Dear meself.
It's okay. Run away now, I don't blame you. I understand your fear. So take your time and rest your heart. I'll be here.
Just come back when you think it's time.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Monday, April 2, 2012
the rising lullaby.
Uhibbuki fillah. Saya sayang kamu kerana Allah.
Kerana kita tahu perancangan Allah yang terbaik. Dan walau kita begitu sayang, kita mesti lepaskan. Agar keterpisahan ini membawa kita dekat pada Allah. Perlu kita fahami, tak semua pertemuan itu Allah jadikan untuk tujuan penyatuan.
Saya selalu terfikir mungkinkah kita ini seakan sebuah sfera. Walau betapa besar sudut terhasil, sejauh mana kita bergerak, kita akan tetap bertemu semula, tetap kembali menyatu. Saban tahun, sudut yang terlukis kian besar, jarak kian bertambah, dan akhirnya saya tahu.
Kita rupa-rupanya cumalah garisan tangen, yang bertemu pada satu titik dan kemudiannya berpisah buat selama-lamanya. Saya adalah paksi-x dan kamu hanyalah paksi-y. Kita bertemu hanya sekali tapi cukup membahagiakan. Alhamdulillah.
Kita merancang, tapi Allah juga merancang. Ternyata telah Allah aturkan yang lebih baik untuk kita. Tahniah. Semoga bercinta sampai syurga dan bahagia dunia akhirat. Barakallahu lakuma.
Biar tiap putik kenangan gugur indah, kerana bahagia kita hanya Allah yang tahu. Jodoh itu rahsia Allah, dan antara tragisnya cinta dan indahnya keredhaan, itu juga rahsia Allah, bukan?
Amatlah rugi bukan bila mana Allah pisahkan kita dari sesuatu yang kita kasihi, namun kita masih sombong untuk kembali kepada Allah. Bagaimana andai keterpisahan itu hanyalah jalan Allah untuk memanggil kita pulang kepadaNya? Pulanglah. Kelak Allah akan sembuhkan luka kita, jika tidak di dunia, di akhirat sana.
Dan semoga luka yang sementara ini akan menguatkan larian kita meraih syurgaNya, melebihi larian kita mengejar dunia. InsyaAllah.
Kerana kita tahu perancangan Allah yang terbaik. Dan walau kita begitu sayang, kita mesti lepaskan. Agar keterpisahan ini membawa kita dekat pada Allah. Perlu kita fahami, tak semua pertemuan itu Allah jadikan untuk tujuan penyatuan.
Saya selalu terfikir mungkinkah kita ini seakan sebuah sfera. Walau betapa besar sudut terhasil, sejauh mana kita bergerak, kita akan tetap bertemu semula, tetap kembali menyatu. Saban tahun, sudut yang terlukis kian besar, jarak kian bertambah, dan akhirnya saya tahu.
Kita rupa-rupanya cumalah garisan tangen, yang bertemu pada satu titik dan kemudiannya berpisah buat selama-lamanya. Saya adalah paksi-x dan kamu hanyalah paksi-y. Kita bertemu hanya sekali tapi cukup membahagiakan. Alhamdulillah.
Kita merancang, tapi Allah juga merancang. Ternyata telah Allah aturkan yang lebih baik untuk kita. Tahniah. Semoga bercinta sampai syurga dan bahagia dunia akhirat. Barakallahu lakuma.
Biar tiap putik kenangan gugur indah, kerana bahagia kita hanya Allah yang tahu. Jodoh itu rahsia Allah, dan antara tragisnya cinta dan indahnya keredhaan, itu juga rahsia Allah, bukan?
Amatlah rugi bukan bila mana Allah pisahkan kita dari sesuatu yang kita kasihi, namun kita masih sombong untuk kembali kepada Allah. Bagaimana andai keterpisahan itu hanyalah jalan Allah untuk memanggil kita pulang kepadaNya? Pulanglah. Kelak Allah akan sembuhkan luka kita, jika tidak di dunia, di akhirat sana.
Dan semoga luka yang sementara ini akan menguatkan larian kita meraih syurgaNya, melebihi larian kita mengejar dunia. InsyaAllah.
Friday, March 30, 2012
A bloodbath.
Sometimes when you're strong, people think it's okay to hurt you.
Like if there were two people standing in front of them, and they could only save one of them and hurt the other, then they would point the gun at you and shoot, thinking you'll make it through. Why not? You're stronger, you can take the bullet anytime and heal yourself, right?
Wrong. Dead wrong.
Strong people are strong because they work hard on being strong. It's not by fate, they're not born with it. Do not simply pull the trigger and shoot. Because healing takes time, even for strong people. Healing is psychological, more so than physical. If you keep shooting them, they won't get enough time to recover from each wound, as another bullet is coming up, and another, and another. Makes sense, no?
I wonder, if strong people raised their hands and tell others not to shoot, would they still be shot?
Like if there were two people standing in front of them, and they could only save one of them and hurt the other, then they would point the gun at you and shoot, thinking you'll make it through. Why not? You're stronger, you can take the bullet anytime and heal yourself, right?
Wrong. Dead wrong.
Strong people are strong because they work hard on being strong. It's not by fate, they're not born with it. Do not simply pull the trigger and shoot. Because healing takes time, even for strong people. Healing is psychological, more so than physical. If you keep shooting them, they won't get enough time to recover from each wound, as another bullet is coming up, and another, and another. Makes sense, no?
I wonder, if strong people raised their hands and tell others not to shoot, would they still be shot?
Friday, February 3, 2012
you're the sorrow behind my door.
Behind every closed magnificent door, you might find a child who eats his dinner alone. A kettle left unattended. An ant lost from its colony. A girl with diamonds around her neck and yet she's crying. They are all the same. They are all broken.
I remembered a little girl with a sweet smile. She let me sleep in her bed. A book was under her pillow. Few seconds after reading it, I realized what it was. A diary. This girl whose dad owns a sumptuous amount of money, who has piano and horseback riding lessons every week, who receives presents from abroad relatives. This girl actually wrote a diary.
l never looked at her the same anymore. All I see is a broken child. A sister waiting for her runaway brother to come home. A girl who reheats her food because that's what the note on the fridge read. A daughter who hasn't seen her father for months. And I thought her life was heaven.
I have lost things too. And with everything I've lost, I've also found something else. Most of the times, they are intangible. Strength, wisdom, and also - faith. But these intangible things are confusing because they cannot be seen, only felt. Therefore, often I thought I haven't gained anything when really I've gained more. Allah knows better, really He does.
I guess to those who much is given, much is lost too. Probably when you met someone who seems to have it all - beauty, wealth, success, love etc - know that they too, could have lost just as much before. People rarely admit it, but all of us carry our own emotional baggage with us everywhere. Failed marriages, death of loved ones, incurable drug addiction. It could be anything. Everything.
Put effort into your life, don't envy what others have. Probably their lives are sadder than yours. They just don't show it the way you won't show yours. We are born actors. We built our own stage and live someone else's life. Most people get sad very young, don't you think?
Be thankful. Be very thankful.
I remembered a little girl with a sweet smile. She let me sleep in her bed. A book was under her pillow. Few seconds after reading it, I realized what it was. A diary. This girl whose dad owns a sumptuous amount of money, who has piano and horseback riding lessons every week, who receives presents from abroad relatives. This girl actually wrote a diary.
l never looked at her the same anymore. All I see is a broken child. A sister waiting for her runaway brother to come home. A girl who reheats her food because that's what the note on the fridge read. A daughter who hasn't seen her father for months. And I thought her life was heaven.
I have lost things too. And with everything I've lost, I've also found something else. Most of the times, they are intangible. Strength, wisdom, and also - faith. But these intangible things are confusing because they cannot be seen, only felt. Therefore, often I thought I haven't gained anything when really I've gained more. Allah knows better, really He does.
I guess to those who much is given, much is lost too. Probably when you met someone who seems to have it all - beauty, wealth, success, love etc - know that they too, could have lost just as much before. People rarely admit it, but all of us carry our own emotional baggage with us everywhere. Failed marriages, death of loved ones, incurable drug addiction. It could be anything. Everything.
Put effort into your life, don't envy what others have. Probably their lives are sadder than yours. They just don't show it the way you won't show yours. We are born actors. We built our own stage and live someone else's life. Most people get sad very young, don't you think?
Be thankful. Be very thankful.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
why do people forget?
Sometimes I wish I don't have to learn the hard way. Which is absurd because everyone knows that the best lessons in life are the ones you learnt from your worst mistakes. Just that sometimes, in those brief moments before I sleep, where my eyes are halfway close, I would hit the rewind button. And the images would only stop at the same time frame, where I once made my worst mistake. Every single bloody time.
That's probably why people chose to forget. Forgetfulness is an asset. It erases the dark days of your past like they'd never happened. You'll be able to start again. Create new memories. Invent a story that was never there. Be someone else.
But by choosing to forget, you really haven't learned anything. Which means you are bound to repeat that same bloody mistake.
So yeah, that's why I'm still awake at two in the morning. Remembering, tasting the pain of my mistake. It reminds me that I'm human. And being human, we simply make mistakes because we attach ourselves to what the world has to offer - money, status, love, relationship etc. As of now, I'm detaching myself from these things so that they won't hurt me.
But probably the best lesson I've learnt is not to follow my heart. It once led me to you.
That's probably why people chose to forget. Forgetfulness is an asset. It erases the dark days of your past like they'd never happened. You'll be able to start again. Create new memories. Invent a story that was never there. Be someone else.
But by choosing to forget, you really haven't learned anything. Which means you are bound to repeat that same bloody mistake.
So yeah, that's why I'm still awake at two in the morning. Remembering, tasting the pain of my mistake. It reminds me that I'm human. And being human, we simply make mistakes because we attach ourselves to what the world has to offer - money, status, love, relationship etc. As of now, I'm detaching myself from these things so that they won't hurt me.
But probably the best lesson I've learnt is not to follow my heart. It once led me to you.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
this is how i love you.
When I first posted my pictures onto the website, I didn't know how many lives would be changed. I really didn't. I guess for me, it was simply to suit the weekend amusement mode. There were only two pictures. My athletic lopsided smile when I was in college, and the other one with the bowling-sized belly - taken only last week, fours years after marrying Emma.
The comments were mostly hinted at how round my body proportion in the second picture, as compared from the one in my college days. From my bulging belly all the way to my puffy cheeks. As I was skimming those comments, I stopped myself. And no, not because my television screen just showed Messi made yet another legendary winning goal, though that would have stopped me before. I stopped because I simply understand that none of them gets it. And it's not even their fault.
It's not their fault that they think my sudden body expansion was due to my happiness of having a wife. It's not their fault that they think I gained weight because I am a married man. That a man with a wife is entitled to being happy, hence the bulging belly. Before going further, let me first tell you about Emma.
I met Emma in high school, back when my heart kept urging me that she was the one. And being Emma, she typically kept running away from me. But also being me, I never stopped chasing her. And boy, what a sprinter she was. Somewhere towards the crossing line, I managed to somehow run with her side by side. And to my amazement, she slowed down and let me take over. A woman can't run too fast without getting tired, that's what she said. I took that as a yes. Five years later, she did say yes to my marriage proposal.
Now Emma the sprinter, and Emma the wife are two different people, I tell you. There must be some misprinted manual of Emma somewhere, with several chapters missing when I married her. She wasn't the best cook. But she certainly is the worst. She couldn't fathom why salt cannot and will never be able to replace sugar. That's the only thing I can think of while eating salty dinner. And lunch. And sometimes even tea. Emma would spend hours in the kitchen preparing them. And afterwards, she'll come up to me and said, "Let's eat outside today." And that either means she burnt her food or burnt her fingers.
Emma can't, for the life of god - drive a car. She gets freaked out and started talking about evil driving instructor who failed her thrice. She has irrational fears over animals and insects, except for ants, mosquitoes and flies. She loves literature but studied linguistics instead. She would purposely change sides in an argument just so she could start a bantering session with me. Emma even though she never admits it, suffers from an obsessive compulsive disorder, I must say. I tried to prove my point by purposely facing a photo frame slightly to the left. In the evening, she reminded me that the frame must be positioned in a way that it directly faces the stairs approximately 270 degrees to the left. I don't think a normal husband would want to carry a protractor in his own house.
Despite all these, I've never seen Emma cry. Except the one time when I was outside the labour room, when her cry was a mashed-up of hers and our baby. Other than that, never. When I came home carrying the office problems into the house, she never force me to open up. Not because she was oblivious, but because she knows me well enough to know that I need the time to allow myself to discard my ego before breaking down in front of her. And she won't try to pretend that she gets it, because she doesn't. Banking isn't really her strongest point, you see. She won't try to solve problems that she knew she couldn't, but instead she makes me laugh. She always had this eccentric way that can conjure up my sanity, up to the point that I don't even mind the problems anymore, as long as I have her. And that is enough to remind me that problems would eventually leave, but she will stay with me, by me, for me. Forever and eternal.
And that's why those pictures I posted would never be understood. Even if you sent them all over the world, and they came right back to you, still the whole world doesn't get it. I did gain (some) weight. And I am happy with my life. But it's not because I am a married man. Not because I have a wife.
It's because I am married to Emma. Because my wife is Emma. You see, if it's not Emma, it cannot be. It has to be Emma. Marriage alone does not have the key to make me happy. Any other wives would not get me the way Emma does. It has to come with a package of Emma - with her misprinted missing chapters manual and all. Anybody can learn to cook, drive a car or be insanely filial. But nobody can learn to be Emma.
This is how I love you.
0213 hours.
22.12.2011.
University of Malaya.
The comments were mostly hinted at how round my body proportion in the second picture, as compared from the one in my college days. From my bulging belly all the way to my puffy cheeks. As I was skimming those comments, I stopped myself. And no, not because my television screen just showed Messi made yet another legendary winning goal, though that would have stopped me before. I stopped because I simply understand that none of them gets it. And it's not even their fault.
It's not their fault that they think my sudden body expansion was due to my happiness of having a wife. It's not their fault that they think I gained weight because I am a married man. That a man with a wife is entitled to being happy, hence the bulging belly. Before going further, let me first tell you about Emma.
I met Emma in high school, back when my heart kept urging me that she was the one. And being Emma, she typically kept running away from me. But also being me, I never stopped chasing her. And boy, what a sprinter she was. Somewhere towards the crossing line, I managed to somehow run with her side by side. And to my amazement, she slowed down and let me take over. A woman can't run too fast without getting tired, that's what she said. I took that as a yes. Five years later, she did say yes to my marriage proposal.
Now Emma the sprinter, and Emma the wife are two different people, I tell you. There must be some misprinted manual of Emma somewhere, with several chapters missing when I married her. She wasn't the best cook. But she certainly is the worst. She couldn't fathom why salt cannot and will never be able to replace sugar. That's the only thing I can think of while eating salty dinner. And lunch. And sometimes even tea. Emma would spend hours in the kitchen preparing them. And afterwards, she'll come up to me and said, "Let's eat outside today." And that either means she burnt her food or burnt her fingers.
Emma can't, for the life of god - drive a car. She gets freaked out and started talking about evil driving instructor who failed her thrice. She has irrational fears over animals and insects, except for ants, mosquitoes and flies. She loves literature but studied linguistics instead. She would purposely change sides in an argument just so she could start a bantering session with me. Emma even though she never admits it, suffers from an obsessive compulsive disorder, I must say. I tried to prove my point by purposely facing a photo frame slightly to the left. In the evening, she reminded me that the frame must be positioned in a way that it directly faces the stairs approximately 270 degrees to the left. I don't think a normal husband would want to carry a protractor in his own house.
Despite all these, I've never seen Emma cry. Except the one time when I was outside the labour room, when her cry was a mashed-up of hers and our baby. Other than that, never. When I came home carrying the office problems into the house, she never force me to open up. Not because she was oblivious, but because she knows me well enough to know that I need the time to allow myself to discard my ego before breaking down in front of her. And she won't try to pretend that she gets it, because she doesn't. Banking isn't really her strongest point, you see. She won't try to solve problems that she knew she couldn't, but instead she makes me laugh. She always had this eccentric way that can conjure up my sanity, up to the point that I don't even mind the problems anymore, as long as I have her. And that is enough to remind me that problems would eventually leave, but she will stay with me, by me, for me. Forever and eternal.
And that's why those pictures I posted would never be understood. Even if you sent them all over the world, and they came right back to you, still the whole world doesn't get it. I did gain (some) weight. And I am happy with my life. But it's not because I am a married man. Not because I have a wife.
It's because I am married to Emma. Because my wife is Emma. You see, if it's not Emma, it cannot be. It has to be Emma. Marriage alone does not have the key to make me happy. Any other wives would not get me the way Emma does. It has to come with a package of Emma - with her misprinted missing chapters manual and all. Anybody can learn to cook, drive a car or be insanely filial. But nobody can learn to be Emma.
This is how I love you.
0213 hours.
22.12.2011.
University of Malaya.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
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