"IN just seven months, I'll be a year older," the smiling man sitting across me in the bustling cafe shares, adding: "I'll turn 49 in January." It struck me then that in a mere seven months, it would already be the next year. "Time flies so fast," I murmur in disbelief. After all, I've barely come to terms with the arrival of 2024.
Justin Cheah grins at my furrowed brow and nods. "Time flies, indeed!" agrees the marketing director of Kechara Soup Kitchen, a non-religious, non-profit organisation in Malaysia that provides essential services such as food, healthcare, education and other facilities to the homeless and urban poor.
For a moment, I'm silent, acutely aware of the unseen ticking clock that looms over us like a spectre. Life moves swiftly — far too swiftly — for my comfort. Time feels like an invisible force between us, highlighting the fleeting nature of life and the importance of making the most of it. For Cheah, however, making the most of life transcends merely getting by, building a life or making money.
For this genial man, maximising time means devoting it to caring for others and aiding them in rising above poverty and despair. "Helping others gave me purpose in life," he confesses. "It's one of the most meaningful ways to utilise the time we're given."
For almost two decades, Kechara Soup Kitchen (KSK) has stood as a beacon of hope for those entrenched in poverty and grappling with homelessness.
Cheah and his band of volunteers have tirelessly served marginalised communities, encompassing the homeless, urban poor and Orang Asli populations. Through their Soup Kitchen, Food Bank and Empowerment programmes, they extend a helping hand to these vulnerable groups. KSK's commitment transcends religious affiliations, ensuring aid is provided without bias or discrimination.
"There's no greater joy than giving, and witnessing the positive change in the lives of those we help is truly fulfilling," he insists. It may sound like a simple statement, but the earnestness with which he shares it reflects a man who's discovered something profoundly meaningful after a lifelong search.
DIFFICULT CHILDHOOD
He smiles upon hearing my observation. Shrugging his shoulders, he confides: "There was something missing in my life."
Cheah was born in Kampar, Perak, and cherished several formative years of his childhood there before his family's relocation to Ipoh. "I come from a broken family," he says bluntly. The bespectacled man's refreshing honesty and openness about his challenging upbringing are evident.
"My brother and I witnessed the frequent quarrels between our parents. Naturally, it took its toll on us. Eventually, they parted ways, leaving my mother to shoulder the responsibility of raising us alone. My father, regrettably, offered no support in our upbringing. The burden fell solely upon my mother's shoulders," he reminisces.
Desperate to provide for her two sons, Cheah's mother made the difficult decision to relocate to Singapore, leaving her boys in the care of their maternal uncle in Kampar. The separation from his mother weighed heavily on Cheah, who was only seven7 at the time. "My brother and I missed her," he recalls, "but I simply accepted our situation and carried on. It was likely much harder for my brother."
After a pause, he reflects quietly: "I'm grateful to my mum because she could have easily abandoned us and shirked her responsibility. Moreover, I resembled my father greatly, and I'm sure she didn't want that constant reminder, given the acrimonious divorce."
He chuckles, adding: "Now I jokingly tell my mum that while I may look like my dad on the outside, I'm very much her on the inside!" When he turned 16, Cheah and his brother relocated to Kuala Lumpur to continue with his secondary school studies and lived with their aunty, who agreed to take them on.
"It must have been challenging to have felt so transient," I remark sympathetically, and he nods. "It was indeed difficult," he acknowledges, adding: "We lacked stability, making it hard to establish roots. I don't place blame on anyone. It's just the way things were. While we received basic care and education, the absence of parental love left a void. Consequently, my brother and I learned to become self-reliant at a young age."
He isn't bitter at all. "We were lucky than most," he says quietly.
The absence of someone actively involved in his upbringing left a profound impact on Cheah. Events like sports days and school gatherings were especially poignant for the young boy. While parents flocked to witness their children's achievements, Cheah stood alone. "I once won second place in a school sports day, but there was no one there to share that moment with," he says, matter-of-factly.
Cheah was eager to complete his secondary education and quickly join the workforce afterward to alleviate his mother's financial burden. "I didn't want to add to her expenses," he explains earnestly.
There was a time when he needed to purchase a long-sleeved shirt for his school band, but refrained from asking his guardians or mother for help. "I simply didn't want to burden them," he recalls sheepishly. Playing the castanets in the band, he was severely reprimanded by his teacher for his lack of appropriate attire. "I don't blame her; she wasn't aware of my situation."
Dreaming of becoming a doctor in his youth, Cheah acknowledges the impracticality of such aspirations given his family's financial constraints and the lack of support for his academic pursuits.
VOID IN HIS LIFE
Upon completing his Form 5, Cheah heeded the advice of his relatives and embarked on a career path in banking, starting as a clerk. "I was encouraged to join the bank because it offered opportunities for securing a housing loan and settling down swiftly," he explains.
"Did you find satisfaction working in the bank?" I inquire. He makes a face, and we share a laugh. It's a point of connection between us. I too spent my early years in banking and understand the sentiment. "You know how it goes!" he commiserates with me, grinning.
After climbing the ladder in the banking world, Cheah decided to venture into business. Reflecting on his upbringing, Cheah simply aimed to earn enough to live comfortably. "I wanted to have the things I lacked — a home, a family and never experiencing poverty again. My main goals were to earn and provide for my hardworking mother."
However, the quest for happiness was overshadowed by a lingering sense of emptiness. "I sensed that something was missing within me. Despite going through the motions, everything felt devoid of meaning," recounts Cheah. "I questioned everything and could find no real satisfaction in anything I did."
That period of darkness felt overwhelming. "It was depressing," he admits. "Nothing felt right to me. No one understood what I was going through and that made it even harder."
But a chance meeting with a monk at a shopping mall changed everything.
Cheah crossed paths with Tsem Rinpoche, a monk of Mongolian-Tibetan descent who established the Kechara organisation in Malaysia, including its soup kitchen. Rinpoche's own background is fascinating.
The monk's aspiration to establish a permanent soup kitchen for the community was deeply rooted. This drive was further intensified during his time in the United States, especially after enduring a period of homelessness during his teenage years. Rinpoche intimately grasped the struggles of street life, grappling with hunger and despair despite originating from a developed nation.
His daily battle for survival, often sharing meagre resources with stray animals, underscored the urgent need for safety, sustenance, and shelter among the homeless population. Drawing from these poignant experiences, KSK was born, guided by the mission to "take the homeless off the streets" and provide the necessary assistance and support to help them reintegrate into society.
NEW PATH
"I finally found someone I could talk to," he says of Rinpoche. The monk was refreshingly youthful and relatable. As they engaged in conversation, Cheah found himself opening up in ways he hadn't with anyone else before. "I started talking about things I've not dared share with others," he reveals.
The monk listened and then offered straightforward advice.
He said that the root of Cheah's unhappiness stemmed from neglecting activities that brought him joy. By fixating solely on earning a living, he perpetuated a vicious cycle that prevented him from escaping the darkness of his circumstances. This realisation struck Cheah like a revelation. It was clear: to attain happiness, he needed to engage in activities that brought him genuine joy.
"It was a lightbulb moment for me," confesses Cheah, smiling.
Following their conversation, Cheah felt inspired to take action, so he made the decision to volunteer at KSK. Alongside fellow volunteers, they purchased food packets from a local Muslim restaurant and gathered donated biscuits and water bottles to distribute to the homeless community in Kuala Lumpur.
As they handed out provisions, Cheah couldn't help but be deeply moved. "It was truly an eye-opening experience," he reflected. "For the first time, I realised that my own struggles seemed trivial in comparison to the challenges faced by these individuals."
As Cheah continued to lend a hand, he noticed a remarkable shift within himself. It was as though he'd stumbled upon his true calling. Helping others became the antidote to his own inner turmoil.
"At first, it was just a few hours on weekends," he explained, adding: "But I quickly realised that I felt lighter and more fulfilled when I was able to make a difference in someone else's life. The heavy cloud that had been hovering over me began to dissipate when my focus shifted away from myself."
With each passing day, Cheah found himself dedicating more time to the cause. He immersed himself in coordinating logistics and ensuring that those in need received the support they deserved. Before long, he made the decision to take time off from work to devote himself fully to the efforts of the soup kitchen.
WORTHY CAUSE
Cheah began as a weekend volunteer. But a year later, the organisation sought to expand its reach, and he was the natural choice to lead their operations. Despite the significant shift from running his business to a full-time role at KSK, Cheah didn't hesitate, despite warnings from well-meaning friends and family.
Initially concerned about his mother's reaction to his decision, Cheah was pleasantly surprised by her unwavering support. Leaving behind the comforts and stability of his growing business, he embraced the opportunity to make a tangible difference in the lives of others.
"By this time, my mum had remarried and built her own life. I was single and had no other commitments. Why not take the plunge and do something worthwhile?" he muses, smiling.
He never regretted his decision.
"Finding peace of mind and happiness is priceless. Instead of staying stuck in misery, I took a chance. Turns out that I gained more than I ever had before. And the best part? It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be," insists Cheah.
KSK continues to make an impact in the lives of marginalised communities here in this nation. "Every day, I'm reminded of the essential and invaluable role we play," he says, adding: "Homelessness isn't just about housing and the need for shelter. It's about poverty and the need for education and job skills that can lead to employment. KSK's intervention addresses these multifaceted needs, aiming to equip individuals with the necessary skills and resources for sustainable employment and a path out of poverty."
Pausing for a moment, Cheah continues: "Everything I ever dreamed of as a child, I've found now. A loving family, contentment... by dedicating myself to something larger than myself, I've discovered that the pursuit of happiness isn't only possible but profoundly fulfilling. Every moment helping someone else is time well spent."
As our conversation circles back to the topic of time, it seems to serve as a fitting conclusion. Time does indeed take on a different cadence for those deeply engaged in acts of kindness. "It's time well spent…" Cheah's words resonate with wisdom. For him and his devoted volunteers, each moment devoted to service is more than just the ticking of a clock — it's an investment in a legacy of compassion and selflessness that transcends the constraints of time.
For information on Kechara Soup Kitchen, go to www.kecharasoupkitchen.com.