Happy Birthday, Mummy!

Today, years ago, a little being came into this world not knowing the blessings she would soon bring. Years later she got married and became the mother of a person who likes writing about the people she loves, and that person is, obviously, me.

My mother is cheerful. Her smile beams at new friends, old friends, anyone at all. Her eyes crinkle in a jolly manner, laugh lines crease to show just how much she smiles. Old friends recognize her melodious laugh a mile away, a laugh with no pretense; a laugh that only displays her tremendous sense of humour and light-heartedness. Her face glows radiantly in pure joy when she does the thing she loves most, teaching.

My mother is a teacher. She carries about an authority that children respect within minutes of acquaintance. She has a firm, strong voice that warns a child who has crossed the line. Her flair of teaching has impacted many children who have excelled in their future studying endeavors. She is strict and makes sure her students know where she stands. But she does all this in love for her dear students, because when she dishes out a good ol' scolding, the twinkle in her eye speaks otherwise. Her children feel warm and safe in her bear hugs, and feel reassured by her calm, encouraging words. She knows when to be serious and when to have fun.

My mother is a servant. Her willing heart goes all out to help those in need, without expecting the tiniest return. She serves in ministry, from her teenage years till now, making differences big and small in people's lives. She is quick to forgive and has always taught us the great damage of a grudge. It is because of this important value that our family never holds grudges against one another.

My mother is an artist. She can create beautiful masterpieces from pieces of almost-nothing. She paints stories with a colourful tone in her voice and animated gestures with her face and hands. She crafts out things that are just so attractive with mere paper. She can draw with steady, firm strokes of her practiced hand. Her art pieces are breathtaking, whether it's a contemporary fashion piece, or a work of children's art.

My mother is a doctor. Of course, as every mother does, she bandages, fixes wounds, cleans and treats us when we're ill. But that's not all. She speaks with wisdom and experience to heal the wounds that cut our hearts. She knows just what to say to sooth the anxiety that disturbs our souls. She will stay up all night just to make sure I fall asleep after I pour out all the little things that have been bugging me. She is a doctor not just for the body, but for the mind and the heart.

My mother is... my mother. She's human and she has her falls, but there is no one I'd rather have as a mom but her. I am forever grateful for the things she has taught me, for the way she has raised me and for the words she has said to me. Mummy, I appreciate every single thing you have ever done for me. You help me to see the world differently and I owe it all to you. Thank you for guiding me in the way of the Lord, and I hope I make you proud with the way I live my life.

I love you, and I hope you have a wonderful birthday. To many more birthdays!

Mum's Birthday Celebration 2015

Saturday, 17 October

Surprised my mother together with her girlfriend gang (wow, that's a term I'll try not to use ever again) at Krathong, Sri Petaling.

Sunday, 18 October

Went out for our little family celebration at night! As usual, lots of fun, laughter, interesting conversations and good vibes.

A satisfying dinner at Fatty Crab.
On the menu: Sour and spicy crab; steamed crab; toast; fried rice; satay; chicken wings. 

And while we were in the mood for celebration, we finished off our feasting time at Inside Scoop.
On the menu: Chocolate Cookie Dough; D24 (durian); Peanut Butter Cup.

Hope you enjoyed your gift, mummy!
This is my mother for you; no jewelry, decorative items, flowers, makeup...
Get her practical, everyday-use items and she will be happiest.
She fell in love with this rugged backpack! (So did I, mum. So did I.)

Once again, happy birthday! Love you. :)

Why I Write

I wrote for school essays and tried my luck at writing competitions once or twice. I have tried keeping a journal, to no avail. My old blogs boasted lame reports about daily life and totally random, insignificant content. Friends were writing letters and cards during Christmas or for birthdays, but it has never been a part of my nature to do so. There have been feeble attempts at writing novels, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends, but obviously nothing has been completed, let alone published.

And this is where I find myself questioning my long-lasting passion for writing. I have been discouraged way too many times; I compare myself to better writers who are the same age or even younger, and envy their talent. I don't even have the drive to complete short stories to compile into one book. I can barely keep my blog alive with interesting content, and yet I keep coming back to write just because I want to. 

So why do I write? What is it about this dying art that pulls me back every time? 

I love writing. I love the way words can tug at somebody's emotions. It amazes me how black ink on white paper in a variety of shapes and squiggles can move a person to tears, uplift a depressed teenager, bring giggles out of a child. I like how certain words roll of my tongue when strung together, and I like how certain words look. And I love how words can be pulled and twisted into rhythm and rhyme.

Writing calms me. It clears the mess that lingers in my brain after an emotionally disturbing incident. It helps me comb out the irritating tangles in life and sorts the mental haystack into piles, making the search for the needle infinitely easier. My mind likes using words to solidify my thoughts and dreams. Life becomes clearer when predicaments become paragraphs.

People ask me why my blog posts tend to be about emotionally negative subjects, referring to the more-viewed posts 'Jealousy' and 'Shedding Tears'. It is because these concepts that encircle my train of thought affect me deeply and it is only writing that helps me be rid of it. Writing sets things in perspective and conveys a message to my confused self. It is through much of these posts that help my mind be at peace about topics such as these.

Stories are great. Stories are little time capsules that may or may not be make-believe, but remind you of a time when a certain thing could've happened. I look back at my little stories (mostly incomplete, mind you), and am immediately transported to how my 8-year-old self felt when the story was penciled. I see my large, neat handwriting on the lined exercise book labeled 'Compositions - English class' and smile to myself. The story is immature, has a thin plot, and a little ridiculous. But it made 8-year-old Jessica the person she is today, the person who is now in love with writing. 

The art of writing is a complex one. It can be judged, as 'good' writing or 'bad' writing, although that is entirely subjective. It is fascinating how people can be drawn to different writing styles and hate others, while some styles are loved by everyone or by none at all. It is fascinating how a children's book with the simplest words can leave a bigger impression on the soul than a learned scholar's bombastically-worded thesis. It is fascinating how certain words are almost always found in a specific genre and not found at all in another. Writing, in its purest form, fascinates me.

I find my voice when I write. I become the person I want to be, without having to conform to what people think. My thoughts pour out in their rawest form, without filter, without waiting for society's approval. I like knowing that there are people who support my writing and read my published works (specifically, this blog), because it gives me something to be confident about. I especially love it when people tell me that they enjoy my writing, or, even better, discuss my writing with me. Let it be known that it pleases me immensely when people introduce me as a person who writes, because that is an honour that not many achieve: the title of being a 'writer'. People can put words together, people can tell stories, but to be a writer? Man, that's something.

Last but not least, writing is my worship. Writing is a channel to my Creator that I am truly glad to have. Writing prayers and poetry to my God is a way of worship that is so very personal and heartfelt. It is something even the spoken word cannot really express, because there's something about the written word that officiates the intentions behind the prayer. Writing reflects the way one thinks, and it is sometimes through the words that flow from the pen that speak to my very own self, forcing me to pause and think. It puts things down in black and white, giving one the chance to look back on it sometime in the future, and reflect on how things have changed and how one has grown. 

And it is with this I praise God for writing, because without it, I would be very, very different.

The Droplet That Survived

A low rumble shook the pinkish walls
As light entered the cave
A gust of wind was sucked in
While a droplet, small and brave
Slid about on the mushy ground
Bracing itself for the flight
It held its breath and closed its eyes
Against the harsh, bright light

"Here we go," the droplet thought
Excitement rushed through its mind
"I wonder where on earth I'll land...
I wonder what I'll find!"
And with no warning whatsoever
A great force pushed and heaved
The droplet was shoved off the ground
Feeling afraid, but yet relieved

However, the worst had yet to come
As the droplet would soon discover
It started falling at a rapid speed
Before it had time to recover!
"ARRRGHHH!" the droplet yelled
As it plummeted through the air
With other droplets which fell like rain
Screaming in fear and despair

But there you find our little droplet
Being carried by a soft breeze
And that's the story of how a droplet
Survived Jess's almighty sneeze!

* * * * *
Hope you enjoyed this fun rhyme that was inspired by my recent bouts of sneezing and coughing. Currently teary-eyed and breathing hot air, but how could I sleep peacefully if I didn't jot down this silly comic of a poem? *winks*