My Own Artist

My biggest fear is that I will never be able to love the way I want to be in love.
My biggest fear is that I will never learn to love deeply, thoroughly.
My biggest fear is that these fears will come true.

Too much of feelings, too little of God.
Too selfish to let Him write my life, too deaf to the calls of mercy.
Too confused to let go, too angry to let Him dictate. 

If my life were a drawing, all I want to do is scribble marks across every bit of the paper, and start anew.

Leave me alone to draw and paint as I like.

Little Things

"Beauty is an enormous, unmerited gift given randomly, stupidly."
-Khaled Hosseini, And The Mountains Echoed. 

Of the many things I admire about Hosseini's writing, it is his artistic flair and ability to convey something through so few words and yet, such truth and beauty that stands out the most. Small, distinct quotes that appear about the book, quietly, subtly, speaking volumes to a reader. A writer can write about so many things, and yet, the ones that get the most attention are those who babble about S&M sex, vampire romance and ridiculously fantasized young love affairs. 

Not that Hosseini is not recognized at all; he is, in fact, one of the best writers of today and so much of what and how I write is inspired by him. But anywho. Going back to the quote above...

It breaks my heart, doesn't it? That this world is so based on those who are lucky or blessed enough to win the genetic lottery, with almost no credible worth except that it is lovely to look at, charming, etc. I look at myself and I can point out ten different things I would change about my face, about my body. 

Self-acceptance is a lifelong journey, I believe, not just something you can decide to change overnight. 

Have I ever learned to accept myself? No. Am I still insecure? Heck yes, absolutely. I would gaze at the beautiful girls on campus and feel like a hairy gorilla next to them. For my clumsy ways, my make-up free face, my bad hair. My rolls of fat spilling out in love handles. My puffy eyes and cheeks from not getting enough sleep. My less than charming clothes which I picked out of comfort first and style second. Hah. 

But have I made the first step? YES. Am I proud of a few things that I possess? Of course! I try, first of all, to be thankful for what I have. I have four limbs, a functional, healthy body with no food allergies(except maybe that ONE painkiller my doc gave me for my wisdom teeth surgery- but that doesn't count as food, does it?), functioning five senses... 

It's difficult, honestly, to be thankful for these things in a world where superficial beauty is so very much prized above anything else. I mean, I admit. I want a different nose, eyes, cheeks, mouth. And that's like only one of it. But I tell myself every day that I love my eyes, for the thick lashes and eyebrows that give it a little definition. I tell myself I like my lips, because although it isn't Angelina Jolie's seductive pout, it's nice and plump and not too thin(when it's not chapped from not wearing chapstick). I tell myself I'm proud of my hair, although it is an unruly piece of mop, because it is thick, jet-black, and when it behaves it has a lovely smooth sheen. I tell myself that I like my skin, appreciating it for its ability to tan evenly, and for its natural darker brown color. 

Just tiny things. But it has done volumes, just being proud of small things God has given me. I mean, if I cannot be thankful for the small things that God bequeaths, I will never be able to be thankful for the big things He bestows.  

There are millions of girls and women out there whom I acknowledge are way more beautiful than I will ever be. And while it gets me down on most occasions, it also gives me the opportunity to appreciate my own beauty. Every little shuffle is a tiny step, a tiny step to loving yourself. So don't give up just then, even when the "You're beautiful just the way you are" quote doesn't work. 

Look into the mirror today and ask yourself:
What's the one thing that I love about my features?

Letters of Broken Souls

I write so that others need not see, 
So that others need not know what lies beneath
This skin, of foul rot and decaying soul,
From the missing heart stone, 
From the suffering of so long ago. 

I write so that I see myself, 
I disassociate much like
A ghost, who looks from afar, 
Judging, yet understanding,
Myself, because no one else knows who you are. 

I wrote so to let you in, 
You who begged for a piece of
This broken heart, this blackened rock, 
And in return you promised
A piece of yours, a thousand years under lock. 

I wrote for him and Him, 
Both of which I was starting
To love, deeply and thoroughly,
Though he never ceased to remind me
That He was more important-- and always will be. 

She writes because of joy,
The laughter and the hopes
And dreams that she felt were true,
That this had to be it,
Nothing else would ever do.

She writes because of sorrow,
Of the wrenching of her mistakes
That drove her wild with anger and
Of the hills that rose and dipped,
And of the sunlight that came and went.

He writes so that he can crawl,
Like a bleeding soldier, wounded from war,
To his true love, where her hand is stretched out
Begging for one last kiss, but he refuses
And holds on for as long as he can, even if it hurts.

He writes so that she can see,
The Angel that is docked above in eternity,
To let her see that He has the answer,
To their spilled milk and self lashes,
And the screw ups that haunt their future.

She writes to abuse,
To insult and break down,
Using the Word like a a shield,
To bash the other's raw crown.

She writes of the Scripture,
Like sliding on a shining gown, 
Stolen along with three diamonds
Presenting herself in kind. 

He writes like a wolf,
Ready to devour,
The food of his sister, 
Ignoring the wounded pain in her eyes. 

He writes like a fool,
Imbued with the deceit and
Lies, from the demon,
And his servant who stole the diamonds.

They write just to hurt,
They break in just to steal,
Those letters of broken souls,
And attack with a twisted deception
The pain of so long ago.

Avalanche

And suddenly, there was no warning... just a huge wave of heavy snow crashing its way down the mountain, obliterating everything in its path.

That's almost how I feel like right now. An avalanche just crashing through, myself a helpless skier being wiped out by the thick white snow. And there's no knowing how I will come out of it.

I have school, classes, final projects, papers, presentations. I have my desire to go out and explore more of this island, to familiarize myself with places and eateries, beaches and parks. I have my social circle, the friends I'm trying to know better, my classmates, working out, eating. Struggling to find people I truly trust, feeling left out, being ignored. The spiking jealousy within me of another dear friend, threatening to derail my self esteem. The paranoia of what others think about you. My awkward behavior, the desire and the effort to be liked by others. The melting sensation inside of my failure to do so. The aftermath which includes self-battering. You know the general stuff of everyday existence.

Then there's my sister. The legal issue with her car, her relationship with my mother. Her emotional well-being, her relationship in which I cannot approve of. My brother, and his emotional and spiritual well-being. Worrying for his studies, his friends, his mental development. The nagging guilt of not being there to guide him as an older sister. Hoping and praying that he becomes a better man as he navigates his teenage years. Chastising myself for my failure to keep in constant contact with him.

My friends back home. Wishing I could have more time to speak to them. Wondering if ever did any wrong. Wondering if I've been a horrible friend, failing them repeatedly. Wondering if I've annoyed them, made them mad. Paranoia. Always.

The shock of Khalid's death. The shock that in the same year I've witnessed so many deaths. Two of which was at CPU. So much death, so much pain. The realization, the aching, I feel for those who have not found Jesus. Who do not know God. The heavy bombardment I've been getting at school, from LGBT and gay rights which I cannot support, and am struggling to keep my faith up and trying not to let it get to my head. The pressure, the thin line between not being supportive but yet being loving as a Christian.

My spiritual life. My numbness, my stale feelings, my dry soul. The feeling of sitting on the fence, drawn to both sides. My ignorance of the Word, my ignorance of prayer, the stale, pale, life I've been living. The cold empty hollow I carry inside each day, and then returning home to fill it up with mindless filth, or distracting humor, and adrenaline movies. The dis-motivation to pursue God, knowing I'm drifting further and further away from him, and yet... allowing myself to float cold, away into the dangerous unknown of an icy ocean.

The news from my mother, today... my grandfather had just suffered a second stroke. Her unwillingness to tell me about what the doctor said told me more than enough. One of her cats going missing. The strain of dealing with her siblings, the medical costs for my grandpa. Praying hard for his salvation, because we all know deep down he hasn't much time left.

So yes, that's it. An avalanche. More than just four walls closing in on you, squeezing you into a claustrophobic space, squeezing you till you have no air left in your lungs, squeezing till at last you don't exist... till you collapse from the pain, the pressure. Khaled Hosseini once quoted in his book, "Before this, Laila could never imagine that the human body could withstand so much and yet remain functional, alive." But he was merely talking about physical harm, to a physical body.

Have you any idea how much the human emotion can withstand? I do. Because it withstands so much. Takes such a beating, every day, from something, or another. If it's lucky it only gets a sting, maybe a papercut, a bruise. On bittersweet days, perhaps it gets a hug, a warm embrace, but gets lashed as well resulting in an open, gaping gash. And, hell, on those bad days, when it bleeds, it comes out pouring. The spirit turns pale, loses its warmth. Watches helplessly as the blood gushes out, turning everything red before its eyes. Like an alarm. Like an emergency warning. The heart can't take it, its saying. Its hurting, it says. 

And then there are hell days. Broken bones. Giant welts. Invisible burns everywhere. It's lying in a pool of darkening maroon red. It can't move. It just wants to sleep... forever. It has lost its strength. 

I see now that the emotional spirit is so very much tougher than that of a physical being. Yet, not everyone is strong enough sometimes. There are days when it just wants to sleep forever, but instead it gathers up whatever blood it has left to trudge on, healing the wounds where it can. Depending on the antidote, searing scars sometimes remain. Depending on the severity of it, it takes a long time to heal. Look at yourself and wonder, how many was your spirit in that emotional state? How many times did it feel like sleeping forever, but instead you willed it to carry on...? You carry those invisible wounds inside, wipe away your tears, smile, and get through the day while deep down you're frantically bandaging up all cuts and gashes, nursing those heavy bruises and limping around with a broken soul.

My guess is that you've probably experienced it several times. If you're lucky, maybe just once. Because no one ever has that perfect life. Everyone hurts, somewhere, no matter what the facade is like on the outside. 

I don't care if you think this is funny due to the overwhelming sentimental content and "extreme emotional" words I stringed together. I wrote this because I've seen so much hurt in this world, seen so much pain in others, in almost everyone I have encountered. I've experienced it first-hand, and I know what it feels like to hide everything inside and try your best to be your own paramedic, and unknowingly damage yourself permanently in the process because you're too ashamed to ask for help. Because you're too ashamed to cry out, to talk to someone. Yes, I know. And I've seen it with so many people as well. 

If it wasn't for my God, Jesus, I don't know what would have happened to me today. I don't know where I would have ended up at, in, or where. Probably somewhere deep and dark, cold and empty. 

Not that it's warm and sunny every day. ;) 
In fact, like I said, I've been having rain spells and cold spells lately. Sometimes, hail storms. Recently, an avalanche. Yay for lame metaphors. 

Thanks Lord, for being there for me anyway. I love You! And I pray for all those broken, sorrowful souls out there, who are trying their best to lick their wounds, to heal again, to carry on. I pray you give them strength and courage. Like You've always given me. Thank You.

Remembered

Death comes every day, it's an accepted part of life which people deal with, whether we like it or not. Sooner or later, everyone dies. Someday, we all meet death in the face. 

And then, after that, what? 

I have faced several deaths of others recently. My step-grandmother passed away from cancer a few years back, when I was about 13 or 14 years old. I was not close to her. In fact, I did not like her very much, for I held a grudge against her for always calling me fat whenever she saw me. 

While I was at CPU, one of the lecturers, Mr. D, committed suicide, an accident which heavily rocked the entire CPU family of students and lecturers and admins alike. I remember Mr. D as the jovial, funny man who came to give a motivational speech while I was in the IBDP program(a semester later I switched to CPU) and he was full of life, full of energy, full of motivation. I didn't think about him after that motivational talk, and I never saw him again even after I joined CPU. But his death shocked me. I couldn't believe he'd taken his own life. 

A month ago, acquaintances of mine from high school were posting tributes and condolences about a friend of theirs; a boy I did not know. He had been killed in a car accident. I went to his facebook page, and from what I gathered he was a well-liked, popular person, loved dearly by those who were close to him. An acquaintance from high school had only just said goodbye to him at the airport when the latter came to see him off to the UK for studies. His girlfriend was in the UK then, studying. She flew all the way back for his funeral and wake. Such a young lad, full of passion for the Lord... taken away so suddenly. So soon. I can only imagine the pain his loved ones went through... but I was only an outsider. I didn't know this boy. I only gathered that he was a good person. 

Yesterday, another friend told me about the death of her grandfather, who had been suffering several medical issues. I offered my condolences, gave her hugs, told her I was so sorry. However, she was at peace, she was in our prayers, her family was also at peace. Their beloved grandfather was in heaven. They knew they would see him again one day. Jesus promises them as much. 

However, all these stories were just me, watching from the sidelines. Always an outsider. Always "understanding", but never really knowing how it actually felt. Those people were not personal to me. I did not know them. Their passings are sad, many tears shed but... it never really affected me. I gave it all a few moments, shut my eyes, and then, I'm distracted once again with my every day life. I forget all about it. 

Till tonight. 

Tonight, I learnt about the sudden passing of a friend. Not a close one, of course, but this guy, this guy I knew on a personal level, at the very least. He had been a classmate. He was my president of CPU. He was the guy I sat down with once, in class, chatting casually. He was the guy I noticed had marks across his wrists which he tried to hide with thick bracelets--and when I tried to ask him about it, he immediately clammed up and avoided me. He was the guy who told me how ugly my yellow jeggings were when I wore them to class on the last day of instruction. He was the guy whom I joked about calling Melora a donut, "double chocolate", he added. He was the guy who was crazy about motorcycles, who came into class with his huge helmet and thick leather jacket. He was the guy who nicknamed me "Lilo" because he thought I looked like the character, and never stopped calling me that. He was the guy who stood up there as our MC for my graduation ceremony, whose smooth, clear voice I fully admired. He was the guy I managed to grab last minute photos with, during which he draped his sweaty armpit on my shoulder(and even remarked how stinky it was, too) and made me squeal. He was the guy I met up on the sixth floor during break, where we sat on the sofa and he drank chocolate milk although he was supposed to be fasting. He was the guy who told me the reasons why he did not fast-- and why he could not stop his smoking habit. He was the guy I often admired, and wished I could be closer to, but couldn't do so because we were so different in nature and personality. I would never have fit in with his crowd. He was a guy whom I have memories of, from the first half of the year, meeting him for the first time in class, getting annoyed at him and laughing at his jokes. I knew him. He made a huge impact on me, because he was so intriguing in nature, so lively, yet, deep inside, I sensed he was a broken soul. 

He was, in a way, my friend. And he is gone. Forever.

As I received the news, I sat down to process the shock. It took a while for me to fully realize that... oh my gawd, he's gone. The jovial fellow, gone. Was it only last June that he had given those amazing speeches at the grad ceremony? Was it only in January I had first met him, and had so many encounters with him? Just like that... gone? All the memories, all those funny conversations we had, all came rushing back like a river after a storm. All the tiny details, all the words, everything. How... how could it only have been this year? How could he be gone? For the first time in my life, someone I knew personally, someone whom I shared memories with... was gone. It doesn't seem real. Not one bit.

But the part that kills me most is the sudden realization that he has not gone to a better place. As much as we all say "RIP", and hoping that he is looking down smiling on us... I know he is not. And that breaks me. It breaks me so hard. I want to know that perhaps, in his final hours, something amazing happened. I want to know that he is in Heaven, where true happiness is. However, I suppose only those who believe in Christ will understand this. Everyone else would scoff, probably hate on me for writing this very frank words. And for that... I am sorry. My intent is not to hurt anyone, least of all everyone who is hurting and grieving over his death. I am too. I am grieving. Except I grieve for his soul. 

I closed my eyes and told the Lord, "It's not fair. It's not fair."

"He didn't deserve it. He did not."

And somewhere inside, I heard, God is a loving God, but He is fair and just. 

Keep in mind, I am not talking about his death here on earth. Though I wished that there was more time for him. More time. More time. Isn't that what everyone deserves? Why... why him? I don't want to dwell on this. I can feel my tears welling up, just thinking about it. 

Flames. All I see are flames. 

No. Not true. Don't think about that. It might not be true. There is always a possibility. 

Though I know that possibility is really slim. I hate those flames. I hate it. It breaks my heart. 

Are you there now, looking down at me? Can you see me? Can you hear the voices, the prayers, the sobs, the grieving of your loved ones? Do you hope for them? I hope you do. 

I'm so sorry, Khalid. I'm sorry I didn't... I didn't try. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. 

No words can even describe how I'm feeling now. I just... can't. All I want to do is just try to absorb it. Push away the denial. I was going to write something but now... I can't dwell on it. I'm speechless in writing. I just cannot. I cannot do this. 

(CPU Grad' Ceremony. Stinky armpits on my shoulder, you gross, disgusting president.)

I wish... I just wish... 

.. I wish for so much. For you. 

All I can offer now are my apologies, dude. I'm so.. sorry. 

Khalid Walid, I've been so very honored to have gotten the chance to know you, even if briefly. Thank you for making a huge impact on me in just six months. 

Rest in peace, Khalid. You left us too soon.

Thanks for the memories. 

Always. 

Lots of love, 

Esther/ Lilo

The Burning Room

It's not a silly little moment
It's not the storm before the calm
This is the deep and dying breath of
This love that we've been working on.

Can't seem to hold you like I want to
So I can feel you in my arms
Nobody's gonna come save you.
We've pulled too many false alarms.

We're going down
And you can see it through
We're going down
And you know that we're through
My dear,
We're slow dancing in a burning room. 

Not Like In The Movies

So... I should be excited right? 

I should be thankful. Blessed. Enthusiastic. Outgoing. Just bursting with energy. Isn't that how it's supposed to be? Isn't that what we hear from people all the time; college students, parents, friends, teachers? Isn't that how we're expected to feel? How we're expected to behave?

For those of you actually reading this blog(I don't really like promoting what I write, it seems all a bit too self-absorbed at times), allow me to let you on a little secret. I am afraid. As afraid as a little girl being led into pre-school for the first time. The moment when my father left at the airport, and the moment my sister left me at my orientation by myself in the midst of strangers, those moment hit me like a huge wave. It seems that my personality has its odd turnovers; I was never afraid as a little girl in preschool, and yet, here I am, college student, wishing I could hide behind my mother's skirts. 

Yes, I am afraid. 

I just don't tell people that because I'm always afraid they'll laugh at me. Fear, and embarrassment, it has a huge toll on me.

Blessed enough to have parents to send me over, blessed enough to choose whichever destination I wanted, blessed enough to have food, room and board, comfort, to be free of every worry that usually pounds other ambitious students. I cannot count the number of times I thank the Lord for blessing me with so much, to have given me such endless money-free opportunities when I see so many others struggling with debts and achieving their dreams. 

Yet here I am. I'm terrified of everything. All I want to do is hide in my shell of a dorm room, with my movies and computer, perhaps my Bible every now and then. I find myself thinking this was a bad idea, "I want to go home. I can't take this. What was I thinking? I'll die here!". I'm wrecked nervous, crying hidden tears during the night when no one is watching. And then I scold myself, slap myself hard, because "You are so lucky to have your sister here to help you with anything. Why can't you even handle this? Other students go on their own, figure things out on their own, and here you are still needing someone to hold your had spoon-feed you.". 

I am rather bipolar with my behavior, again, I apologize. 

Ever since I got here my spirits have been nothing but erratic. Most times I was so afraid, so nervous, so scared, I nearly broke down because even in the midst of it I did not even remember my Lord. Other times I would be pumped up, worry would leave me for a time, and I'd convince myself everything would turn out to be okay. But my positive attitude has never lasted for more than a couple of hours. 

Last night was my first night on the campus dorm. I have a beautiful view, next to a flowering tree and a little stream that bubbles pleasantly and peacefully. The sky is a lush blue, the same vibrant blue I have come to identify Hawaiian skies to be every day. My sister is a phone call away. My parents are a phone call away. Two framed photos of my love and I sit on my desk. For now, I have the room to myself till my roommate moves in, whenever she is. What a beautiful day the Lord has created. Where is my fear justified? 

I sobbed last night in my bed, because I couldn't get rid of the gripping iron fist that was tying my soul up in knots. I couldn't rid myself of the confusion and the fear and the anxiety that kept trying to drown me. I am so afraid I will never make friends. I am so afraid for my academic efforts. Will I be able to adapt? Will people like me? Will I end up being another loner in a corner? 

For many of you, all this is probably not much of an issue. Just another classified case of homesickness. Yes, I suppose homesickness plays a part in it, but my point is, fear exists for everyone. Whether it's a tiny fear, big fear, gargantuan fear. As I suffer in silence about my social ineptness, and my fears about it, I realized that it is wrong and silly to laugh at another about what they fear. Or how they fear. 

Yesterday, a friend posted this on facebook and I read it over and over again in my Bible.

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.".
-Joshua 1:9

I still have not gotten over my fears. That takes a lot more prayer, a closer relationship with God, a lot more reading of my Bible.  I do not know how to be strong and courageous. I do not know how not to be terrified. I only know that I must have faith in my Creator. He loved me enough to die for my sins, He blessed me enough to place me where I am. There must be a reason for it, then. But only if I give my life fully to Him, which is still a struggle, I promise you. I am far from a saint. 

Does it give me a whole new perspective in understanding others? Yes, it does. I hope it does. With such a ridiculous fear as mine, no other fear is almost as surprising anymore. 
I don't know how that might help someone one day, but with His grace perhaps it will. 

I am afraid, because I am human. Yet I am made strong, and I conquer, only through Him. My strength fails considerably, but His gives me joy. His word is a salve to my sores, a relief to my wounds. I fail Him all the time, but He never fails me. 

"I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall,
I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. I say to myself, "The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for Him."
The Lord is good to those whose hope is in Him, to the one who seeks Him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord."
-Lamentations 3:19-26


I will lie down and sleep in peace,
for you alone, O Lord
make me dwell in safety.
-Psalms 4:8

Au Revoir

Into the unknown... 

Well, here goes nothing.

Hawaii, here I come. 

Goodbye Malaysia, I will miss you. 

And, to end my final post here in a beautifully annoying cliche way, 

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly

I'll do what it takes till I touch the sky now

I gotta

Make a wish, take a chance, make a change

And breakaway... 

Time is now, I suppose. This is not goodbye, not yet. It's merely a "I'll see you all again, soon!" :)

Sayonara!

Two More Weeks

Two more weeks. Two more weeks before I enter into complete oblivion. 

Up up and away I go...

What makes me saddest is the fact that I will not return home for about one and a half years. Mum has said that I cannot return to visit till 2015, and it's understandable seeing the rising costs of living cancel out unnecessary needs such as a plane ticket home every year. I'm excited though, and dream of spending summer vacations visiting the bunch of friends that I've promised to visit in the US, and I do so want to explore the many beauties that America has. I cannot wait to witness for myself national parks and waterfalls, amusement parks, landmarks, monuments... America. You are intriguing. 

Yet, inside, I've still vowed to be my same Malaysian self. How can I never miss the same wooden double decker bed I've slept in for more than a decade, the same old room and creaky broken cupboard that held my clothes, the floral faded curtains that are torn and yet, still serviceable? How will I not miss ordering food at all the usual chinese restaurants, enjoying mamak fare, going out for a good dinner on Sundays with my family? How will I not miss the family gatherings at my grandpa's house, the dusty, rusty, ancient house that my mother grew up in and its tiny field where my cousin and I used to catch butterflies? How will I not miss the sights of Klang, the everyday familiar sights of Subang Jaya, the shopping malls? Sunway Pyramid, Empire, Citta Mall... and oh, how I will miss Subang Parade. It is like my second home. I will miss SS15, the horrific jams, the many restaurants I tried there, Taylor's College campus. I will miss SS19, my lovely neighborhood, where I once went for runs every evening, where I cycled every evening as a child with my sister and mother, and then with friends. I will miss knowing all the routes and shortcuts that connect to this alley, and to that road. I will miss all the nooks and crannies, I will miss the playground where we once fooled about. I will miss my house, my lawn, the swing, the old black creaky gate that has never changed since my parents bought the house. I will miss my car, the Christmas tree where I park it, and the other tree with its giant protruding root. 

I will miss home. Very, very much. 

I thought I would have plenty of time to mull over my impending departure, but now there seems no time at all to stop and take in all the memories I want to stuff and keep forever. How will Joel look like in two years? How will he have changed? Will he be lonely?

I'm also currently luxuriating in the fact I have a lovely room all to myself, along with a nice bathroom, with AC and fans and having the freedom to throw everything as I like. Argh, I am not looking forward to a room with no ceiling fans, no AC, common bathroom, and having a stranger as a roommate. Time to grow up, Esther, it seems. 

During these last two weeks I will do everything I can to preserve my memory of home. I've made a little list, just to help me along:

1. Go cycling around neighborhood
2. Visit Pyramid, Citta Mall, Empire and Subang Parade(of course) one last time
3. Play my piano as much as possible
4. Enjoy my short-term privacy
5. Visit playground-- SWING!
6. Eat Klang popiah one last time
7. Pan Mee!
8. Fried rice, fried mee, fried kuey teow... 
9. Visit BigHug Burger again. I must eat their burgers one last time, it's too good.
10. One final Younified meeting, and church, of course.
11. Take photos with everyone.
12. Hug Kia as much as possible.
13. Take lots of photos with Kia!
14. Pack as much memories as possible.
15. Get the frozen gelato I miss.
16. Go back to Baci?
17. Eat ALL of mum's cooking! 
18. To be continued...

Not very necessary things, I believe, but it's almost all a must. 

Home. I will miss you desperately. 

Already getting homesick, while I'm still home! This is silly. But no matter.
It's time to power up. 

Hawai'i is waiting.

But I will never, ever, forget where I come from. This, for me, is home. First home. Always.

To Belong

Perhaps I am destined to be where I am always getting stuck, and staying there forever. 

I once vowed that things would be better once I begin high school. 
I then vowed again after I completed Form Five, that things would be very different for me once I started IBDP in Sri Hartamas. 
And then I told myself that this time it would be different, once I joined the youth group at church.
I then promised myself again that things would change in CPU. I believed in myself almost all the time. I tried. I never stopped. 

And yet, whether it's blind bad luck or perhaps fate, I think you know by now that I've failed miserably. Every time I tell myself I will be different, I will strive, I will work for it... I will try, it never even gets close to falling into place. Everywhere I go, everyone I meet, I merely fail at establishing proper friendships. Sometimes I believe I am cursed to be this way. Many inspirational/motivational speakers tell you that you have the power, or from Christian speakers, God has power over you if you give it to Him. They tell you all sorts of uplifting things and details that, well, is great  for them, but hey, everyone's life is a different work of art. I've tried books, videos. I've tried opening up to whatever friends I actually have. I've tried going to God. Well, so much for trying, because now I believe there must be seriously something wrong with myself if I keep screwing things up like that. 

Now, this isn't some pathetic self-pitying post. I'm tired of that. I'm sick of feeling sorry for myself. What I say here, at least about myself, and my 'predicaments', are matter of fact. If there was a shell I built for myself a long time ago, this would be it. It's not the best protection, but it does the job better than tears and crying and self-pitying and blaming on others.

Anyway, I watched a video where a woman said she took "this curse which was supposed to be handed to me, and turned it into a blessing", so she could touch others' life. I don't see how my terribly social awkwardness is in any way able to be a blessing. Well, unless others look at me and feel better comparing themselves to who I am. Maybe that's the sort of twisted blessing that humans might get from me.

So what is going to change even when I get to Hawaii? Who would actually accept me there? I can't even forge proper relationships with people here-- and this is supposed to be home. I can't even forge proper relationships with my own family members. If I don't even fit in here... then where do I belong? Certainly not in a new country. People tell me, "You don't know what might happen. Things are different there. Oh, don't be pessimistic. Believe that you will, and you can do it!". 
Well, I'm already a nervous wreck just getting it into my head that I'm about to be thrown into a large campus with thousands of students and living with a random stranger. I'm already terribly afraid. It's not wrong to be afraid, I know, but it certainly doesn't help me in any way.

I just thought of something. I think I know where I belong. I belong in an isolated land with a dog, a cat, sheep, lambs, llamas, and other animals. Isolation. Seemingly the best word to describe me. I would describe my second name but then I did say that this wasn't supposed to be a sob post.

However, I'm tortured by the memories of my past. It's not simple to let go, when you've tried so many times and just keep falling down and gaining a fresh scar on your knee. 

So now, when someone tells me to believe.... I tell them, how can I? How can I believe when every single attempt I make ends up in my own humiliation, in my own isolation? I did not belong in school. I did not belong in college. I did not even belong to my church. 

I don't belong anywhere. 

So, I really don't have any high hopes about myself going abroad. 

I never even had any hope here in the first place.  
I wouldn't count on my meagre chances anymore.

Critic

"Good friends stab each other in the front.". 
-Oscar Wilde. 


What is the cost of being such a friend? I suppose there is a line between being too honest, being gentle, and sugarcoating situations to the point you might as well be lying. Do others actually appreciate you being honest and speaking your mind? What if in doing so I have hurt others, and I just thought I was doing a good turn?

Truly, friendship is a complicated mess of a spider's web. It seems easy, yet it's not. I'm not the best person when it comes to making friends; new people scare me, I get nervous, I keep to myself, I don't know how to mingle. And during those times, I usually end up being the odd one out, and I'd go home and call myself a failure. So yes, that's my sob story. Everyone has a sob story of their own, but I'm trying to break out and not rely on my past. I have to try.

When they said your biggest  enemy is yourself, they were more than just right. They were precise. They were exact. I find the biggest enemy in myself. Wondering, have I been a good friend? A respectful daughter? A supportive sister? An understanding girlfriend? 
How do people perceive me? Arrogant? Cold? Quiet? Awkward? Strange? I have worried too much over what people think of me. What terrible mistakes have I done in the past that I should correct?

I wonder, as I previously have on my previous post, whether I have been too honest. Too much of a pusher. And even so... have I ever been supportive enough? Kind enough? Sweet enough? Loving enough? Oh, the freaking melancholy of questions and wondering!

Life is trial and error, I suppose, and lessons learnt, that is, if you do learn them. 
So, perhaps I'll be a better person one day.

Someone who knows how to walk the line between honest and gentle, and brutally honest and sugarcoating lies. Perhaps I should be appreciated for it, perhaps not. i just hope I don't make irreversible mistakes that will cost me endless regret.

Mattered

Needless to say, I will be leaving in a month to a completely alien country where I have heard and seen many things of, and yet, never actually experienced it. 

It's almost surreal, to think that, oh my gosh, me, in America, HAWAII, really? You've been dreaming for so long that suddenly when the reality draws nearer you began to wonder whether this is actually happening. 

I've said so many goodbyes the past year; and always left the airports wondering when my turn would be. Will people come to say goodbye? Will they see me off, wave at me as I head towards the boarding gate? Or will it just be my mum and my brother... and no one else? 

In the end, only the real question remains: Do I matter to anyone? 

That is the real question. Not fancy gifts or elaborate messages, just a hug that says "I'll miss you", a simple sentence that goes, "We'll keep in touch, won't we?", and the sight of friends and family waving goodbye from above, where I'll be walking into the second terminal and on to an unpredictable and difficult chapter of my life. 

My wish would be to turn around and look behind me, right before I enter the terminal, and take with me the gazes and smiles of the people who had come to bid me adieu. After all, that is nothing more I'd want to have; that vision of my loved ones who cared enough, who loved me enough, to send me off with a final laugh at the dinner table and a simple wave from the sideline. 

What more could a person ask? 

Leaving the place I've called home for the past 20 years(practically all) of my life is exciting and yet incredibly daunting. Have I shown enough love and care to the people I love while I was here? Is it too late to make amends now?

In the end, we all only wish for one thing. To love and to be loved, doesn't quite cap it right. We can still love many people, but we do not necessarily show that we care.The correct phrase would be: To show the ones we love that they mattered to us; and to know that we matter to them as well.

There are a few people in my life that matter lots to me. 
And if they matter so much to me, then I should show them how much I care. 

What are words, when actions speak louder?

Beautiful Things

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of dust. 

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of dust. 

I agree, Lord. You make the most beautiful things out of useless, worthless, dirt. 
One of them was gifted to me, the biggest, most amazing, blessing in the world, by You. 

Thank you.

For him.

Always. 

Chivalry

So, while my parents were away, one of our cars broke down for no reason. Then again, it's always breaking down. But no matter. Just a little introduction into the conversation I had with my brother, below:

"I wonder if the car's ready. I saw it outside the mechanic's shop just now."
"You're supposed to go pick it up?"
"Dad said they were gonna bring it back. But if the call, I'd have to walk there to get it."

"That means I have to come with you."
"Why?"

"For safety lah."

"Since when did you care about my safety?"

"That road you take has a lot of foreign workers. I've seen before."


HAAAAA. He almost made me laugh, my little brother. Who knew the tiny little tot of a boy, whom I used to give baths to, dress, and look after, would now become so chivalrous. Safety reasons. Hahahahahaha.

On the other hand though, I'm pleased to see he's becoming a little more matured and less selfish. At least his future spouse won't have to worry about "safety and security reasons". 

Friend & Companion

Whenever I read inspirational stories, or listen to people on tv talk about struggles and how they got through them, there have been ample occasions when these people mention how their mother has been their biggest rock and best friend. I read and listen as they speak praise to this woman whom they look up to amongst all other women, talk about how much they sacrificed, how much support they receive and what a wonderful, encouraging person she was.
 Most even named her their best friend. 

Sadly to say, I will probably never understand that sort of relationship. I do not have it, nor have I experienced it, and while I do believe mothers are extremely special and worthy, it is like believing something that is fact but have never been seen by one's own eyes. 

This is not meant to be a whiney post. I honor my mother and the sacrifices she has made throughout these years bringing up four children as a housewife, managing household chores, cooking food when she hates cooking, and doing all the other oddball jobs like posting mail, paying bills, making phone calls, keeping the house clean, the garden watered, and raising kids. It has not been easy for her. Her hands are worn, wrinkled, from all the washing and scrubbing during the years, her feet cracked and calloused from daily works of running up and down the stairs. Her skin is parched, tanned and brown from the bright mornings hanging laundry out and the hot afternoons keeping them in. She has done much, like any other mother, and that is why mothers are revered and are the silent keepers who are underrated, not celebrated, taken for granted. 

I have a mother, but I do not have a friend. I have someone I call "Ma", but I do not have a mentor. I have someone who looks after my daily needs, but I do not have a comforter. I have a mother who strives to keep our spirituality in check, but I do not have someone who understands. I have a mother whom I've lived with for 20 years of my life, and yet my siblings and I keep hundreds of secrets under her very nose. 

My mother is in no way perfect, no human being is. She has her faults, has her issues, has her wrongdoings. But who am I to judge, someone who is just the same? My siblings, my father, my friends, we all have dark sides. My point is, though I love and rever my mother in a way, I will never have a bond, nor a real relationship, with the woman who gave birth to me. It is a sad reality, but it is the truth. It is too late to cultivate something close as friendship, not anymore. There can only be so many dents you can put on a car before it breaks under pressure. And after that, what mechanic can repair it? 

And the sadder truth is, she neither has a bond with my siblings either. There are more often times when we struggle to admit we even love her, when we struggle with our impatience and anger, than times when we could sit down and share a quiet conversation and an occasional laugh. We have all grown now, all young adults, and while I don't speak for my brothers and sister, I daresay there is a slim chance of any of us actually succeeding in reversing what exists now. 

I did not write this all to wind down my mother, to blacken her name or any of that sort. I wrote the truth, and what happens when some mistakes made can cause irreparable damage. My mother is human, she is imperfect, and unfortunately made brash decisions that have had a harder impact. I am angry at times, but then I wonder, what about thousands of others who are sold by their parents, beaten, prostituted, abused, tortured, by their own mothers? How must they feel? To have mothers who are as heartless and as empty as a tin can. My mother loves us. She wants the best for us. In all she does, she tries her best to give us advice. Often, she is always willing to help out with anything. 

To all mothers out there, don't make the same mistake my mother did. Do not raise and cultivate your child without forming a friendship, a bond. Why raise a child if you show little or no love and affection? Would you raise a dog by training it and ordering it to obey all its life, but never give it a single pat, a kind word, a cuddle? Lastly, a child trusts you first and foremost, so do not break that trust. The more times you break it, the smaller the pieces will become, the harder it will be to piece back what has been shattered. Remember, a glass jar can be broken and repaired so many times till one day no piece will stick together. It's gone. Broken. Forever. 

And while I may not be as fortunate to have a mum as a friend and companion, I hope that the hundreds and thousands of little children being born each day will have mothers whom they can call their rock and support for the rest of my life. I hope mothers will not just be mothers, but be friends, mentors, and the one person who would understand their child no matter how old he is, no matter what situation he is in, no matter how troubled and pathetic his world may be.

Emails

Things that happened to my email(s) today: 

1. My hotmail got hacked, and the server shut it down and got me to change my password. I didn't think anything of it till I accessed my email and realized the hacker had tried to send spam emails with spam links to three people on my list, only for it to get notifications saying sending had failed. Unwilling to give up, it sent a final spam email to... myself. Hoping I'd be stupid enough to think I'd send myself a weird email with an unknown link and hopefully open it. Talk about desperate. Oh, hacker. You've got to try better than that.

2. I received an email in my UH account saying I've been accepted into the Honors Program, after what seemed like a brief period since I sent in my application. I'm beginning to think UH Manoa is being too nice to me. Waaaaay too nice. A scholarship, a quick acceptance, and an almost immediate acceptance into the Honors Roll. 

I'm beginning to become suspicious. *squints eyes* Are you sure universities(crappy ones excluded- they're always nice to you, duh, that's why they suck) are supposed to be that nice? 

3. University of Nebraska has got to stop sending me emails begging me to apply for their Fall intake. There was a link that they gave which I could unsubscribe to their future emails, but apparently I tried and it didn't work. Either their email system is haywired, or they ignored my request and decided that they should just haggle every potential student since they need 'em anyway. I mean, they've even extended their Fall deadline. Or maybe they're just nice people... in their own nature. Yep. 


Never underestimate the power of having three emails to check each day. You'd sometimes have the weirdest dramas you could add to your history of own personal dramas. 

The end. 

Switched

I recently read a Facebook status posted by an acquaintance I met during my Ecoteer volunteer trip, which described an incident that happened on Long Beach in Perhentian. Apparently, despite the loud music and glaring lights, a turtle chose to swim ashore to lay eggs. Local people crowded round, fighting and yelling to get the eggs while the poor creature was still in the midst of laying in her nest. As the post described, "One woman was shouting, 'Give me two eggs! I'm only asking for two eggs!' ". Sadly, for my acquaintance, Seh Ling, who also happens to be one of Ecoteer's leaders, was unable to protect the turtle because she could not call Fisheries Department at such a late hour. It was painful to read how she had to let her friend usher her away in order to prevent her getting hurt in a fight, in which she was very much prepared to do. 

God knows what happened to the poor turtle, who must have been in intense agony and stress, and the Lord knows what happened to her eggs she put so much effort into laying. All thanks to the selfishness and ignorance of man, innocent creatures are on the brink of extinction. And we call ourselves civilized beings? Are we still humans without humanity? 

OK, so now I sound like some pathetic tree-hugger, screaming for justice and holding banners and dressing in vegetables. But it hurts me, it breaks my heart in pieces when creatures are hurt. It burns me when I had to do research on my World Issues presentation, having to watch live sharks getting finned alive, whale sharks' bodies being sliced into pieces, manta rays caught by the hundreds, and turtles who drown in fishermen nets. It burns to read news on police busting smugglers caught with hundreds of tiger skins, thousands of elephant tusks, and exotic birds and whatnot. I nearly sobbed when I saw a video of a fisherman hacking off the jaw of a shark, which had gotten stuck in his net, till he'd finally cut it off and the shark fell back into the ocean. No prizes for guessing whether it survived or not. 

The funny thing is, a feel an empathy for the creatures of the world while I cannot feel the same way for humans, in the same degree. I would rather be off doing environmental efforts, and dedicating my effort into saving animals and especially marine creatures, rather than working in an orphanage or doing humanitarian work. It seems that my inability to connect with humans is made up by the fact I am so deeply affectionate to wild creatures that would never be able to thank or appreciate or understand me. 

Am I being selfish? I admit that I am. People are, in the end, more important than the creatures God created. People have souls; animals don't. People's souls are at stake, while animals only have earthly suffering. God did not create us to save the lives of animals(though He does want us, I believe, to look after them and treasure them, something which we are NOT doing) but to put humans first. To save as many lives as we can. 

Why, oh why, then, have I grown so attached to the world beyond me, due to my incompetence in relating to others? Nobody needs pro PR skills, yeah, sure, but if there was a grading system for human relations mine would be -30 or something. At youth group one night, when talking about God's will for us, Arun asked us to pray, and think about our passions in life. The first thing I thought about were sharks, whales, turtles, etc. If God gave us passions for a reason... I for one do not understand mine. I don't see how this is God's intention for my future. You do not save lives and minister to others, while you're busy trying to protect turtles! 

One would say, "Relax! God will lead you... trust in Him.". Or at least, that's what my mum would say. 

I do not see how my passions add up to any sense at the moment. I am a Malaysian girl, with lousy relational skills, introvert, going into an English major in university. Mary prayed over me once, and prophesied that I would one day be involved with elderly people, and there was something about the Jewish path back to China. Which confuses me even more, because it's a complete contrast of my passion as a youth. I have no connections with elderly folk. I barely communicate with my grandparents, I am always awkward amongst my mother's older friends. Also, I have a slight prejudice against China, my ancestral country. I have never wanted to go there, visit it even on holiday, let alone mix with the folk, elderly folk, who cannot speak English. To sum it up, I cannot speak a word of Mandarin! 

It sounds brutally harsh, but my point is I am completely, utterly disinterested in China. Most Chinese history and culture do not interest me much, the people much less so when I can barely even hope of communicating with them. Really, what does God intend for me? 

I see my current life as a bunch of jigsaw pieces from different puzzles. They would never fit in. Conservation, and life on the beach, versus China and elderly people. I have much hope for my future, but I must say it is a confused-looking one. 

I love wild creatures, with an affection that is bemuses me sometimes. People are more important, but what sort of spiritual warrior am I, when I do not even have close girlfriends? 

There are times when I look into the heavens, and ask God to show me something so incredible I would never doubt Him again. But I block it out because it is selfish to ask. It is selfish to ask God to do something when I have not been faithful, when I do not kneel in prayer or acknowledge Him, when I do not draw my strength from Him, when I fail to read and obey His word. God cannot come close, nor speak to any, when they do not thoroughly seek Him. 

All we humans do is ask, ask, ask. We request this, we question that, we blame God for things that aren't his fault. We never stop once to look at our corrupted selves, and ask the same things. I am not being pretentious; I am exactly the same. I ask so much from Jesus and yet always fail to thank Him, to acknowledge His protection and love that He lavishes upon me. 

I ask Him for answers, about my path, about His will for me. I ask Him all the time where I should go to university. I ask Him to tell me, to give me a direct answer. And then I leave Him, I ignore Him, because I get caught up in something else. 

No wonder my mind is an addled mess. It is probably mixed with human pleasures, while tinkering with the prophecy of God. Perhaps... perhaps. But I suppose I shall only know when I seek my Father, genuinely and truly. 

In the meantime, Lord, please do look out for those innocent little marine creatures out there. I know You love them as much, so please look after them as well as You look after all Your children on earth! :)