Home Where My
Cross Is
Brief statement:
In this revised piece, I’ve removed insignificant characters (my other five
close friends) so that the reader of this piece will see the closeness between
me and my best friend, Ivy. I also cut out a few short scenes: the oil poured
onto the woman’s head as a blessing in the “Music All The Way” section and the
blindfold game and the praise-and-worship session in the “Seekers of God”
section. I’ve also changed the last section into a short scene that happen a
few days ago because it relates to this piece.
Matthew 16:24~ Then Jesus said to His disciples, If
anyone wants to come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross
and follow Me.
Methodist (2003)
A lady with long wavy curls stood at the center of a hall
and held both hands in the air. The hums of chatter were broken by the sound of
a Yamaha grand piano in the corner. The church pianist pressed the black and
white keys with graceful hands. As a couple more chords were played, we began
to sing a Chinese hymn. The audience in the hall stared at a hundred Girls’
Brigade members that were lined up in four rows. Even though we had rehearsed
for only six Sundays and Captain Kiu Leh Eng knew that we would nail our
performance, I was worried that I would let out a parrot squawk. I looked at
the conductor who was gesturing her hands in a triangular pattern. Luckily, I
didn’t mess up with one single note.
The Girls’ Brigade is an international organization for
girls ages six to twenty one to gather in their respective groups and to do
various activities together to serve God. It’s like a combination of Sunday
school and Girls’ Scouts. We would meet up in Shern En Methodist church
to sing Christian rock songs, have bible studies, do either arts & crafts
or cooking, and have drill practice.
After the people applauded, I followed my row off the stage
and to the bench at the back. My father, who saved a seat for me, had an
I-enjoy-your-performance smile on his square-shaped face. I smiled back and
lifted my Girls’ Brigade blue cap off my head. Dad fished in his sand-coloured
trousers pocket and took out a five ringgit dollar bill. At first I thought it
was my pocket money to buy myself a treat later, but to my dismay, he dropped
it into a small red bag which was passed from the front row. Aww man...I want Paddle Pop rainbow
ice cream! The bag was then
passed around to the rest of the people before handing it to the usher. The
usher, who waited at the end of the bench, brought the bag to the stage where a
pastor collected bags from five other ushers.
The church I now go to teaches me that presenting donation
to church is supposed to be a secret. This means that we are to slip our
donation into a big wooden box called the “offering box”. We are to write the
amount an envelope without any other saints knowing like casting ballots. I
guess giving donation in public may be not too comfortable for some people.
Change of Heart
2000-2005
My sisters saw me as the apple of my dad’s eye because I
was the firstborn in the family. Dad would buy me new clothes from his business
trips to Kuala Lumpur. Whenever my two younger sisters, Megan and Maureen, were
near him, they were given a hawk’s fiery glare. However, he also had a Mr. Hyde
in his soul. He argued with my mother several times about issues that I had no
clue about as an elementary school kid. He also pulled my earlobes with strong
fingers whenever I slammed the door of my room with a BANG. I wanted to shrink
into the size of an ant when his tall frame overshadowed my little, skinny
figure. We were told a hundred times not to close the doors harshly, but I
ignored that rule every time I was in a bad temper.
2008
Dad’s harsh attitude began to subside once he moved to
Solomon Island to work in a logging company. He survived a mini series of
typhoons and earthquakes, and he experienced the diminishing sight of luxury
(such as food and shelter). I didn’t know much about how he lived there. He would
return to Malaysia for at least two weeks of vacation, and what surprised me
was a bible he carried with him. It was the size of an Oxford dictionary, and
it was shielded by a dark pink leather book cover. For the first time in my
life, I saw rays of peace glowing on his face. Ever since he read this new
favourite book, he looked as if his heart was singing.
Dad was baptized in his hometown, Sarawak. He was twelve at
that time. I didn’t know how he got baptized. Did he have his head sprinkled
with tiny droplets, or his whole body soaked into a full tub of water?
He even stopped going to Shern En Methodist church and
tagged us along to Mom’s church instead. He began to learn a deeper and clearer
meaning of the bible. I wonder how and why did he come across to this?
Christians Ahoy! (2009)
August 30
“Ivy! It’s
good to see you again!” A cute-looking guy with beach blond hair grinned. “Ben!
It’s been a while!” My best friend smiled in return.
I paid the cashier for a Jonas Brothers CD which I was
dying for called It’s About
Time. Turning around, I watched like a puzzled child as the two hugged. The
warm breeze that afternoon flipped my hair off my shoulders that messed up with
my fringe. While the two long-time-no-see friends talked so cheerfully, I was
being the quiet, reserved me, watching waves crashing against the
steadily-anchored ship. MV Doulos was known as the world’s oldest family
passenger ship and was popular for its huge bookstore. People from all over the
city would crowd in the narrow mazes of wooden bookshelves. Under the
florescent cylinders, various readers would bury their noses in the teen
novels, leisure guide books, and spiritual memoirs from church pastors. I
remembered buying a girls handbook and a Disney colouring book for my youngest
sister, Mona. The first time I visited MV Doulos was four years before, but I
couldn’t remember that day.
Ivy’s naturally wavy hair flapped gently against the wind.
She saw me standing a couple of feet from them,
“Oh! Ben, this is Michele. She’s a friend of mine.”
Ben flashed a friendly smile as he shook my hand. His palm
was warm; he probably had just finished his afternoon shift at the bookstore.
That was my first time meeting a blue-eyed guy face to face, and I couldn’t be
happier if he became my first Caucasian friend.
At first I thought that we were there to just say hi to
Ivy’s old friend, but it turned out that Ben was giving us a special treat. He
led us to a door of the ship and pulled it open by pressing a metal knob down. Whoa! What is this place? He then handed us guest passes
with blue lanyards.
“Come on! I’m giving you a tour around the lounge deck,”
Ben said.
Ivy and I followed him down a stair tower that shortly
revealed a long narrow corridor. There were doors to cabins on both sides of
the corridor; portraits and photographs that were framed in embroidery-like
gold were hung on the empty walls. After scanning through several of them, I
never knew that the ship was a place for Christians all over the world to
volunteer for charities and to share their joy and love to God.
We were about to
head to the staff cafeteria while suddenly a buff-looking, 40-ish years ship
officer stopped us like a policeman who was arresting a gang of pickpockets. He
handed me my name pass, which I must have dropped somewhere during the tour.
Ben gave a chuckle. My face went cherry red. I tried to laugh it off or say
something, but I chickened out.
September 5
The sky was bejeweled obsidian as a cluster of
milk-coloured stars beckoned to earth. Dad dropped me, Ivy, and my second
youngest sister Maureen at the entrance of a pier. We then climbed up the
portable stairs that led up to the ship’s deck.
“There you are!” Ben’s charming South African accent caught
my attention, “Come on!”
He closed the door of the stair tower behind us; the
chatters that created a night market atmosphere faded to silence. Ivy fished in
her white, square handbag and took out a small glass bottle filled with little
paper stars. The craft itself made the bottle looked like a magic charm for a
girl who believed in fairy tales. She looked at me with excitement in her eyes,
signaling me to take out a birthday card I made from my rectangular, black
purse. It was a light green A4 paper folded in half with glitter-gel letters
written on the front. I had added one of my favourite bible verses in it that
said:
Matthew 22:37~And He said to him, “You shall love the Lord
your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.”
“Happy birthday, Ben!” both of us chirped.
Maureen, whose ends of her shoulder-length hair sat on her
yellow shirt, stood beside me with a confused look on her face, but she played
along by sharing a smile. The 21stbirthday guy showed a five-second
stare and received them gleefully. I remember him saying “thank you” twice.
There was a mini concert in a medium-sized room in the
lounge deck downstairs. It was mostly dark with several stage lights shone on a
small stage. I could hear the clinking sounds of plates and cutlery; the guests
must have had dinner. The seats were completely taken, so we had to watch from
the back of the room. We weren’t there for too long though. The only
performance I could remember was this Indian man who played a tabla, a
medium-sized drum made out of goatskin.
We then had a little prayer by the windows of the deck.
This kind of prayer was different from the ones I did in my mother’s church.
Throughout my childhood, I was told to say Jesus’ name at least three times
first before voicing out my requests to Him. This is to draw our attention to God.
In this small circle, Ben took the lead by asking God to send His angels to
guard us from threat in life. The prayer went smoothly until Ivy’s black Sony
Ericson phone suddenly cried out the first few guitar chords of Linkin Park’s New Divide (also known as the theme song of a
Transformers movie). Ivy immediately dashed to a far corner to answer it. Her
cheeks were red with embarrassment, but it looked like Ben just shrugged it
off. He continued praying in a calm and peaceful tone.
Maureen helped take a memorable photo of myself, Ivy, and
Ben together. I also would never forget my first and last hug from him. It
stayed in my mind like forever.
Music All The Way (2010)
I started listening to modern music when I first listened
to the radio in Grade 9 (Form 3) art class back in 2008. When I heard Beyonce’s Irreplaceable, I became intrigued about the
upcoming songs. And after planting a new seed of loving pop and rock music (and
country, I prefer Taylor Swift and Rascal Flatts), I was introduced to K-pop
and J-pop by Ivy. Until now, I’m not really a fan of Asian music, but to be
frank, I still have the song Run
Devil Run by Girls’
Generation and Sorry Sorry by Super Junior on my Samsung
Galaxy.
I also sometimes listened to Christian rock, which was banned from my church
because the saints believed that this type of music was not holy. I think it’s
because hymns are the only books that However, I can tell that by the joyous
expressions on my friends’ faces after a church concert, Christian rock is a
special kind of music that gets today’s generation to absorb the lyrics and
worship God.
One Sunday, my black jeans burned from the vicious heat of
the morning sun. Ivy’s father steered the wheel of his automobile before he
stopped at the entrance of Calvary Charismatic Centre, the church Ivy’s family
went to. Her mother, who was a slim woman with thin black curls, took us
through the big blue doors and into a gigantic hall. The clapping and
energy-bursting atmosphere reminded me of my past years at my father’s
Methodist church. I didn’t go there anymore because I had quit the Girls’
Brigade a few years ago, and I didn’t feel like returning to the
Mandarin-speaking environment. The language somehow sickened me.
After the praise and worship session, we were greeted by a
small group of children. They had cute caps in their heads and microphones in
their hands. Above them was a projector screen which displayed a music video called
“Tell the Word that Jesus Lives”. I couldn’t resist on how adorable the kids
were. They were jumping in precise tempo of the song and three older girls who
took the lead twirled their fingers in a circular motion.
The rest of the morning was dominated by a priest giving a
super long speech. That was when Ivy and I “escaped” away like thieves breaking
into a house. We walked to an empty room where I supposed was for Grade One or
Two kids. There were chairs stacked up at the corners and four bulletin boards
full of drawings were on the walls. Ivy coolly took out her phone, played Run Devil Run in a 70% volume, and showed me some
“sick” hip hop moves. I liked when the movement of her black Converse merged to
the rhythm.
Seekers of God (2010)
My six close friends were in a day camp organized by our
school’s Christian club (also known as The Seekers). Apart from five of us who
were Christian girls, Haznol was a Muslim. His Muslim teacher had no clue that
he joined us. It was a bold move that he came (well who would want to reject an
invitation to a fun day camp?), yet the entire gang was there and we enjoyed
one another’s company that entire afternoon.
Two teachers who were also in charge of the school’s
Christian club called Seekers’ Club did a thing that surprised me completely.
The students stepped forward and closer to each other like Christmas trees on
sale, except me and Haznol who stood at the back to watch. It looked like they
were praying silently. Their eyes were sealed shut as if their minds were transferred
to fantasyland. Some bowed their head down; some had their hands raised with
palms facing upwards. The teachers, as spiritual healers (a trained Christian
who passes God’s healing energy to a recipient), then would go round each of
them to chant prayers.
When Miss Rosaline, the female teacher with olive-coloured
skin and curly hair, placed her hand on Ivy’s shoulders, I was worried on what
was going to happen to her. Suddenly, her body dropped like a chopped tree. I
literally screamed her name in shock. Luckily she was supported by the teacher
and Brenda, a friend of mine before they landed her gently on the carpet floor.
That was my first time seeing spiritual healing and I was
confused why I hadn’t seen this kind of activity in Mom’s church or Dad’s
former church. Frankly, I found this a bit too much. I believed that God was
the only doctor who could heal any spiritual disease, not a normal person. I’ve
never heard of this term “spiritual disease” but I think it’s like unwanted
attitudes like ignorance and short temper.
We spent the next one and a half hour getting our hands
full with buckets of water balloons. The solar bauble in the cloudless sky
radiated its heat. We were outside of the white-walled and red-roofed Christian
Centre, all dry and stinky with perspiration. Suddenly, a water balloon was
thrown onto a boy’s shoulder like a bombshell. Rainbow arcs of little,
heavy inflatable balls shot here and there like silent flying grenades in World
War I. Everyone in the battlefield seemed to have strong biceps that allowed
them to aim straight at their targets. I guessed I was the only weakling there
because every time I tried to throw at a person, the balloons just wouldn’t
explode. Are you kidding me,
dear muscles?
As I was about to aim at a girl who was “stranded” in a
corner, I could feel my blue and white PE shirt becoming soggy. Ivy, being
sneaky and playful as ever, splashed a bucket of mini tsunami all over me. Now
that I try not to laugh too loud about it, her “bull’s eye” moment reminds me
of my 17th birthday
party in 2010 when she smudged cake icing on my right cheek. I have to say, she
definitely had some mischievous pranks hidden in her pockets. Speaking of
pranks, my math teacher, Mr. Kenneth splashed another bucket of water while I was
shielding my face with my hands. He wore a cheeky grin on his tanned face and
the eyes gleamed with victory through his black-rimmed spectacles.
Inspiration to My Teacher (2012)
I was back in my hometown for the summer. Ivy slept over at
my three-storey house one night, and on the next day, we got ourselves ready to
go to this church called Grace Chapel. Our dear Ms. Chu Siew Mei invited us
over for a special outreach and she would be sharing a testimony to her fellow
Christians that Sunday. My current church allows short testimonies only, and we
are given a time limit of a minute or two to share in front of the other
saints, so listening to a long testimony should be interesting.
My favourite gal drove us to a small town called Kingfisher
Park at around 8am. Before we settled in her shiny black car, she warned me not
to wear too much jewelry. She was like a mother in our clique, by the way. She
always made sure that we were doing things the right way and coming to our
respective homes safe, especially me who sometimes did things out of control.
One time, she was a little freaked out when I accidentally swiveled the wheel
of her car into a dangerously sharp turn that caused the front bumper to knock
against a young tree. She calmly advised me not to turn the wheel too
fast. The bumper was fine, thank goodness.
The church was located at the top floor of a white
building. We managed to arrive there just in time and drank a small cup of
bitter yellow wine served by the ushers. At that hour, Ms.Chu captured everyone’s
hearts with her bittersweet story about her late father who had a tough
childhood and sacrificed so much for the family. She told about her dad getting
beaten by a couple of Indonesians and worked hard in a poor-paying job to make
ends meet. I tried not to cry. She had a stoic look on her face, but
through a deep shade of pain in her brown eyes, I could tell that she was being
strong and proud of her father.
We all applauded when she finished her testimony. It had
definitely inspired me to appreciate the life I live in and I was blessed to
have her as my teacher back in secondary school. She encouraged me to never
stop writing and loved seeing me contributing some of my works to the annual
school magazine. The last writing I submitted was a poem about memories in the
eyes of a typical student, and I couldn’t thank her enough for publishing it at
the back of Lok Yuk’s Hornbill magazine in 2012.
A copy of the
magazine lays in front of me,
My fingers
quickly run through the pages,
A film of
flashbacks swirls around my mind,
The nostalgic
moments I recall.
The field,
Where I used to
play with my friends,
And cheered for
my respective team in sport events,
The hall,
Where I followed
the boredom of assembly,
Yet loved the
occasions and performances,
The laboratories
and classrooms,
Where I gained a
wide galaxy of knowledge,
And learned the
oath of responsibility and discipline.
The principal,
Who ensured that
the whole institution,
Was all safe and
sound,
The teachers,
Who casted a large
elbow grease,
On teaching us
throughout the years,
The classmates,
Who reached out
my paralyzed heart and healed it,
Giving me a
cluster of love and joy.
Overall,
The school has
given me hope,
To keep dreaming
for the future,
It gives me
courage,
To strife for
the better,
But most of all,
It creates
illusions in my life to remember what I've been through back then,
So here's a last
message for you,
Thank you,
Lok Yuk.
There were many ex-students who were talented writers, and
I was honoured that she chose me. Even though I don’t have a copy of it, I
still can picture my last poem that I shared to the school is enjoyed by the
current students.
My Cross in My Church (2014)
April 6
My family and I (except my father who was still overseas)
were in Kyle Centre for Lord’s Day that morning. A priest shared the story of
Abraham and Lot in the book of Genesis that got me thinking of my father. When
he said that Abraham had successfully “brought back Lot his brother” (Genesis
14:1) after a tough war with his enemies, it made me realize that through
prayer, we can bring a person to where he belongs or to a new beginning. Lot
reminds me of my father who escapes from the Methodist church just to have a
time out from God, but after working overseas, he has come to our church (The
Church in Coquitlam, it’s what we call ourselves as) with his bible in
his hands like a precious diamond. I’ve prayed for years about Dad joining this
church group, and eventually he comes forth with a new profound love to God.
I guess the reason why I have found my church today is
because of the Bible. It contains a long series of footnotes printed at the bottom
of the pages to give clear explanations of the bible verses. Matthew 16:24 is a
verse that stands out to me because it makes me realize that not only I, as an
individual, have to seek God, but I also need a group of companions to “take up
[my] cross and follow [Christ]”. That group of companions is the saints who
take my family in as if we’re long lost members of a household. There are no
complicated practices like spiritual healing or presenting offerings in public,
but just a community who simply loves the Lord.
This is where I place my cross, a spiritual refuge I
call…home.
