I was only 10 years old when I first stepped into the Pure Lotus Hospice in Malaysia. My nan was there, and though I didn’t fully understand what it meant to be in a hospice, I remember one thing vividly — a phrase on the wall that read ‘No Mud, No Lotus’. At the time, they were just words, but over the years, their meaning has deeply shaped my outlook on life.
FIRST STEPS INTO PURE HOSPICE
I was born in England, but my parents are from Malaysia. Every summer holiday, we would fly back to reconnect with our family, but there is one summer which I will never forget.
We had found out that my nan’s cancer had returned, more aggressive than before. I was only ten years old, and whilst I understood the gravity of her condition, I tried to keep my spirits up. On the 12-hour flight there, whilst watching Ice Age, I crafted a friendship bracelet for her out of loom bands, excited about the idea that we could wear matching bracelets — something to keep us connected. I couldn’t wait to see her face when I handed it to her.
When we landed, we went straight to her apartment. As soon as I saw her, I rushed to give her a massive hug, though she felt different this time — fragile and smaller. It had only been a year since I had last seen her, but she looked so different. Despite the clear signs of her suffering, she did everything in her power to hide her pain from me.
We shared those precious days together — walking her Shih Tzu named Boxer, her sitting by the pool watching me swim, painting her nails, playing Bubble Witch Saga on her phone. For those moments, it felt like things were almost normal. But they weren’t. One day, she told me she would be moving to her “last home” — a hospice called Pure Lotus. I nodded along, not fully grasping what that meant, but I agreed to visit it with her.
The first time I stepped inside Pure Lotus Hospice, I remember feeling an unexpected warmth. It was not a cold, sterile hospital environment like I had feared. The staff, including the head monk and the nurses, welcomed us with kindness and care. Around eight beds lined the room, and the hospice radiated simplicity and calm.
‘NO MUD, NO LOTUS’
As we walked around, my attention was drawn to a small sign on the wall that read, ‘No Mud, No Lotus’. Those simple words stayed with me to this day, and have profoundly shaped my understanding of both life and loss.
The lotus, a symbol of purity and beauty, only blooms by pushing through the thickest, darkest mud. That phrase was not just about my nan’s journey — it was about the hardship and suffering she endured and the peace she ultimately found.
GRIEVING AS A CHILD, GROWING AS AN ADULT
I was back in England in boarding school when I heard the news of my nan’s passing. At ten years old, I didn’t fully understand the weight of loss. I appeared unaffected on the outside, but inside I felt an overwhelming emptiness. I didn’t know how to grieve — how does a child process the death of someone so close?
In those early days, grief felt like stumbling through the mud. It was messy and confusing, and I often didn’t know where to turn. The loss was too big for me to wrap my mind around, and I found myself grappling with questions I couldn’t yet answer.
It wasn’t until I started growing older that the meaning of ‘No Mud, No Lotus’ truly began to sink in. At first, it was just a phrase on the hospice wall, but as I grew into my twenties, I started to see the metaphor come to life. Life would hand me more challenges, more “mud”, whether in my personal life or the academic and social pressures of university. But through each difficult experience, I held onto the idea that the lotus would bloom eventually.
The mud represented the pain of losing my nan, the confusion of grief as a child, and the many other obstacles I would face growing up. But just like the lotus pushing through the muck to bloom into something beautiful, I found that every hardship I encountered was followed by growth. Each challenge made me mentally stronger, teaching me how to face difficulties with grace.
REFLECTIONS
As I reflect on my experiences, I recognise how the lessons learned from my nan and the symbolism of the lotus have shaped my empathy towards others. I have developed a keen awareness of the resilience required to face life’s adversities, particularly in the context of refugee and forced migration issues.
The lotus metaphor serves as a powerful reminder that, like the flowers that rise from murky waters, many individuals and communities face unimaginable hardships, yet still manage to thrive. This understanding drives my desire to study these critical issues. I want to explore how people can find strength in their struggles, much like I learned to do, and how support systems can be designed to nurture this resilience.
The lotus has become more than just a comforting metaphor; it’s a reminder that even when life feels difficult or uncertain, beauty and resilience can grow from those moments. My nan’s passing, though painful, has become a part of my personal journey — a source of strength that reminds me to look for the lotus, no matter how thick the mud.