Partially invisible

Partially invisible, is her, sitting in her sphere, in a small office, trying to keep herself occupied, while footsteps sprinkle around her, reminding her of the purpose missing from her, a ring of a phone and the sound of the receiver being picked up, the rustling of papers, the sound of someone muttering something deep in work, the distinct sound of fingers pressing keyboards typing a line of importance, the sound of someone in the pantry, making a cup of coffee, stirring the mixture, a power booster, back to work, a blue shirt passing in front of her small cubicle, visible in her sight as she train her eyes on the screen of her desktop, legs starting to cramp, sat for too long with no work to do, a voice calling someone, the beeping sound of the printer, creaking out papers, a door opened, more voices, request, discussions, the doorbell rings a melody, greetings exchanged as the cleaner enters, “Assalamualaikum” she greets, and the intern sits, listens, reads, types, sits, wondering if she is partially invisible, and if it is possible to be fully invisible because then she can at least take a much needed nap which no one can blame her for taking, then the clock strikes five and a voice chimes “Taknak balik ke Maryam?”, the chime of freedom, suddenly, like cinderella who loses her magic at midnight, the intern's magic fades at 5, now, no longer partially invisible, she gathers her stuff and inhale the welcoming air of being a fully visible, functional human and takes firm strides filled with purpose, towards the door, out into the cool post-rain air, now, she lives, I live.

Apple crumble

Love comes in many forms.

I still remember feeling my chest swelling with happiness upon hearing the sound of the gate opening and the soft purr of a car signaling my father’s return from his work after a night away in a different state.

I also remember the warmth that fills my soul as I hear my brother’s voice in front of the house, returning from tarawih prayer, half screaming in joy at the sight of the Mercedes Benz parked cozily in the parking space, and the way his footsteps and energy reverberates as he enters the house, bursting in with radiance greeting the one man he grew up with, an innocence that only he can possess.

I remember looking up from the soft green sofa and greeted with white enshrouded backs. The backs of wan and mak, in their telekung, both now weak in the legs, consumed by age, seated on plastic chairs, praying two rakaat after Isyak prayer.

I remember the silent humm of the house on that night, filling in every nook with radiance, comfort, peace. Like the warmth and crunchiness of the apples of an apple crumble, baked to golden. Warm and sweet, with a grunge of texture perfecting the stimulus. My apple crumble.

That night, nothing else seems to matter more than savoring the taste of the night. A love that I know will not last, so let time stop, imprint it on letters, and let the crumbs spill all over the world.

Recommended song: Nap of a star - TXT

Unpacking memories

I was packing my stuff because the semester has ended for me and I’m going home tomorrow, and an overwhelming nostalgia hits.

This whole process of packing and unpacking brings back the memories of my childhood. I have lived a childhood of hopping from one school to another, one house to another, one city to another. Not as much as some people but Wangsa Maju-Shah Alam-Kota Damansara-Bangi-Saudi-Bangi, is still a handful for an introvert soul like me.

While packing, I reminisced on the memories of my school life that seems to become even more vivid right in front of my eyes. Without realization, when I was in primary one, I have already began the process of moving from one place to another. I had two schools for primary one, because I hated my first school for some reason, I ran from that school to my old kindergarten (it was right beside the school). The second one gratefully went fine for me. Made friends, played a lot, lived a typical life of a primary one kid. Little did I know I was going to move in one more year.

I remember telling my friends I was going to another school and my friends were angry because I told them lambat. Honestly, I didn’t know what was the huge deal, I was just going to move to another place. Heh.

Then I moved, to an apartment in Shah Alam and boy the apartment was a handful for my 9-year-old soul. I remember throwing tantrums for some reason for quite a few times at the parking lot (still have no idea why), watching kacang kacang show on tv, poking at my huge pillow God knows why I have it and why anyone bought it for me, and staring at the empty walls and the limited spaces in the white walled apartment.

Then Kota Damansara happened. I remember sitting at the arm of a sofa, staring at my parents unloading boxes from the car, eyes starting to get teary and I blinked it away. Damansara brought with it many good and conflicting memories. A larger house, had friends to play with as my cousins live a few houses away, had my own space for toys and books, but school, was a challenge.

First time being a new kid, you gotta learn the rules. No friends for a few months and never mentioning anything to my parents, life went on, along with school drama. Gradually, the friend problem ceased, people apologized to me, friends entered my sphere, and life rolls on. At my second year in the school, I was told by my parents that we were going to move again. I remember internally slowly detaching myself from my friends, teachers and school environment. This time, with farewell gifts in my hand, I knew what moving means.

Then we moved.

A young city, that will soon grow faster than it should. New house, new city, new friends, new environment, and once again, the new kid in the block. School went fine, gained more friends, made many great memories, but it was also in this city where God decided to teach me a life-long lesson. My world became significantly darker as I exited my primary school life with a greater sensitivity to my surroundings than before.

High school life, began. 

Three schools for Form 1. Two in Malaysia, one in Saudi. Each with their own stories. Just when I thought my life should have settled down, somehow I was on a plane to a place I have never imagined I would go so early in my life. A new home means I have to quickly adapt and learn the ropes in a new school. Every school is different. New kid in the block once again, this time in an international school. Fun. The memories were polarized from very nice to very depressing.  One year in, and I was again, told by my parents that we will be moving back to Malaysia. Again, I thought, what’s new?. I was ready to move, and we did. 

Somehow, after that, my life settled down in one school until high school graduation. Sri Ayesya. The first school I stayed in for more than two years. I was definitely amused. A world record.

What was I doing? Ahh I was quietly packing my stuff, but somehow, old memories waft in my mind, creeping out from the hidden passages in my mind. Amazing isn’t it, to be able to experience all of that. A life unique to only me and no others. An exquisite journey designed to bring out the best in me. All this while, while moving from school to school, I never realized that in the end, schools, are merely classrooms for me to learn. The real school is this whole worldly journey I’m on. I have nine schools but none can teach me as much as the school God have tailor-made for me. 

May whatever journey or path we embark on, becomes a character-building experience for all of us. It might be rocky, confusing, lonely, exciting, and a thousand more sensations, but in the end, it’ll be a unique experience that only you will get to experience. Have faith, it’ll be an amazing story to tell. 

Hot Season

https://listenonrepeat.com/?v=f6bHMLFwJmw&s=&e=#Sad_Piano_Music_-_Searching_(Copyright_Free)

A hot season with a cool mug of iced tea in both hands,

Fresh from class,

From frantic people,

From mind wrecking decisions

From stifling lecturers,

From random passerby,

From the golden sun,

From the clear blue sky,

From a day filled with different levels of energy.

“It’s fun but also tiring”,

She types in her whatsapp group,

Not intending to complain but,

To just let it out ,

Let it out,

Of the system that lies in a human physique.

“I mean, I AM happy. I love what I do. I am proud of myself for handling everything so well.”

“but, sometimes, the heat gets to me. I hate how I always watch other people’s whatsapp stories, I hate how I always glance at my whatsapp to see if there’s any new messages although my brain is full. I can’t respond to everyone who needs me. I can’t please everyone who seeks me. I can’t be the perfect figure for people who looks at me. My life is full. I wonder what’s my limit on these days? On days where I walk under the sun while maintaining a calm composure, wincing at the heat.”

Then, as the headache knocks,

And the heat level increases,

And auto-pilot mode activates,

She realize,

“Ahh, I have reach my limit. Right, let’s take a break.”

And curtains drawn,

A mug of iced tea,

Laptop ready,

Earphones on,

Calming tunes began to play,

she moves,

And listen,

And watch,

And write,

Whatever her heart wills,

And the weather becomes cooler,

The breeze began to enter,

Into her dimly lit room,

Colors began to form,

Splashes of red, blue, purple,

Recolor her fading soul,

Spreading warmth,

And comfort,

Until finally the end product,

Her heart beats again,

With life,

Spirit,

And a soothing coolness.

“Could this be the iced tea effect?”

She wonders,

As she sips her sweet tea,

And allows the coolness of the mug,

To sink into her dry palms,

And cools her humid world.

Miracles of 22

22 but not 22. I think, this age, is a beautiful age. Even, balanced, sturdy. As if a symbolic on how my life at 22 will be. I feel free, calmer, yet bolder.

I have many fears. Including the type of fear that haunts and clings to me. Growing up, I tend to keep things to myself, and simply live, with a thousand and one ghost in my head. I lived in a cage I made by myself, for myself.

Little by little, as time goes by, I entered new surroundings, met new people, made new memories, obtained new responsibilities, and most importantly, discovered more of me.

I am a very blessed person. My parents, are the kindest. They stood by me, helped me, supported me, remained patient with me, and for me, I realize now, what really warmed me is the fact that they so readily admitted their faults, mistakes and weaknesses as parents and individuals. For me, I have never solely put the blame on these two gentle individuals who have raised me into who I am today, yet, even from the start, the moment they realize I had problems, I had depression, I had trust issues, they said sorry, and did their best to show me how much they love me, how much they want me to express more to them, and just, be happy.

“All mak ayah wants is for you to be happy. Be happy”

They, I believe, is the foundation for my liberation from depression, and a motivation for me to continue to do my best in everything I do. I want to make them happy, because as a sinful person, they are my temporary heaven that Allah SWT has bestowed on me. One day they will be gone, but when that day comes, I want to be able to look back and smile in gratitude. Alhamdulillah, is what I wish to say, whenever that day comes. For I wouldn’t know what I would become if it wasn’t for the love they wholeheartedly gave me. My beautiful parents. I am only 22 yet they have done so much for me. O Allah, how much time do I have left with them? Make me a daughter who will always bring a smile on their gentle faces. Please.

22.

2019.

Struck me as an intriguing phase. At least in what has happened in the past few months. I don’t even know how to best express what I’m feeling and thinking. I just, think what has happened is really really phenomenal. Allah’s plan is indeed beautiful. It’s true, all you need to do is always, always, do your best, always self-reflect, always keep to what’s right, never give up, and trust in Allah’s plan and the hikmah behind everything. When the time is right, it will come, and you will be more than ready for whatever is coming, because Allah knows you’re a better person now, calmer, more rationale, more capable, and equipped with what is needed to handle what you wished you could a year and two years before. Alhamdulillah. Allah is indeed the all-knower.

9th of March 2019.

Yesterday, I got the opportunity and blessing to attend Ustaz Nouman Ali Khan’s Miracles in Kuala Lumpur. I haven’t listened to him for a long time prior to the event, but I remember how much I love his youtube videos talking about the surahs and Arabic. I love how he took the Quran and shares it to the world in such an interesting and relatable way. As a person who loves language and stories, his way of teaching captured me and made me realize how beautiful the Quran and Islam is. May Allah grant him the highest paradise.

I remember sitting at my seat, 4^throw from the front. I could clearly see his expressions, his gestures, the way he delivers his speech, and his radiant energy. I remember feeling slightly teary when he somehow spoke of things that I could relate to in my current life.

He was telling us the story of Nabi Musa A.S. and he was at the part where Allah SWT told Musa A.S. to go back to the nation which he ran away from. Ustaz Nouman said something along this line –

“Sometimes Allah help us get away from people (who are toxic to us, who we can do nothing to fix the situation or relationship, who continues to make us feel horrible, or abuse us), but when we are strong enough, He sends us back”

I personally felt that in my chest. That is exactly what happened in these past few months. Somehow, I am getting involved again, directly and indirectly, with groups/people whom I had issues with/made me feel useless, horrible, and depressed, groups/people whom I wished to work with but couldn’t in the past but couldn’t due to my principles and priorities. Bless be to Allah The Almighty, he led me to them, without my knowledge, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect. 

You know when something affected you so badly, even seeing a hint of a name, or picture, or smell, or building, or even a shadow that gives a tiny whiff of the old memories, will propel you down into a self-torture state of “why” and guilt and a strong stench of being a loser, failure and a horrible person. You feel fake, dirty and miserable. Even just the tiniest trigger of memories could drag you back into the dark. This phase, is a long and tiring phase, which no one else knows nor understands. It’s you VS yourself. As always.

Alhamdulillah. Alhamdulillah. At least now, I can say I’m free from two ghost. I might have other ghost within me, still clenching onto my heart, and clinging onto my cells, but at least, now, I feel much more lighter. Hey, I still have a lot of things I worry about, but freeing myself from those two ghost feels nice enough. Imagine if I can free myself from all the other ghost within me.

Insha Allah. 

Flights – Olga Tokarczuk

When I first started this book, I kept getting lost in its passages. 

Like a new kid in a new classroom, like a traveler in a new place, 

I kept looking back retracing my steps to gain a footing in the story that unravels within the clean white pages of Flights. 

Then gradually, as I began to gain an insight on the concept of the book, 

I simply read on and immersed myself into the blanket of words and the world that comes with it. 

The stories told in this book were all mostly very new to me, very foreign,

I felt like I’m the owner of an apartment building to which I have the keys for all of its doors. 

I like how it kept mentioning about travel, 

the sensations felt in flights, 

airports, time, existence, infinite, finite, 

and humans in its fragility and agility.

I found it wonderful how the book weaved its way through such a detached yet complete way, 

hopping from one sequence to another, much to the pleasure yet confusion of the reader. 

I remember being surprised as I turned to the next page and realised the page was blank. 

I didn’t want it to end just yet and I couldn’t guess when it will end unlike other books I have read due the way it uphold itself.

At the last page, I felt as if I was about to embark on another journey, riding on a plane around complete strangers, anticipating what is about to come. I really like the ending, especially since I have always like the concept of flights and airports. It was an enlightening read. Another journey made in the crevice of my quiet world.

Di-Bawah Alunan Ombak, A.Rashid Bin Ngah

DI-BAWAH ALUNAN OMBAK, A. RASHID BIN NGAH, 1970

SA-PATAH KATA

            Pengalaman2 dalam masa pendudokan Pemerentahan Tentera Jepun di-tanah ayer kita waktu Perang Dunia 2 dahulu ada-lah pengalaman yang luar biasa. Luar biasa dari segi penderitaan hidup dan luar biasa dari segi jiwa dan rohani tiap2 orang yang hidup waktu itu.

            Belum banyak pengalaman2 tersebut di-kesahkan sa-chara mendalam oleh penulis2 novel kita dan belum pula banyak di-cheritakan dengan chara yang menarek hati serta memberikan gambaran yang sesuai untuk bachaan anak2 kita yang sedang meningkat ‘umor belajar berfikir.

            Buku DI-BAWAH ALUNAN OMBAK ini di-terbitkan untok memenuhi kehendak yang kedua itu. Buku ini mencheritakan dengan mudan dan menarek hati akan sa-bahagian dari kesah yang di-alami oleh pendudok2 di-Pantai Timor waktu akhir2 pendudokan Tentera Jepun itu.

            Dan yang mustahak sa-kali buku ini menanamkan beneh kebenchian terhadap perang, di-samping menyuborkan bibit keberanian dan ketabahan dalam dada anak2.

            Buku ini khas di-terbitkan untok bachaan orang2 muda peringkat Sekolah Menengah, tetapi tidak-lah pula kurang elok-nya untok bachaan orang2 yang lebih dewasa.

Syed Nasir Bin Ismail

Pengarah DBP

..................................................................................................................................................................................

This is a book I read in 2018. The foreword is simple and direct but it warms my heart upon seeing the sincerity of the author in writing this book. 

This book was published on the concern that there are not many stories about the life in Malaya during the Japanese occupation and World War 2 that are interesting or suitable enough for the young generation. The life during the occupation was described as surreal in its sufferings and the mental and spiritual state of the people in that era.

It was stated that the most important objective of this book is to cultivate hatred towards war and instill values about bravery, patience and perseverance towards the young generation. 

I wish to make a book review on this classic as I think the message of this book is too precious to be wasted in the yellowish pages of his book. We'll see about this review. I have to be a bit more rajin for this review as it has been a long time since I read this book. We'll see.