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I fell in love with dogs in 2007.
My best friend and I found five puppies abandoned beside a mall. We took them to the SPCA. But the next day, the SPCA said they would have to euthanize them because they had nobody who could care for a few days old puppies. So we took them home.
At the time, I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know what I got myself into.
Here's the thing about my culture—dogs are considered impure. It's a sin to have them as pets. When the majority of people in the country believe this, dogs here have horrible lives. Strays are ignored, abused, poisoned. And anyone who helps them? They get bullied for it. Told they're stupid. Told they're sinning.
I learned this fast.
When I took my dogs to the vet, the people looked at me like I was insane.
"You're Malay? These are your dogs?"
Yes. I am. And I have dogs.
I didn't plan to become a dog person. It just happened.
And when it did, I found out something about myself.
I was the most sensitive about dogs. It breaks my heart when I see dogs suffering. I couldn't even watch a movie if a dog dies in it. I could turn into the Hulk when I see people hurt a dog.
People told me: "It's just a dog."
But for me, they are not just dogs. Because that sensitivity? It wasn't stupidity. It was a signal.
I think we're all born with these signals.
Something that makes us feel more than other people do. Something that breaks our heart in a way that doesn't seem to break anyone else's.
The Committee—your family, your culture, your religion, the state—will tell you it's a problem. "You're too sensitive. You care too much. Focus on something practical."
But here's what I've learned.
That thing that breaks your heart? It's not a bug. It's an indicator.
It's pointing at something. At the thing you came here to play with.
For me, it was dogs.
And here's the thing—what I do for a living now isn't directly about dogs. I don't run a shelter. I'm not a vet. I'm not an activist.
But they are my why.
You'll hear me talk about them. Constantly. They're in my stories. In my metaphors. They're the reason I keep going when things get hard.
Because when you find the thing that breaks your heart, you also find the thing that fuels you. That gives you energy. That makes all the other noise fade away.
So here's my question for you.
What breaks your heart?
Not what makes you sad. What makes you turn into a monster—you can feel that surge of energy through your body. Your face is hot. Your hands are shaking. You may even start tearing up—not tears of sadness, but tears of anger. You want to do something about it.
That's not madness. That's a signal.
That's the thing you're supposed to play with.
Start scratching there.
Rewrite. Rehearse. Roll.
