A GOOD READ

Harold was my first love. He was four, pudgy and had perfect hair. He had a creative mind and a passion for adventure, and he had a thing for purple. I once went through a phase where I would only wear purple, so I found this quirk totally appealing.

My mother read me countless books every night before bed but, more often than not, I would ask for my favorite, Harold and the Purple Crayon. The book, originally published in 1955, was filled with 64 pages of adventure and mystery that all started when Harold decided to take a walk in the moonlight. There was just one problem – there was no moon. So Harold drew one.

But where would he go? That was the mystery. There was no path, so he drew one. With his purple crayon, Harold created a city, an orchard, a sailboat on the ocean.

Even before I could read, I knew every word. If my mother accidentally missed a page or intentionally skipped ahead in an effort to move the story along, I would stop her yelling, “Go back! You missed a page!”

Unfortunately, my love of stories did not grow with my age. In fact, it dwindled quite dramatically, but not until high school. In elementary school, I tested two grades higher in literature and, until fifth grade, I read at a higher reading level and attended classes with older students. In fifth grade, my teachers decided to hold me back in order for me to blend back in with my peers. I think that’s where it all started.

Reading suddenly became less about what I wanted and focused more on what others wanted me to see. In high school I was told which books to read and was instructed how to read them. Words like foreshadowing and symbolism entered my world and I quickly began to loathe them.

I learned to hate reading. Why did I have to read super long, boring books? Why did I have to think about what the turtle was supposed to symbolize in The Grapes of Wrath? Why did I read a book about an animal uprising and burning books? The only thing I learned about Kurt Vonnegut is that he was a creepy guy who wrote really weird stories. I had no interest.

High school literature classes scarred me for life. There, I said it. Sorry Mr. and Mrs. Esposito – your stories of your literary adventures and your slide shows were entertaining but I just couldn’t love being forced to read.

After a long break, I finally got back into books, at least the ones that interested me. If I was into writing styles and grammar, I read books on the respective subjects. When I became a manager, I read several books on management styles. I finally found my reading calling – non-fiction.

I decided that if something was true, I could relate to it in some way. Fiction books – the sci-fi and fantasy genres specifically – were stories in which I just could not envelop myself.

I have read personal stories and memoirs. My most recent read was by the great Diane Keaton. She wrote her memoir in parallel with her mother’s – a series of journals Diane’s mom created throughout most of her life, up until the end. After her mother’s death, Diane found peace reviewing her many boxes of journals and intertwined her own memories with her mother’s. Great book.

Something in me changed this week, however, and the Espositos would be proud. Within the last year, I added a line to my “30 Things to Do Before I Turn 30” list that challenge me to expand my reading repertoire. I decided that I should read from some of the literary greats.

So, when I finished Keaton’s Then Again, I decided to go for Everest, the 1,185-page megabook. 

When Paul and I were in the States for Christmas, we stopped into our favorite German Village bookstore, The Book Loft in downtown Columbus. The store itself is a narrow brick building that spans an entire city block. The store boasts more than 100,000 titles placed carefully on shelves and tables lining a labyrinth of 32 rooms on multiple levels.

Each room has a varied set of themes like Nature, Religion, Travel and sounds relating to most of those themes can be heard from 19 music players strategically placed around the shop. Hymns play in the Religion room, birds singing can be heard in the Nature room. The whole place is an experience.

Yes, there are maps everywhere and, yes, you will lose your friends.

Yeah, Singapore! 

On a bargain table on the porch, an old-looking book caught my eye. I have a love for old books and I will always buy a hard cover book over a paperback. If my book comes with a jacket, I throw away the jacket (sorry to all of those book jacket artists and photographers out there). I just love the hard book.

The book that called to me from the table was one of three books bound in a medium brown, almost leather cover. Gold ivy danced around a frame and a central circle stated the contents:

I have never read a book by either Brontë. Jayne Eyre was on the required reading list for one senior literature class but I was not in that class so I never read the book. The story of the orphan whose only living family members hated her and treated her as if she was less of a person than the servants is the first in my series of five sister novels.

Today at lunch, I had a perfect meal sitting outside, by myself, reading what I hope will be a fabulous book. I was surprised at my excitement when I opened the book to the first page. This isn’t a real-life story. This is a fantasy world that spawned after the sisters’ created a competition to see which the better writer was.

My enthusiasm comes from knowing that this is a book from one of the greats – a book that is supposed to change my life, or at least my mind, just by reading. Challenge accepted. 

KIDS

Paul and I go back and forth about having kids. I am at the age where most of my friends in America are having children. The vast majority of my friends have at least one child, some as many as three. With 30 approaching, I sometimes wonder if I am still on track or if I am beginning to fall behind.

My mom was 32 when she had me and 34 when she had my brother so that makes me feel O.K. I remember a time in high school when I decided that I did not want to wait to be my mom’s age before having kids.

Even from a young age I knew that my parents were a bit older than my friends’ parents. I used to take pride in knowing that any time we played the “how old are your parents” game, I was obviously going to win. And, more often than not, I did.

As I got older, I saw my parents’ age from a different perspective. I saw where they were in their careers at the time, what they had accomplished and what they had put on hold in order to care for the family they so loved.

Genius that I was at the time, I decided that I was going to have four children – no multiples and none less than two years apart – and I was to be done giving birth by the time I turned 27. My reason? I did not want to be 50 when my first child graduated high school like my mom.

Well, then I went to college and got smart. My mom’s constant pestering – college, then career, then maybe dating – made its way into my brain. I thought my friends who were engaged senior year were nuts. When I had a solid relationship, I freaked out at the thought of marriage because I had things I wanted to accomplish on my own before becoming one with another.

I wanted to make something of myself and be proud of who I was before I thought I would be good enough for someone else. That took a few years.

The closer I got to 27, the more I realized how crazy I was as a teenager. If I started having kids at 30, that would be good enough for me, I decided. So, a few months before my 27^th birthday, I married, and kids became some far off dream of “some day.”

It’s amazing how I really study parents in every surrounding and truly observe what works and what does not in their own lives. I want to see what everyone else is doing and then figure out if those things will work in my situation if I ever have children.

I even came up with my own set of rules:

1. Date night, a current tradition, will be even more important once children enter the house. Therefore, date night must continue. One evening per month, minimum, will be dedicated to Paul and me without children.
2. I will never breast feed in public. I will pump and use bottles.
3. Babies can cry themselves to sleep.
4. I will have help because I do not believe that I can have a career and a family and sanity all at the same time.
5. Children would not be allowed in restaurants until they are able to properly behave themselves.
6. Children will never accompany me to the grocery store unless they are old enough to calmly and quietly assist me with the shopping.

I realized Friday while having lunch with a great friend and her 5-month-old baby that parents teach their children from birth that when children cry, the parents will give the child whatever he or she wants in order to make the child stop crying. If the child does not want the first, second or fifth item thrown in their face, he or she will continue to cry until the child receives some sort of satisfaction.

Maybe it’s because I work with children with disabilities such as autism but I suddenly realized that I do not support this policy. I think if a child wants to cry, sometimes the child should just cry. Yes, I am aware that having my own newborn cry for hours will certainly change my stance on this subject and, yes, I realize that sometimes I will do anything to shut up that baby but this is my stance for now since I have no children of my own.

                                   

                                 

I this morning had a fabulous conversation with a long-time friend. She advised me of a book by Pamela Druckerman entitled, Bringing Up Bebe. She laughed as she explained that Druckerman’s book claims that French children are better behaved than American children because the cultures raise their children differently. Her perspective is her own as she is an American raising her family in France.

According to my friend, this book explains that in American culture, children are the center of everything and I completely agree with this statement. Children are wanted and celebrated, they draw eyes to them from the moment they are presented into a room. People tend to focus on children, change their speaking habits and tone, bend down to a child’s level.

Parents work to provide for their children. They change jobs for their children; they quit jobs for their children. They make sacrifices so that their children can have opportunities that they did not.

This book explains that in French culture, children are brought up knowing that they have a place in the family and it is not in the center. Children are taught that when they are at a table, they are to be seen and not heard unless spoken to – a philosophy to which most American children are not familiar.

My friend, who lived in France for two years, told me that all French children know four words: please, thank you, hello and good-bye.

The book sounds really interesting and, since the author is a former Wall Street Journal reporter, I believe the writing will be fantastic. And, I think I can learn a lot from an American blending into a new culture. I think it will be a great read. 

WHEN I AM NOT WORKING

Well I have officially accomplished two full weeks of work and absolutely no blogging in the process, meaning I am well behind. I deeply apologize.

Work is going really well. I have been volunteering with the organization for six months but I have had the opportunity to learn much more the past two weeks. I like having one-on-one time with the instructors and finding out the whys that go along with the whats.

My day starts very early – I wake up at 5, check my e-mail, do some stretching exercises, shower and eat some breakfast before heading to the bus stop around 6:15. Forty-five minutes and two buses later, I arrive at work, prepare my desk for the day and put on my riding gear. 

By 7:45 I should be in the arena exercising a horse. We exercise our horses in one of two ways – riding and lunging. Horses that cannot be ridden for some reason or horses that are not in a session on a particular day will be lunged, exercised in a circle, secured by a long rope that the instructor holds. The instructor holds a whip in the other hand, behind the horse in order to ensure the horse keeps pace.

I am just beginning to learn the lunging process and should be performing the task within the next two weeks.

Thursday I had the opportunity to ride one of the horses, my first time riding one of our horses and the third time I had ever ridden in an English saddle, something that can take a little getting used to.

After two morning sessions with children from Singapore’s special schools and two afternoon sessions, I head home between 6 and 6:30.

When I leave the arena on my last shift, I feel a little sad knowing that I will not be back for a few days. I know that once my schedule becomes a bit more hectic, I will really appreciate my three-day weekend but right now I really like being at work.

I am enjoying my days off and am doing everything I did before I had a job – I attend the Friday American Women’s Association coffee events when I can, I meet friends for lunch, I run errands, explore the city and enjoy some me time.

I appreciate the time I have with my husband and take full advantage of nap time when possible and then I fall into bed somewhere between 8:30 and 9 so I can again begin my week and hang out with some great kids.

PEACE

I just finished my first week at work and, as I walked away from the arena, I felt a perfect peace. I had a great week learning so much about many more riders, how horse therapy helps with specific disabilities and I learned more about each of the horses as well as how to control them.

Though I was pinched by a rider and nipped in the bum by a horse, I had a great first week with no major issues.

Things are not only great at work – they are also great at home. I was so worried about leaving Paul at home alone without prepared foods but he has made such a change in the last week that I honestly don’t know how to handle it.

To be honest, I don’t even remember Monday so I have no idea what happened when I left work. Tuesday, as I approached the front door from our entryway, I could small something unfamiliar. I was curious.

I walked in and, sure enough, Paul was in the kitchen making dinner. I was stunned – in a good way. To make things better, I discovered that he was making shells and cheese with ground beef, one of my favorite guilty pleasures. SO YUMMY!!

He had done one of the largest piles of laundry in history and had washed the dishes – something he absolutely hates to do.

Last night I came home and he had made potatoes and carrots and was ready for me to just pop some pork pieces into a sauté pan. He refused to let me clean up, stating he would do the dishes. Tonight, knowing I am off tomorrow, I figured I could do a quick and easy pasta dinner. To my surprise, yet again, I had a message on my phone asking if I would be interested in fish with a butter, white wine and orange sauce. Um, yes please!

Paul has been persistent about helping out now that I am working. He actually wants to do more of the cooking and the cleaning during the week. I leave the house at 6:15 a.m. and return around 7:30 p.m.; last night I went to bed at 8:30, so he may have justification.

This peace at home is such a switch from 18 months ago. Paul was gone five or six days a week, I worked and then came home and made myself some dinner, relaxed on the couch for a short bit and then went to bed. If I worked a lot while Paul was home, getting home much later than I promised, Paul would be frustrated. Now, he encourages me and appreciates my work. I, in turn, appreciate the time we spent together the last year and sincerely appreciate his new like of cooking. 

He did, of course, advise me that on the days I am not working, I am on my own so I guess I will just have to deal.

WHY GOD CREATED COFFEE

Ah, coffee. What a wonderful creation. I love the smell of coffee so much I get excited with the first sniff. Coffee could solve almost any of the world’s problems, in my opinion, and I think the great Dr. Steve Iseman would agree.

Coffee can be enjoyed hot, frothy, foamy, filled with sugary confections, blended with ice, blended with gelato, room temperature, on ice, fully loaded, decaffeinated, topped with spices, skinny, grande, venti, cappucinoey, frappy, macchiatoey or just inhaled via the nostrils for full effect.

Coffee helps me be me, and by that I mean coffee helps me be amiable, be awake and be focused. If I do not have coffee in my system, I cannot guarantee that I will be amiable, alert or focused on anything anyone would be saying.

I thought coffee would be necessary for my first official day on the payroll, so I made sure to set my alarm in enough time to ensure I could make myself a frappuccino.before heading to the bus stop. I went to bed a little later than I had planned and I awoke every single hour throughout the night because I feared that my alarm would fail to sound at 5:30.

Frappuccino in hand, I was on a bus before 6:30 and on my way. I arrived 10 minutes early, always a bonus, and started off by reviewing medical and riding forms for each of our morning session riders. Thank God I came prepared.

Growing up, my mom always warned me that if I decided to give birth, all of my kids could turn out like my brother – hyperactive and all. She also stated that, in her opinion, having one kid felt like she had one kid; having two kids made her feel like she had 10. Well mom, I had 12 kids and they were all like Josh.

Before the session even started, I was pinched incredibly hard by a child throwing a tantrum because I tried to tighten his helmet strap. I have bruises.

Though somewhat challenging, the kids were great. They all had something about them that reminded me of my brother and none of those things made me frustrated or angry or anxious. I thought back on a time when I was 12, my brother 10.

My parents had just finalized a nasty divorce and we were staying with a friend from church while my dad was off somewhere else. My brother drove me to the edge of insanity that day and I was screaming. The woman came over to me and very calmly asked me why I thought God would give me Josh as a brother. I had asked myself that question a million times before and I never really thought about the answer, but she immediately followed with another question.

“What is God trying to teach you?” I remember just blurting out, “Patience,” without even thinking. In that moment, something in my brain changed. I will not say that my brother and I never fought again. I will not say that my brother never annoyed me again. But I will say that I had a new perspective moving forward.

I can say that patience is one of my strongest qualities and I feel that I can put up with almost anything. Patience is certainly needed in my new position and it was certainly necessary in my first official session.

For my mandated two-hour lunch break, I headed north to MacRitchie Park, a recreational area I had not yet visited. I discovered that the park is actually within walking distance and would be a great workout choice. I happened upon a press conference where musicians were singing Chinese music. I parked myself on a bench outside the café and enjoyed my homemade hoagie while people played and sang around me.

I headed back to the stables, propped myself onto a wooden love seat and read a chapter in my latest book by Diane Keaton. I enjoyed the tranquil time before the afternoon session.

Once back in the office, I apparently donned the title of IT specialist since I figured out how to set up my e-mail account and reviewed the paperwork for the afternoon riders.

My first day was great. I was able to shadow the other two instructors, ask questions I had previously wondered and spend some time with the various riders.

This morning I decided not to make coffee. What was I thinking? I certainly needed the fix. I awoke only half the times as the night before but my eyes were a bit sore. Since the bus was crazy late this morning, I did not have time to stop at Starbucks on the way.

Surprisingly, I survived the morning session but I definitely needed the caffeine for the afternoon session. While at the malls in search of a watch store, I stopped for a super small Spinelli coffee drink with hazelnuts and chocolate. Mmmm.

I am quite surprised at the size of the drinks in Singapore. It shouldn’t surprise me that the drink sizes are smaller because all portion sizes are smaller. I remember ordering some beef tenderloin at the butcher one day. I was unsure of the grams so I just went by sight. I told the butcher enough for two and he measured out what 200 grams would be. I had him double it – 200 grams each, not 200 grams total. The guy looked at me like I was nuts. Two hundred grams, by the way, is seven ounces.

Venti coffees are the size of U.S. grande coffees, so I don’t think we will get the ultimate venti, trenta, anytime soon.

Paul recently put us on a no-sugar diet, so I cannot have coffee every day. Instead of eliminating sugary products altogether, I have decided to drastically decrease my sugar intake because, let’s be honest, I cannot go a lifetime without coffee. Peace. 

SELF-DOUBT AND MY WILL TO SURVIVE

Well, I’m employed, and the only thing I can say about this interview and hiring process is that is was unlike anything I have ever experienced.

I have known since October that the organization for which I volunteer would be looking for someone to run the sessions. I did think about what it would be like to be an instructor but I never once considered applying for the position. For one, my horse experience is Western, down-on-the-farm riding, not English, boarding-and-beyond-technical proper training.

For another, I have zero experience in relation to hippotherapy or how to help people with disabilities by sitting them on a horse – outside of my five months of volunteering.

After a couple months, the organization did hire someone who ended up not committing. The abrupt loss of an instructor sent the staff members into a desperate frenzy to hire someone, which is where God came in and threw me a curveball I never saw coming.

Three weeks ago Paul and I were surprised with an unexpected expense. The amount was not bank breaking and Paul was not worried about coming up with the money to settle the charge but we both prayed that God would provide the funds.

At a Monday afternoon session the next week, my coordinator made a comment about me applying for the position. I brushed off her comment and stated that I did not have any of the required certifications.

The next day, I received a call from the executive director. She asked if I would be interested in applying for the open position. I was quite surprised by her words and immediately advised her that I did not meet any of the qualifications.

“You have horse experience, yes?”

“Some,” I replied, as in not enough to make me qualified to fulfill the role.

She advised me that they were having a difficult time finding people to fill the role as the qualifications were written. Ultimately, they decided that they could pay to certify the correct person if they needed and would provide on-the-job training. What she really wanted was someone who understood the organization from the inside, someone who had a passion for the organization and its purpose.

I told her I would think about it and respond in the next day or so. After thinking it over and speaking with my husband, I decided to go ahead and move forward, formally expressing my interest.

The next step was to submit a résumé stating my credentials. Great. How was I supposed to take a three-page document outlining my communications and event planning experience and gear it toward horse instruction and hippotherapy?

Revising my information actually turned out to be easier than I had originally thought, once I realized that I could add all of my volunteering experience into my “Professional Experience” section.

Last week I interviewed with the executive director and one of the two staff instructors. I was not nervous; I felt prepared. I thought that there were a few moments in the interview when I could have said something in a better way but it was what it was.

Unlike my prior interviews over the years, this one did not consist of questions regarding my experience related to the position. The interview was more like, “Your horse experience is limited.”

“Yes, it is limited. And I learned to ride on a farm so the way I learned to do things is different from how we teach the riders to do things. “

There were no questions about my experience with working with people who have either a physical or a mental disability. I did not get to talk about growing up with my brother who had Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, learning disabilities, a ton of energy and a really short temper. I did not have the opportunity to speak about my next-door neighbors, two of which suffered from severe brain disabilities and one who had physical and brain deficiencies and was non-verbal, meaning we mostly communicated through sign language and our own little gestures.

I was asked two or three questions before I was asked if I had any questions, which was pretty quick in my opinion. No one explained the work schedule or the specific responsibilities, so I asked. I knew there was a lot to the position but I quickly learned that there was a lot more.

As the interview was coming to a close, I was asked if I would accept the job should it be offered to me. I was so shocked by the question. I should have said, “If I was to be offered the job, I would consider the offer and talk it over with my husband before making a decision, but my presence here today shows my interest in joining the team.”

Did I say that? Nooooooooooooooo. I responded, eyes wide, “Yes.”

“You will?” The director looked so excited.

Before I knew it, the director looked over at the instructor and advised that they did not have any further questions. Great, I thought. Time to go home and think about all of this.

Noooooooooooooooooooooo.

I was offered the job at the table, my salary was announced in front of the other instructor and I was asked to immediately accept the position – starting Monday.

When I left the room, I was completely overwhelmed. What just happened, I wondered. Usually at the end of an interview, I am thanked for my time and advised that if I am selected I will be contacted by the end of the week and will receive a formal offer.

I have some time to process the interview. If an offer is made, I have everything in writing, review the document and have a couple days to respond.

So, when I got home and advised my husband that I had just technically accepted a job where my hours would be 7:30 a.m. to 6 p.m. Monday through Friday, he flipped out and immediately advised that I should not take the job.

I have a one-hour commute to the arena each way, meaning that I would need to leave my house around 6:15 and would likely return around 7:30.

What was happening to me? I thought I wanted to work. Before I knew it, fears of burnout and marriage strain quickly came to the forefront of my mind. When I worked a million hours before, Paul was gone five to six days a week. For the last year, I have been home with Paul, hanging out in the middle of the day. We often stay home on the weekends because we want to avoid the crowds. If I work through the week, date days and shopping trips would have to occur on the weekends. Apparently I quite enjoy not working and am somewhat saddened by the idea of not having the option to hang out with Paul every day.

Then more questions filled my head. How am I going to plan meals for Paul while I am at work five days a week? We all know that he can’t even make himself a grilled cheese sandwich or operate the microwave. Why did I want a job?

Though there seem to be a lot of things to worry about, I ultimately decided that this opportunity is here at this time for a reason. The job meets all of my previously-stated qualifications and it comes at a time when Paul and I could really use some extra money in the bank account.

I was able to speak to the director about the schedule and she agreed to reduce my hours to four days a week. My self-doubt about my lack of skills led to prayer to provide me those skills and take over where I lack. My will to survive will always be with me because I have an inherent fear of failure. I never want to disappoint anyone so my drive to succeed is one of my strongest attributes.

There are a lot of benefits to this job – so many that I never even considered while job hunting. For instance, my work wardrobe shopping budget drastically decreased. No longer do I need to spend money on suits or pants or dresses. Sadly, this also means that I have no need for fancy shoes, either.

Knowing that I will be working outdoors most of the day means that I really won’t put a whole lot of effort into my appearance. I can find ways to make jodhpurs and polos trendy.

The three-day weekend that I always wished for has finally come into my life. Amazing. And, I seem to remember wondering why I could never take an extended lunch break, when I had time to leave my desk. Singapore, for those of you who do not know, has a bit of Mexico mixed in – unfortunately, not in the food category. People take full advantage of siestas in Singapore. Businesses shut down. If one needs to call a business of any kind, do not call between the hours of 12 and 1:30 because no one will answer…and there are no voice mail voices either, so don’t think you can leave a message.

So, to recap, in my new role, I get to:

• Work outside instead of behind the walls of cubicle city
• Wear comfy leggings
• Wear my hair in a pony tail every day
• Work four days a week
• Enjoy a three-day weekend
• Take a mandatory two-hour lunch break every day
• Work with horses, amazing volunteers and some fabulous riders

Even though this is not a communications role, I do have an opportunity to provide communications recommendations and support, which is fantastic. There is a definite need for increased awareness about the program, the people the organization serves and the fundraising efforts.

Though Paul’s employment pass took three months to get approved, mine was approved in two days. I received a call Saturday stating that I would be reporting for duty at 7:30 a.m. Monday. Like the night before my first day of school, I have shopped for my supplies, I have packed my lunch and supply bag and I have laid out everything I will need. Tomorrow, my alarm will be going off at 5:30 and I guarantee my brain will want more sleep. And that’s why God created coffee!

HOLY NUTS

Let me just begin by saying that I am so grateful to believe in a God who sent his Son to take all of my pain so that I would never have to think about doing this stuff to myself in order to show my faith. What you are about to see is what I call nuts – not to offend anyone (I do nutty things from time to time). Some of the photos in this post portray pain and some may make you cringe; none of the photos show blood or bones.

Thaipusam (TIE-pu-sum) is a Hindu celebration observed by an Indian tribe (actual Indian, not American Indian) known as the Tamil. Singapore has a very large Indian population so it is no surprise that all of Little India came out to celebrate this day to worship Lord Murugan (we saw the statue in Kuala Lumpur at the Batu Caves – post dated 27 November 2011).

The day began very early at the Sri Srinivasa Perumal Temple in Little India. Men, women and children gathered to prepare offerings for Lord Murugan later in the day. The highlight of the celebration is seen throughout the 4.5-km (2.8-mile) walk that devotees walk from one temple to the next. Men and women of all ages carry Kavadis, or burdens, from one temple to the other. Kavadis may be a jug filled with milk carried on one’s head, a stick with baskets on either side, typically carried on one’s shoulder, a small box-shaped apparatus called a palanquin carried on one’s shoulder or a large structure that is attached to one’s body and is intricately decorated.

Those bearing Kavadis must follow strict rules from the time one decides to bear the Kavadi and the time of the offering. Requirements include a period of celibacy, abstaining from intoxicating drinks and drugs, bearers must grow beards and wear saffron-colored cloths and eat only once per day. On the day of the walk, Kavadi bearers may impose self torture, and many did.

Yesterday was Thaipusam. I began my journey into Little India’s Sri Srinivasa Perumal Temple around 9 and arrived nearly an hour later. Some Kavadi bearers had already begun their trek to the Sri Thendayuthapani Temple near Dhoby Ghaut by the time that I arrived but there were still many, many more gearing up for their walk.

This was my first time inside an Indian temple so I took a few photos of the inside.

Shoes lining the walls inside and outside of the temple. Yes, my shoes were left outside. 

Those participating in the Thaipusam walk exited the temple through this corridor.

The energy inside the temple was amazing. People were singing, yelling and chanting while drums and wind instruments played. There was excitement all around as the families prepared the Kavadis.

The steel Kavadis take hours to prepare. There are so many pieces and each is so different. Take a look at the various decorations:

Here is a 2-minute video showing how many people it takes to put just the top portion of the Kavadi onto one bearer.

The chants were the loudest when a man’s face was being pierced and when a man had completed the process of assembling and attaching the Kavadi.

Some of the men pierce their bodies to secure fruits and bells (this is when you may cringe).

These are the spikes...

...that go through the holes...

...and into a man's torso.

The finished Kavadi

A path between the two temples was sectioned off along the main roads through town and policemen were positioned to control both foot and vehicle traffic throughout the day. All along the route, friends and family members walked beside and encouraged those carrying Kavadis. 

Cringe Warning!

At one point, I found myself in the middle of the parade. I thought I might look a little funny in some of the onlookers’ photographs.

As we neared the Sri Thendayuthapani Temple, some devotees handed out drinks for the trekkers. At one point, a couple people came out with jugs of water and doused the Kavadi bearers’ feet. It was definitely a hot day in Singapore and walking barefoot on the pavement would certainly add to the pain the men were likely already experiencing.

While the men were stopped, one devotee came into the street and asked the Kavadi bearers to dance; the man excitedly participated.

The second temple was just as crowded as the first with more singing and chanting as each Kavadi bearer entered the temple.

Many people were seen worshiping and providing their offerings inside.

Once the Kavadis were unstrapped from the men’s bodies and the jugs and the palanquins were unloaded, the steel Kavadis were taken apart and the spears were removed.

Preparing to remove the Kavadi

These markings are seen after only a minute or two. I can only imagine what they look like today.

Many people, men, women and children, have their heads shaved on Thaipusam. I did see a sign for the head saving area at the far end of the home stretch but I did not actually see the area near the temple. The heads are shaved as an offering of thanks and gratitude.

I was fascinated by the colors, the grandness of some of the Kavadis, the crowds that came to support the bearers and, of course, I was fascinated by the people who would willingly torture their bodies and complete a 5k. The last time I did a 5k I wanted to kill myself…and I wasn’t carrying anything but self-doubt and my will to survive.