SILENCING THE “unnecessary” VOICE?

WARNING: As usual, lengthy-read ahead. Engage at own expense.

There have been many a scandal that have graced the grapevines of instant and socially viral media of late. So late that this piece is probably pretty obsolete. 😅

A purported murder of an artist from a neighbouring land, the not-so-newly waged war in the West with the myriads of contrasting opinions, conspiracies and propagandas strewn over it, the start of the potential fall of the Petrodollar, the emotionally berserk rantings of an oversensitive mother that somehow displayed the reflectively disdainful effects on her kid, a B40 thrashing debacle among others and so many more — and all these in the midst of countries still battling the Covid19 infections on the incline. Each of these, plagued with judgements, speculations, accusations, scandals, and opinions. Naturally, as with the order of all things sensational, there is always much to be said and discussed on the world wide web because it is an open market for anyone with an opinion and access to the internet. It is quite an exciting time to exert your brand of influence or thinking, if I have anything to say about it myself. And anyone who really knows me knows, I always have something to say about things. It’s both a strength and a flaw that my flesh is heir to. With the turn of age each year however, I have tried harder to refrain myself against broadcasting every little thought my opinionated mind can conjure into the vocal meelee. There is already too much out there that sometimes anything extra is no longer necessary (hence the title of this write up). I must say, the growing maturity has made that quite possible to maintain as I consciously make countless decisions to not share my thoughts that were itching to be let out on my socmed accounts after every drama or conflict occurs if I can help it – that, and also the fact that I have been busy tending to my own life dramas; not by any means scarce where a mother of four is concerned.

The truth is, society often finds solace and maybe even some form of wicked joy for some in dissecting the weaknesses and flaws of others, while they themselves wish to remain existing in oblivion, with their own reputation remaining unsullied. When I say society, I mean humans, all of us, you and I. The current society has way too much penchant for gossip, and the ease of tech-assisted platforms facilitated it further. We allow people as well as ourselves to dabble in tawdry meanderings of the humans’ collectively frivolous minds, making hot speculations and judgements and reproofs on other people lucky (or unlucky) enough to gain a large enough attention online being on mass display of drama of the moment. It is as if we are immuned to faults and often doing so with nary a thought about justice and even truths, when in fact the bigger truth is; we have all been imposters ourselves. All of us homosapiens, none of us perfect, each one of us hiding behind our own flawed machinations; the coffers of our sins brimming with our weaknesses, our shameful judgements, our ill-begotten decisions and past misconducts. We justify it often with the excuse that as one makes the bed so one must lie in it. Therefore, one ugly behaviour is open for criticism because they are foolish enough to let their moment of weakness gets recorded for the public’s voracious consumption. But we all have our moments of weaknesses, collecting list everyday in the abscence of a camera. Skeletons that are still kept in closets away from the lime light because we are either smart enough to keep the lids on them or God Has been merciful enough to help conceal. And yet, we forget about them and go about judging others as if we are without sin. I speak this as much of myself as I do of everyone else.

We are often less forgiving too when we have a decision to make about others, but when it somehow involves us, we insist that we are more than the sum of our missed conveyances and our ill-illustrated intentions. We are not wrong of course, but we must also be honest in that other peoples’ occasional (and unfortunate) display of humiliating flaws are not the sum of their characters too. I could have easily pick my sides and broadcast my opinions on every single one of them issues but now despite whatever opinions I may have formed, I largely keep them to myself or my close inner circles – people who have no choice but to love me even when they disagree with me 😂😂. I care less and less about what others think too. The cancelling acts in society has little effect on my sense of peace. It must be the inclining age but there is much more solace to be found in that state.

So more and more now, I leave my public opinions on silent mode. Silence does not necessarily mean impartiality or disinterest. Silence can signify prudence and a higher sense of wisdom. Silence in fact can be a powerful step back so you can see far enough to glance upon a bigger picture. Sometimes a deafening silence can be more powerful than even the most carefully worded opinion or perhaps even a single good word. Give the silence some moments to marinate and even the truth is sometimes found in it. Sure enough as the pieces of the puzzles begin filling more of the empty space on the jigsaw board, you find that the moments of silence you have accorded yourself has been a rewarding and even gratifying preservation manoeuvre you didn’t even know was necessary. Plus, often times, everything you thought of in your mind is a matter of perspective. They’re changeable, malleable, and are almost always never set in stones depending on the angle you approach them from.

Indeed, many a truths are unearthed over time while you practice your silence.
As more CCTVs are inspected, the better the chronology of a murder is constructed.
As more fake war videos are shown, more of the deceptions of the powers that be are unravelled.
As more honest videos are made, more scary own-citizen-killing operations are uncovered.
All these before you were proven wrong on an earlier broadcasted assumptions.
I mean, a case in point is the Depp-Heard drama that is currently unravelling in court. His silence has been a prudence and now when it matters, the truth is prevailing.
Just as well, because no one but The AlMighty has the whole picture and the truths do not just stick to a side. They come from many different and sometimes contrasting and opposing sides that it is entirely possible what you believed was right can over time in fact be quite wrong.

I guess the point of this status is this: I did not suggest you to refrain from having opinions. Merely that, even if you may have an opinion whenever you want, you just don’t necessarily have to share them publicly whether for or against anyone that could then put you at the mercy of other people’s judgement next. That’s the whole idea of silencing the unnecessary voice I guess. But on the perchance that you do, live to know it matters not what they think of you because you are more than the contrasting ideas you have with them. We are all more than one bad action that was recorded for judgement or one wrong opinion we form about others. If you have to be vocal, pick only the things that matter absolutely the most to you because you cannot stay silent – and because your words are more beautiful than your silence. More meaningful things than gossips I’d imagine ; like human rights, global warming and the likes of it. (I guess for me it would be the Palestinian plight. I usually cannot stop myself on that). Above all, if you can help it, do keep your silence a little longer than usual because it is true sometimes, silence is golden. Try it and you might very well find it very, very useful indeed.

On a different tangent, (because I am so good at going off tangent anyway), this article I am sharing down there is an interesting take of the Russian-Ukraine-NATO conflict from a different perspective; surprisingly not from the pro-Russian camp, but a Western ally and a NATO-insider. Granted, we may not subscribe to every dot and comma in the article but if anyone is honest, the article provides a lot of unbiased facts and objective observations of the conflict from the very start and the truth and reality we all tend to ignore (thanks to unscrupulous main stream (biased-poltical-backed)-media reporting of the Western world). In part, the article also asks very important questions that beg serious answers – questions that the world at large already know the answers to, to be honest. Because we can all see the bigotry, racism, oppression and the double standards that are strategically being exercised by those with power. And the US and NATO know if they were to also honestly answer those same questions, nothing they have to say will sound pretty for their own image. Oh well, I guess this is me not keeping too silent after all.

#LifeIsNotFairBecauseHumansArent

#OnlyAllahIsTheMostJust

#MindOurOwnSins

#ReflectOnOurOwnWeaknesses

#PracticeSilenceInPrudence

#SeekForTruths

#BeWaryOfTheTrangressors

#PromotePeaceAlways

…and…That’s me, using hashtags more as afterthoughts than its real intended use, as always. 😜

Until my next lengthy insignificant ranting; Happy Ramadhan Mubarak, stay safe and have great days ahead.

Much love!

The Military Situation In The Ukraine

FAT PEOPLE PROBLEM

The word Fat is in Fatin – (which is my most used middle name among families). Ugh, i hate how my name just accurately feeds a pun. The unintended kind.

I just had a hair cut some weeks ago. I couldn’t take it anymore. The heat was much to blame and I figured since it was time I needed a change of look anyway, I went to the salon with a plan. It appeared like a solid plan at first. I looked adorable (maybe I still do, sometimes, on the occasional good hair days – which is scarce). My high-maintenance bangs meant I could be twinning (or more accurately tripling) with the girls; so I did just that with several photo op sesh. I use much less shampoo (and by extension every other hair products too) which also means it’s cost saving. My husband said it’s cute and my maid told me I look 17-year-old-virgin pretty. Until of course my hard-to-manage bangs got in the way of my eyes and I had to tuck them aside and my short hot bob was too short to be tied up loosely so I had to tie it up very tightly. I have been reduced to looking like that giant mannequin in orange pinafore from squid game. All I needed to do is chant “Mugunghwa kkoci pieot seumnida” and I’d get the substitute role no questions asked.

I should have remembered to only ever be brave enough to wear my hair short when I feel slim. I am far from feeling slim (or actually being slim for that matter). Clearly the hair cut was not a very smart choice, because now that my double chin got enhanced and I have less hair to hide my podgy neck with, I am reminded of how much weight I need to lose whenever I look into the mirror.

Back then, when lockdowns were unheard of, I rarely ate breakfast, and on some busier days, lunch wasn’t always a given. Pre-covid, and mostly out on field work, I could wait until about 1:30pm before a hunger growl hit the scene. Then, I’d suck up a McCafe iced latte or ice blended Mocha on my commute, occasionally supplementing with a granola bar and that would be the whole of it. If I got really hungry, I’d hit up Subway’s meatball marinara (my fave) or just a random pack of biscuit lying around somewhere in my handbag. I was also still actively nursing and though my body had seen glorier days, I wasn’t too fat (I honestly think so). Unless I had a lunch appointment to tend to, my lunch requirements were pretty light, quick and easy. Then after, I’d be good until dinner when we’d meet as a family, sharing togetherness over the meal-of-the-day. Who cares if dinners aren’t supposed to be the meal of the day. Apparently, breakfast is supposed to be, but then I usually skipped (or pretty much skimmed on) that. Granted I was not fabulous, physically, but I wasn’t that bad either.

Then in January of 2020 when my youngest was 9months old, I had an implanon buried in my left inside-arm and within the first 5 months, I ballooned up 6kg. Around the same time in March that year, Covid happened. Hence forth, time has been marked in meals. Everything was about what we were eating next, and what we needed to use up before they expired. I hardly skip breakfast or any other meals either; they all arrive on time, courtesy of our maid. So even when I got too busy for kitchen duty, our stoves were still lighted and foods are always ready to be served. Instead of just one, we have 3 to 4 meals-of-the-day together. If I should ever post the kitchen inventory I created, listing most of the things I have in our pantry, you would see how exhaustive it is. So many options. Recipes lining up the virtual post-it board in my head. Weekend cooking plans being verbally discussed with my significant other and sometimes the kiddos like another important, meaningful, life decision. Batik indulgence cake, chocolate chips and peanut butter toast are becoming large-portion mains during tea times instead of just single-bite desserts after lunch. My gastronomic prowess was unceremoniously whipped into shape in just over a year and suddenly I was the occasional chef du jour of the house. I started getting menu requests I was excited to entertain. I had been following and subscribing cooking accounts and channels left right and center.

Weekend menus were often a taste-test between option A and option B of usually different recipes of the exact same thing just so I could build a list of my go-to recipes. I do not regret a single kitchen gadget that I had begun more extensively collecting during the pandemic. That meme questioning who had survived the lockdowns without buying an airfryer or a bread maker in fact hit a homerun with me. I would have ticked off another 5 new kitchen appliances had they too made the list. All of them are deeply loved by me. In particular, I’m very fond of our pressure cooker that I used most extensively in my experimental cooking endeavours.

I love the suggestions of the socmed recipes movements. It’s a hint of a life where buttered pancakes are left under “tudung saji” for immediate easy consumption of my voracious growing kids between their PdPR classes. It brings back childhood memories of comfort food at the ready when we’re back from school. I had the illusion that I was actually heading to an idyllic mommy-image I’d only ever imagined I would be pre-covid. An almost-Stepford-wife perfection in both technical skills and daily practices (though not so much on appearance).

Until the hair cut happened and I was glaringly reminded of my need to lower down my LDL and subsequently the inches off my everywhere including the circumference of my face. Okay, I’ll be honest. It wasn’t just the haircut. More and more of my favourite pants are lining up quickly on the can’t-fit-my-bum section that I was forced to begin wearing more skirts instead. The only reason they aren’t as impactful as my haircut is because I don’t see them reflecting and enhancing the appearance of my fats on the mirror as I am no longer able to even wear them. I realized I forgot what it feels like to be hungry because these days, hunger had no chance setting in before my mouth starts chewing on the next meal on schedule. Eating only when I’m hungry now takes practice. Stopping once my body has enough food is even harder. Killing off the multitasking and eating mindfully without any distractions is such a kill-joy. No lounge-eating on the sofa is purposeful-torture. Cutting down sugars is like suggesting I don’t breathe. (You can count on me to be so melodramatic).

That hormone-spewing implanon in my left arm isn’t helping either. It just escalates the fattening up process. At one point, my BMI registered a borderline-obese reading. I was in disbelief. Seriously??!! Obese? (I’d probably already crossed the threshold but I ain’t going to verify that for your benefit). It prompted me to, you know, do something; anything – just so I feel less guilty about mistreating my body on purpose so I joined virtual runs and do some evening walks with my neighbours. Of course that didn’t last. I am clearly not built for fitness (yet). Now, I’m collecting dieting advices from just about anyone who has an opinion on dieting (not so smart I know). My logic is, with the abundance of tips I’d collected, one or five of them are bound to work. Because I don’t want to be eating all the time, I try to focus on high-fiber foods and more proteins. You know, like watermelons, mangoes and poultry? Yeah, I may be wrong, because some of these are so sugar-laden they probably wouldn’t really help with my weight but goodness do they taste awesome!

In terms of dietary restrictions between me and my husband, I’ll say just this: he is on a low-carb and super-less-basically-almost-no-sugar diet. I’m not (because obviously sweet girls like me obviously love sweet stuffs 藍) but I want to be. I married a man who is my opposite in our affinity for sugar-and-carbs.  You remove carbs, you can add on some fats he said. Now that I’m reducing my saturated fat though (or maybe not really), I lean into fruits. It feels extreme. Bananas every other week. A penchant for overripe guava and persimmons because they are sweeter at that stage. Chicken chops and fish and chips without rice on the side. Oatmeals sometimes. Granolas swimming in full cream milk (cause I can add some fats in he said) makes up most days’ breakfast. And bananas again. It’s heavenly. And then, I am starting some form of intermittent fasting just over two weeks ago – which truthfully (if I want to be honest here) has been seeing more cheating days than fasting days. I haven’t been checking the scales (because obviously I am in abject denial) so I wouldn’t really know if my plan works. (It hasn’t. I can tell even without the scales. But hey, no proof,no argument!). In any case, I am certain it isn’t yet time to start the weighing. It wouldn’t be fair to my body because I feel like I haven’t really started. You’d probably agree by how unprepared I seem in this post alone. However, my supportive husband has hooked up his fancy digital wireless scale with an app that has added my profile in that will announce to the world my weight each time I stand on it, you know, for accountability; and also for his right to nag-me-into-sweating-my-fats-off. I hate the numbers I see so I guess, I need to work harder. I really do. I need to take this seriously enough to sit down and plan a proper regime. Yup, that’s why I said I haven’t really started – because I don’t have any regime yet, really.

I actually lost the actual point of this post. I guess this is just me whining about being fat because my husband just offered his annual allocations for my wardrobe upgrade and I retaliated vehemently simply because the idea of getting new clothes in the XL or XXL size is repulsive. You know it’s critical when I start saying no to shopping. I need to be able to fit in back into my M and L sized clothes!!! Just 6 years ago I was still a size S. I have no illusion of wanting to be back at S because I honestly think I look better with more flesh to my bone. So, I would say M size would be a good compromise given the age, the dwindling metabolic rate and the OCP. Most of my prettier clothes are in M size too anyway. I have a long way (more like heavy-15kg-way) to go. If you see me whining on this subject again, please bear with me or just ignore me. My space, my prerogative and your freedom of choice whether to stick around or to bolt. If you’re struggling with the same issue, then, I hope you find this supportive to your own internal dilemma and I welcome your health advice if you have any to impart.

Let’s do this together!!! 2022 should (will) be a year for fitness and fabulousness yeah!!

The business of pleasing

There was a new covid19 related first for residents of TPJ. The most recent Friday was the first time ever that the neighbourhod musolla was open for Jumaah prayer – which of course is much cause for rejoice. They were given the go ahead only around 10pm the night before. My husband, being one of the committee member was tasked to duty as early as 12.00pm on Friday on entrance management. He said the excitement was palpable. They’ve never held Jumaah prayers at the surau before. It was going to be rather historical for the surau and by extension all of its regular sentimental patrons as well. Despite limited allocations, they were ecstatic.

Not everyone though. There was one guy, who arrived early and the whole time there he was complaining right left and center about the way things were being done, and how it should’ve been done. He wasnt the only to do so. My husband said, “please, you’ve earned a seat in the musolla when many others are potentially not going to earn an entry. Be thankful for that. It was after all the first time. Nothings perfect but we’re doing pretty darn good all things considered”, but it was all in his head. Outwardly he just smiled.

We all know such people, if we’re (hopefully) not one of them.

There are people we know in our lives, families, bosses, colleagues, friends, neighbours, and obviously politicians who will never be happy with anything. Complainers are such common everyday occurrence so much so that they make the daily news. The sun is too bright, the economy is too bad, the file is too big, the presentation is too dry, the inflation is too high, the country is too corrupt, the MCO measures are too crappy, even the rain is too wet. These very same people are highly likely the ones who are able to find every little faults in us in ways we never even thought possible. The salt and pepper dish you made is too flavoured, your close to silent ringtone is too loud, your face is too smiley and your nothing-wrong-with-you somehow appears very wrong to me. No end to their grouses – doling out opinions at the ready, unwelcomed, unsolicited and usually not very kind. Maybe well meaning (as you try convincing yourself of this ), but still mostly unkind.

But here you are serving them your best smiles, complying to the best of your abilities to please them – mostly to futility of course. You’re grateful your patience don’t come in thin slices, but even then, on some particularly hard days when you can do without anymore criticisms or disappointments, you occasionally wonder if really, you should still be putting up with their sh*t because clearly, despite your best efforts – nothing will make them happy enough to remotely acquiesce. Chances upon chances arrive where you can decide to no longer take any more of their blunt insensitivity sitting down or with an obliging smile and willing servitude, and yet, after all those fork in the road moments, you still do.

In the end, it remains a choice to do good.
Because satan would win of you don’t.
Because your religion and prophets ask you to kill meanness with kindness.
Because happiness lies in gratitude and if they’re not happy, then you should be because, you’re always grateful.
Because your parents taught you better.
And because you know better and want to be.

So you choose civility and peace over taking offense, despite the odds stacked against kindness, at pains but consciously and consistently so.
Why does it matter? Because you don’t owe it to them to continue to be nice and forgiving, you owe it to yourself and to your own conscience and moral compass to be kind anyway. And pleasing your conscience shouldn’t matter less than pleasing others.

And if you’re lucky, you’ll get to meet one in every five complainers who will come to you with gratitude over the same matter instead. Indeed, after the prayers ended, another patron asked my husband to help take a picture of himself in front of the musolla, “for rememberance, it being the first Jumuah here and all” he had said. Then he proceeded to thank my husband and the other committee members over a job well done. That alone, the one grateful guy out of the 10 complainers, is worth giving your best for the job anyway

BELIEFS

I always thought I would never be a good cook. I felt like I neither have the talent nor the passion for it. Then covid19 happened, and I don’t even remember exactly how it started but I remembered at one point consciously thinking, it was time I tried my hands at this again. See if I was any good. And I did. Picked up pans and spatulas and a myriad of cooking paraphernalias and challenged my handicap. Now, a year since I started revisiting my weakness, I found my husband telling my mom and other members of our family proudly on more that one occasion of how I’d undoubtedly inherited the knack for cooking from my mother. My children couldn’t stop raving over my superior dishes versus the commercially available ones out there. They believe in my new found prowess so much so that they were certain if I were to cook anything at all, they would definitely love it better than the alternatives. In addition, I have families and friends these days actually call up or text to ask for recipes, trusting my reputation with cooking. Truth is, I am not an expert at all. I cook okay. But what’s important is that now I am able to cook satisfactorily even if solely for the enjoyment of my family. The fact that they think so highly of me in that regard to the point of exaggeration is really quite flattering – and perhaps evidential of some level of talent and passion.

What was it that I thought before? I had neither the talent nor passion? Well as it turns out, talent is learnable and with some practice and enough enthusiasm, is buildable to varying levels of expertise too. I had the basic knowledge from years of forced observations watching my mother cooked when I was younger so now I have the chance to fully utilize that knowledge, and compound on it with newer skills. While passion is definitely possible when there’s talent in the picture. As such, this activity called cooking that I thought I didn’t quite like before, now I spent so much time watching videos of, following accounts on (both IG and tiktok), and mentally making plans for which of them to try out. I actually bookmark clips, screenshot recipes, google up variations and substitute ingredient for when the items were not easily available and then going out (or shopping online) with a serious mission to look for things like black cardamom, xanthan gum and sweet paprika powder to make the dishes work as intended. If that’s not some semblance of passion, I don’t know what is.

Therefore, the beliefs that you have, the ones of your limitations, if you never revisit and reassess them, you’re at risk of losing out, on independence, on self victories and who knows what other benefits there are.

Have you heard of that story about the elephants? The one where trainers use ropes to tie up one of the legs of baby elephants in order to prevent them from escaping? They tried and failed to escape as babies, lacking the strength and capacity to break free in their infancy. After failing so many times, they believe the failures as their set limitation, a somewhat indoctrinated inability so deeply ingrained from young that even when they’ve grown up into huge adult elephants, with strength to easily break free from the flimsy rope’s capacity to hold them back, they never bother trying anymore – never reassessing their potential with time. You know its a predicament that plague all mammals the same, because sometimes even humans make the same mistake too – and not just with cooking, but also with anything and everything else, really.

Self limiting beliefs therefore, must always be revisited and retested. Because over time, your strength changes. Your level of experience changes. Your level of knowledge changes. Your abilities change. Heck even the tools available at your disposal in order to achieve some things have changed and expectedly improved over the years too. What you couldn’t do back then, you could probably find the resources to do very well at now, IF you ever thought of reassessing it. Like in my case of cooking, the way the internet helped has been tremendous. If I’d stuck with the belief that I would never be good at cooking and by extension not found my enjoyment of it, I’d never discover the joy of eating awesome dishes at cheaper costs. I’d still be dependently counting on food delivery services to send subpar foods costing way too much money.

Beliefs, they’re not exactly set in stone. So, if you never go back to rechallenge an old belief, you’re losing out on your own self potential, like the elephants are losing out on freedom. Go back, and retest yourself. You never know what great things you can achieve today if you’d only just try.

Just write…

I attended a creative writing class conducted over 3 consecutive nights by a published-author friend of mine last weekend. She has 6 published novels to her namesake as proof of credibility – the first of it in fact inspired a local TV drama production series that was such a hit nationwide. Ever heard of Cemburu Seorang Perempuan? Yup, that was inspired by her novel. If you’ve read any of her novels, you’ll know she has written impressively well. As such, my expectations were high – and obviously, she didn’t disappoint.

I picked up plenty of golden nuggets and new knowledge, from theoretical, personal bibliographical, as well as anecdotal sharings. I’m a mother of four whose weekends are often busier than her weekdays, so I struggled to fully focus all throughout the training, with forced interruptions due to maternal obligations peppered in between the sessions especially by my youngest when she gets clingy at her bedtime hour. Still, the course is such a precious thing to me for all the gems it contained. 3 days and a vault of writing wisdoms later, and heart jumping at ideas sprouting like mushrooms in my mind, and keeping my tired brain still buzzing past bedtime; I realized its not an easy thing at all, wanting to be a serious writer.

I’ve only ever written for leisure, no planning, hardly any research, no timeline, no pressure – so, despite the beginner’s excitement of a post-course newbie writer-wannabe, contemplating the business of serious authoring slowly became a daunting task, especially when time is a major deficiency for a busy, working mum of four, at the start of a new year, comme moi.

I am probably a little bit hard on myself too because God Knows January is one of, if not, THE MOST busiest month of the year – what with all the goal settings, KPIs listing, calendar planning and endless meetings to immerse myself in at the start of a new year. It has only been a week since the workshop and here I am expecting myself to have half a book done already – a bit too much expectation when I don’t even have the time for it. Hence, I am beginning to wonder if I’ll ever get started on actually seriously writing anything publish-worthy at all.

In times of self-doubt – the one teaching that resonated to me from the course is the urgings of my tutor/author friend on fighting inaction anyway and just write, even when..

Yup, just write. Even when…

Even when your big ideas are not completely original, just write.
Even when your stories are not breathtakingly compelling, just write.
Even when your plots are not currently popularly in trend, just write.
Even when your conflicts are not deeply traumatising, just write.
Even when your climax isn’t reaching the intended high, just write.

Or in my case right now, even when the only times you can find to consciously engage yourself in serious writing exercises is when you’re lying down to nurse your baby, and only perusing the Evernote app on your phone to do so, just write…

Just write, despite all your even whens…

Yes, even when you don’t get to publish, just write anyway… (I think I can get fulfilled even with just that)

Why? Simply because your creative juices, despite your self-perceived mediocrity, are worth pursuing, consistently and persistently, albeit for years on end (though keep it preferably shorter if you can), simply because there’s only one you.

No one will write they way you will. Even if the paragraphs start the same way, the chapters won’t be. Even if the ideas seem the same, the story won’t be. Even if the conflicts appear cliched, the drama won’t be. Even if the climax sounds familiar, the writing style won’t be. Because you’re you, and only you will write your story the way you do.

And most stories, albeit the most generic themed ones, deserve to be told, in your individual voice, with your own unique style, and through your own personalized coloured lenses – so if you don’t just write, even when…, then they won’t get to be told – which is a pity, and possibly a waste of good talent. The world, or at least, you yourself deserve a storytelling done by your own hands, in your own words, even if no one but you or the closest few are the only ones getting to read it. So if not for anything else, tell your story at the very least, for you.

All the big ideas and the great books that made the publishing cuts and grazing the shelves of bookstores are all out there today because the authors, despite the odds stacked against their better judgements, just wrote, even when….

So if you asked me what’s the best thing I took from that course, it is to just write, even when…

For me I guess, I also just write, just because. To be honest, I am not ambitious about having an actual book out and published. I find contentment in just being able to write at all. Maybe there’ll be a book – for a whole story or a compilation of stories, or maybe there won’t be. What I am certain there will be is my writings. In laptop or phone notes or social media account, or blog – there will be writing done by me. And that, is enough for me…

Of course if you want to learn more than to just write, in fact, a whole lot more, do attend her class. I heard she has a few lined up for the year. You’ll be pleased to know the many, many, many things you need in order to know how to just write, even when..

In the mean time though, just write…

To be or not to be…. FIRST CHOICE

There’s a stall selling soft buns 2 corners away from our neighbourhood that my husband pointed out to me recently, with a remark, “It’s astonishing how they can last for so long”.

“Why do you say that?” I asked. “Are the buns really bad?”

“Almost” he said. They’re not totally inedible is what he meant, but he added, “they would be my last choice, on the off chance no other options are available”.

The thing is, we live in an area where there are a multitude of better options so the chances of him having to resort to his last choice is slim to none.

It’s not that much of a difference making something totally mediocre and something totally awesome. I reckon aside from minor, practically negligible variations in the measurements, the ingredients are almost always the same things and in the same regard, so should be the efforts.

So why not strive for good or awesome? Why settle with just okay or just edible? Good sells itself with time – and eventually self-build a loyal customer base. Okay will need convincing every single time, and, new customers all the time – its bound to be taxing. A matter of time too before you run out of new patrons to convince, depending on the size of the local population. The power of word of mouth marketing will most likely speed up the timeline too – for better or for worse depending on what you strive for (excellence vs mediocrity)

Why be the last choice when you could be the first? A little bit more knowledge, and a little more effort and you can be topping the list of first choices. So if you’re not going to strive for good or best, why even do it at all?

Fast Fiction Friday – Grieving

Like droplets of water trickling down into a deep dark well, racing against time to fill the emptiness, and knowing no matter how quick or how much it flows, the well shall always remain, half empty, partially unfilled and hollow. Where cries of sorrow bounced against the walls, its echoes muffled by its place below ground, nursing concealed pain in solitary anguish. The agony though not seen, is deeply and tangibly felt. That is the heart of a woman whom half her soul has departed, struggling to survive a lonesome life, with a brave and smiling front, amidst her grieving.

#FastFiction100

I am getting better at keeping things short. 108 to 100 words over 3 editing rounds. Didn’t they say, practice makes better?

Fast Fiction Friday – Unloved.

The music box she used to play, the ring she wore daily which wasn’t even fancy, the red dress she looked so pretty in, her favourite book, and the teapot she used to make her daily tea with – all the things I had wanted to keep and nothing more, none of which I will inherit.  Just because I am the stranger in the family. The adopted daughter, the outsider not blood related, the estranged alien member of the non-family. The only one who has ever loved me, will never know how much her departure has left me feeling so unloved.

FastFiction100

Tested tolerance

You have lived all your life believing that you cannot and will not tolerate situation A.

And then…. God introduced to you situation B – and you realized that your compromise on situation A gives you a solution to your situation B because you found that as much as you couldn’t stand situation A, you couldn’t tolerate situation B even more. Therefore, given a choice on which to compromise on, you would rather compromise your ideals on situation A instead of B even if you have lived all your life believing you cannot and will not tolerate it.

This is perhaps a lesson Allah Wants me to learn. That He will continue to test my patience, my endurance and my tolerance for things which I thought I could not and would not accept, because He Knows better. That nothing in life is set in stone and learning a new tolerance will perhaps make me a stronger person. Whatever His wisdom, I am sure in time, all this maelstrom will make sense.

We can’t always have everything in life and not be tested for heaven, can we? No one gets an easy pass. Some people are tested with the way their kids are, some their husbands, some their neighbours, some their siblings, some their in laws, some their colleagues, some their relatives and some others their friends. In most trials and tribulations it is the trials of the heart and human relations that agrieve us the most – especially those nearest and dearest to us. Maybe this too is another lesson. That we should not depend on His creations for our fulfillment, rather we must depend ONLY on HIM as creator because no matter how awesome a creation is, someway, someday, somehow it will disappoint.

So here’s me wanting to give up but realizing I am much stronger than this and I need to learn this strength. At the same time, counting my blessings because no matter how hard this seems, there are countless other people who have it much worse than me. May Allah Provides me with ease, tolerance and strength through this.

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This was something I wrote 4 years ago today (in 2017) which remains relevant anytime you read it. One of those things that could pass off as general wisdom. Putting this here for rememberance and reminder

No one wins

It is very easy to get defensive when your kids potentially mess up and you have to deal with harsh and borderline insensitive complaints from other parents about your kids behaviour. Reel in your patience, take a breath and sought for peace, otherwise, no one wins.

Do not let inappropriate guilt get to you. It is not reflective of your poor parenting skills. Do not jump when others imply that your kid is the bad one while their kids are innocent divine victims who can do no wrong. Neither of you were there and fighting over he said, she said when there is no proof is an endless, pointless and demoralising exercise. You don’t become a parent to win wars with other parents about whose kids are better. You become a parent to teach your kids to do the right things, and mostly it requires your examples. Relent, let go and apologize on your children’s behalf anyway even if you didn’t think it was fair to them. Giving in does not always mean losing. It just means there are bigger things to prioritize amidst the conflict and nothing is more important than making sure your children come out of it a better person. Otherwise, no one wins.

Every mistake they make is a learning curve for them to learn the proper behaviour so they can be a better person. It is also a learning curve for you as a parent on how to teach them about it. Encourage your kids to always tell the truth, appreciate and trust their honesty, respect their explanations and correct their misconduct in the most constructive manner. It will not be easy but you’ll learn just as they will because otherwise, no one wins.

When my siblings and I were young and sometimes accused by our friends’ parents of things, I remembered my mom always apologising on our behalf even when we didn’t do it. She even made us apologize too which we did begrudgingly because we felt it was unfair. But behind closed doors she gave us a chance to defend ourselves, made us confess the truth and choose to trust us with it – it taught us to explain our actions and because of the trust she gave us, it taught us to own up to our mistakes as well. She believed it was more important that we learned the importance of honesty and of compromise because nothing good comes out of adults fighting childrens war. No one wins. The kids don’t learn and the adults don’t have peace.

She said if our friends had lied to their mom about their mistakes, who in turn blindly took their sides instead of trying to teach them the right thing, then, no one wins.

It isn’t about winning anyway, it is more about learning because otherwise, if no lessons are learnt by either kids or parents, then no one wins.

Don’t win wars, but teach lessons.]Otherwise, no one wins.

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I remember the time I was inspired to write this two years back on FB. My second son just entered primary school year 1. A parent just PMed me to complain about my son taking her son’s pencil – because when she asked her son, he plucked my son’s name. I apologised and said I will check with my son. I asked my son about it. He said he didn’t take it. In fact he lost some of his pencils as well because his friends were borrowing them from him left and right too. We checked his bags thoroughly and couldn’t find any pencil that didn’t have his name sticker on it. It was also true, my son’s number of pencils have also dwindled – which if you’ve had other standard 1 going kids you would know that its pretty normal. It seemed like a petty matter to get so riled up over. So I gave him a new pencil and asked him to give it back to this one friend anyway, as replacement.

Didn’t end there. First the pencil and then an eraser and then RM1, before the other pettier ones came. Everytime I asked my son he had explanations. He borrowed the eraser, but returned it back and he wasn’t the only one using it as other friends were too. We couldn’t find it in his bag either, but, again we replaced it anyway. He didn’t take the RM1 but the said friend did offer to treat him to a glass of iced chocolate drink and he accepted. We replaced it with RM2. I told him from then onwards, don’t ask for treats and don’t accept treats either because parents give money to their children so their children could buy food for themselves, not for their friends. So even when offered, please decline. Over the first few months of the school year, I was getting weary of the complaint messages. My son pushed his son. My son made fun of his son. My son took his son’s money again. I learned to trust my son because, he didn’t always get defensive. He owned up to some of his mistakes but learned to explain and defend himself when he wasn’t at fault – and it gave me a chance to teach him appropriate conduct among friends. There were also times when he complaint about this particular friend’s misbehaviours as well. I knew better than to take it to heart or to raise a counter complaint. The mother didn’t seem to think her child was capable of faults so raising a complaint would just open a new series of drama. Kids quarrel all the time – small fights they’ll soon forget. Unless it amounted to violence or anything more serious, adults don’t belong in their squabbles. I usually just teach him how to best deal with certain actions and move on.

Meanwhile, I kept on apologising on his behalf whether or not my son did anything wrong. I even asked their teacher to help monitor them closely. When it got rampant enough, I asked for them to be separated in class and deterred my son from getting too close with this particular friend. Seemed like his son needed a better friend than my son. Turns out, the teachers themselves were tired of her complaints too, up to the point they simply ignored her. Everytime she complained to them about something, they brush it off as normal small issues because parents should know, kids losing stationaries is something they’ll encounter until the childrens are in standard 3. That’s a long way to go. Instead of complaining, get creative on how your kids can hold on to their own belongings instead. So when I asked for a few of the teacher’s help to monitor them and place them far away from each other in class, they remarked knowingly of how they understood my request because frankly they got tired of her too. They compelled me to start ignoring her because they think maybe she stopped complaining to the teachers because they started brushing off her complaints and instead picked me to continue her disgruntled feelings with so it was probably best I started ignoring her too. Perhaps I was that one accomodating, always-apologising parent to indulge her anxieties with – the easy prey. But even I had my limits. I was always polite and apologetic until  such a time I told her, still polite, but firmly, that unless any of us were there every minute of the day, there’s nothing we can do to with their interactions. We can’t possibly be in control of all their actions all the time. If it was causing her so much distress, perhaps it would be best that they stop being friends altogether. I will tell my son to stop interacting with hers and she should do the same.  After that I ignored her texts. I stopped receiving them either.

My son continued to be separated from her son in class – but the teachers said it wasn’t easy. The boy kept on changing his seat and coming to sit next to my son anyway. He didn’t seem to like other friends as much as he did playing with Aidil. Maybe that’s why he kept plucking my son’s name everytime his mom interrogated him over a lost item – he’s most familiar with my son. Even when I asked my son did he try limiting his interactions with that said friend, he said he did but that friend kept on coming over. I went to school during their lunch break several times just to observe them. Sure enough, my independent, gung-ho, I-don’t-care-if-I-ate-alone son would get his lunch and instead of looking for his other friends to join at their table, he would look for a place where very little kids sat at, with ample space for him to plonk down on even if he wasn’t close to most of the kids at the table and eat away in content. Soon enough his other friends would come over to join him. There’ll be two or three who would just be standing by beside the table just waiting for my son to be done and this particular friend of his would always be one of them, just waiting. He didn’t seem like a very outspoken or confident kid, unlike my son who is loud and boisterously excited all the time. He doesn’t take things to heart for too long. Even his own achievements. He placed first in class for the mid year exam and didn’t even tell us until the class teacher texted me to congratulate my son and asked if I’d known he placed first in class? When I asked my son how come he didn’t tell me placed first he simply said, he didn’t even know he was doing so well and didn’t think it was such a big deal. Maybe that’s why the boy was drawn to hang out with my son. Aidil is always carefree confident and fun to be around. He’s goofy and seemingly popular too.

Whenever I went to visit them at school I took every opportunity I got to be kind to this boy and to also tell him how to treat my son in school in order to avoid more conflicts. Don’t lend my son anything, don’t buy stuffs or foods for my son and don’t change his place in class to sit next to my son. Just play nicely. I wasn’t the only mother who came to observe. The other mother came too several times, sometimes to reprimand my son. When asked what did he say in return, he said nothing much. He listened, mostly nodded and left. I told him it was important for him to show respect to elders so apologize if he was at fault and if he was not, just keep quiet and always give salam before you leave. Another opportunity to teach…

Frankly I felt pity for the child. It must be hard to always being pressured to squeak a name out for every missing item in his bag. I must applaud the mom for her diligence at inspections but clearly, her priorities are a little misplaced.

When my kids lost their stationaries, i never thought to ask them which one of their friend took it. In fact, if anyone were to be at fault, it would be my own children’s for not knowing how to care for their own belongings instead. If I chose to scold them over a valuable stationery they lost, it would always be because of their irresponsibility, not their friends’.  I never squeezed out any of their friends name before because it wouldn’t have mattered who had taken it. What mattered was why, my children themselves, were not careful enough about safeguarding their own stuffs. Its okay to lend stuffs out but always ensure you have them returned amd properly kept. Otherwise, it was no one else’s fault but your own.

Once I stopped getting complaints from the mother, I asked my son if he was still friends with the boy. He said yes but he tried not to be so close anymore. In standard 2, my son was placed in the first class. The other boy remained in the third. Then MCO happened and after MCO we changed my son to another school due to various logistic and administrative issues. It was brief, but it taught both me and my son about patience, about other people’s actions we can’t control, about choosing to do right anyway, about responsibility and accountability. That was a learning curve not just for the children, but more so for the parent.

My son didn’t have issues fitting in at the new school, with the congeniality he possess. Hopefully things are more smooth sailing moving forward.