Fragile Gaps

Most people think emotional fragility is a crippling weakness.

For a long time, I did too. It was only two days ago when a new light cast the shadow behind me.

We have always been told that emotional fragility can cripple us. Too soft, and you'll be hurt too much, too vulnerable, too inefficient, people say. Strangely, it is in those places where we have been hurt the most that can give birth to a peculiar brand of strength, if only we let it.

Last week, as I became more aware of the number of Moments in a day where a thought, a Tiny Incident, or an action by someone built up pressure behind my eyes, or triggered some unexpectedly full-bodied emotion, and I wondered whether, perhaps, this may be my greatest weakness or, deepest strength.

It could be a father playing with his daughter, a letter from a friend, or the sight of a couple holding hands-just holding hands. It could be an unexpected hug, a friend offering to explain a concept to me, a random compliment. It could be the sight of an old man by the steps of an MRT playing the harmonica, or an anorexic person walking by. There hardly passes a day where I dont find myself in a Moment.

It is then when I close my eyes and take a deep breath, enough to recollect myself, and not long enough to attract unecessary attention. If I am with no one, sometimes I just let the tears run.

So I wondered- is it the weak who feel too much, or the brave who do? The brave, because it is the brave who dare to love when they could be rejected, dare to feel when they could simply walk by, dare to pray when they simply see no possibilty of their innermost desires being answered. It is about putting ourselves on the line.

Is it the weak or the brave who do so.

Two days ago, on the train home, I decided. I decided that I would rather feel, feel too much, than to feel less, or not at all. I would rather Stop for someone than to be on my way, rather struggle with being on my way than not at all, rather stand up from my seat, attract the attention of all the seat-hungry commuters on the train carriage, walk inconveniently some 3 metres away to offer a seat to an old lady, only to face the embarrassment of being rejected- than not trying at all.

Two days ago, on the train home, I decided.

That day, I got a seat on the train during the rush-hour. Carrying my handbag, a huge plastic bag of props and costumes from my rehearsal, and my notes and books, I was thankful for it. My feet, trapped in insensible heels for the whole day, were tired. Then, the train stopped at an interchange, and people packed the carriages like sardines again. No old lady in sight. I heaved a sigh of relief.

Then I looked up. There was a man in front of me. He wasn't elderly, my father's age perhaps. He had grey hair, and was in his working attire. I looked at his grey hair. My father's age, I thought. Would I give up my seat for my father?

But I had too many things. Besides, he wasn't that old. He wasn't elderly.

But he could be tired. He could have had a long day. Anybody would have wanted a seat at that time of the day. You didn't have to be old. I remember a few years ago, my father came home one day to tell me at dinner time, almost embarrassedly, "Is my hair that grey? Someone offered me a seat on the train today. I was thankful for it, but... Is my hair really that grey?" I remember because it was one of those Moments where your eyes opened, and you suddenly realised your parents won't live forever. Daddies and mommies get old, too.

So many barries lay before us when we approach strangers. Today, someone told me, "It's not that I don't want to ask the tissue-selling auntie if she's had her lunch. I do, but I'm just... You know... sometimes people... "

So this is what it is about, isn't it. Rejection.

We stop loving and Stopping because we've been rejected. We stop praying because we think our wishes have been ignored. We stop tearing and crying because seeming weak is like being rejected by this strong, powerful world we live in. We put our love, dreams and pride on the line. Is it the weak who do so, or the brave?

With strangers, it is hard every time. Hard, in a different way because you never know how the old lady, roadside beggar, elderly commuter, depressed girl might respond. But it is also exciting, and it only becomes so when you put yourself on the line, and be willing to take that tiny risk. It is only but a Tiny risk, to feel for, pray for, love someone.

He wasn't elderly.

But perhaps it didn't matter whether he needed the seat or not. Perhaps it didn't matter if it was right or wrong for me to say anything. What mattered was, I thought, that we do not harden our hearts. We walk by, we don't Stop, we fear reaching out to someone because we put ourselves on the line, and the rejection can hurt so bad. But in truth, it is not the rejection that hardens us, but the fear of it. Strangers can turn down offers from us, but it is not that that hardens our hearts, really. When you do offer, your heart breathes, it becomes alive. What hardens our hearts, really, is the fear of rejection. It hardens when we don't even try.

We don't even try because we fear, and that is when suddenly, a little part, a Tiny part of our hearts die. It doesn't take much. But every time you want to reach out but don't, because of a bad experience- maybe a beggar went ballistic on you, an old lady was rude and unthankful- a Tiny part of us hardens.

Is it the weak or the brave who continue to feel, pray and love.

Finally, I opened my mouth, "Would you like my seat?"

"Oh! Why thank you! But I'm all right!" He smiled very widely.

I sat back down. Two stops later, the person next to me got off the train, and the grey-haired man plonked himself right next to me.

" Thanks for offering!" he said heartily, "Very kind of you." He was smiling, flipping through a motor-car magazine. "Are you a teacher?" he asked.


"You're most welcome." I smiled, wondering why this was the umpteenth time someone thought I was a teacher, "No, I'm a medical student."

"Medical student? Ah, I see. Very good! Become a doctor! What specialty are you thinking of? What kind of doctor do you want to become, like er... gynae, and er..."

"Actually, " I said, " I want to be a missionary doctor."

"Miss-ion-ary doctor, " he emphasized on the word. "I see! Tough job, a lot of sacrifice! Too much sacrifice!" He chuckled.

"No, not too much," I said, but I said it slowly, my smile was dim, as I realised the gravity of what I had just said, what it meant, what it implied.

I continued to read my book- A Love Worth Giving by Max Lucado. He saw my bible tucked under my book and continued, "Ahh, so, you're a good Christian!" He laughed, and I was embarrassed.

I turned red. "Well, I try to be," I said. There were a lot of people on the train. It was just the both of us talking. I felt myself go red. I continued to read.

"Wah, I have no time for God... I am a free-thinker, you know. No time! Only time for my boss!" He laughed jokingly. For some reason, I liked him. He was sincere, candid, and fatherly.

This time was my turn to laugh. "Of course there's time, Uncle. There always is. God made time, right?"

"Haha, yes. Time management ya?"


"Yes, Uncle."


Next stop. Kembangan.


"Sorry Uncle, I'm getting off here. How do I address you?"


"Chia. Just Chia."


" Take care Uncle Chia, it was nice talking to you."


"Thank you for your kindness. It was very nice talking to you too."

So maybe this is what it is.

It is about daring to put ourselves on the line to feel, to love, to give up a part of ourselves. If you walked by Someone and felt something, a hand inside you that grasped your heart gently, but let go because these sights were too common, too unnecessary, or it was just too awkward, a part of you hardens. A part of you hardens even if you don't want it to. But choose to Stop, and your heart won't, and in that Moment, you become powerful, real, alive again.

Why fear the rejection, when in truth, it is the hardening of our hearts that we should really be afraid of. Uncle Chia didn't need my seat, but that offer, that bridging of one gap between two people breathed both our hearts into life.

Every Encounter counts. Every time you choose to Stop, you create a Moment for yourself. It is these Moments which give us life, or a slow and silent death. When we do feel, when we do tear, cry, Stop, pray, love, are we weak, or are we brave?

Emotional fragility is only a weakness if we do not put it out into the world, make a difference, let it breathe life into our hearts. Why hold back the tears. Let it rain if you must.

Are we weak, or brave.

" A little rain can straighten a flower stem."

- Max Lucado