25 Years Later: We Remember the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001

Yesterday marked the 25th anniversary of the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, in New York City.

Twenty five years ago today, something happened that changed the world forever.

I caught 102 Minutes Inside the Towers on the History Channel, a documentary that tells the story through the voices of survivors who lived through those terrifying minutes inside the World Trade Center.

As I watched, my heart ached.

I cried.

There were so many emotions running through me that I honestly cannot even describe the feeling. Listening to survivors speak about their ordeal, the fear, confusion, desperation and sheer nightmare they experienced, made the events of that day feel incredibly real, even 25 years later.

I cannot imagine the nightmare these people suffered through.

I cannot imagine what those who lost their lives must have felt in their final moments.

And I cannot imagine what their families went through, waiting for news, hoping for the best, fearing the worst, and eventually having to face a reality no family should ever have to endure.

Yet, through all those emotions, there was one feeling that became stronger than everything else.

Gratitude.

Because I am still here today.

And that thought is deeply personal for me.

Twenty five years ago, I was supposed to be in New York.

I still remember the early days of August 2001.

My boss and I were in discussions about a trip to New York to meet with people from Robb Peck Real Estate. Their office was located on Broad Street, approximately one kilometre from the Twin Towers.

I remember the plans so clearly.

We were supposed to arrive in New York on September 9, which would have given me a couple of days to tour the city before our meeting on September 11.

I was excited.

New York City had always been a city I dreamed of visiting from the time I was a child. I watched so much American television, especially Beauty and the Beast, and New York seemed like this incredible, magical place that I had always wanted to experience for myself.

I told my mum and my family back in Singapore about my plans.

Mum was thrilled for me because she knew how much I loved New York.

Then, a few days before the trip, it was cancelled.

The meeting was postponed to October.

At the time, it was simply a change of plans. A disappointment, perhaps, but nothing more.

I had so much on my plate with work that I even forgot to tell my mother that the trip had been cancelled.

I had absolutely no idea that this small change of plans would one day become one of the most significant moments of my life.

On September 11, I was in a meeting at my office in Massachusetts.

My phone was blowing up with calls from overseas.

Again and again, it rang.

My heart dropped.

I immediately thought something terrible had happened to someone in my family back in Singapore.

Why else would they be calling me so desperately?

What I did not realize was that they were calling because they had heard about the terrorist attacks.

I didn't know.

I was completely unaware of what was happening.

It wasn't until after my meeting, when I finally called Mum back, that I found out.

I could hear everything in her voice.

The relief that I was alright.

The anger that I had not answered her calls.

And the panic she had felt because she had no idea whether I was in New York and caught in the middle of everything.

As she told me what had happened, I remember saying, "I didn't go."

I immediately checked the internet.

And my heart just dropped.

I could not believe my eyes or what I was seeing.

The Twin Towers.

The smoke.

The devastation.

The people.

The sheer horror of it all.

My first thought was about the people of New York.

I was devastated for them.

Only later did another thought hit me.

I could have been there.

I could have been in New York.

I could have been somewhere around Lower Manhattan.

I could have been on my way to that meeting.

I could have been walking through the city that morning.

I could have been caught in the middle of that unimaginable chaos.

And then came the questions.

What if the meeting had never been cancelled?

What if I had arrived in New York on September 9 as planned?

What if I had been walking around Lower Manhattan that morning?

What if I had been inside one of those buildings?

There are so many "what ifs" that I will never have answers to.

But perhaps we are not meant to live our lives trapped in the questions we cannot answer.

Perhaps we are meant to look at the life we were given and ask ourselves what we are going to do with it.

I believe God had plans for me to remain here.

Not simply to exist.

But to live.

To love.

To serve.

To help wherever I can.

To be there for the people who need me.

To make a difference, even if sometimes that difference is small.

I don't pretend to understand God's plans. I have learned that I don't always need to.

There have been many moments in my life when things did not happen the way I expected. Plans changed. Doors closed. People came and went. Life brought heartbreak, disappointment and challenges I never imagined I would have to face.

But 9/11 reminds me of something very simple.

Life is precious.

We make plans for tomorrow as though tomorrow is guaranteed.

We book holidays months in advance. We arrange meetings. We make promises. We assume there will always be more time.

But none of us knows how much time we have.

That is why I am grateful.

Grateful for every morning I wake up.

Grateful for my family.

Grateful for the people I love.

Grateful for the people God has placed in my life.

Grateful for every opportunity to serve.

Grateful for every chance I have to help someone, encourage someone, love someone or simply make another person's day a little better.

I don't want to waste the gift of being here.

As personal as this story is for me, today is not about me.

My heart is with all those who lost their lives.

It is with the families who were left behind to carry a pain and nightmare no family should ever have to endure.

It is with the husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters and friends who never came home.

It is with the firefighters, police officers, paramedics and countless first responders who ran towards danger while others were trying to escape.

It is with the survivors who have carried the memories of that day for 25 years.

And it is with every family that has had to learn how to live with an absence that can never truly be filled.

Twenty five years is a long time.

But for those who lost someone on September 11, I imagine there are moments when it must still feel like yesterday.

A birthday.

An anniversary.

A photograph.

A song.

A familiar place.

A memory that suddenly brings someone back into your heart.

Time does not erase love.

And it certainly does not erase the lives of those who were taken too soon.

I think about the people who left home that morning expecting to come back later that day.

People who had plans.

People who had families waiting for them.

People who had dreams they never got to fulfil.

People who had no idea that an ordinary morning would become their final morning.

That is why I believe we should never take life for granted.

While we are here, let us love more.

Let us forgive more.

Let us be kinder.

Let us help one another.

Let us be present for the people who matter.

And let us remember that sometimes the plans we make are not the plans that ultimately unfold.

Twenty five years ago, a cancelled meeting changed the course of my life.

I will never know exactly why that meeting was cancelled.

But I know what I choose to believe.

I believe God protected me.

And I believe that if He gave me the gift of being here, then I have a responsibility to make this life count.

To continue loving.

To continue serving.

To continue helping wherever I can.

To continue doing whatever good I can with the time I have been given.

Because life is a gift.

And every day we are given is another opportunity to do something meaningful with it.

Today, my heart is with every victim, every survivor, every first responder and every family who continues to carry the weight of September 11.

May God comfort those who still grieve.

May we remember not only how they died, but how they lived.

May we remember their names, their families, their dreams, their laughter and the lives they left behind.

Twenty five years later, the memories remain.

So do the lives.

So does the love.

So do the stories of those who were taken far too soon.

September 11, 2001.

Twenty five years later, we remember.

May we never forget. 

Movie Recommendation: The Ron Clark Story (2006)

 

This movie reminded me of the goodness that can still exist in people, even when circumstances are difficult.

Released in 2006, The Ron Clark Story tells the inspiring true story of Ron Clark, a passionate teacher who leaves his comfortable teaching position in North Carolina and moves to Harlem, New York, determined to make a difference in the lives of students who have been labelled difficult, troublesome and even hopeless. What he discovers is a group of young people who have been failed in many ways by the system and, perhaps more importantly, have stopped believing in themselves.

I really enjoyed this movie because it is ultimately a story about believing in people when they have stopped believing in themselves.

What made the movie especially meaningful for me was seeing the late Matthew Perry in the lead role. Most of us probably remember Matthew Perry best for his iconic role as Chandler Bing in Friends, where his incredible sense of humour and comedic timing made millions of people laugh. That is why seeing him take on such a serious and emotionally demanding role in The Ron Clark Story was particularly refreshing for me.

He showed a completely different side of himself.

As Ron Clark, Matthew Perry brought warmth, determination, vulnerability and passion to the character. He did not simply portray a teacher who wanted his students to perform better academically. He portrayed someone who genuinely cared about the young people sitting in front of him. He saw potential where others saw problems. He saw children who needed someone to believe in them rather than another person telling them that they were destined to fail.

That really resonated with me.

I think sometimes we underestimate how powerful it can be when someone simply believes in us. There are moments in life when we can become our own worst critics. We can convince ourselves that we are not capable, that we are not good enough, or that our circumstances define who we are. Having someone come along and say, "I believe you can do this," can sometimes be the encouragement we desperately need.

That is what Ron Clark tries to give his students.

Of course, the movie does not pretend that changing lives is easy. Ron faces resistance, frustration and plenty of challenges. His students do not suddenly become model students simply because he walks into their classroom. There are difficult moments, setbacks and times when it would have been much easier for him to walk away.

But he does not.

His perseverance is one of the things I found most inspiring about the story. He continues trying different approaches because he understands that every student is different. He learns what motivates them. He listens to them. He challenges them. Most importantly, he refuses to give up on them.

There is something very powerful about that.

Sometimes people do not need someone to lower the expectations placed upon them. They need someone to help them believe that they can actually reach those expectations.

The movie also reminded me that education is about so much more than textbooks, examinations and grades. A good teacher can influence a person's entire life. A teacher can become the person who notices the child who feels invisible. They can be the person who encourages someone to keep going when everyone else has already given up.

That kind of influence cannot always be measured by examination results.

It is measured years later, when that student remembers the person who believed in them.

Watching Matthew Perry in this role also made the experience more emotional for me because we now know that he is no longer with us. There is something incredibly bittersweet about watching an actor who brought so much joy to people throughout his career and knowing that his life eventually came to an end far too soon.

For me, The Ron Clark Story has become another reminder that Matthew Perry was capable of so much more than comedy. His performance showed warmth and emotional depth, and he carried the story beautifully. Knowing what we know today makes watching his performance feel even more poignant.

I think movies like this are important because they remind us that one person can make a difference.

We may not all be teachers. We may not all work in schools or have classrooms filled with students. But every one of us has opportunities to encourage someone, listen to someone, believe in someone and remind someone that their circumstances do not have to determine their future.

Sometimes a simple act of kindness can change someone's day. Sometimes a few words of encouragement can change someone's direction. Sometimes believing in someone is the very thing that helps them start believing in themselves.

That is the message I took away from The Ron Clark Story.

It is uplifting, emotional, inspiring and, above all, deeply human. It reminds us of the power of perseverance, compassion and belief. It reminds us not to write people off simply because they are struggling today.

And for me, it is also a beautiful reminder of Matthew Perry's talent and the legacy he leaves behind.

If you enjoy movies based on true stories, particularly stories about education, resilience, compassion and the difference one person can make, I would definitely recommend The Ron Clark Story.

Sometimes the most powerful stories are not about people who save the world.

They are about people who simply refuse to give up on another human being.

The Hidden Costs of Recovering From Critical Illness

 

There is a question I think every working adult should ask themselves at least once: If I could not work for an entire year because of a critical illness, how long would my savings and insurance actually last me? Not three months. Not six months. A whole year. Could you still pay your mortgage or rent, utilities, groceries, children's expenses, parents' needs, loans and insurance premiums? And what about the additional expenses that come with being seriously ill? Would you have enough money to breathe? That is the million dollar question, and honestly, it is not one most of us like thinking about.

We insure our cars, our homes, our phones and so many of the things we own because we understand that if something goes wrong, there will be a cost attached to it. Yet when it comes to ourselves, particularly our ability to work and earn an income, many of us simply assume we will always be able to do so. We wake up every morning, go to work, run our businesses, attend meetings, meet deadlines and take care of our families. We make plans for next month, next year and sometimes even the next ten years because we assume we will be there, healthy and working. Until something happens that reminds us just how quickly life can change.

Critical illness is one of those things. One day, you can be living your normal life. You might be thinking about what you are going to have for dinner, where you are going on holiday or what needs to be done at work tomorrow. Then suddenly, you are sitting in a doctor's office hearing words you never expected to hear. Cancer. Heart attack. Stroke. Or another serious medical condition. At that moment, your priorities change instantly. Work becomes secondary. Money becomes secondary. Your health becomes everything. Your first thoughts will naturally be about what is wrong, what treatment is available and whether you are going to be okay. Your family will rally around you, and your doctors will focus on helping you get better. But eventually, whether you want to think about it or not, the financial reality starts to creep in.

Because while you are fighting to get better, the bills do not stop. The mortgage does not stop. The electricity bill does not stop. The groceries do not stop. Your children's needs do not stop. Your parents may still need you. Your family still needs to live. And if you are self employed, there may be an additional concern because your business may depend heavily on you being physically present and able to work. This is where I think many people underestimate the true cost of critical illness. We tend to think about the hospital bills, the treatment, the medication and the medical expenses, but what about everything else? What happens when your income stops?

Imagine earning $5,000 a month. That is $60,000 of income over a year. Now imagine waking up tomorrow and being told that you cannot work for twelve months. Your income disappears, but your expenses do not. In fact, your expenses could increase. There may be transportation costs for medical appointments, specialist consultations, medication, rehabilitation, physiotherapy, home assistance or childcare. You may need to make changes to your home or purchase equipment to help you manage your daily life. You may even need to travel for treatment. These are expenses many of us never factor into our financial planning because we simply assume they will never happen to us. Yet when they do, they can add up quickly.

There is another hidden cost that I think people often overlook, and that is time. Recovery takes time, and time can be expensive. We often hear about someone surviving a critical illness and think of survival as the end of the story. But it is not. Survival can actually be the beginning of another chapter. Your body may need months to heal. Your mind may need time to process what happened. Rehabilitation may be necessary before you can return to work. You may have to return gradually, reduce your working hours or take on a different role. Some people may discover that they can no longer do the job they did before and may have to change careers completely. For some, returning to their previous income level may take years. For others, it may never happen. That can have a significant impact on both their finances and their future plans.

This is why I believe the conversation about critical illness should never be just about paying medical bills. It should also be about protecting the life that exists outside the hospital. When you are lying in a hospital bed, the last thing you should have to worry about is whether your family can afford next month's bills. You should be concentrating on getting better. You should be able to focus on your treatment, your recovery and your family without constantly calculating how much money is left in your bank account or wondering how long you can keep paying the bills.

Insurance cannot take away the pain of a diagnosis. It cannot make the illness disappear. It cannot replace the fear, uncertainty or emotional exhaustion that comes with being seriously ill. But appropriate financial protection can give you something incredibly important: time. Time to recover without immediately worrying about returning to work. Time to focus on treatment. Time for your family to adjust. Time to make decisions without feeling that every decision has a dollar sign attached to it. And sometimes, having that breathing space can make a tremendous difference during one of the most difficult periods of your life.

We often ask ourselves, “How much insurance should I have?” Perhaps we should start asking a different question: “How much would my family need if I could not work for a year?” That changes the conversation completely. Because insurance should not only be about what happens when you die. It should also be about what happens if you survive. And thankfully, many people do survive critical illnesses today. Medical treatment continues to improve, and early detection and medical advancements have helped many people live longer after serious illnesses. But surviving is not the same as immediately returning to normal. There can be a long road between receiving a diagnosis and feeling like yourself again, and that road can be physically, emotionally and financially demanding.

I think this is where financial planning becomes less about numbers and more about people. Behind every policy is a person. Behind every premium is a family. Behind every financial plan are someone's hopes, dreams and responsibilities. Maybe it is a mother who wants to make sure her children can continue going to school. Maybe it is a father who wants to make sure the mortgage can still be paid. Maybe it is someone caring for elderly parents. Maybe it is someone who has spent decades building a business and cannot imagine what would happen if they suddenly could not work. We all have different responsibilities, but most of us have one thing in common: we have people who depend on us in one way or another.

The people who love us would probably say, “Don't worry about the money. Just get better.” And of course, that is exactly what we want to hear. But the reality is that money does become part of the equation when someone becomes seriously ill. Someone may need to take time off work to provide care. Household responsibilities may have to change. Plans may need to be postponed. Savings may need to be redirected. Suddenly, an illness that happened to one person affects the entire family. That is why financial protection is not simply about protecting an individual. It can also be about protecting the people around them from the financial consequences of something they never expected to happen.

I have always believed that financial planning is not about expecting something bad to happen. It is about being prepared if something bad does happen. There is a difference. We do not buy insurance because we want to use it. We buy it because we hope we never have to. It is a little like carrying an umbrella. You do not carry an umbrella because you want it to rain. You carry it because if the rain comes, you would rather be prepared than standing in the middle of a storm wishing you had one. The same principle applies to financial protection. We cannot predict when illness will happen, and we cannot always prevent it, but we can think about what would happen financially if it did.

This is where I think we need to be more honest with ourselves. Take a look at your savings. How many months could they realistically cover your current lifestyle? Not your ideal lifestyle. Your actual lifestyle. Now take a look at your insurance. If you were unable to work for a year, what would your existing coverage actually provide? Would it help replace some of your lost income? Would it help with the additional expenses that come with recovery? Would it give you enough breathing room to concentrate on getting well? Or would you find yourself dipping into your retirement funds, selling investments, borrowing money or relying heavily on family members?

There is absolutely no shame in discovering that your current protection may not be enough. In fact, I think that discovery is valuable. Finding a financial gap today gives you the opportunity to look at your situation, understand your options and decide what you want to do about it. Finding that same gap after a diagnosis is a completely different story. Once you are seriously ill, you may no longer have the same choices available to you. That is why I believe these conversations need to happen before we need them, not when we are sitting in a hospital room, not when our savings account is already shrinking and not when our family is already under pressure, but while we are healthy enough to make choices.

Sometimes we become so focused on saving money that we forget what our savings are actually supposed to do. Savings are important. Absolutely. Building an emergency fund is something everyone should consider as part of responsible financial planning. But savings have a limit. If you have $30,000 in the bank and your monthly expenses are $5,000, it might initially feel like you have a comfortable amount of money. But remove your income for twelve months and add medical and recovery related expenses, and suddenly that $30,000 may not look quite so comfortable anymore. This is why I believe savings and insurance can work together. Your savings can help you manage life's everyday surprises, while insurance can provide additional financial support when something much bigger happens. Neither necessarily replaces the other. They can complement each other.

And perhaps the most important thing of all is this: you do not want to discover your financial gap when you are already critically ill. You want to discover it while you are healthy. When you are healthy, you still have choices. You can review your finances. You can look at your existing protection. You can understand where the gaps may be. You can decide what matters most to you and your family. Once a serious diagnosis has happened, those choices may no longer be available in the same way.

That is why I believe we should have these conversations before we need them. Not because we should live our lives expecting something terrible to happen. We should not. We should enjoy life. We should travel, eat good food, laugh loudly, make memories and make plans for the future. But we should also be realistic enough to understand that life does not always follow the plan we have written for ourselves. Financial planning is not about expecting the worst. It is about being prepared for the unexpected.

So I will leave you with the question I started with.

If you could not work for one entire year because of a critical illness, how long would your savings and insurance actually last?

Six months? Twelve months? Longer?

And if you do not know the answer, perhaps it is time to find out.

Not because I want you to be afraid. Not because I want you to expect something bad to happen. But because I believe there is something incredibly powerful about being prepared. Knowing where you stand. Knowing what you have. Knowing what you may need. And knowing that if life suddenly takes an unexpected turn, you have given yourself and the people you love some financial breathing room.

Because when critical illness enters your life, your energy should be focused on one thing: getting better.

You should not have to spend your precious energy wondering whether you can afford to recover. You should be able to focus on your health, your family, your healing and getting your life back.

None of us knows what tomorrow will bring. We can eat well. We can exercise. We can go for health screenings. We can take care of ourselves and do everything possible to stay healthy. And we absolutely should. But being healthy today does not guarantee that life will always go according to plan. That is simply the reality of being human.

So perhaps the real question is not, “How much insurance do I have?”

Perhaps it is this:

“If everything changed tomorrow, would I have enough financial protection to give myself time to recover?”

That is the million dollar question.

And it is one I believe is worth answering while you are still healthy enough to do something about it.

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time: Love Your Neighbour

 

This week’s readings really made me think about what it actually means to “love your neighbour.”

We hear those words so often that sometimes they can almost lose their meaning. Of course we should love our neighbour. Of course we should be kind. But then real life happens, and suddenly loving our neighbour isn't quite so easy!

It is easy to love people when they are nice to us, agree with us and treat us well. The real challenge is loving someone when they have upset us, disappointed us or simply made us angry.

And I think that is where this Gospel really speaks to me.

Jesus tells us not to talk about someone behind their back or allow resentment to grow. Instead, we are called to go directly to the person and speak to them.

Ouch.

Because if I'm being completely honest, that is not always the easiest thing to do. Sometimes it feels much easier to talk to someone else about what happened rather than actually having the uncomfortable conversation with the person involved!

But Jesus is reminding us that love isn't about avoiding difficult conversations. Sometimes love means having them.

And I think there is an important difference between speaking the truth with love and simply saying whatever we think because we want to get something off our chest.

The purpose isn't to win.

It isn't to prove that we're right.

It isn't to make the other person feel bad.

It is to try to restore the relationship.

That really challenged me.

I've learned over the years that holding onto anger and resentment doesn't really hurt the other person as much as it hurts us. We replay conversations, think about what we should have said, become annoyed all over again and carry something around that God never intended us to carry forever.

Forgiveness doesn't mean pretending that someone didn't hurt us. It doesn't mean accepting bad behaviour either.

Sometimes loving our neighbour means setting boundaries.

Sometimes it means saying, “That wasn't okay.”

Sometimes it means walking away.

And sometimes it means finding the courage to have that difficult conversation and trying to make peace.

I also love that St Paul describes love as a debt we never stop paying.

There is something quite humbling about that.

We don't get to say, “I've been kind enough this week. I'm done!”

Love is something we keep choosing.

Patience.

Forgiveness.

Compassion.

Honesty.

Kindness.

Even when we don't feel like it.

And perhaps that is the real challenge for me this week. To remember that loving my neighbour isn't just about loving the people I like. It is about how I treat the difficult people too.

Because let's be honest, we all have them!

Maybe the person who annoys us is actually an opportunity to practice patience.

Maybe the person who hurt us is an opportunity to practice forgiveness.

Maybe the person we disagree with is an opportunity to practice respect.

And maybe the person we would rather avoid is the person who needs a little kindness from us.

I don't think I'll get this right every time. I'm human, after all!

But I can try.

I can choose not to gossip.

I can choose to speak directly rather than behind someone's back.

I can choose forgiveness over resentment.

And I can remind myself that being a Christian isn't just about loving the people who love me.

It is about choosing love, even when it is difficult.

And perhaps that is the kind of love Jesus is asking me to practice this week.

---

Reflection: Do my words and actions seek the good of others?

I think, for the most part, I do try to make sure my words and actions are for the good of others. But if I’m being completely honest, I don't always get it right.

I think, for the most part, I do try to make sure my words and actions seek the good of others. But if I'm being completely honest, I don't always get it right.

Sometimes I speak before I think. Sometimes I'm frustrated and my words may come out sharper than I intended. And there are definitely moments when I have to remind myself that just because something is true doesn't mean it needs to be said in the way I'm thinking of saying it!

I think this is something I'm becoming more conscious of as I grow in my faith.

Seeking the good of others doesn't mean always agreeing with them or keeping quiet when something needs to be said. Sometimes the kindest thing is actually to be honest. But there is a difference between being honest because we genuinely want the best for someone and saying something simply because we're angry or want to get the last word.

I also think our actions say a lot more than our words.

Am I there when someone needs me?

Do I check in on people?

Do I make people feel welcome?

Do I listen when someone needs to talk, rather than immediately trying to fix everything?

Do I give people the benefit of the doubt?

These are the little things I think about.

My faith has made me more aware that every person I meet is someone loved by God, even the people who occasionally test my patience! And that makes me think twice about how I treat them.

I certainly have my moments. I'm human, and I can be impatient, emotional and occasionally quite opinionated! But I don't want my words or actions to hurt someone unnecessarily.

I want to be someone who leaves people feeling a little better, not worse, after an interaction with me.

And I think that's something worth working on every day.

For me, seeking the good of others isn't about being perfect. It's about being more intentional.

Before I speak, perhaps I need to ask myself:

Is this true? Is it kind? Is it necessary? And am I saying it because I genuinely want the best for this person?

I won't always pass that test.

But I can keep trying.

And perhaps that is part of what living my faith looks like in everyday life.

---

Movie Recommendation: Deadly Hope (2012)

 

You know I love a good mystery... especially when I can sit comfortably on my sofa and try to solve the murder before the characters do! 

I came across Deadly Hope and thought, why not? A little medicine, a little murder, a little mystery and plenty of suspicious behaviour. Basically, my kind of movie night! 

The story centres around Joanne, a woman whose life becomes increasingly complicated when she finds herself drawn into a disturbing mystery involving a series of murders. What initially seems like a frightening situation soon becomes much more sinister as the connections between the victims, the medical world and the people around her begin to emerge.

As Joanne starts looking for answers, she realizes that she cannot simply accept everything she is being told. There are secrets, unanswered questions and people who aren't quite as innocent as they appear. The more she investigates, the more danger she finds herself in.

And this is where I thought the movie worked quite well. Joanne isn't just running around screaming every five minutes while waiting for somebody else to figure things out. She actually uses her intelligence, follows her instincts and keeps asking questions. She is dealing with grief and fear at the same time, which gives her character a bit more emotional depth.

Of course, as the story progresses, I started doing what I always do with these movies...

“Hmmmm... that's suspicious.”

“Why did they say THAT?”

“Oh, they're definitely hiding something!”

And yes, I did manage to guess a few things along the way. I mean, I wasn't born yesterday! But even when I thought I had worked things out, the movie still gave me enough suspense to keep watching.

There are several characters who become increasingly questionable as Joanne gets closer to the truth, and the mystery slowly begins to unravel. The tension builds nicely as you start wondering who can actually be trusted and whether Joanne is putting herself in even more danger by continuing to investigate.

I did feel that some of the supporting characters could have been developed a little better. And I really wanted the killer's motive explored more because, you know me, I don't just want to know WHO did it.

I want to know WHY they did it! Give me the backstory, the psychology and the crazy reasoning behind it all! 

The final part does bring a twist that adds another layer to the story, although I wouldn't say it completely knocked my socks off. Still, it was enough to keep things interesting and bring the mystery together.

Is it going to win an Oscar? Probably not. 

Did I enjoy watching it? Yep!

Would I recommend it if you enjoy Lifetime style thrillers, crime mysteries, medical drama and strong female characters? Absolutely.

Sometimes you don't need a cinematic masterpiece. Sometimes you just need popcorn, a comfortable chair, a suspicious cast and the opportunity to shout at your television because the characters clearly aren't seeing what YOU can see! 

Deadly Hope is a decent little thriller with murder, mystery, emotional drama and enough twists to keep you entertained. It may be predictable in places, but it still delivers an enjoyable movie night.

My Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 7/10

A good one to add to the watchlist if you enjoy a little murder mystery with your popcorn! 

Seven Years, Seven Days, and a Heart Still Learning to Carry Grief

 I am losing track of days. Weeks too.

I believe I did not post last week, or perhaps it has been two weeks since I last posted. Honestly, I cannot even remember, and I have been far too tired to go back and check. So, for those who may have wondered where I disappeared to, or for those who missed my posts over the last week or two, I truly apologize. I believe I have a very good reason, though, and I hope you will understand.

August has always been a difficult month for me, and I believe it always will be. Within just a few days, between the 20th and 27th of August, I have carried two completely different emotions in my heart for years. Since I was a teenager, I celebrated the birth of my soul mate, Matthew Moore, on the 27th of August. For the last seven years, however, I have also mourned his sudden death on the 21st of August.

Seven years. It sounds like such a long time when you say it out loud. To some people, perhaps it sounds long enough to expect someone to be “over it”. I know there are probably people who quietly think, “Get over it already. It has been seven years.”

All I can say is that I wish I could. But at the same time, I am afraid.

I am afraid that one day I will completely get over it and somehow lose all the memories I had of Matt. Because what does “getting over someone” even mean when they were such an important part of who you became? How do you simply move on from someone whose presence helped shape your life, whose love and care became part of the person you are today?

What people do not realize is the bond I shared with him. What they do not realize is that Matt and his dad were my earth angels. They came into my life at a time when I genuinely felt like my world was falling apart. They cared for me, groomed me, loved me and looked after me. They became my chosen family, and I placed my complete trust in them.

I knew they would never intentionally hurt me. In fact, they were always so careful with my heart that even the thought of them hurting me unintentionally seems impossible. They were people who made me feel safe in a world where I often did not. That kind of love is difficult to explain to people who never witnessed it or experienced the bond we shared.

Some relationships cannot be measured by blood. Some people enter your life and become family simply because your soul recognizes them as home. Matt was one of those people.

Any guy can love a thousand girls, but only a rare guy can love one girl in a thousand different ways. That was Matt.

And perhaps that is why losing him changed me in ways I still struggle to explain.

There was no goodbye. There was no final conversation and no chance to prepare my heart for losing him. One moment he was here, and the next, he was gone, leaving behind a silence I still do not know how to fill.

The worst day of my life was the last day of his.

Since then, I have been trying to learn how to live in a world that no longer has him in it. But the truth is that even seven years later, I am still struggling. I am still carrying the weight of his absence. And no, I am not okay.

Grief is a strange thing because it does not always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it arrives in tears. Sometimes it arrives in exhaustion. Sometimes it makes you forget what day it is or whether something happened last week or two weeks ago because your mind is simply tired from carrying too much.

Sometimes grief makes you withdraw from the things you usually love. Sometimes you do not answer messages. Sometimes you do not post. Sometimes even the smallest task feels like climbing a mountain. And sometimes you can be perfectly fine one moment, only for a memory to suddenly sneak up behind you and knock the breath out of your body.

Sometimes memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks.

That, to me, is grief. It is love with nowhere physical to go.

The pain can be unspeakable. At times, I literally feel as though my heart has been torn out of my chest. But strangely, I also believe that sadness, pain and tears are gifts from God. They allow us to express the depths of who we are and what we feel. If we never cried, would people truly understand how deeply we loved? If our hearts never hurt, would we understand the significance of the people we were blessed to have in our lives?

I do not believe grief is a weakness. I believe grief is proof that love was real.

And if Matt was truly as perfect as I sometimes believe he was, then perhaps I am beginning to understand why Heaven called him home. Maybe he really was too perfect for this horrible world.

This post is dedicated to the man who kept his word, the man who cared for my heart so carefully, the man who loved me in ways that few people ever will and the man who became my chosen family.

The man who was too good for this world.

My Matt.

But as if August was not already difficult enough, last year brought another loss into my life. My feathered baby, Quando, died after seven years of being with our family. Oddly enough, it only recently hit me that I had been mourning Matt for seven years when my feathered baby passed away after being with us for seven years too.

Seven years.

Coincidence? Maybe.

But grief has a strange way of making you notice numbers, dates and connections that you might otherwise overlook.

The last two weeks have therefore been rough on me emotionally. To make matters worse, I have also been fighting a very aggressive flu bug. My body is tired, my mind is tired and, honestly, my heart is tired too.

A year ago, on Tuesday, 19 August, the day began as usual. I had breakfast with Mum and then settled into work. But as the morning went on, something about Quando caught my attention. He was sitting at the bottom of his cage.

Normally, that would not necessarily have worried me. Quando could be playful and mischievous, and sometimes he would sit at the bottom of his cage playing with a paper towel. But this was different. He was still and quiet. Something immediately made my heart sink.

It reminded me so much of when Sunny had been unwell, and deep down, I knew something was wrong.

I called the vet and managed to get an appointment. In the meantime, I washed out his cage because it was the only carrier we could use to bring him along. I held him close and gave him extra love. He was pooping far more than usual, and the colour and smell were not right. All he wanted to do was sleep on my shoulder, which was something he always loved to do.

Every now and then, he would perk up and have a little burst of activity, and those moments gave me hope. At times, I considered cancelling the appointment, convincing myself that perhaps it was just a small bug and that he would get over it.

And yes, I thought about the cost. Veterinary care is expensive, and I knew it could easily cost a few hundred dollars. But my conscience would not allow me to take that risk with him. He was my baby. As the afternoon went on and he showed no real signs of improvement, I knew we had to go.

At the veterinary clinic, there were registrations, questions and examinations. An X-ray was done to check for metal, and thankfully, it came back clear. But Quando had severe diarrhea. The vet cleaned him up and examined a stool sample.

Then came the news that broke my heart.

His belly was full of worm eggs.

The vet asked whether he had been around other birds or wild animals. He had not. That puzzled them. The only explanation I could think of was that perhaps it had come from the breeder, and the vet even suggested that it could have been something present since he was a baby.

Quando was given an injection, and we went home with antibiotics, vitamins and a long list of medications. Then there was something I had not expected to have to do again. I had to hand-feed him formula, just like when we first brought him home, to make sure he stayed hydrated.

I went home feeling heavy-hearted but determined. The vet warned me to prepare for the worst and gave him only a fifty-fifty chance of survival. But I refused to give up hope.

The first formula feed and his medications went better than I could have hoped. Quando ate everything. For a moment, I allowed myself to believe that maybe he would pull through. Maybe tomorrow would bring improvement.

That night, I covered his cage and whispered goodnight to my baby. I prayed that he would make it through the night. If he did, tomorrow would be a long day of scheduled feeds, cleaning and medications, but it would also mean another chance at recovery. At that moment, another chance was all I wanted.

The next day, Wednesday, 20 August, was stressful from beginning to end. I fed Quando and gave him his medications exactly as the vet had advised. For most of the day, things seemed to be going reasonably well.

He was weak, but he still sat on my shoulder as he always did. He was less playful than usual, but he snuggled against my neck and nestled between my hair, just as he had done so many times before. Those little familiar moments gave me hope. He was taking his feeds and medication quite well.

Until the evening.

Then he started slowing down.

It became dark, and I remember telling myself that the moment morning came, I was going to take Quando straight back to the vet. Sadly, I never got the chance.

Quando was sleeping in his cage in the living room while I worked on my computer in the bedroom. I kept checking on him every few minutes. Then, at about 9pm, I heard a loud, shrill screech.

I swear I have never moved as quickly in my life.

I jumped across the bed and rushed to Quando.

He was lying weakly in his tent.

In seven years, I had never seen him sleep like that. Normally, he would lean against it and sleep, something I always found amusing. But this was different.

Quando saw me at the cage. He tried to come to me, but he was too weak to move.

By then, the rest of my family had heard the screech and gathered around the cage. I slowly picked my baby up and stroked his little feathered head.

And then he passed away.

I cried as if a human being had died. Yes, he was my pet, and yes, he was “just a bird” to some people. But he was my feathered baby. He had been part of my life for seven years.

Honestly, I never knew losing a pet could hurt this much.

Growing up, I had never had a pet for long enough to become deeply attached or to experience watching one grow old and die. Quando was different. He was the best pet I could ever have asked for. He was definitely a one-owner bird and was fiercely protective of me. He loved me, knew me and trusted me.

And I miss him.

A year has passed, and I am still not ready for another pet. Perhaps I never will be. Quando was special, and I do not think another pet could ever replace what he was to me. Nor should they have to. He was his own little personality, his own little soul and his own irreplaceable part of our family.

When he passed away, I wanted to give him a goodbye that felt as gentle and beautiful as the little life he had given us. I wrapped a box with white silk and filled it with flowers. I laid Quando to rest there while we waited for the animal cremation company to come and pick him up.

They were incredibly professional and compassionate, and despite the heartbreak of the moment, the whole process was comforting.

And now Quando is forever with us in our hearts.

His ashes sit in our living room, in the very place where his cage once stood.

Sometimes I look at that space and remember the sounds he used to make, the little movements, the routines and the way he would sit on my shoulder. I remember the way he would snuggle against me, and once again, grief reminds me that love changes form, but it does not simply disappear.

That is perhaps what I am still trying to learn.

Healing after loss does not mean forgetting. It does not mean loving someone less, and it certainly does not mean waking up one morning and suddenly being completely unaffected by their absence.

Healing means slowly learning to carry them differently. You carry them in your memories, in your choices, in your quiet moments, in the stories you tell and in all the love they left behind.

I do not know if grief ever completely goes away. Perhaps it is not supposed to. Perhaps we simply become better at carrying it.

Some days, we carry it gently. Other days, it feels unbearably heavy. Some days, we laugh and remember with gratitude. Other days, a date on the calendar can bring us to our knees.

And both are okay.

To anyone who is grieving the death of someone they love, please know this: you do not have to heal according to anyone else's timeline. There is no deadline for missing someone. There is no correct number of years after which your heart is expected to stop hurting.

Let yourself feel. Let yourself cry. Let yourself rest. Take life one day at a time.

And if all you can manage today is simply getting through today, then that is enough.

Your grief is not a weakness.

It is proof that your love was real.

So, if you have wondered where I have been for the last week, or perhaps the last two weeks, this is my answer. I honestly do not know where the days have gone. August has taken its emotional toll on me again.

I have been grieving. I have been remembering. I have been missing. I have been sick.

And I have been tired.

Very tired.

But I am still here.

I am still taking one day at a time. I am still learning how to live with the people and the little feathered soul I have loved and lost.

And perhaps that is what coping with grief really is.

It is not getting over it. It is not forgetting. It is not pretending that it no longer hurts.

It is learning how to continue living while carrying love and loss together in the same heart.

Matt, I still miss you.

Quando, I still miss you too.

And perhaps some memories will always find their way out of my eyes and roll gently down my cheeks.

Maybe that is okay.

Maybe that is simply love reminding us that even though someone is no longer physically beside us, they were once here. They mattered. They were loved.

And they will never truly be forgotten.

Movie Recommendation: My Stepfather’s Secret (2019)

 

Every now and then, I come across a movie that may not necessarily have the biggest budget, the most famous cast, or the kind of publicity that dominates cinemas, but somehow manages to pull me in and keep me watching until the very end. My Stepfather’s Secret (2019) was one of those movies for me. From the moment the story began, I found myself drawn into the tension, the family dynamics, and that uncomfortable feeling of knowing that something is not quite right.

At its heart, My Stepfather’s Secret is a suspense thriller about trust, family, intuition, and the danger of ignoring the warning signs that are sometimes right in front of us. The story follows Bailey, a young woman who returns home only to discover that her mother has suddenly become engaged to a man Bailey barely knows. What should perhaps be a happy moment for the family quickly becomes something much more unsettling when Bailey begins to question whether this new man in her mother’s life is really who he claims to be.

What immediately interested me about the movie was how relatable the basic situation is. We have all, at some point in our lives, met someone and formed an opinion about them that others did not necessarily share. Sometimes it is just a personality clash. Sometimes it is jealousy or misunderstanding. But sometimes, there is that small voice inside you telling you that something is wrong.

That is what I found most interesting about Bailey's character. She has this gut instinct that refuses to go away. The more she observes her mother’s new fiancé, the more uncomfortable she becomes. The problem is that when you are the only person who sees the warning signs, convincing everyone else can be incredibly difficult.

I think that is something many people can relate to. It is frustrating when you care about someone and feel that they are making a mistake, especially when they are emotionally invested and do not want to hear anything negative. Love can make people see what they want to see. When someone is lonely, vulnerable, or simply desperate to believe that they have finally found happiness, it can become even harder for them to recognize the danger standing right in front of them.

Paris Smith, who plays Bailey, does a good job portraying that emotional struggle. Bailey is not simply suspicious for the sake of creating drama. Her concern comes from a place of love and protectiveness. At the same time, she has to deal with the difficult reality that her mother is an adult who has the right to make her own choices.

That creates an interesting emotional conflict throughout the movie. How far do you go when trying to protect someone you love? When does concern become interference? And what do you do when the person you are trying to protect refuses to believe you?

For me, those questions gave the movie more emotional depth than a typical suspense thriller. Yes, there are secrets to uncover and moments designed to make you suspicious of what might happen next, but underneath all of that is a story about family relationships. Bailey is not investigating a stranger simply because she enjoys playing detective. She is terrified that someone she loves could be making a terrible mistake.

The suspense in My Stepfather’s Secret also develops gradually. It is not one of those films that immediately throws everything at you in the first ten minutes. Instead, there is a slow build of uncertainty. Little things begin to feel strange. Questions arise. Doubts grow. You start wondering whether Bailey is right to be suspicious or whether her feelings are being influenced by the sudden changes happening within her family.

I personally enjoy this kind of storytelling because it keeps you engaged. You begin watching the characters closely and questioning their motives. You look for clues and try to work out who is telling the truth. That slow, creeping feeling of doubt is often more effective than constant action because it makes the suspense feel personal.

Of course, the movie does follow some familiar Lifetime thriller formulas. If you have watched enough television thrillers, you may recognize certain themes and storytelling patterns. There is the seemingly charming newcomer, the concerned family member who is not believed, the hidden secrets, and the growing danger as the truth begins to emerge.

But honestly, that is part of the charm.

My Stepfather’s Secret does not pretend to be a huge Hollywood blockbuster. It knows exactly what kind of movie it is and delivers the kind of suspense and drama that fans of Lifetime style thrillers enjoy. Sometimes you do not need complicated plots filled with endless twists. Sometimes a straightforward story, interesting characters, and a growing sense of danger are enough to keep you entertained.

What stayed with me most after watching the film was the message about trusting your instincts. Of course, intuition is not always right, and we should never judge people unfairly based only on a first impression. But I do believe that when something repeatedly feels wrong, it is worth paying attention. Sometimes our instincts notice things before we are consciously able to explain why.

The movie also explores how easily relationships can change the balance within a family. When someone new enters the picture, especially in a serious relationship, everyone is affected. There can be excitement, uncertainty, jealousy, fear, and sometimes resistance to change. In Bailey’s situation, those emotions are made even more intense because she believes the man her mother has chosen may be hiding something dangerous.

That combination of family drama and suspense is what made the movie work for me. It is not just about discovering a secret. It is about the emotional consequences of not being believed when you are trying to warn someone you love.

Overall, My Stepfather’s Secret is a solid and entertaining suspense thriller that kept me interested from beginning to end. It has enough mystery to keep you guessing, but it also has an emotional core that makes you care about what happens to the characters. Bailey’s determination to protect her mother, even when it puts her own relationships and safety at risk, gives the story its heart.

If you enjoy movies about hidden secrets, family drama, suspicious strangers, and the terrifying possibility that the person who appears charming and trustworthy may be hiding something much darker, then I would definitely recommend giving My Stepfather’s Secret a watch.

It may follow a familiar formula, but sometimes familiar stories can still be enjoyable when they are told with enough tension and heart. For me, this was one of those movies that reminded me why I enjoy a good psychological thriller. It makes you question people, trust your instincts, and wonder how well we can ever truly know someone.

And sometimes, the scariest secrets are the ones hiding closest to home.