I was sitting in the car with my father yesterday and had no idea of where the place we are going to was located at, when suddenly a question came into my head. I asked him, ‘Ten years ago, did you all use actual maps? Otherwise, how did you all know where to go?’

Sometimes, I think we take for granted how amazing technology is. We literally have the whole map in the palm of our hands, with satellites pinpointing exactly where we are located and showing us what we are surrounded by. Aided by community feedback and reviews, we also have information regarding road accidents, speed cameras and faster routes. If we want to go to somewhere, all we have to do is key in the place and Google Maps will give you multiple options, whether it’s the quickest way; pubic transport options; transit options; and pricing information for Uber.

It is that easy.

This is what people normally do now. Planning the trip or as I see it, knowing ahead of time.

The integration of smartphones and applications into our lives has seen us doing this on so many levels reading reviews upon reviews for things such as food, computer electronics, books, tourist locations. In my trip to Hong Kong recently, I found myself doing exactly that. Prior to the trip, I downloaded the Mass Transit Railway (MTR) app and the Hong Kong Tourist app. I was looking up Open Rice (which is like Zomato except that it’s for Hong Kong people and it’s on steroids) for places to eat.

If you wish, you can already lay out the whole itinerary even before the trip happens.

My dad answered me, ‘I just asked around. I asked people for general directions on how to go and I just try and make my way there.’

I responded, ‘Oh right, did you have a map in your glove compartment?’

He paused and replied, ‘Yes? Not sure actually. I don’t think I actually used much maps back then.’

I wasn’t surprised because I didn’t remember him actually taking a map out to go to places. He somehow knew how to get there.

In today’s day and age, ‘somehow’ doesn’t quite cut it. We want to know the ‘how’, ‘what’, ‘when’ and ‘where’. Moreover, we want to know it now. We yearn for certainty.

After all, who likes feeling helpless? Also, why waste time? If we are spending time and money at a place, we want to make sure it’s a really good experience, if not the best.

A day before the Hong Kong trip, I was stressing out because there were so many worries on my mind. What places were good to go to? What food is worth eating? What are the transportation options? What should I look out for? It was my first time exploring another country without someone else planning it for me. Whatever that my girlfriend and I planned, that was it. We were accountable and responsible for our plans. At the same time, I wanted the trip to be great for my girlfriend because it was her first time visiting Hong Kong.

The question in my mind really was, ‘How do I plan the perfect trip?’

Chatting with my manager briefly at work, he said, ‘Don’t worry about it too much. And don’t plan too much. You won’t really enjoy yourself if you do. I’m sure your girlfriend loves you for who you are and not how good of a tour guide you are.’

Realising the wisdom of his words, I let go.

What was the point in over-worrying? What was the point in planning our holiday to the exact tee? What was the point in being over dependent on the reviews of others?

The culture is such that we need to get the best experience possible. The places need to have 4 stars and above. That reviews have to be excellent. Every time you search for something and food in particular, there’s always a ‘best’ list or ‘top ten’ list that we hold closely to our chest.

I hope I’m not coming across as being cynical about reviews, tips and guides because they are great. I used them too and more often than not, the suggestions are great and helpful but I also think we have established a great reliance on them, a situation whereby that reviewer’s favourite place is now my favourite place. That blogger’s favourite restaurant is also now my favourite restaurant.

Before we even go into a restaurant, we already have a list in mind of what we want to order. Actually, scratch that. We already have a picture in mind of what we are going to order. Our meals and experiences, almost dictated by those that have come before us, but really if you are doing that, you will probably end up being very disappointed because what makes one’s experiences unique is the you are doing it and exploring it for the first time. Together with your loved ones, you make the choices.

Following others before us almost takes away the uniqueness of our experiences and strips away that sense of adventure. That feeling of wanting something to be good. That feeling of stepping into the unknown. That feeling of a pleasant surprise.

Of course, you will always have moments of disappointments, which is the whole point of reviews and guides to begin with. To avoid situations like that but that is just life. What makes life exciting is that it’s not always a hit. Sometimes, our compass breaks. Sometimes, our true north fades but it’s okay.

You learn. You experienced. You grow.

After the Hong Kong trip, I told my girlfriend that I should have looked up how to beat the queue at all these tourist places so that we don’t have to wait so long. She said, ‘It’s okay. We don’t have to. Holidays are like that.’

Guides, reviews and advices can only take us that far. At the end of the day, we just have to use our knowledge, trust our instincts, have a little faith and go.

We can’t always live our life by the book. Or by other people’s books for that matter. Be the best ‘you’.

I remembered following up with my dad, ‘Have you ever got lost in trying to get around without the map and the GPS?’

He said, ‘Of course. Sometimes, I have to turn round and round to try and get to the place.’

‘Did you get to the place in the end?’

‘Yeah, I did.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A month ago, I got a text from my aunty, asking us to go to this Malaysian restaurant called Wow Malaysia on a Saturday. Thinking it was a Malaysian Chinese restaurant, I was surprised that I’ve never heard of it before. I’m usually quite up to date with the Malaysian cuisine here, so I thought maybe it’s one of those restaurants that has been around for a long time and just didn’t gain enough traction or popularity to be known. Anyway, I wasn’t fussed. Any catch-ups with my aunty is good.

It felt almost odd not going to a brunch place on a Saturday. Go on Instagram and you will know the hashtag #saturdaysarebrunchdays. For those that don’t know, brunch is a term coined for the time of meal during breakfast and lunch. However, I think overtime, brunch in Sydney and Melbourne has evolved into a cuisine itself. Australia does not have much of their own food but I think brunch is fast becoming the essence of Australian cuisine. It is this nicely put together combination and decoration of food such as avocado, poached eggs, bacon, french toast, strawberries, salmon, mushrooms and sometimes, truffle. It used to just be eggs benedict or smashed avocado but now you also have more creative ones sprinkling Australian brunch with Asian and European influences too.

All in all, a very unique thing. I have friends who stand on benches to take pictures of their food. I have people who post on Instagram every week about a new brunch place. I have to say I’m partially guilty about this. My whole Insta profile used to be mainly just food, which prompted my friend to ask me, “Do you not do anything else other than FOOD?” I mean, it’s one of those things you enjoy, you know. You work hard all week, at the end of it, you just want to find a nice place to chill, sip a cup of coffee and have a nice decorative plate of food.

Anyway, back to that Saturday. We went to the restaurant after a badminton session. So, I was already feeling hungry. As I walked into the restaurant, it was completely not what I was expecting. The restaurant turned out to be a Malaysian restaurant serving Malay-Muslim food, with favourites such as rendang, sambal squid, keropok lekor, assam laksa, air bandung, kuih serimuka, rojak and of course, our national dish, the nasi lemak. It was this small little family ran shop which could probably fit only 20 people. Standing outside the shop, I saw my aunty sitting down and I went into to sit next to her.

I was quickly brought back to a sense of home with everyone having a Malaysian accent or speaking Malay itself. As I tasted the sambal squid that I stole from my aunty’s plate, I sensed I was in for something special. Everything that I ate after was such a joy.

I’ve tried a lot of Malaysian restaurants in Sydney but none ever quite like this. None ever making my eyes well up. None ever so close to bringing home to my taste-buds. Both my sister and I had moments of silence to ourselves as we ate the food. My girlfriend who don’t usually eat too much found herself eating more than usual too, because it was just so good.

As I ate the durian kuih later, I thought to myself, what a special special meal we are having, filled with the love of the family that runs the place and memories of home.

It made me think about all the times that my mum cooked for me. My mum, she doesn’t work outside. Her job has always been to take care of my sister and I. She wakes up in the morning, then wakes us up and sends us to school. After, she will go back home and do house chores. She will wash the clothes, iron them and fold them. My mum always made sure I had enough white shirts and that I will never find a crease on them. Even my underwear and my towels were ironed. Every now and then, I also find new clothes in my cupboard, mostly red in colour because she knows I like red.

She approached cooking with the same detail as well. A person normally spends two hours in the kitchen to prepare a meal. She easily spends 5 hours. This is because she wil cut the garlics by hand to very granular and fine pieces. She will make sure the veggies are washed thoroughly. She will always prepare 3 dishes and 1 soup for 3 people no matter what the occasion is. As she beats the egg, she makes sure there is no blood or shell in the bowl. If there is, she will painstakingly lift it out. When she cooked omelettes for the family, she will cook two types: one with onions and one without just for me ( I used to not eat onions). She will try to cook different dishes every now and then (whether it’s tomato prawns or steamed ginger and garlic fish or soya sauce pork or glutinous rice). She will also cook red bean soup as well to share with neighbours and friends.

My dad always told her that she doesn’t have to cook so much because it is just for a small family but that’s the beauty of my mother. She always does small things with a big heart and great love. She always said, “If you want to do something, do it well or don’t do it at all.”

It also reminded me of all the times that I took her cooking for granted. When asked to help out in the kitchen, I will throw my tantrum and will help out unhappily. I rather sit outside to watch TV or listen to my iPod than to help out. I would show that I was annoyed. Of course, in an Asian family, I was told to get out if I was that unhappy.

When I went back last year in November, my parents asked me what I wanted to eat. I told them that I wanted to cook with my mother and to eat at home. They looked at me going, “Really?”, to which I replied, “Yes”. So often, I take these things for granted and still do. My mum and I don’t do a lot of things together, primarily because I’m a guy and we do different things. You won’t see me doing folk dancing or making crafts anytime soon, I’ll tell you that. But this is one of the few things I know I can do with my mum. The cooking was just an excuse so that she and I can talk to each other and catch-up.

To the outside world, it may just be some simple Chinese dishes but my mum always made them with such love that it beats any brunch food from anywhere anytime. Amidst all the brunch food with the decorations and emphasis on ambience, driven by the need to take good photos and share the experience, we often forget the people right in front of us. We forget those that are eating with us too and that they matter the most.

I used to take pride in the fact that I know a thousand different brunch places but upon reflection, I don’t even go to these places more than 5 times. If I have been there, somehow, it dampens my excitement to go again because Sydney encourages this exploration culture. As there are so many places, we often want to look for the next great thing and restaurant to try but what about the ones from before? Are they not good anymore? Is the coffee bad? Why are they forgotten?

I’m so guilty of this, always looking for the next unique brunch place but forgetting what my dad used to always say to me, “It’s not about the food, it’s the company that matters.”

The people that we catch-up with over brunch and eat with are way more important than the place we are going to. The place should always just be an excuse and makes way for the real reason, which is to deepen the relationship and love between couples, families and friends.

Sometimes, every now and then, you get just that bit luckier when you stumble upon a place that also resonates with that very reason by serving its food with great love and gentle care.

And as for me, I am so lucky to have my mum that always provided with food that was filled with the most love that any child can ask for and taught me to do all things with great love.

While I was talking to a friend at his housewarming party, I drew his attention to the wall clock. Something about it caught my attention. Maybe it was the wooden body. Maybe it was the simplistic, minimalist and elegant design. Maybe it’s cause we don’t see many clocks these days. I complemented him about it. He told me it was a clock he bought from Japan. Being the mechanical engineer that he is, he explained how the clock syncs with radio waves from Japan. You don’t need to set the time yourself. The radio waves would. Unfortunately, the radio waves can’t reach Sydney so that functionality of the clock is made moot here.

There was another cool feature. During the night, the second hand stops ticking. This is so that you wouldn’t hear the sound when you sleep. The clock is still running but you won’t hear ‘tick, tock, tick, tock’. The Japanese do think of everything, don’t they.

As he kept talking, I realised I have known him for more than 6 years now. I can’t say that I know him very well but I have known him for a long time nevertheless, since first year uni. It’s funny that I still recall a lot of events in my life through uni years. First, second, third and fourth year. Ask me to recall something now, I have to think for a while. Was it in 2018? 2017? 2015 perhaps?

Everything feels like a long time ago now. My first flight. My first day of school. My first friend. My first crush. My first mistake. My first scolding. My first heartbreak. My first confession. My first coffee. My first day of uni. My first part-time job. My first degree. My first full-time job. How quickly time flies.

In 6 days, I will be 25 years old.

I think every now and then, we need to slow things down and reflect on where we are. Much like the clock, we need to “stop” the second hand. Some days, we need to “stop” the minute hand. Other times, the hour hand.

Some days, we need to “stop” the day itself and let history pause.

Let it stop ticking.

When I was young, I was told the story of my mother’s difficulty in carrying and giving birth to me many times. She had to go the hospital each month because she would be suffering so much bleeding. At one point, she suffered so much bleeding that she thought she lost me. My whole family thought I was gone. At six months and three weeks, the doctors said my mum had to give birth to me and that there was no other way. Somehow, my mother and I survived. Somehow, I am able to grow to be as healthy and tall as I am.

Growing up, my mother spoiled me and loved me so much but she was also stern and strict. As most Asian kids would know, we needed to be competitive. We needed to know many skills and able to learn as much as we can. I needed to learn art, gymnastics, piano, Mandarin, Mathematics and English outside of school. It wasn’t that my mum made me do more. It was that every other kid was asked to do more.

I had enough of it that eventually, I gave up on them one by one. I remembered my mum telling me that I will regret it one day and she was right. The repeated failures and the inability to finish what I started motivated me to do more and give it everything I have as I grew older.

At the age of 15, I sat for my lower secondary school assessment (PMR). There were seven subjects. The goal was to get the highest grade possible, which was 7As. My parents didn’t have to tell me what to get. I wanted to achieve it myself. I studied as hard as I could but ended up falling short. I was “only” able to get 6As. When my friend texted me my results, I didn’t know how to react. It was also the day I was going to Singapore for holiday. As I said goodbye to my grandfather and told him my results, I started crying. I felt that I have failed everyone especially myself. It was only a lower secondary school assessment but I acted as though the world had ended.

My parents saw how affected I was and was gentler in their approach. They would still push but not as hard as before because they know I pushed myself harder than they do. Sometimes, they have to be the ones to tell me not to worry and that it’s okay.

There would be parallels in my spiritual journey too. Every time I go to confession, I end up with the same list of sins, if not more. I would confess my sins to the priest, felt relieved only to find myself falling back to temptation again a few days later. It was demotivating, at times disheartening and at worst, feeling completely helpless.

That’s some of my history.

Along the way, I would have come to know a lot of people as well. For some, I’m still friends with. For some, space, time and life experiences made us more distant. For some, we are still the best of friends. Seeing my friends leave was never easy though. I have seen my friends leave because of work, visa issues, family commitments and vocation. It was tough seeing them go having been through so much together.

Of course, I was also heavily involved in the Catholic Asian Students’ Society (CASS). It was one of the few times that I felt I was truly called to do something. We were called to create a safe space for Catholic international students so that they can flourish and grow in their faith. For five and half years, I was involved in that. It was hard to leave it because I was in it for so long and at times, burned out by it.

It all came to a head when I was at the Australian Catholic Youth Festival. I was at a praise and worship session with Matt Maher. As he was playing a tune instrumentally, he said to, “bring all of your troubles here, let go of yourself, fall into Jesus, whatever you are going through, just leave them here and rest…”. I couldn’t remember much of what he said. At that point in time, I just broke down, in the middle of everyone and my friends. I started crying uncontrollably, crushed by the weight of my history.

As I closed my eyes, I felt one by one laying their hand on my shoulders. Friends and strangers putting their hands on my shoulders, to comfort and console me. I don’t even remember who it was and how they look like. I could only feel Jesus lifting me and telling me that it’s okay.

That it is going to be alright. I got you.

Once upon a time, I remembered a good friend telling me, “Augie, you are at this level (raising his left hand) but you always see yourself at this level (raising his right hand much higher than his left),” It wasn’t until recently that I truly understood what he meant.

All my life, in my studies, in my work, in my relationships and in my faith, I see myself needing to be at a level much higher than I am actually at. I want to aim for the skies but I am not there. At least, not yet. I want to do everything but forgetting I’m not superman. Often, I would be so disappointed with myself when I made a mistake. I set such a high standard for myself that I end up falling short over and over again.

History has shown me my downs but it has also shown me something else. From my very birth, I have experienced His grace. He gave me the most loving family one can ask for. Thinking that I’m alone and homesick, I have not one, not two but three good friends from Malaysia with me in Australia. One from my hometown. One from KL who I still play FIFA with despite him being in Perth. One, who is actually my childhood friend and godbrother. Most amazing of all, God gave me my girlfriend, who is also now my best friend and draws me even closer to His love.

Fortuitously, she shared a quote from St. Francis with me today, “Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections, but instantly set about remedying them – every day begin the tasks anew.”

It is so important to be patient, especially with myself.

Sometimes, that requires stopping your clock. To allow yourself to breathe and comprehend all that you have been through. To understand and learn from your memories and history. Because if we don’t understand ourselves and accept our own history, how can we accept the history of others?

And remember that history always happens for a reason.

Some days, you know why.

Some days, you don’t.

The amazing thing is all of that can be changed by a moment or by a person. You just haven’t met it yet. A very dear friend once told me,

“There are many people who we loved or liked before but I reckon it’s not until you find that one person that you think you know, this is the right person for me, that it puts things into perspective. And it brings to light that there are different ways you can feel about someone, but it takes that one person to kind of give you almost like an epiphany.”

She was talking about relationships then but it’s so much more. How some moments are able to lend so much more clarity and significance to the past.

A few years ago, I told you I’m still learning to breathe. I’m still learning to trust in Him. Learning to be patient. I don’t think that will ever change. One thing is for certain, I will never want to change my history. I rather live through it all than to not live at all. I’m glad to have lived through those years and learned all those lessons. I’m more assured of myself than I ever have been.

If I do struggle to breathe, I know my girlfriend will be there for me. So will my family and friends. My Paraclete, through the quiet winds, will always breathe through them to me.

One day, I know I will get to where I thought I would be. I just have to take it slow and give myself time.

To learn from history, to create history.

I still remember my first flight. I was only four. My senses were heightened and each new discovery an amazement. I don’t remember much about every detail of the flight itself but I do remember that I didn’t sleep for the entire 8-hour duration flight from Kuala Lumpur to Sydney. When I arrived in Sydney, I didn’t sleep for the rest of the day till nightfall. Only then, I rested.

I would have more flying experiences after that, much sooner than I realised. On the 18th of January 2003, I would have taken my first domestic flight from KL to Kuching (West to East Malaysia). In March of 2003, I would have taken my second. Since then, I have taken many domestic flights, too many to count, might I add. The reason I flew that much was because I had to travel back with my family to my hometown to visit my grandparents and relatives. In a year, I would fly to and fro at least three times, making the airport a bittersweet place.

When I first arrived in Kuching, I don’t think my classmates like me a lot because they know I am from West Malaysia. People in Kuching don’t really like people from West Malaysia because the people from West seemingly tend to look down on East Malaysians as they think they are better and have the wrong perception that East Malaysians still live in treehouses and use wifi made from leaves.

Thankfully, as ten-year-olds go, we got past our differences and the South China Sea could do nothing to stop us from becoming good friends. Of course, I would feel different from everyone else every now and then. My Hokkien (Chinese dialect) would be Penangesque and not the same as Kuching Hokkien. My Christmases would be spent in Ipoh rather than Kuching. I was never able to spend Chinese New Year there as well as I needed to spend it with my grandparents instead which isn’t a bad thing. Just different than most Kuching people.

As I grew towards coming of age, I fell in love with Kuching more and more. Eventually, Kuching became my home. Friends of my parents and of mine became my family. 8 years down the line, I was saddened to leave the place as I needed to go to Sydney to start my tertiary education. Honestly speaking, I don’t remember much from the day and I had to go through my Facebook archives to remember how it all unfolded.

My sister posted this on my wall back then:

Let the countdown begin — survived my first wk back to work… one more week of work and i get to see Augustine Peter Chong

🙂

A week later, she posted this:

Augustine Peter Chong ONE MORE DAY!!! Are you excited??? LOLz… better go eat ur kolo mee, tai wun kung, seo bee, etc…

=P

In the comments, she wrote:

15 hours!!

Five hours later:

10 hours!!

Classmates of mine posted this:

Heard your leaving today. Have a safe journey. Take care bro

🙂

Have a good time in Australia man! Stay safe! Keep in touch!

Take care my best friend and brother!

=) Gonna miss you lots man

I kept in touch with a lot of classmates over the first year I was here. Overtime, as we all got busier with our own lives, we didn’t connect as much but whenever we see each other, especially during the summer break, we always have a good time.

Back in Sydney, I would grow in my spiritual life as I took up leadership positions in the Catholic Asian Students’ Society. I would learn to understand the importance of faith and God. I would struggle at times but I would also learn that we need to help and accompany others in their journeys too no matter how hard it is.

I would also grow in my professional life as I made my way through my aerospace engineering degree. I would sit next to the pilot and he would fly me around the Bankstown skies, teaching me about throttle and pulling several Gs. I would learn about aircraft design. I would cry at times because it was so hard, but also knowing it would be all worth it in the end. I would eventually end up in the aviation industry.

I would be mesmerised by the red orange sunset skies of Sydney. I would also experience hail and my umbrellas being blown away. I would be introduced to avocado brunches and the difference between a perfectly poached egg and a not too poached egg. I would learn how important sausage rolls; bacon and egg rolls; BBQ sausages and beers are. I would walk through the seven bridges of Sydney, 28 kilometres in length with my sister.

I would make the best of friends whom I will cherish for life.

I would also meet the most amazing and beautiful girl and call her my girlfriend.

Coming here to Sydney was scary, bittersweet and exciting. I was given an opportunity to explore a different side of the world and although reluctant at first, it grew to become such a blessing.

I have my sister to thank for that. She cares for me like a second mother and loves me so much. Without her, I don’t think I would have been able to survive in Sydney. Without her support, guidance and love, I don’t know if I could have made it through all these past years. In a world away from home, Sydney became my home because of all the amazing people I have met and the most important of them all is my sister.

All throughout my life as I move and flew from place to place, I have always been searching for some sense of permanence and belonging. The truth is I am never going to be completely like a Kuching born person and be able to stay for the whole Chinese New Year. I am never going to be like a Ipoh born person and know all the famous and must-go-to eateries. I am never going to be like a Sydney born person and understand the Australian culture completely.

And there’s nothing wrong with that.

In my shift across cities, I may not be an actual local but thanks to my friends and the people I have met, they welcomed me in as a local. Their love for me was so overwhelming that the cities became my home.

Kuching became my home.

Sydney became my home.

And as of yesterday, I am now a permanent resident of Australia.

Imagine that.

Permanent.

Seven years and three months since the day I first left Kuching. 11 years since my first flight. I am now a permanent resident of Australia.

The truth is that I have felt like one for a while now but having my status actually changed in the eyes of the Australian government, that is something incredibly special and fortunate.

I still remember my dad’s words till today. On my last day of school, I told my dad, “Dad, I don’t want to go to Australia. I want to stay here and be with my friends and you all.”. He replied, “We all would like that, don’t we? But life is composed of a variety of colours. You want to look back and say, I have lived all these colours. And what a great life it was.”

Indeed, what a great life it was and still is.

How did we end up living like this? Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we do this to our children? When did we forget that we are human beings, not human doings?

Whatever happened to a world in which kids get muddy, get dirty, get messy, and heavens, get bored? Do we have to love our children so much that we overschedule them, making them stressed and busy — just like us?

What happened to a world in which we can sit with the people we love so much and have slow conversations about the state of our heart and soul, conversations that slowly unfold, conversations with pregnant pauses and silences that we are in no rush to fill?

How did we create a world in which we have more and more and more to do with less time for leisure, less time for reflection, less time for community, less time to just… be?

Omid Safi

* * *

As I sat on the bus today, I took out my phone and started texting people “Happy Easter!” only to stopped myself as I realised where I was. The bus was going through the Anzac Bridge (named in memory of the soldiers of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps who fought in World War I) and on each side, I could see the beautiful waters and the bright skies above it.

For 30 seconds as the bus passed through the bridge, I put my phone back in the pocket, paused and looked up. I sat there, remembering the beauty and memories I was surrounded by.

A few years ago, I shared an article by Omad Safi with you, titled The Disease of Being Busy. Till today, I don’t think I ever quite express how grateful I was to my friend for sharing the article with me at a time I needed it most. It was the year when I was doing my thesis and project design simultaneously, when I had no time at all for anyone and when I was struggling so hard to just, survive. Life was so busy that I even missed out on a good friend’s 21st birthday.

I remembered when a friend asked me if I was coming to a community football tournament. I said “Yes, I’m coming” to which people responded with amazement. One was so shocked by my decision to show up that she said, “Pigs are going to fly tomorrow.” That was how far removed I was from all my friends that I didn’t have time for anything or anyone.

A lot has changed since then. I finished my thesis and graduated. Life took on its course and I even managed to find a job in the aviation industry, which is both surprising and a blessing. It’s been a year and a half now since I started working full-time and I have to say, it feels good to be earning money which means I can buy more Uniqlo clothes I can start doing investments and build that financially sound future for my family and I. To be honest, that’s not the main source of joy from work.

I think you all have noticed I don’t write much about work. That’s because as a working professional, I feel I shouldn’t. However, I am able to write about the experiences of being a working adult. When I first started working, I was so enthusiastic and I asked a thousand questions to the annoyance of my colleagues probably. I would stay late because I have those Asian genes and I feel responsible for my work. One of my colleagues misinterpreted this and thought I was trying to ‘show’ that I was hardworking and that I want to present myself as a keen budding young engineer.

I told him this, “We all have our dream jobs, of places you want to go and things you want to do. It doesn’t matter what they are. When you have a job, you have a job. You do it well and you pour everything you are into it. We are made to love. How then do I love when I’m at work all day? I love by putting the most effort I can possibly give and try the best I can. Every document and every line I type is something I want to be formed a result of my love. If that also means staying back after normal working hours, then so be it.”

Of course, as with anything, the young initial enthusiasm dies down after a while and I found it harder to keep up the initial capacity to want to love through my work. I find myself becoming tired.

Some days, you have hard clients to deal with. Some days, you have your own shortcomings and mistakes to deal with and overcome. Some days, there’s miscommunication between colleagues. All part of the process and learning curve but all adding to the business of the working life. Before you realise it, having 20 emails to respond to every morning seems normal and having to talk to clients at dawn is okay.

We get so wrapped up in our work that we forget the real reason why we love this job, why we got into the chosen industry or what motivated us to do this in the first place. For some of us, we find ourselves slowly destroyed as we get so consumed by the politics and wanting to be the top at all costs. Sometimes, at the cost of friendship. Sometimes, even at the cost of our loved ones.

Some days, I find myself forgetting the very lesson I learned all those years ago. No matter how busy you become, always remember to pause and breathe. Remember to look up. Remember everything good.

I remembered one time when I was working really late during the period leading up to Christmas. I was really busy that I couldn’t make it the usual Gospel meditation/sharing sessions I usually go to on Wednesdays. My brain wasn’t quite functioning anymore so I packed my laptop and took it home instead. I decided to have some rest first before resuming later.

I took the usual train to my home. After contemplating about it, I changed my mind. I skipped the train station at my home and went to Central instead. I managed to make my way to the church anyway even though I was 2 hours late. I didn’t really manage to catch much of the sharing but I did however manage to catch my girlfriend. At most, maybe I could only see her for 5 minutes because I needed to go soon after. It didn’t matter that it was only for 5 minutes. Seeing her meant the world to me.

That was one of the days I remembered to look up.

As a friend once told me, work is work. It’s always going to be hard and there will be periods where it’s mundane and challenging. That’s reality. You can be a rockstar and play at Wembley stadiums but you will also have periods where you will have writing blocks and can’t even play a simple chord properly.

No matter how hard it is and regardless of whether or not it’s your dream job, you try your hardest and you try your best because you are so fortunate to be working in the first place. There are plenty of people out there who would swap places with you in a heartbeat. Yes, conditions may not be ideal but hang in there. Be patient. Continue working hard towards your dreams and goals but don’t forget today too. Don’t forget to love through your work.

When it gets tough and when you find yourself unable to continue, just pause and just be. Close your eyes and remember everything good. Then, you will find meaning in your work again.

As my favourite Youtuber, Ming Han once asked,

“Do we leave enough space in our work to be human?

For ourselves.

For the people we meet.”

 * * *

One, remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Two, never give up work. Work gives you meaning and purpose and life is empty without it. Three, if you are lucky enough to find love, remember it is there and don’t throw it away.

Stephen Hawking

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Did I tell you I used to go to an all boys school?

My goodness, it was insane. Being cooped up in the same place with a thousand other guys that are having heightening levels of testosterone tends to do that. We laughed at every single crude joke there is and were so immature.

All. The. Time.

It was not all that bad. I actually like secondary/high school contrary to what a lot of people think of that phase.

One of the things that excite the Boys the most were the mid-year entry of the Form 6/Year 12 girls to join as students in our school. I choose to call it Open Season because that was what it felt like. Every single guy in school will start talking about the new students and that’s literally on everyone’s minds.

I can’t say that I managed to hold a conversation with them very well. A typical run of the mill conversation goes like this with me trying to initiate,

“Hey, so, what’s the time?”

“9 o’clock.”

Pause. Silence. Pause.

“Cool. Cool, cool. Alright, bye!”

So, yes, I didn’t really manage to talk much to girls. I always rather text than to talk to them face to face. If it’s texting, I’m on top of that game from A to Z yo (actually, still not really).

Eventually, I graduated from secondary school and got into Foundation Studies. I still remembered a friend of mine asking me, “Hey bro, do you want to come to dinner tonight? *insert typical girl’s name* and *insert typical girl’s name* are coming too.”

My mind exploded.

Damn. Life was exciting. Imagine that. Dinner with a couple of them. It’s like wow.

Anyways, I like to think that’s how a lot of my friends in school reacted if put in the same situation. Surely, I am not the only one that felt this way. Right? Right?

Overtime, I felt more comfortable talking to girls but still stutter from time to time. I think it’s because of my lack of social contact with them in my teenage years that I just didn’t know how to react. When I started uni, that’s when everything changed. I started having more meaningful and deeper conversations with girls, and guys for that matter. No longer was it trying to hit on them but it was and still is about being good friends first and foremost.

Don’t get me wrong. I still had a lot of crushes. Yeah. I did.

When I eventually got around to my first relationship (a very short one), I can’t say that I thought too much about it before it happened. In fact, it all happened so unexpectedly and quickly too. The timing and circumstances just felt right at the time. I just went for it. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out due to external circumstances and I probably took quite a while to recover from it. I know I shouldn’t have given the short nature of it but the firsts are always something hard to get over.

From then onward, I thought too much about every potential relationship I could have. I went back to basics and concentrated on the friendship aspect of it. I thought that if you concentrate on that, theoretically speaking, everything else will flow. I think something that I always said was, “Focus on being a friend first, if it works out, great. If it doesn’t work out, you still have a great friendship to cherish and at least, you care for her as a good person should do.”

Looking back, I don’t think that advice is entirely wrong but I think I also used it as a shield to guard myself against being hurt and to think there will always be a consolation if you don’t get the prize.

I did have some moments of courage along the way and asked a couple out. If I did, I had a strong feeling they were going to say no though. If I ever thought she was going to say yes, I would never ask. At least, that how I interpreted those events.

Since young, the vocation of the religious order was also on the back of my mind, simply also because people around me encouraged me. Similarly, everyone tells me to go and find a girlfriend and thinks I’m too picky. When the whole world tells you what you need to do or be, it can feel overwhelming because I’ve learned that it isn’t the voices of the world you need to hear. It is the voice inside of you, the voice of God.

Undecided between vocations and afraid to commit myself into a relationship, I didn’t do anything and happily let life passed by me. Looking back, I can’t say that is entirely true either. In A New Hope, I wrote the following:

People often ask me, “Augie, why don’t you have a girlfriend yet?” or they tell me things such as, “Do you know what you are looking for?” and “You have to take a leap of faith someday.” While all these questions give me food for thought, my greatest strength is me acting out of gut instinct. When I told my friend, “I don’t have a girlfriend yet because it doesn’t feel right.”. Puzzled and bewildered, he replied, “What do you mean by right? Does it have to feel right?” Yes, it has to be. I’ve always believed that.

I still believe that and thank God I did because two years down the line, I found her, the girl that I’ve never realised I was waiting for and I never knew I needed.

If you asked me how it happened, I wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly because it all happened rather unexpectedly. All I know is that I took the first initiative and everything else that happened after has been a dream.

In the period leading up to me asking her out, I prayed really hard and it’s probably the hardest I have ever done. Undecided and unable to commit, I was so afraid to venture into the unknown because it’s scary. After all that I have been through, how can I ensure that the path I choose is the absolute correct path?

I don’t and I can’t. In the end, in prayer and in silence, it was His Grace that guided my heart and gave me the confidence to take that leap of faith.

Thank God for that because she is amazing.

I have never met any girl that would make do what I did, to be brave, to be bold and to go all out.

She’s caring, compassionate, loving and most important of all, she likes me for who I am. Not who I was or who I will be but she likes me as I am now. When I asked her what attracts her about me, one of the things she said was that I’m very Catholic. It wasn’t my charm (if I ever had any in the first place). It wasn’t my job. It wasn’t my talents. It was being me. Being Catholic is such a intricate part of who I am that really, it almost defines my whole being.

When I was chasing after her, I thought I needed to be perfect or rather present a perfect version of myself to her because that’s the best version of myself right? Surely, the perfect version will never disappoint. Surely, the perfect version is able to love fully. Surely.

If the past few months are anything to indicate by, I realised that the best version of myself is not when I’m perfect because that’s not possible. To err is to be human. The best version of me is when I’m still trying my best despite not being perfect. It’s that I am still going even though the odds are against me.

Love doesn’t come from being perfect. It comes from putting the real you out there even though you know it might hurt. It comes from having the courage to take risks. It comes from putting the other person before yourself.

There’s also always this perception that having a companion makes us not feel alone. If we are not alone, then we will be happy. That statement couldn’t be more wrong. I realised it was never about being not alone, but it is always about sharing the love of Christ with one another.

Her love deepens my love for God and my love for God strengthens my love for her. At the end, it is God’s love that strengthens our love for one another so that we may love others around us even more.

We are meant to bridge each other to Christ and to Heaven. We are meant to make each other better and be more ourselves. All couples are called towards that.

I can write so much about this and so much more about her but I think I will leave it at here. After all, I’ve already written too much. However, I will end with something from a A New Hope,

My friend said this to me the other day, “That feeling of confidence and knowing she’s right will come from God! So you just stay close to Him and your life will take its course as it should be.”

Time will tell.

Time did tell.

And it’s only the beginning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I went outside on a beautiful Sunday, I grabbed my phone, packet tissue and keys and left the house. I decided to take a walk to the Grounds of Alexandria near my place. It was a 20 minutes walk away. It’s not like there is no coffee near my place but I just like going to the Grounds. It’s such a pretty place, filled with beautiful flowers, quirky decorations and amazing atmosphere. If there is a cafe that I would say epitomises Sunday mornings in Sydney, this is it. As I was about to reach the place, I realised I was missing my wallet. (I must say it did dawned on me that I could have probably used my phone to tap and pay but then there is the whole thing of it might not work and issue of phone security. I also did not want to end up washing their dogs or utensils because I couldn’t pay for my coffee.)

So, I set off back to my house to grab my wallet. How typical of me. Always almost there but never quite make it.

It reminded me of my English language exams that I have to take in the past year for my permanent residency application. In order to apply for it, you must reach a certain number of points and one of the biggest contributer of points is your English proficiency. For me, I needed to show that I have a superior command of English to get the maximum points available. In order to do that, you need to reach above a threshold of 89% in each category whether it’s speaking, writing, listening and reading.

Before I did another Engish exam the day before, I had already done three, coming close in each one but never quite made it. With the first two, I missed out because I didn’t make it for the writing category. With the third, I didn’t make it for speaking instead. These exams cost money too but looking at the bigger picture, the cost is something you just have to swallow without complaining.

English has been my first language since young. The first words taught to me as a baby were of the English language. The main language in my household is English. If I need to choose a language to defend my life with, it would be English. My Malay and Cantonese would have never been able to be something as such. The very language that I blogged in is English. My thoughts are all in English. It is not the most elegant or efficient language but it’s the only one I have come to know personally and has forged my very own identity.

When I came from Malaysia to Australia, one of the things that surprises the locals the most was my English command. It would go along the lines of, “How are you able to speak English?” or “You are from Malaysia? No way! I thought you are from here. You speak English so well.” It doesn’t offend me as I can’t help it if people are ignorant of the ability of Malaysians to speak proper English. One of the things I needed to change or more accurately, mask was my accent. Coming from Malaysia, my accent was always rougher and I tend to slur my words. One of things I get teased the most was that my ‘threes’ sounded like ‘trees’. Now, I don’t know why it sounds rougher. Maybe it is because of the restlessness and noise of the cities in Malaysia. It could also just be a result of my very own Chinese culture meshing with the Malaysian culture, creating a loud and fast-paced accented English.

I found myself being a calmer person because I didn’t ‘turn on’ my accent when I speak. It could be because I have to restraint myself from going full blown ‘Manglish’ (Malaysian English) or that I’ve gotten older. Either way, when I first started speaking the neutral sounded English, I never really felt like myself and thought that I’m only presenting a partial version of myself and never the whole being.

Regardless, as long as others spoke English too, they would understand me perfectly and vice versa. In a world away from home, I thought that English was my saving grace, enabling me to communicate with others of different backgrounds, cultures and histories.

As I sat for my exam again yesterday, I felt really nervous even though it’s the fourth time I’m doing it. The first category tested was speaking. Before the exam started, the computer said to introduce myself. I did exactly that but somehow at a frantic pace. It just went downhill from there. I fumbled some of the questions and sweated my way through. There was this sinking feeling that I am not going to make it again. For the rest of the exam, I just went through the motions and couldn’t shake off the anchor that was in my head.

After I was done with it, I just felt like crying. I didn’t know if I had it in me to do it again. These scores were telling me that I couldn’t write and speak. The very language that I did choral speaking in, public speaking in, blog writing in and articles writing in is suddenly a mountain I need to climb over. It was hard to take in.

During the times that I didn’t get through, I asked myself, “Did I not get through because I was overconfident of something seemingly so easy and hence did not study as much for it?” or “Did I not get through because the system was against me?” After reflecting upon it further, it always going to be the former that is the main reason. I didn’t lower myself enough to admit that I have issues with my grammar or that I don’t pronounce my words properly. If I have friends whose first language isn’t English and yet managed to get through it, what does that say about me?

Just because I’ve known something my whole life, it does not make me superior in it let alone a master in it.

Even though I felt down on the day, the thought about languages intrigued me more and more. What exactly is in a language? What’s in a word? If said rightly, it is able to inspire and change the world. If said wrongly, it can wound the hearts of others so badly and start wars. Languages are seemingly a beautiful disaster. Our brains can seemingly remember every single word we have learned or used. We are able to compose and write songs, poetry, haikus and stories and yet sometimes when we need it the most, we are at a loss of what to say. We could learn all the languages in the world but if a grieving person comes to you for help or that we are trying to find the words for apologies; in that moment, all we could muster is silence.

One will come to learn that the greatest thing to say at times is not to say anything at all. The greatest thing we can do is to listen.

In our toughest trials and moments of deep sadness, it is the single tear shed that speaks louder than any word we could possibly imagine. When we were babies and infants, it was our parents’ warm embraces and silent guarding that shows how much they care for us. We may not have understood words but we understood actions. They too make up languages.

Languages go far and beyond ‘the use of of words in a structured and conventional way’. Even if two people don’t speak the same conventional native languages, if they have a common interest in food, games, sports or religion, that’s your language. That’s your way in with people around you. When we experience something, it could either become a passing memory or something that reaches far deeper. I believe it was St. Mary McKillop who reminds us that, ‘gratitude is the memory of the heart’. Vacate enough space within yourself and approach people with sincerity, you suddenly find your conversations reaching another level when your words, actions, memories and silence come together to create speech.

English wasn’t my only saving grace when I came here. It was everything that I have experienced before and most importantly, my faith that allows me to speak the way I do. When I told my friends that I am going to fail this exam again, each one of them said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you did fine!’. Some said they will pray. My mum even took the extra step to search YouTube for miracle prayers. She’s endearing like that but it also speaks volume of her faith in God; steadfast and unwavering. Anyway, comforted by my loved ones and sustained by prayers, I was able to put my English test aside for now.

When I woke up on that Sunday morning and checked my phone, I saw an email coming in that the results for the test are out! With anxiety, I checked it and was prepared to face the worst. I did it! I got the marks needed! (This blog post had a very different ending initially when I thought about it but the results proved my fears and suspicions wrong.) That’s it! I don’t know how but I made it. No more almost there. After trying four times, I got it in the end.

Eventually, I did grab my wallet and made it back to the Grounds. I got my coffee in the end. There was no washing of dogs or utensils. It was all relatively low key. What mattered was I got there. As with speaking, I realised I still have so much to learn about it. I don’t think I will ever ‘make it’ but I do understand this; if you structure your words well, you would be able to get an idea across to a person’s brain. But speak with your whole being, that reaches a person’s heart.

Lace every word with love. Speak with humility. When need be, silence. It is hard to do but that should be the way we strive to speak.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I was sitting in front of my computer at my desk, my colleague started talking to another regarding Ramadan. He was explaining the meaning behind it and how the whole point of fasting and the intense prayers is to make you a better person after it. He said it is the hope that the values and maturity you gained from this period will stay with you even after it is over. He also started talking about Zakat, which means “that which purifies”. He explained that it is an act of alms-giving to the poor and you have to give about 5% of your wealth (so not just your income). It used to be mandatory but these days, only some countries make it so.

When they finished talking about it, the other colleague went back to his desk, which was next to mine. I made a remark to him that some Protestants do a similar thing to Zakat and I pointed out that it’s a crazy amount of 10% (I’m not sure as to how accurate this is, I have this information from friends of mine.) I said my sister’s best friend finds herself a little financially restrained because of this. He then proceeds to tell me that the Catholics have a similar thing too, to which I went, ‘What!’. Whatever do you mean that the Catholics have an obligation to donate a percentage of their wealth (also called tithing). I have never heard of this. I should prefaced this by saying my other colleague is a Catholic too, so I’m assuming that he does know what he is talking about.

He proceeded to look it up on the Internet and told me that it isn’t mandatory but it is recommended to do so. I took in under contemplation. Maybe I have been living under a rock. I never knew that the Catholics were also highly encouraged to do tithing. I mean I know we are encouraged to do alms-giving but not like this.

My colleague then tells me how he and his wife donates to a charitable organisation. They will make sure that they set a certain amount aside every year. He said it also helps with the tax deduction side of things. I nodded in agreement.

After thinking about it for a while, I admitted to my colleague that I didn’t know about tithing but I always assume that the point of being Catholic or even being human is to give everything.

He said, “Everything?”

I replied, “Everything” and told him about the parable of the widow’s offering (Luke 21: 1-4). It reads,

He looked up and saw rich people putting their gifts into the treasury; he also saw a poor widow put in two small coins. He said, ‘Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them; for all of them have contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in all she had to live on.’ 

I pointed that out not because I give everything that I have. I am ashamed to admit that I am no where even near that level of selflessness. I pointed that out because I know that is what you and I need to strive towards to.

Taking nothing away from Zakat and tithing, I think it is great that a system is in place for alms-giving to be necessary and so that there is a fair distribution of wealth and property among people. I think it’s admirable and also extremely kind of people to give away so much of what they have. I know nothing of the economics side of this and I’m not going to pretend like I do but I do know that there has to be something beyond that.

Giving is not just in terms of money (It is however the most practical thing to do.) but giving is in the form of every single part of who we are. We can donate our time and spend it with those who need it most. We can lend a listening ear to those who need counsel. We can play music for those who need to be enlivened. We can teach and pass on our knowledge to those who are lacking. We can share our own personal struggles with others so that they and us can grow together towards becoming better people.

Take for example a contestant on America’s Got Talent called Mandy Harvey. She became deaf at the age of 18 but of all the career choices she could have went with, she decided to stick with singing and songwriting. Just imagine this. A deaf person sang an original song on one of the biggest talent shows. She would never be able to hear her own song but she decided to do it anyways because she wanted to keep trying and not give up. If that’s not the purest form of giving, I don’t know what else is.

We can do so much more than just giving money to people. We can be so much more and be a symbol of hope to others. If we set aside a certain amount to give to charity each year, that is a great first step. However, we need to think of the second, third, fourth and hundredth step. What can we do beyond that as human beings?

We are meant to give until it hurts. We are meant to love beyond the state of it breaking us. But that’s what love is. Love is meant to hurt. Love is meant to break us down and make us question ourselves.

But that’s what makes love worth it.

At the heart of giving things that we own to others is love. We give because we feel compassion and empathy for those for are less fortunate. Don’t stop there. Keep going. Let that compassion and empathy drive you towards more love. Let it drive you to give everything you are.

I will end with a little piece of treasure from Bernard of Clairvaux, whom wrote,

“Love suffices unto itself, gives delight of itself and because of itself. Love is its own merit, its own reward. Love needs no cause outside itself, no fruit other than itself. Its fruit is its practice. I love because I love; I love that I may love. Love is a great thing, so long as it reverts back to its source, return to its origins and flows back to its fount, constantly drawing there the water that gives it new life.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hey everyone, good evening (or good morning, depending when you are reading this)! After a few days of thinking about whether to keep posting everyday for lent, I have decided not to do so. That is because I know I will be writing for the sake of writing. I’ve written so much since the inception of this blog that I now realised I hold myself to this standard no one even holds me up to. It’s a standard that I have set for myself. I can’t say that I’m a perfectionist but sometimes, I set the bar so high that I find myself not being able to jump over it but tripping right before I take the leap. Not once, not twice, but over and over again.

Maybe it’s the Asian genes that runs in me. Maybe it’s the standard set by society. At the end of the day, I’m the barrier to myself.

I remembered this conversation that I had with a high school friend a while back. We were chatting about how are things. After he told me how he was doing, he said to me, “For you, I don’t need to ask, Augie always perform,” which loosely translates to “I don’t need to ask how are you because you always have it all together,”

The truth is I don’t. I don’t have it all together a lot of times. There are days where I feel like crying because things aren’t going the way they can be. Sometimes, there are days where I know I can do better and I keep asking myself why can’t I be better. I strive for perfection and fight for my ideals but after reflection over the past few months, I realised I’m missing the point completely.

I can never be perfect and no one else can ever be. In beating ourselves up because we are not this ideal person we imagine ourselves as, we are going against everything humanity is. To err is to be human. The very nature of being human is that we are incomplete and not self-sufficient. The moment we were born to this world, our first instinct is to cry because we recognised the need of others.

I may never be perfect but it doesn’t mean I can’t try. The lesson I am learning is that we need to accept ourselves as we are and that’s how we are able to grow. When we accept our flaws as a result of our own limitations, we start to immerse our hearts in humility. St. Therese speaks of this and tells us to be as little as possible! What does this mean? She says, “It means not being discouraged by our faults, because children often fall over, but they are so little they don’t hurt themselves badly,”

Alas, it is our pride that hurts us the most. We are embarrassed to fall as we grow older because we have put ourselves on a pedestal so high that we can’t see who we really are anymore.

I still hold myself to a high standard but I also know it’s okay if I can’t give a hundred percent each time as long as I trust God to help me give the whole of myself each time.

That’s all from me today. Wherever you are, don’t lose hope! I am reminding you today and one day, you will remind me too! Have a good day everyone!