In Great Grandpa's Hometown

My heavy eyelids flickered open due to the bright morning sunlight. All I could remember was the two delayed flights from Changi Airport in Singapore and that super late night in…a tour bus. All seats in the bus were filled with my family and a number of relatives. My grandparents sat at the very front row, followed by 6 families, including mine. It passed by rows of little shops and passers-by stared at us like as if we were aliens from the moon. Shortly, the bus stopped in front of a wide path. There were two lines of women dressed in white and pink at both sides of the road. Question marks floated in my head as I stumbled out of the bus and stretched my arms and legs after a long ride from the Fu Zhou airport. Suddenly, the women played cymbals, drums, and other musical instruments you can find in a Chinese orchestra. The traditional red firecrackers that cracked and bombed like rockets nearly made the eardrum in both of my ears to explode. I even had to stay away from those flickering sparks so that I won’t get hurt. Grandpa strutted forward and the rest of us followed. He reminded me of Simba who made his way up Pride Rock for the first time. Every step he made on the concrete road left the villagers breathless. They clapped and cheered triumphantly for his arrival. Or should I say his return. I was surprised by his youthful way of walking without a single complaint of having aching limbs. Due to his nutritious diet of raw corn and vegetables, he lived the life of an average adult. The thin, silver strands of his hair let out a sheen, and the bald circle at the centre of his head glowed like a golden Olympic trophy. Grandpa led us through a large gate to a two-courtyard house. A crowd of Grandpa’s relatives and friends gave a round of applause to us as we walked by. Even though I didn’t speak my family dialect which was Foochow, I was sure that they were greeting us warmly like VIP. In those 10 minutes, perspiration dripped on my forehead and soaked at the back of my favorite red collar shirt because of the massive blazing sun above the cloudless sky. I wished I could just dash back to the bus to cool myself under the air-conditioner.

            After the welcoming ceremony, we were given a tour around the humongous house. We stepped on the floor that was made of hardened mud. The walls were made of bricks and the buildings were supported by timber pillars. My father, who was a Chinese history enthusiast, said with his dark brown eyes sparkled like a child, “Did you know that this house was built for over 100 years and it was lived by 4 generations?” That explained the number of bedrooms which were locked up. Each bedroom belonged to the families of Grandpa’s relatives. As I peeked through the doors of my great grandfather’s room, it was dark and quiet with the

furniture all tidy and untouched. It was like as if the room was sacred. I imagine myself breaking in the room when Great Grandpa’s spirit approached from nowhere and haunt me. I immediately shook away the thought and followed my family to the huge open air kitchen. Of course it wasn’t an ordinary kitchen like the ones we have. All the chopping and the cooking were held in this big courtyard, and a number of Chinese maids worked together to prepare a huge feast for us guests. Instead of a modern electric stove, they used rocket stoves made of

bricks to steam up food stored in big wooden pots. I wasn’t quite sure how it worked. All I knew was the chefs lit up fire at the bottom of a tall enclosed square. At the front corner of the kitchen was a long table of raw ingredients. A line of maids sliced a bunch of leafy vegetables, meat, and seafood with sharp knives that glistened like knights’ swords in the sunlight.

            A grumble of ultimate hunger roared from my stomach. I was looking forward to lunch, for I didn’t eat much during the long flight. We were led to a renovated dining room with, finally, electric ceiling fans. The 40 degrees summer heat was so intense that I could feel my skin burning like a vampire’s. I sank on one of the chairs in relief and allowed a fan above to cool me down. As I looked around, 5 big, round dining tables were arranged with 8 chairs surrounding each of them. Each table was covered with a red tablecloth, and a couple of

bottled drinks stood at the centre. My family and relatives sat around and chatted while waited eagerly for food to be served. I curiously took one of the bottles from my table and read the label that said “Peanuts Milk”. That was the first time I encountered such a drink. How in the world you could ever make milk out of peanuts? I literally drank a small cup of it; it tasted surprisingly good, kind of like soy bean milk or roasted milk tea. 10 minutes later, a line of maids marched through the door with plates of food - lobsters, shrimps, crabs that were slashed into halves, little snails, oysters, steamed pork, fried noodles…. There were like more than 10 courses that I

didn’t feel like taking photos of every single dish.

            Feeling bloated, we took a walk outside of the courtyard house. Grandpa took the lead as we strolled down a run-down neighborhood. The homes were made of wood, and the road was deserted. No children came out to play, for I was certain that it was too hot to stay outdoors. I spotted one or two small houses made entirely of brown mud. We finally stopped in front of a grey-painted church. A silver cross stood tall and proud on top of the roof. A shiny blue and green window that was shaped like a big upside down “U” gleamed above the front doors like as if it signaled a message to God. Grandpa stood at the gate, facing us with a glint of excitement in

his dark brown eyes. “My father was baptized in this church.” he explained, “In fact, he was the first person in his family who became a Christian. He was inspired by the priest of this church. When his family found out about this, they opposed him for not worshipping their ancestors. He also cut his long ponytail off, which was a violation to the family’s norms.” He also led us for another 20 minutes to a yellowish-brown river. Grandpa gestured one wrinkled but firm hand to the east of the river. “My father rode a boat from here and escaped to Malaysia. That’s how we all end up living there.”

            That late afternoon, I was so relieved when I settled myself back in the cool-aired tour bus. Then, I realized why Grandpa arranged this trip for all of us. It was not just for the entire family to reunite that summer, but it was also to reveal his family history to us. The surroundings in that village were underdeveloped that it taught us that we should appreciate what we have today; a modern and comfortable life. The tour guide with her black hair tied up into a ponytail, stood beside the bus driver with a microphone in her right hand, “All right, folks! We’re now heading back to the hotel for you all to rewind and get ready for dinner tonight.” I leaned back on

my chair and took one last glance at the village. Drowsing myself back to Slumberland, I wonder whether there were more stories hidden in that place.

That Car Incident..(start of my memoir)

I don't know whether this is true or not, but my sister Megan and I had this vision of the time when we were little kids. Like toddler age. It was like in the afternoon and Megan, Manuel and I were in my mother's car (can't remember which one is it..the old white one or the red Toyata?). My mother was probably in the house. I was behind the wheel, Manuel was sitting next to me, and Megan was at the bottom of the driver's seat, ready to press the accelerator and the brake. I don't know why, but the key was in the ignition, and soon, we found ourselves rolling out of the porch of the house and down the hill..all by ourselves...in that car. And then I remember Mom came dashing off the door, chasing after us before we got killed.

I know this sounds crazy, but Megan and I has this same flashback. I don't know whether Manuel remember this till now. Megan told this story to Mom like a few times, but Mom didn't believe her. To be honest, I don't know whether this is entirely true. But the fact that Megan and I has this same picture of driving Mom's car all by ourselves...makes me think that maybe this isn't a dream. I'm pretty sure that I saw Mom chasing after us through the rear view mirror (or was it I turned my back?). Haha...anyway, I bet this story will be history in our childhood.

Apply God Into You

So as you know, I went for the Freshmen Barbeque event in Richmond church yesterday and it was awesome! That definitely refreshed me after stressing out for this mock trial tomorrow (Tuesday) and midterm this Thursday. 

Anyway, I get to meet some college saints I haven't met for a long time, including the Vancouver saints. First, we played team building games like "four-living creatures" and "scavenger hunt" and "charades". Then, we had an early dinner of burgers with BBQ'ed chicken and patties, broccoli lasagna, salad, chips, fruits, and egg tarts. Speaking of food, I was right when I gained a few more kilograms after eating a full plate plus the desserts... but hey, I should be blessed for having such good food prepared under God's grace. And finally, we sang hymns and listened to testimonies prepared by a few college students concerning the high school seniors who will be enrolling for college. They were pretty good. The serving brother Peter Wang also shared about having a source (supply), some companions, and a new one to look after. This is encouraged to all college students. 

I know I should have said something but here's what I would like to say to the high school seniors who will be going for college/university. Yes, college life is scary, but you just have to put your trust to the Lord and he will be your supply throughout the day. I used to have prayer meeting with two other sisters in Douglas College New West campus, but now I don't have companions in college and I have no idea where the two are now. But when I read the Holy Word for Morning Revival book every morning, I realize that I'm not alone, for God is always there right by my side. And every week, I'm concerned about my Creative Writing's Personal Narrative assignments that I fear about my peers' feedback. I always hope for perfection for my stories...I just have to turn back to the Lord and ask for his help in making my stories to be good enough and worth read. So don't forget to apply Lord Jesus to your studies, for he is your lifelong study buddy 

Portrait assignment "Love Letter of Encouragement" (Personal Narrative class)

A photograph stuck out from one of my diaries one evening. Oh! What a bittersweet memory it was back home in Malaysia! In the photograph, 40 students stood behind the doors of the school hall. We faced the camera with toothy smiles on our faces and two fingers raised up into peace signs. In the middle of the front row was a woman with long black hair and fair skin that glowed radiantly on her Chinese countenance. Behind those frameless spectacles was a pair of dark brown eyes that revealed friendliness to anyone. She wore a candy cane

striped shirt that matched her white-coloured maxi skirt, apart from myself and the rest of the class who wore secondary school uniforms.

My mind flashed back to a typical tenth grade school day. Ms. Chu Siew Mei entered through the door with her cherry-glossed lips stretched into a beautiful smile. Unlike any other teachers, she had this bright light of hope and determination. She helped each of us in the class to ace for exams and planted her seed of faith into us to grow fond in English. She did so by encouraging us to put more effort into essay writing. A few muscular boys followed behind her, carrying piles of essay samples for us to read. What surprised me was the energy, time, and heart she put so much into in helping each student to improve writing. 

Ms. Chu once gave the class a special assignment which I would never forget. “Here’s what I want you all to do.” she said, “First, take out a blank paper. Then, choose four or five persons you know in this room and write as many good points about him or her as you can. List down the things you like or at least you know about the people you choose. When you are done, fold your paper so that no one can take a peek at it and hand it to me. I’ll leave you all a surprise during our next class.”  The next day, she entered in the classroom with her high heels

clicked lightly on the concrete floor. She held a stack of yellow papers which were folded neatly in rectangles, in which she called them “love letters”. The papers were given to each of us respectively. As I unfolded mine, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A list of positive traits was written on it, such as “creative in writing stories”, “a good friend” ,and “trying hard to be more sociable”. The students who wrote those traits remained anonymous, but I believed that they were from friends who were being honest and respected me for who I was. The closing message at the bottom of the paper caught my attention the most. “You are made for great things and God

will help you to achieve it. Keep up the good value in you. Do open up to your close friends once in a while. May God continue to bless you with more talents and fulfill your heart desire.”  There was no other teacher in this universe who would give me such emboldening words. In that hot and stuffy classroom, all of us were filled with joy and our hearts were deeply touched by the positive, likeable things written on the papers. 

Stepping into the school last summer felt like home. A smile crept on my face once I sawher face in the teachers’ office. She didn't change much. Her smile was still as dazzling as ever. “You come all the way here to see me?” she smiled gratefully as she took the Canada keychain from my hands. I nodded in reply, agreeing to myself that there was no place like home. “Do tell me when your first book is published. I’ll definitely buy a copy.” Ms.Chu said, “You are indeed a talented writer, and I’m rooting for you.” Her last words echoed in my head as my eyes stared back at the “love letter”. Thanks to this treasure, I was reminded that I was not entirely alone. And thanks to Ms.Chu who was by far the greatest teacher on Earth, I had found a deeper passion in writing stories

my own way. 

Personal Narrative disadvantage

I woke up this morning with a smile. The song "Can't Take This Away" by David Choi became my theme song for the whole morning. Until then, I don't know whether the Personal Narrative course is the course for me. I plan to take the memoir writing course for my second year. And as you read my previous posts in this blog, I would like to give it a try because I like to write stories about my life and I love sharing to friends that I trust. The thing that bothers me is the workshops. In the Creative Writing courses I've taken, I struggle in trying to give comments to peers about their works. This is my last shot. If I didn't get at least a B in this course, I won't be able to get into the second year course I want. Sigh..I don't know...If I didn't achieve this, it's like the end of my dreams. I want to improve, but if I don't speak, I'll get screwed. Screw you, this incredibly verbal fear of mine. Every time I speak in front of new people, I stammer and try to collect myself to speak slowly and clearly.

I hope I can survive this term. Even though it's painful for me to speak long sentences, I have to try. It's the only way for me to get high grades. Sorry, antisocial, zip-the-mouth girl, I have to try. The assignments in this course look amazing. Writing a portrait (should I write about my best friend again? or maybe I should write about another person, but who is that other person who inspire me in my life?), a travel narrative(oo China! That could be a good one to write about!), a family incident (I can't seem to find a clear one, there were too many!), and a memoir chapter (cool! I could write about my bullied experience!). I know! It's like writing a autobiographic journal!

New Poem: Sakura

The breeze grow cold.
Rays of the summer's eye
illuminate the earth.

Warmth starts to swirl around,

awakening nature. 

Little buds pop on the tips of branches.

Then white or pink flowers 

spread petals wide and proud

as they breathe in the spring air.

Down the path,

the colourful trees will make your eyes sparkle

with wonder.

The breathtaking scenery doesn't stay much longer

for each petal will drop and sink,

allowing emerald leaves to sprout.

I wish the cherry blossoms can stay for a little longer

so that I can sit under its shade.

This creation comes and fades

like a morning star that appears 

for lucky early birds to see.

Sakura,

I'm begging you,

please let my eyes see

your beyond beauty

for a little longer.

Girls Brigade, should I visit?

I think I started joining the Girls Brigade back when I was primary 1 or 2 (7 or 8 years old). My father was the one who sent me there, to Shern En Methodist Church to join the Girls Brigade 5th company that represented Kota Kinabalu, Sabah, Malaysia. I remembered myself wearing that blue uniform, that red tie which I had trouble  in retying it all up, that blue hat that matched the uniform, that dress code of wearing white canvas shoes and socks that were not supposed to be above the ankles, those two shiny Girls Brigade badges, and last but not least, that black rectangular shape name tag. I also kind of remember the sewn award badges on the sleeves of the uniform. All those bible studies, all those praise and worship sessions, all those activities and events, they somehow just flashed in my head. I guess the thing I enjoyed the most was the camps, including international ones with other Girls Brigade company around the world, well some countries. Let's see, my first camp was at the church, and I still remember that I was praised by the officers for not being a crybaby and a complainer. Haha. And the annual church camps went on for a few years. Then there came the leadership camps, where I faced the harsh training of marching and learnt a lot of things about the Girls Brigade world, like how it all got started. The last Girls Brigade camp I went to was back in Sabah Tea Gardens. That was the camp with Girls Brigade Philippines and Singapore (I think). I have to admit, that was like the best Girls Brigade camp I had ever been to. Why? Because of the fun activities we did there, like the team-building games, the jungle-trekking, the tea fields night walk, and the camp fire time. That caused me to write an essay about a story in Sabah Tea Gardens back in Form 4.

Hmm...let's see. Any more Girls Brigade memories left in my mind? Oh yes! I remember I cried for not being selected to be in the marching competition. Oh gosh, that was embarrassing. I couldn't believe I cried just because I wasn't chosen. Lol. I think that was when I was...primary 4? or 5?

Girls Brigade somehow taught me how to cook new dishes, like the lasagne and the pineapple fried rice. Well right now I lose track of the recipes. XD And then there's the church choirs, the arts and crafts, the aerobics, the dancing, the games...The privilege of becoming the leader of a roll call group and the commander during the dismissals also got caught in my head. It just taught me not to be afraid when leading a large group of members.

There is still a lot more to remember about the Girls Brigade. I wonder where are all my Girls Brigade stuff now? Back in Malaysia? I believe so. Maybe...when I go back to kk, I'll find the time to visit the Girls Brigade company at the methodist church. I wonder whether the officers still remembers me...

Still stuck in the middle

Yup, the photo you see is another poem published at the back on Hornbill magazine. The magazine's theme last year is about memory and Pn. Chu (my English teacher back then) asked me to write a poem about my memories back in Lok Yuk. Now, I nearly forgot about it, until this morning I saw a notification on facebook that caught me awake at 6:30 am. It's a snapshot of the back of the magazine with my poem on it. This time, I notice the slight errors throughout this poem. Why do I think of this? Oh, that's it. It's because I've learnt to write proper poems. Ever since I'm in Douglas College, I struggle hard to write something that impress my instructor and my peers. And now that I have more knowledge on writing good poems, I've realized that I've reached the "western" level of writing. Now in playwriting class, I found myself struggling with character development, but someday I'll achieve that. 

Wow, college do give people to a challenge that no one can offer, and they can change a person's perspectives. I've published to my school and the Borneo Post (entire k.k), but what about the entire Malaysia? And then Canada, then the entire world. I'm still at the middle of the stairs. Hopefully I'll get to the next step. I've nearly forgotten what my aim of becoming a writer is, until this comes in. =)

Something more than that..

Looks like my posts are getting more personal, huh? I haven't see Loiuse recently. She's probably busy with her EASL classes. Yes, I'm still lonely. But that doesn't matter. I'm staying strong, but somehow the surface of my heart is scratched. In those quiet, stressful months, I waited for Ivy or any other friend back home to pop in online to chat. Unfortunately, nothing happened. I begin to have mood swings lately, and it's not due to menstruation. I have nightmares that I will lose my friends, and I have visions that will create sad stories of girls losing their old friends. I even have visions that true love can never happen, it's another story, I know everlasting romance don't exist in reality. Anyway, staring at a blank screen on Whatsapp on my phone just bothers me. I didn't know that loneliness could be this painful. Back when I was a kid, I've experienced loneliness, and I have no problem about it, well except the part of being bullied. But now...when it comes to being isolated, negative emotions just come to me, like a sword that is dragged straight through my chest. Loneliness also caused to lose faith. Realizing that there's no brother or sister in church who has the time to talk to me makes me think that God doesn't grant me company..or something.

Haha. I know I should have focused on my school work now. But here's what I think. A conversation has limits. Either short of long. You can't possibly have a 24-hours conversation with a person every single day, right? I wish this could happen, but there's no way I can stay awake all night to chat. We all have responsibilities, and it's hard for us to find spare time to keep in touch with our loved ones. When a word or a sign is given that symbolizes a conversation to be stopped, it kind of gives me a sad feeling that the dialogue is over. A conversation can be continued the next day, or another day. A conversation is..like a long line of boundaries. It's blocked by a gap of silence, and then it's continued by another wave. And when a conversation is stopped, I would feel like a friendship bond has been broken. We're not that close now, thanks to my separateness. I'm not happy of being all alone here, and the longer I've lived here, the more I realize that I've changed. I've become critical, especially in creative writing. I've turned back to the antisocial girl I once were. However, I voice out my opinions in class like once or twice every week, and sometimes I freeze for giving the wrong answer. Still, that's how a little confidence is built in me. I would eventually pretend that I'm wearing a mask so that no one can see my face, like in English class when I act out a scene while wearing a mask. You can't feel anything when you wear a mask. You will feel that you're a whole new person and your true self has become invisible. Amazing, isn't it? I want to change myself, but changing a big part of myself will cause trouble.

There's a lot I want to pour out from the deepest part of my heart here. I wonder when will a smile finally come to me.

Neglect, pain..is no more

Once you see the old photos of me having my first birthday party back when I was primary 5 or that the times when I put a fake smile on my face with my family, you never notice the unbearable negative feelings I had inside me. Back when I was in primary school, I may had made friends. But there's also Chinese boys who verbally abused me every day. A few teachers were strict to me, caning me and discouraging me in my weak progress. The only subject I was good at is the English language. Since I went to my mother's tuition centre for English tuition for many years, I was able to ace in all English exams. The other subjects were a total struggle to me, including math. They were all in Chinese, which was another problem for me. I went to numerous tuitions for the other Chinese-based subjects, and I received ear pulling, caning, harsh scolding punishments from the tutors. No one ever saw me cry in my room, absorbing my sorrow. As I grew older, I told myself that crying never solve anything. However, the bullying from the Chinese students tore my heart to bits day by day. I even told my parents about the bullying in class once, but even the solution of switching seats didn't work. I was tricked for going to the wrong class when I was primary 6, thanks to the heartless boys. The bullying once caused me to have revenge...on a boy in primary 5. It was terrifying. I still remember how the accident went. But I don't want to talk about it. I didn't tell anyone about this. Only the victim and the teacher knew. Revenge is definitely never the answer.

The bullying continued when I was in secondary school. New faces but the same methods of teasing me and mocking me behind my back. People said that I'm a quiet, shy, antisocial, innocent, fast-walking, skinny girl. As puberty reached, I began to have my appetite expanded and grew taller. However, I grew chubby. I was unable to keep my skinny figure right. My first crush happened when I was 13, and I couldn't believe I went gaga about this guy. An unforgettable, embarrassing incident happened when I purposely showed my diary to my Malay and Kadazan friends, and entries about my crush were written all over. He knew about it. That day onwards, I was made fun by them. I nearly gave up on finding another group of friends. When I was 14, the bullying grew worse than I ever imagined. I was blocked from going to my seat every recess by boys. I heard snickers behind my back about how weird I was. I got sick of being with the natives. The girls in tudungs and boys in songkoks. That's the time when I secretly plan to commit suicide. I struggled with the Malay language and other Malay-based subjects, and this caused me to lose strength even more. When family members started to call me fat, I shivered at the thought of pointing a knife to my chest or hanging myself around a cloth. I didn't feel like going back to school, but I was forced to go, and was smacked in the face by hurtful words.

When I was form 3 (grade 9), I groaned at another year of misery. However, I was wrong. One school day, a girl named Ivy came to me with an invitation to a sports event. It's more like a flag raising ceremony. I agreed to go, yet I was surprised to see someone who would bravely came to me. That day, I brought along my stories to work on in case I got bored. I was a dreamer, yet I didn't know why I still keep writing my imagination down on paper. Once the girl saw me writing a story, she got really interested and I borrowed her my story. She..loved it! I was surprised and happy to hear such praise for the first time. She then begged me to borrow her every single volume of the novel series I was writing. She became my very first fan. And this encouraged me to make a final decision in who I want to be. I want to become a writer. A famous writer who publishes books to the entire world. And I followed this big dream of mine. Ivy was kind enough to allow me to sit with her in every class. She also introduced me to a bunch of new friends. Eloise, Brenda, Vivian..We grew to become close friends. We had this texting "relationship" like every day after school and we shared our interest in a girl cartoon called "Winx Club". She even shared some of her ideas for my novel series. In my 4th and 5th years of secondary school, the friendship between myself and Ivy grew tighter than before. I liked being with my group of new friends. Haznol, Shirlie, and Paulette were included. They were all just..special and friendly and amazing. Ivy and I had our first sleepovers. We even had hangouts together in Sutera Harbour and malls. And whenever I was with Ivy, the bullying faded away like a click on a mouse. All the pain wrapped around in my heart were all gone. She became my biggest inspiration. A great influence in my first contact lenses, my first cell phone, my first skinny jeans. She would probably be the reason why my faith in God began to recover. The reason why I started to have strength grow in me once again. And..the reason why I began to smile.

The most unforgettable moment I could ever remember with my current and always best friend, Ivy, was when I bade farewell to her before I left to Canada for further studies. We had one last sleepover at my place, and one last hangout at Sutera Harbour with a few precious friends whom I never forget. Anyway, that very evening, when Ivy put her things in the trunk of her car, she came to give me a hug. I broke down and cried like a baby. She hugged me tighter like I'm a teddy bear and spoke comforting words to me. That moment seemed like forever. I made promises to her, that I'll smile even when things get tough, that I'll do my best in college, that I'll have the courage to speak, and that I'll have the time to keep in touch with her.

Not having Ivy around is like having pain coming back to me. But her videos posted on Facebook on my birthdays and the remaining messages she left in my inbox reminds me that she will always be by my side forever. I'm now here, in Coquitlam, British Columbia, Canada. I'm currently studying in Douglas College to get an associate of arts degree in Creative Writing before transferring to UBC. I have goals I want to achieve, and I hope my dear friends will have goals to achieve as well. I may still be alone, even though I have my family here with me, but I'll never be happier if Ivy and all my friends (Eloise, Brenda, Haznol, Paulette, Shirlie, Tess, Vanessa, Michelle John, Chaw, Kong, Charlene, Vivian, Isabelle, Chin...everyone) will someday soon pop in online and chat with me.