Care For Your Talents

The daily tropical storm disappeared as mysteriously as it arrived each day. Between 12 and 3:00pm seemed to be its preferred time to make its daily appearance. As it cleared, smoke emanated from the wet hot pavement, almost as if it had been part of its magic disappearing act. The humidity was overpowering, like a force that pushed against your body and constricted your lungs. I welcomed it, it had become the one certainty in my life, the one thing that would not change. Growing up having to deal with change and loss as part of my existence, knowing that every day of the year, the temperature and the weather would be the same, came as a pleasant certainty for me.

Every afternoon after school, we rode a taxi to the Bukit Timah Saddle Club with my sister. Every day a different taxi driver, but the same question, “where are you from?” And every time after our answer the same excited reaction, “Maradona!!!” His performance in the 1986 World Cup had won Singapore’s heart and it made us proud that it was because of his talent, they knew about our country. These afternoons were our favorite time of the day, sharing our love for horses. We did not own any fancy tack. As a matter of fact, there was only one tack store in the whole island. The day I got my retired racehorse, my dad took me to buy a saddle pad, a saddle, a bridle, some bandages and a couple of brushes. That was what I owned and I loved it. There were very few people from Singapore that did eventing as most horses in the island were there to race. There was however one young man, about ten years older than us, who rode at the Saddle Club and represented Singapore in international show jumping competitions. He always got to ride a beautiful chestnut thoroughbred called Ming Dynasty which like most of the horses, belonged to the Saddle Club.

On this particular afternoon, I was getting ready to begin my mile long walk out of the Saddle Club in order to get a taxi to go home. As I walked passed the tack room, I waved goodbye as he meticulously cleaned his saddle. He waved and told me he was going to England for a few weeks and asked me whether I would like to borrow his saddle while he was gone. His kind offer caught me by surprise, I was flattered that he would offer his saddle to me and not someone else. I thought about his offer all the way to the main road, as I walked through what seemed like the small town, my small town of the Singapore Turf Club with its own mosque, stores and housing for the grooms who worked there. But by the following morning I had already began to worry about using his saddle. What if I did something wrong and it was ruined? What if I did something that accidentally harmed this beautiful and expensive saddle? I could never repay him, I could never make it right for him. These thoughts began to weigh heavily in my heart and now the one thing that had felt like a gift had become a burden. I told myself the best thing I could do was not touch the saddle, leave it with its protective cover right where he had left it. I imagined him coming back and thanking me for not using his saddle, for being so careful and thoughtful. As a matter of fact, I looked forward to his return where he would tell me how trustworthy I had been and maybe next time leave something else with me “to use”.

When the two weeks were over, I began to wait for his return with anticipation. And when one day I saw him in the distance, I hurried to see him as I imagined all the nice things he had to say about the impeccable way I had treated his expensive saddle in his absence. Instead, he looked disappointed and annoyed as he accused me of not taking care of his beautiful fancy saddle. I was confused by his reaction, convinced I had acted impeccably by leaving the saddle alone so nothing happened to it! I looked in confusion as he removed the cover off the saddle, as if unveiling the consequences of my inaction. The beautiful saddle was completely covered with a green fungus. The once shinny soft black leather looked beyond repair. I was so ashamed to see that I had confused my fear of making a mistake, of being held responsible, with apparent care for the saddle and for its owner.

For as long as I can remember, I have been reading the parable of the talents, at least once a year. The land owner has always come across as unfair to me. What a burden he put on his servants to leave these talents in their care. If I had been a character in that story, as I am sure you can imagine, I would have been the one digging a hole and burying the talent. I would have been the servat making sure I had it in my posession to give back to the landowner upon his return. I could not imagine having the audacity of any of the other servants who invested their talents, I would not have been willing to take the chance.

As this long lost saddle story from when I was a teenager living in Singapore resurfaces my consciousness, I wonder what could be my current inaction which is damaging a gift that has been given to me beyond repair, just the way that beautiful soft black leather was never the same because I did not use it. What talents have been given to me that I am leaving in the humid tack room under a cover so I don’t have to deal with the risks involved in living life to the fullest? Living life IS about taking risks, it is about making mistakes not about things being perfect and problem free. I choose to say yes to what life comes to offer me today, even if it means I may fail and make mistakes. What good is life if we can not accept the undeserved gifts offered to us and make something great with them?