“Di saat rentan hati, ingin rasanya saya pergi mengasingkan diri. Pergi jauh ke sebuah pelukan dan berlabuh di bahu seseorang, tetapi pelukan siapa, bahu siapa?” (“When I was vulnerable, I want to go into exile. Go deep into an embrace and land on someone's shoulder, but whose embrace, whose shoulder?”) - Srimenanti, Joko Pinurbo

Several days ago, a close friend and I visited a place together with my motorcycle. As our outing came to an end, we made our way back to the parking area, only to discover it was packed with vehicles, making it challenging to retrieve mine. Determined, we both exerted considerable effort to navigate our way out while sharing jokes about how “independent” we are. I later uttered, “I remember a quite similar moment where I still get emotional when I think about it,”

“What happened?” She inquired

"One morning, while riding this exact motorcycle to work, I noticed smoke emanating from its front. Later, when it was time to head home, I approached a male colleague from my team, seeking reassurance about the safety of bringing the motorcycle to the repair shop in its current condition--hoping to convince myself that I would be alright," I narrated, the scene replaying vividly in my mind.

There was a brief pause as I took a deep breath, "Instead of offering me the assurance I sought, he said, 'Just ask a man for help. What's so impossible about it? You don't have to handle everything on your own.'"

The floodgates of mixed emotions surged within me. “I ended up seeking assistance while battling to hold back tears. Truthfully, I don’t want to be this ‘independent’, I just don’t have the luxury to rely on someone,” I noticed that the smile I offered is broken.

“Same as today. It’s not that we are inherently strong, just we don’t have options. That’s what you meant?” She tried to read the direction of my story.

I nodded. Truth is, there are times when I wished to rely on someone, putting down the burden of making difficult decisions or performing strenuous tasks. There have been days in my life when I yearned for a break from the constant need to engage my mind fully. There have been instances where I wanted to mindlessly follow someone else, trusting that he would lead me to the right path. I secretly longed for moments when I could surrender to a sense of ease, knowing that someone would take care of things for me.

As someone who always thought that nobody is willing to be her place to lean on, sometimes, I desired the freedom to be weak and vulnerable. There were also tiny moments when I hope I can let go of the worries and responsibilities. Therefore, I would highly appreciate the moments when I am allowed to not have all the answers as someone else would be there to figure things out alongside me. Therefore, I just smiled when people say that I am a strong independent woman. Sorry to burst your bubble but that's not necessarily true.

Life has taught me resilience, nurturing independence born out of necessity. From time to time, I consoled myself with the knowledge that, despite the difficulties, I possessed the strength to navigate life. And perhaps, in an unexpected encounter, I may stumble upon someone’s shoulder. Until that, I will remain steadfast, honoring both my fragility and strength. Because, just as Joko Pinurbo also mentioned in Srimenanti: Namun, bagaimanapun saya mencintai hidup ini. (However, no matter how it is, I love this life). 

I will try to always love this fate.

Love,

iim

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(Amor Fati is translated as a love of fate.)

image source: John Nature Photos at Pixabay

Have I mentioned that one of my secret favorite things to do is blog walking? There’s something captivating about strolling through the depths of someone’s (even stranger’s) mind. A personal blog, in my opinion, offers a window into the intricate complexities of an individual’s train of thought. What a great thing it is to have access to someone’s mind by reading their posts.  

Recently, I revisited one blog that stuck in my mind even after years of reading it. I decided to delve into the posts that I hadn’t explored yet. After wandering around, one particular entry gripped me in its emotional embrace. I didn’t close the tab after I finished it as I was captivated by the poetic expressions that totally describe my feelings:

“As I willed myself not to cry, I realized I was probably too soft for this city. And that I should probably drink more water…. And, yet, I’m too hard for other cities. I can’t seem to find the right fit.” (I Am Too Soft for This City, Generation Meh)

For years, I found it difficult to express my confusion about the fit living space for me and then the author squeezed my struggle in just 4 sentences.  It was as if the post had eloquently captured my perplexity regarding finding a suitable place to call home. These sentiments mirrored the conversations I had with my friends, where I expressed the struggle in discovering a sense of comfort in my current residence, Jakarta.

Navigating the capital city, in my opinion, demand a high-level resilience and a strong-as-stone heart. Someone with delicate feelings like me often can only cry for what I and other people in this full-of-inequalities-and-unfairness city have to go through. I am aware of how overwhelmingly tiring it is to breathe in this bustling, fast-paced urban environment while being sensitive like me. It’s a metropolis with relentless demand and perpetual motion that will leave anyone behind unless they run. Yet, here is the land that offers the most opportunities and growth--stuff that I recognize as necessary.

“And that I should probably drink more water.”, the author wittily continued expressing their feeling towards the city. It’s a beautiful metaphor that in this kind of city, we need to take care of our well-being more. Indeed, I need to stop ignoring the importance of physical and mental well-being, even when I live in a stressful city.

On the other hand, some cities exude a gentler aura, embracing me with warmth. I find comfort in slow peaceful living but after months, I would find myself feeling out of place. I seemed can’t fully integrate my aspiration of having a meaningful impact with this softer lifestyle. There is a reluctant nod from me because turned out “Yet, I’m too hard for other cities” also fits my situation.

Then I remember an old piece of advice my dad said to my mom: “No matter where we go, there is always a neighbor we can’t genuinely get along well with or something that we couldn’t completely accept. The Prophet in the hadith had discussed this as well so let’s be grateful for where we live.”.   

While I acknowledged the truth in that advice, I still wish I can find the environment that fits me the most. I know this constant search for the right place leaves me disheartened at times. However, I hope that someday, I will stumble upon a city that balances growth and tenderness. I pray that one day I can find my rightful place in this vast world--the perfect equilibrium between my inner world and the external environment. Though the path may be uncertain, I believe that there is a city out there, a home out there, that provides me with the harmony I seek. I believe someday I will find it. 

Oh wait, perhaps I had found it...

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(For now, I will try to enjoy Jakarta.)

image source: Ahmad Basyar on Pixabay

Aku kehilangan hitungan tentang berapa banyak tali yang kulepaskan bersama perpindahan raksasa baja ini antara dua bandar udara. Meminjam narasi Sapardi dalam Hujan Bulan Juni: “Bagaimana mungkin seseorang memiliki keinginan untuk mengurai kembali benang yang tak terkirakan jumlahnya dalam selembar sapu tangan yang telah ditenunnya sendiri.”. Bagaimana aku mesti mengurai paksa benang-benang yang telah terkait dengan selaksa degup jantung di kota yang kutinggalkan--aku tidak mengerti. Serat-serat rapuh ini barangkali hanya akan patah bersama terlepasnya genggaman jari-jemari jiwa-jiwa di kota ini.

Terima kasih untuk menjadi tahun penyembuhan yang kubutuhkan. Terima kasih atas kehangatan yang bahkan tidak mampu menjadikan suhu 6 derajat membuatku menggigil dan ingin pergi. Terima kasih atas 4 musim yang begitu indah. Aku begitu beruntung sempat menjalani 365 hari di belahan bumi yang ini. Terima kasih khususnya untuk orang-orang terhangat yang pernah kutemui--yang melihat segala tangis dan tawa--lalu berkata bahwa kita bersama-sama dalam langkah. Terima kasih untuk membuat pergi menjadi terdengar bodoh dan tidak masuk akal.  

Setiap kata perpisahan--baik bersama riang tawa maupun derai tangis--meninggalkan jejak yang serupa di rongga batinku. Aku datang saat musim gugur dan kini musim gugur lainnya sudah selesai. Aku harus menyelesaikan ini semua dan pulang. Akan tetapi, meminjam lirik Selesai milik Glenn Fredly, “Rasa ini tak pernah selesai.”. Aku tahu bersama kepulanganku ini, rasa ini tidak akan pernah selesai. Meski akan ada bagian dari hatiku yang tersesaki oleh kenangan dan tidak akan pernah selesai, aku tidak akan melawan.

Jika hanya boleh ada satu kata yang mewakili perasaan saya pada setahun belakangan, itu adalah kesyukuran. Aku mencintai kota yang jembatan dan rumahnya begitu ikonik. Di masa depan, jika aku bertemu dengan seseorang yang membuatku jatuh hati, barangkali ketimbang berkata aku mencintaimu, aku akan mengatakan: Engkau seperti Sydney bagiku. Sampai bertemu lagi. Sampai dengan waktu itu, aku akan banyak merindukanmu. 

Sekarang, izinkan aku berdamai dengan rindu yang menusuk-nusuk hati. Besok mungkin aku akan berhenti menangis tetapi hari ini biarkan air mata membanjiri sisi-sisi batin ini.

Alhamdulillah atas segalanya--termasuk perasaan begitu sulit meninggalkan.

Love,

iim

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Image source: meer.com

In my previous blog post titled "Why Didn't I Defend Myself", I shared the painful experience of being unjustly accused by a colleague's wife of attempting to steal her husband. I kept silent all the time until that blog post--an effort to document my healing journey from such a heartless act. I thought I had finally done with the horrible treatments until recently I once again received a message telling me to stay away. I had blocked her husband’s number, and never ever interacted again since that accusation was being thrown at me, and I was not even physically in the same country with him so it was perplexing why I was being bothered again. And what made me go back to the disappointment loop is the knowledge that she had reached out to my friends and colleagues--accusing me while shedding tears.

If someone’s wife tearfully tells you that a woman is trying to steal her husband, I believe it is difficult for us to not sympathize and incline to take sides with her, isn’t it?  

This kind of question reminds me of a story that sticks in my memory--a great reminder to never judge solely based on someone’s silence or speech. I have a good friend who was accused of pestering someone even when that someone already rejected him. Naturally, everyone believed these claims and viewed my friend in a negative light. In the middle of unpleasant words about him, after long thoughts, I told him, “I know you are a good person and I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. It would be useful if you can tell me your side of the story but even if you are never ready for that, know that I am always your friend,”

He thanked me but chose not to explain further, simply saying, “I will let you know someday,”. It indeed took him months to finally be able to open up about his experience. One day, he sat across me, exhaustion evident on his face, telling me that he quietly struggled of finding a way to cope with a rumor that was being spread by the other party. He revealed that he had been visiting a psychologist every week until he arrived at a point where telling the story didn’t shatter him anymore. (As evidence, he also showed me the letter from the psychologist).

“Instead, it was me who was being harassed,” his voice soft and trembling. “I was a victim of sexual harassment. It wasn't me pestering, just demanding an explanation. I know it is hard to process this information and believe it--especially when it comes from a man. But, that is my side of the story. It is okay if you don’t believe me,”

His voice shook me to the core, and I vividly remember his reddened eyes that simultaneously conveyed strength and vulnerability. His shoulders rose and fell visibly, as though all his efforts were insufficient to articulate his thoughts, as though he could crumble at any moment. I can see that even breathing wasn’t easy for him while brokenly smiling. Seeing that kind of smile, everyone, broke my heart every time without fail.

Holding back my tears, a profound realization washed over me. In this world, we easily empathize with those who openly display their pain and tears. But what about those who silently weep, bearing their burdens in private? What about those who seek healing in silence while the accusers are loud and relentless? What about the hearts that quietly suffer as if they will die from the pains but still act calm and collected?

That day, once again I learned that sometimes, truth could be quiet and lies could be loud. That very moment, I made a solemn promise to myself that, even in times when my mind is clouded and judgment is easy, I would do my utmost to seek understanding from all parties involved. That is because I understood firsthand how it feels when people do not try to find my side of the story. Because I know how it feels when I’ve explained and nobody doesn’t really consider my perspective. Because I know how frustrating it can be when the people that I consider friends and colleagues stay quiet about what happened to me.

I took any steps further--even when the distance was already far. I backed off from the place where that someone's husband and I worked together because I am so done with all the dramas. Enough is enough. You can try to bring me down but know that Allah is watching. You can accuse me of anything but know that His angels record anything. And for the people that didn’t try to seek understanding from both sides or didn’t try to help when they have the opportunity to clarify, I am so sorry.

I am sorry that you could do better but decided not to. I am sorry that you could help someone who is being abused but decided to act like the pain she feel was nothing.

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Image by: Thanh Nguyen via Pixabay

For all my life, I went through a lot of heartbreaks. As a daughter, my mom seemed to have favoritism towards her son. If the son couldn’t academically perform well, she would say “It’s okay you don’t necessarily have to be a great student,”. But if the case happened to me, she would say I didn’t study hard enough. That I was not diligent enough.

That I was not enough.

That I probably will never be enough.

In my elementary school, a teacher also exhibited a clear bias towards boys to the point he decided to give a male classmate of mine the top rank although many people’s views suggested that I performed better. I vividly remember the tears streaming down my face as I walked home, burdened by the exhaustion of striving so hard only to face the perception that I would never be sufficient. These experiences served as bitter reminders that life is inherently unfair and while I know that indeed reality plays that way, I wished that I hadn't learned this harsh truth as early as that. I was an innocent young girl who believed that as long as I gave my all, good things will eventually happen to me. However, reality kept slapping my face with hardship after hardship, heartbreak after heartbreak telling me that I will never measure up. I experienced too many heartbreaks that I thought for a long time probably I simply doesn’t deserve love and happiness.

Guess what lyrics I picked as the representation of my life where love and acceptance were perpetually out of my reach?

Hyukoh’s “For me, even love occurs just between other groups of people.”. 

Consequently, I grew into a person of contrasting elements: I smile and laugh a lot even when I feel sad and upset. I appeared cheerful and bright even when fear and insecurity consumed me. I wore a bubbly façade while carrying the weight of heartbreaks and feelings of inadequacy, believing that I wouldn't be accepted unless I take the extra mile in everything. For me, I didn’t dare hope to be loved or cherished, my heart just quietly requested “Please just accept my existence”. I just couldn’t afford to feel rejected while I was struggling to accept myself and the fate I had.

After years of heartbreaks, Sydney which was in my prayers for the last 8 years appeared as a ray of hope into my life. The woman who thought she wouldn’t be chosen for great opportunities was picked among thousands of applicants. I finally know what it feels like to feel wanted after witnessing what happened here and crossing paths with some of the most beautiful souls I've ever met. That there are people who genuinely appreciated and wanted me to have this beautiful life. That I also deserve to wear genuine smiles and be happy.

So thank you Sydney for illuminating my once-dim heart. Thank you for gracing my monotonous dull days with your presence. This time around, thank you for being the beacon of light in my life after enduring the seemingly never-ending cycle of heartbreaks. I rewrote my narrative here as I learned to accept the lasting scars on my soul and moved on. I cherished the strength, resilience, and authenticity I learned throughout the journey. 

I finally learned that I am also worthy of acceptance and happiness. I am no longer feeling unwanted, unchosen, and undeserving. I am saying goodbye to an endless sadness. It took me two decades but I can finally say this: 

I am healed. 

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P.S.: Thank you, Allah.

Hi, everyone. How have you been? I wish everyone is doing well and enjoying the season whatever it is, wherever you might be. Recently, I got a message slash *cough* reminder saying, “The month has changed and you haven’t posted something new,”. Alright. Here is this lazy blogger's comeback post 😊

Speaking of seasons, the colder-than-average Australian autumn just started in full-blown --no no I didn’t mean his autumn-like eyes' icy stares, just the season, okay? Please refrain from taking this assumption because I am still trying to find someone who will even stare at me *ugly cry. huhu. *my self-deprecating humor needed to make a comeback as well.

I remember last autumn wasn’t this chill but recently I shivered whenever I stepped outside. A recent morning, I saw my screen display a bone-chilling 5°C while I was waiting for the train. The temperature dropped significantly and I recalled a conversation with a close friend from the previous autumn about how colder temperatures affect our food.

“I used to think this Reply 1988 quote is deep but after I knew how frosty a food can be, the words are Mariana Trench. I mean, I don’t mind eating cold rice in Indonesia but here I feel pitiful of myself when I eat it because it is really that cold. Therefore, ‘I want you to have a warm meal.’ is such an underrated love expression,” I uttered.

At first glance, it might seem like a simple statement, but once I've experienced the biting cold of a meal, it takes on a whole new level of meaning. And the words are even deeper in meaning when you know the story. Let me walk you through it. One of the main characters in Reply 1988 is a young baduk (traditional Korean board game) athlete who traveled frequently for matches. As a consequence, he couldn’t accompany his single dad to have his meals from time to time. One day, when the father cautiously asked for the son’s permission to remarry, he answered his father with a tear-jerking statement,

“Dad… I want you to have a warm meal, even when I’m not here with you. It’s your life, Dad. I want you to be happy.”

source: Reply 1988 PH

(He just wanted someone to take care of his dad. These words pierced my soul. Who cuts onion? Where is my tissue?)

I then remembered my father who "liked" to eat cold rice. My family used to have tough times when I was a child so we couldn’t afford a rice cooker. As a result, he would often eat cold rice, saying that he liked it that way (at that time, I didn’t know that there is a great possibility that it was just an act). Those particular vivid scenes taught me to appreciate what I have and not to complain about food or anything else in life. Even now, I never complained about food because my dad gave me an example to be patient and not complain. However, putting the lessons aside, that memory truly broke my heart. Hence, I worked hard so his life could be a bit easier. I don’t have any option but to put in my entire effort. Struggling is hard but watching my family has a difficult life is even harder. That is how I walked this far. 

I grew up with cold rice to be able to deeply appreciate the warmth. I am aware that warm food is not a luxury everyone can have so I am consciously thankful. I also like when people have warm personalities, warm smiles, and warm words. People who radiate gentle acceptance and understanding can easily touch the inner part of my soul. I am just thankful when people resemble warm blankets in the peak winter--comforting and reassuring.

Dear everyone reading this, I sincerely want you to have a warm meal every day. And what I meant is not just warm meals but also emotional warmth that embraces your hearts. And also, if by any chance you have eased my day, know that this “I found it hard to express my feeling except by writing” woman is deeply grateful.

Lastly, dear my dad, I want you to have a warm meal, even when I'm not there with you.

Love,

Iim

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Image by rawpixel.com on Freepik

My phone rang at late night when I almost went to bed. A close friend’s name appeared on the screen. When I picked up the call, I noticed how cautious and stammered she was with her words, contrasted with how cheerful she was whenever we talked. Therefore, I prepared myself for the bad news. There must be something unpleasing she wanted to deliver to me.

“Is there something you might find it difficult to tell me?” after quite a chit-chat, I braced myself to find out the reason for the sudden late at-night, unplanned conversation.

“After I tell you, I hope you don’t feel sad. Just ignore it. I just wanted you to know so you are better informed when you need to make a decision.” Her cautiousness was still there.

She heard my quiet affirmation, then proceed,

“So today a friend just asked me about you because she knew we’re close friends. She forwarded a question she had received from another person about you. That friend said that she was asked about whether you are such a woman….. the type of woman who will snatch somebody’s husband." she paused, "I thought after a year ago his wife harshly accused you and you backed down although you were innocent, everything was finished. Turned out it is still an issue till today and even involved more people.” I can hear her voice shaking, “It hurts me to see you receive such cruelty and you kept quiet. It pains me a lot to witness someone with good intentions like you be treated horribly like this. You should defend yourself and fight back.” This time I found a burning anger in her tone.

There was silence as we both wandered around our minds, trying to understand the situation better. My mind recalled a painful memory of me quietly struggling to face a harrowing accusation from a colleague’s wife. Isn't it funny that this time the accusation was made when I am more than three thousand miles away from my home country and no single communication was made with the man in question? 

I inhaled a deep breath. In this world, there are occasions when you know you are right and you don’t feel like explaining. Also, I am the type of person who tried my best to protect other people’s hearts. As much as I can, I don’t want other people to experience pain. However, after a year battled with how deeply I felt wronged, the false claim didn’t stop. I can feel my hands tremble as this unfair blame even recently made me want to visit a psychologist. I was still intensely wounded by what happened a year ago and hearing that his party escalated this issue, even after such a calm response from me when I totally deserved to be angry, got me teary. However, collecting my composure, I answered,

“I swear by the name of Allah, I never had any intention but communicating about the businesses I found necessary. It also hurts me that this is the payback I got from someone for whom my hard work contributed to his name. You know who got the credit for the work I did,” As if resonated with the pain in my heart, I found my voice trembling.

I hardly swear in the name of Allah because I know how significant a thing is if I decided to do it but this time I swore that I never ever had any hidden intention when I texted him but for the matters I found appropriate. And even after the heartless words I received from his wife and he decided not to step up to clear the air (which means he deliberately slaughtered me), I decided to resign from the organization where we worked together. I gave up on a cause I truly care about just because I needed to cut all the ties and walk away. I sacrificed myself because I wanted to protect other people’s hearts and now this is what I got, even after a year of not communicating at all. (In the end, my resignation wasn’t approved but we never ever communicated again so what’s behind the second round of accusations I received this time?).

“But you know, this allegation might damage your reputation. Some people might hear this but never get a chance to clarify it to you or the people around you.” She was back at urged me to speak up.

“I know where your suggestion came from. I am afraid too that people might give me the wrongful tag. Don’t worry. Allah knows. I know you might find my silence annoyed you. However, let’s face this calmly. While indeed I had many shortcomings and mistakes, I know in this case I am in the right position and Allah knows and that’s enough. May Allah elevate my status due to my patience and silence,” I commented, “Remember that you faced things calmly back then even when you were in despair from the accusation someone threw at you? I grew up watching people around me--my family members, my friends, my co-workers being patient--so this is my turn to be patient too,” When I said those words, I realized how strenuous patience is. Tears fell down.

So why didn’t I defend myself? Of course, when the accusation was first made, I felt a range of emotions--anger, frustration, hurt, and confusion. Not to mention how hurtful it is the second time you heard it from the same person. It is definitely tempting to immediately defend myself and try to prove my innocence but I believed that accusations do not necessarily equal guilt. I stayed silent and was patient because I had nothing to hide. I also believed that time would reveal the truth. I knew that if I were innocent, the facts would speak for themselves, and by remaining silent, I was allowing the truth to come to light. It is definitely not an easy decision. It required a lot of self-control and a lot of trust in the process. However, I know that as long as I did nothing wrong, no matter what accusation was being pointed at me, I still have confidence in myself.

It took me a lot of courage to write this since the memory itself gave me enormous trauma. Even typing this post created pools of tears in my eyes. I eventually decided to write this down because, after a year of acceptance, the issue got escalated by that party. I need to write this to help me to heal from the pain I haven’t even healed yet and now is being worsened.

My friends said he owe me a massive apology but I don’t wait for an apology anymore. I want to find a massive courage to forgive anyone that hurt me instead. I want to find inner peace without depending on anyone.

After all, I know Allah knows. For me, it is enough. It is always enough.

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Image by: Thanh Nguyen via Pixabay

Dear hope, the Sydney I wrote about to you today is drizzling--the light kind I would love to face unshielded although it’s frosty. But dear hope, I know one day the mizzle would turn warmer because of your presence.

Two days ago, Mbak Lia (Edmalia Rohmani) visited this city and agreed that we would meet at Circular Quay. The weather prediction stated that there would be rain all day yet our night meeting happened under no umbrella. We knew each other in the first place since we both loved literature thus no wonder poetic words were uttered while strolling down the wet paving blocks towards the Opera House.  

“Imagine walking along this path with the loved one.” Her statement turned the literature mode on in me. “Under the rain, with such a view.”, she added while patting my shoulder as if she knew I have been waiting for that “quietly strolling beautiful place with someone” moment. The dream moment I have forgotten for a while due to recent hectic days where my heart felt like in a high-speed blender.

I looked far across the beach, the Harbour Bridge was sparkling beautifully. The cars on the bridge were moving in slow motion as if it was a scene from a romantic movie where the character is surrounded by an air of melancholy. Imagine spending such a lovely night just walking serenely side to side with someone so dear to the heart. When I turned my head a bit, the Opera House was radiantly glowing. What a poem-worth situation it was. Flowery lines kept popping out in my brain as the romantic view of two Sydney landmarks shined in front of my eyes. There is no exaggeration in saying that this particular night in Sydney has inspired me to stay optimistic, especially regarding the old hopes.

As Mbak Lia repeatedly mentioned how grateful she was to be here, I couldn’t help praying that one day, I would have an opportunity to repeat the amble with a loved one. I smiled at the tender waves sound of the beach alongside the pathway. I hoped my future man could hear this too from wherever he is now. I felt the 12°C gentle wind blow as the wishes were raised to the sky. The city was cold and I can feel my freezing hands touching my face. Aamiin, I said silently.  

I want to fall in love with someone, one of my very wishes that night. The kind of love that puts my heart at ease. A feeling that resembles home for my unsettled mind and heart. Love that it reminds me of how beautiful Allah’s plan is. Love that even by remembering his smile, my heart feels warm. I wished in love to feel that effortless and lightweight.

I can portray him as a solemn and thoughtful old soul. A laid-back and grounded introverted man with whom, silence is comfortable. Someone whose eyes spark soft light like a ray of morning sunshine. Someone that walking through his mind offers me a leisure walk in a sunflower garden. Someone I’d love to have a deep conversation with for hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, lifetime and rarely get bored as I keep uncovering a new depth of his mind. On top of everything, someone that makes me remember Allah more, therefore, paradise feels relatively closer.

As Sydney itself is a magic that came true--a long-time wish turned into a reality, I hope these particular wishes I whispered in the “magical land” would come true too.

Each city has its own color and sentiment. For me, Sydney is the symbol of hope. I am hopeful that one day, I’ll get an opportunity to meander this scenery at night, while rain is lightly pouring, and his calm smile raises the temperature. I believe in it just as I believe in all the previous dreams I wrote in my diary. No matter how silly it sounds when I ask for it from Allah, I fully recognized the fact that He carefully listens.

God listens to our prayers, always. Indeed. 

Love, 

iim

Fate is like invisible cards that are distributed to us.... 

When I was a kid, besides several traditional games, I sometimes played cards with my playmates. (I hope I know the name but am still clueless even after trying to search it on Google. Hihi. Also, don’t get it wrong. No money, bet, or punishment was involved. It was purely a game for fun.)

Since I don’t know what it’s called, I’ll explain the rule so you can imagine it. (Someone who knows the name please let me know. Hehe). The cards are shuffled then 5 up to 8 of them are given out equally to each player, leaving the undistributed ones as a deck. Following right after, the paper on the top of the deck is revealed. Each player has to put a card which matches that particular card’s suit. Subsequently, the one with the highest card decides the suit for the next round. If a player doesn’t have a similar suit to the one which is being presented, that person needs to take the cards in the deck until he/she finds it. The one who finishes their cards first wins and the last one to do it loses the game.

When I was a child, never I had any thoughts, expectations, or anticipation about the cards being shuffled. It was just a game so whatever I got, I would still be excited about it (only slightly was disengaged when I got low cards. Nevertheless I enjoyed it). Now if I have to play it again, maybe I will wonder which cards would be played by me and what wouldn’t be in my hands. I wonder if the cards would vary significantly for each player and there is no favorite card in mine. I am also curious if favorable cards are handed to me instead. Moreover, what if I got no spade or diamond or heart or clover among them?

Now when I think about it, it resembles life in many ways. Forrest Gump (1994) has popularized “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're going to get.” and for me, instead of a box of chocolates, I would like to put the cards as a metaphor. The major difference is that our cards are shown before we begin the game, thus planning is greatly possible. On contrary, the cards are unveiled gradually one by one in life. Furthermore, compared to the cards in the game in which we know the precise meaning, in life sometimes we are oblivious of the denotation even after it is disclosed.

Fate is like the cards that are being distributed to us. We equally get a life yet the cards vary. We simply don’t know what cards would be handed to and played by us. We can’t withdraw from the game just because we think the cards aren’t on our side. We also can’t automatically win just because we have the cards that are beneficial for us. When interacting with other players, we realize that it’s not just ours that matters but also other people’s cards. And above everything, some things are out of our control like the suit that would be uncovered by the player with the highest card. Nevertheless, we still follow the game and try to gain control over it. Life also acts in that sense. Several things are within our control while the others are beyond it. Still, there is a space where we are in the driving seat.

If I may add one more lesson I learned from the card game is that everyone has a different set of cards. Consequently, the way we play the game would be different--our strategies are personalized and our stories are unique. Thus, there is no point in comparing our life with others. 

However, what resonates the most with me recently is, that in the game, we can always put an effort to find the card we don’t have. We could always attempt to search for the missing piece in life. It might take a long time. It might make us unable to finish the game early, but there is always a probability of winning or at least not being the ultimate defeated.

Presently, when I have to take a longer route than the normal one, I will remind myself of how often I didn’t lose the game even when I didn’t have a certain suit in my cards then needed to take a lot of them from the deck. While finishing all the cards cost me ages and I might be left behind anyone who can spend theirs earlier, I had the courage, patience, and confidence to continue the game. Rarely did I lose back then when I was a kid and I believe that I would not lose too in life.

Because until the game is finished, I never knew how it would be ended. So do with life, I want to have the same courage about my cards. I want to trust my journey like that little girl back then who has confidence in the cards in her hands. Win or lose, she still smiled genuinely and continue the game. In life, I want to face "the cards" with a similar frame of mind.  Would you too?

Love, 

iim

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Courage, patience, and confidence—how I wish I could have those words plastered all over the place so I will always remember them. 

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image credit: istockphoto.com via mentalfloss.com