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I was my own villain

by Amedee Goh | 30 May 2018, 8:41 PM

I grew up in a volatile household where, like a time bomb waiting to go off, seeming peace would be met trouble. When my mum was pregnant with me, my dad requested to have me aborted. And throughout my childhood, he would intentionally hurt me too.

He was physically abusive to my mother at times, and frequently verbally hurled insults at her. It made me fearful that the same would happen to me. This led me to avoid getting too close to anyone in my friendships altogether.

While I was well-liked within my social circle as I grew up, I was never the goody-two-shoes girl people thought I was. In my eyes, I was pretty much an awful person on the inside – a villain, almost.

Because of my stormy household situation, I longed to release the anger, bitterness, hatred and jealousy I harboured deep within me. I envied my friends who seemed to have complete, happy families and frequently compared their lives to mine.

As a young person, I hid much of these pent-up feelings inside. I never trusted anyone enough to tell them my “secret” feelings. And while I did not terrorise my peers, I found myself putting on a superior front to my classmates, finding ways to manipulate and control them to my favour.

But in my late teens, I began to meet people who called themselves Christians. They seemed so different from me. They wore their scars on their sleeves and were real with one another about their faith and struggles. I kept asking myself, why am I different? So I decided to accept Christ too.

I remember going down on my knees and simply telling Jesus, “I don’t think I know You at all. In fact, I don’t know anything at all. But the Bible says You save. I’ve seen it in the people in the church, that could only be You. So help me with my feelings. Help me to understand.”

Yet, life as a Christian was still on the surface for me. The tension in my family was too great for me to bear. When my mum contracted tuberculosis, a saliva-transmitted disease, my father chose to distance himself for fear of his health. The emotions I kept inside could not be suppressed anymore and I lashed out at my dad.

But my Christian friends helped me realise it was time to grow up and let go of these childhood frustrations. And so I decided to work out my problems with Him little by little.

Painfully, I revisited memories from my past, the hurts and pains, everything. I prayed again, “Help me to let go of what I cannot control anymore – the things in my past. Lord, Your yoke is easy, so take my burdens.” And He did. Each time I feel these feelings inside me fester, I prayed and they left.

Of course, there were times I simply gave in to pity parties, yet slowly but surely, the old wounds disappeared once and for all. I do think about them at times, but they no longer have any hold on me. I also keep a close group of friends who are there for me and cover me in prayer.

I also notice that for a person who used to bear grudges easily, I’m find it easier to let go of emotional burdens. Of course, it all still takes some time. I began to open up and let people around me into my struggles, knowing that they care for me and would not hesitate to speak truth into my life.

I still do struggle with the desire to have control, especially when things go south. I may do things to fix the situation, which I usually regret, and end up feeling guilty and unforgivable. But the Holy Spirit has helped me tremendously in avoiding time-consuming battles inside my head – He is gentle but firm, and never condemning. Each time I fall, He helps me up.

“You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.” (Ephesians 4:23-24)

Because of God’s faithful growth and guidance, my faith has been made much stronger; and as time passes, I find out more about what freedom in Christ means.

By His grace, I wouldn’t say anymore that I’m a villain, but I have come to realise that the greatest enemy, at times, is yourself. As fallen humans, we all have darkness within us. Mine manifests in a cruel, hardened heart craving control.

Yet thanks to all that has happened in my life, I can proclaim that Jesus saves. I may not be able to overcome darkness on my own, but with the Holy Spirit, as well as the saints who are my friends – and now even my family – coming alongside me, I can press on forward, overcome my fallen nature and reach for the prize (Philippians 3:14).


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My parents don’t talk any more

by | 18 June 2018, 10:00 AM

“How are your parents?”

That was the question my friend asked me, as we sat in a ramen shop after wrapping up our worship training overseas. She had just shared with me about her family; she was raised by only her father after her mother passed away when she was young.

When that question left her lips, the noodles in my mouth started to lose their taste. I think my face must have twitched.

As she shared about her family dynamics, there were many things I resonated with. Wanting to escape from home, family tension, awkward Chinese New Year arrangements, loneliness, hopelessness for the future …

But my parents weren’t divorced or separated. They’re living together under one roof … mostly as strangers.

The last time my parents were on talking terms must’ve been in 2009.

My dad was suddenly hospitalised for a heart surgery in the middle of my O Level preliminary exams. As I clutched my social studies textbook, my family spent the night huddled in the ICU.

Some months later, I came home from school to find them in a heated argument about hospital bills and finances. In one moment of anger, some nasty words were said. My mom fled the room and slammed the door shut.

And ever since that moment, they’ve never had another conversation.

Refrain from contributing or participating in any family drama.

I became their middle man and official messenger.

Nowadays we only go for Chinese New Year visitations if I’m around. Everyone stocks up their own groceries in the pantry and prepares their own meals. It’s as though we are housemates.

It’s difficult living in such a complicated family situation. People assume that since my parents are still living together, my family must be more or less normal.

But we’re not. And my mum has become more dependent on me ever since the fallout. Her decades of being a housewife has probably cut off most – if not all of her social circle. She doesn’t like staying home alone with my dad, so I try to spend as much as time I can with her.

But my friends don’t understand.

Why you such a mummy’s girl? That was something someone in my cell group had once remarked in jest, after I said I had to leave early after service to have lunch with my mum.

Oh, you’re calling your mum again? Another comment from a friend, after I told her I had to FaceTime my mother to check in on her while we were overseas.

I also know that my dad isn’t entirely as bad as what he is described to be. He doesn’t say much to me unless needed, and he has his moments of anger. But he has worked without a break for decades, always pays the bills, and always makes sure I have enough.

Who could ever understand my family situation? I’ve always felt all alone. I turned to the Bible looking for some ray of hope, and was surprised to find messed up families just like mine in the Bible!

  • Adam and Eve: Messed up the entire world; one of their sons murdered his brother.
  • Sarah and Abraham: Got her husband to get their servant Hagar pregnant.
  • Lot: Seduced by one of his daughters to commit drunken incest.
  • Jacob: His sons conspired to kill their youngest brother Joseph, sold him into slavery.

And all the above happened in just the first book of the Bible. And as I read on, I learnt many lessons about how to live well in an imperfect family.


The Bible is clear about honouring our parents (Exodus 20:12, Deuteronomy 5:16). It is the fifth commandment, but the first that comes with a promise. It is the first commandment that governs a horizontal relationship – the only commandment that comes with a reward.

This also means that we refrain from contributing or participating in any family drama. There was one my mum was ranting to me about my dad, when I heard the Holy Spirit gently say: “Don’t dishonour your dad in the process of supporting your mum.”

My mum wanted me to agree with her about my dad’s faults. She wanted me to side with her. But I just quietly listened to her, and tried my best to explain the situation to her objectively. My dad had his faults, but if I had simply gone along with my mum emotionally, I would only be reinforcing negative ideas about him.

Honouring our parents requires us to submit to them as the parental authority God has placed over us (Ephesians 6:1). It means choosing to treat them as treasures, granting them a position of respect in our lives even when it seems like they don’t deserve it.


In every relationship, it is important to keep expectations in check. Unmanaged expectations will eventually lead to disappointment and disillusionment.

I don’t expect perfection from my parents because I know they aren’t perfect. I know that they, just like me, have their own issues and struggles that they don’t speak about. I raise and lower expectations according to how I’ve known them over the years.

There is a greater purpose and deeper message behind the mess.

Another thing that is equally important is that we communicate our expectations … Telepathy isn’t a thing!

When I was in JC, I often came home late because my school was far away from home and my CCA usually ended in the evening. I never understood why my mum would get so upset about me coming home late, so I got equally upset at her apparently unreasonable behaviour.

After all, I was in school! It wasn’t like I was running around outside … Until I realised why she was so upset: She just wanted me to let her know if I was going to be back for dinner.

Uncommunicated expectations create more misunderstandings than needed.


But to be honest, even as I try my best to honour my parents and manage my expectations, it still feels really hard on many days.

It feels like something is amiss in my family, like there must be more. And many times I’m faced with a situation where I really just don’t know what to do … It’s usually at that point where this verse comforts me: “If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you” (James 1:5).

And as I persevere in prayer, I know breakthroughs will happen. Situations will change. Hearts will move. None of our prayers are ever prayed in vain (Revelation 8:1-5). And if even Jesus prayed unceasingly (Hebrews 5:7), why shouldn’t we?

There is nothing else I can do but to pray and surrender my family situation to God. It is easy for us to give up on complicated family relations because humans are messy.

But the story of Jesus – a Saviour coming from a lineage of messy and dysfunctional families – is a lasting reminder that love and goodness can come out of the deepest of wounds.

There is a greater purpose and deeper message behind the mess. And the end of all of it, it points us to our need for a Saviour.


Christina is a designer who memorises Pantone swatches. She is an INFJ who loves matcha, 80% dark chocolate, beautiful typography and folk jazz. She also dreams of raising her own pet penguin one day.


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Daddy’s Home

by | posted 15 June 2018, 1:46 PM


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Does my dad deserve a Father’s Day?

by Jenni Ho-Huan | 10 June 2018, 8:44 PM

When I was growing up, Father’s Day wasn’t even invented yet – not to me anyway. And I probably would have resisted the idea of it had I known about it then. Not much to celebrate, I would’ve said.

So dead wrong I was.

The mental picture I have of my dad is not a clear portrait, all gleaming and ready to be hung on a wall. In my mind, it’s more like bits of mosaic lining up unevenly and in unequal pieces.

He could do amazing things with his hands. I remember one time, he brought home timber wood, and after several hours of sawing and hammering, a double-decker bed emerged. 

Then there was the time he came home with an accordion. I had never seen such a thing before; I was fascinated by the way it folded and the sounds my father could make on it.

Quite a few times, Dad returned much later than expected because he had taken the wrong bus – getting lost seems to run in my blood!

I realised that God has chosen him and my mum to be the ones to birth and raise me.

I remember we watched three things repeatedly: Hindi movies, nature documentaries, and wrestling. Thanks to my dad, I am adept at eating with my hands, have never let skin colour bother me, and can recognise David Attenborough’s voice anywhere.

My father loved the thrill of a good gamble; but he made humble bets. Each time he won, the house would fill with something. He also enjoyed smoking. As a teen, I self-righteously berated and made him feel guilty for constantly inflicting us with second-hand smoke.

If I’d loved my dad as a child, I do not remember it. I wish I did. I would have made music with him, learnt to build a thing or two, maybe got lost together on those bus rides. 

Perhaps I did not love him because we were too busy getting by. Or because I saw my mother struggling with her deep disappointments in life: She’d vowed not to marry someone who gambled, but her mother set her up with my dad. And a mother’s shattered dreams are shards that are best avoided.

Perhaps I did not love him because there was a sorry need for love in my own little heart.

Thankfully, at the age of eight, God became a reality for me. Among the many things I would learn and discover about Him, I found the father I wanted and needed in my heavenly Father. 

When I was old enough, God turned my attention back to my earthly father. It began with the mission all followers of Jesus embark on: Saving souls. My dad needed saving, that wasn’t difficult to see.

But in time, God showed me that my father would once again be His instrument – I needed to be saved from my lovelessness, especially towards my dad. It is a great irony that Dad’s cold, indifferent, cavalier attitude about God called forth the love of Christ in me. 

Patiently, God waited for me to grow up. And when He finally said, “Be a friend to your dad”, I said yes through flowing tears; a whole new capacity opened up within me. I saw how he was a hurt, unloved person in so many ways, and appreciated how much it must have taken for him to even be who he was.

I realised that God has chosen him and my mum to be the ones to birth and raise me.

I cannot recall how many times I managed to wish him “Happy Father’s Day” in the end, but I’m glad I got to say it at least once. 

In Malachi 4:6, it talks about God turning the hearts of children to their fathers. And you know what? God is always doing that. He is love; it’s what he does. 

It took me a long time to say “Happy Father’s Day” because I could not see what a gift my dad was, stuck as I was in what the “model father” should be. I overlooked the fact that he didn’t have a father who showed him how to father, and without Father God in his life, how was he to ever know?

Yet, in my father, there was the valour of a good man.

When he saw my mother thumbed down and abused by his mum after they got married, he courageously took her, their two pots, one bag of clothes and left in the middle of the night. 

When the children started coming, he worked hard as a coolie with his changkol (shovel). It was backbreaking and tempted by faster gains, his gambling habit grew. But it was always to help us live a little better. Buy us a toy or two. Eventually, he became a clerk at the shipyard, until that job was unjustly lost.

Whenever he didn’t have proper work, he worked at home. He cleaned and cooked. I still miss his best dish – pig’s tongue stewed with soya beans and onions. Sometimes we came home to handwritten messages that the water had been boiled and was safe to drink. 

He didn’t have much going for him in life, really. But he had an optimistic, can-survive demeanour. We probably got that from him too. Not to mention his linguistic ability. He didn’t have many opportunities, but God did give him an amazing wife. Together, they had nine children, and I am glad to be one of them.

When a man has given life his best shot, it is worth celebrating. And for Mr Ho, he gave being a dad a real good shot. He wasn’t able to supply us with plenty, but he made sure that the rice urn, sugar and salt were always there.

He may not have known how to egg us on to success, but he never held us back from pursuing our dreams and we could see his quiet pride at every graduation.

He never verbally told us he loved us, but neither did he ever demand love from us in return. He accepted gifts reluctantly and I’ll always remember how his sanguine self would go very quiet when attention was turned to him.

But God knows, he tried being the best father he could. And I thank God for opening my eyes to see it before it was all too late.

Now, Dad’s having a well-deserved rest (and probably a really good time) in heaven, exactly how he would have liked it. He is home, safe and free at last.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.

This was first seen on Jenni’s blog and has been republished with permission.


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My dad loved me in his own language, even when I couldn’t understand it

by Debra Wong | 10 June 2018, 7:16 PM

On my study table is an old postcard that was sent from Holland. It was addressed to me 25 years ago, when I had barely learned to talk and was left in the care of some relatives.

My mum and dad were in Holland at that time. My dad was there for a year for studies, and my mum was visiting him for a month. Mum said that my father survived on barely-cooked rice and whatever he could find on sale at the local farmer’s market.

In the postcard he’d sent me it says: “Papa is in Holland now. Be a good girl and listen to your grandmother. Love, Papa.”

That postcard is precious to me because it is one of the few pieces of written evidence where my dad has directly expressed his love for me because for the rest of my childhood, I don’t remember him saying it ever again.

They say I take after my dad in both strength and weakness alike. From him, I inherited a love for knowledge and a penchant for words, but also a trademark stubbornness, a short fuse, and a penchant for refusing to admit wrongs.

Seeing all these familiar traits show up in me probably startled my dad – from as early as I can remember he was always harsher with me than my sister. I was caned more, punished more, yelled at more.

So ever since I started going to school, I thought that my dad was on a life-long mission to make me miserable.

In kindergarten, my father made me write down the names of 10 boys and 10 girls that I’d talked to each month, all because I wasn’t socialising enough. He enrolled me in a Chinese primary school against my will because he wanted his children to be able to communicate with our grandparents.

When I eventually excelled in my studies, he showed little enthusiasm: “Character growth is more important, and you lack character,” he would always say.

As a teenager, I fought all the time with him. He had something to say about every aspect of my life – my lack of friends, my selfishness and pride, my lack of love towards God.

He was the epitome of the typical “Asian dad”, one who provided for my needs but was rarely affectionate. He never told me I was beautiful or treated me as “daddy’s little girl”, even though I craved his affirmation so badly.

And so I grew up resenting my dad. I promised myself as a young girl that when I was of age, I would marry someone who was the exact opposite of my dad – someone who showered me with affection and encouragement, who listened patiently instead of criticising.

It wasn’t only until much later in my young adulthood that I realised that my dad wasn’t out to get me. He loved me but just didn’t know how to express it in the ways I wanted him to express it.

My father grew up in a family where money was hard to come by. The idea of a loving mum and dad was alien to him – both his parents worked to support the family, leaving him and his siblings in the care of their strict grandfather.

As a result, my dad had no concept of affection, encouragement or love to model his parenting by. But what he did know was this: He spent his working life saving up mutual funds and insurance savings, in addition to his regular savings, to fund my sister and me through school and college.

Looking back, I realised how much he’d always cared for me – I just couldn’t understand his love language then. And despite his lack of outward affection, my dad reflected God’s love to me in three big ways:


1. He always provides for me

When I was about to enter university, Dad took it upon himself to help me ease into college life. First, he took me smartphone shopping, followed by laptop shopping. Then, he helped me apply for study loans and scholarships.

And after I graduated from university, he got me a second-hand car for me to get to my workplace, which was an hour away in traffic and not easily accessible by public transport. I’d actually been planning on saving up for one myself!

He even arranged an appointment with a trusted friend for me to buy my first life insurance policy. If it weren’t for my father, I wouldn’t have any life insurance, no knowledge of investments, and would probably be broke because I didn’t know how to maintain a budget.

Similarly, the same God who provided manna from heaven to the starving Israelites in the desert (Exodus 16:4) and keeps lowly ravens from hunger (Luke 12:24) also knows exactly what my needs are and graciously provides them according to His riches in glory (Philippians 4:19).

2. He is always protective of me

In primary school, I was bullied by two boys. They hit me with plastic bottles and called me names. Without telling me, my father privately went to the school and highlighted the matter to the principal, who promptly took action.

I got upset at my dad after that incident because some other classmates gave me the stink eye for ‘embarrassing’ them – if only I knew then that he was trying to protect me!

Today, Dad still bugs me about retirement savings, investing my money wisely, and travel expenditure. He also periodically sends me articles about coping in the workplace, reading the Bible, and living a meaningful single life.

My dad, in his finite wisdom, offers advice to me in many practical aspects of life: Career planning, budgeting and investing, and coping with responsibilities at different life stages.

How much more my Father God, who offers timeless advice and instruction on how I should live life, both through the illuminating wisdom in His Word (Psalm 119:105) and also through His Spirit living in us (1 Corinthians 3:16).

3. He always perseveres in fathering me

My dad’s knowledge of my character as his daughter led him to reach out to me in personal ways. In secondary school, I was anxious and withdrawn, willing to do anything to get my peers’ approval.

Noticing my social difficulties, Dad printed out a letter called “God’s Love Letter” that had over 30 Bible verses about my identity in Christ, which he made me recite every morning before he dropped me off at school.

Likewise, God knows me intimately – He knows every hair on my head (Matthew 10:30) and is familiar with all my ways (Psalm 139:3). Based on His personal knowledge of me, He has reached out to me in ways more incredible than my earthly father.

Talking to my friends, I realise that many of them have unaffectionate “Asian dads” too – fathers who faithfully provided for the family but were slow to proclaim their affection or affirmation.

If you can relate to my story, here’s what you can do to relate to your dad better:


1. Understand that how your dad was raised shaped the way he treats his kids

Many “Asian dads” like mine didn’t have affectionate parents themselves. We can strive to be more encouraging to our future children, but it helps to be more understanding of where dad come from.

2. Appreciate him when he shows his love in his own way

When he gets you something you really need or offers advice and practical help, be slow to protest and quick to acknowledge his act of love. One of my dad’s love languages is quality time, and although it can be stressful, we make it a point to go on a family trip every year because it is important to him.

3. Ask God for the grace to help you accept your father just as he is

Of course, also honestly pour out your needs to God, for example: “God, I really want to be encouraged/hugged.” You may just be surprised at how God works – during my birthday last year, my dad gave me an awkward 15-second hug, telling me that that was my “hug quota of the year”.

This caught me by surprise, as I was amazed that my dad was willing to forego his discomfort around hugging to bless me on my birthday!

All these years, I thought my dad hated me, and I resented him for it. But what I didn’t know then was that his imperfect love was really pointing to something bigger – God’s perfect love for me.

Due to the fallen state of human nature and the limitations of our upbringing, I’ve come to learn that people – including my parents – will never be able to meet all my relational needs.

So for all the affection and affirmation I still desire, I know perfect love comes only from my Father in heaven. And I’m that much more grateful for everything my earthly father has given me.

Happy Father’s Day to my wonderful fathers! ❤


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God is my Father

by | 8 June 2018, 3:07 PM

Have you ever felt heart-wrenching pain?

I remember being surprised with my first experience of heart-wrenching pain. Amidst the torment, I was surprised to find that heartbreak matched the word so well.

The experience of disappointment and pain comes to us all, at some point in life. Some of us seem to have it worse, but no one is immune to it.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” (John 10:10)

In a world filled with suffering and sorrow, Jesus Christ is the only hope for a people threatened by darkness. But the funny thing is, I was never a Jesus type of person growing up. When I was young I associated Churches with the brown tourist sign more than I associated it with a place where freedom is found.

I did step into a Church, eventually. But I only found freedom because Jesus Christ found me. It has little to do with a building or a programme, but much more to do with how we respond to his invitation to know God our Father, through him. 

God is our Father in heaven who we can trust in, who gave his son Jesus Christ for us (John 3:16), such that our hearts need not be troubled anymore.

There is a story about a man who left his father’s home to squander his inheritance away. He reached a point where he was so hungry he ate with pigs. Finally, he came to his senses one day: “Why I am starving to death when my father has plenty to spare at home?” So he went home.

“So he got up and went to his father. “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’

“But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.” (Luke 15:20-24)

Because of his mistakes, the man in the story didn’t think he was worthy to be called his father’s son anymore – but he was wrong. God is the sort of father who would run to welcome a wayward child back home. He is unthreatened by our messes; He extends forgiveness to his children.

In a world filled with suffering and sorrow, Jesus Christ is the only hope for a people threatened by darkness.

We can never fathom the vastness and greatness of God, but the kindness of God is near and available to us. It is a tangible thing.

There is life at the hand of our Father who lavishes us with love that overflows. Surely it is not because of what I’ve done that I can call God my Father, but because He first saw it fit to welcome me home as His child.

“If you declare with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. (Romans 10:9)

It is His grace to me that I came to my senses one day and knew my desperate need to return to my Father. And I still need that grace every day.

Take the words of Jesus Christ to heart today, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).


Fiona is secretly hilarious and deeply devoted to her dogs. She is also a strange introvert who loves good chats with strangers and anyone with a story. At other times, you'll find her watching nature in wonder, wherever the sunlight touches with gold.


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Article list

I was my own villain

My parents don’t talk any more

Daddy’s Home

Does my dad deserve a Father’s Day?

My dad loved me in his own language, even when I couldn’t understand it

God is my Father