Sunday, August 23, 2026

A book review: Making Sense of the Unseen Pain

 Alhamdulillah, I've completed reading Making Sense of the Unseen Pain written by Sharifah Nadirah. 
Bought the book at a bargain price during PBAKL'26, and I wasn't expecting to get much from it... Man, was I wrong. As they would say, "expect the unexpected."




I love reading the book. Ustazah Sharifah Nadirah really puts it well and I could feel every words that were written in the book. As the title calls for it. The book is about mental illness, the stigma, the support, the awareness. It was an easy-reading book, yet, the topic itself is never easy. 

And thank you for writing such a book. At least, I learn few things from it. 



...

There are things in this book that made me pause.

The rabbit hole of unseen pain

There is that sense of doom and helplessness when someone finds themselves stumbling into something unknown. Anxiety. Uncertainty. Loss.

You don't always know what is happening to you. Sometimes you don't even have the words to explain it. And when something cannot be seen, perhaps it becomes even easier for others to dismiss it.

"You just need to be stronger."

"Think positive."

"Have more iman."

"Everyone has problems."

But perhaps we need to be more careful. One thing I took away from the book is this: We should not oversimplify mental illness.

Even when we are trying to help. Even when our intentions are good. And especially when we don't fully understand what the other person is experiencing. Iman is not the enemy This was another point that stayed with me. Iman does not become the cause of mental illness. But strengthening one's iman can be part of the healing journey.

There is a difference. And I think that distinction matters. Because sometimes, when we reduce every struggle to “your iman is weak,” we unintentionally make someone feel even worse. Now they are not only struggling with their illness. They are struggling with guilt. With shame. With the feeling that perhaps Allah is displeased with them. We need to be careful not to turn religion into another weapon against someone who is already hurting. Faith can be a source of strength. But that does not mean we should deny the reality of illness. 

Sometimes, knowledge is kindness. Perhaps one of the biggest lessons for me is the importance of knowledge and awareness. We cannot validate what we refuse to understand. We cannot support someone when we keep dismissing what they are going through. And we certainly cannot help someone if we gaslight their pain.

Mental illness is an illness. It deserves to be recognised. It deserves proper attention. It deserves treatment. And perhaps before we tell someone how to fix themselves, we need to first understand what is hurting them. Identify the pain first.

Then we can talk about healing. Not broken.  I particularly loved the idea of moving away from the language of being broken. Because perhaps a person struggling with mental illness isn't broken. Perhaps they are hurting. Perhaps something needs attention. Perhaps something needs to be mended.

There is a difference between saying, “You are broken.”

and saying, “You are hurting. Let's see how we can help.”

The first carries judgement. The second carries compassion. And maybe that is what we need more of. Learning to live within our capacity 

Another thing I took away from the book is the importance of knowing ourselves. Self-discovery. Self-efficacy. Self-regulation. Understanding our own limits. Learning when to push ourselves and when to stop. Taking risks, but also recognising our capacity. Living life without constantly measuring ourselves against someone else's capacity.

And perhaps most importantly, letting go of our assumptions and judgements about other people. Because we really don't know what someone else is carrying. We see what is visible. But there may be an entire world happening underneath. An unseen pain. We need to make room for differences. 

Perhaps we also need to become more comfortable with the fact that people are different. Different capacities. Different struggles. Different ways of coping. Different journeys. And that includes learning not to stigmatise others — or ourselves. 

Sometimes the stigma doesn't even come from outside. We internalise it. We start believing that needing help means we are weak. That needing treatment means our iman is weak. That having limitations means we have failed. It doesn't.

Seeking treatment is not giving up. Sometimes, it is precisely because we value life that we seek help to make that life better. We don't treat an illness only because we are afraid of death. We treat it because we want to live well. We want to function. We want to experience life. We want to be present for the people we love. We want to become the best version of ourselves within the capacity Allah has given us.

And perhaps there is no shame in admitting: This is what I can do.This is what I cannot do.This is where I need help.

A book I didn't know I needed. So yes, I bought this book because it was cheap. I didn't expect much. And yet, I walked away with much more than I expected. At least, I learnt a few things. I learnt that unseen does not mean unreal. That pain does not always have to be visible to deserve compassion. That awareness matters. That knowledge matters. That we need to be careful with our words. That faith and mental health should not be reduced to simplistic explanations. And that perhaps one of the kindest things we can do for someone is to stop asking, “What's wrong with you?” and start asking,“What happened? What are you going through? How can I understand?”

So, thank you, Ustazah Sharifah Nadirah, for writing this book. For making an uncomfortable subject easier to approach. For reminding us that there are pains we cannot see. 

And perhaps, most importantly, for reminding us that a person who is struggling is not necessarily broken. Sometimes, they simply need to be understood. Sometimes, they need to be supported. Sometimes, they need treatment. And sometimes, they simply need someone to sit beside them and say, I may not fully understand what you're going through yet, but I believe your pain is real.

And maybe that's where healing begins.

Friday, August 21, 2026

writer's block

I never knew writer's block could soooooo demanding and tiring. 
You just keep on staring on the screen, trying to type some words putting it in a sentence that would make sense, which would end up you backspacing everything..... 

And when you decided to take a pause, give yourself a break.. your mind can't stop making noise that make you busy and occupied... 

Indeed, it is just tiring... 
...

As usual, I've wrote less and less in this blog. 
I decided to make it personal and private.. 
Then I realised talking to myself alone is just not something that serve the purpose of me writing..,

Sometimes, I wonder - do people read what I wrote?

And if they do, what to they feel? 

Was it something that they can empathise and be compassionate on?

Or was it something that they find nonsensical, and keep on reading while cursing?

Will they take any lesson learned or benefits out of my writings.. 

...
Anyway, it has been 7 months since my book has been launched. SUbhanallah.. I've received my first royalties as a writer.. wow.. impressive.. 
Hahaha.. not that I never get any payment for my writing before this.. but, being an author of a published book by a reputable top publisher and being told, 'here's you first royalties for the first six motnhs'.. knowing that InshaAllah it will keep on being deposited to my account as long as they decided to publish the book ... it's just different. 

So, that brings me to the real of intention of me writings.. 

Of course I wish my book os one of those top sellers every month and every week.. apparently, they didn't happen as much.. it was topsellers for MPH, Popular for a week or two after its launching.. and I remember it was once for Kinokuniya as well.. and that was it. 

Was I frustrated? 
Not really.. I was hopeful though.. 

But I am more worried of the contents.. did it reach the readers rightfully and correctly? did I misinterpret that reflects Islam a bad thing..na'uzubillah.. it did worry me. 
And all I hope, the book would bring benefit and positive change to the readers.. especially for those who might have experiencing what I had experienced. 

Ameen... 

...
oo.. yup - I doubt every person who knew me bought my book. 

and not necesserily those who bought it, read it. 

I don't know what to feel and how to react - but, I guess, the least I can't escape myself from telling me.. "you know who would support you and who would put you on hold"...

but again, it's not fair for me to have that assumption.. 
some just don't have time as luxurious as mine.. do I? having the luxury of my time??
.
.

.

again.. this is what happen when the writer having writer's block, yet the brain can't stop shutting herself off.. she just write whatever and that is.. 

PUBLISH!

Tuesday, January 27, 2026

My book is on sale

 Subhanallah.. i resisted from writing about it in this blog.. but i just couldn't help myself!

Lillahitaala, I never thought this day would be reality. Honesty, when someone mocked me and told me , "kau kan writer... mana bukunya?" "writer konon!"... I wasn't disheartened... I wasn't thinking of proving her wrong... she was telling the truth... I can write well, and I always wish that I could write a book myself.. but, never I thought of having it published, because if I were to write, I knew it wasn't good and it's gonna be harsh and sourgrape. 

Alhamdulillah, He has other plan, and His plan has always be the best. 
Who could have taught of it! I know, I don't. 

Subhanallah... 

and talking about His timing.. this book was initiated back in Oct 2024.. gone through the completion and editing works for the whole 2025.. and just nice for New Year 2026 and Ramadan 1447H launching... Subhanallah.. 

and more over.. who could imagine I got to be in line with Ustaz Hasrizal.. subhanallah.... 

that's too much for a sinner like me. 
Allahumma baarik. Astaghfirullah. 

Thank you Allah.. Ar-Raheem, Al-Ghaffur, Al-'Afuw,, At-Tawwab, Al-Fatah, Al-Wahab, Al-Wahhab, Al-Latif, Al-Haleem...... MashaAllah.. 

I'm just overwhelmed. 

Sujud!







 

Wednesday, September 17, 2025

Kita tak serupa

Semalam, aku gagal!
I failed miserably..
I've been keeping it myself all the 'cerita lama' and yesterday, it came out of the closet and it was ugly. 
...
Terngiang-ngiang lagu Headwind, Kita Serupa. 
Jahat lagu tu!
Mendayu, bunyi penuh ikhlas merayu.. 
Jauh di sudut sang penyanyi yang meluahkan, ada rasa dendam.. 

Kalau dapat kupetik bintang di awan biru
Kan kusematkan ke dalam dadamu
Kalau dapat kucapai bulan mengambang penuh
Kan kuhadiahkan di hari jadimu

The first verse bunyi cam ikhlas je. 
Tinggi cita-cita berangan nak fulfill
Terpaling hebat nak hadiahkan bulan penuh yang keluar tiga hari sebulan, yang hanya ada satu kat Bumi ni nak bagi ke orang... 

Begitulah janjiku kepadamu
Walau dikau hanya menunduk bisu
Ku tahu kau diluka kerna cinta
Oleh dia yang tak setia
Nasib kita serupa, bercinta dan kecewa
Mungkin dikau yang tiada menduga
Biar aku pilihmu, mungkin dikau kan tahu
Betapa pilunya hatiku
Malah kau tuduh aku, hanya menambah luka
Yang kini masih terus berdarah

Jahat janji tu. 
Benarkah si pemberi ikhlas.. kalau dia sudah lalui, kalau dia dah rasai pilu kecewa, kenapa hendak diberi rasa itu pada yang dia cinta? 
Seharusnya si penerima ada hak nak tuduh si pemberi makes things worse. 

Kita serupa (kita serupa), kita serupa (kita serupa)
Hadirku untuk mengubat luka, oh
Kita serupa (kita serupa), kita serupa (kita serupa)
Walaupun hatiku pernah dikecewa 

Tak.. hadirnya takkan mengubat luka!
...
Susah dan kerasnya hidup ni. 
Kau terluka, tersakiti.. dan kau kena hadap semua bertahun-tahun.. 
Kau made peace. 
Kau cuba nak tenangkan diri.. bukan keadaan.. 

And once you've made peace.. 
Tetibe, dtg balik luka lama.. triggered. 

Orang dah tak ingat
Diorang pi peringatkan. 
Siap pesan, ingatlah nak buat baik... 

Dah kenapa?

waktu kitorg dicerca, dicaci, dihina.. sapa datang buat baik kat kitorg?
waktu kitorg dituduh jahat, kurang ajar.. sapa datang buat baik kat kitorg?
waktu kitorg diuji, berkira-kira duit belanja, nak makan apa.. sapa datang buat baik kat kitorg?

Lama simpan
Indeed.. it wasn't easy.. 
to walk the path was hard and tiresome and sad.. 
yup, angry and mad were also there. 
And I decided to make peace. 
The whole thing is damaging myself. 
I could hardly sit and stand, I could bare walk. 
I would stay in the room, cry my tears all out.. 
And I had to walk the path all by myself, with my spouse and kids supporting me, 
I had to walk for the last 6 to 7 years, and I decided to put an end. 

Semalam, 
citer tu datang balik. 

Tolong Ya Allah
Give me strength.. 

Even if I could grab the moon and the stars to give those who did what they did to me, I would give to them whole-heartedly.. 
Not for them to feel how it felt when I felt 
It will never be the same. 
The feeling will never be mutual. 
It hurts. 
Badly. 

Tak, kita tak serupa. 

Wednesday, June 18, 2025

The art in me

Last weekend, Aina got engaged. Aina is the youngest of AyahNgahZul's, my hubby's uncle from Mi's side. 

I'm not gonna talk about AyahNgahZul.. lemme reserved that nanti. 

But, I felt like writing about the pipe cleaner mini flower that I've crafted myself for Aina's goodies deco. Alhamdulillah. It was an honour bila AyahNgah texted me asking for help. AyahNgah ni, taste dia high class sikit.. almaklumlah, orang kerja ngan kerabat Terengganu lama sangat.. so, he is a very particular man, especially bila bab deco2 ni.. So, when he assigned me the task, of course I am honoured. Alhamdulillah. 

I am no crafty person. I failed my art when I was 13 years old, and I never failed anything in my exams.. not before that, and even after that! So, you can imagine how real the trauma is! 

Orang selalu cakap, tak mungkin ada orang akan fail paper art... indeed, i did!

Ingat lagi, Abah sampai kena gi sekolah, ckp ngan Cikgu cammana nak make sure I didn't fail lagi sebab I refused to eat and berkurung dalam bilik sebab depressed.. ngada2, kan?
hahaha

Ok, back to my craft skills.. which i don't have any, I started to learn bit by bit when I realised I have so much time at home while my kids were at school. Nope, I don't cook and or clean the house.. Don't ask me how, but I'm thankful and grateful Alhamdulillah for husband like mine who never expected anything out of me when it comes to house chores. 

So, I learned from the internet on how to do such such deco and bunga, because I wanted to. Yet, when I attempted to do bunga telur for my cousin's wedding, with them being midnight blue, using the stockings flowers skills, there were conflicts. I bought premium material, so that it would turned out beautifully. I made one sample and got over excited. 

Somehow, my joy was not being shared.. I was like syok sendiri, some of my relatives didn't find it attractive. In a way, their responds were like, it was not beautiful, and would ruin the 'reputation' if we were to give it to the VIPs.. ok, I was being unfair.. they didn't say it directly.. but that's how they implied it.. they even bought other expensive goodies to replace my VIPs bunga telur.. (which if they would show it to me, I could crafted it for cheaper price)....  Since I've bought all the items, so, I decided to proceed, and gave it to the bride... I have no interest to know how they felt and to whom the bunga telur were given to. Takpe lah.. masa tu, my husband was not working, and itu kira dah mahal habis, me using my savigns, to contribute to her happy days. An appreciation that I intended untuk my aunt for raising me all this while. 

So, I guess, I really don't have 'taste' in craft. My colour combinations was pelik, and tak cantik. 

And that's how I think of me and craft. 

Less that I know, ramai yang boleh appreciate my craft. Masa teachers' day, ramai teachers happy with the gifts I crafted and gave them... exclusive dengan penuh kasih sayang. 

And here's another one... not back for a person who has no background in whatsoever when it comes to craft.. and even failed her art exam in school. 

I guess, it's true.. art is subjective. 


 

keeping this one, for ol' time sakes. 
 


Tuesday, June 17, 2025

so random

The weather is cloudy this morning... 
I guess, that puts me in a mood of writing. 
I want to write about something, that could tell everything, but I just don't know what would be the best thing to write about, and my mind were telling me just write anything, which end up, i wrote nothing. 

hahaha

what a trick!
...
let's talk about love. 
we had Aina's engagement day over the weekend. 
Aina was only 9 years old when I first met her. 
And here she was, a beautiful 29 years old young lady, falling in love. 

and being in love would always be the best thing. 
but, of course, it does come a package.. 
a feeling of annoyance, madness, sadness, anxious, envious, doubts and many more. 
that gives the flavour to love. 
would it make it sweeter? 
or saltier?
or just sour? 
it depends.. it changes every time we chew it. 
even in one spoonfeed, the taste changes.. 

if it's love, you knew it when you knew it. 
...
so, how do we love someone for Allah's sake?
it's not merely what the words utter. 
there were times, things didn't work out. 
there were times, it gets overboard. 
there were times, everything was on top of the hill. 

i never knew the idea of 'for Allah's sake' .. not when I was young. 
i had crush in school, and it was unrequited. 
on the other hand, a cute ustadz boy in the class next door, whom my good friend had crushed on, confessed to me that he has a crush on me ~ no way! i like him, but you don't betray your friend.. 
and so, i just steered everything away.. and there were few bad boys, cute ones, who i tried to lure. 
not genuinely true to my feelings, it was just because i need someone to do chores for me, and i knew they would. they did have feelings on me, but what the heck!
yup, i smashed few hearts.. 
and i thought i found one good one for  me. 
five years in relationship, i thought things were doing great, only to find out he cheated on me. 
after all the cash that i've wasted on him! damn it!! at times of writing this, i still have that grudges and i still would want to tell him, if killing is permissible, he would be the first person i'd be looking for to kill with my own bare hands!

alhamdulillah, i found my love because of the betrayal. 
i guess, sweet lesson always comes after bad ones. 
...
and here we are, after 20 years, 
as shania twain would put it, 
"you're still the one i run to, the one that i belong to, you're still the one i kiss goodnight"
alhamdulillah.. 

dare not, the turmoils will still be there, and that shouldn't be the reason for you to get off the plane. 
just stay onboard. 
adhere to the safety rulings. 
wear your seatbelt. 
remember Allah

and that's how you put up with love. 
...
while you are young, don't bother venture love, if you have no intention to get married next week. 
yes, i used not to believe that marriage would work before we get to know each other and fell in love. 
but that's what made me gone through all the ingenuity and lies through out my path of love. 
if you were to ask me now, should we get married first , then fall in love, i'd say "yes, pls do!"
my faith wasn't affirmed previously, and rest assured, i believe Allah Al-Haq now and love will find it way, Lillahitaalla. 

Halal love always the answer!
...
and there goes my random rambling... hahaha

Monday, June 2, 2025

Tawakkul ~ beautiful surrender

 I learned something beautiful today ~ a saying from Imam Ahmad RA on qadr. He said, if we were to be presented with choices for our future path, we would still choose the choice that Allah SWT has planned for us. Subhanallah, what a beautiful insights! 

Alhamdulillah.. as usual, I have lots to catch up and I guess is best not to pick up where I left, but just move along where I could. 

Aimar had completed all his scholarships application stages, and it's result time, Alhamdulillah. Just like his older brother, he secured straight As in his SPM .. but he has more for he has 12 subjects while Aidan just had 9 subjects. So, both of them did get 6A+, 2As for Aidan and 5As for Aimar, and 1A-. Aimar secured safe place to get through more choices for scholarship application as he got A for BM, unlike Aidan who got A-. Aimar got A- for his Maharat and he didn't even want to have it recheck. Alhamdulillah. And extra advantage for Aimar as he secured A+ for his Add Math. Alhamdullillah.. 

Well, the trending is increasing, students are getting smarter. The scholarships screening was not as easy as it used to be. Not like what we had thirty years ago, not even like what AbgDan had 2 years ago. 

But, Alhamdulillah.. we got thru, and now, making lots of good prayers for the best He has in plan. 

Aimar applied for TNB Prime Scholarship and got rejected for no reason given. I suspected because there's so many A+ students in line... but come to think of it, it is part of Allah's plan.. if he got thru the application, and got thru the interview and being offered a scholarship, he might need more time to take it up because the course that he wanted to do which is chemical engineering was not in TNB list and so he picked the closest he could, mechanical engineering. So, Allah knew it was not Aimar's cup of tea.. or maybe not even his strength, unlike AbgDan's. 

He also applied for UEM, but we could feel that it was also a no news that is good to be shared. The automated email system did told us that they got his application, and should there be any news, they'll keep in touch in 2 months time. Yet, Aimar knew some of his friends had gone thru the next stage of application so, UEM kept him ghosting. 

He got invitation for stage 1 and stage 2 online test from Khazanah. The stage 1 was only maths and english which they wanted to know how good are you to answers quick graphs and long texts questions in a short time... it was very short, and it was horrific! We thought he didn't get thru the 1st stage.. but Alhamdulillah he got an email for stage 2 which was only 3 parts of personality test which is also 'tiring' due to long and repeatable and ethical questions. And he didn't get thru the next stage, Alhamdulillah. 

He got to the 1st stage of Yayasan Terengganu scholarship, applying for Australian Engineering Program. So, last monday, he went to KT for the stage 2, the interview session. I didn't get to be with him for I was having the final sem exam for my online degree. Please pray for me, ameen. 
The interview was 'chill' as Aimar would put it. There were 3 interviewers, with 8 candidates required to answer one-by-one questions about personal background, aspirations and all sorts. It was more like get-to-know-you session rather than other 'typical' scholarship interviews. 

And yesterday, Aimar went to PLC for the Petronas interview. Aidan went to the same place two years ago, and Alhamdulillah it was not destined for him back then. Look at him today, happily lying on the sandy beach in Nice with his buddies. Subhanallah

The first stage of Petronas application was the online test of which they had to do two things. One was the IQ logic game test. And the other was HireVue video interview test of which he was given 5 basic questions. I guess, I'll share them here, so that, should Aivey had the same opportunity nanti, Ameen, boleh check balik. Mama malas nak type..so, mama share je lah gambar yang ada.. 




It was tuff and different.. talking to yourself and recorded it.. it was just awkward. Oh, you were given 5 (maybe 3) minutes time to prepare for the pitch before you recorded your answers. And you have 3 chances to record and submit if you were not satisified with the first and second time recording. 

Alhamdulillah, out of 9000+ applicants, and 7000+ shortlisted for the online interview, he was among the 500+ selected for the interview sessions. A session of which he was grouped in 6 (Aidan's was 4 at that time), given a case studies and need to present his personal ideas and also group presentation. He got the topic about content creator and gig economy, the survival of it, go or no go? Aimar picked no-go, and justified his decisions for 5 minutes. As for group session, they had to propose a policy to the Ministry of Economy on how the government could assist on the future of the gig economy. He told us his friends ada yang dapat STEM and why kids don't like it, ada yang dapat pasal green entrepreneurships, ada yang dapat pasal carbon content bla bla bla.. 

Alhamdulillah.. habis dah fasa interview scholarships. Lepas raya ni, tunggu untuk MARA YTP and JPA punye interview for PBU loan... kami berharap Aimar dapat scholarship sebab dia nak sambung belajar kat UK, which would cost millions kalau nak amik loan.. Alhamdulillah... apa-apa pun, Allah knows best. and to Him we submit, bismillahitawakkaltu'alallah.


Tuesday, April 22, 2025

Not Robbed, Just Redirected

 A Story of Brothers, Awards, and Allah’s Perfect Timing

The sun was already high when the car pulled into the school compound. It was a special day—graduation and award ceremony for Form 5 students. Aimar, quiet as usual, adjusted his sleeves as we stepped out. He didn’t say much, but I could sense something was stirring in his heart.

The place was buzzing with families, teachers, students in their best baju melayu and jubah. Banners, bunting, official emcees. A moment, as they say, of honour.

Somewhere in the air was the smell of canteen fried noodles and sweet tea. Somewhere deeper was something harder to describe—hopes, pride, maybe some old, unspoken longing.

A few months earlier, I had watched someone else’s son receive the Tokoh Ulul Albab award—an unassuming boy, the kind whose quiet brilliance often goes unnoticed until it shines on stage. His father, a librarian. His mother, a full-time homemaker. When he walked up to accept the award, something cracked open in me.

I wasn’t jealous. I was inspired. In my heart, I whispered a du’a I didn’t even know I was holding, “Ya Allah, if it’s good for him, let it be Aimar’s turn next year.” That was all. No begging. No bargaining. Just a gentle hope.

But the year passed and that award didn’t come for Aimar. He received other awards—Math, Add Math, 2nd in the entire Form 5 cohort. Strong. Solid. Still, no Ulul Albab. I didn’t complain. I didn’t ask. I just watched my son carry on, shoulders calm, steps steady.

Then one day, almost in passing, he mentioned a graduation event in Kuala Terengganu.
“Graduation apa ni, Mar?"
“Majlis anugerah peringkat negeri… Yayasan nak bagi penghargaan kepada pelajar IKeM.”
I teased him. “Untunglah anak Yayasan. Bukan main…”
Then he added, “Najmi dapat Ulul Albab untuk IKeM.” 
I paused. That made sense. Najmi was consistent. Hafiz, well-mannered, respected. Of course he did. Then Aimar turned to me and grinned, “Tapi Aimar pun, inshaAllah, dapat award juga.”
“Oh ya? Award apa? Budak nakal tapi genius?” 
He laughed, “Tokoh Akademik Ibn Sina.”
And that’s when it hit me.

Not the title I prayed for—but the honour Allah wrote. Not Ulul Albab, but something tailored just for him. A title that, perhaps, mirrored the boy he truly was: precise, logical, razor-sharp—but with a heart that could go quiet for days before it suddenly cracked a joke.

We laughed it off. But I knew better. Allah had answered. In His way.

The day of the event came. We sat among rows of proud parents, the official program booklet in hand. I flipped through it absentmindedly—until I saw it.

Aimar’s face. His name. His school. Tokoh Akademik Ibn Sina.
A small, private wave of gratitude rolled through me.
But something else caught my attention. I turned the pages again.
Najmi’s name wasn’t there. Strange. He had received Ulul Albab, hadn’t he?
Turns out, there's a confusion during the nomination process. The teacher who nominated Najmi for Ulu Albab thought the nomination is on school's basis and hence Najmi will be getting the Ulul Albab award representing Imtiaz Kemaman, while Aimar will get the Ibn Sina award for Imtiaz Kemaman. Somehow, on the day itself, we found out that the Ulul Albab award was only to be given to the top 2 students among the Imtiaz school, while other awards, including Ibn Sina Award is given based on each school.  

After the award ceremony, Aimar told me “Ma… I feel like I robbed this from Najmi.”
There was no pride in his tone. No glee. Just quiet discomfort. Guilt, even. He had just been awarded Tokoh Akademik Ibn Sina—a recognition for academic excellence in his school. But Najmi, his younger brother, hadn’t received the Ulul Albab award, despite being first in school, despite every reason to deserve it.

And in that moment, my heart ached. Not because one got it and the other didn’t—but because I was reminded of Aidan's word on his graduation day. 

Aidan told me, "Ma, I felt like I've been robbed as I should get the award from the girl.. I've been supporting her a lot and she got recognised because of my help." 

Do Allah's put me and Aimar in the spot of that girl that robbed Aidan 7 years ago? Subhanallah. \

The truth? It was a miscommunication. It was the teacher that had assumed both boys would receive respective awards—Ulul Albab for Najmi, Ibn Sina for Aimar. That made sense. Najmi had the academic standing and the memorization excellence. It felt like the stars had aligned.

But on the day of the event, the criteria became clearer: Ulul Albab was awarded only to the top three in the entire state’s Imtiaz system. A narrow selection. Najmi’s name wasn’t among them.

Aimar's was—for Ibn Sina, at the school level. The stage lights were on him. The camera flashes, the applause, the pride. But in his heart? He was thinking he was robbing it from Najmi, and just exactly what his brother felt way before... not his shoe's but in Najmi's. 

And it hit me how deeply awards can echo in our hearts. Not because of the applause—but because of what it says (or doesn’t say) about them. About their worth. About being seen.

And as Aimar sat with that heavy feeling of having “taken” something meant for Najmi, my memory rewound… years back.

To Aidan. The eldest. The one who always tried. Always showed up. Always made us proud. But when it came to official recognition—others were named. I still remember his words. We were talking after one of those school events, and he looked me in the eyes and said, “Ma… it felt like I was robbed.”

That word again. Robbed. So loaded. So painful. So revealing. Even the most well-behaved, high-achieving, quietly consistent child can carry that ache: Wasn’t I enough?

And today, in the other shoe, I realised, even the one receiving the award can carry the burden: Was this really meant for me?

And as a mother, I found myself asking: how many of our children walk around with wounds we didn’t see forming? How many carry silent griefs over unspoken comparisons, over moments that didn’t go the way they had dreamed?

But here’s the truth I want them to live by, not just hear:
Allah does not misplace rezeki.

The award Aimar received wasn’t “stolen” from Najmi. Najmi’s recognition was never withheld—it’s just delayed, or perhaps replaced with something even greater, waiting at a bend we haven’t reached. And what Aidan felt? That, too, was seen by the Most Just, Al-‘Adl. His effort didn’t vanish. His worth was never in the hands of an award committee.

As a mother, I keep reminding myself and my children: What is meant for you will never miss you. What misses you was never meant to reach you. And what Allah writes, no human can erase.

To Aimar: You did not steal anything. You received what was written for you. And your guilt? That just shows how beautiful your heart is.

To Aidan: Your early ache became your strength. And we’ve seen how beautifully you carry that quiet nobility.

Boys, Never measure your worth by medals or stage time. Measure it by how you treat others, how you carry disappointment with grace, how you shine even when no one is clapping.

This dunya isn’t the final award ceremony. And in Allah’s books, no good deed—no sincere effort, no heartbreak, no quiet patience—is ever lost.

Hadha min fadhli Rabbi.
This is from the bounty of my Lord.




Tuesday, April 15, 2025

Two Photos, and a Lifetime in Between

 Lama tak citer pasal cinta ~ always love the feelings!

Aidan is travelling this Easter - pergi Paris.. and so, I decided to share with him those photos that we took 25 years ago, so that he might want to recreate our memories. The good 'ol days.. 

But this photo strucked me. The contrast of us both! 
...

Two Photos, and a Lifetime in Between

Reflections on love, change, and the quiet things that stay the same.

It started with just two photographs.


Taken in Paris, in front of Notre-Dame—twenty-five years ago.

One was taken by him: composed, symmetrical, thoughtfully aligned. I stood there in my floral dress, smiling; still unsure how deeply that captured moment would nestle into our story.

The other? Taken by me.
A little chaotic. A little tilted. Strangers in the background. He stood with his arms wide open, half-laughing, mid-pose.

Back then, he said nothing about it.
Not a word about the angle, or the crowd, or the cluttered frame.

But yesterday, twenty-five years later, as we were flipping through the old album, he looked at that photo a bit longer and smirked. 

“I took a better photo of yours. Look at how you took mine!”

I laughed. Sahih! It was definitely better. Neater. Cleaner. The kind of photo you'd frame.

The photo I took? It was haywired. But real.
It was him, as I saw him, vibrant, alive, full of movement. It wasn’t polished, but it held something more precious: presence.


We’ve changed over the years. That’s natural.

But there were seasons; quiet, sometimes heavy ones; where I wondered if he had changed.

The man who once wrote notes and made surprise gestures felt quieter now. Less expressive. Less… romantic.

I remember once telling our son, jokingly, that his father gave me flowers only three times in 25 years.

Once, during our courtship.
He woke up early, made his way to my place, and secretly placed a bouquet of white roses in my wardrobe. I opened the door and gasped. My heart still remembers that feeling.

The second time was during my pregnancy with our firstborn.
I had been hormonal and tired and somewhere along the road I blurted, “You never give me flowers anymore.”

That evening, he came home with three things:
A music CD, a box of Frosties, and one red rose.
He explained,

“The CD will last and keep you company during your road trips to Kemaman. The Frosties? Good for you and the baby. And this…” — he held up the rose — “will wilt in a few days. You still want to argue for flowers?”

Touché. I smiled, even though part of me still wanted more roses.

The third time was bold.

I had just landed a new job in KLCC. It was my birthday.
And there, at the office, came a delivery of two dozen red roses. A big, showy bouquet. Everyone noticed.
I knew exactly what it was: his quiet, cheeky way of “marking his territory.”

And that was the last time I received flowers from him.


Do I miss those moments? The courting and dating moments? Sometimes.
I do miss the earlier version of us. The notes. The playful surprises. The honeymoon softness.

But love changes. It matures. It finds new ways to express itself.

Now, he shows his love differently.
In checking the car before I drive.
In locking up the house when I’m tired.
In how he being extra concern about the kids' education.
In how he still makes sure I’m never left alone to shoulder things.

And just yesterday, before heading offshore for two weeks, he asked me quietly:

“Is there anything lacking in me, or in us? What do you think we can improve—our family, or ourselves?”

I paused. Twenty-five years together, and you'd think I’d have a list. But I didn’t.

There was nothing serious to bring up.
No big gaps. No lingering hurts.
Just a steady kind of love that never left.


I look at those two photos again now.
One perfect. One haywired.

But both >> us.

That’s what marriage often is. One partner frames the picture, the other catches the feeling.
One sees the symmetry. The other, the soul.

We don’t always show love the same way.
We don’t always speak the same love language.
But somehow, we still speak to each other. And that’s enough.

Love doesn't always come in bouquets.
Sometimes, it comes in a full tank of petrol. Or a quiet, sincere question before a long goodbye.

And while the petals of early romance may have faded, the roots have only grown deeper.

Maybe he doesn’t give me flowers anymore.
But he’s still the man with arms wide open.

And maybe, just maybe, 
That’s the kind of love that truly lasts.
Lillahitaalla

Allahumma ameen

Friday, April 11, 2025

When Love Doesn’t Stay

— a story of quiet heartbreak and even quieter love —

He never said it out loud. Not once.

But she knew. A mother always does.

There were no teary confessions, no broken sentences. No dramatic sighs over the phone. Just silence, tucked in between words, folded into the pauses, laced into the way he sometimes said, “It’s been a long day.”

He never told her that he still thought about the girl. That he still checked her online status, still replayed the past. That he sometimes wondered if she ever missed him back.
She didn’t need to be told. Her heart already knew how he felt.

He is far away now, in a different country, carrying the weight of growth and grief all at once. And though the world saw a young man building a new life, she still saw the boy who once ran to her after a fall, needing nothing more than comfort.

And now… he fell, but never ran home.

“Love doesn’t always break with noise. Sometimes, it breaks with silence. And silence is heavier.”

She had watched him try to move on. Smile in pictures. Focus on studies. Push through. And yet, beneath it all, was that quiet grief, the kind that doesn’t ask for help, because even grief gets tired of explaining itself.

He was only twenty. And yet, life had already taught him one of its hardest lessons:

You can give someone your sincerest heart… and still lose them.
You can mean every word, every effort, every prayer… and still not be enough for the person you wanted.

“Sometimes, the one you thought was the one… (is actually the one) who shows you that your heart belongs to Allah first.”

She had loved before, too. And lost. So she understood.

Love is beautiful, but also wild. It teaches you joy, and then teaches you surrender. It gives, and then takes. It lifts, and then leaves you in sujood, broken in front of the One who never left.

“The bitter truth? Love is not always returned. Not every ‘forever’ makes it past the gate of dunya. And not every heartbreak is meant to be healed with another person.”

She wished he knew that true love is not about clinging to the one who walked away, but about becoming the one who walks toward Allah, even through the pain.

That the best love is the one that makes you better in the eyes of your Lord, not just in the mirror of your own longing.

That the right person will never leave you confused. And the right path won’t make you lose your dignity just to feel chosen.

“True love isn’t just emotion. It’s direction. It takes you closer to mercy, not madness.”

She didn’t press him. She didn’t demand the truth. A mother knows when the heart is not ready to speak. So she just became the place where he could still be quiet, and still be loved.

And when he ended the call that night, she wept. Not because he was broken, but because she knew healing would come. Not from her, but from Him.

And in the dark of that quiet room, she whispered:

"Ya Allah, he still believes in a heart that already let go of him. So help him believe in You, the One who never will."

“It may be that you love a thing and it is bad for you. And it may be that you hate a thing and it is good for you. And Allah knows while you do not know.” [Al-Baqarah 2:216]

And maybe one day, when he’s ready, he’ll come clean, not to just his mother but to himself. And so he would understand the algorithm of love. 

He would understand that love was real. But it wasn’t the one that he used to have and hold into.  And that’s okay. 

True love will come, Inshaallah.  The best is always yet to come, for the one who lets go, and lets Allah. 

Thursday, April 10, 2025

Raya Kali Ini

This Raya Was Different

That morning, she sat at the edge of her bed, already dressed in her baju raya, but unmoving. The sound of takbir echoed faintly from the living room, a familiar melody that once stirred excitement in her chest. But this year, it felt distant, like it belonged to someone else's life.

She wasn’t sure if she should go. It had been nine years. Nine long years of silence, of heavy air between her and the one who used to be her closest companion. Sisters. Once inseparable.

The falling-out had started small, as many do; miscommunication, disappointment, and things said too harshly or not said at all. Then came the involvement of others, cousin(s), until the whole thing snowballed into something bigger than either of them knew how to stop.

And then, silence.

But she had tried. Oh, how she had tried.

She wrote a long email year before, pouring out her regret, her hope, her plea to reconnect. No reply. Then a WhatsApp message; inviting for cofee“I miss you. Can we talk?” Seen. Ignored. She tried one last time with a simple text: “I’m sorry.”

Still nothing.

Eventually, she stopped. Not out of pride, but out of heartbreak. She prayed for her in secret. She forgave her, quietly, even when the ache didn’t go away.

“Some wounds don’t bleed. They echo in quiet rooms, in unsent messages, in years gone by.”

But this Raya, she just have one thing in her mind, her aging parents. Hoping, without force, just with that worn-down kind of hope that only parents have after years of watching their children drift apart.

“Maybe this year,” they said softly. “Maybe this time.”

So she came. She still believed it was her parent's du'a that made it easy for her. 

She arrived early, helped in the kitchen, moved about the house like a guest in her own family. Her heart was cautious. Not hopeful, not guarded, just tired.

And then, her sister came.

There she was. Standing in front of her after nearly a decade. And suddenly, time warped, the space between them feeling both impossibly wide and heartbreakingly near.

It was when we started the bermaaf-maafan part that made her felt awkward. Her sister stepped forward,  “Kak, I’m sorry. Please forgive all my mistakes” she whispered. Then she reached out and hugged her. 

She is in no position to judge the authenticity of the hug. But something inside her, something that used to respond instinctively with love, didn’t move.

She stood still. Let the hug happen. Nodded, because she couldn’t speak.

“Sometimes, silence isn’t the absence of love. It’s the weight of pain that hasn’t found its words yet.”

Not yes. Not no. Just… a nod.

She remembered all the times she waited for that hug. That sorry. That moment. She remembered the silence. The birthdays missed. The Eid mornings spent wondering if it would ever be okay again.

“Not all hugs heal. Some just hold space for pain that’s not ready to go yet.”

And now, here it was. But she had no more words left. No more tears.

The wound had closed over, not with healing, but with time. And now, she didn’t know how to feel.

Her sister pulled away, smiling faintly, a mix of relief and uncertainty in her eyes. She went back to join the others; laughing, passing plates.

She stayed on the couch, still.

She didn’t hate her. She had long forgiven her. But forgiveness doesn’t always bring closeness.

“There is a difference between forgiving and feeling close again. One is a choice. The other takes time.” 

And sometimes, by the time the bridge is ready to be rebuilt, the person on the other side has already learned how to live without crossing it.

Still… something shifted. As she sat with herself, a quiet thought crept in gentle, but persistent.

Maybe she didn’t know everything. Maybe the silence over the years wasn’t indifference. Maybe it was shame. Or fear. Or just... not knowing how to come back without crumbling. Maybe her silence was not rejection, but her own way of surviving.

She had always assumed that because she reached out first, she was the one who hurt more. But what if that wasn’t true?

Maybe she read the messages and cried, again and again, unsure how to answer without reopening wounds she didn't know how to heal. Maybe she needed time. Time to grow. To learn how to be vulnerable again. And maybe, just maybe, coming today, hugging her, whispering "I'm sorry" was all the courage she had to give. And that was brave too.

She looked over at her sister, now helping the children with the ketupat her dad made the night before. And in that moment, the older sister chose to believe the best.

“Husnuzan is not about denying the pain. It’s about allowing love to enter through a different door.”

She let go, not of the past, but of the version of the story that made her the only one who suffered.
Not all love looks the same. Not all healing comes loud.
Sometimes, it comes in a whisper and make-do hug. 

“Sometimes, love returns in pieces, not as it was, but as it’s meant to be.”

Eid is a reminder of Allah’s mercy, a mercy that does not judge us by the mistakes we’ve made, but offers us the chance to begin again. 

And maybe, just maybe, this was how the rebuilding begins.

In this Raya, as we wear our best clothes and enjoy the festivities, may we also wear the garment of forgiveness. May we open our hearts to reconciliation, not just in our homes, but also with our Creator. For forgiveness is not just a gift we give others, but a gift we give ourselves.

Ya Allah,
Grant us the strength to forgive those who have wronged us,
Just as You forgive us. And forgive who we have wronged. 
Heal our hearts from past pains and brokenness,
And guide us towards understanding and mercy.
Let us reconcile not just with others,
But with You, O Most Merciful.
Ameen.

Tuesday, December 3, 2024

Uncle Bird

I missed Unc Bird ~ knowing I will never had the chance to talk to him ever, until we meet again in Jannah, inshaallah, allahumma ameen.. 
I miss him. 
I'm just lost for words. 
It has been  11 days today .. 
I am still lost in words

Allahumaghfirlahu warhamhu wa'afihi wa'fuanhu

Tuesday, November 12, 2024

Peri-menopause

I'm wondering if men would have the same pre-menopause symptoms like we women have. 
It's unbelievably out-of-this-world symptoms I would say. 
I am struggling ~ and not sure when it will end. 
Rozi told me, it might took a year two... o mai!
...
The menses are unpredictable. Kadang datang cepat, kadang senyap tetibe. Kadang banyak, kadang malu-malu. Gosh.. I'm not complaining. 

And the headache and backache would accompany them. 

Lepas tu, the new symptons I'm getting now is tak boleh tido.. melampau-lampau takleh tido, and also kepanasan bagai nak rak.. 
Hot flash or hot flush, whatever they would call it, is real!
Subhanallah... I would blame the hot weather for me feeling hot.. yet, during the cold days, the feeling of sangat panas, burning, is there to stay.. so, proven, it's not the weather! it's me!!!

huhuhuhuh
...
I had my menses quite late as compared as my other friends. I was 15, if I wasn't mistaken. 
So, I'm not surprised if Aivey still not getting it at the age of 13 while many of her friends had had their menses. 

Due to that, I'm not expecting the symptom of perimenopause at the early age of 47yo! Yo!!!.. not until I'm 50. At least, that's what I thought it 'should' be.. 

wallahu'alam ~ Allah knows best. 
Subhanallah.. the sign that we don't belong to ourselves.. even the blood circulating in our body is not within our control. 
Subhanallah... 
Indeed, to Him we belong. 
So, what makes us disobey Him?

Thursday, November 7, 2024

No more "because I say so"

A friend did asked me if I would allow Aivey to wear nail polish, if she felt like it. Aivey was only 6 at that time.. I couldn't give an answer to her immediately, which then I said, "maybe not."
And she asked me more, "why don't you? you could wear it, why couldn't she?"
.
.
.
agghh... it's not fair!

...
Parenting is never easy. As time passes by, we as parents who had gone so much, did so many mistakes, and witnessed the wisdom of being wiser from the foolishness of our past, we just want to prepare the best life hack, life short-cuts to our children... 

So, yes, I did wear nail polish when I was young.. why must I allow Aivey to wear it, and she'll get comfortable with it, and would think she need it rather just for the fun of it... then, she would learn to make her prayers, and would spend time cleaning out the nail polish and in times, as she gets too comfortable with the nail polish, she might even opt not to pray for that would be a easier (rather than better) option... O no!! Of course I would not want Aivey to go up to that hell... it's devastating!!

...
What I'm telling is that, I have done so many mistakes in my past. If I could, I wouldn't want to make such mistakes. But we all know it's impossible. 

Now that I have children of my own, I just don't want them to walk that mistakes path of mine... I couldn't bear it! Na'udzubillah.... 

When Aidan, Aimar, Aivey were just babies, toddlers, tweens and pre-teens, it's easier for me to be authoritative over them. 'Because U said so.' 'Because I'm your mom..' and all those no-negotiations mumsy orders... 

And time passes.. the boys and Aivey are growing up, venturing their own lives and wanting to have their own options of experiences... 
I wish I could say No ~ but the choice is all up to them. 
They could even hide it from me, if they knew I would not approved it. And I don't want them to hide it. I want them to be frank, open up and tell no lies but truth. So, I won't deny their choice, be it a bad choice in my view and opinions (and experience)... but as long as the choice they picked don't deviate from what Islam is teaching and rulings... I would need to learn to respect it. 

I guess, when our kids are growing bigger, and older, our reliance in Allah Al-Hafidz, As-Somad is soo much much much more greater and stronger than we could have imagine. 

Fallahu khayran hafidzan, wa hua arham ar-rahimiin. 

Ya Allah, keep them close to You, Ya Allah. and let them be put You closest in them. Ameen. 

For now, I'd say the same ~ observe your salah, don't miss it at all... leave what is haram, and do what is pleasing to Allah. 

May Aidan Aimar Aivey always be in His guidance, Allahumma ameen. 

Monday, October 14, 2024

For He is The Most Merciful.

I need to change the tonation of my blog. 
I definitely need to! It's do or die. 
...

I was sick for the past three days. It was 'weird' sick, I would say. I thought it was my vertigo.. then, my buzzing ears were not coorperating, and the buzzing got louder and louder to some extent I felt pain and it was hurting my ears, my left ears in particular. 

My husband and Aivey tried to talked me down. But I was losing my patience. Not that I could hear myself back. That was normal. But what made it worse was that I could here me echoing myself, and I could here the echo of the echo back at me. It was like three layers of hearing repeating stuff that I'd uttered out of my mouth and it was so hurtful. It was literally hurt my hearing. I just don't know how to describe it. 

In the last few months, I had another symptoms (maybe because of my lack of thyroxine), that my jaw would locked by itself, especially when it was cold surrounding me, and when I was so tired.. yup, tired from doing things, and to some extent, tired from talking. 

It seems funny to some, but I remember crying for it is no matter of laughing business. It is surreal. 

And so, with my vertigo on, my hear buzzed like nobody's business that it hurts my ears, my jaw locked, no surprise that my blood pressure increased significantly... 130/90, 140/100.. and so on and so on.. It just, I don't know what to do. I was so weak, and I was all by myself, alone. I don't want to let my parents worried over me, so, I was trying to act I was ok when Abah dropped by to send me some food, twice. Other time, I told them I had grabbed my food. Honestly, I didn't. I didn't even have the energy to eat. 

What worries me is that I couldn't concentrate in my prayers. It broke me to tears. 

I remembered one of the salah, I was trying hard to stand firm despite of the vertigo, and wanting to recite the Al-Fatihah, of which I failed. My jaw was locked, my ears were buzzing and all I can do was breath and cried. I cried. I cried. and I cried. I didn't stop my salah immediately. I was saying in my prayers, O Allah, help me for I don't know anything bigger than Your help. Allow me to worship you till my last breath, Ya Allah. I've been sinning, I've been abandoning my ibadah all this while. Just let me worship you in any ways before I leave this world. 

Subhanallah, in a split second, I heard silence in my ears, and I could recite the makhraj in al-Fatihah as it is. Subhanallah. That wasn't me. It wasn't me being pious or whatsoever. It was Allah's miracles. It was Allah's mercy. Allhamdulillahi rabb al-alamiin. 

In a split second, there gone my locked jaw, my vertigo, my buzzing ears.. at least for the good 10 minutes, when I had that fard prayer. Alhamdulillah. 

The moment I said my salam, it goes back to the sick me. Alhamdulillah. It was tiring and weakening, but, alhamdulillah.. it was such a blessing to know I am not all alone. 

Oh Allah, forgives all my sins, Ya Allah. 

Thursday, September 26, 2024

Excluded

 In times, I learn that being inclusive does not matter ~ what matter is who would want to include you and who won't. Alhamdulillah. 

I have so many weaknesses and I doubt that I have any good deeds left if I don't repent. What scares me is if I have no good deeds to present during The Day and there were loads of sins on my back, waiyyazubillah. 

And that thoughts give me help to just let go. 

...

There post of people bidding farewell the their 'significant' figures, and I know I shouldn't have watched it. Alhamdulillah, I did and of course I was teary, feeling being excluded, as usual.. It has been years.. gonna be 7 years and counting. 

I don't care about them. Honestly, I don't. 

I was more worried of I really thought I'm in the right, but apparently I will be presented of how wrong I was. Na'udzubillah. 

WIth that thoughts in mind, I seek Your Forgiveness Ya Allah. And I seek forgiveness for those who have the rights on me, so that they may forgive me as much as I forgive those whom I have rights upon. 

Ya Allah, all that I want is to be free sin. 

Astagfirullah Ya Allah. 

...

So, it's ok if they want to include me. If it was my faults, I hope Allah forgives all their sins and may they don't claim any redemptions from me Ya Allah. And should it be their faults, I forgive them, Ya Allah.. I forgive them so that people who I have sinned would forgive me too. 


Ya Allah, one prayer that I wish would be fulfilled, guide them Ya Allah. 



Friday, August 16, 2024

Susahnya nak bersangka baik

"Ma, kenapa diorang masih ingat kita miskin Ma?"
"Dosa ke jadi miskin, Ma?"
"Masa hulur duit tadi, cepat-cepat diorang pesan, 'simpan jangan kasi Mama nampak. nanti Mama nampak, dia tak kasik amik."
...
Korang, berhentilah sangka buruk kat kami, especially kat diri saya dan suami saya. 
Kami anak-beranak okay-okay, Alhamdulillah. 
Kami tak mahu duit korang, bukan sebab kami tolak rezeki. 
Subhanallah, rezeki kami tak pernah putus. 
Cukup! 
Kalaulah korang tau, rezeki cukup itulah yang terpaling kaya. Alhamdulillah. 
Takpe lah kami takde dua tiga rumah
Takpe lah kami takde dua tiga kereta
Takpe lah kami pakai kereta Jepun, bukan kereta Continental
Takpelah.. 
Kami cukup dah. 
Kami takmo lebih. 
Ada lebih, kami nak bagi orang susah. 
Kalau korang ada duit lebih, jangan cari kami. 
Kami tak susah. 
Tolong bagi pada yang hak. 
Ada anak orang susah nak sambung belajar, berkira-kira wang muka nak masuk belajar. 
Ada anak yatim, ibu tunggal dok berkira-kira catu barang dapur. 
Ada sedara korang, darah daging korang, kais pagi makan pagi demi mencukupkan rezeki. 
Bantulah orang yang memerlukan tu. 
Hampir 7 tahun kami tak kebulur dek tak de rezeki korang kongsi dengan kami. 
Alhamdulillah. 
Kami takkan ungkit. 
Kami sungguh tak berharap. 
Tapi, tolong saya. 
Tolonglah jangan buat anak-anak saya rasa macam mana korang buat mama diorang rasa. 
Tolong. 
Saya mohon. 
Tolong

Tuesday, August 6, 2024

Mana kamu?

How did Yusuf A.S. do it? How could he utter 'laa tasrib' to those who dumped him in that well, left him alone in the dessert and they even sold him at low price to the Bedouin as if he has no values at all? How did he do it?

I wish I have the strength. I pray Allah gives me strength. I used to be strong and I am still strong ~ yet, when being confronted with this feelings, I just lose it all. 

How could I act as if everything ok when everything is not ok? How can I fake it? How can I forgive and forget what had happened to me and my family. When I said family, I meant MY family, me myself, my dear husband, my beloved children Aidan, Aimar and Aivey. 

We were struggling when my husband lost his job. We literally has no income, and all we know we have is Allah SWT. Alhamdulillah. 

Of course, I am all grateful for my brother-in-law, Wan and his wife, CT... we owed it to them. And my sis-in-law, Kak Ani. They were our source of income back then. Satu sen pun tak berkira. They give and give and give. 4 years without a job. It's not easy! We had to make big decisions for the kids. Aidan was struggling adapting hostel life, and so did Aimar. Aivey sacrificed and had to opt for homeschooling, like it or not. Alhamdulillah.... They were so many beautiful people supporting us. Au, Rozi, K Has, Shaz, Khairani... and even Eman... those are among the few that never stop extending financial aids and du'a to us. We can never repay them. Ya Allah, please grant them a place in Jannah for they have help a struggle family. 

But, my other sibling never came to rescue. Yes, she bought nearly half a million condo, she bought a comfy Volvo SUV, but she didn't bother asking for our wellbeing. I wasn't blaming her. I was at wrong myself. Might be my ego tor hers that broke us apart. I was angry at her and so did she. It was nobody's fault. It was shaytan. We were two losers who listened to the devil's whisperers and lost it. 

Alhamdulillah, things getting better and better. I'm happy for her and her children. I'm truly am. She never seek forgiveness from her, and I knew I did via text and email, but I never get any reply from her where she has forgiven me or not. Yet, things are getting better, though a bit awkward. 

I don't want to hate her. I regret thinking back of what I did wrong. I didn't blame her 100%.. I was partly to be blame. 

But today, I'm just as hurtful as I felt few years ago. Those years when Aidan was in Alor Gajah, and she was in the area for her in-laws are there, and she never care to visit Aidan. Aidan did asked me when he was in Form 1, "why didn't they come by and say hi? Aren't they are around the area?" I shut Aidan off. I don't have an answer... but it's so difficult for me to forget that question. 

This morning, my parents were telling me, she wanted to buy a pair of shoes for Aidan so that Aidan could wear it when he depart for Marseille. I am not comfortable with that idea. Definitely not!! 

I know, I shouldn't feel such way. Shame on me! I failed me!!! 

But why? why now? where were they when we really need the support? where were they when I have RM0 literally in my account and has nowhere to go but stay at home, inventing activities with my kids, hoping they would be as happy as others for their holidays would just be on the car porsh, the toilet and the balcony. Where were they????
Astaghfirullah al-azeem. 

Ya Allah, forgive us, Ya Allah. Forgive me Ya Allah

Tuesday, July 16, 2024

Bila datang rindu..

Lama tak hantar postings dalam blog ni.. 
Nak kurang-kurang melagha sebenarnya... leka bila login kat blogpost yang satu ni. 
Been updating my other blog lately, sharing knowledge I learned online.. moga menjadi sedekah jari'ah.. istiqomah ikhlas lillahita'ala. 
Allahumma ameen.
...

Diam tak diam, banyak benda jadi. 
Alhamdulillah. 

Kalau takde aral melintang, Inshaallah, Aidan will be leaving for France hujung August ni. 
Mama macam caya tak caya je.. 
Honestly, I am more worried than I thought I would be. 
Ya Allah, sesungguhnya Engkau sebaik-baik Penjaga.. 
Moga Aidan Istiqomah jaga Allah, sebab bila jaga Allah, akan terjaga semuanya. InsyaAllah. 

Aimar dah nak SPM .. Bulan 10 ni, kalut nak trial. 

Aivey is still adapting kat MRSM. Dok kalut mengantuk.. Allahu musta'an. 

Ya Allah, fallahu khayran hafidzan... jaga Aidan, Aimar, Aivey Ya Allah. 

Jujur, I really thought I'd be fine for they are all grown up and they'll manage to be away from home. 
Bila orang tanya, "akak ok ke anak2 takde ni?"
I told them, "alhamdulillah.. ok je. banyak benda lain dok perisi masa."
Tapi, bila time gelap-gelap, seseorang kat rumah, mula jiwa kacau, mula risau apa khabar anak-anak di merata ceruk rantau. 
Fallahu khayran hafidzan. 

Lama sungguh Nabi Yaakob tahan rindu kat Nabi Yusuf waktu hilangnya anak dia tu. 
Fallahu khayran hafidzan, wa hua arhama rahimiin.. Itu doa dia. 
Sungguh. Allah sebaik-baik Penjaga, Maha Pengasih, Maha Penyayang. 

Aidan, Aimar, Aivey.. 
Mama tak ok bila syaitan cucuk jarum, "anak-anak ko ni Ain boleh ke jaga iman diorang jejauh dari ko tu? tertutup ke aurat dia? betul khusyuk ke solat dia? sungguh ke dia jaga mulut dan hati dia?"
Allahu Akbar.. time tu lah paling kuat nak cari tepon nak tanya sorang2..."solat dah? ngaji tak? tak yah ngata orang lah... takde paedahnya."
Alhamdulillah... rasa macam nak, tapi tak buat... cumanya, time tu lah paling cepat telefon talian hayat.. doa doa doa.. 

I guess, the doctrin saying bila jauh, masing2 lupa dah tak applicable lagi..
Alhamdulillah, bila dah jauh, makin kuat bergantungnya kita pada Allah As-Somad.. 
Moga anak-anak juga tak putus bergantung pada Allah As-Somad. 
Allahu musta'an

xx
mama rindu anak3