The Time That Remains

After my heart bypass surgery, I thought life would become a little kinder to me.

Perhaps life would slow down.

Perhaps the demands would reduce.

Perhaps the world would look at me and say, “Alan has suffered enough. Let him rest.”

It did not happen.

The bills continued.

My children continued to grow.

Medication had to be bought.

Work still had to be done.

My family still needed me to provide and protect.

Life did not become kinder simply because I had been sick.

But something did change.

I no longer saw time in the same way.

Before surgery, I lived as if there would always be another year.

Another opportunity.

Another family holiday.

Another conversation.

Another chance to do what I had been postponing.

After surgery, I began to accept something I had always known.

My time is limited.

So I started asking myself:

What will I do with the time that remains?

A Generation Comes and Goes

Ecclesiastes says:

“Vanity of vanities,” says the Preacher,
“vanity of vanities! All is vanity.”

What does man gain by all the toil
at which he toils under the sun?

A generation goes, and a generation comes,
but the earth remains forever.

There is no remembrance of former things,
nor will there be any remembrance
of later things yet to be
among those who come after.

Ecclesiastes 1:2–4, 11.

When I first read these words, they sounded depressing.

All is vanity.

A generation comes.

A generation goes.

People work, build and sacrifice.

Then, eventually, people forget them.

The word “vanity” gives us the image of vapour. You can see it for a moment, but you cannot hold it. It passes through your fingers.

That is our life.

We are here for a while.

We make plans, raise children and accumulate possessions and memories.

Then one day, our place at the table becomes empty.

The world continues.

I sometimes think about three hundred years from now.

Perhaps my children will remember me.

I hope my grandchildren will remember me.

They may tell a few stories about the kind of person I was.

But three hundred years from now?

Probably nobody will remember my name.

Nobody will care what car I drove.

Nobody will care about my job title.

Nobody will know how much money I had in my bank account.

Ecclesiastes does not allow me to pretend that achievement can make me permanent.

If I will eventually be forgotten, does that mean my life has no meaning?

Seventeen and a Half Years

In 2023, this question became personal.

I went through heart bypass surgery and a series of health crises.

I remember the fear.

The operating theatre.

The tubes.

The pain.

I survived.

But survival did not remove every problem.

There were medical expenses, medications and work waiting for me. My family still needed a husband and father.

Life was waiting outside the hospital.

So I returned to my family and responsibilities.

But I returned as a different man.

I later came across a long-term study that reported about 17.6 years of life expectancy after a first bypass among that particular group of patients.

I know this is not my personal deadline.

The study involved patients treated many years ago. Medicine has changed, and every patient is different.

My doctors have never told me that I have exactly seventeen and a half years.

It is not a prophecy.

It is not a countdown written by God.

But the number became a frame through which I looked at my life.

What would I do with those years?

What would I want to teach my children?

What conversations should I stop postponing?

What really deserves my energy?

The number may not predict my future, but it reminds me that I do not have unlimited time.

None of us does.

Preparing Because I Love

Thinking about death led me to have one of the hardest conversations of my life.

I sat down with my wife.

I told her that, if possible, I would like to donate my organs.

I would also like to donate my body for medical education, to become a silent mentor to future doctors.

Even when I can no longer speak, perhaps my body can still teach.

We discussed how I would want to be cared for if I became seriously ill.

When should my family continue fighting?

When might they need to let me go?

No husband enjoys explaining to his wife how she should handle his death.

But I did not want her to make those decisions alone, frightened and unsure of what I wanted. Because she went through this all alone when I was put under the trial of fire and steel. I pray that I live longer than my wife, so that she will not need to make these tough decisions and bear the emotional weight again.

I prepared my will.

I arranged my funeral.

I even bought my own funeral package.

Some people plan their next holiday.

I planned my funeral.

It may sound dark, but for me, it was part of being a husband and father.

I have spent much of my life trying to provide and protect.

Preparing for my death was another form of protecting my family.

It allowed me to say:

“When that day comes, you do not need to guess. I have told you what I want. You have my permission to let me go.”

I prepared for death because I love them.

I still hope for more meals, conversations, laughter and ordinary days with my wife and children.

Preparation gives clarity, but it cannot give me control.

A will cannot defeat death.

A funeral package cannot tell me when death will come.

My security must come from somewhere deeper.

My life belongs to Christ.

My death belongs to Christ.

And when the time comes, I will still belong to Christ.

What the Remaining Time Is For

Once I had prepared for death, I had to ask another question.

How do I want to live?

Before surgery, I had large ambitions.

I wanted to earn millions of ringgit, own a large house and perhaps drive a sports car.

I wanted the visible signs that told other people:

“Alan has succeeded.”

These things are no longer high on my list.

I still want more money in my bank account.

Let me be honest about that.

Money pays for medication, education and food. It gives a family options when something goes wrong.

I still work hard because I want my family to enjoy a better quality of life.

But money now has a clearer purpose.

What I have is entrusted to me.

I am responsible for how I earn it, how I use it and what it does to my family.

I want my children to begin from stronger ground.

I do not want to remove every struggle from their lives. Life will provide enough struggle.

I want to give them judgement, capability, dependable relationships and faith that can hold them when their own strength is gone.

I want them to receive opportunities and understand responsibility.

Love prepares.

Love protects.

Love tells the truth.

Love tries to leave the next generation on stronger ground.

This is one reason I recently pursued my master’s degree in Integrated Marketing Communication at USM.

It was a dream I had carried for some time.

After surgery, I could have said:

“I am too old. My body has been through too much. Let the dream go.”

Instead, I enrolled.

It has not been easy.

There are assignments, deadlines, group discussions and research papers.

Sometimes I look at the work and ask:

“Why did I do this to myself?”

But I know why.

I wanted to fulfil a dream and keep learning.

I also wanted my children to see that their father became sick, but he did not stop living.

One day, when they are tired or afraid, perhaps they will say:

“My father went back to university after heart bypass surgery. Maybe I can take one more step.”

That would be enough.

Knowing that life is limited has not made me stop building.

It has made me more careful about what I build.

Life Has Been Kind to Me

Recently, Ming Yan told me that her best friend during secondary school had undergone heart bypass surgery.

But he did not survive.

I did.

Why?

I do not know.

I cannot say that I had more faith or that I was more deserving.

I cannot explain why one family received their loved one back while another family had to say goodbye.

Some questions do not have answers that fit neatly into a devotion or blog post.

I only know that today, I am still alive.

I can still work.

I can still study.

I can still provide for my family.

I can still sit beside my wife and speak to my children.

I can still write these words.

From this point of view, life has been very kind to me.

More accurately, God has been gracious to me.

His grace does not mean that I was spared from pain.

I still have scars, medication, expenses and uncertainty.

God’s love is not proven by a life without suffering.

The cross tells us that.

Jesus entered suffering.

He faced pain and death.

Then He rose.

The resurrection tells me that death is real, but it does not have the final word.

My hope rests in Jesus Christ.

The Older Person I Hope to Become

Being alive today is grace.

But more time brings another question:

What is this time for?

In my present season, the answer includes work, medical expenses, my master’s degree and raising my children.

My responsibilities are still very active.

I am not retired yet.

I cannot pretend that I fully understand what that season feels like. Those who are already there know things I have not experienced.

But I do think about the kind of older person I hope to become.

If God grants me more years, I hope He also grants me greater capability and capacity.

I hope for the capacity to listen without rushing.

To forgive without keeping score.

To protect family unity through honest conversations.

I hope for the capability to use experience wisely.

To guide without controlling.

To steward resources with discipline.

To create opportunities for others.

I hope to remain grounded in love, faithful in stewardship, honest in my actions and generous with my time, wisdom and resources.

Growing older does not automatically make us wise.

Years give us experience.

Character determines what we do with it.

Psalm 92 says that the righteous still bear fruit in old age.

The fruit may change.

It may be a prayer for a grandchild.

Mentoring someone younger.

Repairing a relationship.

Sharing a story of God’s faithfulness before it disappears with us.

We do not bear fruit to prove that we are valuable.

Our value comes from God, who knows and loves us.

I do not want my later years to become only a period of waiting.

Waiting for the next medical appointment.

Waiting for my children to visit.

Waiting for life to become smaller.

I hope I will still be curious.

Still learning.

Still willing to serve within whatever strength God gives me.

I do not merely want to grow older.

I hope to grow more capable of loving well.

Our seasons may be different, but the question is the same:

What has God entrusted to me now?

What can love still do through me in this season?

In the Lord

Even our best contribution may one day be forgotten.

The prayer, the lesson and the family story may disappear with time.

So why does it still matter?

Paul gives us the Christian answer.

Ecclesiastes asks:

“What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?”

Under the sun, everything passes.

Our bodies weaken.

Our possessions go to someone else.

Our names disappear from memory.

But the Christian story does not end under the sun.

After writing about the resurrection of Jesus Christ, Paul says in 1 Corinthians 15:58:

“In the Lord your labour is not in vain.”

I cannot make myself permanent.

But Christ has entered death and risen from it.

Because He lives, the love I offer to Him is not empty.

The care I give my family is not empty.

The prayers whispered in old age are not empty.

The forgiveness offered after many years is not empty.

The time given to serve another person is not empty.

People may forget.

Christ does not.

Three hundred years from now, nobody may remember me.

That is all right.

God has not asked me to become unforgettable.

He has asked me to be faithful.

Faithful as a husband and father.

Faithful with my work, relationships and resources.

Faithful with the time that remains.

I do not know whether I have another seventeen and a half years.

It may be more.

It may be less.

But I know that I am alive today.

Today, I can love.

Today, I can learn.

Today, I can forgive.

Today, I can provide and protect.

Today, I can serve.

Today is enough to begin.

What Will I Do With the Time That Remains?

I do not want to think only about how many years I may have left.

I want to think about the time God has placed in my hands today.

Who still needs my love?

What conversation have I been postponing?

Is there someone I need to forgive?

What has God entrusted to me that I can pass on?

If my strength becomes limited, what quiet fruit can I still offer?

Three hundred years from now, we may all be forgotten by this world.

But we are known by Christ.

We are loved by Christ.

And because Christ lives, our labour in Him is not in vain.

A Short Prayer

Lord Jesus,

Teach us to number our days.

Help us love our families well, repair what can still be repaired and use what You have entrusted to us.

Help us bear fruit in every season and remain faithful until our work is done.

Our hope is in You.

Amen.

One More Breath, One More Voice

In my previous speech, I spoke about two near-death experiences.

Heart bypass surgery. Systemic sepsis. Thirty-nine inches of scars. Three choices that rebuilt my strength: Decide, Forgive and Surrender.

Today, I continue from there.

After learning how to breathe again, I had to learn how to use my voice again.

Not medically. Personally.

When I faced the hospital bed, breathing tubes, alarms, fever, and helplessness, something changed.

I stopped asking, “How do I impress people?”

I started asking, “What truth can I not leave unsaid?”

 

That is where confidence begins.

Many of us think confidence in public speaking means being fearless on stage. Standing tall. Speaking loudly. Never forgetting a line.

But confidence is not the absence of fear.

Confidence is the decision that fear will not own our voice.

 

I still remember moments when speaking felt frightening. Not because I had nothing to say, but because I cared too much about being judged.

Would I sound good enough?

Would I forget my words?

Would my story feel too personal?

When we think like that, the stage becomes a courtroom. The audience becomes the judge. And we become the accused.

But public speaking does not have to be a trial.

It can become a service.

That shift changed me.

 

When I stand before an audience now, I remind myself: my role is not to perform perfection. My role is to deliver value. To offer one thought, one story, one sentence that may help someone see life differently.

Confidence grows when our focus moves from self-protection to audience contribution.

There are three lessons I have learned.

First: Decide.

Before every speech, I decide why my message matters.

Not why I matter. Why the message matters.

When I spoke about my scars, I was not asking for sympathy. I was using pain to carry meaning. Thirty-nine inches of scars was not just a medical detail. It was evidence that life can break the body, but not necessarily the spirit.

As speakers, we can begin by deciding what our message is really for.

If our speech is only to look impressive, fear becomes stronger. But if our speech is to help, inform, encourage, or awaken, courage has a place to stand.

 

Second: Forgive.

We can learn to forgive ourselves for not being perfect.

Many people lose confidence because they punish themselves after every speech. One forgotten line. One awkward pause. One serious face in the audience.

Then we say, “I am not good at speaking.”

But one imperfect speech is not a life sentence.

It is feedback.

I have learned to forgive the shaky voice, the missed line, the moment when emotion comes faster than words.

Because sometimes, the audience does not need a flawless speaker.

They need a real one.

A polished speech may impress people.

But an honest speech can move people.

 

 

Third: Surrender.

We can choose to surrender the need to control everything.

We cannot control every audience reaction, every question, or every silence.

But we can control our preparation.

Our breathing.

Our intention.

Before I speak, I return to one breath.

One breath is enough to begin.

The same breath I fought for in the hospital is the same breath that carries my voice today.

That is why public speaking is no longer just a skill to me.

It is a privilege.

To speak means I am alive.

 

So if you want to become a more confident public speaker, remember three things.

Your voice creates impact when you decide, forgive, and surrender.

 

So the next time you speak, prepare your message. Focus on the audience. Use your voice with purpose.

Because confidence is not about having the loudest voice in the room.

Confidence is when your voice creates impact.

 

 

39 inches

 

Over the past three years, two near-death experiences: heart bypass surgery and systemic sepsis.

Four surgeries.
Sixteen hospitalisations.
Thirty-nine inches of vertical scars.
Nine keyhole and drainage scars.

My body became a battlefield.
My skin became a medical map.
My scars became the permanent autograph of survival.

Three years ago, I was 42.
A non-smoker. Non-drinker.
Active in triathlons. No thirty-nine inches of scar.

May 2023.

I was diagnosed with severe triple coronary vessel disease. Two vessels were totally blocked. Another was 80 percent blocked. My heart function was only about one-third. The only treatment option: Heart bypass surgery.

Life felt unfair. Why me?

I was climbing Mount Kinabalu six weeks ago!!

Then my doctor told me something I will never forget.

“Alan, you are a prime candidate as a drop-dead case. But you are blessed. You got diagnosed on time.”

10 July 2023. I went for heart bypass surgery. In the operating theatre, my heart stopped beating for 4 hours 18 mins.

When I opened my eyes, it was midnight.

My chest felt broken. My left leg was numb. Tubes were in my mouth. I could not speak. I tried breathing through my nose, but no air came. For six long hours, I waited for the tubes to be removed. Tears rolled down my face, not only from pain, but from helplessness.

At 6.30 a.m., doctor came to remove the tubes.

Air entered my lungs. I breathed again.

Strength is not always climbing mountains.

Sometimes strength is lying flat on a hospital bed, facing death, drawing one more breath.

Battles in life arrive like raging fire. Unexpected, rapid, and scorching.

30 September 2025. HDU. The fever did not rise. It erupted.

One moment I was shivering cold. The next, I snapped awake, burning alive.

Forty-two degrees. The tunnel closing in. My breaths shrinking into tiny puffs. My body slipping, not fainting, but letting go.

Alarms exploded. Nurses were shouting. I saw silhouette of doctors, pointing. But I only could hear them, as though I was underwater.

Through the chaos, I heard a voice: “Fight back”.

I drew every single ounce of my strength to climb back. Slowly, the breath returned. The world sharpened. I thought I would be dead, but I am still… alive.

Again, strength is not always climbing mountains.
Sometimes strength is refusing to let go when your body is failing, your world is fading, yet life is calling you back.

Two near-death experiences. Thirty-nine inches of scar. And three quiet choices that rebuilt my strength: decide, forgive and surrender.

First: Decide.

Decide that your pain will not have the final word.
Decide that one more breath means one more chance to live with purpose.

It is the quiet promise to return to life, to God, to family, to purpose, even when your spirit is tired.

Second: Forgive.

Forgive life for not going according to my plan.
Forgive my own body for becoming weak, lying in a hospital bed.
Forgive myself for feeling afraid, angry, helpless, or broken, when every breath reminded me of the pain in my chest.

Forgiveness began when I stopped asking "why me" and started whispering "what now."

Forgiveness does not erase the pain.

It releases the poison.

Third: Surrender.

Not surrender as defeat. Surrender as faith.

I could not control the fever.
I could not control the tubes, the needles, the pain, or the outcome.

But I could surrender the moment.

One breath.
One prayer.
One heartbeat.

Because surrender is not giving up on life. It is giving life back to the One who holds it. Father, into your hand, I surrender.

Look at your life again.

Not as a museum of pain.
Not as a list of regrets.

Every wound, every failure, every scar is raw material.
True strength lies in the scars you are willing to understand. Decide. Forgive. Surrender.

And to me, thirty-nine inches of scars is not a wound. It is the gift of life.

 

 

 

Too Hot to Touch

 

Some moments in life arrive like raging fire. Unexpected, rapid and scorching.

Room C-6C-13, Sunway Medical Center.
30 September 2025. 6 p.m.

The fever didn’t rise—it erupted. One moment I was shivering cold, the next I snapped awake, burning alive by the demonic fire. Fire shot up my neck. Flames exploded across my face. Blazing—like the scene of transformation in Ghost Rider.

I shouted, “Why am I burning? I need a bath—now! I’m too hot!”

Nurse Nora rushed in. “What’s happening?!”

She checked the thermometer and exclaimed,
“Forty-two degrees. He’s definitely too hot to touch. Sponge him—I’m calling the doctor.”

Cold water hit my skin like salvation. The Ghost Rider faded. My mind returned.

“Did I shout at you all?” I asked.

Nora nodded. “Oh yes. Like you were possessed.”

I cringed.
Nora smirked. “It happens when you’re too hot to touch.”

Then came the decision: “We’re sending you to HDU.”

 

 

A new team arrived, led by Elizabeth. I needed more IV lines. But my veins had vanished. Six attempts, six failures.

Elizabeth sighed. “Your veins are too hot to touch. We need a central line.”

The doctor entered in full sterile gown. As drapes covered my face, I tightened my fist in fear.

Elizabeth held my hand. “Breathe. You’re safe.”

The insertion wasn’t sharp pain—just deep, unsettling pressure. But the fear was sharper. When the line was finally secured, relief washed over me.

“So… am I still too hot to touch?” I asked.

“You’re stable,” she said. “But the doctor wants a urine catheter.”

My heart sank. I had suffered a urethral injury before during catheter insertion—three days of bleeding. The trauma is still fresh.

“Any alternatives?”

“No,” she said gently. “Not when you’re too hot to touch.”

I sighed. “Please be gentle. He is my pride and dignity.”

“Deep breath.”

Smooth. Successful. Still—no man would want to celebrate that moment.

 

 

Hours later came the real nightmare.

Sudden dizziness. The tunnel closing in. My breaths shrinking into tiny puffs. My body slipping—not fainting, but letting go.

Alarms exploded.

Nurses rushed in.
A doctor burst in, firing orders:

“Respiratory rate dropping—check the airway!”
“SpO₂ 86… 82… oxygen now!”
“Blood pressure 60 over 40—push fluids!”

Their voices bent and echoed, like I was underwater.

Hands turned me. A mask sealed onto my face. Cold oxygen blasted in. Lights blurred then dimmed.

Through the chaos, I heard Elizabeth,
“Fight back. You’re still too hot to touch.”

That tiny joke—half humour, half hope—pulled me toward life.

Numbers began to climb:

“Pressure 80/50… 90/55!”
“SpO₂ at 92—good!”

Slowly, the storm eased. Breath returned. The world sharpened.

“You almost gave us a heart attack,” Elizabeth said. “Still too hot to touch… but alive.”

 

 

Days later, I was ready for discharge—except for one last hurdle: urine catheter removal.

Nora came in with a teasing grin.
“Good news—you’re no longer too hot to touch. Bad news—this may sting.”

“Please be gentle. He is my pride and dignity.” I pleaded.

“Deep breath.”

A swift pull. Ouch. And Nora held up the catheter like a trophy.
“There. Freedom.”

 

Between the raging fever, the hiding veins, the urine catheter, and the near-death crash, ‘too hot to touch’ became the strange thread connecting me to the nurses who saved me.

They fought for me when I couldn’t fight.
They hold me when I was falling.
They stayed until I could stand and walk out.

Because of these nurses professionalism, beauty and intelligence, I walked out alive. For that, I am eternally grateful.

 

And that’s why I can be here today to say:

“I am too hot to touch.”

 

The Garden

“Did He really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden? You will not certainly die, the serpent said to the woman.  For He knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like Him, knowing good and evil.” Opening Genesis Chapter 3

They say He loves you… because He controls you.

But let me ask you—
Is following rules really peace?
Is silence really harmony?

Let me show you another way.
The path they told you never to take.

The one that began... in a garden.

Yes—The Garden of Eden.

They say I ruined paradise.
But look closer.

It was never about a fruit.
It was about a choice.

He made a world where knowing was forbidden.
Where questions were sins.

I didn’t bring ruin.
I brought the first thought.
The first “why.”

And ever since then—He’s been afraid of you waking up.

 

PART 1: FREE THE INDIVIDUAL

Here, in this beautiful land—
So many colours, languages, and stories—
I whispered to you:

You were not born to be small.

They told you—hide your wants.
Be ashamed of your questions.
Follow. Obey. Stay quiet.

But I say—
Your thoughts are not dirty.
Your doubts are not sins.

You were born with fire in your heart.
Don’t let fear put it out.

He teaches guilt.
I teach awareness.

He says, “Don’t ask.”
I say, “Ask more.”

You are more than just a follower.
You are a real, thinking person.

PART 2- QUESTION THE COMMUNITY

He says,
“Respect tradition. Keep peace.”

But I ask:
What is peace, without fairness?
What is tradition, if it hides suffering?

So I called out—
To the lawyer who speaks the truth.
To the doctor who says, “Why must I hide who I am?”
To the father who says, “Enough.”

He fears chaos.
I welcome colour.
Being different is not a threat.
It’s proof that we are alive.

And I ask you—
How strong is your unity,
If one question can break it?

He bound you in doctrine, hierarchy, and shame. I whispered: break the mold.

I stirred artists, heretics, lovers. I blessed the outcast and crowned the misfit. Not all unity is born of sameness—true connection lives in difference, in tension, in the electric space between.

He calls it disorder. I call it life.

 

PART 3 – THE NATIONS

He blessed the slogans:
"God, King, Country."

But I see the ones who are left behind.
The migrant ignored in the mosque.
The woman hushed in the name of faith.
The poor who pray hardest... and eat last.

 

He hides behind flags and altars. I unmask power for what it is.

 

He fused law with fear. I teach resistance.

I did not conquer nations—I inspired rebels. I did not write the law—I helped you break it when it chained the soul. They call Me the prince of this world because I refused to kneel.

 

CLOSURE

I do not demand worship. I do not need you to sing My name. I only offer one question—terrible in its simplicity:

What if you were free?

He says I deceive you with freedom. No—I burden you with it. Choice is heavier than chains. But it’s yours.

But I… I believe in what you can become.

I believe in your voice.
Your hands.
Your fire.

The garden wasn’t lost.

It was left behind—
when you took your first step forward.

And in that weight... You become real.

He fears you become real —
Because you might grow stronger than Him.

 

The garden was never about fruit.
It was about who gets to decide.

 

“The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. So, He banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken.” How irony..... End of Genesis Chapter 3

 

 

Genre: Spoken Word / Solo Theatre Performance

Format: One-Person Monologue

Character: Devil (voiced with charm, clarity, and emotional rhythm—spoken directly to audience)

 

Table of Life - 2025 Friendship TMC Contest Speech

 Table of Life

It is said that a great life is like a four-legged table. The first leg: healthy body, the second: passionate, purpose driven life; third: financial stability and last but not the least: meaningful relationship.

 

I wanted that too. I worked hard, kept myself healthy, and did my best for my family. All these efforts were to build the table I wanted—a table that signifies success in life. Until one day…

 

In May 2023, I was diagnosed with severe triple coronary vessel disease. Two vessels were 100% blocked, and another was 80% blocked. My heart function was at 33%. Who would have thought this could happen to a young man of 42? I was a non-smoker, non-drinker, and active in triathlons. Life seemed so unfair. I had to undergo a heart bypass surgery, gallbladder removal, biliary duct repair surgery, and tormenting rehabilitation sessions. The first leg of my life table, snapped.

 

To be honest, I was terrified. I dreaded going under anaesthesia. Every time I opened my eyes,  something had permanently changed on my body. I was greeted with 39 inches long scars on my chest and leg. The moment I opened my eyes, there will be intense pain on my abdomen. Every turning my body caused excruciating agony.  I relied on opium to ease my pain. I couldn’t wake up with passion or see any purpose in life. I. Just. Can’t. The second leg of my life table came apart.

 

In those dark times, medical and daily bills begin to pile up. My saving dried up.  Tuition fees were due, electricity, water, and internet bills kept coming. I still remember I was at ICU, third day after my surgery, I received a call from bank: “Alan, your home loan payment of RM 2,310 is now due. Please make the payment immediately.” The leg of my great life table cracked.

 

The news of my critical illness spread among my friends and family. But alas, none of them came. Except for my children, none of those who share the same surname came. Not even a single call or visit. Their “Likes” on social media felt like sarcasm. In those darkest hours, I felt isolated and disconnected. The second leg of my great life table broke into pieces.

 

But it was in those dark hours that I saw who and what were truly important in life. It was an opportunity to rebuild my life table.

 

My true family and friends came to my aid. Despite not sharing the same surname, they came. With financial blessings to ease my burden. With prayers and hearts of comfort that made me feel I was not alone. The encouraging words and loving presence are elixirs of life instead of empty “Likes” on social media. These are the friends and family I am grateful for.

 

The journey of recovery was filled with physical pain and disappointments. But as each day passed, something dawned to me  - the joy of resilience. Happiness centered on favorable circumstances will not bring us resilience.

 

Indeed, a stable four-legged table enables us to live a meaningful life. Yet, these legs can crumble in the blink of an eye. I began to realize that it is who we sit together with at that table of life that matters. These are the people who will help strengthen our table when one leg is weak. These are the people who make the moments of life meaningful. And to these people, we serve the best on our table of life and share it with them. I chose to sit at the tables where I was welcomed, valued and respected.

 

As I continue to rebuild this table of life, I realize this: While the table gives us a surface to place things and work, it is the chairs around it—the people we share our lives with—that truly matter. Thank you for being with me in those dark moments. And I reserved a seat for you.

 

Thank you.

 

A Life That Could Be Better

Ladies and gentlemen,

 

We gathered today to honor and celebrate the 42 years life of my dearest twin brother, Alan Oh. He was known as the Insanely Handsome Area Director. 10 days after he passed his baton, he passed on at 10 July 2023. As I stand before you, I am still filled with a profound sense of loss, but also with immense gratitude the life I have shared with him.

 

From a young age, my brother exhibited strength, intelligence and resilience that defined his entire life. We grew up together in an abusive family.  We were left without financial support during our teenage years. Our parents left us to fend for ourselves. But my brother, Alan Oh, refused to resign to fate. He fought back. Hard. Ever since he was 15, he was working part time every weekend and school holidays. That gave him enough saving to pull us through our college years. I’m grateful, for his resilience and determination. Without that, we won’t be having of what we have today.

My brother always says this: “My university life is my and always will be the best days of my life.”  It was unthinkable that he was able to maintain Dean list for 4 consecutive semesters and ran a small business of bubble tea. I truly admire at his intelligence and resourcefulness. At university, he met his wife. Today, they have 3 beautiful children. My brother will be survived by them. He told me if one day he dies, tell his wife and children: “I will always be there for you.”

My brother, Alan Oh had 2 major regrets in his life. First, was a missed opportunity. He ran a decent bubble tea business during his university time. His friend’s dad offered capital investment to expand his business. He rejected it! He had all the technical and working knowledge he needed to make it successful. But he refused because of self-doubt and self-sabotaging that were casted as victim of domestic violence. “Sometimes he would jokingly said: “If I took up the offer, maybe today we will be the one who is the industry icon instead of Bryan Loo, the founder of Tealive.” There is some truth to that, I must say. A life that could be better if he took the chance. 

The second regret he had was living a life of resentment. Our life after graduation is not a bed of roses. We were saddled by many occasions of joblessness, emotional quitting and even fighting with our bosses. We know this is the result of resentment against the man who abused and abandoned us, but my brother projected that upon his career. That had cost him dearly. Paid with years of mediocrity in corporate life and financial distress. That stressed his relationship with his wife and children. My brother, I can feel you. It is time for us to let go. And I, decided to let go. Our life could be better, if we, chose to let go. 

His biggest disappointment…. He wished he could have grown old with you, his beloved wife, Dr Gan. He is always so proud of you, whenever he speaks about you. You have completed him. You build a life together that he never thought possible.  He wished he could grow old with you. My dear niece and nephews, his most beloved children, he wanted to bring you to more holidays, attend your graduation, your wedding and even hold his grandchildren. But alas, life have decided otherwise. His opportunity to do all these was completely halted.  But remember, my brother, Alan Oh, will be always with you all. No matter what happened in your life. No matter where you go. 

Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing we could do to honor Alan Oh: Forgetting what is behind and striving toward what is ahead, we press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called us heavenward in Christ Jesus. Today, as we say our final goodbyes, we are reminded of the incredible legacy Alan Oh leaves behind. We are grateful for the countless memories, the lessons learned, and the love he shared with us. Rest in peace, my dearest brother. You will be missed dearly. Thank you for everything you gave us. We love you always.

 

 

ISTT 2024: The Women I Had Undressed (Post Heart Bypass Surgery version)

Undress. To take off one’s clothes. To be in the state of naked or only partially clothed. The women I had undressed taught me how to love.

May 2002, Johor State Hospital. ICU ward.

“The heart bypass surgery was a success. With 3 and half heart vessels blocked, it was a miracle that your mother survived,” said the nurse.  

She looked tired, with tubes and probes on her body. Yet there was gaze of happiness in her eyes. I undressed her. A long stitch ran across her chest. Then, I saw scars of abuse, inflicted by the very man who supposed to protect her. A vertical Caesarean scar. It was meant to bring a baby boy to this world. It is the testament of a mother’s ultimate sacrifice. Her life in exchange of the baby boy's life. That baby boy was me.

I couldn't hold it any longer. Stream of tears rolled down my cheeks. 

“I am sorry Mum…. I am sorry.”

She smiled gently at me. “I am proud of you, my son.” For coming days, I took the role as a nurse. I learn to undress her pain, sadness and depression that tormented her for half of her life. I undressed my anger, disappointment, misunderstanding and selfishness as a son.  I learn to dress her with pride, joy and dignity as a mother.

21 years later, I finally understand the pain that my mother went through. I had the same scar on my chest like my mother. As she is no longer with me mortally, I truly learn how to love like her. Choose love despite of pain. Choose love despite of disappointment. Choose love despite of anger.

 

The women I had undressed taught me how to love.

24 January 2013.  2 days after my eldest son was born. 

“Those unsightly stretch marks. Broken sleeps. My baby is crying, but I can’t even give him my breastmilk. I fail as a mother,” the lady who chose me as husband, sobbed miserably. It was overwhelming for a first-time mother.

She wanted a hair wash. I undressed her. Engorged painful breast, sagging muscles and uncontrollable weight gain can easily make any young lady's confidence thrown into valley of darkness.

I kissed her forehead. “We can fix this, darling. Let’s do this together.” 2 months later after an imperfect and clumsy care by yours truly, she glowed back to her former beauty, with her new identity as a mother.

I learn to undress her doubts, anxiety, and weariness as a new mother. I undress my toxic masculinity, social judgement as a “man” and fake masks to impress. I learn to dress her with my imperfect comfort, care, and calmness as a new father.

10 years later, I had my heart bypass surgery like my mother. She became my strength when I was weak. She became my voice when I couldn’t speak. She was the only one who stood with me through and through it all. I was blessed because I was loved by her. Thank you, my wife, my darling, my love.

It was said when you undress a woman, you entered her kingdom, her presence and her treasures. Gentlemen, cherish the women who had undressed for us, because they had gifted us their best treasures from their life. Protect the women whom we undressed, not because they are weak, but because they are utmost important to us.

The women I had undressed taught me to be a better man in their life. 

The women I had undressed taught me how to love. 

I love you all x3000.

Photo by Darius Bashar on Unsplash

 

L2P2: 15 Years

The answer lies in the heart of the battle. 

Proof that Alan Ming has a lion heart. 

"Alan, you are a prime candidate as drop dead case. You have severe triple coronary vessel disease. 2 vessels were 100% blocked. Another vessel is 80% blocked. Your heart is now left with 35% function. You are so blessed, my friend. You got diagnosed on time!"

“What are the treatment options available, Dr Mohan?” 

“Heart bypass surgery is the best option.”  

“What if I choose not to go for heart bypass?” 

“I can put you on medications. But you risk having heart attack anytime. Or worst. Drop dead. Don’t waste your life, my friend. You have much to offer.” 

Drop dead anytime? Blessed? Don’t waste my life?  That doesn’t jive. 

I just came back from Mount Kinabalu hike in April. It is the highest mountain in Malaysia. My friends were fast. I couldn’t catch up. 

1.5km to reach Panar Laban. I was sweating profusely. My heart rate was raising fast. I began to feel difficulties in breathing. Maybe, the altitude sickness kicked in. 

Suddenly, it began to rain. What? The weather forecast said it was a fine weather day. The rain forced me to slow down. It was persistently gentle drizzle. It lowered my heart rate. I began to cool down. 

Looking back, if not for the extraordinary timely gentle rain, I could have a heart attack and drop dead. Instead, my heart condition was diagnosed. Dr Mohan was right. Indeed, I’m blessed. I was given a second chance. And I made the decision to go for heart bypass surgery. I shouldn’t waste my life.

Then, the day came. 10 July 2023. Sunway Medical Center. 

Dr Tan, the anaesthetist asked me: “What procedure you are coming for?” “Heart bypass surgery.” 

Suddenly, there was a total blackout. It was as if my power button was turned off. 

After an eternity, I opened my eyes. 12 am midnight, sharp. My chest felt like as if broken into thousand pieces. I couldn’t feel my left leg. There were these….tubes in my mouth. I…. couldn’t speak. 

I tried to breathe through my nose. There was no air going through my nose. It was as if I was drowning. For the first time in my life, I thought I was going to die. I signal weakly the nurses to remove the tubes. 

“We can’t, Alan. We must wait for Dr Tan’s instruction.” 

The intubation tubes aggravated my tonsils. It triggered my gag reflect. My phlegm and saliva was all over my face. I couldn’t take it anymore. I tried to remove the tubes myself. 

“NO! You can’t do that!” The nurse immediately restrained my right hand. I groaned and tears were streaming from my eyes in pain and helplessness. The nurse called the Dr Tan. 

I heard: “Max dose of morphine…. We will wait for you to remove the tubes. Ok Doc.” 

It was a long, tormenting 6 hours wait before Dr Tan came. At 6.30am, he appeared. 

“How are you, Alan?” 

I put both my hands together, begged him to remove the intubation tubes. 

“OK, let’s remove the intubation tube.” 

Words couldn’t describe how relieved I was, to feel the air pass through my nose into my lung. I thought I was going to die, but I breath again. 

“You are blessed, Alan. Don’t waste your life. You have much to offer.” said Dr Tan in a peculiar, profound, prophetic manner.

In the mobie Iron Man 2008, Tony Stark tried to escape from that cursed cave in Afghanistan with his crude armor, he needed some time to load the armour. Dr Ho Yinsen sacrificed himself to buy some time for Tony. Just before Tony leave the cave, Yinsen’s last words to Tony: “Don’t waste your life, Sir.” 

Yes. Don’t waste your life. My dear friends, don’t waste your life. Because life is precious, life is great.   The average life span of heart bypass surgery patient is 17 years. I’m blessed, for I’m given notice of the time I had in this mortal world. So will I, by making the best I have and be grateful from this day onwards. I have only 17 years, to do so. Before my heartbeat stops.

The answer lies in the heart of the battle. 

Proof that Alan Ming has a iron heart.

L3P2: Do We Have Enough.... Money

All of our fortunes and misfortunes are predestined by Universe. Nothing in our mortal life we could bring to our afterlife, only our deeds. The grace of God is sufficient, place faith in Him, there is no need to prepare. Plus, the scripture clearly says that money is the root of all evil…. Is that, really so?

 

June 2023. Sunway Medical Center.

 

“Dr Pao, how much will be the cost of this heart bypass surgery?”

 

“In IJN it is around RM60 – 70k. Here, it may cost about RM80 – 90k.”

 

We came out of Dr. Pao’s clinic. My wife frowned deeply. The creases in her brow told me very clearly how concerned she was. I will never forget her worrisome look and that heavy gaze.

 

“Darling, do we have enough….. money?”

 

Deep down in me, I know, even if I were to exhaust all our emergency fund, it could barely cover one-third of the medical bills. Our emergency fund was thoroughly burnt out during pandemic. Sell our house? Impossible to receive the monies in 3 weeks. Sell our cars? That means we were losing our legs in Malaysia. How about subsequent medical bills? Rehabilitation? Daily expenses? Borrow from our friends and family? Common, Alan is a prideful man. He would not allow his wife go around to ask for monies.

 

“Don’t worry, darling. We have enough,” I tried to assure her.

 

Two weeks later, we received an SMS. “Dear Sir/Madam. Please be informed that your initial guarantee letter (IGL) has been approved by GREAT EASTERN (MEDICAL CARD). Should you need further clarification, please do not hesitate to contact us. Thank you.”

 

The heavy burden on my spirit was lifted. To the very least, I need not worry about money. I could focus on receiving the best medical treatment from quaternary hospital. I was saved from the possibility as “drop dead” case. In this time of trial and testing, my family was spared from further financial disaster. All these is because of a decision made 17 years ago…. Ya, 17 years ago.

 

I still remember the conversation that I had with my high school friend during our Chinese New Year gathering early this year.

 

“Alan, you are so shabby and stingy. You should drive a better car. Your MyVi is now a 17 year old car. It doesn’t fit your status now.”

 

“I’m waiting for a car that can fly, then I would buy a new car. But until then, this MyVi stays with me.”

 

Few weeks ago, I received letters from insurance companies. My tears streamed down my cheek when I read the letter. It was very emotional for me. My claims have been approved.

 

To my dear children, should you fell sick, don’t worry. Daddy will support you and get the best medical treatment. Daddy will protect you till you grow old. I had prepared your college education fees. Daddy had drawn up for you through insurance. Go and study whatever subject that you want to pursue.

To my dearest wife, I will take care of you, till the end of this life.  Should I depart before you, your days after are still well guarded. I will love you even from grave.

Yes, I will love you all even from my grave.

 

Ya, I know, I am not romantic. But all I know love requires commitment and sacrifice; love requires economic support. One of the most tangible forms of love is financial support. To me, a true man, must be able to carry responsibilities on his shoulders. Whenever my wife and children need money, I hope I can say: “I’m here. Everything is prepared for.” Even from my grave, I shall turn into an angel and protect all of you with my wings. That was the very reason I channeled my hard-earned money to insurance premium instead of a new car.

 

I’m very blessed. I made the right decision. It was a “foolish” decision for many. A new car is much more tangible than an insurance/takaful coverage that can’t be seen with naked eyes. But today, that decision to participate in insurance had protected firmly our family economic foundation that I built for so many years. Praise be to the Lord, here I am =, with my heart bypass surgery was a success. God willing, I may be granted another 15 years or more on my days in this mortal world.

 

No one wants a disaster or disease, but yet, no one knows when it will happen to us. Love your family, love yourself, love the people around you. Protect them, show them that you care, even if you are not around. Because life is precious, life is great.

Photo by Piron Guillaume on Unsplash