this one reminds me of you.

"You got that James Dean day dream look in your eye
And I got that red lip classic thing that you like
And when we go crashing down, we come back every time.
Cause we never go out of style
We never go out of style
You got that long hair, slicked back, white t-shirt.
And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt,
And when we go crashing down, we come back every time.
Cause we never go out of style
We never go out of style."

A seat for two on the steps. Under the spotless, starless sky. Relaying stories for the day.

It somehow felt overdue. But all the same, the timing felt just right.

And this song reminds me of you -- and all the good times leading to that seat for two.

the half way mark

Uh-oh, dancin' past the point of no return
Let go, we can free ourselves of all we've learned
I love this secret language that we're speaking
Say it to me, let's embrace the point of no return
Let's embrace the point of no return
Let's embrace the point of no return

This has been playing in my head since last night! We've reached this point so I figured, I might as well embrace it.

If you don't get what my posts on all these lyrics are all about, read here. 

so, here's the deal

To commemorate December -- and in anticipation of the New Year, I've decided to write either song lyrics or quotable quotes or passages from materials which I have read or came across, just so you know that I'm here, though sometimes I might not be that okay.

What my day is like/will be like or how I feel will depend solely on how you decipher the things I'm about to write in the next 31 days.

So, here goes my first one --

"Hello, it's me. I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet. To go over everything. They say that time's supposed to heal ya..."

the extra mile.

I finished my 12 kilometer run in about 1 hour and 42 minutes -- average of 12 minutes per lap (1 mile/1.6 kilometres). Not much to shout out about, but after all things considered, I would say it's no small feat either.

Here's the "funny thing" -- I thought that I had signed up for a 10 km run instead of 12 km and confidently told my husband so just the night before -- until I saw the distance of my run on my bib, which I later confirmed with the deets on my confirmation slip.

Don't.know.what.I.was.thinking. So, don't ask. 

What's important is that I didn't allow myself to become disheartened by my "minor mistake" (minor la sangat. difference of an extra mile plus is no joke!), decided to keep on pushing and going non-stop although I was starting to go half-crazy once I reached the 6 km mark and I finished without vomiting -- or falling or tripping or feeling like a total loser. 

I am just happy that I am now a 12 km finisher ;)

Running -- I think is one of those life-changing decisions I have ever made. EVER. 

Sure, I've always been active. Sure, I've always loved sports. But running such long distances, pushing myself to the limit and feeling absolutely empowered although I run real slow like a siput? Really, who would have thought running would have that kind effect on me, right?

I've got another one coming up in October and I'm all excited and sad about it at the same time. Excited because I love night runs; sad because it's the last one I signed up for, for this year.

Oh, well. Girl's got to do what she's got to do, right?

"...you can do everything and be everything…just NOT at all once." - Sleepless in KL.  Best honest advice I've heard in years.

Anyways, next run -- bring it on! (hopefully with more practice!)

move -- you are not a tree.

Some days are like today -- I wake up with "Sunshine" as my middle name and I'm just happy to go to work.

But some days (which these days seem like most), I.literally.drag.my.feet.

I even feel that way after taking many days off for a break!

People often tell me that if I don't like where I am -- I should move. After all, I am not a tree and I agree; but only on the part about the tree. 

It's really not that simple you see -- like it isn't for so many of us out there. It's not just about our commitments or housing loans or any other typical reason you can think of. 

Here is the (ironic) thing -- I actually like my line of work and I don't mind it at all; but I'm just tired, which I think is pretty acceptable seeing that it's now my 7th year in Service; longer than the period of time I've been married. 

I don't hate hate my job, I just need some time off. Because just like all other things in life, familiarity breeds contempt. 

This has got me thinking about how sucky Service is -- it doesn't give you the chance to return once you leave; like a talak tiga kind of thing. Because sometimes, when you go through confusing times such as this -- all you want is to try something else. 

But you can't.

Hence, when anyone reading Law asks me what they should do after getting their LLB, I tell them that they should go do their Chambering. Sure, they'll lose out on seniority and the other what-nots in Service, but at least, they would know what it feels like to be on the other side of the fence --

and not wonder for the rest of her life whether she would have liked it... or not (although she knows for a fact that she hates Civil Procedure hehe). 

Be that as it may, too late for me to find out now, so I really have got to find myself some remedy! 

And all I can think of are-

Cuti belajar (boleh consider).

Cuti tanpa gaji (boleh cuba kalau nak mati).

Cuti bersalin (haahahaah heeeheeheee).

On that note, I am late, you know. Bahahahaha saja kasi kontroversi.

the last thing on your mind.

last seen at ... 5.06 p.m.

Last message I read had a timestamp of 5.06 p.m.

I may already be 30 but I've discovered that I still find pleasure in all the simple pleasures in life 

-- like knowing that I was the last thing on your mind.

oh yes, I am OK.

The other day, my mother in law dropped me a one-liner, which got me thinking. It was in relation to her question of whether or not I was okay, which, honest to God, is a question I try answering honestly to myself first, every single day. 

I ask myself the question every single day, because it seems like alot of other people around me are curious about the same as well. 

Why is your blog private? 

Why is your Insta feed so quiet?

Why is the tone of your posts so different?

Why are you so different?

And although most days I feel OK, the rest of the world seem to feel otherwise and whether or not I care about what they think or feel, I know that those who have taken the time to ask me personally are those who really, truly care because they made the decision to not gossip about me and my so-called change, but thought it would be better to ask me directly instead. 

So, anyway. When I told my mother in law that I was "OK je. Biasa lah stress sikit-sikit.", she then asked me again what I was stressed out about, to which I answered... "Sa tak tahu lah, Mak..."

And then, she dropped it, 

"Stress tak tahu punca ni lah stress yang paling bahaya."

So, it got me thinking about what it was that I was actually stressed out about because I've been told that unidentified sources of stress could lead to that thing we all know as... depression. 

And although I am pretty sure that I am not depressed because there's really no reason to be depressed, I do know that not many people (probably myself included) are willing to accept and admit that they are suffering from such condition. 

In my attempts to ensure that I am of optimum mental health, I went through my blog posts (thank God, I love writing crap) to find a lead of some sort and my discovery shocked me.

This year has been a year of too much self-loathing. Too many meltdowns. Too many regrets over "failed attempts at perfection". Too much drama. Too much inner conflict. Too much negativity. Too much change. Too much bottling up. Too much caving in.  

This year in a nutshell has been a year of too many too muches, if there is such a thing. 

Be that as it may, since I woke up this morning with a spring in my step, I've made a mental pact with myself to acknowledge and celebrate each day that I wake up happy, just so the final quarter of this year doesn't go to waste.

Sure, I've been feeling a little sucky (a little, yeah right bahahaha) in 2015, but in sha Allah, I'll be OK. 

And just for the record, today, I am OK.

beautiful soul.

It was a Saturday night and we were driving back from my Aunty's house after buka puasa. Luqman (the radio-hogger) was in another car so we had the radio to ourselves! Yippee! Since my car battery went dead on me a few weeks back, we lost all our favourite radio stations so my husband was unable to find LiteFM (yes, LITEFM). We finally found the station and a few minutes after, Jesse McCartney's Beautiful Soul was aired. 

You should have seen how happy we were to finally hear something decent (and familiar) on air! Jesse McCartney was playing! On LiteFM! The station that plays Classic Hits All Day... (!!!) Ok... 

Then it hit me -- we're old. I'd like to say that we're just older but no (please, Beautiful Soul is considered classic ok), we're actually old. 

And we both grew older together. 

I started dating him from about a decade ago.

We planned on getting married, almost didn't get married, and then we got married.

We had a child together. And we want more together.

We survived a 6-month long distance relationship. And we both had to relearn how to live together again, together.

We bought a house together. And we now live in it together. 

And despite all the togetherness, we still argue and fight and cry (well, I cry) to try and figure out what's going on in each other's mind; or what we both feel; or what's making either one of us happy or not.

Even after all this while. 

And then, it hit me again -- of how much our relationship has changed (or evolved, more like) and how that has changed him, changed me, and changed us. Or is it really that he changed, and I changed and we changed, and that's why our relationship too, has changed? I can't quite figure out which is which and what came first. 

All I know is that we're somewhat different than when we first started. 

And although I know that we can't be 15 or 25 forever (and I don't want to be 15 forever) and growing up and living this journey called life just has to be done before we are called to meet our Creator someday, I can't help but miss... us. Yes, US. The goofy couple who walked through the rain to get me my Theodore. The crazy couple who surprised each other by getting on a bus just to spend a couple of hours at the bus station eating KFC. The simple couple who used to make some random 45 minutes in the week the best date in months. I also miss those times when smartphones were a thing of the unknown and that when we were together, we didn't have anyone else "third-wheeling"-- just us.

Of course we had a kid, and that changed us. Of course, we moved house and that too, changed us. 

But I can't help but miss the US that I once knew. 

And that tiny glimpse of us on that Saturday night made me realise that deep down somewhere, both of us were still there, albeit (majorly) altered. We just have to work harder to fall in love with a different version of the same person, I guess?

Because beneath all our alterations, I'm pretty sure that there is still that beautiful soul we once knew (plus of course that guy and girl who still loves to sing along to Beautiful Soul and every other classic hits we grew up listening to, of course). 

Maybe we'll live and learn, maybe we'll crash and burn
maybe you'll stay, maybe you'll leave,
maybe you'll return...
maybe another fight, maybe we won't survive,
maybe we'll grow,
we'll never know,
'cause baby you and I,
we're just ordinary people,
we don't know which way to go. 

 

there are way bigger priorities past 530 pm.

Everyday at 530 pm, I wonder how to explain (to insert black space _________) that I've been up for a good 13-14 hours and that I've been working round the clock since hence the pressing need for me to head back home. Wait, scratch that; explaining is not the problem, making people understand is.

At a work place where the hours or rather after hours are the determinant of one's productivity, I find myself treading on eggshells as 530 pm approaches and planning escape routes has become one of my biggest agendas on a working day. Though pretty amusing at first, I really am starting to get a little agitated over the fact that I'm made to feel guilty or worse -- incompetent just because I don't function too well past the prescribed working hours. 

Thing is this -- apart from having to keep my job, I have a kid to raise, a husband who needs and deserves love and also a home to maintain. I know I've got to juggle but what is there to juggle if I'm not actually given the opportunity to juggle anything since my hands are already full of one and the same thing (work).

Don't get me wrong, I really do not condone people using personal reasons/problems to wriggle their way out of their responsibilities at work because once we make the decision to work, we must learn to earn our keep. So my issue isn't at all about the work itself but rather the ridiculous fact that I have to justify (and feel guilty) going back home on time because it's considered as too early.

But how much longer does Luqman have to bear being the last to go home from school EVERYDAY.

How much longer can I bear sitting round being unproductive just to please the powers that be. 

What can I do to make people understand that the after hours don't mean a thing to me and that I'm not in this to compete with anybody's accumulated monthly overtime. 

Because honestly, there are wayy bigger priorities past 530 pm, such as this - 

Spot the star - he drew it on his own. And oh, did you know -- he's ambidextrous!

On that note, I really miss my old work station, which had plenty of natural light, far away from surveillance, where I did more work at my own pace and convenience (and got them done) with very minimal supervision. 

*Sigh*

it was all in my head.

 "Dimulakan dengan Bismillah, diakhiri dengan Alhamdulillah."

 -Raihan

 The above is so basic. But basic may not always come naturally to everyone.

In this time and age, I find that we are quick to critique and slow to thank.

And of course, I am no exception to this general rule.

But then again, it's not that I don't try to. It's just that on some days...

Some days, like the other day on 155/365, I lost it, just.like.that. At first, I was just fuming and babbling to myself, then, I went into full-on rage mode, yelling and scolding my son (the obvious victim) and while he cried his heart out for the the first 2 times I yelled at him, the third time it happened, he just stopped crying. He stopped responding to my yelling altogether and just looked up to me with eyes full of wonderment; most probably wondering what on earth did he do wrong this time.

Truth is, he did nothing wrong. He was just being his own clingy, manja self and all he wanted was his Mama. And I? I was just wondering why there seem to be no end to the string of things I had to do. I felt alone in a room full of people, I felt like I was alone in everything that I did. I felt like it was all on me, me and me. For no good reason, really.

After I realised what I did, I knelt down to his level, hugged him and apologised profusely for what I did.

And you know what he did?

He hugged me back, and said,

"It's okay, Mama. Jom semayang sama-sama?"

And laid his mini sejadah next to mine.

Next thing I know, I was crying. When we were done with our prayers, he sat on my lap and looked right into my eyes.

"Mama nangis ke?" he said while he wiped my tears.

"Mama tak sihat ke?" and he continued to hug me tight.

And he said all of this, in the pitch-darkness of the room.

All waterworks broke lose. 

At that time, I came to the realisation that all this while, I was never alone. Allah had sent me this little angel from heaven, put him in my womb so he could hear my heart beating from the inside, so that he would know what it feels like, even when he was on the outside--- looking in.

I was so busy getting things done, and being so obsessive about putting things in order, that I forgot to say my thanks, especially to Allah, for all the things I have been blessed with; for the roof on top of my head, for an amazing husband, for a wonderful child and an overall very blessed life, which many can only dream of ever having.

Thereafter, I tried my best to be grateful for all the little things, all the big things, all the right things, all the wrong things. And I tried my best not to bottle things up too much, too long. Because I now realise that it was all in my head. And what's in my head can really get to me, like it had previously gotten to me.

But like I said in my previous post, I am a work in progress. I guess to a certain extent we all are because though we sometimes think that we've got it all figured out, we really don't. Indeed, Allah is the turner of hearts. So we should never be so sure.

What we can be sure of is -

 that Allah promises, "Verily with hardship comes ease." (Quran, 94:5).

So, look for a good in every bad. And be thankful, no matter what the situation.

And most importantly, don't let your head, get to your head because get this -- life isn't perfect, for anyone.

"We say this life isn't perfect. And it isn't. It isn't perfectly good. But, it isn't perfectly bad, either... [..] I think the trap we fall into is rooted in the belief that this life can be perfect -- perfectly good or perfectly bad. However, that's not the nature of dunya (this life). That's the nature of the hereafter. The hereafter is saved for the perfection of things. Jannah (paradise) is perfectly and completely good. There is no bad in it. And Jahannam (hell - may Allah protect us) is perfectly and completely bad. There is no good in it." (Reclaim Your Heart, Yasmin Mogahed)

that time of year.

Bismillah. 

After almost a month of disconnect from this space, I am happy to report that I am almost whole again. Only almost, but Alhamdulillah, I am getting "there", wherever it is.

Just one more sleep 'til Ramadan comes (well, technically it starts after Maghrib tonight, I know) and the office is already buzzing with excitement for the arrival of the most-waited, most-anticipated, most-loved month of the Islamic Calendar. 

Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, just thinking about the strange (but nice) tranquility that comes with the early mornings and late nights and everything else in between that makes it all the more special.

I am sorry to all my readers if I've disappointed or hurt or caused any harm through my posts whether intentionally or not and I hope that my sins to all of you will be forgiven (and hopefully forgotten). 

May this Ramadan be better than the best ones we've had so far, may we be steadfast in prayer and may we be given the chance and opportunity to make full use of all the blessings that this month brings.

Amin.