Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Please help Holly

After ditching blogging for almost four months and back only to write this little note, I felt I have aplenty to update! But the most priority one is this.

Read http://hollyshearing.blogspot.com/, another NF victim that need help desperately in any way, even a word of encouragement do millions. She is already blind and going deaf soon if she does not go for an operation in time. Help Holly and you will help her son, Isaiah.

Read on.

They shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.
Isaiah, 35. 10

Friday, December 7, 2007

The Unsung Heroine

I have not written any article dedicated to anyone before. So this is one dedicated not to a classical hero but an unsung heroine whose sacrifices and the surmountable battles she faced throughout her fight with Neurofibromatosis (NF) 2, crowned her one. NF2 is an illness of the nervous system that causes numerous benign tumors to grow in her body and which deteriorate her body functions including her hearing.

I thought she is one biblical hero. Not withstanding the reality that more clusters of tumors are growing in precarious locations in her brain, spine and nerves, I can’t describe more the emotional and physical turmoil that NF has put her through. What put me in awe and inspiration is that during her current and supposedly lifetime struggle against the illness, she still manage to spread humanity. Her innate goodness and divine spark made some classical heroes who pursued success, power and wealth, a washout in comparison.

Can you imagine waking up each morning knowing these unknown tumors are living and growing in your body? Sorry to pose such a question. The fear that arises far outweighs my imagination. For that matter, I know I will cowardly choose not to wake up and sleep forever. She does not.

In Elie Wiesel’s book, “Night”, the Nobel Prize winner writer depicted in one of his horrifying surviving scene in the Nazi concentration camp of Auschwitz, where together with thousand of prisoners, they were supposed to move from one camp to another on foot in heavy snow storms. The troops of prisoners are commanded to run as fast as they could to reach the destination or face execution and death if they stayed behind.

Thousands of them ran along, slowing down would mean one will either be trampled on under the moving herd matching behind or froze to death in the bizarre winter.

Ran Elie did, without stopping for his mercy life. Despite days without proper food and an unhealed surgery on his foot, he sticked close to his beloved father whom he is determined not to leave behind. In his masterpiece, he brought forth the agony, anguish, injustice, and the delusion he faced during the prolonged ordeal.

As the only holocaust survivor in his family, he went through a life of darkness and extreme cruelity in a death camp, stripped of dignity, faced hunger, fought depression, seen living people being thrown to the fire furnaces and burnt to death – including his mum and sister. All these memories made clear his decision to write “Night” as a memoir. Although it was difficult to write, he is convinced that “what happened must not be forgotten.”

I see Yvoone Foong running a similar amazing race for survival, though facing a different adversity. I believed she never felt lonelier in her race, despite being cheered on by many of her avid readers of her blog and book. Yes, her vision flickers sometimes along the journey, but the inner light that she shines is unwavering and certain.

As a young adolescent, she has accomplished many and eludes righteousness and goodness in helping others.

She set up the Heart4Hope campaign.
Champion for her fellow unfortunate friends who needs help as much as she does.
Wrote a brilliant book and blog.
Endeavored to be a psychologist to help others.
Earned a Scholarship to study psychology.
'Ran aside' her beloved senile dad. She is the only child.
Started a medical fund to support her expenses.
Read her own lengthy medical reports and searches her own treatments.

I really can’t find better statements to articulate her story but I know she is one quiet heroine who partakes in God’s words and turn them to evergreen fruits while fighting for her life every day. This is the kind of heroism I honor. I hope the wonderful savior will bless her with infinite strength and crafts a path for her.

Read her story on http://www.yvonnefoong.com/


Help in anyway, if you can. Thanks.


"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Thursday, October 25, 2007

The Juxtaposition of Love

I thought I am an idealistic but as years passed, I realized I am bottled full of realism. Symptom of aging? I must defend this with full fledge abstract intellectual and grim determination. Truly, I used facial cream more than lotion now to combat the gravity lines (hitting too close to reality) but being a realistic has no correlation with aging.

It is just that this realism is heightened recently with a deep nudging feeling that the “love book” article I have written, only portrays some tiny neurons of idealism present in my cells and some where in our everyday life, the pictures aren’t really that lovely.

In the Victorian web, it says that unlike Platonism and Philosophical Realism (or Idealism), Realism assumes that reality inheres in the here and now, in the everyday and emphasizes the importance of the ordinary, the ordinary person and the ordinary situation.

A friend of mine often sent me a message that says: “Please pray for J today, he is undergoing treatment.” The messages are pretty straightforward. Her husband has been fighting cancer for unbearable time. With each treatment her husband undergoes, her message seeks a prayer. The messages often arrived impromptu in the morning, and being a bed potato I am, I try as faithful as I can to respond timely. In the midst of all sleepiness, I often felt the pain for my friend who inadvertently is afraid and sad. She is an ordinary lady, with a lovely wonderful husband I met once in a company retreat. One of her sons is a special kid, with a low intelligence quotient yet wonderfully pleasant boy. I like her stories of courtship when young, how she met her husband and survived poverty and become self sufficient as years goes. As I write this, I reckoned J and my friend are still battling another set of breaking news from the doctor - he has nine months left to live.

The last message I got from her was: “My life will change but I will go on.” I no longer received the prayer request message from her since but she is receptive to anyone getting in touch with her.

Deep pain, fear, hurt, loss and many other dire emotions we dread to experience, these are the juxtaposition of love. I always felt compelled to discern the causes behind all these emotions.

Another day I sat listening to another lady spoke bitterly of life. She is still coming to terms of the demise of her husband who passed away a year ago in a heart attack. Bluntly, she swears of no existence of any higher divine in the universe, she ridiculed the need for prayers. “Why pray? What is the use of praying for comfort or strength? If God created everything and peace, why then is there suffering?” There is absolutely no religion present in this world and I can tell you I met a man who taught me this, there is no need for any religion or prayers because one reap no benefits from them. She went on to talk about her special son and lamented about the difficulties in bringing him up.

There are tears in her eyes. I am sad that she is unable to grasp the goodness of life after wading through the muck and mire. I shuddered at the extremity of thoughts that is so stubbornly and deeply embedded in her. I see the dark night of the soul, the soul that after going through turmoil and pain becomes a shriveled shadow that lost belief or any faith in the higher divine and the universe.

Both ladies having same child who require special needs, one losing her partner, the other was left without. Both reacted differently; one claiming life will go on heroically, the other completely devoid of spirituality but filled with bitterness. What juxtaposition of love.


I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.
Walt Whitman - Song of Myself