For many months, I have been struggling to find the words to talk about this year; my first year of teaching, first year of my fellowship with Teach For Malaysia. At times I felt like I should share joys and successes; at times I wanted to be completely honest and talk about failures, about  impossibilities, about how our efforts are inevitably flailing in the face of a situation so huge, a problem so complex. I struggled between being crudely realistic and being optimistically positive. Mostly, I struggled with a messy, noisy, blank - a bag full of things to express, but nothing intelligible.

And then my friend Constance said something very profound - or rather, quoted it :
"For those who have, more will be given to them."

It stuck with me for days. I thought, yes. That's what it is. Because I feel like I have had nothing exceptional to offer this year, and yet - some things have worked out... astonishingly well. I think back to the good things that have happened this year - the students who show growth in exams and attitudes in class; the students who in my classes now know their place in the world to think carefully about things and express their opinions. A trip to university that still lights up the eyes of those who went. Being vouched for by the district education office, with the opportunity to work together and share knowledge on a larger scale, next year.

When we were starting out, we never imagined some of these turning out the way they did. We talk about it and say - It feels like a lot of things this year happened by accident. A stroke of luck.

We say this because throughout the year, I did not feel like I was winning, at all. Night after night, I slept restlessly and woke up the next day, panicky because I did not know what to do. I planned lessons but  was obsessed with how it would turn out; mostly the thought of entering class and dealing with 30 students made me anxious. Nothing makes you feel as vulnerable as teaching in front of a class of young students. I had no control over how my students behaved, no confidence that they would listen to anything I said or do anything I asked them to do. My failures are apparent in the kid who is disengaged, sleeping, talking, or walking and throwing stuff. My lack of authority is glaring in the student who blatantly refuses when I ask him nicely to do his work or switch seats. It is emasculating. More than once, I felt like being observed teaching was like being naked in a room full of people.

Day after day we tried and failed, and the next day we tried again. Some days it took everything I had to dress up and show up. Some days I felt too powerless and stayed at home in bed. A constant fight or flight mode - moments when every weak nerve in my body scream to get away from the situation, and I have to fight and do it anyway. Show up anyway. Go into class anyway. Teach anyway.

But this is where what Constance quoted is important - 'To those who have, more will be given.'
We had little, but we were faithful with what we had. We put our little to action. We tried and tried and tried. When we felt heartbroken, we came back the next day, training our love to be bigger. And seeing this, our schools and systems gave us more to match our efforts. Our students were able to respond in kind, with some fruits of what we have sown. This is what makes it worth it.

This is the most important and affirming lesson I will learn this year. Sometimes faith, love and action are all there is, and it is enough. It wasn't luck, fortunate accidents or an arbitrary flow of events that magically gave us what we gained. It was being faithful with what we had and putting them into action.

Because of that we can leave this year with more...and next year we can trust that more more will be added to it.

i shuddered when i heard
her speaking with a loud voice
and self-assured defiance
but who was i to say anything
as someone who has for years (prematurely)
made it a practice to beware of my own voice.

For two days i have been lying in bed; unaware of time, or what was happening to the world outside. i did not, could not step outside. i could not look at people, much less talk to them. i felt only like a crumbling piece, falling apart as i shuffled my feet, trying to gather them all together, hide them. i did not shower or eat. only one person cared or knew enough to penetrate through the thick sticky walls of my aloneness - i ruined her night.

This is the lowest i have been, i feel. but maybe not, because i used to be like this for weeks on end. it feels like rock bottom because, because now the responsibilities are greater. i have children to teach, who look to me, who i desire to help nurture, grow. i face 28 eyes staring at me, waiting. i am crumbling as i try to speak. i am falling apart, in front of 28 children. i cannot speak. i cannot address them. i want just to curl up in a ball and wait for it to pass.

i am afraid for what might happen when i have children of my own. will the same happen? will i get the same feeling of having more responsibility than i can bear, crumbling beneath the wait, as these poor innocent ones, stare, waiting for me to come back to my senses? i want so much to have mastered this, have this in control before that time. maybe now is a good time to train, and practice. i never want to fall apart like that again. i want to have too much to the point of breaking, but know exactly what to do to pick myself back up, put myself together, and trudge on, composed.

the heart
it bleeds

practicing non-attachment

"me and you, mountain, that's how its gonna be."
It was somewhere up twelve thousand feet on the rocky part of the great Mount Kinabalu and I could not feel my feet. I kept my focus on holding the torch steady and staring at my feet. I focused on the halo of light surrounding them as they kept moving... forward, forward. At times I just closed my eyes...I was so tired. I could have fallen asleep right there. For moments I think i did. i forgot about getting to the peak... i forgot about looking ahead - just kept my gaze on my feet... onward, onward. slowly. i knew at times i moved only an inch or two but yet thats all i knew i had to do...just keep moving. forget about everything else. forget about all the others. forget about getting to the peak. its you and me, mountain.. you are my friend. all we have is now. all we need to get by is this moment.

perhaps its like a prayer, i thought then. because in my giving up, my letting go and my ploughing on, i felt a resonation with the experience of fasting in the month of Ramadhan. just like abstaining from my base instincts of hunger, letting go of it, disentangling myself from the urge to fill it, surrendering my emptiness to the One above and just be.... i felt the same now, letting go of my aches and my tiredness, my body's desire to crumble... and just be. just be, and just know God is. it is at the point when we give up control over giving ourselves contentment  that we enter a place of letting go... we find contentment inspite of ourselves.

so i thought, as i made one more step up. maybe i'll treat this the same... this will my worship. if i could find peace detaching from food, let me find peace fighting my fatigue and keep walking. just let go, surrender, and just be.

found on a serviette

"we count all the different colours
and countless shades in between
toasting them one by one
and find
the night too short

we'll have to continue tomorrow
and each day
and every day after."

he said -
let love be like waves of the ocean between you
with space, and rhythm, and sound, and passion, and gentleness
and abandon - you own each other in the heart; but you do not belong to each other
you each belong, separately and together, in the heart of the universe
the heart of love.