A Journey Through Faith and Family

At 13 years old, I found myself living with my aunt, who provided a nurturing and stable environment. Life was good, and I experienced a typical teenage existence for the first time. My aunt cared for me deeply, never complaining or urging me to seek employment, understanding that

I was still too young to work. On Christmas days, our church organized a celebration in the city, approximately an eight-hour drive from our home. After the event, we decided to stop by my mother's house, where my aunt also stayed for the night. Upon arrival, my mother greeted me with indifference no hug, no words of affection. Though it hurt, I chose to smile and pretend everything was fine, realizing there was little I could do to change the situation.To my surprise, my mother had become an active member of our church and was particularly close to the pastor, whom we affectionately called "Ibu Rohani," meaning "spiritual mother." She was believed to be a messenger of God, destined to lead many away from sin. Initially, I trusted and admired her, captivated by her ability to communicate with God.Despite the complexities within my family,

I continued to serve in the church, focusing on my faith rather than human relationships. I remained unaffected by others' opinions about my family's brokenness and poverty. We had moved frequently due to my mother's reluctance to take responsibility, but my commitment to serving God kept me grounded.Eventually, my mother planned to rmarried my stepfather in the church, seeking divine blessings for their union. She appeared genuinely happy, seemingly living for herself and showing little concern for her children. Nevertheless, I was happy for her.

After returning to live with my mother, I found myself in a household where my youngest brother, now six years old and attending kindergarten, also resided. Daily life involved routine chores, but my mother showed little interest in continuing my education. At the time, I didn't fully grasp the importance of schooling, so I immersed myself in personal activities like drawing and constructing a small treehouse beside our home—a personal refuge during moments of sadness. Over the course of a month,

I completed the treehouse using materials intended for my stepfather's house renovations. Unaware of the implications, I used these materials out of a desire to create something of my own. However, upon discovering the treehouse, my stepfather reacted with anger, accusing me of misusing his resources and demanding the structure be dismantled. Eventually, he took it upon himself to destroy the treehouse, a gesture that deeply affected me.Our household environment was tense. My stepfather exhibited controlling behavior, restricting access to basic amenities like the television, which he kept in his room, monitoring its usage meticulously. He would check if it was warm to determine if someone had used it in his absence, leading to confrontations even over minor issues. These actions fostered a growing sense of resentment and helplessness within me.A particularly distressing incident involved my sister, who returned home visibly shaken after an encounter with our uncle, who, while intoxicated, attempted to assault her. Her immediate response was to flee and seek refuge at our home, where she eventually found employment as a waitress in a nearby town. Inspired by her resilience, I aspired to work as well, but my age posed a barrier to employment opportunities.Financial constraints were a constant challenge. Despite my mother's earlier promises to save money for our future, these assurances never materialized. Requests for basic necessities, like drawing supplies, were met with claims of insufficient funds, leaving me feeling disheartened and questioning the whereabouts of the promised savings.

My sister's life took a turn when she met someone at her workplace and decided to move in with him. This relationship led to significant changes in her demeanor, and she became more assertive, especially in defending our younger brother against our stepfather's harsh treatment. One incident involved our brother being punished severely for attempting to eat food without permission, highlighting the oppressive control our stepfather exerted over household resources, including food and water.

Determined to escape the toxic environment, my sister devised a plan to leave, taking with his box of coins our stepfather had been saving. Before departing, she assured us of her intention to return for us. Her absence led to increased scrutiny and punishment from our stepfather, who accused us of complicity in the theft, resulting in physical punishment and deprivation of meals. Our situation became increasingly dire, relying on the generosity of church members for clothing and basic needs.

Life continued as usual—daily chores, constant stress, and frequent scolding from my stepfather. Whenever he was upset or under pressure,

he took it out on us. The tension in the house never seemed to end. About a month after my sister disappeared, she suddenly showed up at church. She wore a long-sleeved black blouse and didn't look happy at all. Her face looked tired, like she was forcing herself to be there. I later found out this was part of my mother's plan. She had convinced my sister to return home with the promise of a job—as a maid, once again. My sister had just broken up with her boyfriend, so she accepted the offer, hoping to distract herself from the pain.

The job was far away in another state, near Puchong, Kuala Lumpur. It was arranged through a friend of our church pastor, Ibu Rohani. At first, my sister went willingly, but after two months she couldn't take it anymore. She missed her boyfriend terribly, and one day she ran away, took a public bus, and went back to him.Two months later, she returned home heartbroken. Her boyfriend had cheated on her. She had given him everything, even her virginity. She was devastated. After that, my sister began to change. She started smoking, drinking alcohol, and staying locked in the bathroom for hours. Than my mom broke down the bathroom door and found my sister with her cut wrists and blood is everywhere , on the floor. I was terrified. She had clearly been through so much pain.From then on, she was no longer the sister I knew. She was aggressive and harsh toward me. I tried to understand her because I knew she was acting out from deep pain and from growing up without proper guidance or care. I eventually found the courage to tell her I wanted to follow her—wherever she went. I didn't want to stay in that house anymore.She agreed. Once again, she took money from my stepfather's coin savings box and we ran away with me and her—without any idea where we would sleep to night. We waited at the village bus stop, hoping to catch a ride. In our village, it was common for kind lorry drivers to offer rides for free. We were lucky—a driver took us all the way to town near the market.When we arrived, we counted the stolen coins, bought some food, and stayed in the market area until evening. We didn't know where to go next.Then, a man approached my sister. And she always confident when talking to men and chatted with him. He asked if we were planning to go home. She replied, "No, we just ran away from home and we're trying to find job." He offered us a place to stay temporarily at his company's staff hostel.The road to the hostel was long and rocky and it took almost an hour to get there. When we arrived, we were surprised to see it was filled with men. Not a single woman lived there. Some of them joked, saying, "Wow, beautiful girls staying tonight!" But they treated us kindly and respectfully. That night, i was drink alcohol for the first time, played guiter, and sang until midnight.

The next morning, around 10 a.m., we got up and cleaned ourselves. One of the guys noticed the smell of alcohol and smoke on my clothes. He offered me his clean T-shirt while he washed mine. I shyly accepted. It was a small act of kindness that meant a lot. But from a distance, my sister saw and got upset. She asked, "Why are you wearing his T-shirt?" I told her, than he give me to wear. But she insisted I give it to her to wear , saying she liked the guy and didn't want him getting close to me.

I wasn't interested in fighting over a boy. So i give her the T-shirt and got mine back, and we left to look for jobs in town. As we walked from shop to shop, we met a kind girl named Fitri who worked in a clothing boutique. She suggested my sister try working at a restaurant bar that offered staff accommodation and decent pay. Soon after, she quit her boutique job and took the opportunity.We were both accepted at the restaurant, but only my sister got a full role because I was underage. Business owners were afraid to hire someone as young as me. I stayed in the hostel, bored, with no phone and nothing to do.

Than I went to the restaurant and begged the boss give me any work. I will do it "Please, " I said, "I just want something to do." He finally gave in and let me wash dishes at the back. My salary was only RM200 a month—but I was overjoyed. It was my very first job. I finally felt like I had purpose. I thanked God for that moment.

Breaking Point and Breaking Free Life continued as usual—daily chores, constant stress, and frequent scolding from my stepfather. Whenever he was upset or under pressure, he took it out on us. The tension in the house never seemed to end.

About a month after my sister disappeared, she suddenly showed up at church. She wore a long-sleeved black blouse and didn't look happy at all. Her face looked tired, like she was forcing herself to be there. I later found out this was part of my mother's plan. She had convinced my sister to return home with the promise of a job—as a maid, once again. My sister had just broken up with her boyfriend, so she accepted the offer, hoping to distract herself from the pain. The job was far away in another state, near Puchong, Kuala Lumpur. It was arranged through a friend of our church pastor, Ibu Rohani. At first, my sister went willingly, but after two months she couldn't take it anymore. She missed her boyfriend terribly, and one day she ran away, took a public bus, and went back to him.

Two months later, she returned home heartbroken. Her boyfriend had cheated on her. She had given him everything, even her virginity. She was devastated. After that, my sister began to change. She started smoking, drinking alcohol, and staying locked in the bathroom for hours. Than my mom broke down the bathroom door and found my sister with her cut wrists and blood is everywhere , on the floor. I was terrified. She had clearly been through so much pain.

From then on, she was no longer the sister I knew. She was aggressive and harsh toward me. I tried to understand her because I knew she was acting out from deep pain and from growing up without proper guidance or care.

I eventually found the courage to tell her I wanted to follow her—wherever she went. I didn't want to stay in that house anymore. She agreed. Once again, she took money from my stepfather's coin savings box and we ran away with me and her—without any idea where we would sleep to night. We waited at the village bus stop, hoping to catch a ride. In our village, it was common for kind lorry drivers to offer rides for free. We were lucky—a driver took us all the way to town near the market.When we arrived, we counted the stolen coins, bought some food, and stayed in the market area until evening. We didn't know where to go next.Then, a man approached my sister. And she always confident when talking to men and chatted with him. He asked if we were planning to go home. She replied, "No, we just ran away from home and we're trying to find job." He offered us a place to stay temporarily at his company's staff hostel.

The road to the hostel was long and rocky and it took almost an hour to get there. When we arrived, we were surprised to see it was filled with men. Not a single woman lived there. Some of them joked, saying, "Wow, beautiful girls staying tonight!" But they treated us kindly and respectfully. That night, i was drink alcohol for the first time, played guiter, and sang until midnight.The next morning, around 10 a.m., we got up and cleaned ourselves. One of the guys noticed the smell of alcohol and smoke on my clothes. He offered me his clean T-shirt while he washed mine. I shyly accepted. It was a small act of kindness that meant a lot. But from a distance, my sister saw and got upset. She asked, "Why are you wearing his T-shirt?" I told her, than he give me to wear. But she insisted I give it to her to wear , saying she liked the guy and didn't want him getting close to me.I wasn't interested in fighting over a boy. So i give her the T-shirt and got mine back, and we left to look for jobs in town.

As we walked from shop to shop, we met a kind girl named Fitri who worked in a clothing boutique. She suggested my sister try working at a restaurant bar that offered staff accommodation and decent pay. Soon after, she quit her boutique job and took the opportunity. We were both accepted at the restaurant, but only my sister got a full role because I was underage. Business owners were afraid to hire someone as young as me. I stayed in the hostel, bored, with no phone and nothing to do.Than I went to the restaurant and begged the boss give me any work. I will do it"Please," I said, "I just want something to do." He finally gave in and let me wash dishes at the back. My salary was only RM200 a month—but I was overjoyed. It was my very first job. I finally felt like I had purpose. I thanked God for that moment.