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Assalamualaikum, hi. One random day, I was just mengelamun like usual, staring at nothing, acting deep and then suddenly my brain said, “Eh, remember Kak Tasha?” And I was like… “Oh. Her.”

So here I am, writing about her.

Back in semester 1, when i was study in UUM, my roommate was a senior. She was in semester 3. Her name was Kak Tasha. She was nice. She was quiet. She was normal. But we were not close. Not enemies. Not awkward enemies. Just… two introverts sharing oxygen in the same room. She lived in her world. I lived in my world. We only communicated when necessary, like two NPCs.

“Kalau jalan kaki dari sini pergi DKG 5 jauh tak?”
“Tak.”
“Okay.”

End scene.

I was actually jealous of my friends. They had senior roommates yang masuk air. They could manja-manja, borrow skincare, kongsi duit for dobi, gossip at 2am, cry together. Meanwhile me? I had a senior roommate but felt like I was renting a bed next to a polite stranger. Nothing bad about her. We were both introverts. So our friendship level was… low battery mode.

Even though I was a junior, when I didn’t understand something, I never asked my roommate. Selagi boleh elak, saya elak bertanya soalan dekat Kak Tasha. I asked seniors from my course instead. Kakak abang MOTIC were my emotional support seniors. Shout out to Abang Am, Kak Hani, Azizi, Kak Khalida, Kak Mir, Kak Mira Alisa, Shukri, and all Abang Kakak MOT yang lain yang tak mampu saya mention nama. With them, I could be manja, loud, annoying, and over-sharing. But with my roommate… I suddenly jadi version sopan, reserved, textbook human. We slept in the same room, but emotionally we were in different continents.

Then one day happened. I had classes from morning until late afternoon. I came back around 5 pm. I opened the door… And I froze.

Her mattress kosong.
No pillow.
No blanket.
Her study table pun kosong.

I stood there like a drama queen. My brain started thinking wild things.
“Aik..she pindah?”
“No, she quit UUM?”
“Eh takkan she kahwin?”
Then I saw a small note on my study table: “Kak Tasha balik rumah, tak sihat.” That’s it. No emoji. No sorry. No explanation. Just like that. I was like, “Okay… mysterious queen.”

That night, she suddenly texted me. I asked if she was okay. Then she told me… She said she slept in the afternoon and felt something “tindih” her. I stared at my phone. Lama jugak lah diamkan diri. Inside my heart: Girl… malam ni jugak hang decide to tell me this?? I didn’t say much. I just opened YouTube, played surah, and pretended I was strong and fearless. Reality: I was scared like hell. That night, I slept with surah on loop, eyes half open, heart beating like EDM festival.

After 3 days, Kak Tasha came back. She looked a bit scared for a few days. But me? I was already in “malas nak takut” mode. Like… if I die, I die lah. Sebab those 3 days, saya tidur sorang-sorang nothing bad happened. Then one night, she suddenly said she couldn’t sleep. I was doing my assignment. She called me softly. She said she was scared. She cried. And suddenly, without thinking, I went to her bed, held her hand, and comforted her.

Mind you.

WE WERE NOT CLOSE.

But that night, I slept on the floor near her bed, holding her hand like we were in some K-drama trauma bonding scene. It was sweet… but also very awkward. Like, why are we holding hands suddenly?? Next morning, we went back to normal.

No hug.
No emotional talk.
No “thank you bestie”.
Just… back to NPC mode.

We were still not close. Still in our own bubbles. But after that, we became a bit more… human to each other. Sometimes she bought kuih for me. Sometimes we helped each other. Our connection only appeared when fear or problem existed.

Example?

One night, she was at her study table. I was on my bed. Suddenly I saw a cockroach near her wall. I am TERRIFIED of cockroaches. If there is one thing that can make me scream, cry, and lose dignity, it is lipas. That lipas walked. Slowly. Confidently. Like it paid rent. Then it climbed into Kak Tasha’s clothes. I screamed like I was in horror movie. Kak Tasha? Calm. Cool. Collected. She took a broom. Smacked the cockroach. Killed it. Meanwhile me? Crying on my bed like someone stole my soul. From that day, I respected her. Strong woman jugak dia nih!

Then came semester 2.
She was semester 4.
I was in semester 2.
And guess what?

We were still roommates. Same room. Same beds. Same awkward introvert energy. Padahal masa tu ramai student dapat tukar bilik, tukar roommate, tukar life. But me? Still with Kak Tasha. Ironi kan? Two people who were not close… still living together like destiny said, “No. You stay.” The drama was still the same. We were still not close. Still polite. Still quiet. Still living like background characters in each other’s life. Until… COVID decided to enter Malaysia like uninvited guest. I remember that day clearly. I was in class when suddenly rumours started spreading.

“UUM nak lockdown weh.”
“Eh serious ke?”
“Eh jom balik cepat balik cepat!”

Students panicked like there was free nasi lemak outside.
Me and my friends who were from the same hometown started emergency meeting. Bus or KTM? KTM Arau that time was FULL of humans. Not just UUM students,  UITM, Politeknik, UniMAP, everyone camp there like festival. Make it short, Liyana said her abang could send us all back, but only the next morning. So that evening, after class, we went to Vmall to buy big bags to store our stuff. We walked like survivors preparing for apocalypse. After everything settled, I went back to my room to pack my things.

And guess what?
Kak Tasha…
Hilang.
Again.

This time, when I opened the door, not only her pillow was gone… Her mattress was already tersandar against the wall. Her rubber mat also gone. Her side of the room was EMPTY. Empty like museum after closing time. Only my things were there. Alone. Lonely. And like usual, she left a note. “Kak Tasha balik dulu, take care.”

That’s it.
No drama.
No goodbye hug.
No last conversation.
Just… gone.
Well at least dia cakap take care huhu.

I stood there like main character in sad drama. Then I texted my friends. They all laughed. Like, literally laughed. They asked me to sleep in their room that night since tomorrow we were supposed to go home. So I packed my bag, brought my pillow, ready to escape UUM. But life said, “No.” Exactly at 8 am, the big UUM gate was closed. No one could go out. No one could come in. Surprise. We spent our PKP inside UUM. Not at home. Not with family. But with mosquitoes, assignments, and emotional damage. 

And that was the end of my roommate story with Kak Tasha. 

After COVID, everything changed. When PKP ended, I only went back to UUM in semester 6. By that time, Kak Tasha was probably doing her internship already. Different phase. Different life. And we never met again.No accidental meet. No “eh awak dulu roommate saya kan?” moment. No closure scene. We just disappeared from each other’s life quietly. We lost contact. I don’t even have her number anymore.

The saddest part?
We don’t even have one photo together.
Not one.
Terlalu introvert sampai takda gambar selfie sekali :')

We lived in the same room. Shared fear. Shared silence. Shared cockroach trauma. But zero proof in gallery. Only memory. Sometimes I wonder…

Is she married now?
Is she working already?
Is she still scared of that thing that once “tindih” her?
Is she still calm when killing cockroaches?

I don’t know. But I hope she is doing fine. I hope she is happy. I hope life is kind to her. I hope she is loved. We were not close. But she was once my roommate. And somehow, that is already enough reason to miss her a little. Funny how life works. Some people stay forever. Some people stay only for one chapter. But even one chapter… Can still stay in your heart, quietly.


From a former roommate who still remembers,
Nadiera Hashim
2:30 a.m
Kedah, Malaysia.

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Hey Siri, play Senyum Gugur di Penghujung Doa… sebab hari ni hati rasa macam soft sangat.

Assalamualaikum, hi. Harini saya pergi ziarah kubur ayah, went there with Abang Haqim and Kak Sya. Kubur ayah sebenarnya dekat je, around 3.7 km dari rumah. Dekat kan? But somehow, it still feels far in a different way. Bukan selalu ada rezeki nak pergi setiap minggu. Nak ke sana kena lalu traffic light, kereta banyak, lori besar-besar… and I’m a scaredy cat. Mother pun sama, dua-dua penakut, so kalau nak pergi kena tunggu abang temankan. Independent… but not that independent 😔

Before this, saya ada bagitahu mother yang saya nak tanam pokok bunga dekat kubur ayah. Pokok lama semua dah mati, banyak sangat yang mati… maybe because no one really comes to water them every day. Kubur lama kan, sunyi sikit. Ada pun orang datang mesin rumput dua minggu sekali je, that’s all. So mother belikan pokok bunga melur versi kecil yang comel sangat, I like it. It felt like bringing a small piece of life to a place that holds so much silence. Tiga hari lepas terus set “appointment” dengan abang nak ziarah ayah hari ni. Yes, appointment… sebab abang saya punya busy kalah YB Kulim 🥲 Alhamdulillah, Allah izinkan kami ziarah hari ni.

Saya memang tak berapa gemar ziarah pagi raya sebab kerja dia banyak. Kena bersihkan kubur, cabut rumput mati, tanam pokok… semua tu makan masa dan berpeluh satu badan. Raya nanti better datang dengan hati ringan je, just to sit, make doa, and be present for a while. No rushing, no heavy work. Just… quiet love.

Masa tengah gali lubang untuk tanam pokok melur tu, saya sempat borak dengan ayah, “kenapa lah ayah meninggal awal sangat… kalau tak boleh je kebumi ayah dekat atas bukit taman rumah je.” Ayah meninggal bulan 7, tahun 2006. Masa tu taman rumah saya belum ada tanah perkuburan lagi, so siapa meninggal akan dikebumikan dekat Masjid Kulim atau Tanah Perkuburan Islam Sungai Ular, and yes… ayah dekat Sungai Ular. Not too far, but not as near as I wish he could be.

Dalam tengah kami bertiga “borak” dengan ayah, tiba-tiba terkeluar satu ayat yang buat kami tergelak kecil, “kalau ayah ada, mesti ayah boleh tolong marahkan anak-anak ayah yang lain… kami yang adik-adik ni asyik kena fitnah je…” It sounded funny, but also… a little bit painful. Entah ayah dengar ke tak, entah ayah kisah ke tak pasal hal dunia kami yang messy ni. But that’s how we cope, I think. Anak-anak yang dah tak ada mak ayah, kita bercakap je macam mereka masih ada. Like they’re still listening. Like if we talk long enough, maybe… just maybe… they’ll answer in a way only the heart can understand.

Ayah, doa kami tak pernah putus untuk ayah, every single day. In small whispers, in random moments, in between busy days… you are always there in our prayers.

Saya ni bukan jenis mudah menangis bila rindu ayah. Maybe sebab saya hilang ayah masa saya terlalu kecil, maybe betul orang kata masa akan ubatkan. But healing doesn’t mean forgetting, right? Sometimes… ada hari yang saya terlalu penat, terlalu down, and on those days I don’t need anything fancy. I just need a hug from a father I barely remember.

Luar nampak okay, boleh buat lawak bodoh, gelak kuat-kuat, act silly like nothing ever hurts. But deep down, there’s this quiet space that only you can fill. Saya rindu suara yang saya dah lupa macam mana bunyinya, rindu bau yang saya dah tak ingat, rindu wajah yang makin kabur dalam ingatan. And that scares me sometimes… the idea that memories can slowly fade, even when the love never does.

Kalau korek betul-betul dalam hati ni, rindu tu sebenarnya ada, banyak… cuma saya pandai sorok je. I carry it quietly. Softly. Like something fragile.

Ayah, I hope you’re okay there. I hope every zikir yang saya kirim sampai pada ayah, jadi teman ayah di sana. I hope you feel loved, even from a distance that I cannot cross yet. I hope ayah happy, maybe showing off dekat “kawan-kawan” di sana, “ni semua zikir ni anak bongsu aku bagi.” Silly kan… but it comforts me more than it should.

And maybe one day, when it’s finally my turn to go… I won’t feel so scared. Because I know, somewhere beyond this world, there’s a familiar soul waiting.

I hope one day, ayah, mama, saya dan adik-beradik semua boleh jumpa semula somewhere better, somewhere eternal. A place where nothing hurts, nothing is lost, and no one has to say goodbye ever again. Dekat syurga Allah, insyaAllah. Until then… I’ll keep sending love, in the only way I know how. Quietly, consistently, and with all my heart.

Al-Fatihah untuk ayah saya,
Hashim bin Mohamed Idris 🤍

Signing off with a full heart and teary eyes…
Some loves don’t end, they just learn how to live quietly in doa.
Nadiera Hashim
11:28 a.m
Kedah, Malaysia.


P/s: I found gambar ni lepas balik dari kubur tadi. Comel! Tapi sayang, gambar mama takda huhu. 


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Assalamualaikum! Dah seminggu dah puasa. So far I really enjoy my puasa walaupun Kedah cuaca macam boleh goreng telur atas jalan raya. Baru-baru ni, ada satu ceramah dari Ustaz Wadi Anuar lalu dekat timeline TikTok saya. Tak tahu ceramah tarikh bila, maybe dah lama but baru saja lalu di timeline saya. Biasalah, bulan Ramadan ni alhamdulillah memang banyak free upgrade iman bila scroll TikTok, sekali scroll, dapat tazkirah. 😌

One of the ceramah, Ustaz mentioned yang doa anak kepada mak ayah especially yang dah meninggal dunia ni, bila kita langitkan, dia direct delivery sampai dekat mereka. Contohnya bila kita baca:

 رَّبِّ اغْفِرْلِي وَلِوَالِدَيَّ وَارْحَمْهُمَا كَمَا رَبَّيَانِي صَغِيراً
"Ya Allah, Ampunilah dosaku dan dosa kedua orang tuaku. 
Kasihanilah keduanya sebagaimana mereka mengasihi aku sewaktu masih kecil."

Kita baca untuk mak ayah pukul 6.30 pagi lepas Subuh, pukul 6.30 pagi tu jugalah doa tu sampai dekat mak ayah kita dalam kubur. No buffering, no pending, terus sampai 🥺 Ustaz kata, ada riwayat yang setiap kali anak baca doa ni untuk arwah parents, akan ada malaikat yang datang hantar “hadiah” (iaitu doa kita) kepada mak ayah dekat sana.

For a few seconds, I was like… wow. Betapa baiknya Allah. He's sooooo kind. Tak delay walau sesaat pun. Just a simple doa, a short one that takes only a few seconds to recite tapi boleh bagi ketenangan dekat mak ayah kita yang dah pergi. Can you imagine how happy they must feel bila dapat hadiah tu?

And it made me think about my arwah ayah. Now setiap kali lepas solat fardhu atau sunat, bila saya baca doa ni, I imagine ada “parcel” sampai untuk ayah dekat sana. Bukan dari Shopee, but from anak bongsu dia yang kadang-kadang ni pun still tengah belajar jadi better person. I hope setiap doa tu jadi peneman untuk ayah, tambah lapang kubur dia, tambah terang kubur dia, and remind him that he is still loved, still remembered, every single day.

Honestly, saya pun baru belajar, hafal dan start amalkan doa ni beberapa tahun lepas. Tak macam orang lain yang dah hafal dari tadika lagi. Rasanya ternampak dekat media sosial once, lepas tu terus commit hafal. Better late than never, kan? 🫣

Semoga Allah terima setiap doa kecil kita ni sebagai amal yang besar di sisi-Nya. Alhamdulillah for a religion that teaches us that even after death, love can still be delivered through doa. Moga Allah ampunkan dosa mak ayah kita, lapangkan kubur mereka, dan tempatkan mereka dalam kalangan orang yang beriman. Amin 🤍

Yang sedang makan moreh,
Nadiera Hashim
11.20 p.m
Kedah, Malaysia.
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Assalamualaikum and hi everyone! Selamat menyambut bulan Ramadan! Alhamdulillah, this year Allah has given me another chance to fast bersama mother. I’m genuinely excited for this Ramadan. Tak tahu kenapa, but in my heart, I’ve already made a firm intention to not miss tahajud throughout this month. Pssst… period saya datang early, so maybe I can complete a full month of fasting without any break hihi.

This Ramadan feels mostly the same. It’s still me, mother, and abang Hafiz. The same trio. But it’s okay. I hope even when I grow older, I can continue fasting with mother and abang. Growing up, the lively chaos of sahur has faded. Dulu, I could hear the clattering of mother preparing food for sahur while abang-abang lain sibuk kejut everyone to wake up. Now, mother cooks sahur meals at night, by 9 pm everything is ready so mornings are calmer. She’s getting older, probably more tired. And we don’t need to make noise to wake up. Everyone can get up on their own. Not in the mood to eat? Just drink water and have some Nestum.

I can’t help but smile remembering the old days though, when sahur was full of chaos. Abang-abang running around shouting “bangun, bangun!” while mother yelled back “jangan lambat bangun, nanti tak sempat sahur!” 😆 Sometimes everyone was so sleepy we’d spill water or tertumpahkan sambal ikan bilis atas meja. It was noisy, messy, but somehow full of laughter. Now it’s calm, peaceful, maybe too quiet sometimes but I guess that’s part of growing up.

Even so, I feel so blessed to still have family to share sahur and buka puasa with. Some of my friends and even strangers break their fast alone without anyone to accompany them. I pray they don’t feel too lonely or sad during this Ramadan.

Ramadan always reminds me of the little things we sometimes take for granted like the smell of mother’s cooking, the sound of the adhan in the morning, or even just sitting together at the table eating dates and drinking water for iftar. There’s a simple kind of happiness in these moments. It’s peaceful yet full of gratitude.

Semoga Ramadan ini membawa keberkatan dalam hidup kita semua. May we gather as much amal kebaikan as possible and make the most out of this holy month. Let’s cherish every sahur, every buka puasa, every prayer, and every quiet moment. Salam Ramadan 2026! 🌙✨

Stay blessed, stay full of faith,
Nadiera Hashim
4.45 a.m
Kedah, Malaysia. 

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Assalamualaikum, hi. This post is about Boba and Cengkih. Again. Dah setahun dah both of them pergi tinggalkan saya. Time flies, but the rindu somehow stays. I still miss them, and yes, I still talk about them like they’re still here. Ada hari, I scroll balik my gallery, slow-slow cari gambar gambar depa. Just to look. Just to remember.

Last year was really hard for me. Sedih tu berat, macam duduk dalam dada and refuse to go away. It took me almost a year nak stop menangis every single day. I remember one night so clearly, I missed them so bad, and my life masa tu was so messy. I really wished I could hug them that night. I doa, minta Allah hilangkan rasa berat rindu dalam hati. Just for that moment, I wanted some peace.

Of course I love them. I never want to forget them. But the rindu was too much to carry. I asked Allah, please pujuk hati yang sedang rindu Boba dan Cengkih. That night, I dreamt of them. Mimpi main dengan Boba, dengan Cengkih, like nothing ever changed. I woke up crying, but at the same time, rasa lega. Like my heart finally breathed a little.

After that day, the rindu is still there. I still look at their photos. I still pause a bit longer when I see their faces. But I don’t cry like before. Now, I can see their pictures with a small smile. A quiet one.

Walaupun sekejap, I feel so grateful. Bersyukur sangat sebab Allah bagi peluang untuk saya jadi teman yang baik untuk Boba dan Cengkih. Orang selalu cakap, we might have many cats in our lifetime, but for a cat, their whole lifetime is just us. And that thought always breaks me, in a gentle way. I’m thankful Allah jentik hati saya untuk cari kucing as my companion, and those cats were Boba and Cengkih.

Setahun berlalu. Luka maybe dah tak berdarah, but parut tu masih ada. And I think that’s okay. Missing them is just another way of loving them, quietly, from afar, and forever.

Signing off with a heart
that still remembers for
Boba & Cengkih, always🤍🐾
Nadiera Hashim
8:12 p.m
Kedah, Malaysia.
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Assalamualaikum, hi. This story is about how one cup of free Milo traumatised me for life. If you think childhood trauma must involve bullying or family issues, no. Mine involved a lori Milo and a lying Bahasa Melayu teacher. I think I was in Darjah 5 or 6, honestly I don’t remember. My memory card masa tu very limited storage. But one thing I will never forget, the day lori Milo datang sekolah.

Lori Milo datang sekolah is like Hari Raya for students. Free Milo weh. Even if only one cup, it still taste like kemenangan. Until today, I still cannot understand why Milo from lori Milo always taste better than Milo bancuh sendiri at home. Same powder, same water, but different level of happiness.

Milo is everyone’s favourite. Me too. Pergi mana-mana mesti order Milo ais. Kalau rasa kaya sikit, order Milo dinosaur. Kalau rasa miskin sikit, order Milo panas and pretend it’s fine. So back to the story.

That day, lori Milo datang sekolah masa subjek Bahasa Melayu. I don’t remember the teacher’s name. She was already old, not cikgu muda with glowing skin and Pinterest vibes. This cikgu liked to cerita random things. Suddenly, she started cerita pasal Milo ada cacing.

Yes. Cacing.

She said her daughter was studying something about food science. Her daughter went to Milo factory, did experiment on Milo powder, and found out Milo powder got worms. While she was telling this horror story, I could see students outside already lining up to get Milo. Some even ambil second cup. Third cup maybe.

Then cikgu ended her story with:

“Eeee… hampa nak pi minum jugak ka…”

With that disgusted face like we were about to drink ayaq longkang. Me and my classmates? Too young. Too innocent. Too bodoh. We believed her 100%. Almost the whole class stayed seated. Including me. Only two or three brave students went to get Milo. Now when I think back, I realise…

Cikgu kami bukan warning.
Cikgu kami membongak.

I swear, mesti after class ended, she probably went to drink Milo too. Maybe even Milo dinosaur.

Now every time I see lori Milo, I feel sedikit ada beef with that cikgu. What made it worse is back then, Milo was such a luxury drink for me. My family tak kaya. Milo was not daily drink. It was special drink. So when lori Milo datang sekolah, students like me really felt the happiness. It was not just Milo. It was moment.

So when I realised years later that her story was fake, I felt cheated emotionally. Spiritually. Milo-ly. Back then, so many stupid food rumours. Not only Milo ada cacing. People said sardine sauce used katak as thickener. I used to geli nak makan sambal sardine. All because teachers and classmates liked to add horror flavour into food stories.

Now we are older. Dunia dah maju. Internet dekat tangan. No one can fool us with “my friend’s cousin’s lecturer's grandfather said…” stories anymore. I have my own money. I can buy Milo anytime I want. Milo ais, Milo dinosaur, Milo peng, Milo with extra Milo, Milo with no shame. No one can scare me with stories about worms, frogs, or secret factory experiments anymore. I have Google now. I have common sense. I have trauma immunity.

But sometimes, when I hold my Milo cup, I still think about that small version of me. Sitting quietly in class. Being obedient. Being stupid in a very innocent way. Believing every adult like they were Wikipedia. And honestly… that kid was cute. She didn’t drink Milo that day, but she learned something more important:

Not all cikgu are right.
Not all rumours are true.

And free Milo is very precious. Now when I see kids lining up for free drinks at school events, I smile like an aunty. In my heart I whisper:

“Pergi ambil. Jangan percaya sesiapa. Hidup ni singkat.”

Forever judging that cikgu silently,
Nadiera Hashim
8:30 pm
Kedah, Malaysia.
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Assalamualaikum, hi. These past few months, I’ve been spending almost all my time with my mother. Like… literally every day. My days revolve around her. She takes care of me, feeds me, hugs me every day to fix my mood, listens to the same stories I repeat over and over again. Sometimes we talk about current issues, sometimes about random things, and sometimes about those weird AI cat videos on TiokTok that don’t make sense but somehow still make us laugh. Hidup kami simple. Quiet. Repetitive. But there’s a warmth in it that I didn’t realise I needed this much.

Lately, I started noticing things I wish I didn’t notice so clearly. My mother is getting older. And somehow, time feels cruel. Like… could you slow down a bit? Tak payah la lari laju sangat. Where are you rushing to? I still want to enjoy my life with her. Please, just give us a little more time.

My mother is 61 this year. Saying that number out loud makes my chest feel heavy. Sixty-one. Can she stop aging? I know it sounds childish. I understand, we are all just a pinjaman from Allah. Even our bodies don’t fully belong to us. Everything will be returned when the time comes. Tapi walaupun faham, hati tetap degil. I truly can’t imagine my life without my mother.

I can’t cook like her. I’ve tried. Many times. Berkali-kali. But my sambal never tastes like hers. Even when I follow recipes, even when I convince myself it’s “okay lah,” it’s still not mother’s sambal. And don’t even get me started on her pekasam goreng. She could fry plain food and somehow turn it into comfort. That kind of skill feels illegal.

I’ve also noticed her hair turning grey, slowly but surely. Her hands look older now. Even her nails. Maybe because she’s been cooking and cleaning her whole life. My mother was never a career woman. She didn’t work in a fancy office job, didn’t wear formal clothes every day. But she is incredibly good at cooking and managing a home. That was her world. And now that she’s older, her strength isn’t the same anymore. When I see her pause while cleaning, resting for a moment, my heart sinks. Sedih yang senyap. Sedih yang tak tahu nak cakap apa.


I often pray, “Ya Allah, please give me time. Jangan ambil mother dulu.” At least wait until I become something. Until I can give her what she wants. I want to take her to the beach. I want to bring her jalan-jalan, let her enjoy life a little. But I don’t have that kind of rezeki yet. And when I think about that, I feel like a loser. Orang lain dah boleh balas jasa mak mereka. And here I am, still struggling, still waking up every day just to convince myself to keep living.

My mother might not be as impressive on paper as other mothers. She doesn’t have a degree. She didn’t have a career. She was born into a difficult family. She was the oldest among her siblings. When she was little, my opah stopped her from going to school. My mother only went to school until darjah dua and didn’t even finish it. She learned how to read, write, and count using her younger siblings’ schoolbooks. Dunia dia memang tak adil.

While her siblings got to go to school and chase their dreams, my mother was forced to grow up early. She had to help take care of everyone else. Her childhood, I believe, was full of quiet sadness. When she told me how my opah once tied her to a tree full of kerengga because a neighbour said she was a bad child, I felt angry. Not loud anger, just a deep, burning angry. Angry at the world. Angry at how cruel adults can be to a small girl. 

When she became a teenager, she was married off. Very young. Too young. She married my father. My father was a good father to me, but I don’t think he was a good husband to her. He wasn’t toxic...just… lacking. There were things that hurt in small, quiet ways. Like how he never brought my mother and us to his workplace family days. Maybe he was embarrassed. We weren’t rich. Back then, sometimes we had enough to eat, sometimes we didn’t.

But despite everything, my mother is still the most wonderful woman I know. That little girl who only went to school until darjah dua managed to raise seven children after her husband passed away. That same woman gave birth to me who managed to graduate with a first-class degree. How incredible is that? And yes, she can cook. Which honestly deserves at least 1000 extra marks in life.

I have a small habit, maybe a secret. I often talk to Allah quietly in my mind. Just short conversations. I tell Him, “If time could be reversed, Ya Allah, I wish my mother was born into a kinder family.” I wish she had a kind mother who let her finish school. I wish she could enjoy her childhood. Continue studying. Get a degree. Maybe even a master’s or a PhD. I wish she had the office job she once dreamed of. I wish she married a good man who lived long and made her happy. I wish she could travel, naik kapal terbang, see the world.


Even if all of that had to be paid with my absence, even if it meant I was never born. I wouldn’t mind. As long as my mother was happy. As long as she wasn’t so wounded by this heavy world. So Ya Allah, please listen to my everyday doa. If You can’t change the past, then please give me a future where I can make her happy.

And if I may add one more wish, I wish I can be a kind daughter to my mother. Not just a “successful” one, but a gentle one. One who is patient when she repeats the same stories. One who doesn’t raise her voice. One who notices when she’s tired. One who chooses her mother, again and again, even on days when life feels unbearable.

Ya Allah, panjangkan umur mother dalam kesihatan yang baik. Lindungi mother dari sakit yang berat, dari sedih yang lama. Gantikan setiap penat mother dengan pahala yang tak putus. And when the time comes, when this precious pinjaman must be returned, place her in the most beautiful heaven. A place where she can finally rest. Smile. Breathe without worry.

Because if anyone deserves a gentle ending after a hard life, it is my mother.

Written with love, and a lot of prayers,
Nadiera Hashim
11:23 pm
Kedah, Malaysia. 
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The writer 🧸ྀི

About Me

Hi, I’m Nadiera. I’m a late-90s baby who loves cute things, cats (they heal me), and green tea (it keeps me sane). Blogging since 2013. I write to dump my thoughts and feelings because my brain is noisy and writing is quieter. Blogging may be “old school,” but if you’re here and reading, thank you for staying. Read slowly. Feel something. Enjoy 🤍

Little zikir 🐻ིྀ

Little zikir

يا جَبَّارُ وَاجْبُرْنِي

Ya Allah Pulihkan Aku Sembuhkan Aku Gembirakan Aku Kembali

Dear Allah 🌱

Dear Allah

Ya Allah, forgive my mother for every sin, seen and unseen, and wrap her in Your endless mercy and gentle love; grant her health in her body, peace in her heart, and light in her days, ease her burdens when life feels heavy, calm her soul when sadness visits, and reward her for every silent sacrifice, every tired prayer, and every tear she never showed, place her among those You are pleased with, and by Your grace, reunite us together in Jannah, where there is no pain, only eternal peace. Ameen.

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