Kampung road in Permatang Pasir, Balik Pulau.
Every morning, I have to drag myself out of bed. Excuses, reasons, goals – whatever it was needed that would persuade myself that it was going to be a beautiful day. Everyday is a Monday, except Sundays. Every morning is a test of my commitment to go on living fruitfully. Like everyone else, I have to toil through each day, maybe even more than most, looking for a purpose to justify my existence. I look at my clawed hands and atrophied legs and wondered how much I could possibly accomplish for that particular day with such inadequacies. My mind is always playing tricks on me. I feel pain where I should not and do not feel where I really should.
Twice a day, I have to remember to take my medication one hour before meals which I often forget. Very frequently, I allow only one half hour to pass before eating because my blood glucose level had dropped significantly and I was in frantic need to replenish it. Five times a day, I stick a rubber tube up where it should be most receptive to pain to make sure my damaged kidneys do not become any worse. And I stick other stuff up other places to ensure that my body is able to function as normally as it should. Life should not be like this.
Little devils relentlessly swirl around my head, whispering sweet temptations and delicious transgressions that would make me an anathema to my faith and offend the accepted sense of decency. Perhaps that was a weakness born purely out of my own unbridled desires. Everyday I struggle to be a good Christian but somehow I never fail to falter several times before the day is over. Sometimes it was not of my own doing. Sometimes I had allowed myself to be led into it. Other times, I had wilfully and knowingly violated the code. That clearly illustrates the depth of my spirituality and how easily I can be led astray despite the vows I had so resoundingly affirmed during my baptism.
Despite what I have written previously, I am not as strong as I had consciously or unconsciously portrayed myself to be. I struggle to keep my faith unsullied. I get depressed more often than I should. I still do feel sorry for myself for not being able to do the things that I used to love to do. I am still looking for a purpose in life. I am prone to bouts of melancholy and indolence. If anyone should think I am an inspiration, I call on them to think again. I am definitely no role model for those who seek to find hints of noteworthy traits in my character that had been tempered by the hard times that I had traversed. I constantly fail in my endeavours. I still have not triumphed over this adversity that has befallen on me. My life is dotted with too many question marks for me to make meaningful forward plans. I live one day at a time in order not to let the drudgeries of tomorrow weigh me down. That is all I can do. And if I did inspire, it surely must have been the invisible hands of God at work, inspiring me to write what I wrote.