ROZELLA Mahjhrin tries her best to not dwell on all the ways her life changed; on the pieces of herself that got lost in the shuffle. She was a 38-year-old single woman who, not long ago, was on the cusp of new opportunities that opened up after the Covid-19 pandemic 2½ years ago. This would have been the year she bet on herself. It was risky, but she had a plan.
The award-winning diversity and inclusion advocate, Rozella, a singer who performed on stages to audiences of up to 3,000, had participated in prestigious international leadership programmes and collaborated with both international and Malaysian brands to challenge and redefine beauty stereotypes. And at the heart of her journey was her brainchild — True Complexion.
What began as a passion project inspired by Humans of New York, True Complexion initially focused on telling the stories of individuals living with various medical conditions, disabilities and differences.
As Rozella became more deeply involved with the community she served, she identified a significant challenge: the lack of employment opportunities for people with disabilities and those facing health conditions. In response, she transformed True Complexion into a platform that not only amplifies these voices, but also creates meaningful opportunities.
Her journey hadn't been without challenges.
The pandemic nearly brought Rozella's efforts to a halt, forcing her to pause many of her initiatives. But as the season of lockdowns finally drew to a close, new opportunities began to emerge for the Sabahan. Reflecting on that challenging period, she says: "It was time to get back on my feet and regain momentum."
Determined to push forward, Rozella saw the post-pandemic world as a chance to rebuild and expand her work. With a renewed sense of purpose, she dove back into her advocacy and artistic endeavours, eager to continue making a difference. The challenges of the pandemic had tested her resilience, but they also fuelled her drive to return stronger and more committed to her mission.
But everything changed when she visited her parents back in Kota Kinabalu. It was Christmas and she had returned home after being away for two years. "I noticed that my parents weren't themselves anymore," she says quietly.
Her father had lost a significant amount of weight and didn't look well. Her mother, once sharp and lively, seemed unusually forgetful. A simple bowl of soup in front of her turned into a series of repetitive questions. "What's this? What's this?" she asked, over and over again. Her father brushed it off, attributing it to old age, but Rozella wasn't convinced. "Even if you're forgetful, you wouldn't forget what a bowl of soup looks like!" she reflects, shaking her head.
It was tempting to believe that everything was fine; that they were fine and that if she were to take care of them someday, it would be occasional and in a distant future where she had more of life figured out. She didn't see this day coming the way it did, so abruptly and so soon.
She insisted on taking her parents to the hospital for a series of tests, fearing that something more serious was at play. Her instincts were tragically confirmed. The results were devastating: her father was diagnosed with prostate cancer. But the news didn't stop there. Her mother's forgetfulness was traced back to vascular dementia, a cruel condition caused by reduced blood flow to the brain.
The dual diagnoses were a heavy blow. Rozella found herself grappling not just with the reality of her parents' illnesses, but also with the daunting challenges ahead. The plans she had so carefully laid out, the exciting days of a burgeoning career as a singer, advocate as well as a diversity, engagement and inclusion (DEI) specialist, were suddenly overshadowed by the harsh reality of managing her parents' medical care.
She had to come to terms with the fact that her parents would need more support than ever before, and the life she'd envisioned was now taking a different, more challenging path.
"I felt like the rug was pulled from under my feet," she confesses, adding: "What do you do when you're faced with such a crisis? How do you get back to your life? Basically, I first thought I'll 'fix' things and when it was sorted, I could return to my life."
But that wasn't how things turned out.
After eight years of being at in the heart of Kuala Lumpur's fast-paced life, Rozella had to make the difficult decision to return to her hometown. It wasn't an easy choice. Kota Kinabalu wasn't just a place of comfort and familiarity, but it also held painful memories from her childhood, along with the complex, often strained relationship she had with her mother.
She sighs, gesturing around the room. "I can't believe I'm back here in this room — my childhood bedroom," she says, voice tinged with disbelief. "And I'm back with my parents, the people you'd think you'd turn to when things are a mess and when you need fixing. Back in Kuala Lumpur, everything was centred around me. That has changed. I'm now a caregiver."
Returning meant also confronting those unresolved emotions and reopening old wounds she'd long since tried to leave behind. But with her parents now in need of care, the pull of responsibility outweighed the pain of the past.
PULL OF THE PAST
It's not easy to ruminate about the past. Just when you think you've conquered your demons, life throws you a curveball, and it feels as though you're right back to the days of youth, grappling with your identity.
Growing up with Sturge-Weber Syndrome, a condition characterised by a port-wine stain birthmark on her face, Rozella faced challenges that profoundly shaped her formative years.
The condition not only marked her appearance, but also influenced her self-perception and interactions with others. "My parents were always trying to fix me," she recalls, wincing. "It was hard enough being teased and bullied because of my looks. My mother even insisted that I got whitening treatments when I was just 11."
Her mother, an English lecturer, relentlessly sought treatments to "heal" Rozella, but none proved effective. One painful moment came when Rozella overheard a friend suggesting laser treatments to "erase" her mark.
"My mother just nodded and said she'd look into it," Rozella recalls, her voice trembling, adding: "It shattered me because she never defended me or said that it didn't matter. I longed for her to accept and love me as I was."
Rozella, who dreamt of being a singer, faced harsh criticism that crushed her self-esteem. "I was told I was too ugly to be on stage," she recalls, adding: "I was just a child, around four or five years old."
During her school years, she endured relentless bullying, with classmates taunting her with names like "strawberry" and "Two-Faced", referencing a popular Batman villain. "Words cut deep, and I don't think my mother understood the trauma I was experiencing. She kept trying to treat the mark on my face as if that would fix everything, and I hated that," she reflects. "Our relationship suffered… we couldn't even be in the same room without clashing."
As she grew older, Rozella fell into a pattern of emotional eating, alcohol abuse, and unfulfilling relationships, leading to self-destructive behaviour. Her turning point arrived on her 27th birthday, when she was rushed to the clinic for alcohol poisoning.
"There's a moment when you realise you need to change before you completely self-destruct," she says, adding: "That was mine. I remember not being able to turn to my parents because we didn't have that kind of open relationship. Thankfully, I found the help I desperately needed, though it took time to heal and rebuild myself."
Drawing from her own painful experiences, she eventually became an advocate for individuals living with various medical conditions, disabilities and differences. True Complexion was born and there was no looking back. For eight years, at least.
Just as she was on the brink of new opportunities, her parents' declining health forced her to alter her plans. In an instant, she found herself back in the place that had once shattered her heart and soul.
LOVE AND FORGIVENESS
It was hard, she acknowledges wryly, to return home and care for her parents. "I felt robbed," she reveals candidly, adding: "Like what was my future going to be like? I was the single child, the unmarried one, so the responsibility fell on me."
In a pioneering study of adult-child caregivers, social worker Elaine Brody discovered that in families where an ageing parent required care, there was often one "burden bearer" — a single member who took on the majority of the responsibilities, despite the presence of others who could assist. "This phenomenon appears with striking regularity and frequency," Brody noted in the journal Family Process in 1966.
"That was me," acknowledges Rozella dryly.
Leaning forward, she sighs deeply. "It's like the five stages of grief," she explains. "I went through them all… denial, anger, bargaining, depression and eventually, acceptance. I'd call my friends and just sob on the phone because it was overwhelming."
Continuing, she shares: "I had saved up money for years, and in a flash, it was all gone because my parents didn't have medical insurance. I had to spend everything I had on their medical treatments and expenses."
Her mother was also diagnosed with lupus, an autoimmune disease where the body's immune system attacks its own tissues and organs. "This meant I had to oversee her diet, otherwise, she'd break out in painful rashes and lesions," Rozella explains.
The situation was so difficult and absurd that she had to install a child lock on the fridge to prevent her mother from accessing foods that could trigger her condition. "She'd get so angry," recalls Rozella, adding: "At one point, she even raised her hand to hit me. I was livid. This was what I was coming home to. It felt so unfair."
Dealing with unresolved issues with her mum was hard. "I had to give her a shower every night, remind her where the toilet is and help put the toothpaste on her toothbrush. I needed tonnes of patience and it was definitely a struggle."
But during one hospital stay, as Rozella tended to her mother, changing her diapers after a fall had left her unable to walk, her mother wept and said: "I'm supposed to be doing this for you. You're my child, and now you're doing this for me. I'm so sorry!"
As she listened to her mother's tearful apology, she felt a profound sense of clarity amidst the emotional turmoil. This realisation gave her a sense of purpose and affirmed her decision to return home, reinforcing that despite everything, this was where she was meant to be.
Navigating the complexities of hospitals and treatments, Rozella found herself evolving into a dedicated advocate for caregivers. She took on the crucial role of speaking up for her parents with doctors, ensuring their needs and concerns were clearly communicated and addressed. As she immersed herself in this role, she became acutely aware of how widespread caregiving is, yet how often it goes unspoken and unacknowledged.
Her experience opened her eyes to the silent struggles faced by countless caregivers who, like her, balance their own lives while providing essential support to their loved ones. Rozella began to understand the emotional and practical challenges involved and felt compelled to bring greater visibility to the issue, advocating not just for her parents, but also for all caregivers whose sacrifices often go unnoticed.
"I've started including caregiving as part of my DEI advocacy. Imagine, if you're a parent, you get benefits at the company you work at, but when you're a caregiver, there are no additional benefits available. This must change."
Rozella is now determined to raise awareness about the plight of caregivers. "Caregivers are often overlooked, and their struggles are seldom acknowledged," she says, adding: "In many cultures, including ours, the emphasis on family duty and respect can lead to caregivers' sacrifices being taken for granted, with little support or recognition for the immense challenges they face."
In the meantime, Rozella continues to care for her parents with unwavering dedication. Her days start at 4am and are filled to the brim with managing their needs while juggling her own work responsibilities.
Despite his declining health, her father supports her as much as he can. "He's not the same person he was years ago. He's getting frailer," she says quietly. "But I'm thankful he can still help, even if it's just a little."
Amid her mother's rare moments of lucidity, Rozella was deeply moved when she heard her say: "I'm so sorry about everything. It's my fault you had a difficult life. I never wanted to see you suffer. I'm so grateful you're back here taking care of me."
Rozella pauses and reflects wistfully: "When I think about that, it feels like a full-circle moment. All I ever wanted was for her to accept me. It's strange, but now, as she's losing herself, our bond is growing stronger and our relationship has become the best it's ever been."