The Lord is my Stronghold 

Took me awhile to finally find the time to blog about this.

So on new year's eve last year, I finally received my college results.

I have to admit, taking pure science plus a higher level math paper in an eight-month accelerated
 pre-university program was no joke. And because I took an Australian program, I had to learn to deal with something that was very much novel to me- assignments.

My eight-month journey was an extremely tedious one. Mainly because I had to get used to things that I didn't have to contend with in the past such as working in groups, balancing assignments and exams, and last but not least, learning to stand up to people who just wanted to bring me down. 

Nonetheless, since this post is supposed to be about being thankful for my blessings, I shan't dwell on the negatives.

Tonight, I just wanna thank the Lord for guiding me through my pre-university journey. Because it was such a short one, I was more focused on getting through rather than getting there. This is of course against my usual mantra because I used to be all about goals.

Looking back, I realized I did not have an aim, let alone set standards. Every paper I sat for, every assignment I handed in, I didn't set a target score for myself. I just told myself to 'do my very best'. So on result day, I honestly did not know what to expect. I was in the office and upon learning that the WACE (a worldwide Australian examination that I sat for) results were released, I nervously logged onto the official website. I wouldn't say my heart was pounding. In fact other than being a lil nervous, I felt completely numb. Like I didn't know what to feel. I remember mumbling "Jesus, I trust in You" before clicking on the link which would open up my result slip. And there it was. Stamped in large bold red fonts were figures that immediately caused a large idiotic grin to break out across my face. I grabbed my phone and immediately informed my parents of the good news.

And then finally, I let out a huge sigh. Of relief, of happiness. It finally hit me. The burden I had been carrying around all these while since my 'fall' in high school. That burning need for redemption, to prove to myself that it was possible for me to rise again... to give myself a second chance. It felt as if a boulder was lifted off my shoulders.

A week or two later, I learnt that I made the top scholars list. No one in college knew of my past, that dark stage in my life which I had been struggling to free myself from. On the day of the award ceremony, it may have appeared as though I was just another high achiever going onto stage to receive my award. But as I made my way onto the stage that day, all that I had been through the past two years flashed through my thoughts. My battle with bipolar, how my disorder caused my whole life to crumble, how I struggled with a broken life, nights I cried myself to sleep and prayed that I be set free from all the pain that I was going through, nights I willed myself not to end my own life, those helpless times when the only solace I could get was by trying to convince myself that someday I will see that light at the end of the tunnel....

And then I shook hands with the directors, turned around and smiled for the camera.

Thank You Lord,

 for the strength to endure hardships;

for the grace to overcome challenges. 

You are my rock and my fortress,

You are my friend, my comforter. 

Thank you for loving me

ever so perfectly. 

The End Is Just Another Beginning 

I feel so extremely blessed.

Blessed not because I was given a perfect life. Blessed because I have come to realize that it is the imperfections that make up the blessings I am endowed with today.

It hit me that many people my age have probably only spent most of their lives chasing after their degrees and education thus far. But as for me because of all the bends in the road I encountered, I have inadvertently done more than just getting myself an education.

To recount, I worked as a teacher and business administrator, tried my hand at modelling, made short films (not a very pleasant experience but still it was an experience) and also just very recently got a job as a writer in an advertising firm. I definitely had a peep into the working world and had a taste of life in the workforce. And allow me to briefly take pride in the fact that despite having done all these, I only recently turned 19.

Here's a breakdown of what I learned from some of the jobs:

Teacher:

It is so easy to wish our teachers on Teacher's Day throughout our years of schooling, but how many of us actually mean it from the bottom of our hearts when we wish our teachers? Be it your favorite English teacher or that rather dull History teacher you had to put up with in class, everyone one of them has had invested a certain degree of effort and dedication to help you build your future.

I remember harboring an extremely profound respect for my Bahasa Malaysia teacher in Form 4. Somehow I always had a flair for language subjects but I studied only for the sake of acing papers. Not only did this particular teacher make me fall in love with the language, he also made me fall in love with the profession of teaching. I simply cannot put into words how much he impacted my life, but I knew that whatever he did actually drove me to consider a job in education. And so after form 5, I decided to teach.

And I have to say, nothing I'd done till then was as gratifying as teaching. To be able to stand in front of my students (whom I affectionately and also secretly regarded as my 'kids') during each lesson and pass on whatever knowledge I had... It brought me immense satisfaction. To be given the opportunity to educate, enlighten and nurture a human being was an extremely humbling experience.

Business admin:

Although this job didn't give me any sort of 'nirvana' moment or epiphany whatsoever, I definitely learned a whole lot from it. It gave me exposure in the media and entertainment industry. There, I learned that people wore masks. I also learned to be resourceful and to persevere through trying times. I met a handful of good people, but I also had to learn how to put up with the not-so-nice ones.

Copywriter:

Just to make it clear, a copywriter does not copy people's writings. Neither has it got anything to do with copyrights. A copywriter writes (yes, original writings). Everything you see on advertisements (be it above or below the line), brochures and even brand labels are done by copywriters. To simply put it, it is the writing part of advertising. And we are called copywriters because the work/writings we produce are formally referred to as copies in the industry. It is the same like asking someone to present a copy of their essay. It doesn't mean that the person copied someone's essay. It is just a copy of their original work.

Sighs, I don't even know where to start. But I am eternally grateful for being given this job and I feel extremely extremely extremely blessed that I had such a superb opportunity. Technically, I got this job, without a degree whatsoever, in a full- fledged advertising firm. It was handed to me on a platter, or it felt that way at least. When I was called in for the interview everything still felt so surreal. "This is not happening," I kept telling myself. "It can't be. Dreams don't fall from the sky and come true so easily."

It wasn't until the first day of work that it actually hit me. I was shown to my desk in the creative studio and it wasn't long before I was assigned with work. The first task I was given was to write a mall newsletter. Honestly, I didn't actually think I was going to be taking on real jobs and they probably only wanted to do a 'test run'. I finished writing my copies and showed my work to the creative director. Soon I found myself sitting down at the discussion table with creative designers and realized that whatever I wrote was going to be in the actual newsletter. Then it finally sank in: I was doing real work.

I spent the next few weeks working on press ads, writing up corporate and property brochures, pitching names for upcoming developments, writing scenes for TV commercials etc. I gained so much insight in this industry and learned the nuts and bolts of advertising. I definitely took away more than what I expected to.

The most important thing I learned, however, was none other than how much I love love love to write. People asked me why I didn't want a career in writing. My answer to that was that my passion for writing may be dampened if it becomes a task and there are deadlines to meet. But I was so so wrong. I found so much joy in writing, and knowing that my writings would actually do justice to someone or something out there gave me even more of a drive to write. Besides, how often it is that career and passion come together for most people?

I've left my job to pursue a degree in law. I have to say, I left it with a heavy heart. But that being said, I somehow know deep in my heart that my job as a writer was just the very beginning.

Not About The Fall 

Watched this video during my free time in the office this morning. At first I was apathetic towards the video, though I knew that it was a hypothetically touching one. However, I did somewhat take notice of the verse "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" at the end of the video, but quickly dismissed it from mind and continued with work. It was a common verse, often used for encouragement but it's been awhile since I actually encouraged myself to do anything worthy of mentioning since I lost everything back in form 5.

I guess more than enough time has passed that there are days I didn't look back on my past that often anymore. Sometimes I'm simply too busy toiling through the present and being anxious about the future. There was a period of time where not a day went by that I don't dwell on my past depression and how much it affected my grades and my life. The mean things people said about me behind my back, the tears, the scars, the nightmares, the failures, the let downs, the frustrations and disappointments... Everyday I found myself wishing that there was a reboot button to start over, to erase the mess I was in. The day I saw my life come crashing down was also the day I knew I had lost everything that was once important to me. And when everyone else moved on with their lives I was still unconsciously stuck in the past. I took half a year off college, and then another half...

So as I was going about my work today I received a call from a college mate.

"Congratulations, Hei Zel! You made it to the top scholars list!"

I froze for a moment, struggling to register what she just said. Top? I'd never been top of anything since my depression.

"Uhm, what?" I asked stupidly.

"Finals!"

"Oh right. Yeah, yeah.. Uhm thanks, I guess..." I laughed nervously. I had already received my results about a week ago. I was happy with what I achieved. But never did I put it that way.. top.. I didn't belong to that category since I lost my grades.

After hanging up I re-watched the video and felt my body grow weak. If I were standing I'd probably had fallen to my knees. It didn't occur to me how far I've come. Having fallen from such a long distance, struggling to pick myself up and actually standing back up like today...

For all the times I allowed doubt and fear to blind me from walking in faith, for all the times I questioned the presence of God in my life, for all the times I cried in frustration when I thought He wasn't there... I had never been more wrong. 

有些事我只想要對你說，因你比任何人都愛我；
痛苦從眼中流下，我知道你為我擦。
在早晨我也要來對你說，主耶穌今天我為你活；
所需要的力量你天天賜給我，你恩典夠我用。

Thank you, Lord, for all the trials that come my way.
It was never about the fall. It was always about You. 

My Infinite Blessings 

Just a short update.

I've always wanted to be a published writer. But luck never seemed to be in my favour. Growing up I could never find a suitable avenue to propel me towards what I wanted. My work hardly ever took off and is usually confined to the margins of my blog and the pages of my diary. My biggest achievements as a writer are probably just winning essay writing competitions, getting my work published in school magazines, earning a position as Head of Language Department in the school editorial board... and uhm receiving accolades from my teachers throughout my years of schooling.

With college and university getting in the way, I honestly thought my dreams of becoming a writer were going out the window. I was already starting to counsel myself, "Okay, so it's time to contend with the fact that you will never become a writer. It's not happening."

I remember applying to be a writer at several magazine publication companies as young as the age of 15. But no one took me seriously. I tried again once this year. But who would want to hire an undergrad who is without a degree and working experience in this field?

I decided to forego my initial plan to pursue an MBBS, because I felt that I had a calling do something else. Also, I wanted to be financially independent as soon as possible. And I don't want to spend 10 years studying only to spend more time working after that. I do have a passion for medicine, but I just didn't think it was worth it. So after thorough consideration, I decided to do law.

I have more or less a month and a half to kill before I commence uni. So I wanted to take this time off to work. I called up 10 law firms to see if I could work as an apprentice, just to make sure I knew what I was in for. 8 of them rejected me. One told me to leave my contact and another told me to e- mail them my CV. But judging from the statistics I was ready to give up all hope of gaining a position. I e- mailed them my CV anyway, just for the sake of telling myself, "Well, at least you tried albeit not having such luck."

I e- mailed a magazine company as well, giving writing one last try. But alas, I didn't even receive a reply.

Frustrated I was. I was ready to give up hopes on getting a job and probably just spend my holidays reading and taking up a hobby and probably shooting another short film.

And then God worked miracles.

A job literally landed on my lap. And not just any job. But a job as a writer. An advertising firm called me in for an interview, which eventually earned me a position as a copywriter in their firm. I was beyond elated. And as if that wasn't good enough, five minutes after the interview, a law firm, which I e- mailed my CV to, called me and was really keen on hiring me as an apprentice.

It was an honour receiving offers from both firms. And as much as I wanted both jobs, I couldn't silent out that voice in my heart. I had to go for the copywriting job no matter what. Besides, I will be working in a law firm for the rest of my life after I graduate. And opportunities to be a writer don't come by often. And so without thinking twice I accepted the offer at the advertising firm.

Such blessings can only come from the Lord Himself.

I have to admit though that I was really nervous on the first day of work. Qualms of not being good enough for the job and the fear of messing up momentarily paralysed me. Also I was daunted by the thought of being thrown with too much work and that I'd end up doing more than what I signed up for like what happened with my previous job, where I was only supposed to handle the administration aspects but somehow ended up balancing accounts as well.

So I've just finished my first task, and I must say this is a very fulfilling job. To see my copies (or writings- in layman's term) being brought to the table for the art directors and creative directors to process brings me a kind of satisfaction that mere words cannot express. And not to mention that nod of approval from my superior after perusing my work, that "yes, this it good" as he hands me back my copy... I think I finally understand what they mean when they tell you to "do what you love."

Because this is really what I truly love. With every fibre of my being. Writing is my passion. My art. My craft. My element. Writing helps me view this world differently. I like how writing brings life to my world and to the world around me.

I may still be far from publishing novels. But I promised myself that I will eventually get there. I'll walk into bookstores and see my works being displayed on the shelves. I want my writings to touch souls, to give voice to the voiceless. Someday, I'll write to change this world.

Midnight Meanderings  This room feels so fucking empty.  Sometimes I hate how there is so much space in my room. Being the elder child in the family, I was given the second biggest room in the house when I first saw it back when I was eight. Even then, I don't remember it being this big. I had asked for the walls to be painted pink in order to fit the 'princess- themed' room I was going to design, complete with white furnishings and other girly decor. But heck, it didn't occur to me that I was going to grow up. I used to have a princess- themed dresser and a matching princess-y bedspread. I got rid of them as I grew up, but I'm still stuck with the pink walls and that butterfly border which seems to compliment it so nicely. Or maybe it doesn't. Maybe I just got too used to looking at it.  I hate space. For quite some time half my room had been left empty. And that wasn't because I meant to leave it that way, but simply because I couldn't find anything else to fill in the space. My dresser, wardrobe, nightstand, single bed, study table and bookshelf only take up half my room space- amazingly, leaving the other half of the room virtually redundant.  Two years ago when my depression became so bad I started to develop a fear of having too much space. Because all that space in my room only seemed to serve as a painful reminder of that void which grew inside me. I somehow equated the space in my room to the emptiness I felt in life. So that was how my furniture- moving habit started. Every once in awhile I would find myself moving the furniture in my room in a futile attempt to 'fully utilize room space.' I rearranged my furniture in such a way that my bed was at one end of the room and my study area all the way to the other end. That way, I figured that I would be using up all the room space available since I had to walk from my bed to my study table each day, leaving no space uncharted. But I forgot that between my bed and my study area was also space. I hadn't managed to fill in the space, I only managed to displace it by shifting things around. The amount of space remained the same. And somehow it was worse that way because it was space which I had to walk through in order to cross the room each day. So I moved my things back to their original positions and started to buy things to fill in the space instead, since moving things around was to no avail. The room became less barren after that, but the fact that I still wasn't utilizing half the room got to me.  Some of my friends started to sleepover because they wanted to look after me when I was ill. Although I appreciated the gesture but I wasn't really into sleepovers. I said yes to all the sleepover suggestions anyways, not because I wanted their company but because I realized that having another person in the room would mean that the space would be taken up. Not completely, but almost all. It was better than nothing. Having a friend over for the night would mean that I had to pull out a mattress next to my bed where the space usually was. But I started to realize that my friends had their own lives to live and I couldn't always have sleepovers with them just so that they could fill up the space in my room. And I also learned that friends come and go. So even on non- sleepover nights I left the mattress next to my bed. That way it would feel as though all the space was used up.  Even until today I still leave a mattress next to my bed. I don't have sleepovers anymore because there is simply just hardly any time for it. And friends come and go so there is no point for sleepovers. I can't seem to wrap my head around the fact that I could have friends sleeping next to me for a whole night only to wake up one day and realize that they are gone from my life forever. The mattress however, remains faithful. So I'd rather have an empty mattress lying next to me every night than a friend who can't even promise to be there for my todays, tomorrows and forever. A friend who might leave me one day and walk away from the friendship as though it meant nothing.  I still couldn't decide what to do with the rest of the space in the room. So I decided to throw in some random things. My plushie and a bean bag sit in one corner. I left an unfinished puzzle piece and my guitar by the wall. A pile of clothes I threw out towers next to my guitar and a handful of soft toys litters the ground. They may seem like random pieces of articles lying around, but I see a significance in each one of them. The puzzle piece for example, represents the current phase of life I am going through. I have so many goals and dreams yet to be put together, and until I put them together my life isn't complete, just like the puzzle piece. My guitar has been left untouched ever since I had that dream of fighting with an ex lover. Subsequently I also dreamt that one of the strings snapped and cut my finger. It was a deep cut and I couldn't stop the bleeding. It was an odd dream but I'm pretty sure it meant something. There was just too much fights going on and we were just unhappy. So the string snapped and that was that. What broke is already broken and it was time to put the guitar away. Of course now when I look at my guitar I am reminded of someone else who just recently came into my life. He is an amazing and talented person and I like how I swell with this warm mushy feeling just by thinking about him. But I have qualms about giving my heart away so easily again.  So I pretty much filled up all that unwanted space in my room now. Earlier I fell asleep reading and had a dream of someone stroking my head telling me 'Everything is going to be fine.' I stirred, wondering if it could be Mom. Of course not, my mother hasn't spoken to me in three days. And it has been two years since she came into my room to greet me with her morning kisses and it's been far too long since I had a normal mother- daughter conversation with her. Hot angry tears stung my eyes as I replayed the scenes from three weeks ago. I hated that I had a high fever at the dawn of mocks and yet she barely battered an eyelid when I meekly told her I didn't feel well. I hated that she didn't even look up from her phone when I told her I was feeling really cold and that I wanted to leave the mall as soon as possible. The tone of desperation in my voice grew as it became more apparent that my mother's phone was far more important than her daughter's well being at that moment. I hated how I woke up to an empty house two days later, feeling more sick than ever before and how I was already physically so weak and still had to drive myself to the clinic. I hated how I had to walk into the clinic all alone while willing myself not to throw up at the front desk. I hated how the nurses looked at me when they realized from my ID that I was barely nineteen, looking like I was on the verge of passing out and my parents were nowhere in sight. I hated the judgement they wore on their faces because the last thing I wanted was dive into self- pity. I hated how I had to undergo my first blood test all alone with no one familiar next to me, with no one to hold me and tell me 'This won't hurt a lot.' Because the truth was that it hurt a whole damn fucking lot. And I am not talking about how the doctor had to jab me four times because he couldn't find my veins from my forearm and ended up drawing blood from my fragile wrist. The wrist I used to cut and mutilate when I had shit moments like this. It hurt a whole damn fucking lot to know that at my lowest points like this, there was no one I could turn to at all, not even my own parents. The world suddenly became such a bleak and sordid world and I saw myself shrinking in it. I hated how I tried to put up a strong front in the clinic the whole morning, only to find myself quietly breaking down in the waiting room after the shock of everything had passed.  No wonder my room feels so fucking empty. Because everything else in my life is just as hollow and empty, too. I had nothing to hold on to in the very first place. All the things I chose to fill the empty space in my room with are only a reminder of broken dreams and empty promises. 

Dimples. 

We all know what dimples are- natural indentations in the flesh most commonly found on a person's cheeks. Dimples are usually regarded as 'aesthetically pleasing' physical traits that an individual may be blessed with. 

I guess I fall into that category of 'blessed individuals' as I myself am bestowed with a pair of somewhat prominent dimples on either sides of my cheeks. Growing up, I have always been told that I have a pair of really 'nice and sweet' dimples. More often than not, my dimples seem to be the one physical attribute that strike others and appeal to them more than any other aspect of my physique. Out of every 10 people I meet 8 would make a statement about my dimples and at least 1 would ask if he/ she could touch them, which would then render me helpless as I am left to feel like some kind of rare museum artifact. At times when I introduce myself to people, they would casually chirp 'I will remember you for those dimples!' 

But there are also those awkward occasions when people ask me why I have dimples. 

'Was it caused by any injury?' 

'Did you fall?' 

'Why are there holes in your face?'

'Is there something wrong with your face?' 

Granted, I feel like grabbing these people who hurl such ridiculous questions at me by the shoulders and giving them a good shake. 'I don't know! Why don't you ask God?!' 

Nonetheless, these questions also provoked a thought in me. Why do some people have dimples, exactly? All my life I took my dimples for granted, giving pre- programmed replies to compliments pertaining to my dimples and casually dismissing awkward questions regarding them... I look in the mirror and I see those indentations appearing when I smile, bite my lower lip or make certain facial expressions. But because they were always there on my face, I'd never once stopped to ponder upon them. 

So what are dimples exactly? Well, if you look at it from a medical/ anatomical point of view, dimples are actually a form of hereditary muscular deficiency. Yes, that's right. In other words, people with dimples have muscles which are in a way, retarded. It's a paradox, isn't it? A characteristic that the world recognizes as appealing is actually caused by some form of physical deformity. 

I remember the month of June and July passing by in a blur of events. Tests, lab assessments, assignments, exams and student council responsibilities came one after another. Just as I completed one task and thought I could finally catch my breath, something else came along and knocked me off my ground again. For a very long time I couldn't seem to find my centre of gravity. For two whole months it felt as though I was walking on a tight rope. I struggled to find my balance, and with each grueling step I took I was filled with the apprehension of falling off and losing my game altogether. 

Somewhere in the middle of July I thought I'd had enough. One day, at the end of a lengthy day's of classes, I absent mindedly blurted out, 'I think I'm at my breaking point.' 

A college mate of mine asked, 'What's wrong?' 

'Everything.' 

She looked appalled. 

'What?' I asked, scrutinizing her expression. 

'I never expected that to come from someone like you.'

'What do you mean?' I asked, slightly annoyed as I started to pack my bag. 

'I don't know...' She glanced at me. 'What does a girl like you have to worry about?' 

I frowned at her, utterly perplexed. 'What are you talking about? Everyone has problems.' 

'Yeah but not people like you!' 

'What?' I asked again, barely suppressing my incredulousness this time. 'People like me?'

'Yeah. People like you. People who have everything they want and who get everything they want! You look like the kind of girl who has everything already!' 

I couldn't decide if that was a compliment or a blatant offense. But whatever it was, I instantly became disinterested in continuing the conversation. 

'That's not true...' I murmured under my breath, to no one in particular.

'I mean you look so happy and cheerful all the time,' she sputtered, flailing her arms in the air. 'It's like you have the world in your hands!' 

In one spontaneous action, I pulled down the sleeve of my cardigan to conceal the scar on the my left forearm. 

All of a sudden, those dimples on my cheeks made perfect sense. When I smile, all the world sees is a 'pretty little feature' plastered onto my face. But what they fail to notice is that underneath that feature which is deemed attractive lies a somewhat physical defect. I felt momentarily saddened by this very much uncalled for realization. This was probably why no one took me seriously when I fell ill two years back. Everyone probably thought I was just going through a phase or worse, pulling off a stunt for attention. 

Her words stayed with me for the rest of the day. As I drove home in the rush hour traffic, our conversation kept resonating through my mind, replaying itself like a broken tape until I felt sick of it. It made me recall the very first day of college when someone came up to me and said, 'I'm surprised you are so friendly. You look like some popular kid so I thought you would turn out to be a snob.' And just very recently I even found out through word of mouth that some girl in college has been spreading rumors about me, calling me a 'rich, spoilt brat with issues.' I'm not too sure about the first two adjectives but I do have to agree with the latter. But if she meant 'issues' in the context of bad girl all- night- partying, late- night- drinking and weed- smoking kind of issues then I will have to beg to differ. I later found out that she has been lying to the whole world about her family wealth and goodness knows what else. So I guess the fact that she feels the need to lie about me and her life like that goes to show that she is the one with more serious issues between the both of us. Anyways, forgive and forget. Love thy neighbors and turn your other cheek. People like her just need more love to help them get through their problems, no? 

A sudden change in perspective then hit me. Perhaps my dimples aren't just masquerades to my weaknesses. Maybe there was something more to them. Sure, I can come off as a little bit too strong at times. And that strength can be easily misinterpreted as arrogance. I try so hard to hold myself together when having to contend with a personal issue, so much so that I subconsciously start to build this wall around me to guard myself.  I refuse to let anyone see past that wall of faux strength I have constructed, so afraid that if that wall crumbles, everything that's left of me might crumble along as well. 

Perhaps my dimples are there to show the world that despite my weaknesses and imperfections, I am still capable of smiling. It is somewhat akin to the Kintsugi analogy I drew in my previous post. 'Our scars, like the cracks in the bowls, only make us more beautiful.' My dimples are nothing but a form of muscular defect. If anything, it should be a sign of weakness. Yet, the world sees it in a positive light, a supposed feature of beauty. 

"The strongest people out there, the ones who laugh the hardest with a genuine smile, those are the people who fought the toughest battles because they've decided that they're not going to let anything hold them down.'' 

The above is an excerpt of a Tumblr quote I found sometime back for encouragement. Today, I realize that I've become one of those people, or am working towards it at least. I never realized that I was capable of being happy despite my internal struggles until my college mate pointed that out. 

And no, it isn't necessarily the people who hold the world in their hands who are the happiest. I believe that the happiest people out there are those who have already learned that worldly things can never begin to satisfy them. Back in the past, I always relied on retail therapy or a good ol' mani pedi self- pampering session to alleviate emotional distress. But those alternatives could only do so much. As of today, nothing beats spiritual fulfillment like some good ol' quiet time spent with the Lord, praying the rosary and carving out time for silent adoration at SFX after classes.

I may not have the world in my hands, but I'd like to strive to be like that homeless child on the street who has nothing, but yet whose eyes hold the world simply because she has Christ in her. 

'Strip me of everything, for I will never know what I am truly made of until I am broken.'

The Lost Journal (Part 1)

College is stressful beyond stressful. Homework, assignments and exams are piling up. On top of that, I have an unending list of meetings and events to attend. So far I already have 3 meetings and 1 event scheduled this week. And it's only Tuesday. Help.

I have this odd habit of cleaning my room whenever the stress level starts skyrocketing. Funny how I can't even be bothered with clearing my desk when I have all the time in the world, but when time becomes a rare and precious commodity, I start doing unimportant and mundane things like cleaning my room. But then again, it's probably a subconscious form of therapy for me. Or in other words, procrastination. Ahem. I digress.

So I spent my Sunday morning cleaning my room, reorganizing stuff and clearing out old things. Sitting snugly in a corner of one of my drawers (one which I hadn't opened in aeons) was an old familiar journal of mine which I kept during the early years of my teen hood. I could feel my heart stop for a split second as I caught sight of its familiar floral- printed cover peeping through the frame of the box which housed it. It must have been at least 3 years since I touched this journal, heck I'd even completely forgotten about its existence! The box had a lock on it. I couldn't find the key to it so I ended up ripping the box and just within seconds, I had my old journal in my hands again. It was a very weird yet fascinating feeling, I must say. It was weird to know that the contents of the book lying in my very hands at that very moment contained fragments of my life, pieces of my past. Everything that once broke me, made me, defined me were all written and inscribed into the pages of the very book I was holding.

Slowly, I turned the cover to reveal the first page of my journal.

" 3.1.2007

Dear Diary, .... "

As though it were all a normal reflex response, I slammed the journal shut and gasped.

And then it struck me.

This journal also held the story of my pre- depression life.

I held my breath as I felt my heart swell with pain. My heart was in my throat and I could feel tears welling in my eyes. Suddenly, the world no longer made sense. This shouldn't be happening, I told myself. The journal shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have found it. The past should remain in the past. I shouldn't want to be reminded of something so painful.

Quickly, I chucked the now seemingly diabolical journal back into the drawer where I found it. It was there all these years, unfound and untouched. And that's exactly how my past should remain. Unfound, untouched and hopefully one day, forgotten.

I slammed the drawer shut and walked towards my bed, somewhat traumatized by the uncalled for discovery of my old journal. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring off into space. Once again I felt that black hole sucking me in as I started to revisit memories of my painful past. Stop, stop it, I told myself. No more dwelling on the past.

I was just about to walk out of my room when I found myself turning around and walking towards the drawer. I changed my mind. If I wanted to stop hurting, if I wanted to get to the bottom of all this, I should muster the courage and be brave enough to face my past for once, after all these years. That journal could possibly contain all the answers I had been asking myself ever since the day I was diagnosed. Questions like what triggered the depression, the events leading up to it, how did it all start... Everything I'd been aching to know for so long could be all found in this journal.

Slowly, I reached for the handle of the drawer and retrieved my old journal.

P.S.: I am segregating this post into parts due to time constraint. I now have a 2 hour meeting to sit through and an exam to prepare for tomorrow. Oh boy, I hope I survive.