated get close enough to see, feel, touch, taste and smell a world so foreign to them.

Diary of a reformed elitist

I AM as Rafflesian/Raffles Girls’ School (RGS)/’elite’ as they come. My father was a Raffles Institution boy; I went through Raffles Girls’ Primary School (RGPS), RGS, then Raffles Junior College, then on to the National University of Singapore, boarding at Raffles Hall. My sisters went through much the same route. My little girls are in RGPS.

I recognise the syndrome Ms Sandra Leong talks about (’Scoring high in grades but not in values’, last Saturday). I live it, breathe it. Most of my friends are like me, graduates. Most of us live in landed property, condominiums or minimally, executive condos or five-room flats. None of us talks about making ends meet, or how we must turn down medical treatment for our aged parents because we cannot find the money.

But I will add to her essay: that those traits, that aura is not unique to RGS girls. It resonates within a social group, and its aspirants, the well educated or well endowed. I hang out with so many, I have stories by the barrel.

- My doctor friend, non-RGS and one would even say anti-RGS, was shocked when she found out how many As I got in my A levels, since I opted to do an arts degree. In her words, ‘I thought all arts people were dumb, that is why they go to arts’. Her own family boasts only doctors and lawyers – she said they would never contemplate any other profession – and by implication, all other professions are below those two.

- A church-mate who lived in a landed property in District 10 – definitely not an RGS girl, and I venture to guess, not even a graduate – once, in all sincerity and innocence, prayed for all those who had to take public transport and live in HDB flats, for God to give them strength to bear these trials.

- Another friend, also non-RGS and a non-graduate, shudders when she recounts the few months she lived in an HDB flat. And that was a five-room flat. Imagine the culture shock if she had lived in a three-room flat.

I continue to meet people who never visit hawker centres, who wonder why the poor people do not work harder to help themselves, who fret if their children do not get into the Gifted Education Programme (reserved for the top 1 per cent of nine-year-olds).

The pattern repeats itself in the next generation. When my 11-year-old had to go on a ‘race’ around Singapore, using only public transport, the teacher asked for a show of hands on how many had never taken public transport (bus and MRT) before. In a class of 30, five raised their hands. I think if the teacher had asked for those who had taken public transport fewer than 10 times in their young lives, the number would have more than doubled or tripled.

Many of us live in ivory towers. I know I did. I used to think Singapore was pretty much ‘it’ all – a fantastic meritocracy that allowed an ‘HDB child’ from a non-graduate family to make it. I boasted about our efficiency – ‘you can emerge from your plane and be out in 10 minutes’ – and so on.

It was not that I thought little of the rest of the world or other people; it was that I was so ensconced in my cocoon, I just thought little of anything outside my own zone. ‘Snow? Yes, nice.’ ‘Starvation in Ethiopia? Donate $50.’ The wonders of the world we lived in, the sufferings and joys of those who shared this earth were just academic knowledge to me, voraciously devoured for my essays or to hold intelligent conversations at dinner parties.

Then I lived in China for seven years. I looked on in amazement as the skinny tree trunk in front of my yard blossomed and bore pomegranates when spring thawed the ground. And marvelled at the lands that spread east, west, north and south of me as we drove and drove and drove, and never ended. I became friends and fans of colleagues and other Chinese nationals, whom so many Singapore friends had warned me to be wary of.

I realised it was not the world and other people who were limited in their intellect, in their determination, in their resourcefulness; it was me and my world views which were limited. I also know full well that if I had stayed in Singapore, in my cushy job, comfortable in my Bukit Timah home, I would have remained the same – self-sufficient. I had always believed that if I put my mind to it, I could achieve anything. For example, I used to look at sick people and root: ‘Fight with all your willpower, and you will recover.’ And when they did not, I’d think they had failed themselves. I, like Ms Leong, believed ‘mental dexterity equated strength of character and virtue’.

But those years in China taught me terrible lessons on loneliness. I learnt that money (an expatriate pay package) and brains (suitcases of books) did not make me happier than my maid who cycled home to her family every night in minus 20 deg C on icy roads to a dinner of rice and vegetables. The past few years, I have known devastating loss and grief so deep I woke up in the morning and wondered how the sun could still shine and people could go on with their lives.

And so perhaps I have learnt the humility I lacked. Humility about how small I am in the whole schema of things. About how helpless I truly stand, with my intellect in my hands, with my million-dollar roof over my head. To remember, in the darkest valleys of my journey, it was not Ayn Rand or other Booker list authors who lifted me, but the phone calls, the kindness of strangers, that made each day a little less bleak.

And perhaps finally, to really see other people, and understand – not deflect, nor reflect their anger and viewpoints, but see their shyness, pain, struggles, joys. Just because I was ‘fortunate enough’ to have trawled the bottom levels. And perhaps that is the antidote to the oft unwitting elitism so many of us carry with us.

Hunting the Pope

By blogpastor, 7 April, 2010, 2 Comments

I have been searching without success for an Asian or local blogger’s opinion on the sexual abuse in some Catholic churches, the Pope and the accusations against him especially from the New York Times. Of course these are times of distress for our Catholic brethren and we need to pray for them rather than cast stones. Leave the stones to the media and the fundamentalists. I did manage to find a link for those who are interested to know more about whats happening, but from the USA. The curt jester, a Catholic, has posted this post titled Pope Hunt. You may also want to read New York Times’ columnist Maureen Dowd’s: A Nope for the Pope and what Richard Dawkins intends to do when the Pope visits Britain.