“When the Soul Remembers: Reflections on a Life of Silent Mercy”
“The Peace of Giving: Echoes from a Life Lived with Love”
“In the Shadows of the Forgotten: A Witness to Human Suffering and Strength”
“The Wealth of the Heart: A Life’s Reflection on Love, Loss, and Mercy”
I often do.
In moments of solitude, I find myself reflecting on the journey that has shaped my life, the joys, the regrets, the countless faces I encountered along the way. I carry with me a quiet sorrow for the many times I failed to help those in need, not because I did not want to, but because I simply could not. I had no means, no support, no way to reach out as fully as I wished I could. Those memories still tug at my heart.
Yet, there are moments I treasure , not to glorify myself, but to remind others of how even small acts of compassion can bring profound peace to the soul. I do not often revisit them, but perhaps sharing just one may inspire someone to do the same.
It was in the early 1960s. I was a student in India. The poverty was immense, and I still remember the children in tattered and unwashed clothes roaming the streets on cold winter nights, begging for warmth and a morsel of food. One evening, a few came to me, their hands outstretched. I had little to offer, just a few Rupees from my limited allowance as a student. Their plight touched my heart. But I gave what I could.
That night, I went back to my hostel filled with peace, yet mindful as I lay in the warmth of my hostel bed, my mind was not with me, it was with them. I thought of those children out there in the bitter cold of winter's night, and wondered whether they were able to buy some food with whatever few rupees I gave so that at least for that night they were not hungry. But strangely, my heart was at peace and my inner soul felt so warm. I felt a joy that money cannot buy, the still, small voice within me was content. I knew I had done the right thing with my inner conscience. Had I turned them away, it would have troubled me all night. I would not have slept at all that night.
I gave so little, the best I could afford, but the reward was overwhelming - a tiny bit of charity was so rewarding to my heart and soul no money could ever buy. That experience has stayed with me, even to this day.
Still, I do not claim to have always lived up to that standard. There were many times I failed - miserably. I was not the Good Samaritan I should have been, and for that I ask God's mercy. There were many times I sinned, and I pray that God forgives me, as I also hope for forgiveness for those who stumbled alongside me. But most of the time, when I was able to help, I did, quietly, without wanting to remember or be remembered. I would prefer to remember my failures than my wins for me to seek forgiveness for my shortcomings.
One experience that pierced my heart deeply was my mission to Pulau Bidong in 1979. I was sent by the government, at the request of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), to assess the health conditions of Vietnamese refugees who had fled their war-torn country by sea in tiny, overcrowded boats. Many never made it. It is said that only one out of three survived the perilous journey, others were lost at sea to storms, starvation, dehydration, engine failures, or tragically, to pirates.
When I arrived together with a lab technologist to help me should I need blood sample to be collected, the island was overflowing, over 40,000 souls crammed into makeshift shelters, each person allowed only 2 or 3 gallons of water a day. Freshwater had to be shipped every two days. I was given a simple but decent small house with a kitchen and bathroom, which I was uncomfortable accepting, knowing what the refugees were enduring just outside. I wished they could use the facilities given to me for them to bathe, or rest in my quarters. This would be a joy for me, but regulations kept them away from the officials’ quarters. My heart broke for them.
Despite their desperate circumstances, they did not complain. They were warm, respectful, and even sang together at night. It humbled me. Somehow, they knew my purpose there. They may have thought I could help them - and I dearly hope I could. But I walked among them, listened to them, touched and smiled with them, observed everything so I could report back to the government truthfully. I felt deeply for them with compassion. The clinic set up by UNHCR served the sick, those with insect bites, malaria, diarrhoea, vomiting, and I was there to help and advise them, yet the food they were given was often rotten, the vegetables decaying, the fruits spoiled. Their resilience was astonishing.
I was also told by UNHCR the refugees were short-changed when money was sent to them from their relatives from Vietnam or from another country. They did not get the official exchange rates. Only a small percent of the money sent was given to them. The rest were for those in-charge of mails and money sent. This sin broke my heart deeply.
One story that stays with me is of a refugee mother with a young daughter. She found a way to write to me after I gave her my address. In her letters, she shared how her little girl would ask if she remembered me. Those few letters I received touched me deeply. Then, we lost contact. I often wonder what became of them, did they find peace, safety, a new life?
I remember how the sea was treacherous when I first tried to reach the island. The Northeast monsoon had just begun. The waves were too high , as tall as a two-storey building. I had to wait two days in Kuala Terengganu before the sea calmed enough for the ship to sail. Even then, the journey was rough. I became seasick despite being on a large double-decker vessel. That was only a taste of what the refugees had endured in their fragile boats.
I spent two weeks in Pulau Bidong. It has been 47 years since then, but the memories remain vivid. I think often of those who never made it, tens of thousands of them, men, women, children swallowed by the sea. I remember one tragic report in the newspaper: a boat had almost reached Kuala Terengganu safely, but as the refugees rushed toward the shore, a wave capsized their boat. Most of them drowned within sight of safety. I wept when I read that.
Through these memories, I have come to realise that our greatest wealth in life is not money, fame, or even knowledge. Our greatest wealth is love and compassion. These are the only treasures we can carry with us beyond this brief life.
To all those Vietnamese refugees I met on that small island, I pray they are now living in peace - settled in new lands, with their families whole and their children blessed with opportunities they once only dreamed of.
That is my deepest wish for them. And that is the story that lives in my heart forever.
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