A Time and a Place

One of the most beautiful things in Malaysia is waking up to the morning breeze and the smell of dew and the sound of birds chirping and fluttering their wings outside my window. It is priceless.

My first morning home was incredibly peaceful and every morning since has been a story of its own. Sometimes it's waking up to my 2 year old niece walking around smiling, waiting to push me off the mattress; sometimes it's hearing her cry, excuse me, I mean yell out for "memmy" (her mother, Jamie) or "mama" (her grandmother) or "LV?"; sometimes I wake up to my brother-in-law's typing, other times the blinking of the dining hall florecent light shinning in my eye accompanied by a slight buzz of the lightbulb. Most of the time, I wake up at 5 in the morning, while the sky is still red and the morning still asleep. Jet lag.

I stare out the windows close to the ceiling and I call out,

"Father, hear me."

I've shopped, I've eaten more than I can handle, I've babysat and photographed, I've seen cousins and grandmothers, uncles and aunties, and in their eyes I still see the same traditions and love that I've grown up around. It's strange. Despite the years that have gone by, I still remember my native tongue; I still remember to accept change with my right hand; I still live the Nyonya-Iban-Chinese way (yes, I'm a combination of all 3).

Home...

I used to be protective of what I called home. I never thought that home could be a number of places...well, not really places, but it's how people around you make you feel, really.

From Klang to Subang Jaya, Selangor, to Wellesley, Boston, to Charlotte, North Carolina, to Spartanburg, South Carolina...there has always been one special moment that I've had making those places home.In Klang, it was sitting in my hammock underneathe our wooden stairs. I was born and raised till 4 years of age here. In Subang, it was when I hurt my forehead (the scar is still there) on the edge of a stair and saw blood on my arm for the first time. I yelled for dear life as mom came rushing to see her 4 year old bleeding. In Wellesley, it was sitting on the deck, looking out unto the lake decorated with geese and swans, sipping my hot chocolate and writing in my journal, feet up and all. In Charlotte it was in the car...with a boy I was in love with and his family, after a Christmas eve get-together, and in Spartanburg, it was the night I cried during band practice and was loved by the most unsuspecting people.


"Jesus was homeless", in physical terms (Irresistible Revolution). But I believe making people feel at home emotiaonally is more important. Isn't that what Christ showed us when He walked on earth? No matter who it was, He allowed them to feel at home around Him. Leper, Prostitute, Stressed-out-one. He opened up His heart to them.

My moments of "home" have meant so much to me. And it's beautiful to see that I've been brought to all these places by the One who loves me. I am assured that I will always have a home.

Where to next?