I reminded myself at the end of last year to make this year worth every second, of every minute of every day, without regret, without shame and everything with honor and passion for what has been planned by Him for me.

As the year came and the first month passed…it felted like I’ve never left for the “new year”. It looks bland; it looks like I am making every mistake that I have wished to correct.

I try every inch to be in that “Zone” of doing things right. To make Him proud of me, to make something out of this clay I am in.

I wonder why sometimes, the only way to disappoint Him is the things which I have control over but let it control me instead.

Stumbling right into the pit which i know, has been there and been warned.

As I was “talking” to Him in the midst of shame, not sure if I should even begin because of all the pain that I must have caused Him. I silent myself and just ponder on how far He has taken me.

How things that were vague, clear.

How things that were naïve, matured.

As I wallow in the wrongs I’ve been repeatedly doing and wonder if I’ll repeat it soon enough…I am disappointed in unintentionally taking His grace for granted. When it happens I wonder will this stumbling ever end.

Washing me whiter than snow, I never want the sheets to be torn.

Help me Lord, to make you proud of me every time you see me from above.

In this world I should never blame because you have set me apart and it takes me with You and Your ways…I will learn.

Help me as I seek to please You.

Forgive me when I stain this heart of mine. Make me pure again.

As I experience another night I dread having (last night)

I “mourn” for things I don’t know. Things I wish came, and for the dreams that are so alive in me yet (still) out of sight.
It feels like I was living in the vagueness of serenity and the need to be somewhere else, somewhere where reality doesn’t need me to wait any longer.
Nothing in particular was bothering me; I just have seasonal nights like these. It definitely sounded as emo as it was but I got out of it a couple of hours because dwelling too long in it isn’t the sanest thing to do.

I didn’t have a “direct” conversation (with God) last night about it while it was happening and I never doubt He was there.

I just wanted it (time) to pass, for morning to come and for the night to slip away as I slept.

It did, I woke up forgetting it ever happen and as I flipped the bible just now, this passage stopped my track. I think I got what the whole emo night was all about when it reminded me about “Time”, Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Ecclesiastes 3
"Everything Has Its Time"
1 To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven:
2 A time to be born, And a time to die; A time to plant, And a time to pluck what is planted;
3 A time to kill, And a time to heal; A time to break down, And a time to build up;
4 A time to weep, And a time to laugh; A time to mourn, And a time to dance;
5 A time to cast away stones, And a time to gather stones; A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
6 A time to gain, And a time to lose; A time to keep, And a time to throw away;
7 A time to tear, And a time to sew; A time to keep silence, And a time to speak;
8 A time to love, And a time to hate; A time of war, And a time of peace.

I sleep in late when I am supposed to help with chores, I lose my temper and patience quite easily, I procrastinate doing assignments and I used to bully my younger brother something awful up till recently. Since I am now 21 and am recognized as legally emancipated, I deign it is high time I grow up and behave accordingly--but that doesn’t mean I don’t slip in the occasional thumping/name-calling if he gets on my nerves, but that’s what siblings are for, no?

My point is, I do not believe I possess any truly outstanding characteristics that differentiate me from the madding crowd. However, I do credit myself with having a sense of natural justice and altruism that has been cultivated from a very young age; yet I never took any steps in this direction till recently.

I give most of the credit to my university lecturers and the amazing, inspired young people I have met in the course of my work as a journalist. Their rhetoric, clear explanations of social injustices and encouragement to question ‘the system’ enabled me to truly think about the way things are. Yet, I give myself the bulk of the credit for acting on my impulses and taking the plunge into this arena of altruism.

 For many years I have envied the passion and drive behind the work of social activists, and rallied behind their causes (mainly with lip-service), but I never saw myself as one of ‘them’. I shied away from joining causes I vehemently believed in, namely child and women’s rights, always putting myself down saying I had no time and nothing to contribute; I was of the opinion that only a certain ‘calibre’ of folk could be activists.

But meeting real activists out there changed all this. As I got to know them better, I discovered that they are mere humans too. Perhaps this sounds very obvious, but this realization only dawned recently, and I am confident in saying that many others out there probably think the same: that activists out there are truly exceptional beings, different from the rest of us.

Truth be told, and at the risk of offending some people, they are not, really. They too succumb to bouts of bitchiness and irritability; they too make mistakes and can exhibit selfish tendencies. But what they do have is the commitment to band together for a cause bigger than what they are; they work to inspire the public and mobilize them to create awareness and take action against painfully visible injustices.

Sadly, many times their pleas and work fall on deaf ears, or are greeted by apathetic attitudes. It is painful, having one’s efforts met by blank stares, and often we end up preaching to the converted. Perhaps it is the manner in which they speak, or their choice of words, but in the end I believe that their intentions are good, and merely require a few moments of one’s time, and an open mind to receive and question their rhetoric.

The causes closest to my heart are, as I have mentioned, working with children and women. Much as we tell ourselves that we live in a gender-equal world, the realities are not so. Women and children are still exploited for labour and sex slavery, and many others are still denied their rights to education and equal pay.

From a sympathizer of these causes, I am proud to say now that I am an activist, and I am not looking back. I embrace this new role with as much grace as I can muster; no mean feat considering I also have to juggle my studies, part-time work and pull my weight at home with chores and my share of dinner-making.

I am still in the early stages of activism; there is still so much I do not know. There have been many times where I feel I am at a disadvantage because I am still ignorant towards many issues, but I doubt that anyone can hold this against me as long as I display a willingness to learn.

Please do not feel any admiration for me, for I feel I do not really deserve it; there are others out there far worthier. I only use these points to illustrate my argument: that within every person lies the power and passion to want to make this world a better place. Activism is a long, hard road that very rarely brings with it immediate success and acclamation, but no doubt it also brings with it great satisfaction when goals are achieved and dreams are lived.

Activism is not for everyone, granted. But it is for the person who longs for changes in the world; it is for dreamers who can take action, for idealists who know when to snap back into reality, and for those who love, who can take hate and transform it into positive energy.

I sincerely hope all you dreamers, idealists and lovers are aware of the hidden powers you possess. Have confidence, dear hearts, you can make a difference.

It isn’t easy working towards a goal/ a dream when it seems like time is catching up and drowning every part of excitement/hope. As pay cheques and other types of “security blanket” are starting to set foot on my doorway, I am worried that one day, my “dreams” would never come true, as promptly as I have nonchalantly planned.

I met a score of people that threw their dreams while working towards it. Reality, as they said had their dreams on hold and commitments took them (dreams) away.

As they say, visionaries “believe to see and not see to believe”. Countless times, the risk of achieving the many things in life is the risk itself. We calculate with adding, subtracting and dividing all the possibilities of failing to only be afraid of the answers.

So let not your age hold you from what you’ve been longing to do. Don’t let circumstances manipulate your dreams. I am no different than all of you that have dreamt dreams. Let’s be conquerors and start possessing it because every step we take will lead us closer to it.

I am there at a point of waiting, yearning and yielding. I am not at the most comfortable stage in my life- where I feel like I am not taken seriously, where I am not given a chance that I think I should be getting, where I am brush off and my work, is not flying like how a bird should be.

I know it’s a matter of TIME when this phase will pass and how “Well” I am going to score after overcoming it. But, I can’t help being human while I am at it.

I believe in God, and I believe in his promises that He will make me “The head and not the tail” and His plans that are way beyond what I can dream of dreaming and plans to prosper me and not to harm me.

I believe that what I have now in my pocket full of day dreams are the small bite size clues and treats for the near future ahead. I believe that as long as I hold on to His promises, I will be fine even when the world throws darts at me.

I am in need at this moment; I am distress thinking of how things right now are seemingly not looking my way.

For all my vague dreams that kept me going, the little surprises that seems so unrealistic. I know He is going to make something so wonderful and big. I know I am going to get to that vague “somewhere” and I know, I am definitely made for more than THIS.  

It’s just the little times, that little enemy inside, the little distraction that pulls me down.

I know I will be fine, though I really feel like breaking down.

Its times like this Lord, I remember that i am not in this highway, alone.

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2 I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven. Whether it was in the body or out of the body I do not know—God knows. 3 And I know that this man—whether in the body or apart from the body I do not know, but God knows— 4 was caught up to paradise. He heard inexpressible things, things that man is not permitted to tell. 5 I will boast about a man like that, but I will not boast about myself, except about my weaknesses. 6 Even if I should choose to boast, I would not be a fool, because I would be speaking the truth. But I refrain, so no one will think more of me than is warranted by what I do or say.

But every once in a while, even I need time off me. So, every fortnight, I volunteer at a children’s shelter in Petaling Jaya, a suburb about half an hour’s drive from mine, with three other extraordinary young women. Together we brainstorm over sessions, delegate tasks and manage logistics, even conducting post-mortems after each session thanks to the meticulous nature of one of the volunteers.

My reasons for this are not entirely altruistic. I recently experienced a spiritual epiphany, a culmination of all sorts of signs I have been receiving, that it is my destiny to work with children. I need them to heal me as much as they need the guidance and attention of a quasi-adult such as myself, so together we grow and learn from each other. It is a beautiful relationship nurtured with laughter and an enchanting sense of wonderment that only children have; one that we adults are so quick to quell when it surfaces, at the risk of coming across as juvenile.

I look forward to these sessions. We often meet in advance to plan out our allocated 2.5 hours with the children, who range from ages 3 to 11. There are about 14 of them in total at this shelter. I remember clearly the first time I met these children, all from a minority ethnic group here in Malaysia, rushing up to us with large shiny eyes eager to be our friends. I recall the jumble of names, the quick unabashed hugs, them tugging on our arms to get our attention.

We do art therapy with the children; sometimes it really is art, at other times it’s just plain old silliness which they enjoy a great deal. We’ve taught them dances they remember the steps to weeks after; calling out for us to watch them as they clumsily trip the steps out with the widest grins on their faces.

We teach them basic yoga poses, we talk about our feelings, tell them about our personal life and listen as they slowly reveal more of themselves to us. And each week, we all fall a little more in love with these children, with their luminous eyes and hearts so much bigger than their scrawny bodies.

Things are not always sunshine and roses; however. As mere volunteers, it pains us, me, when I see one of the children in distress and know there is naught I can do. At the last session I attended, one of the older girls who was previously very boisterous, was subdued. She sat quietly, making roses from the block of plasticine we gave her, and gave us many, many hugs when it came for time for us to leave. My heart clenched in pain as I hugged her goodbye, praying she could find it in her heart to confide to someone else if not one of us as to what was troubling her so.

Another girl complained of a pain in her arm, but at the concerned questioning of another volunteer and myself, she fixed a huge grin on her face and told us she was only pulling our legs. After us chiding her, she leapt off to frolic with the other children; but I kept my eye on her and saw that her arm really was causing her discomfort. She never admitted to it hurting, and I did not push her limits. To persist that she was in pain, and demand why would mean that I did not trust her; to simply ignore it would mean I am not being a responsible adult. And with a fragile, ad hoc relationship such as ours, trust is an invaluable thing we build carefully with gentle fingertips and a heart full of love.

I think of these children separated from their families because they cannot afford to keep them, or because they are abused by a parent or older relative, and it breaks my heart. Because we are too aware of their backgrounds, we also find it hard saying ‘no’ to them even at times when they severely try our patience.

It is the guilt of the conscientious middle-class, I suppose, to feel the shame of having grown up with so much for ourselves in comparison to these children who have to share everything they have. They test our boundaries and we let them, because we are so aware of their lack in comparison to our surplus, and in a way I suppose we further contribute to the chasm—social, ethnic, linguistic-- that lies between us.

But to me, my weekends with them is more than me merely feeling sorry for them and wanting to be seen as a noble person, for I am far from this. I too succumb to bad moods, bitchiness, and indulge in gossip, narcissism and materialism—but for these few precious hours I become more than all this. I become someone they look up to and cajole for attention; I am their ‘akak’ (big sister) and I am their friend.

These children, who have yet to find out so much about the world around them, have no idea what a valuable lesson they teach me every time I see them. I feel humbled and blessed to be who I am, and to forget my problems for a moment and concentrate on just being.

I pray everyone has such an opportunity to find someone, or a cause, to complete them as much as this fulfills me. For I know when I have a child in my lap, gurgling in a language that is as familiar as it is alien, and another presenting me with a drawing ‘for you lah, akak’, I know to them I am so much more than who I really am.

It is truly a beautiful experience. And to think, I am blessed enough to experience this little slice of heaven at least once a fortnight.