I had a hard time wording this.
A few years back I went on a church mission to trip to a little village in the Thai highlands called Huay Parrai populated by a people called the Lahu. Though it was only for a week, I would say it started something churning within me that has only gotten more and more intense as the years have gone by and the experiences have piled up. A church had been planted in that village almost 10 years ago and the people had already been greatly blessed by the Lord, expanding almost exponentially with respect to it's neighbours and becoming the hub for all christian activity in the area. But there was still this sadness in their eyes. The hard work on the fields to put food on the table aside, these people were (and probably still are) denied any rights whatsoever. As far as the Thai government is concerned they don't exist; merely a nuisance that the king deemed tolerable. Descendents of refugees fleeing one war or another decades ago, adults are denied citizenship and forbidden to move to the urban areas, confining them to villages of almost primitive conditions. Children can gain citizenship if they attend schools for a certain extent of time; schools that are more than 30 minutes away if you DRIVE and costing far more than many of them can afford. We stayed there for only a week organising a children's camp for both the Huay Parrai kids and those from surrounding villages but by the time we left their sad faces broke my heart. What made it worse was when I realised on the long drive back to civilisation was that if we went back 10 years later, most of those kids would probably still be there, but this time their bright happy eyes and easy smiles replaced by the sad resignation that seemed to permeate the demeanours of the adults. Either that or they'd be dead or in jail. During our stay we'd seen villagers get shot at by "forest rangers" while trying to gather timber to build a house. We'd seen a whole truckload of those same "forestry officials" drive jauntily into the village in camouflage fatigues and waving M-16s around while a blanket of fear descended on the people. I suppose that was when I realised that the peace and security, the basic human rights that have become a given for so many of us, especially Singaporeans, is hardly the norm for many many others.
Then there was New Orleans. For the first time I'd come face to face with desolation and destruction on a scale I'd thought only existed in movies or on tv. Moreover I'd seen first hand how the devastation of a full blown tropical storm could pale in comparison to that wreaked by selfishness, greed and political nitpicking. I never thought I would see people forced to live in half wrecked houses because they had nowhere else to go; never thought I'd see highways and freeways completely devoid of traffic while underneath them the rusting hulks of hundreds, even thousands of vehicles remain a testament to indecision; never thought I'd see kilometres of devastated residential areas left completely untouched while tourist and commercial areas were rebuilt with all haste. I saw people break down and cry in front of us while they talked about memories lost and escapes narrow. I saw the Xs and numbers that marked the houses of the people who weren't afforded even those. So much to do and so little time and yet, for the first time in my life, I had people coming up to shake my hand in gratitude when they saw us working or even simply walking the streets in our distinctive orange shirts. I suppose that was when I realisd that even if all I had were my bare hands, I could help.
People want to know what I dream about. Well this is precisely it. There are people who are being persecuted out there, there are people who need help; more than anything else I want to devote my life to giving them that help. I have no idea how I'll do that - maybe as a journalist? working with an NGO? or even as a diplomat? - and frankly I hate telling people about it because so much of the time they....well...they just don't understand. But well if you've bothered reading this far maybe you'll see where some of my motivation comes from. I'm not saying that living "the high life" and "arriving" is in any way unappealing. What I am saying is that I want the measure of my life to be more than a fat bank account and flashy cars. When I stepped into that relief centre in New Orleans with its refugee like living conditions I felt almost immediately at home. When I took my first step into Raffles Place at lunch time I felt like a bull in a china shop. I'm not sure how else to clarify what I want to do with my life.
But I hope it answers your question.
