Who is the best of me?
I do not have one single story to share specifically, because I have many. Life is a series of events, of changes, of adapting to the idea to be constantly and consistently uncomfortable.
I have hardly stayed comfortable in my life. Yet I cannot truly say that I have struggled simply by virtue of being born in a lucky city state like Singapore. A place where I cannot compare my struggles to people who might not even have a roof over their heads tonight.
Yet my existence is not without pain nor doubts. I get hurt like anyone else, I worry, like everyone else.
But I take solace in the fact that life is a journey. No matter how incomprehensible, I accept that I am stronger than I think, with each challenge I face. We are our own true helping hand and it is from the deepest depth of defeat that we will emerge stronger in a victory we can then call our own.
One night 16 years ago, I was waiting to cross the road. Staring down the incoming traffic I questioned the meaning of my life. “What is the meaning of it if I didn’t just end it tonight?” Then I heard a voice in my head reply,“By sheer experience of overcoming your own pain, you will be able to share your wisdom and help others (perhaps your generations to come) in their journeys.” And a vision of myself as a grandmother pops up. I saw something beyond my own pain that night.
Love, give and let go of what we cannot control.
I am the best of me because I have been the worst of me.