If they have had their way, I wouldn't have married you.

You walked me to my door. We said goodnight. You turned and left.

I entered the house and was surprised to see my mum waiting up for me.

"His sister called several times. She wants you to call her back by tonight."

I called. She told me to meet her the next morning at a park near my working place.

I went to the park, expecting to meet her alone.

She was not. Her boyfriend was with her.

He told me to sit.

"We have something to tell you!"

"WE?" I wondered aloud.

"What's this guy doing here? What has HE got to say to me?" my mind asked my heart.

"Something tells me we better be prepared for some nasty words coming..." my heart warned my mind.

She started weeping.
"Oh OH! Turning on the water works? Not a good sign! What's up? What's coming my way?"
Alarm bells starting ringing in my head.

"I've got to tell you this...but I didn't know how to...that's why he is here...to help me ...to lend me courage, so that I could tell you that..."

Ahem...PAUSE....CLEARING OF THROAT...LONGER PAUSE...

"Oh! Come on! Let's get this over with! Let it out! Let it all out! WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO SAY?" both my head and my heart were screaming at her.

"Well...I've to tell you that...
my mum doesn't like you
my dad doesn't approve of my brother's going out with you
my sisters are feeling antagonistic towards you...they feel jealous that my brother is giving you so much attention...you see, they're very close to my brother, especially my second sister...she's the closest to my brother...she's very possessive over my brother
my grandmother is so upset about you and my brother...she's turned to finding consolation in smoking...she's coughing a lot lately...her health is deteriorating
I think you'd better stop going out with my brother
stop pursuing this relationship
stop dating him
stop encouraging him to date you
stop going out with him
I want you to promise that you would stop seeing my brother

And another thing...
I want you to promise never to tell my brother about our meeting today

SILENCE

A thousand questions raced through my mind.

"How am I supposed to respond to something like that?
"Can I help it if you've already decided that you're not going to like me?"
"Why? They haven't even met me...how could they be so sure that they were not going to like me?"
"How well do you people know me?"
"What right do they have to say that they did not like me when they haven't even met me?"

"What have I done that they should reject me like that?"

Darts came flying at me! REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION REJECTION

AHEM

"Ah...how shall I make this clear to you..."

"No, no...you don't need to make things any clearer...I know what you are saying.

But I think you've got to get something straight...I was not the one who initiated this. Your brother likes me. He called me up to ask me out. I accepted. Since then, we've been going out for quite some time now. We enjoy each other's company. We have become the best of friends...soul mates, almost. I know your brother wants us to be special friends. I like him a lot too. If your brother asks me out again, I am inclined to accept.

As to whether or not your brother would continue to date me, you should be asking him about it. I think you need to have a heart-to-heart talk with your brother to ask him what he wants and if he is willing to stop pursuing this relationship.

I cannot promise you anything.
I'm sorry you and your family feel this way about me.
I will not promise you anything.
All that you've just told me...you'll have to make your brother understand what you want.
I cannot help in any way."


That night, you called. I asked if you had had a good talk with your sister. You sounded perplexed. You sensed something was amissed.

"...a good talk with my sister? What about?"

"I think we need to talk."

We met. I told you about that morning's meeting at the park. You said you were sorry that I was subjected to something unpleasant like that. Then you tried to persuade me to consider things from your point of view.

"If you didn't like me...or if you had decided to end this relationship because you did not want it to carry on...I would be sad, very, very sad, but I would still respect your decision and accept it.

But if, despite the fact that you like me and are happy when we are together, you decide to walk away from this relationship and reject me simply because of what some other people want, or because of what some third party said, I think you're not being fair to me.

Am I not to be taken into consideration? Is my feeling not important? Are my wishes not significant in this whole matter? Do I not have a right to choose who I want to date and who I would like to have for my girlfriend?

My feelings for you...do you not care? All those wonderful, happy moments we have shared...do they not mean anything to you? Do you not treasure them? Can you just drop everything and walk away just like that? Do you not love me? Do you not care about me? Do you really want to sacrifice our relationship, our happiness? Are you not short-changing yourself and me?"

"Let me think...let me consider...let me have some time to consider this whole matter."

I finally decided that you are are right.

If ever I let go of this relationship, it should be because I've decided that you are not the one for me.

If ever I turned you away, it should be because I did not want to be with you. But that is not true. I love you. I treasure our relationship. I enjoy every moment I spend with you. I appreciate you! I admire and respect you, a lot.

I shall not be intimidated!

"Let's face this together.

Let's show them that we really are serious about each other...about this relationship.

Let's help them learn to accept this relationship...to accept you.

Let's help them realise that they are being possessive...and that they cannot go on being like that...they cannot cling on to me forever.

Let's help them realise that sooner or later they will have to let go of me. I will always be their son, their brother...but some day I'll also be someone's husband.

Give me time to help them realise that my being someone's boyfriend would never cause me to stop being their son and their brother. They've got to realise that.

Please give them time.

Give me time to help them understand.

Don't give up now...please?"

I shall not give up.

I will be courageous.

Yes, I will face this together with you.

I will embark on this journey with you.

It's been more than 20 years now. We're still in this together.

They've accepted me now.

They love me as their own. They look up to me and turn to me for company, for advice and counsel, for words of encouragement, and for words of comfort. They seek out my companionship. They seek my opinion and my views. They look to me for help in matters big and small. They relate to me as they would to you.

You managed to convince them that, no matter what, they will always have you for a son, and a brother. They 've also realised that they've gotten themselves a bonus too...now they have another "daughter", and another "sister" as well. They've nothing to lose!

A Mother's Devotion

In hospital, with my cleft palate and cleft lip, I was unable to suckle at my mother's breast. Mum had to give me formula milk. Even then, I was unable to suck the rubber teat of the milk bottle.

Undeterred, Mum started to feed me formula milk...spoonful by spoonful. It took her hours to feed me and by the time I finished one bottle, it was almost time for the next feed!

I had to stay at the hospital for a long time. Mum couldn't bear to leave me behind when it was time for her to be discharged from hospital. She begged the doctors to let her take me home with her. It was out of the question! I was too frail, too small, and too weak to survive outside the incubator. It was too risky to take me out and home.

Mum insisted. Doctors resisted. Mum finally said, "Look, Doctor, take a good look at all your nurses in this ward. Which one of these would be able to love and care for this child as wholeheartedly as I would? Who, among them, would be half as watchful and attentive to this child's needs as I would be? If you could gurantee that they would and could love, care for and attend to my child's needs with the same level of love and care that a mother could lavish on her own flesh and blood, then I'll leave this child in their care. If not, I'M TAKING THIS CHILD HOME WITH ME, TODAY!"

The doctors made her sign to indemnify them from all responsibility should I die as a result of leaving the incubator and the hospital. Mum promised she would take me back to the hospital on the first sign that I was having any problem...yes, she would take me back as soon as I even give a little sneeze, she promised. On that note, she (and I) was let off.

Home! At last.

With 4 active boys running and jumping around, Mum had to watch over me with eagle's eyes.

No! Don't touch her scalp...it's only a thin membrane...it'll take time to become harder and stronger. Don't touch her head until it's harder and stronger!

No! Don't jump on the bed. You might accidentally fall on her and crush her! Get off the bed at once!

I'm sorry, your arms are not strong enough to hold her yet. She cannot afford to suffer any fall. She's too frail, you see.

Yes, she's human. Why is she all wrinkled up and red? Why is her arm so thin and her fingers so tiny? No, she's not a doll. She's your sister. Yes, she'll grow up to be just like you. Yes, she'll walk and talk, just like you.

Mum had a lot of explaining to do to all my siblings.

Day after day, Mum attended to my needs with wholehearted devotion. She fed me breastmilk she had extracted, spoonful by spoonful. Night after night, she stayed up to check on me, to make sure I was still breathing and alive.

Soon I was bigger, fatter, stronger and livelier. Still, she would never allow anyone to take a photograph of me. She was not going to take any chances. The old ladies had warned her, "Don't allow anyone to take a picture of her! The camera might "absorb" her qi and take the life out of her!"

At first Dad tried to talk her out of believing such myths! "Come on! You're an educated woman. How could you buy that! How could a camera suck up her qi or steal her spirit? Surely you don't buy that!" Soon, Dad gave up reasoning with her to quit believing in such superstitious old wives' myths!

I never had any photographs of myself taken as an infant. The earliest photographic documentation of my life depicts me as a 4-year-old girl. It was that photograph of me taken with my family on Penang Hill. Then there were those taken at the Botanic Gardens. I'll never know what I looked like as a baby save that I was tiny, thin and frail....it seems the circumference of my arm was merely like that of a fifty cent coin, and the most accurate gauge I could have about my size was to judge by the size of my clothes (which my mum kept). Mum said that to sew clothes for me, all the cloth she needed was to cut the trouser legs of her Samfoo (a traditional day-to-day attire which women used to wear at home and on the streets). Being poor and unable to buy costly textile for sewing, she would cut up her old long pants and salvage pieces of cloth to sew clothes for me. She could not buy me ready-made clothes from the shops...even the smallest size available in the shops would be too large and ill-fitting for me.

When I made it past my first birthday and was still alive and kicking, my mum heaved a sigh of relief. However, she soon found herself having to battle another problem...I was regularly getting into bouts of fits. The doctors told her it was not something they had not expected. Each time my little body went into spasms, my mum fought to keep me safe and as comfortable as she possibly could. Over time, she learned what to do and how to handle me whenever I lapsed into one of my bouts of fits. She accepted that life with me would include dealing with fits.

Never once did Mum complain that I was such a bothersome child. Never once did she utter any regrets for having me! The only regrets she has, she now says, is that she could not do anything more to build up my strength and ensure that I had better health. Till today, whenever I fall ill, she would blame herself for not having been able to build up my strength and immunity level...she still wonders what else she could have done, or what she had overlooked doing for me when I was young.

Mum, you've done so much for me! You gave me life. You gave me a sense of self. You nurtured me with tender loving care, at the cost of your own health. You accepted and loved me unconditionally. You accepted all the inconvenience and hardships of bringing up a sickly child. You patiently accepted all those long sleepless nights of anxiety when I fell ill and had fits. You bravely ignored all the other mothers' hurtful remarks about how well their children were doing in school while yours was not doing half as well. You refused to compare me with how well my siblings were doing in school. You never compared my grades and achievements (or rather, my lack of achievement) with those of other children's. You quietly accepted all those remarks which my teachers wrote in my exercise books and report cards : An untidy girl! She must learn to write neatly and not scribble so much! Inattentive in class. Tends to be dreamy. Can't seems to focus well during lessons. Too active, cannot sit still. Needs to work harder at Math.


In those days, schools did not pay so much attention to a child's development. There were no educational psychologists attached to schools to sieve out children with special needs and help those with learning difficulties. Probably, my teachers did not even know about ADD or ADHD. Perhaps, it never occured to them that it was not so much my being lazy and unwilling to write properly that caused me to write untidily, but it was more so a fact that I had poor muscle control and lacked fine-motor skill.

Till today, I still have difficulty remembering numbers. Occasionally, I would still find it hardto recall my own phone number and the unit number of my apartment or my postal zipcode. I still find it hard to do Math. But most people would not believe me. While I was in school, my Math teachers would not believe me. At work now, my colleagues would not believe me. At home, my family members insist I am too indulgent and am giving myself too many excuses! Sigh...

Well, like the Thais say, "Mai Pen Rai" ...Never mind...as long as I know I'm not faking it. It doesn't matter even if others do not believe me. It's enough to know that I'm always true to myself...doing my best in everything, even in coping with Math and numbers.

Life is one long learning journey. But hey! I'm not complaining. I'm thankful to be alive. I enjoy learning. I believe in lifelong learning.

My First Day

My mum wanted me! She had decided to keep me. She endured the next few months of mental agony. The doctors' words kept ringing in her ears...

are you sure you want to keep this baby you're too weak to bear this to full term are you sure you want to go through this the baby might not survive you are too weak to risk another miscarriage is it worth it the baby might be born with birth defects it's not going to be easy to bring up a child with birth defects it's going to be a burden you are already struggling financially you wouldn't want another financial liability are you sure your husband and children will accept a baby with birth defects are you sure you can accept the baby think even if the baby were to survive till full term it may not strong enough to survive its first year are you sure you want to go through this are you sure you want this baby are you sure are you sure are you sure don't say we didn't warn you why don't you consider again are you sure are you sure...

Seven months later...

Mum and Dad had just returned from the mall. They had bought me some baby stuff. Mum said I was going to need those things when I came along. They had only just entered the house when I started to make my presence felt. Having had more than 5 babies prior to this, Mum knew it was time to go to the hospital.

After Mum was admitted to hospital, Dad made his way home to look after my siblings.

The next morning, Dad got the news. He made his way to the hospital. He was excited. He was going to meet me for the first time. He found the ward, spotted my mum on a bed, went over to ask her, "How are you? Where's our baby?"

"There, over there," Mum said, pointing to the bubble-like contraption which had a lamp affixed to it.

Hesitantly, Dad walked over over to the machine.

"Eek! What's that?!"

What do you mean "WHAT'S that?"

It's me! Me!
Surely you had meant to ask, "WHO'S that?"

Well, Dad, aren't you going to pick me up? Aren't you going to give me a hug? You don't seem to know what to do. Go on, pick me up. Don't just stand there and stare! Dad! I'm here!

See, the nurse is showing you how you can pick me up. You only need one hand to do that, Dad. Come on! The nurse is waiting for you to stretch out your hand. Come on, STRETCH OUT YOUR HAND to receive me from her!

Dad! It's ok...I won't crumble even if you held me in your palm. I know I look fragile, but I'm really quite strong. You'll see...I'm going to survive! Look... I fit nicely into the nurse's palm. See, I'm palm-sized. You hear the nurse? I'm not heavy...I'm just 3 pounds, 9 ounces. I'm lighter than a durian.

Go on, Dad, pick me up! Hold me, hug me...I know I'm all shrunken and wrinkled...not a very pretty sight...but please, Dad, just give me a hug. Dad? Dad? Where are you going, Dad? Aren't you going to hold me in your arms for a while...No? Not even for a while, Dad? Dad? Dad!

He needed time to learn to accept me.

My second 'taste' of rejection.

In My Mother's Womb

The doctors told my mum to have me aborted.

They advised her that I would probably not survive till full term, or even if I did, I would probably be born with defects.

My mom had to make a decision fast. She weighed the pros and cons.

My fate hung precariously in her hands. Insecurity sets in. My first 'taste' of rejection from the world.

Would she keep me? Would she snuff out my existence? Why did those doctors want me dead? Why are they rejecting me even before they meet me? How would they know that I was not going to survive? How could they be sure? If they can't be sure, why are they suggesting to my mom to have me aborted?

Mama, can you hear me? I wish to live! Let me live! I will do my best to survive...if only you would let me try...if only you would let me continue to exist. Please don't reject me.

Accepted

Look at that photo taken on Penang Hill, and the other one taken at the Botanic Gardens...look at the way he carried me and hugged me.

I remember how Dad used to walk me home from school each day. He would meet me at the school gate and, hand in hand, we would walk back to Wing On Hotel. How I enjoyed those times. Each afternoon, we would recite nursery rhymes as we walked down that hill from St Monica's. "Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall..." , "Little Miss Muffet..." , "Mary, Mary quite contrary...", "Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?", "Little Jack Horner sat in a corner", "Higgledy, Piggledy, My black hen. She laid eggs for gentlemen. Sometimes nine and sometimes ten, Higgledy, Piggledy, my fat hen."


And all those songs which he taught me:
"It's a long long way to Tip..."
"Way down upon the Swanee River, far, far away..."
"Pack up your troubles in the old..."
""Que Sarah Sarah...what will be, will be..."
"cun tian li na bai hua xiang, lang li ge lang li ge lang li ge lang..."
"aiyoh mama, ni ke bu yao dui wo sheng qi. aiyoh mama..."
"burong kakak tua...nenek sudah tua, gigi nia...."

He enjoyed being with me. I could tell. He liked being with me. As much as I liked being with him. He had, by then, learned to accept me. Not only that...I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, he loved me!

It felt good, really good, to be loved and accepted. Unconditionally loved and accepted. Cleft lip and all!

Till today, my Dad has been showering me with unconditional love and acceptance.

Mum told me how fortunate I was to have had a highly sought-after cleft lip specialist to operate on me when I was a year old. Yes, indeed. He was here on an exchange programme. He visited KK Hospital and was accompanying the doctor on his usual morning rounds when he found out about me. He volunteered to operate on me, he was confident he could easily fix my cleft palate and cleft lips. And he did a marvelous job. Today, if you were to meet me on the street and not look closely, you would not even know that I've had a cleft palate and cleft lip operation done.

A few days after I was born, a doctor told my mum, "Don't become too attached to this baby of yours. She might not survive for long. Even if she does, she might be unable to learn to speak and most probably have difficulty learning to walk. She might have poor muscle control and might have a low IQ. Don't pin too much hopes and expectations upon this baby!"

Thank God my parents did not take the doctor's words to heart. Mum and Dad brought me up with full acceptance. They never put any pressure upon me to excel but neither did they write me off as one who was "Unable To Learn". They taught me as much as I was willing and ready to learn, and eventually, I proved the doctor wrong. Not only did I learn to walk and talk, I soon progressed to become a lively, cheerful, outgoing little Bundle of ENERGY.

All throughout my school days, Mum and Dad allowed me to learn at my own pace. None of my teachers or schoolmates had a clue about the condition which I was in when I was a newborn. Had they known what the doctor had predicted about me : "Poor muscle control, low IQ, unable to learn", they might have conferred upon me the label "Slow Learner".

Children could be ruthlessly cruel. I've had my fair share of teasings : I was 'The girl with the crooked lips'. I was 'Miss Curly Wurly' because I could not grip my pencil well enough to write neatly. And so on.

I did not harbour any grudge against my classmates for all the cruel teasing, hurt as I was at times. I was a happy-go-lucky child, always smiling, always ready to take on a challenge, always curious to learn and was not one to say "Die!".

Year by year I persevered. It was tough being judged mediocre in others' eyes. They did not know...the fact that I could walk, speak clearly and was capable of understanding and learning...and was in a mainstream school, not a special school, was already a miraculous feat! In fact, being still alive and healthy even though it was way past my 'expiry date' as predicted by my doctors at the neonatal ward was in itself no mean feat!

Till today, I still believe that it is truly God's grace and mercy to have sustained me all these years! I am thankful to be alive. In others' eyes, I am just an average person. But, in my own esteem, I am an over-achiever who have beaten the odds and have proved the doctors wrong. I am thankful for my parents' decision to give birth to me and I am grateful to my Mum and Dad for the way they have loved, accepted and nurtured me all of my life so far.

I thank God for being with me all these years, for loving me, caring for me, helping me and for seeing me through each day. I know God is real. He is here in my heart. I know His presence is real even though I cannot see Him. I can sense His claim upon my life. It is God who has given me life. It is God who has sustained me all this while. I want to live for Him.