Dear Angel Face, You Have My Hand to Hold

I hope to wipe every tear streaming down your face as you stay paralysed with helpless fear against this towering menace of what was meant to nurture faith in your blossoming soul.

My heart broke as I saw the carbon copy of my six-year-old self in your miniscule frame my dear. If you grow up and ever chance upon this post, please know that I have not forgotten you, precious fireball of stardust, sugar, spice and everything nice.

On the last day of the exhibition "Project In My Shoes 2: Strengths Abound", one little girl made me realise my true passion in life - and that was to make sure that as far as my hands could reach, that I could assure the future souls of the universe that they are not as broken as people tell them they are.

Dear angel face,

You are the very reason why I do what I do. I would do anything to extract the wrenching pain in your scrunched up countenance. As you stood there quivering with fear and crystal shards lacerating the rims of your eyes, my heart goes out to you as you stood rooted in the forced strength you had to muster from the tender age of six. My heart broke as I saw your earnest attempt to halt the bubbling lava of tears from erupting from your tear ducts. I know that all too well my dear. Your compelling portrayal of my old self just evoked this unknown fire of empathy in me as I hurriedly broke away from ushering my older sister around the exhibition. I knew that was the same way she stepped in to guard my heart when my dad scolded me the way yours did.

I saw how they lacerated your morale and self-belief as you scurried out of the psychosis immersive room. I saw you tear through the black cloak of the lack of compassion and ruthless parenting and you immediately caught my eye. Anyone who knows me knows that I hate children but something about you was different - the family dynamic of it all, how you broke away from a family who had cast you aside and demeaned you for being simply afraid.

As their pandemonium of merciless bullets came flying through your flesh and punctuations of ironic hues of powerful pink on your clothing, it broke my heart.

Your parents took their turns at slamming you like a rag doll that you don't deserve to EVER feel like.

"Why you scared?! Lemme tell you this is what mummy deals with in her work for 10 years already?? HUH Why are you like this?!"

"Little bit of thing you scared already!?! We already told you you scared you don't go in!! How are you going to make it in life like this huh so easily scared one! Even the Disney movie Brave you scared! What is there to be scared about???"

My heart shattered.

Those were the exact words that my father said to me when I was six, like you. That injustice against your innocent and understandable fear was too much for my heart to handle without overwhelming concern for you dearie.

The ironic thing was that your family had just gone through the eating disorder immersive room - and I shuddered to even think of how if I had not stepped in to do anything for you - that my own experience you just heard on the audio tapes would become one with your mind in the future with such an upbringing of condemnation. My heart hugged yours as I stood by your side rubbing your shoulder as your sniffled.

It would break me more than anything to sit back and let a potentially defining moment of your self-confidence crash to the ashen heap of childhood trauma. I know I can't be there with your by your side throughout your life, but please know that even if you are across the universe, you have my hand to hold.

I saw you pitifully try to defend yourself in a feeble plea "I don't wanna go in the immersive room again". You are so brave my darling, never forget this moment you stood up for yourself okay?

Yet, he clamped you down with his iron fist of the lack of understanding with a dictatorial order for you to "then you better stay outside and wait for us" by thrusting his hand to the spot in front of the psychosis information boards, as if he was degrading you the status of a dog who messed up and was chained to sit in the rain outside the house.

That was it. How could they.

My fingers are shaking as I am typing this because simply recounting your experience yesterday was a real time re-play of past dialogues that struck so many chords in me - we are so alike in so many ways and how he treated you my dear was unmistakably hurtful beyond comprehension.

I had to flock over to your side and bend down as I locked my attention on your floodgate eyes. Please know that it is okay to cry. I had spent so much of my childhood learning the firefighter drill of dulling the redness from my nose and cheeks and to scrape away the tears from my eyes and step out of the bathroom, as if unscathed by the prong of hurtful words issued against child-me. We need to cry, let the tears fall because we need them to wash over our hurt so we can see the kaleidoscope of phosphenes life has to offer after that storm. Feel, because in a world that stifles emotions in place of emotionless efficiency, that is the greatest revolution of bravery.

I hope your will keep my words locked in your heart forevermore. To you my dear, as you grow up in a world of cynicism and defeat, as they slam your hands to grip onto hopelessness and self-hate, please keep fighting the good fight in all your battles:

"Dear, please don't listen to what your dad just said. To me, you are very brave okay? It's okay to be scared one! My friends were also scared! You will find the courage on your own, at your own time, it's your own journey. Listen to jie jie here, I believe in your power."

Love,

the guardian angel who will always have her hand out for you to hold in spirit