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.


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?


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.

Time out

Time really flies.

I obviously did not keep my last year’s resolution to insert photos in my posts. I personally think I won’t be able to keep up with that because I find it too personal. I know, lame.

Anyway, I have been on (read: struggling) rice-free diet. Rice is my staple so it’s really hard to stop consuming it at once. I tried to eat clean, exercise and drink a lot of plain water. Achievement partially unlocked.

I am currently rushing through my assignments but thought I needed a break because I am dozing off. That’s the reason for the title. A-ha, gotcha!


I was reflecting a few moments ago. Why do I want to lose weight in the first place?

Firstly, for my own health. I realise I was getting bigger and heavier. I found some things were hard to do. I was also scared if I would develop poor diet-related diseases. I mean, c’mon, my body is getting older. I can’t afford eating chocolates all day and hope that I’ll get it out the next morning in the toilet. So, to the gym, I went to burn them.

Secondly, and perhaps the most self-conscious reason, to look good. I’m graduating soon and I’ll be attending job interviews (I hope) and the first impression is vital. I want to look presentable in the sense I look healthy, bright and energetic. I looked at the pictures of people going for job interviews. I realised candidates with crispy outfits (not necessarily expensive) and confident tend to secure the job as compared to people who probably paid less attention to their attire.

Thirdly, to stay young. My neighbour’s 70 y/o granny is as strong as a 55 y/o woman. She can walk without the walking stick and dress fine. Her secret: eat right and be active. So, to future older Alya, if you’re still strong at 70, thank me (the younger Alya).

Last but not the least, so I can buy clothes online. I really want to buy clothes from this particular online shop but they don’t have it in my size, or in some cases, I don’t look good in them. Once, I bought a really nice top. Everyone looked dashing in it. When I put it on, I looked like I’m wearing a sack. Funny story, the salesgirl actually said, “What’s wrong with this top” and she kept on adjusting it on me.

Wow, it takes a couple of paragraphs to reach my NY resolution: Live healthily.

Till then, peace be upon you.

p/s: I am still sleepy.

ps: Just checked my last year’s NY post. I wrote on the 6th Jan too, exactly a year ago.

By the way, here are my last year’s resolutions.


Did: 2,3,5,6,7,8,9



I may not have the purest heart. In fact, I am struggling and I have been reflecting quite a lot these days.

Have you ever been in a situation where you know what you’re doing is wrong but you can’t help it? That is the sort of feelings I have.

I appreciate that everyone is different. We all require different things. The simplest thing; cleanliness. On one extreme, we have people with OCD and on the other end are people whom couldn’t care less. In between those two groups, are the rest of the world.

I, myself, am not an OCD. I took the test and I’m negative. It’s just that I like to have everything clean, ordered, placed properly and essentially, ready for whoever is using next. That’s just common sense, for me.

Our variety in characters are meant to be complemented. People complement each other like a jigsaw puzzle. I might be lacking in one area, so my friends will help me out and I’ll learn from them. Vice versa. Same thing if we’re talking about marriage. Things will only work out if both sides take responsibilities – takes two to tango.


The smallest matter would be disastrous if it’s not tackled. Theoretically, an empty cup is light when we first hold it. What if, we were to hold it for an hour without placing it down. Our arms will grow weaker. It’s not because the cup becomes heavier but because we are starting to lose our strength.

Because I believe in different personalities; I tried not to impose my belief on someone else. There were times when I just had to talk to someone for me to see from another angle.

It’s not easy and I fail to do it over and over again. At least, I tried. It’s hard to have a peace of heart when you consistently question other’s actions. “Why did he do that?”, “Why can’t she do this?”, “Why is it so hard to do this?” – I end up feeling exhausted trying to make sense of the world. In the end, I tell myself to just let it be. It is a heartache, still. Then again, problems aren’t solved that way. So, I braved myself and say it. Only to be answered with nonsense. This is when I know, I have to leave. So, I’m leaving.


I am mad. Really mad.

I just don’t get it. Why can’t people be more responsible?

From not doing their job to dodging something with the most childish “I don’t know how” reason. Sure, I was born with all these knowledge. That was a sarcasm just in case your brain can’t understand it.

It really gets on my nerves when people blame their nature of being to not do something. Worse, if they refuse to do something just because they have no interest in it. Sure, just do what you gotta do like watching movies or travelling or playing because after all someone else will take care of the issue.

Grow up!

Stop being a jerk. Stop taking what is not yours. Stop blaming others for something they don’t do. Stop throwing false accusations.

Can you please do yourself a favour; have integrity.



I thought Islamophobic wasn’t a real thing.

It is still not.

If I may, this thing shall be called listen-only-don’t-study.

What divine religion would encourage killing?

I’d like to speak on behalf of muslims, we are not terrorist. We don’t kill people.

Those suicide-bombers aren’t us.

Can you please, differentiate us, the muslims, from terrorists.

There is no verse in the quran supporting whatever they are doing. When others offer peace, God decreed us to accept it at instant.

During war, muslims cannot kill elderly, children, pregnant women , animals nor can we demolish religious buildings and plants.

Oblivious people condemn halal meat, citing it’s a cruel tradition. Islam honours the animals. When slaughtering, the knife has to be really sharp and it has to be done once and for all right at the jugular vein. Do yourself a favour, study anatomy. In addition, other animals shall not see when the other is being slaughtered. The animals should reach a certain age to be slaughtered; the young ones are not to be slaughtered. So does its moms.

Islam empowers their women by giving them the liberty. Women are not restricted to learn, work and even join a war. The history of Aisyah r.a. , Asma’, and Khaulah, to name a few, are the proof. If today there is a community doing the opposite, know this, that’s not what Islam teaches.

Hijab, in a total contrast, is not an oppression but a liberation. It allows women to be represented by what is in their brain rather than merely on what they have for display. I personally think that the headscarf doesn’t add to foolishness. I must say that it hurts when people argue about it when in fact they know nothing.

I think it is time for us to stop labeling. Respect each other and live with honour.

Till then, peace be upon you.

We’re L.E.

When I was in college, I wrote an essay on intuition. The essay partially determined our final marks (the other half of the mark was evaluated from a group presentation). Essentially, students preferred topics that were heavily discussed and intuition wasn’t. I liked the subject for one reason; freedom of expression.

So, I did BOTH, presentation and essay on intuition. As far as I know, I was the only person who did that. Two facts – my class wasn’t taught anything on intuition and I was alone in the battlefield –  were enough to intimidate me, and everyone else. I had no one to discuss the topic and soon, internet became my best-friend – the only place where I could find answers to my question, or at least a clue.

When I submitted my first draft of the essay, the lecturer wasn’t happy. She told me to write a new one and it’d be better if I choose another topic. I didn’t know what was wrong because she said the whole essay wasn’t convincing. She gave me a very low grade; it was a D or an E, perhaps an F. I couldn’t remember.

I went back to my room only to feel more determined. I reminded myself that this subject was about the students, our views. I didn’t budge. I stuck with the topic and was ready to face any consequence of me going against my teacher’s advice. It wasn’t an act of rebellion, but I had something to tell and I wanted it to be heard. I knew the final marker would be a foreign marker so I wanted my thoughts to get international. I refused to be confined with the mindset of the people whom I’ve lived with. To make long story short, in the end, I received an A for the subject.

It could be to two things; either my final draft (essay) was waaayyy better than the first one OR I fit the international marker’s criteria of marking. For the sake of this post, let’s consider the later one, shall we?

Have you ever been in a situation where you think you’re right but people are disagreeing with you? For example, you designed a shirt and find it very attractive, but nobody bought it. Or you wrote a song and no one enjoyed it. Or you cooked a dish but it received no praises. Or have you known a person who was nobody in your area but turned out to be majestic at some other place?

I, in some way feel that everything has its own place. So do we. We might not be accepted in this society, but we might be someone in the other; Our style of managing might no work out very well with this group of people, but it may suit the other.

The question is, do we make adjustment to ourselves or do we find a place where we’re welcomed?

I do not have the answer.

It is our choice. When you’re fearless, that is when great things happen. Well, not all the time but at least, you have nothing holding you back from trying and you’ll end up somewhere close to where you want to be.

It’s not easy to challenge the tradition but if you have strong faith in what you do, and you know it’s going to benefit a lot of people, for good purpose, then I say, go for it.

One of the homegrown online business, FashionValet, has proved the society that we can be as big as we dream. The founders were nobody but today, their business worth millions. People could be saying things like they have the “network” or they’re from this-and-this families so it’s easier for them. That’s not the point here. Try looking from another perspective. They were innovative and saw the opportunity when no one had the guts to do it. Online shopping was not a thing back in early 2000 but they were brave enough to start the journey.

I might be challenged with something similar in the future. I hope that whoever deals with such situation will have faith in themselves and make the most out of it. Life isn’t really about proving ourselves to others, but it’s about us. To be able to put meaning in our journey and cherishes it when we’re old. We, are LIMITED EDITION.

Till then, may peace be upon you.


Hectic night

At the age of 24,

What can I do? What have I done?

Everyone else is already in their dreamland. Me; I couldn’t sleep.

I was lying on my bed, trying to sleep but there was an unfamiliar feeling. I was questioning my purpose of life.

I know for a fact that there are two life purposes –  to serve God and the humanity. Question is; HOW?

If you read Mitch Albom’s infamous Tuesdays with Morrie, there was a paragraph where he (actually, it’s Morrie) claimed that youth is when people feel most suffocated. They don’t understand life.

If it’s too estranged for you, then you might’ve come across the 3-phases of life: when you’re young, you have time and energy but no money; when you’re an adult, you have money and energy but no time; when you’re old, you have money and time but no energy.

So there simply isn’t a time when we have everything. How are we supposed to achieve anything if that’s the case?

Perhaps, Morrie is right. We have to live the moment – don’t think of yesterdays or tomorrows.

Social media sure did some damage to us. I am guilty as charge. I wanted to have what others have. I wanted more. Wasn’t I satisfied? I don’t know.

I know I have a family who is always rooting for me and I thought to myself; what is it that I can do for them?

Then, I feel trapped.

; because I know I have an obligation to fulfill, an expectation to meet.

They didn’t ask for it but I just feel it.

Then again, what’s living? That’d be the hardest question yet to answer.

Does the “waking up at 6, do the 9 to 5 work and perhaps some social life before hitting the sack” routine considered as living? Isn’t repeating things a robot’s job? Are we then, robots?

I think I’m through for today.

My heart feels lighter now.

Thanks for reading. And oh, I’d love to hear read your thoughts!

Until then, may peace be upon you.