Sunday, November 24, 2013


Watching Hunger Games: Catching Fire yesterday sent me hungry for more. Both Katniss and Peeta's characters left me with a mind to wonder...what will become of them? I must say Jennifer Lawrence has once again proved to be a remarkable actress with more than intelligence and vulnerability combined. What's more intriguing about this film is that it has a striking resemblance to the world we lived in today. This movie has sparked a fire in me to reflect on life.

Today we live in a society where the rich becomes richer and the poor becomes poorer. Yes, there are ongoing talks about helping the poor and thousands if not millions of humanitarian aid organizations out there. Every company is doing something to help the poor to keep tabs with their corporate social responsibility. Otherwise, their customers might just run to the next company who appears to be more 'caring'. Everyone seems to be doing their part. Do they really care or it is just another marketing gimmick like what Katniss and Peeta was sent to do in their tours?

Hungry children die of starvation every other day. Human trafficking exploits them and takes advantage of their vulnerabilities. Poor mothers with babies are forced to beg on the streets with rich neighbours living next to them who are oblivious to their existence. Millions of people die of diseases due to lack of clean water and basic necessities that we so often take for granted. How many more can't even afford to go to school while spoilt rich kids skip classes to go shopping? It is absurdly appalling that many go hungry while so much food is thrown away in other parts of the world. Remember the party on the eve of the Hunger Games? Many such feasts are held everyday in this world with food deliberately wasted. How many wish they can puke all the food out so they can try more delicacies? Nowdays, that is not a rare wish at all.

Then again, are the rich with all the wants and materials they can have more happy than the hungry and poor? It is undeniably a fact that suicidal and depression is higher in richer countries. Why so? Perhaps we should really look back and think. 

Are the poor really powerless with no hope to live? Are the rich so high and mighty that they would never suffer from sorrows? Far from true. So why then do we continue with the ongoing pursuits of wealth and pleasures that can never last? What games are we playing that are leaving us hungry for more? 

We can feel if not see clearly the invisible walls that separate the rich and the poor, like the District 12 and the Capitol. People screwing and 'killing' each other to go to the top. Hunger Games paints a clearer picture of the world we live in.

So are we left with no hope? Not at all...Watching Katniss and Peeta gives me a glimmer of hope to keep fighting as they keep fighting to rise above their persecutions, trials and oppressions. Above that, to give a voice to the voiceless and help them fight.

The greatest lesson is FAITH. Fight in faith. And when all is said and done, there's still heaven. We can hope in that. Life's on earth not all that's left. As Katniss longs to run away to a safer place in the hope to have a better life, we can trust in that longing too, with hope. 

I totally agree with the words of Bruce W. Mcdonald in his book, "The Fight of Faith." He wrote,

"There is nothing wrong with longing for heaven....'I consider the present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. (Romans 8:18'

Shall we then strive in our own Hunger Games? Let's not give up on life ;)

Thursday, November 14, 2013


Dear readers,
The work below is a piece of fiction inspired by true life's circumstances. I rarely   post short stories on this blog but has always been fascinated by them. This is one of my few attempts to bring light to some issues tormenting girls. Feedbacks, comments and constructive criticisms are most welcome! 

It was summer 1999. I would never have thought life could ever be like this. A slave like me could never want something more from life. Besides, I was never truly alive. I was a tool to be used and confiscated when all was said and done. I should never question what I was born to be for it was all laid out for me. I was bought by a price. If anyone who should remain silent for the rest of her life, it should be me.  Whatever happened must be a stroke of luck or some mighty invisible hands at work.

In the cold winter’s night of 1987, a Chinese baby girl with lovely shining eyes was born. Her cries filled a small corner of a city in the province of Anhui. She was a pretty sight to behold. Unfortunately, her mother looked at her with terror in her eyes and refused to hold this baby that was born of her flesh. Her father came in, saw the baby and quickly tucked her in his arms and fled the room. It was too much a risk to keep the baby. The one child policy meant they could only have one kid and it would have to be a boy. The boy could help in his laborious business and would be able to carry the surname of the family. A girl would be of no use to them. The father passed this crying baby bundled in rags to a red-haired foreigner waiting near the dock and she was never to be seen again in China. That poor little baby was me.

I grew up not knowing who my parents were. I always thought Master was my father but at age six, it finally dawned on me that my siblings were all tanned. I was the only fair child. At first I thought I was special and then realised the colour of my skin was a curse. They would all make fun of me and said Master picked me from the rubbish bin and bleached me till I was pale yellow because the stench on me was too horrible that no one could bear to be near me. I ran to Master asking him who my parents were and how did I end up in a land where no one else looked like me and was reprimanded with six harsh beatings from a rattan rod. From that day onwards, I never questioned Master again. Nor would I ask anyone where I came from.

It was never easy to please my Master. I tried singing but ended up sounding like a grasshopper creaking in the woods. I practiced dancing again and again but my clumsy feet prevented me from swinging graceful hips that I never had. I never excelled at any performances that my siblings could do so easily. They all seemed like a chore to me and I wondered why I did not possess any talents worth pursuing. How was I going to help Master make money? Would he throw me out because I could not contribute anything to make a living? All I could do was sit and beg but that was not helping much.

One day while I was begging, a beautiful lady with long blond hair and clear blue eyes came to me. She gave me a chapatti with some hot dhal. She told me I was pretty. My heart almost stopped in disbelief. I wondered whether she was telling the truth or she was just giving compliments out of pity for my kind who had to sit and beg. I smiled graciously at her and she patted my head gently. No one had ever touched me like that before. I did not know whether to cry, to run or to laugh. Instead, I stared at her blankly till she left. That night, I could not sleep at all thinking of the gorgeous maiden sent from heaven and her soft hands. 

The next day, I saw her again. She was passing the dusty streets of Pink City. Clad in a blue kurta and jeans, she came over and handed me a McDonald’s vegetarian burger. I was too stunned to speak. I had always seen teenagers and family enjoying Happy Meals in the yellow, red and white restaurant and could only dream that one day, some angel would bring the burgers to me. My angel arrived in the form of a fine lady with sparkling eyes that spoke of love when she gazed into mine. This time, I thanked her in English. I knew a few words of English from my older siblings who had picked it up in the streets from the foreigners who had come to visit Jaipur. From that day onwards, I saw my angel every day without fail. She would bring me food to eat and thanks to her, I learnt a lot more English although our conversations were always brief. I looked forward to our meetings everyday and for the first time in my life, I felt happy. I loved her so much and I swore I would die for her if anything threatened her life.

This angel of mine gave me a present. It had attractive women with long flowing dresses stuck on papers. Each paper had different pictures that were delicately drawn with meticulous details. There were some words at the bottom of each piece. My angel told me my present was a book. I was mesmerized by it. I started looking at my book every night and imagined that I would be one of those graceful ladies wearing striking gowns. It was a consoling dream every night where I could escape from my harsh life. Sad to say, Master saw me one night clutching my book and took it away from me. He tore the pages right in front of me as I choked back tears of grief. He made me promise never to touch a book again for it would spoil my pure mind. I nodded quietly.

One cloudy day, this angel of mine stopped coming. I waited till sunset and she still did not come. I was heartbroken. I asked around the shopkeepers and stall owners who might have known her. One of them told me that she flew back to the United States. My heart was torn. My angel left and betrayed me. My only source of joy had to be taken away.  She did not even say goodbye. I was left all alone again in the slums where I did not even belong. I realised I was from a different planet and it hurt so badly. I could not cry for crying was forbidden. Master would strike us with a stick so hard we would be bruised till we could not walk for days. I sucked all the pain into my soul and I grew quiet. I vowed never to smile again unless it was to seduce and tempt, never to let anyone into my heart again. I became silent and only spoke when it was absolutely necessary.

My heart cried till it cries no more. I was turning twelve and Master was preparing me for something huge. I was no longer allowed to go and beg. I was to take care of my skin and made sure I would not do anything to hurt myself physically. There were no more beatings or slapping. I was to make sure I knew how to walk properly. I had to take dancing lessons everyday although it was difficult as I was never cut out to be a dancer. Master told me someone would visit me and make me a woman. That person is of great honour and he would bring great wealth to our home. He told me that I would never be the same childish and foolish person like I was before. I was to become a mature, wise and refined lady once this honourable person paid his visit and made me one. I was delighted and did all my preparations with care. I would finally bring admiration and riches to Master. I would be the best slave anyone could ever have. I was born to be that.

The day finally came when that honourable person arrived. He wore a bright orange turban and he had such a long beard that you could weave them into braids. He introduced himself as Mr. Jee. After performing a dance, Master took me and him into a room filled with all things shiny and gold. The bed was covered in red silky sheets with golden embroideries. I would never dream of sleeping in a bed as heavenly as this. Although everything looked like dreamland, I felt strange at the thought of a bed in a meeting place. Mr. Jee looked at me intensely and switched off the lights. I was afraid of the dark and wanted to say something but I kept my mouth shut. Within seconds and swift like the lightning, his fat hairy hands reached for my golden saree and tore all my clothes off. He started touching me all over but something inside my heart told me this was not right. How could such horror make me a woman? I panicked and kicked him with all my strength, I fled the room and for fear of Master’s disappointment, I ran with all my might away from my Master’s home. I ran till I could run no more and slept in the corner of a street. I was only covered in my torn saree cloth that I managed to grab with me.

I woke up in the broad daylight with noisy kids roaming around the sandy alleys. No one seemed to have noticed me. Everyone was engaged in their own daily routines. There were a few camels strutting slowly across me. I was hungry, thirsty and scared. What if Master did send his troop to look for me? The last time someone tried to run away, Master found him and chopped his arms off. This armless boy grew into a man who would beg for the rest of his life with a paper cup as his companion. I feared that would happen to me. I quickly gathered my saree and wrapped myself properly with it and started to move. I walked till my feet bled and toes blistered for I was without shoes when I left that shameful chamber. It was soon midnight. There was not one single soul to be seen along the highways of the desert. I took my slumber on the roadside till I heard the honking of cars. It was still dark but fear took hold of me again and pushed me to get up and walk.

On the fourth day, I was drained of all my energy under the terrible scorching heat of the desert. My head was spinning and my steps became slower and slower. I was dying for water. I did not dare ask anyone for fear of them recognizing me as Master’s slave. I continued to trudge on the rough roads dragging my painful feet. Alas, I could take it no more. I slumped against a tractor like a huge rock thrown at a wall and slept. I passed out for hours. Not even the sound of honking trucks could wake me up. I lay at the roadside like a dead log.

I was awakened by some foreign music that was new to my ears. I opened my eyes and sat up. I felt like I was in a room of another planet. There were no glitzy decorations so loved by the Indians. The blanket covering me was filled with some puffy cotton and it was satin white. In fact, the whole room was white in colour leaving only chairs and tables in mahogany. Even the wardrobe was white. It was peculiar but very clean. Nothing like the home I slept in. I jumped out of bed and ran out of the room. I saw an old man and a young woman looking at me. I stared at them for I was startled to see people of different colours than I would normally see. The young woman had similar features like mine. She had long straight silky black hair and she also had pale yellow skin.  She began to explain to me that she saw me on the roadside when they were passing by as tourists in Jaipur on the way back to Delhi. She thought it was a rare sight to see a fellow Chinese sleeping on the streets and so she saved me.

I finally found out one piece of information about myself. I am Chinese. How odd. I never heard of that word. Whatever it meant, I must be part of it or it was part of me. I started to sob and tears flowed out like rivers of water penned up in my silence all these years. I told them in my broken English about what happened and the young woman held me like a baby in her arms. She assured me she would help me in whatever ways she could.

            The air was clean and there were different types of big trees lining up the tar roads. There were no honking from the cars that passed by us and no beggars were in sight. We reached a huge mansion with brown window panes surrounded by a blooming garden with magical flowers that I had never seen before. The young lady grasped my hand, walked me into the house and led me up the stairs into my room. I could hardly breathe when she told me the room belonged to me. It was magnificent and fit for a princess.

            Painted in pink, I had a queen size bed with quilted covers all to myself. There was a desk next to it with a table lamp so exquisite I could only imagine ever to see in a palace. I leapt for joy as I looked at the shelves and beamed at the hundreds of books waiting for me to be read. I could escape into different imaginations anytime. I reached out for a book and flipped the pages. I saw weird organic shapes with words all over them and there were lines in each shape. I wished I could read them.

            The young lady pointed at the shapes and told me those were the maps of the world. She explained we were all living on this planet named Earth and it consisted of various countries. It took her and her husband one year to sort out paperwork to get me from India to the United States. She even went on a search to discover how I reached India. She finally pointed to a huge part of a shape and told me, “That’s China. That was where you were born.”

            My eyes moistened with tears as I finally understood the meaning of my name. I am China.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

A Letter to My very own Daddy-Long-Legs

Dear Daddy,
I re-read Daddy-Long-Legs yesterday, as a reminiscence of my childhood. I recalled how much I yearned for Daddy-Long-Legs to call my own; how much I longed for a real dad in the physical sense. I remember fantasizing of my mother being swept away by a charming man whom she will eventually marry and live happily ever after. In return, I get to have a daddy to call all to myself and of course, shared by my sister too. He will spoil me with fancy treats, books and pretty girly things and most of all, give me a warm fatherly hug when I am sad and allow me to pout, whine and tug at his shirt for a good night’s kiss. I get to see him every day and we will have endearing chats over lunches and dinners. I wanted what all little girls want, a fatherly affection. O how I envy those little girls who get to hold their daddy’s hands!

Dear Silent Daddy,
Looking back through the glass of my memory, I do have my Daddy-Long-Legs. That’s you. Silently, you read my every letter penned in my journal or composed into prayers whispered to heaven. You were there watching over me, sheltering me and gave me providence more than I needed even though I was never really thankful because I was a jealous little girl who wanted more toys and books all the time. Eventually, you did give me many things including more books, toys and clothes but you always passed them to me through your loving messengers. Even though you were always quiet, you were there when I cried, laughed, slept and played. You were there again when I screamed and cried from my nightmares in the dark. You were there when I fell from the stairs and banged my head on the ground. You were quietly comforting me; sending people to love and care for me, tending to my tiny wounds. Of course, you were again silent and never communicate with me but if you ever did, I failed to listen. As I grow up shielding myself with a shell around me, you were always around; watching fondly.

Daddy Most Dearest,
I ought to be thankful for you are the Daddy-Long-Legs who gave me scholarships to colleges. Otherwise, how was it possible for me to earn a degree and fend for myself? You believe that I could rise up beyond my insecure self and harness those talents and gave me education. Time passes so quickly and I am a grown up now. I have never lack of anything thanks to you. Sometimes you answer me in the weirdest way and like Master Jervie, you tend to intervene when I tried to do something stupid that you forbade. Naturally, I got angry at you although you always give me the best but my na├»ve eyes could not see. When I was seriously ill, you were there soothing my sufferings through the hands and feet of many others. You have always known how my wild heart longs for adventures and you generously send me on trips I can never afford to fund from my own pockets. Slowly, I discover the multitude of angels you have sent to guide me. They’re always storming heaven by their fervent prayers that I may be safe and good. What more can I ask for?

My Affectionate Daddy,
As I grow older, you make your presence somehow more visible. You spoil me endlessly and pamper me with many gifts. You tirelessly send people my way to help me grow alongside my journey in life. You even paint rainbows for me when I am down to remind me that you are always with me. You send birds to my windows in the morning to wake me up even though at times I am lazy and want to sleep in. You share your divine family with me to cheer me on and not give up when the going gets tough. I wonder why at times, I still doubt that you are mine and why I still feel that you are so far away.

My Adorable Daddy,
Funny how you know my heart’s deepest desires even when I never tell them to you. You are probably the only one who knows that as a little girl, I squealed in secret delight at the multitudes of stories you send my way and I tell myself I would like to be an author someday, to inspire many other girls to be brave and strong through my future stories. I guess you also knew that I was afraid of being ridiculed to aspire to become an author, afraid that I am actually no good at all when it comes to writing. You watch as I chose my way out of this dream to pursue a world of fame, glory and pleasure. Again and again, you grab my attention to turn back but often, I get so distracted I spin around and forget. Somehow you seem to know me much more than I do. You open paths that I never think possible to walk in. I guess I do belong to you. Otherwise, how will you ever know?

Daddy of My Dreams,
It must be you prompting me to pick up Daddy-Long-Legs again after so many years. That book was received by post and dated 1994. How long ago was that! As I poured myself on the pages of the book, a part of me has been re-lived and my buried dream had rose from the grave!

My Beloved Daddy,
It is beyond my knowledge whether I’ll ever be the great writer that I want to be but I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for bringing my long-forgotten dream back to me. I am more than grateful that you believe in me more than I do myself. You have been more than a daddy to me. You are my protector, provider, healer, teacher and comforter. You breathe life into my soul and gave me a purpose. You love me so much you gave your life for me. You have become my truest lover, my soul mate. Your silence speaks louder than words.

My Precious Daddy-Long-Legs,
I know you will still love me if I never become a prolific writer for that was never truly your intention. Of course, I will never stop trying because of all you have given me. I must not throw away all the lavish gifts you have bestowed upon me. You have been so good to me and no amount of things I do can ever repay your kind deeds and love. The least I can do is being the best I can be and give my very best. Daddy-Long-Legs, I know you desire above all things to draw me to you and so, I promise I will continue to write these letters to you even when I hear absolutely nothing from you. For better or for worse, in sickness or in health, I will write.

Dear GOD,
I just want you to know that I am very, very happy to have you as my very own Daddy-Long-Legs.

Yours forever and ever,
Daddy’s Little Girl,

Angelina Bong.

Saturday, November 9, 2013

Endless Self - Woo

No one will shed bottomless mercy like you do,

Will we wake up from shame and thank you,

Or lie awake self praising in endless woo?

Thursday, November 7, 2013


Villa Maria.

That’s what we named my beloved home, tucked away from the heart of the city in a quiet but soon to be bustling township. I finally moved back from the epitome of entertainment and stress-induced 24/7 playground to my laid-back hometown after more than a decade away.

It is quite an adjustment to be surrounded by the cares of family again. Nothing beats home-cooked food, less chores and lots more idle time on my hands. However, I am still trying to get used to waking up to chirpings of birds instead of heavy traffic blaring. No more late nights with friends over coffee and wine. No more people watching on the human jam-packed train we call the LRT.

I feel like a retired old soul. Sometimes I wonder if this is good or bad. There’s definitely ample time to do reading, writing and painting or at least more than I used to have. These are luxuries I hardly could indulge in due to long hours of work and socialising. What’s left of ‘me’ time would be thrown into occasional penning of journal to keep my soul alive, murmurings of prayers and BED time. The young people would call it living the life instead of writing about it.

Life’s definitely slower and almost uneventful this side of the country. Should I be thankful for it? I’ve rediscovered the simple pleasure of reading till my eyes bulge and not be concerned about my next socialising/networking agenda. With far less friends here since I’ve been gone for more than one third of my life, I sought solace in my own company.

Imaginations excite me from reading to conjuring up characters in both my writings and paintings, whether or not I have an audience or merely for my own personal enjoyment. Perhaps now is the time to take both my arts of images and words into another level. Turn the volume up!

I am thrilled as a child again over stories jumping out from books I’ve always wanted to read but never found time to. I’ve just finished ‘The Bear Boy’ by Cynthia Ozick and Oscar Wilde’s ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’. Both kept me going like a child reading the ‘Famous Five’ wishing to be one of the crazy detectives solving some unheard of mysteries. I absolutely loved the flowery words from Oscar. I am still haunted by the evil deeds described so horrendously vivid by Oscar, sending me praying not to end up like Dorian. The Bear Boy was a different engagement. Every chapter was refreshing and whatever you would have guessed turned out in a twisted manner and that’s what made it interesting although the ending could be altered with a bit more happiness. Readers after all, like me love a happy ending.

Away from the crowd, perhaps my arts can truly become alive. What was a hobby could perhaps be more. Villa Maria is to me now not just a home but possibly, the perfect writing and arts residency.

Wish me all the best, will you?

I guess for a start, I do have an exhibition coming up next ;) Do read the previous post about it.

Lov Kuching Exhibition

I'll be showcasing my paintings in an upcoming exhibition which starts from 9 November till 1 December. It will be officially launched tomorrow and open to public on Saturday.

Along with other local artists, we will be displaying artworks about our beloved city, Kuching. Hence, the title of the exhibition is Lov Kuching. It also happens to be Lov Gallery's first exhibition.

If you happen to be in Kuching, please feel free to drop by and give us some cheer! I will post up my paintings here as soon as the exhibition is over ;)

Here's a poster for more details.

Poster by Lov Gallery

Hope to see you all. Muaks!!!

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Hippie Pies

Music Flies,
The sky pass before me, Floating
into neverland of thank yous,
Papa says you'll have another apple pie, Flee past
Mama's weird ambush of juices

I cry not
into wells of free bizarre treats,
Swelling with gluttony-filled pride, Priced
at bottomless pits of quenched thirsts,
Beats of bongos triumphed over
indigestion, Chills of lovenotes dancing
Up and down
on the lining of my tummy pits,
Fierce and cool
the breeze of lemony tea blows,
In awe, I throw up blissful trebel clefs

My spirit,
Trumpeting on to land of honking virtues,
Trap in a maze
of sweet-smelling paths, Will I succeed
to conquer or lose myself in whimsy cries,
I pray Lennon to cheer me on
Nodding his bobful crown of joy

I hop
with carols skiing like
gleeful rhythms, Oh my
creamy dust sprinkled into daydreams,
Delight shall come and
all too soon

I beg not
to let this awful throes
chanting neverminds to my ears,
Perhaps it shall pass and all
I will ever hear is
My mama's hippie lyrics
of homemade pies

Friday, November 1, 2013

Have you Look in your Backyard?

And a leper came to Him, beseeching Him and falling on His knees before Him, and saying to Him, " If you are willing, you can make me clean." And moved with COMPASSION, He stretched out His hand, and touched Him, and said to Him, “I am willing; be cleansed".
Mark 1:40 -41

Many are familiar with the above scenario and many have pondered upon these verses, acknowledging Jesus as the healer and how He can truly cleanse us if we really want to especially spiritually. However, COMPASSION is the key concentration for this sharing.  Jesus was moved by compassion and thus healed the leper.

Back in the times when Jesus physically walked on the earth, lepers were considered dirty and the outcasts of the society. Back then, people were forbidden to touch the lepers. However, Jesus not only agreed to heal Him; He also touched Him.

How many of us today longed to go for mission trips or be a missionary in distant lands to reach out to these marginalized, poor  ‘lepers’ of today? We want to do something good. We want to make a difference in the lives of the poor especially in countries where there is famine. How many of us after watching news of disasters and floods in the news are moved by the devastation that occurs and hope to be part of the rescue team? These are noble wishes and great charitable acts. However, how many of us failed to look in our own backyards?

If we truly open the eyes of our hearts, there are many that are hurting around us. There are many that are spiritually hungry. There are many on the brink of suicide. There are many who are lonely, lost and misunderstood.

How many times do we close an eye and walk away when we see a beggar coming to us? How many of us would judge a young boy in the streets with some tattoos and piercings and say in our hearts, ‘Go away, and don’t disturb us. We don’t want to have anything to do with you, the troublemakers of society’.  Perhaps this young man is lost with no family and no home to call his own.  Would we not drive him into further desperation and crimes or even suicide if no one is willing to reach out to him?

Why are we quick to judge? We might have a neighbour who stays just next door but because he or she is of a different race or religion from us, we try our best to stay away. I remember a heart-breaking incident in one of the cities of Asia. An African friend of mine who was studying there was just crossing the road minding his own business and the moment he passed a car with Asian passengers in the car, the driver quickly locked the car fearing he was a criminal just because he is different. How would you feel if that was you and you were all alone in a distant land, far from home and perhaps, very lonely? Racism is still rampant although we claim to be more civilized.

What can you do as a Christian? If you believe you want to spread the messages of Christ, you can start now. Mission begins where you are. Look around you. There might be lonely students from faraway lands who might need your help. There might be refugees who just live across the street and could use some of your old pots and pans. Sometimes just a smile can brighten someone’s day.  Perhaps even within your own family. Maybe some cousin of yours is going through a divorce, or financial difficulties. Is it so much to grab the phone and ask if they need help? Perhaps all they need is just an ear to listen.

Though God may call some as missionaries to foreign lands, He also calls each of us to be His witnesses and to proclaim His messages. What better way than to act like He did to the leper? Be compassionate. Reach out in love. After all, we are the mirrors of Jesus and His words. We could be the only bible others will ever see. As the old saying goes, “Action speaks louder than words”.

Look in your backyard. Someone might need you. Perhaps God is calling you to him or her. Perhaps this is your mission for now.

God bless you as you approach the end of the year. May the remaining days of 2013 be a good reflection time as you continue your life-long mission trip with Him and may He keep you close to Him as you continue to be His instrument of love and peace. Amen. 

I would like to leave you a poem that I've written sometime back.

'Look at My Heart'

Don't condemn me by my tattoo,
Don't despise me by my scruffy clothes,
Don't criticise me by my unusual toenail colours,
Don't scrutinise me by my quirky hairdos,
Don't ignore me by my smelly odour,
Don't forsake me by my handicapped limbs,
Don't hate me by my skin colour, 
Don't crucify me by my different ways

You don't know my life story,
You don't know my history

Don't judge me by my appearance
But instead
Look at my heart

Luke 6:37
Judge not and you shall not be judged. Condemn not and you shall not be condemned.

As the saying goes, don't judge a book by its cover.

I hope you'll be inspired not to stop reaching out to people based on how they look.