Untitled Journal

What's the story, morning glory?

Category: Love

Afternoon Ride

I was taking my usual afternoon ride with my girl today.

Those moments when I was paddling my bicycle making my way through the roads of my neighborhood always become the time when I truly feel like I can hear my thoughts and thoroughly understand my feeling for the day. Oftentimes its always the same thing, no matter how bad the day was, I’ll get a great emotions rushing up all over me by seeing things along my way.

I would first pass my late grandmother’s house, which now resided by my aunt’s family. There’s this big yard where I used to play rounders with my cousins with the wax apple tree that we used to picnic our lunches underneath it. Some days I would find my auntie on the swing where my late grandmother used to sit and I would stopped by to say hi. Then would pass more houses where I see mothers sweeping with children skipping and fathers eating. Everything is happening right in front of the house where people like me can see. I would go down the little hill and peeked to the river to my right and see boys catching fish. It’s not really a clean river and they probably won’t eat their catch, but maybe just for the fun of it.

And then I would pass more houses until the end of the road on my route where I could see the tall KPJ Kajang building right in front of me. And everytime I see it, the memories of giving birth to Daisy will overcome me. “That’s where you were born, that is probably the window to the room we used to stay” I would say to Daisy. And she never failed to lift her hand and point her finger to that building. Maybe it was tall and look gigantic compared to the kampung houses she just passed by.

I would turn around and go back the opposite way. And everytime I pass this one white house, the children playing near it would stop and looked at us. They’d say, “Tengok tu.. comel sangat” which I’m pretty sure was directed to Daisy and not me. Some days they’d wave at me and not being able to balance with one hand, I’d throw them my biggest smile. I’d get home and by that time I could already hear the azan. I missed it when I was in UK. It makes such a difference in life just to hear azan few times a day in my life. There’s a lot of comfort I found in it, especially after a really hard or a bad day.

And then tomorrow, I’ll ride again. Strap my baby on her seat, put a helmet on her head and carefully balance my way on the bicycle to experience the great 20 minutes again.

When We Were Three

We were three years in marriage yesterday. Three years. Someone who has been married for twenty or more would give me a smirk. But I don’t care.

I’m not even gonna try to be smart or write something romantic here. Or tell you how we met or how we fell in love. I’m just gonna quote an excerpt from YBLalat‘s lovely writings, since I’ve found back my favorite writer.

I hope he’s a good listener. An understanding man. A man of fatherly virtues you have been talking about, those you couldn’t find in any man you know here, back home, or in New Brunswick. A responsible man. A man who adores you. A man who loves your friends and treats them like his own. I remember you said you would judge a man based on how he treats your friends, and not your family. I remember telling you that that is odd, to give preference to friends over family. You said, one of God’s better gifts is the freedom to choose your best friends. Family, as much as you love them, you were born into them.

Here’s hoping to those who hasn’t. May you find yours, as I found mine.

The Things We Lost in Maturity

I remember vividly right after aqad when I was doing my rounds to hug everyone I ever loved, I said to my teary sister, “Don’t worry. Its going be the same!” I had that captured in my wedding video and although you wouldn’t be able to hear it, it was clear I was mouthing it.

Things isn’t exactly the same now after 3 years. Well, 3 years next Tuesday. A lot of things happened in 3 years and sometimes I feel like I go through a lot in such a short period of time. The experience has been overwhelming and although I have tried to take one step at a time, I am not who I used to be 3 years ago. I feel that I am doing a bang-on job at being a mother. I tend to Daisy, I make time for her, I’ve been making sure that I don’t miss any of her firsts, I get pretty obsessed with her that I run around the world with her by my side and I think I am even winning from the love triangle competition between me and her nanny, which is actually only an imaginary one. I don’t think her nanny is in some kind of evil plot to take away Daisy’s affection from her own mother, but so far I am glad that the favorite is obvious. I was too consumed with that thought that I didn’t realize that I was getting suck at being a sister.

I feel sorry for my sister. I think she loves me too much she expects a lot in return. Its not that I don’t love her the same way but 8 years is a pretty darn big gap. 8 years is like another generation. 8 years is like another mindset. 8 could be like another era. 8 years is the 80’s babies and a 90’s babies. She got a lot to catch up on me. And I can’t keep constantly looking back. Although I have tried. I tried my best. I do silly things no other 29 years old would do for her. There were too many times already I chose to leave my baby at home so that I can get uninterrupted time with her; talking about her future plans, give her a hard time for copying somebody else’s fashion style, dig her secrets about her boyfriend, you name it. But a sister who are also a mother can only do so much. With all the stories about marriages breaking up and children forsaken, it does scare me a little. Ok, a lot.

People don’t understand why some mothers can be so obsessed with the idea of trying to be there for the children. Its as if nothing is ever enough. I can’t speak for other mothers who has that kind of obsession, but when your children is born, they’re like an extension of you. All you see in them are  yourselves that you don’t even mind not putting your pictures in the Facebook or your blog anymore, your babies pictures already tell many stories about you. You don’t want to bring a child into this world just because everybody else do, or because somebody expects you to, or because you forgot to protect yourself that night the magic happened. I have a lot of pities for babies. I mean, you look at them and they’re so helpless and have no idea how to protect themselves. It becomes your responsibility do that for them. Daisy nowadays like to put out her hand out and show the little cut that is not there anymore every time she sees someone she wants attention from. Its like, “Please look at my hand, I used to cut it a little and have sympathy in me”. Some other times she asks you to scratch for her. I tell you, its heartbreaking. The responsibility is a heavy weight that even when I think I am already doing too much, I still feel it isn’t enough. And when you have that realization, well, you overlook other things. And in this case, I overlooked my baby sister.

But I can’t go backwards to relate to her. And its just too bad that sometimes misunderstandings between us happen because she was born a little too late. Or I was born a little too soon. I told her I have grown up, and all I could do now is wait for her to grow up too. Someday she will be at the point where I am. And when she does, I hope I’ll still be in the same place. And then both our worlds will relate. Just like before. But until then, we just have to understand each other’s differences. She has to look ahead to understand me, and I have to remember my pasts to return the favor.

Until our paths crosses again.

Fakhrul & Daisy, Typically

I have always wanted to blog about this but kept forgetting. I find it sweet, so here’s something to share:




Daisy’s Sleeping Diary

I am so lucky..

… to have a baby who sleeps..

.. almost on anything that moves.








Even on this, which was last afternoon.

Thank you dear God, for bestowing me this Daisy of mine, who makes me feel blissful blessed inside, so effortlessly by just simply, sleeping. Imagine the way she makes me feel when she’s wide awake.

%d bloggers like this: