Dear heart,

It is 2013 all over again.

5 years ago, my newsfeed was flooded with passport photos. I was devastated as most of my friends claimed their wings to fly abroad and I was tied to the ground. I still remember sitting at the side of my bed, sinking my face into the pillow just so people won’t hear me sobbing. There’s no word to describe the agony.

5 years later, my newsfeed is flooded with “Officially, Dr ….” posts. In all honesty, I am both happy for them and sad that I’m not one.

As I am writing this, I am patiently telling myself to be okay.

“Despite being depressed and distraught by getting kicked out of the Beatles, as he grew older he learned to reprioritize what he cared about and was able to measure his life in a new light. Because of this, Best grew into a happy and healthy old man, with an easy life and great family -things that, ironically, the four Beatles would spend decades struggling to achieve or maintain.”

-Mark Manson

No matter how much regret I have, I won’t be able to turn back time. And because Oprah said a similar thing – failure is just life trying to move us in another direction, I will then have to embrace it as it is.


Pardon me for I’ve forgotten. Help me to remain grateful for what I have in hand and to work for You, and only to You I repent.

Till then.

May I be awarded the best in life and hereafter. Amin.


Not Your Typical: Dream

Gloomy weather.

As depressing as my future.

I am starting to question myself for all the decisions I have made and the route I have chosen. Is it worth it?

I am walking to my school, a few more weeks left before I get to wear the graduation robe. Here I am, contemplating my existence.

Not wanting to be disturbed, I wear my newly bought Sony earphones.

Should I try acting? Should I try writing? Should I try singing? Should I try composing?


Should I just stick around with this path? Making friends with the tall cylinders, drinking out of beakers and reek of ethanol.

I look at the road I am taking. It is so straight but at the end of the road, I need to turn right. Should I do the same with my life? After the structured life, should I be making the right turn?


Not Your Typical: Girl


I am unlike other girls. I don’t go into make-up stores to buy some expensive mascara or blusher. I’m not keen on finding a 24-hour lasting foundation. I can’t tell the difference between one eye palette from another.

I am unique.

I am wearing a pair of comfy trousers and black jumper with a pair of shoes. I walk into a bookstore. That is my therapy. Unlike my sisters, I crave for the woody scent coming from the papers. I walk down the aisle and grab a book on a half-price promotion. Before putting it down, I flip the pages and takes in the smell.

I travel deeper into the heart of the bookstore. I climb up the stairs, to the first floor. I walk through one shelve to another, reading the signages and trying to find an attractive book. I climb another floor and reach the top. There, I find more books that suit me but not the one that I want.

So, I descend to the ground floor. Search the book online and place my order. I have another book in my hand. I take my time before making my way to the till. I am contemplating if I should wait longer or if it’s possible to have my order ready by now.

Bracing myself, I ask the staff.

“I have just placed an online order. Do you think it’s possible to have it by now?”

“Can I have your last name, please?”

In the end, I pay for books and I am a happy girl.

Weird, but happy.

Alone, but not lonely.

That’s me. I don’t need a company going to my favourite shop.

Unlike many girls, I give myself the credit I deserve and not wait for someone else to do it for me.

Unlike many girls, I do myself my own favour and not worry others with my problems.

Unlike many girls, I do not dress to impress others, but me.

Unlike many girls, I live for my own life.

Third class or no class?

Night, the road was going quite. People were waiting at the bus stop, counting minutes to get home after a long day at work. Some were listening to the music, some were talking and I am no exception.

I was talking to an acquaintance. I struggled to understand her; it happened to most of the conversations we had. I concluded that she is nothing more than a pessimist, racist and one-sided bickerer. There’s always something wrong with someone else, there’s always this “Cause they didn’t do it, why should I” attitude, there’s always this “Oh, I don’t know, I’m not going to do it first” argument – they all led to my utter disappointment. I know the conversation isn’t going anywhere, and neither will she.

Don’t get me wrong, she is kind. However, her immaturity pushes me away. I used to chat frequently with her but that was then. Now, I just walk away, don’t bother to start nor stay in any possible irrelevant debate. I did it for my own sake.

That night at the bus stop was really the final dispute I’d ever handle with this human being. We were talking about someone whom I was suspicious of. She told me what she knew about her and I naturally asked who was the informer – just to check if I could really trust her. Suddenly, she got snapped.

“Do I really need to tell you everything? From A to Z? Which friend told me that, where did I get the info? Just listen, would you?”

Oh-oh. That was extremely rude to me. Speaking loudly just because no one would understand us. Had I not thought of her pride, I’d go as low as her.

Took a deep breath.

“You were saying you met the mother quite often. Then, you were saying your friend told you this and that. Now, I just want to know if I could trust whatever you’re telling me. You could be telling me a theory your friend created, and I don’t want to believe in speculations. If it’s their Mom who told you that, then fine. If not, maybe you shouldn’t be telling me these hypothetical stories.”

With that, the bus came. And we sinned that night for backbiting. I knew too much, more than I needed to.

I learned my lesson – never speak about someone else because it’ll never stop even if you want it to.

“Why are you suddenly speaking English?” asked a woman in her thirties.

Looked at her with utmost disbelieve.

What is so wrong with me speaking English? Is it because the person I talked to would understand Malay? You have barely met her, and you know nothing about her… Oh, wait. Should I cut some slack just cause you don’t know her? I wonder why you’re so irrelevant.

Looked at the person I was talking too. She wore the same expression. We both kept silent and continued eating.

That awkward smile you have trying to fix the situation, keep it.

I’m done.


That was the day I told myself to just …

What is there for me to be mad at?

“I’ll never forgive her,” I said very confidently of what the future holds.

“Who does she think she is? Whose legs is she pulling with? A test? What even -” Those were the questions I asked myself so many times.

I looked into the boy’s room, he was sobbing. Mom was trying to comfort him. I hated her more. How dare she –

Calling it off for a petty reason. Oh, wait! It wasn’t even real in the first place. She was doubting him of cheating.

I remember vividly how I felt that moment. So many things to say but none was appropriate. I ended up saying,”I hope she rots in hell”. Great, at least now he can find someone who actually loves him and is serious about the relationship.

Mom came out of the room after talking some sense into him. Later that day, I went to speak with Mom.

“What was it about, Mom?”

“I don’t know. The girl didn’t make any sense. He wanted to travel to see her but I disagree.”

“What did he say?”

“- he couldn’t live without her”

I was boiling. Mad at both parties.

At night, he was still crying. The next day, he was still in tears. It went on for a few days before he sobered up a little, not completely. Little that I know, a few months later, they’re back together. I hated it.

It came to me, what do I know about love? What do I know about the pain it caused? What do I know about the heartache of longing someone? What do I know about the hardship to beg for acceptance?

Sure, she made a mistake, a great sin in my book. What if she’s changed? What if I were in her place? Would I do the same? How crooked was her life to make such mistake?

I still don’t understand. Is love all it takes to make every wrong right?

The most painful heartache I’ve experienced that I once thought of ending it all was when I failed. It was suffocating. Is that how it feels with love? With the assumption it is at least that bad, I tried to understand him. I’m his sister, I should do that at least.

I am now scared of this thing called “love”. What if I got hurt? How long will it take to heal? How should I endure whatever feeling it’ll be? How do I react to such betrayal? Most importantly, how do I trust love?


“Every sweat that trickled down…”

She wrote that half a decade ago and Facebook reminded her of that. I came across the post and for a reason which I hate the most, I was touched.

We used to be friends but since we parted ways, we never really talk to each other anymore. So here I am, reminiscing the early moments of our friendship.

One night, I went to accompany my friend to see her friend. We drove for half an hour to reach there. When we arrived, she was waiting for us in the lobby. She was already in her PJs. We made our way to her room.

I was quiet most of the time. I spoke when asked, I listened most of the time – or maybe I was talkative. I can’t really tell. However, I remember what I felt. I had a hunch that we’re going to get along pretty well.

Soon enough, we were. I’d be looking for her first every time we gathered and she’d ask people for me if she couldn’t find me. When we sat together, there were plenty of things to talk about. We shared a lot in common, mainly food. We’d be the last two to finish the food and would always get hungry earliest. It was clear to everyone that we’re close.

I remember when we went for a camping, she would always sit behind me. She was the troop leader and at that time, something happened. She felt utterly responsible for it. Right after she publicly apologised, she sat down and cried. An awkward person I was, I could only stare. The rest of the girls were calming her down, telling her it’s alright and hugging her. One thing I did right was, I didn’t budge from my sit. I couldn’t care less about what people thought, I mean, try and shove me away. I’ll move then.

The mushy moment ended rather quickly as the facilitator had more things to say. It was meal time, and representatives from each group went to get the food for their respective group members. While people were busy doing their own stuff, I went to sit with her.

The only thing I asked was, “Teha okay?”. She cried again. I gave her a pat on the hand and waited for her to speak. As she was the troop leader, she wasn’t assigned to a group. That day, she chose to lunch with me.

We’re both busy and had different matters to attend. She was so far ahead of me in a society and naturally, we had less time to meet each other. Slowly, we drifted apart.

Things went downhill from then. There was one time when I hit rock bottom. I thought she’d contact me, she never did.

From a friend whom I could afford to share food with to a person whom I used to know, it sure is sad. To her, I wish nothing but the very best.

I was once asked about friendship and that was one of the hardest questions I’ve been asked on. If I remember correctly, I only have a few categories; best friends, friends and acquaintance. The next hardest question would be when someone asks me in which category are they in.

Oh, before I end this post.

A few years ago, my friend back in college asked me to choose the person who is closest to me. My answer hurt her so much that we didn’t talk for awhile. I don’t go around telling people who they are to me for one reason – I can’t afford to hurt.

Friends come and go, I’ve learned that much at least.

Till then, may peace be upon you.


Writing is my own way of expressing my thoughts. A world I would enter when my introvert side outshines its counterpart. A place where I can speak my mind without having to explain myself, until one day. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone.

Writing has been a form of communication since forever. Though the medium changes over time, the exertion remains.

In a world where qualification matters, I warrant myself to do what I love and that’s writing. I don’t seem to require people’s approval, not yet.

I’m not very articulate at expressing my thoughts verbally. I hate to offend people because I loath apologising. Whenever I find something odd and doesn’t think it’s worth my effort to speak, I write.

Whenever I hate something and I know it’s just me, I write – to re-orientate myself.

Whenever I’m unable to find anyone fits to share my worries, I write.

Writing has been a major part of my life. I remember writing poems when I was in primary, I had a pile of papers of which I threw away out of embarrassment. I had diaries but none survived. They were all traces of me growing up.

Others may express emotions through paintings, songs, physical activities and possibly sleep it off. But I like writing. Sometimes, I randomly read things I wrote ages ago to travel back in time.

“Ahhh, I was this kind of person”,

“Ohh, she did this to me”,

“I didn’t know I was this and that”.

For whatever reason, I find solace in writing.

Till then, may peace be upon you.

Studying abroad

I’m on my way to London, to begin a new adventure which I hope would worth my Easter break. Things are looking ban-ban now. I’ve started my adventure before the journey itself.

It’s only four in the morning and the road is rather quiet. Suddenly, I miss home.

I’m at the stop centre, back home it’s called R&R. I remember driving for almost 4 hours from my university to home every summer holiday. My dad would sit on the passenger sit and my mom would sit at the back with my younger siblings. I felt like it’s my duty since they drove from home to my uni.

As I scroll down the online pictures, I came across a post of my favourite place to hang out with my sibs.

It’s undeniable that I’ve been wanting to study abroad since I was little. The excitement to witness the four seasons (winter mainly) and be in a different community were probably the biggest reasons that drove my desire.

But, living in a different country, or in fact moving to new surroundings, teaches you to be appreciative.

I don’t know. I suddenly reminisced the times when I had fun with my siblings. We went out to the mall, impromptu. I drove them to IKEA just to eat the infamous meatballs and chicken wings. Then, we would loiter around the exhibition hall, taking pictures and imagining how to decorate spaces in our house and then crush (read:put on hold) the dream when we see the pricetag.

Or on another occasion, we laid down in front of the television and laughed our hearts out watching our favourite game shows, screaming “put it on pause!” when one of us needed to go to the loo or for whatever reason that required us to move away from the TV.

And on the weekends, my sister would chase everyone out for a jog at the park. We’d run/jog/walk/cycle for an hour or two, then scurried our way to the nearest mamak stall and ordered boiled eggs, fried noodle and nasi lemak – what are the odds?

These are the precious memories which I cherish every now and then.

If there’s anything I can ask of you, love and appreciate your family.

Till then, may peace be upon you.


Which of your Lord’s favour would you deny?


I was jam-packed with what seems to be a never ending race to perfection. I had financial issue, academic tasks and faced with so many uncertainties.


Uncertainties are not my forte. I’m not good at waiting games. The word KIV is too much for me to handle.


Why can’t it be certain? Is it a yes or a no? Are we or are we not? Now or later? If later, what time? Can you be specific, please?


As you can already tell, it has been a challenging March. My patience was tested, my reasonings were pushed to the limit, my courtesy was forced into place, and most of all, my reliance to God has finally reinstated.


Let me rephrase that.


My reliance on God has returned to its warranted level.


I had forgotten the feeling of putting utter trust in God’s plan. Not that it’s wrong, but I’ve taught myself to have backup plans and it somehow led me thinking that I had it all controlled – if one doesn’t work, others will. So, my prayers weren’t as yearning as it should be and I cut some slacks in a lot of things.


When I was in the state where I had no control, I knew there’s only one way to go; God.


Now that one thing is out of the way, I am already happy. I could sense the change in my mood. My shoulders suddenly feel lighter and my chest isn’t as suffocating as it was.


True, we are in charge of our life. However, to fuel our motivation in charging, we (read=me) need assurance that whichever route we’re taking, we’re not alone and if something goes wrong although we gave our best, we’ll be able to get through it.


Till then, may peace be upon you.

Mr Snow

Dear Snow

I have been enjoying your visits so far. You have been kind to my soul but not today.

Today, you are cold to my bone, wet and unfriendly.

I used to smile whenever you came. I was until yesterday.

I am being overwhelmed with work, study and some other things. I don’t wish to share it with anyone because there’s no one. These are matters, at this time and place, only I could handle.

Dear Snow

Let’s be friends again.