Becoming Me | A Journey Through Love, Heritage, and Doubt

Daily writing prompt

What experiences in life helped you grow the most?

It’s funny how the experiences that change us the most often slip by quietly. There is little fanfare, and we rarely recognize them until much later. However, in retrospect, I can trace my growth to the struggles and the soft, persistent ways life nudged me forward.

I believe it started with loneliness. Growing up, I often felt invisible and alone. I wasn’t the most outgoing, pretty, or popular. I was just…there, among other outstanding siblings and peers. It’s strange, but loneliness formed the foundation of who I am now. It taught me to listen to both myself and others. It taught me to be more observant and sensitive to details that most people overlook, which I now use in my art and writing.

Then later came love. It was messy, imperfect, but glorious nonetheless. My relationship with my husband—my lover—has been one of my biggest teachers. We’re opposites in so many ways, and those differences have forced me to stretch, to compromise, and to forgive. Being married this long (two decades), going through joys, heartbreaks, financial strains, and raising kids has all been a daily practice of choosing love, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

However, I believe that reconnecting with my Iban roots has been the most transforming experience for me. For a long time, I felt detached from my cultural identity, as if I were witnessing it from afar. It was not intentional. Life was tugging me in different directions. But being a mother changed that. I realized how much I wanted my children to know where they came from. I want them to learn and feel that deep connection I had almost let go of. Teaching them about my Iban heritage has been like teaching myself again by rediscovering the stories, the poetry, and the parts of me I had tucked away.

I am currently working on a collection of poems that explores my Iban roots and traditions, weaving together memories, folklore, and the cultural theme that continues to shape who I am today.

And then there’s the lifetime of inner journey: the insecurities, the doubts, and the fear of not being good enough. Those have been some of my hardest teachers. I’ve struggled with impostor syndrome more times than I can remember, particularly when it comes to my art and writing. Moments such as being harshly criticized for lack of originality, feeling misunderstood, or being dismissed had a deep effect on me. But these experiences also pushed me to create a space where I feel free without fear of judgment, like starting this blog.

All of these experiences—loneliness, love, the return to my Iban roots, and issues with self-doubt—have influenced me the most. These experiences didn’t come with shiny lessons, but they taught me to be more compassionate, patient, and a little kinder to myself.

I’m still growing and figuring things out. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that growth doesn’t always happen in the big, loud moments. Sometimes it is in the moments you least expect, gently nudging you forward, one tentative step at a time.

The Advice I Needed as a Teen (And Still Do Sometimes)

Daily writing prompt

What advice would you give to your teenage self?

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If I could go back and sit beside my geeky teen self, I think I’d reach out, touch her cheek, and say this:

“You are enough, just as you are.”

I know she wouldn’t believe me right away. She’d probably frown and give me that skeptical side-eye, thinking I was just being nice. But I’d say it again, assuring her I’m not being cheesy, hoping it would sink into her heart and seep through her doubts.

“You don’t need to be prettier, louder, or more extroverted to be seen or loved. Your sensitivity, the depths you hold, the way you notice the smallest details, and the emotions you feel so deeply: they are not to be ashamed of. They are your gifts.”

When I was growing up, I often wondered why people liked me. I didn’t see what they saw. I wasn’t the popular kid, or the prettiest, gentlest girl, and I definitely wasn’t the life of the party. I was scrawny, awkward, quiet, and always second-guessing myself and my decisions. I spent so much time trying to figure out what made me special.

I’d tell her this too: “Don’t waste time wondering why others like you or if you’re worthy of it. You are worthy just as you are. Let yourself be vulnerable without feeling weak. Let yourself dream without fear of not being good enough.”

There were so many time when I felt like I was running, desperate to catch up, to fit in, to be noticed, to be the best. I’d want her to know she could stop running and start breathing.

I’d tell her, “Trust your voice because it will take you places you never imagined. And when the world feels overwhelming, turn to the things that make your heart sing—music, poetry, art. They will remind you of who you are when you feel lost.”

If I could give my teenage self anything, it would be that sense of peace. The peace that gives her understanding that she didn’t need to constantly strive to be more. She was already enough and complete. And maybe, just maybe, hearing that would have made her journey a little gentler.

So, if any of you are reading this and feel like you’re still that teenager inside, this is for you too:

You are enough, just as you are.

My Black Converse High-Tops and the Stories They Carry

Daily writing prompt

Tell us about your favorite pair of shoes, and where they’ve taken you.

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Some shoes are only shoes. They are worn for comfort, functionality, or fashion. Then there are some that become a part of you and accompany you through different stages of life. My Converse High-Tops in black are just that. I never wear high heels or other feminine footwear. They are simply not me—not my style. I don’t feel like myself when I wear such shoes. I’ve always been a sneaker girl since I was a kid and continue to be so even now that I’m nearing 50 (not yet, but almost there 😅).

My Converse, from the minute I put them on, felt like an extension of me. I know some people dislike Converse because of its tight cut, but it never bothered me. These shoes fit my petite feet well, allowing me to walk comfortably for hours. And I have. They’ve taken me to unexpected places and supported me through highs and lows. They’ve quietly witnessed countless moments of solitude, adventure, and change.

I’ve walked city streets, wandered quiet parks, and even attended church services in them. They’ve been there in the rain, drenched through but still sturdy, and in the searing heat, carrying me forward when I was tired and sweaty.

They’ve been my travel shoes, treading dusty earth in my homeland. They’ve become my go-to shoes for grocery shopping and getting my kids to and from school.

But beyond the places they’ve taken me, these shoes mirror who I am: unpretentious, practical, a little worn around the edges, but still going strong. They remind me I don’t need to fit into anything that isn’t me. I simply need to be myself, step by step, wherever life takes me.

So here’s to my black Converse High-Tops. They may simply be shoes to some, but to me, they carry a history of footsteps, of moments both big and small, of all the roads I’ve walked, and the many more still ahead.

The Man Who Taught Me to Read

Daily writing prompt

Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received.

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I have received many gifts throughout my life. But when I think about the best gift I’ve ever received, I realize that it isn’t something wrapped in paper and ribbon. It wasn’t bought or could be taken away. Instead, it was given to me by a teacher decades ago when I was seven years old. I can honestly say that this gift has changed the course of my life forever. It was the gift of reading.

Unlike my children, I started learning to read fairly late according to today’s standards. I was seven years old and already in my first year of primary school. At that time, the phonic reading system was unknown, at least not in Malaysia, and we learned to read using traditional methods such as syllables or combinations of vowels and consonants. My parents were from the Boomers generation and had no idea how to teach reading to my siblings and me. Education was solely the realm of school teachers.

His name was Mr. Vincent. He was my class teacher (homeroom teacher) and also taught us Malay. Malay is my second language. I don’t know his last name, but I remember how he looked and his patience with more than thirty students who didn’t know how to read or write. I was just a child, sitting in a classroom, struggling to string letters together. I had not yet realized that literacy was the key to unlocking an entire world. Over the course of months, and through what I believe were endless frustrations for Mr. Vincent, everything began to make sense. The first word that made it click together in my brain was “ayam” or chicken. It is a combination of the vowel “a,” consonant “y,” vowel “a,” and consonant “m.” Slowly the letters turned into words, words into sentences, and suddenly books were no longer mysteries; they were doors waiting to be opened.

My Primary 5 class photo. I transferred to another school and no longer in touch with Mr. Vincent.

I think of him every year on May 16, Malaysia’s Teachers’ Day. I wonder if he ever knew the impact he had on me. Or if he realized that by teaching a young girl to read, he was giving her more than just a skill. Mr. Vincent was giving me access to knowledge, imagination, and a lifelong love for words. Because of him, I have spent my life reading, writing, learning, and growing in ways I never could have imagined back then.

Teachers rarely know the full extent of their influence. They plant seeds in young minds, often never seeing how far those seeds will grow. Even if Mr. Vincent never read this, I want to acknowledge him. I want to say: Thank you. Thank you for your patience, for your belief in a young girl’s potential, and for opening the doors of literacy that have shaped everything I am today.

To anyone who has ever had a teacher like Mr. Vincent, a teacher who made a lasting impact and shaped the way you see the world, I hope you take a moment to remember them. Be grateful for them and maybe even find a way to say thank you.

Because sometimes, the greatest gifts aren’t things. They’re the people who take the time to teach, to guide, and to believe in us before we even know how to believe in ourselves.

And personally for me, reading became more than just a skill. It became a gateway to expressing my thoughts and to finding my voice through writing. Every word I put on paper today is a reminder of that first lesson in literacy. It’s a reminder that one teacher’s patience can shape a lifetime of words.

A handwritten draft of this post.