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."

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

Love book

What is this? A book of love letters dedicated to your boyfriend, husband or that Romeo or Juliet admirer of yours?

Nope. This is a love book specially dedicated to just yourself.

Imagine you will to start from scratch, a blank scrapbook for yourself, how would you fashion it into your own love book? Let your imagination takes the rein.

Fill it with all beautiful things, right?

What gives you comfort?

It can be visual. The pictures of white majestic clouds that my friend Linda has recently fell madly in love with. “Look up.. “ She echoed in her blog, depicted with lovely pictures personally taken of the skyline. I believe she meant to convey the sense of openness that met the eyes as one embraced the horizon above. This is the way she relaxes by gazing at the sky, she said.

Often, I noticed she includes the street lamp in her pictures. I wonder the lamp symbolizes her guiding light of her soul - brighter than any stars in heaven.

I remembered my last assignment in a consulting firm located on the fiftieth floor of a tower, when my colleague pointed to the window to slow me down in my fervent work, I stared out to see wispy fluffy clouds floating by right at my eye level. I recalled exclaiming in delight at sight. At the moment, nothing else matters except the quiet beauty that captivates my heart. Just like what God did, in my walk with him.

Even staring at the animals in discovery channel as you switched the TV to silent mode can be therapeutic too, another of my friend added. Okay.., this is something new.

Hot bods? Abercrombie and fitch models? Well..you can. But please don't develop it into an idol book.

It can be auditory as well. The harmonious singing when you pause to listen during worship singing which I did purposefully sometimes, to immense myself in the melodious caroling of others in church, searching deep in meaning the verses spoken and the hymns sung. The rhythmic beat of the drum coupled with elegant notes from the classical guitar and sassy saxophone all adds to the rigor of my love book as the church band play.

Tune in and listen to nature’s orchestra too. The falling raindrops on the pavement, the rustling of leaves in the wind as you hurried to work. Pause and enjoy God’s creation of wilderness. Yes, I mean really PAUSE. Try it.

Conversation with people around you is inclusive. Words of love and praises for encouragement. Jokes for the lighter moments that bring hilarious laughter even if it is short life. Stories and tales that inspires your heart, keep them up-close in your love book.

Your love book can record kinesthetics too. Good deeds from other people that touches you. Simple daily acts of kindnesses that bring joy and comfort. Like tonight, I thought I will be pressed for payment when I ran out of value in my concession while boarding the bus home. Contrary to my perception, the bus conductor smiled and refuse to accept my two dollar note after a sheepish confession that I lacked coins. How lovely. What grace.

There are rules of the book of course. No traces of deception and immorality allowed but clothed your love book with humanity, compassion, gentleness and love. The former will only made your love book elusive to you and rendered it a useless doctrine. If you are frostily depressed sometimes, overwhelmed by whipsaw emotions or need a spiritual therapy, your love book will be the chicken soup for the soul.

Why wait, start improvising your love book now and don’t forget to share them with me.