Rooted Rhythms

My big kid is six. Only six. And yet here I am, having conversations about brain rot, sex, pornography, and maybe the more subtle one, demons. I can’t believe I even have to explain why it’s not okay to be singing along to Soda Pop . These are heavy things for such a little heart. But the truth is, the world doesn’t wait for them to be ready. It barges in, loud and confident, through songs, YouTube shorts, and classroom chatter. And in the middle of it all, he’s trying to find where he fits. He’s the only kid in his class who isn’t going to SJKC. Seven out of ten of his classmates will be heading to the same school down the road next year. He’s the only one who isn’t 100% Chinese. He feels it, even if he can’t articulate it. That quiet awareness of being different. And so I ask myself, how do I help him navigate this? Because it’s not just about what he listens to or sings along with. It’s about belonging, identity, conviction, and the courage to stand firm when you’re the odd...

Last night, I sat down with one simple goal: to work on big kid’s Mission 7 worksheet (a themed activity from his weekly learning plan). But because I wanted to make it more connected, I decided to add in some Bahasa Malaysia words from a few worksheets I’d printed a while ago. Then I realised he didn’t have a good visual aid to learn colours in BM, so I thought I’d design a simple poster to go with it. It was around 8pm, the time I should have been getting him ready for bed. But I told myself it wouldn’t take long. Just a quick design. Except, while looking for inspiration on Pinterest, I came across so many cute educational prints. And then my brain went, “Hey, what if I make some little inspirational cards too?” Perfect for mornings when I don’t have the energy to write sticky notes for his snack box. Since I was already sending the colour poster to print, I figured I might as well design a few more helpful ones. Maybe even some motivational ones for myself. You can imagine how that...

“Mummy, this is gravy, not sauce.” My firstborn is a bit of a smarty pants. Sometimes it makes me laugh; sometimes it makes me pause. And sometimes, if I’m honest, it makes me worry. Because I wonder if that same sharp mind and quick tongue will make it hard for him to fit in, the way I sometimes didn’t. When your mind works at a hundred miles per hour and your heart beats just as fast, you see and feel the world differently. You catch the undercurrents others might miss. You sense tension before it spills over. You want to fix things, but you don’t always know how. And lately, I’ve found myself holding my breath more than I’d like to admit. The terrible news from Melaka. The stabbing in a school just minutes away from our home. I look at my boys and think, how do we keep them safe in a world like this? Not just safe from harm, but safe in heart. Safe in mind. Safe in spirit. How do you explain to a child that the world isn’t always kind, when you still want him to see it as good? ...

It was one of those mornings. His heavy, congested breathing the night before already told us what was coming. We’d agreed that he’d be staying home, and even prepped big brother that he’d have to be up earlier so dad could send him to school. The little one’s stuffy nose, the unmistakable heaviness of a small body fighting something off. Another day home from preschool. We go through this almost every other week. He’s not even two yet, but between preschool colds and the revolving door of viruses, it sometimes feels like we’re on a first-name basis with every strain making the rounds. So this morning, our usual rhythm fell apart before it even began. There was no rushing out the door, no quick tidy-up before diving into work. It feels like every time he starts settling back into his routine, another round of sniffles hits. Preschools, I’ve decided, are basically training grounds for immune systems and for parents learning to let go of control. When my kids get sick, my own rhythm...

There was a time when faith, for me, looked different. Quiet mornings in the car on the way to work.  A cup of coffee and an open Bible. Worship music on the drive home as I thank God for the most incredible sunsets I get to witness on my route home. Those moments were beautiful. But then came new seasons. Work deadlines, school runs, sleepless nights, and noise that never quite fades. And I started to feel guilty that my devotion no longer looked “disciplined.” It took years to realise that faith doesn’t disappear when the routine changes. It just finds new rhythms. Some days, it’s an open Bible. Other days, it’s a deep breath between pick-ups, lunch, and homework. Sometimes it’s whispered prayers while putting the toddler down for a nap, or a small act of grace toward yourself or someone else. Faith, I’m learning, isn’t about perfection. It’s about awareness. When I pause long enough to notice, I see that God is present in the pauses too; in the ordinary, in the in-betwee...

There's a story in the Bible where a centurion said to Jesus, "say the word and my servant will be healed." SAY . THE . WORD Over the last few days, we've been privileged to sit under some of the most amazing speakers and preachers and word after word was spoken. But all of it wouldn't matter if the words you hear doesn't rip apart lies and break down walls that have held you back your whole life. But God spoke the word. The word was said. The ache is gone. There's a newness that comes with realising the truth that's been there all along. Worship doesn't hurt anymore. I feel like I've rediscovered my voice. The voice that was slowly being shut down for years to the point that I was silent.