The Day My Mother Wept

Even the hardest of hearts and the hardness of Man will yield to the tears of a lady or to the weeping of a girl.

In this case, the hardest of heart happened to be mine, and the tears of the lady belonged to my mother.

I only thought that my mom was the strongest lady - or person, as a matter of fact - in this world. She'd be the one that will stand up for me when people scolded me recklessly for something that I didn't do, she'd be the one that will protect me whenever I was in trouble or in danger, she'd be able to take it like a 'man' and not feel anything bad about it.

People have hurt her before, trust me. There was this one particular lady whom my mom took great care of while she was pregnant. She'd come to our house every single morning and do nothing but lie on the couch, throw out every 10 minutes or so, and my mom would feed her, clean up the mess after her, make sure she's comfortable and stuff while fetching me and the lady's son to school and tuitions and stuff.

Before long after she delivered her child, she turned around and slandered my mom. She condemned my mother for 'not being able to raise up good children' - in direct reference to me -, she claimed that my mother was trying to sabotage the children's ministry in church back then, she accused my mom for being biased towards doctor and lawyer's children.

The best part of all - often to my amuse as I reflect upon it - was when she told people that my mom was suicidal.

One fine day I met her in a coffee shop with my mom when she happened to stumble across our table. She looked awkward and was trying to smile sheepishly but almost immediately turned away and walked in a different direction. I was about to stand up, raise my hand and yell at her. (I hate people who hurt my mother. That's me. And I'd attack anyone who tries to touch her.) Then my mother pushed me back to the chair and shook her head.

"But she slandered you mummy."

"Leave it," she replied calmly. "Let God handle her."

That was my mom. She's the type of person who'd tolerate people who try to be funny with her but she'd never return an eye for an eye where slandering or vengeance is concern. She'd never lash out at other people except for her own children whenever they said something nasty about her. I've seen more than enough with my own eyes. Hypocrates in church, in-laws, some school teachers back in primary school. Quietly and patiently, she'd just swallow all of it, go home, surrender it to the Lord and move on with life.

Until the day I saw my mom cried, I would never know how much my mom meant to me.

4 years ago I fought with my brother so badly that my mom thought that 'we could have killed each other'. I was holding a PVC pipe and my brother drew a ratten staff that my dad kept in the house for protection. At the height of our fury we were about to slash each other with the bluntest objects in the history of modern warfare, and there was my mom who stood in the middle of both of us holding up both her hands, one facing each side, and yelling at the top of her voice,

'SNAP OUT OF IT YOU BOYS! JOASH! BACK TO YOUR ROOM! NOOOOOOOW!!!'

And that dissolved the war. But that marked the beginning to a new war, a cold war that would last for almost 1 whole year. In that period of time, neither of us spoke a single word to each other and we'd be on the guard if anyone of us crossed each other's path and then it'd spark a new war.

The same night, she called me into her room. Kneeling in front of her as she sat on the bed, she started half lecturing and half scolding me for nearly killing my brother, and I'd be arguing about how it wasn't my fault and how my brother started it.

Then suddenly she stopped scolding me. I was still a little lost about what happened initially because i wasn't looking at her but at the floor instead. I knew that something was wrong when she was so quiet. And I looked up.

And I saw water beads on her head. I thought it was her sweat.

But it wasn't. Those were tears. Flowing down from her eyes., those were tears.

I was dead stunned. I could swear to you that was the first time in my life I saw my mother cried, and for a while both my mom and I were silent. Except for the occasional sniffing from my mom, it was dead silence.

She wiped her tears swiftly, making sure that I don't see too much of her crying. "Joash, will you promise me that you will never do that again?"

That night I couldn't sleep at all. All these years I have been a notorious boy that only wanted my way, always fighting and arguing with my brother, never thinking about how much it would devastate my mom everytime that happens. It never struck me that the number one thing that would truly and really hurt her was what other people said about me or her, but me. The things that I do, the way I behave, the way I treat my parents.

Rude, irresponsible, boisterous, obnoxious, mean, inconsiderate.

That night, the only thing on my mind was her tears. This feeling that never stirred in my heart started to surface. It was the feeling when you feel disappointed, disgusted by the things that you've done. It was probably the feeling of being so useless and moronic. It was about realising that you've been such a thick skin jerk all this while until you cause your mother so much heart ache. It was the mere thought of being hopeless and beyond being saved. It was about disappointing your mother and letting her down when the hopes and expectations of you turning out to be a good son was all dashed by your behaviour.

That night, I made up my mind. I decided, and I determined to change. To be better. To be nicer. To be more responsible. To be a better son.

But most importantly,

to never make my mom cry. Ever again.

And I promised myself that I'm not going to ever make her cry again. But the problem was that I didn't really kept my promise.

2 years ago as I was preparing for my SPM, I was challenged to the last bit of my faith. In front of me was all but a future of medicine. I wanted a future and the hopes of a future but I saw none. The problem was that I doubted about what I had ahead of me. My father had almost no savings, or enough savings for me to pursue medicine. I wanted so badly to be a lawyer because back then I enjoyed debating and wanted to do that. But more than anything else, I wanted to pursue law because it was the cheapest next thing I thought my parents could afford after medicine.

That decision of mine sparked a series of debates and arguments between me and my mom again. I didn't know what my mom had against me doing law so much, but she sure didn't want me to be a lawyer. Until now, I'm still yet to know why. In the car on the way to tuition, she'd keep persuading me to do medicine instead and kept reminding me not to worry about the money. Problem was that I always thought that my mom had this unrealistic point of view thinking that 'God will always provide' when the reality was that there was no money, if not there was just not enough money for both me and my brother to pursue medicine.

Back then the only thing that pushed me to work was great fear and desparation. I saw with my own eyes the price that my brother had to pay for not getting straight A1s in his biology. I saw how hard it was to survive STPM and how impossible it seemed to get into local university. The odds were stacked against me to do medicine, and there was my mother trying to get me to do something that I was no longer interested to do.

One day before the trials, my mom blurted out of desparation, "Joash, why are you so stubborn?"

I was doing my homework and looked up. I could only see my mother standing across the table. Her eyes were read. "What happened to your faith? What happened to your belief in becoming a doctor?" And she walked into her room, hands in her head and walked to her room.

It wasn't my fault that I didn't believe that I should be a doctor, but it sure was my fault this time to make her cry. And this time, it wasn't my behaviour, it was my 'losing the vision' that disappointed her so much.

Later the evening, she sat down with me and told me the most important thing that kept me working towards the trials and the actual SPM.

"God told Moses to stretch forth his arms to part the sea, only when they were actually standing in front of the sea. Until their foot touched the water, the sea never parted.

"The way will open before you only when you reach that stage. Time now, go step by step and work towards completing your today, and not your tomorrow. Let tomorrow handle tomorrow, and today handle today."

Sometimes I still wonder how tough ladies like my mom could ever cry. I wonder how is it that the toughest shell could succumb to the softest of human emotion. And maybe that's why ladies are always ladies. Soft on the outside and yet tough in the inside. Like fruits, allowing the softness of emotions to embody the resilience of the hard seed inside, that's truly what that makes my mom great. One thing for sure, that was the last time my mother ever cried over me, and trust me, I do plan to keep it that way for a long long time.

I changed when I saw my dad smile, but I was changed when my mom wept. The power of the tear is not in the pain behind it, but in the changes it can yield after the tears have dried.

Postlude: Just recently my mom called and cried over the phone, and as I heard her crying I reminded myself to continue to be a good son and to always be there for her. Especially when I'm away now, I sometimes wonder, what can I do to wipe her tears if she were to cry again?

I'd never know.

My Bio Lab

Behind the scenes of our biology lab.

This is our biology lab in INTEC UiTM. Block U to be exact.

And this is our beloved lecturer Pn Mimi Sophia, UM graduate with a Masters in Zoology. =D

Behold, Amirah looking into the microscope trying to sketch out her fingerprint. =P

My sadly pathetic and miserable classmates who often seek attention through the lens.. *sigh*

Me in my labcoat and also trying my best not to laugh out loud.

Ridhwan, another teammate
Freezer busy copying the lab report in the very last minute.

The chinese girls working hard. Problem with them is that when it comes to taking photos they'd never appear in front of the camera, unlike another classmate of mine Anis.

Siti and Freezer, teammates of our group. (Siti's the cutest Malay girl in our class)

Our group
People watching in horror as a scary movie is played in the computer. Yes, a horror show in the biology lab.

Amirah

Fooling around with the dummy after our experiment. Notice that it's wearing a specs, a name tag and a lab coat..

So yes, this is what we do in our biology lab. And yes, I'd be the first to get arrested for bringing in a camera to the biology lab in any of you people who read this blog decide to sabotage me by reporting it to HEP. Thanks for sparing me in advance (and anticipation).

Hollow of Valentine

I remember one fine evening while I was still in Alor Setar watching TV with my mom, and out of the blue she said to me, “Joash, it’s Valentine’s day today you know.” All I knew about Valentine back then was that it was all about roses, pink hearts and chocolates. Innocently as I was, I simply replied, “Is it? Happy Valentine’s day mommy!” and that did the job by putting a smile on her face after all.

Now looking back at what happened almost 12 years ago, after going through numerous rejections and pains, after wiping away tears and allowing the wounds of the heart to heal countless times, I realised, Valentines, after all, is a myth created by man in a miserable attempt to make a secular and worldly form of ‘love’ – a type of fantasy only seen in Walt Disney – a reality.

I hate valentines with every single breath I had in me. It reminded me about how mean girls have been to me every time they knew that I liked them last time. It brought back the painful memories of how it felt like to be made a total idiot out of whenever they tried to make triumph out of a foiled attempt of mine to establish a lasting relationship that goes beyond friendship.

And I thought, why valentine if there was never meant to be any for me?

The next thing in mind was, can a valentine really be true?

Looking at all the people in shopping malls or in cinemas holding hands, or occasionally if I were to see a young lady resting her head on the shoulder of her boyfriend, something would simply stir in my heart. I never knew what it was, but it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. It felt something like feeling ‘happy’ for them because they have something you didn’t have. It felt something like feeling ‘warm’ for the comfort they have in each other, of which – definitely – you didn’t have.

Perhaps I felt envious. Perhaps I felt lonely.

Perhaps I still wonder, how long more do I have to wait before I could ever, ever celebrate a true and meaningful valentine that I could call my own?

Sharing my burden and my thoughts with Erin and Amanda, they reminded me about the love that really made a difference. They reminded me constantly throughout this whole week that the real valentine was never the world or the girls. The real valentine wasn’t a human being that could promise you the world or the stars in the sky and forget about it in a moment or so. It was more than roses and chocolates.

It was Jesus. The valentine that they first found to be meaningful in their lives, the valentine that they decided to seek partnership with for now and through the days that are yet to come. The valentine that they finally found true value and meaning in immediately after encountering what I went through almost recently.

They learned, easier than me that Man fails. It’s almost destiny, almost fate, almost a fact. So much intelligence and yet so little commitment towards the feelings and emotions of each other.

Maybe that’s why we’re all humans. One person is foolish enough to give out empty promises and the other person is silly enough to believe all the empty words of the first party. From the way things are, I’m sure God is having a good time watching all these sitcoms from heaven.

But little did I know what was in stall for me this Valentine’s Day. I went to CA in church and was busy preparing for worship, getting people moving, making sure that things were organised and stuff. And it came to the word of God. The message that Pastor Joshua delivered that night was all about the trials and tests of love.

“Are you ready to love a person even if he or she has not loved you before?”

“Are you prepared to sacrifice for the person that you love even if you’re not going to see any returns out of it?”

I was struck hard.

It wasn’t the part about loving a person that will never love me or the sacrificing of a person that hit me, it was the memories of myself loving a girl that would never love me that stunned me for a moment.

Then I realised what was bothering me all this while. What was really bothering me was not the idea of not having a girl friend to celebrate valentine’s this year with, but it was the difficulty and struggle to let go of what has happened. It’s been almost 2 months, and yet I still find it hard at times to just let go of the wounds and pain. Yes I have forgiven her – even though she refuses to admit that she was at fault in the first place – even though I decided to listen to her side of the story and try to convince myself that what she said was the truth, yet deep inside the pain is still very raw. The wound is still fresh and is yet to close, heal and leave nothing but scars.

Deep inside, it still hurts a little when I come to think about it. I have been suppressing such thoughts over the last 2 months, but at times like this I feel almost vulnerable especially when doing God’s work through such a secular celebration of the world.

Amanda was back in Kuching to be with her family, preparing for her upcoming trials. Thank God someone called Erin was still around to hear me groan and moan again.

“Come on dude.. you yourself said that you are going to let God be your valentine.. remember the song?”

We wrote a song for the Valentine CA Celebration. Me, Caleb, Erin and Amanda. Together we trashed it out by the piano for quite some time.

Yes, I remember the song but if only it was so easy..

It’s not going to be easy, if in the first place you are not prepared to let go. After all, the cup is still full of the stale drink and unless you pour it out and wash the cup, there’s no chance of you filling your cup with anything else.

Unless and until the knife is removed, the wound will never heal.

And I came to the realisation that as much as it hurts when the knife penetrates the flesh, it hurts equally much to remove it. More often than not, we’re not prepared to go through the pain again, not realising that only by pulling out that knife, only will we allow the wounds to heal and the restoration process to begin.

Valentine’s Day still means nothing to me, but one thing for sure, I’ve started to look at love differently. I learned that the no love that Man gives can equal what love God has given us. Only son sent down from heaven to earth for our sins? The sacrifice of the innocent lamb for the unworthy sinners?

The struggle will always be there to choose to seek the voice of God in pursuing what He wants me to pursue. It is always easier to chase my dreams than to chase the Giver of the dreams, but as I said much earlier, it's about time to let go of my ego and start seeking him, because only when I allow God to work in my life, will I be able to see the beauty of God and His plans that He has for me.

Plans of a future and hope. Plans of a wonderful and glorious tomorrow. Plans of a girl that God will send into my life to unleash the best that I ever had, to touch and make me better than before.

That is love. That is the truth of Valentine’s.

A Journey to Remember

Travelling back from Ipoh to Shah Alam is never a fun experience. Though I have the fantastic opportunity of sitting beside Wei Li - an answer bank that can be amusingly annoying at times - still it is no fun especially when you know that you're going back to INTEC for more lessons.

But this time, I decided to open my eyes wide throughout the whole journey back to Shah Alam. Not like I never seen the roads before, but I thought, maybe God could speak some sense into me through this little journey.

Once hitting the highway, I noticed that the greeneries on both sides of the road were slowly diminishing as the bus went down the highway. From the lush and rich forest of majestic trees and their grand canopies, the forest slowly faded away. Soon the green trees were replaced by dying trees and dried up trees. Later on the dried up trees were gone too, leaving uprooted trees lying flat on their bellies beside tractors and bulldozers, making way for more development.

It wasn't a pleasant sight honestly, and I missed the days back then where the whole journey was all trees and green plants all along the highway. Sometimes I would cheekily wind down the window and feel the fresh air gushing into the window as my dad sped at 120 kmph down the highway.

All that's left now are memories.

And earlier this morning I was in KLIA with Erin, Amanda, Jac and Amos to send off our beloved seniors to Australia. Seniors that were always there for us throughout the whole of 2006, seniors that were more like sisters to us than friends, seniors who loved us for every naughty and mischevious thing that we could ever think about and even took care for us the very day we step foot in INTEC.

Now, they're gone. Australia, their new home, their new land to study and pursue their dreams.

Reflecting on both journeys that I've been through - the physical and the emotional one - I realised that the most beautiful of things just won't stay long. The most beautiful trees will slowly be replaced by barren land and devlopment of buildings. The most caring of people will leave for various destinations for various purposes.

Nothing stays for good. Nothing is eternal.

All except for the grace of our Lord.

Life, is indeed a journey. Some people will walk in and make a difference in our lives, be it for the better or for the worse. Some people will show you the true meaning of love and care, and bless you with it. Some people will just be there for you when you need someone the most.

And when they've left and walked out of your lives for different reasons, you know that your job now is to walk into someone's life and be the blessing as he or she has been for you.

The true meaning of a journey, is not in what we see along the road. After all, it will always be changing. The essence of a beautiful journey, is the destination, and how we choose to reach it. As people on the bus, do we choose to sleep throughout the journey, missing all the things that we could see along the journey, or will we always be awake and alert, careful and caring, making the most out of the little time that we have left, on this journey?

Not one journey will ever be the same. Even if the destinations remain the same, the journey will always be new and different. That's life. Welcome aboard.

Land of Abundant Laughter

I slept and dreamt that I was walking in a park. A park full of swings, see-saws, slides and monkey bars. Walking down the pebble pathway forming the circumference of that park, I saw little children running around in the field.

Some were flying kites with their parents. Their parents ran ahead of their kids running behind, laughing as they try to jump and catch the kite that is soaring higher and higher as it achieves its height. Slowly as the kite starts to catch the wind, it glides in the skies beneath the clouds. Their parents handed the string handle to their little children. Grinning and beaming with glee, they tried to started to run around hoping that the kite would follow them wherever they go, under the careful surveillance of their loving parents. The father held the mother by the shoulder, and leaning unto each other they smiled upon seeing the joy of their children.

Some children were playing hide and seek with each other. A group of 8 kids gathered and formed a circle, discussing who should be the ones hiding and who should be the one that seeks the rest. After a brief discussion, one kid ran to a nearby tree, covered her face and pressing unto a tree and started counting to ten. The other kids scrambled to find a good hiding spot. Some hide in the bushes, some climbed unto short branches, some underneath the picnic tables. From a distance I could hear them stifling their own giggling as they tried to remain as quiet as possible while the other kid ran around looking for them. In less then 5 minutes all of them would be out of their hiding place running around in circles trying to both run and catch each other. They'd shriek as the 'hunter' tapped them on their shoulders, signalling that they are now 'dead'.

Some children were just playing with the swings. 2 little girls were sitting on the swing side by side with each other. Chatting initially as they swing slowly, they decided to head for the skies. Then they started to move their legs in a front and backward movement rhythmic to the swing. Everytime their swing stopped at its highest point they'd exert more force downwards hoping that the swing would swing even higher the next round. And it did. The feeling of the wind brushing through their long hair must have exhilarated them. Yelling out loud, regardless of the people around them or the stares of other children who envied them, they evidently were enjoying themselves on the swings.

On the bench were an elderly couple. Wiping their sweat with a towel drapped over their neck, they were breathing deeply after a long jog. Sitting side by side to each other, they started talking about their lovely past, their haydays back when they were teenagers, their fiery romance when they were much younger, their honeymoon and their children. They talked about how the society is changing, how the generation that is yet to come will live in a futuristic and modern world, how the little children will live to embrace a world that lurks with terror and fear. Their talk was all about their past and the world today, yet through it all there was this little smile carved on their face. A smile that kept so much memories of the time that they spent together. Pecking each other on the nose romantically, I couldn't resist letting out a sigh in contentment upon witnessing such faithfulness in that lasting romance.

So much laughter, so much joy. The magic of laughter and joy is that it is capable of immediately dissolving any form of physical, emotional and psychological tension among people or in a situation.

In times of sadness, laughter is the turning point.
In moments of tears, a companion is both the shoulder and the tissue.
In a world of darkness, faithfulness and truthfulness is the light.
In despair, a pair of listening ears illuminates your vision, showing you the door beside your dead end.

I woke up realising that the fruits of laughter is sweetest when originating from the fertile soil of companionship. True companionship generates laughter and joy. True companionship is all about faithfulness. True companionship is all about love. True companionship is all about sharing and caring. True companionship is all about looking out for your friends sad day, catching him when he tries to run away with his problem and pull him out of his teary situation.

The land of abundant laughter, at the end of the day, is our hearts, where we first choose to be a companion to others and be faithful to them. That time, will we realise, that our heart will be the one place that will be always full of joy in times of sadness, and abundance of peace that the world cannot give us.

The Hands that Touched Him

Bending down, he slowly placed the flowers on the tombstone. Sighing lightly as he stood up, he reflected on how swift time flies. The merciless and impatient time that stole the girl that he loved away from her.

Or should he say, the girl that first loved him.

In Loving Memory: Joann Emila, 1988 - 2009

Fought till her last death
Now sitting at the right hand of our Lord
and donning a crown of righteousness

Closing his eyes, he took his own sweet time to recall his memories of being with her. Before all the roses, all the hospital visits, all the hugs and kisses, before the sitting-together-watching-the-break-of-dawn and before the candlelight dinners.

Before all of those, there were only 2 individuals who would never imagine that their paths might even cross. Never in their wildest imaginations. And perhaps they were not to be blamed if such never crossed their minds, but basically it was all about what made him who he was back then.

He was a child of a single mother. His mother - who did not deserve to be called one - was a lady of the night. He never knew who his dad was. He never had the motherly love that every other child had. He never had that someone who would hold him by the wheel teaching him how to cycle, he never had that someone to look after him when he was down with a flu. He never had that someone who sat down by his side, on the dining table, holding his little hand with a pen, teaching him how to write his own name.

All he had, was a broken home and a broken childhood.

"Don't disturb me, go do your homework," his mom would shriek at him as she dragged another client into the room before slamming the door in front of his nose.

"What school fees? You don't even deserve to go to school you brat. The fact that I brought you into this earth is a great deed done for you."

His childhood had no laughter. His childhood had no joy or no memories of birthday cakes or Christmas presents. All that he could dig up from his childhood days were dark rooms, disgusting noises coming from his mom's room, smoke that choked the room, torn curtains that could barely cover the stained windows of the dirty room.

And he walked into high school a loner. A boy with no past, a boy with no friends, a boy with no hope or vision. He never thought home was bad simply because primary school was a total nightmare. To compare it on a scale, his school life would have ditched the scale if his life at home was at the other balance. School bullies tormented him and picked on him.

"Hey you fatherless brat!" Smirks.

"BASTARD!! That's what we call people with no fathers!" Jeers.

"Here comes the bastard!!" Evil laughter.

And they'd shove him to his locker and give him a good round of punching kicking and socking before they locked him in his own locker. From the little hole that allowed little rays of light to illuminate the dark locker, he could hear their laughter fade along with their footsteps. And in the darkest room of his life, he cried and sobbed, knowing that no one would ever hear his tears. No one would ever come to help him because he was a bastard.

He was locked in his own locker so many times that he knew how to pick the lock from inside. Making sure that no one was looking at him, he'd creep out of his locker, gather his stuff and walk home.

And now it was high school. What was he expecting? More punching? More kicking? More locked up in his own locker?

"Hey you!" someone yelled from behind him. He turned to see a group of people donning dark leather jackets over white T-shirts with symbols of the skull. Adorning heavy metal necklaces that qualified to be a belt, high heeled boots with a cowboys wheel behind it, they motioned him to come over.

Walking over slowly, he feared the worst. He knew what that was all about. Well he thought he knew, but he thought wrongly.

"You seem to have some potential sucker," one of the guys said. "Wanna go kick some ass?"

Left in a daze for a second or two, he realised that they were offering him to be a part of their gang. He smiled. Finally no one will be able to touch him or lock him up in his own locker. He didn't give a second thought, he certainly didn't hesitate.

Before long he was being a part of the triad. His triad was notorious and well known in the school for disciplinary cases. Students feared their triad. They would just go up to a student and ask for money. Tough luck if they don't hand over the cash, they'd end up as pulp and lose their cash anyway.

Until one day as he was about to pulp another boy, something caught his eyes. Something that he never thought about his whole life till then, something he never expected to see in his wildest imaginations. In front of him and the boy that he held in his hands by the collar, was a girl with short shoulder length hair and a neat pair of spectacles. Dimples on her cheeks, he could see that she was clearly smiling. Admidst the tension of the situation then, he could feel her anxiety and worries, God knows why, but she was calm as the breeze.

"Hey there, that's my brother that you're holding." and she started walking over.

What on earth was she doing? Why was she walking over? 6 months of training in triads and he was never taught to handle a girl that walks up to you claiming that his brother is in your hands and smiles at you.

Ironically, the tough man dropped the small kid and ran away. He heard the crowd that had then gather around laughing and mocking at him, but he couldn't care more.

That whole day his mind was preoccupied. The only thing in his head was that girl that stood in his way, blocking off his only exit. The girl with that sweet voice. It wasn't a threatening voice that his teachers used on him everyday, it was a warm and innocent voice that he has never heard from the slum he stayed in or from the triad he mixed with. He was so frustrated and couldn't think straight that whole day, he even refused to attend the post-motem meeting the triad had evaluating his performance.

He set out to find out who she was. He spent his whole day in the cafeteria to look out for anyone who had that 'shape' from the dark. He went all over the whole school, from the library right to the music room to the chapel, just to find that girl.

And he found her.

Her name was Joann. She was one year younger than him, and from far he saw that she had a nice round face enveloped by the silky short hair on both left and right. She was fairly short compared to him, and she always had this little metal wrist band on her hand.

He decided to get closer to her. One day he saw her carrying a large stack of books, walking out of the library. With his triad instincts, he went over and knocked her by the side, causing her to lose her balance and falling to the side with the books dropping all over the place. He was about to burst into laughter and walk off when something struck him deep in his heart. A small shockwave of pain. Something he never felt before.

He already walked a few steps ahead of her. Stopping, he turned back and saw her kneeling on the floor, gathering her books. He felt so bad. Something deep inside told him that it wasn't right, and he shouldn't have done that to a girl who did him no harm or wrong.

He walked over to the girl. "Hey!" She looked up. Smile again.

"You.. uh.. you.." he was at a lost of words. He didn't know how to speak to a girl. All this while in triad he spoke to all his comrades in vulgar. Now he was standing in front of a sweet nice girl, kneeling on the floor while picking up her books that he knocked down, and he had no idea what to say.

His face was burning hot. He didn't know what it was meant to be. All he knew was that the next thing he did, he knelt down and picked up the books for her. Handing the books over to her, he dared not look at her in the face.

"Thank you, Mike." she said with a sweet smile.

Now he looked up and stared right into her eyes. How did she know my name? No one in school knows my name.

"How did you know my name?" he mustered all his courage and blurted out.

"I knew you. I remember you were the boy that tried to pulp my brother, right?"

Oh no, he thought. This was so so so so bad. And he ran. Again.

A triad member running away from a girl? Did that make any sense at all? It sure didn't, but that was the way things went. He ran away from Joann.

After running and running for something like eternity, he sat down by the side of the road to catch his breath. Heaving and puffing, he told himself to calm down and stay calm. I have to do something, I cannot continue running away from her.

The next day he went on a hunt mission and found her in the cafeteria. She saw him sure enough and waved to him.

"Hi Mike! Care for a drink?"

Shocked. Is she inviting me for a drink? Who in their right minds would invite a notorious triad member over for a drink? That sounded insane.. but it was always worth a try.

He pretended to stay cool and calm as he took his seat. She graciously poured a cup of tea from the pot already on her table and mixed some sugar and creamer for him. "What brings you here?"

He cleared his throat. "Uh.. uh.. well.." and he gasped for a breath. He thought he nearly choked on himself. Fact was, he was so nervous that he had nothing prepared in his mind but pure blank and blank and nothing but blank. She was laughing this time. "I thought you'd prepare a speech over here. Next time you can write out your script and I'd help you mark it."

He laughed out loud, but he immediately cut it short. Now when was the last time I laughed? He never realised that after joining the triads he was slowly becoming a cold blooded creature, and finally someone was restoring some sanity in him.

"Joann," he finally mustered enough guts from deep within. "I, uh, well, apologise for nearly pulping your brother. I regretted my actions.." he took in a deep breath.

".. and I'm quitting the triads." For you.

In the next 6 years of high school, teachers, lecturers and students would witness the most amazing transformation of a notorious potential triad leader into the most outstanding student in high school. How he'd excel as a boxing ring leader in the American tournaments, how he'd lead his teams against arch-rivals into victory one after another in rugby, how he'd ace SAT test with record breaking achievements, and how he'd be the most charming guy in school compared to the good-for-nothing brat he was back then.

And the secret was not in Joann, it was in her hands.

He never told anyone about a little story that made him choose to quit the triads. As he was running away, he realised that he could run no more. He realised that the further he tried to run, the further he drifted away from reality. He was now living in a world of illusions and fear, a world of lies and false hopes.

He got up and wanted to continue running again, when someone called him from behind.

"Mike!" a sharp yet warm voice.

"Mike!"

He turned back as he was about to take foot. Joann.

It was raining then. Through the raindrops that fell on both faces, he saw that she was crying. Her eyes were red swollen and swelled up. She was shaking in the rain and she was shivering. But she stood right there, in the middle of the road on the rainy day, and called out to him.

"Don't run Mike. You think no one knows what you're going through? You think you're alone?"

"I have no father. What do you know?"

"Neither do I. But I'm not running, neither is my brother. So why should you?" She stepped closer to him. "Mike, please don't run anymore." She held out her hands and clasped his face. The warmth of her hands shadowed the coldness of the wind and rain, and in that split second he looked straight into the eyes of a girl for the very first time in his life.

He saw pain in her eyes. He saw betrayal. He saw her loneliness. He saw that she had no home except for a shelter home. He knew nuts about psychic power, but as he revealed it to her much later, what he saw through her eyes were all true.

He never thought that anyone would touch him. All he had were the tight slaps from his mother. The times when those cold hard hands that landed on his cheeks were never pleasant experiences. It made him thought that hands were meant to inflict pain and nothing less. He thought that the hands were made to destroy, to punch, to hit, to wage war, to harm.

But the turning point in his life came when someone used her hands to touch him. More than just his face, but his heart.

And that changed his life.

He realised, through their romance, that she will not be living long. She had a disease known as G6PD, a syndrome whereby the blood lacks a certain enzyme that is capable of breaking down highly oxydising agents found in certain food. Due to that fact, her blood cells are breaking down constantly and are not able to be replenished soon enough.

"Doesn't matter whether you can live with or without me," she once said. "What matters most is how I lived my life with you when I'm still around."

The night she breathed her last breath, he was beside her in the hospital. Through the mask, he saw her smiling again. "Jo," he asked. "Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

"That day when I touched you, I knew it was a dream come true."

"Many nights before then, I had been praying for you. I was in the same primary school as you and I saw how you were bullied by the gangsters. I saw how you grew to hate and eventually became a part of them, and my heart was scarred to see you fall and struggle on your own. I never wanted you to cry in the heart and act tough outside.

"And that day when I touched you, I felt the cold shell melting away, I felt your heart opening up, I saw your light shining from a distance in your cold dark tunnel. And I knew, that that was the beginning of your transformation to who you are now."

Driving back to high school in time for his graduation ceremony, the thoughts that invaded his mind moments ago back at her tombstone was still lingering around. Taking the mike later the evening, he addressed a crowd of 600 students as valedictorian of the year.

"What made me who I truly am, was not a girl - as most of you often perceived. It was the act of that girl that changed me."

Indeed, it took no romance, no flowers, no love letters to make him realised that he was loved. It was the smallest act of kindness birth from the sincerest of hearts, that made him come back to his senses and discover the truth behind the lies of this world:

No past is too damaging to a person's future, no heart is too cold to melt, no soul is too stiff to be bent, if and only if someone, would choose to be that little angel to walk into his life that one fine day, stretch forth her arms, and just touch him.

When I Was Asleep

Tash paced up and down the corridor. Occasionally looking through the glass panel, she could clearly see the doctors and the nurses working busily over his motionless body. They were mouthing a lot of stuff, but she couldn't make up a single word of it.

From outside she saw the nurses adjusting the IV drips and the metal stand that's holding it. She couldn't will herself to go on looking at the commotion inside and hence sat down on the chairs outside my room.

Holding firmly in her hands was the bouquet of roses she bought seconds before her whole life changed. Seconds before that, she was preparing to surprise him with something sweet that he liked. She remembered that he liked roses equally much as her as the roses reminded him of her.

"Every petal of a rose," he once whispered into her ears, "is a beautiful part of you."

And as she held that bouquet, reminding herself of how beautiful she was - and hopefully is - in his eyes, she thought the roses were dying. She thought she saw her petals dropping and fading as he fell and collapsed right in front of her eyes. How as he turned her around to take the shots, how she wanted to scream and scold him as usual, but too late as he smiled and almost immediately gasped for air as he went down to the bullets.

She just couldn't stop the crystal beads from rolling out of her eyes. Eyes shut tight, images of the scene in the ambulance kept replaying itself over and over again. How she yelled and begged and cried and hit him, but still he remained motionless and still. His pulse was slowly decreasing back in the ambulance and as the paramedics were fighting to keep him breathing and alive, she could only sit silently at the side, making sure she didn't get in the way. Holding his hand firmly close to her damp wet face, she could only pray as a helpless person.

If there was anything that she would never ever doubt, she would never doubt the fact that he will give up his life for her when the time arise.

And how she doubted him back when she once met him.

While dating before heading off to Chiang Mai, she once asked him, "Would you ever die for me?" He was stunned and almost went blank for a moment before he fumbled out the words, "Uh.. well.. that's a tough one isn't it.."

"Would you?"

Silence

"I don't know dear. I really don't know." He held her hands and gazed into her eyes. She saw sadness and unsecurity, she saw no assurance of a man that would be prepared to die for her. She only saw that sombre sense of loneliness she never saw before in his eyes, and her heart sank.

She kept that doubt to herself throughout the whole Chiang Mai mission. Though he stunned her by constantly surprising her with beautiful night sceneries and fruits she never seen before in her whole life, though she decided to give him her life and her future, though she never knew what was ahead of them, she still doubted. That thought had disturbed her through the whole journey back to NY and even as she purchased the roses, she looked into the petals and sigh.

What am I doing?

Now she finally knew what was she doing. She was committing her life to a man that was prepared to die for her, and yet at the point of time she decided to stop doubting him as she walked towards him with that bouquet of roses, she lost him.

"Miss Natasha, may I see you for a moment?"

Disturbed from her daze and thinking, she got up and straightened her jacket. Still holding on to the roses, she walked into the doctor's room and sat on the chair.

"Is.. is he ok?" Her voice was all fear and worries.

What if he died? She thought.

No, I must believe that he will live. He will live for me.

She chose to believe that as much as he was prepared to die for her, he too would fight with every breath that he had, to stay alive, to be with her too. She believed that would be him. He was a fighter. He too had fought half his life for the dreams that he had, for the visions that was given to him, for the glory of the Lord. He fought against the red tapes of the birocracy, he fought against criticism in his very own church, he stood up for what was right when everyone was against it, and he has went through the worst of storms in his life and walked out of it a better and stronger person. He persevered in Chiang Mai, braved the rains and chill and protected her from the cold and rain.

He will fight to be with her. I know he would.

But will he live?

Then she got the news. Her heart shattered. She couldn't believe what she heard.

He wouldn't make it, as long as he did not get a heart from a donor.

Lord.. how could you let this happen? Why him, why a good man?

In front of the doctor, she couldn't control her emotions anymore. It was just beyond what she could possibly bear anymore. It was the last that she wanted or had to hear, and she just heard it slip from the doctor's mouth. She wanted and needed hope of his survival so badly, and the doctor sitting in front of her sealed it up.

How could that be?

The voices of the doctor just faded away from her ears. Nothing from the doctor was really making sense or important, so that had to fade. She did not want to hear anymore attempted dialogues of consolation or comfort from man, she wanted to seek the face that she has always desired to see all her life. She wanted to hear from the voice that was most important to her all her life. She wanted her best friend to be by her side, as He has always been all those years.

The same voice that told her to let him come into his life, the same voice that told her not to doubt in him, the same voice that was always heard through the whole ordeal beginning from the gunshots right till that point of time..

God, where are you when I need you the most?

Here I am. Why did you let this happen? Why him of all people? You know well enough that I needed her..

Yes you needed him, but at times like this don't you need Me more? Lord, please be merciful to him Lord, I'm begging you. Not me, just him.. him Lord..

So do You want him to live? Yes Lord, more than anything.. let him live..

Will you give up your life for his sake? What do you mean now?

Will you give up your life for him to liveas he did, for you to live on? Yes, I'm ready. I'm ready Lord, whatever it may take.

"Miss," suddenly the doctor interrupted my conversation with God. "There's only one last possibility left."

That sentence changed the whole course of events. Before she knew what was happening, she was asked to bathe, sign tonnes of legal contracts and statements, renew and review her will for a possible last time, and donning a large white gown, she lay down on a large bed with rollers.

"You are a great lady, Miss Natasha." the doctor looked at her with great and yet, compassionate eyes. "Are you sure and ready to do this?"

She nodded her head confidently. This time, she knew well enough what she was going to do.

Before signing anything, she called her mother. "Nanny?"

"Hi darling.."

I'm just here to say that this will be the last time I'm talking to you, the last time that you will hear my voice, the last time that you will hear me alive, the last time that I will be hearing anything from you..

"I'm just here to say that Nanny, through the many many years, you have been the mother I needed, the lady that was always there for me, the father who taught me to be a lady and the person who has always supported me in all that I do. Thank you and I love you.."

"Is everything ok Tash?"

She never did answer that question, before she burst into another round of tears she quickly slammed the phone. That was the last thing she wanted her nanny to hear before she left this world for good. She didn't want people to worry about her, she didn't want people to mourn or beg her not to do anything stupid.

It was a choice she made. Not for anyone, not for God, but for him.

The man who was ready to die for her without asking for anything in return. For the man who loved her with every little thing that she had.

And she decided, that for him to live would be better for her to live. It was pointless for her to live on with a problem while her problem would become a solution to others. She wanted him to have what she had that could keep him alive.

And she decided, that she will take to the knife. She will let the doctors take her heart, and give it to him.

As she was wheeled into the operation theatre. The anasthesist asked her one last time, "Miss Natasha, beyond this point there is no turning back. This prosedure is irreversible and once you've been put to sleep, you will last for as long as this anasthesia last. Are you ready?"

"Go ahead. Just do it."

As the anasthesist inserted the anasthesia into her, she breathed in deeply. Lord, will I be seeing you soon?

No Tash, not so soon. Why not?

She thought she could see God smiling at her. She never knew why, but what she saw was a doctor running into the operation theatre with a little glass thing in his hands. She could see his name tag bearing the name 'Freezer' through the translucent surgical gown. He pushed the nurses who were getting Tash ready for operation and mumbled some medical terms to the doctor who was about to perform the prosedure. She thought she heard the nurses letting out a laugh and a cheer and she thought she could make out a smile carved on all of their faces from behind their masks.

"What's going on?" she could feel the strain of the anasthesia on her. She was quickly dozing off and falling into a deep sleep.

"Miss Natasha, you are not going to die. For both you and Joash, you will live and be great. You are going to be history."

And true enough, she closed her eyes, never knowing that what was beyond that point of time, what was installed for her after she open her eyes into a new realm would be history.