Why?

A church worker was killed together with three of his four young sons on the way back to Malacca from Muar. He was survived by his dear wife and his one month old son. The wife, still in trauma, was said to be muttering and blaming herself during the past few nights after the accident. I read all about it in the papers. Later a dear friend called me and asked me why must good people die. A very good question. She knew this man personally. He was doing a great work helping some prisoners in a Muar prison.

This sad episode triggered off some recollections in my life. I was also involved in a messy car accident where the on-coming speeding car lost control and came crashing into me. The F1-wannabe car broke into two pieces. I was told the driver died after some days in the hospital. Well, I survived. Life becomes so precious. Even the nasi lemak becomes tastier. Squabbles, being misunderstood and being victimised have all but become non issues at all. There is no point waiting for "pay-back" time. There is no point spending sleepless nights because someone wronged me. If God has so graciously extended my life some six years ago, I will live this life to the fullest. No wonder Jesus said " I came so that everyone would have life, and have it in its fullest". Life is short, don't waste it. :)

Letting go ...

What a junk! Stacks and stacks of lecture notes dated back to the early eighties during my Uni days. Along with these are my Bible studies materials which I kept. I have been hoarding these items. Somehow there is this reluctant feeling to sell all these treasures to the "old newspaper man". These stack of papers have captured those moments of student life - both sweet and bitter. Somehow they have become a part of me. They have stayed with me for more than twenty years. Twenty years seemed so long.

Yet the duration of time seems irrelevant. A lovely double-layered green jacket was taken away at the JB custom check point. The custom officer said that army attire was not allowed into Malaysia. I was pretty sore as this was something that I treasured. It was a gift to me from a Singaporean friend. I was troubled by this incident for a pretty long while. The officer simply wanted the jacket for himself.

Eighteen years of service. A long time. Somehow this service has became a part of me. I decided the time has come for someone else to do it. A tough decision.



Letting go. God has been teaching me this valuable lesson to let go and let God.

Aiyo... I want to make my life count for God and man!

My heart ached to see him suffering on the hospital bed. He was gasping for air. Doctors had not been too encouraging. Our two little darlings were missing him so much as he wasted away. In spite of his terrible state of health, he offered his help to neighbouring Ah Pek's son. He pointed with much difficulty to a plastic bag filled with the old man's belongings, lying on the floor. He meant well, wanting to the son to store the bag safely in a cabinet. It was a known thing that belongings or even food could easily gone missing in the ward. That was my dear Abang. He was always so caring and loving. He would take our little darlings around on his motorbike. He would laugh and make us laugh. Things had changed. Even with the oxygen mask, he seemed deprived of air. Sometimes he would open his eyes and try to tell me so many things. He should not have gone on his own motorbike to massage his leg. I was happy to see him recovering from an accident some four months back. Who would have thought that life could be so cruel to us? He had been a careful man. How could another accident happened to him on the way for the massage? Had we done anything wrong? Abang's breath became more frantic and short. Then he stopped breathing. I called for the nurses. They arrived promptly but there was nothing much they could do. He was no more.

(*** Note from the blogger: This was a recent experience that I encountered while looking after my father in the Soga Government Hospital. The loving pair was only in their early twenties. Accident happened when the husband was riding out from his kampung. ***)

More than just an appearance

I am just an old kelong. Used to remember those days when men would be so pleased with bountiful catches they hauled into the net. As days went by, the catches became less. They transformed me to accommodate more humans who would just come and stay for a few days. I heard that this change could bring more money to my owner. I am now fitted with a spacious room with double decker beds enough to house more than a hundred people. At night I would be well lighted with the many florescence tubes. I am fitted with electrical appliances like fridges and televisions. During certain seasons, the atmosphere is filled with much excitement and activities as people screamed with delight at the fishes they hauled in with their fishing lines or a win at the majong table. Somehow I am also quite pleased with this change as life is no more monotonous as it used to be.

Yes, I am pleased with the glee and scream a little child would give when she reeled in the fishes as her parents encouraged her on. There were sweet moments of remembrance as loving couples sat silently together to gaze at the gentle waves in the open seas. People would find relaxation and satisfaction by just spending some time in this old me. My thoughts went to an old man who would frequently visit me. He has three children and all of them have graduated from the University. One of them is now staying in Europe. All these years he worked hard and even managed to get himself a government job in Singapore. He did not go through much education but he worked hard enough to ensure a good education for his children. He could speak fluent Hokkien. I could see that he was friendly to all who would talk to him. He said once that he wished people would live and just let live. Often times, he would be by himself as if people were shunning him. A different Malay race among the overwhelming Chinese majority maybe or his old appearance caused people to avoid him. At least I can identify with him that we are more than just a hollow appearance of an old kelong.

Beautiful to Look At

It was a beautiful sunny day. Place: public park at Melbourne. People. Lots of them. That meant lots of food for me too. There were many of us flying towards the park. Lots of activity happening. The aroma of the hot fries and fish made me fly harder. We waited patiently for some food to drop on the ground. Some children threw a few bits of their take-away and we would tried zoom in for the meal. Hard as we tried, it seemed that the bits of goodies always missed us. We had competitors. The humans seemed to have an extra liking for them. These competitors filled their stomachs rather easily as all these goodies would land neatly at their feet. We could only watch and wish to just take a swap at those juicy fries. Several times we were being shooed off by those pesky children. These competitors were also birds like us. Mom told me that humans are biased lots. They tend to be influenced much by what they see instead of what is in the heart. Yes, Mom was right. They were rosellas. Colourful. Attractive. So beautiful to look at. I looked at myself. I was only a plain white seagull with a rather big beak.

She is my Best Friend

Michelle was one of those seven years old whom i taught. Once she came to class with a worn out doll in her arms. She was hugging it lovingly as i spoke to her.

"Is that your doll?" came the rhetoric question.
"Yes and I love her even more because she is in the same pitiful condition as me" she replied.

"Why is that so?"
"Oh, she also has no Daddy like me!" Michelle explained.

See, Michelle's father left her when she was only a tiny baby. At least she could find comfort in the doll which she could identify with.