nadiera hashim: January 2026

Assalamualaikum hi! I was a K-pop lover. Sumpah. Not normal lover. Saya type yang boleh jatuh cinta tanpa reason, without logic, and definitely without fast internet.

I started liking K-pop at 11. UPSR era. Life still innocent, heart still soft, biggest problem was broken 2B pencil before exam. At that time, world was crazy about One Direction, Greyson Chance, and 5 Seconds of Summer. (I miss you, Calum. Really.) Era where kerat-kerat gambar favorite singer from majalah lepastu lekat dalam diary.

After UPSR, school still open. Teachers said: “Okay, bring toys.” So kids bring all kind of toys — congkak, batu seremban, card games. Sports kids play bola. Rebels smuggle walkman and phones.

Me? I was universal human. No fixed circle. I can hang out with anyone. From batu seremban champions to gossip queen. Then one day, I accidentally join a group who loves K-pop. My K-pop knowledge, ZERO. Like… wallet at end of month. Empty.

Then my friend Arie show me a music video:

“Bad Girl – BEAST.”

And boom. Love at first sight. Not with a real boy, with a guy on screen. Blonde hair, baby face, sweet voice. I was like:

“Rambut putih ni sapa weh?”

“Oh, ni YoSeob,” Arie said calm, like solving math question.

And that was it. My life changed forever. First bias? Yang YoSeob from BEAST (now Highlight, but in my heart, still YoSeob with blonde hair).

Lepas tu bermula lah episod demi episod pengenalan dengan dunia K-pop. Second group yang saya kenal ialah Boyfriend. Semua muka babyface. Logik lah budak 11 tahun jatuh cinta. Lagu debut depa pun tajuk “Boyfriend”. Lagu dia bunyi lebih kurang:

“Nan neoui boyfriend eh eh…”

Saya tak tahu nak describe. Pergi cari sendiri, tanggung sendiri nostalgia tu. Dalam Boyfriend ada kembar, Kwangmin dan Youngmin. Kwangmin rambut hitam perang sikit. Youngmin rambut kuning. Dan seperti biasa, saya pilih yang rambut hitam.

One day at school, Arie asked me:

“Who do you like in Boyfriend?”

I honestly said: “Kwangmin.”

She told Najihah.

And drama begin.

At home, I scroll Facebook dekat rumah, macam remaja zaman purba yang lain on PC. Then I see Najihah post:

“Betina tu sibuk ja nak minat Kwangmin jugak.”

Yes. She called me Betina. Saya tak ingat ayat lain. Trauma forever. Kami fight online only, tak face-to-face. Keyboard warrior level 2012.

Masuk Form 1, first day school, tengah line-up dekat assembly… saya jumpa Najihah balik. Satu class. Dia still meluat. Saya still offended. Tapi somehow, dengan power time and K-pop, kami jadi friends. Stan sama-sama. Tak suka Kwangmin pun sama-sama. Sampai sekarang saya suka remind dia:

“Hang ingat dak dulu hang buli aku dekat Facebook pastu panggil aku betina?”

She laugh guilty every time.

That’s my K-pop journey. From BEAST, then BigBang, 2PM, ZE:A, Secret, MBLAQ, Girls Day, Infinite, TVXQ, SNSD, SUJU, 2NE1, D-Unit, 4Minute, KARA, Rainbow, Rania… everything.

Zaman tu saya boleh hafal semua benda pasal idol. Everyday, saya bukak music video semua group favourite, sing along, walaupun pronunciation semua kelaut. Salah. Slowly, saya belajar hangul. Yes I can read hangul now, tapi still not perfect. Thanks K-pop, I learn something new.

I still remember zaman no wifi kat rumah. Saya selalu ikut abang pergi cyber cafe. RM2 satu jam PC. Orang lain main game atau tengok movie. Saya? Bukak music video K-pop favourite. Masa Beast release “Shock”. Uncle Cina sebelah PC tengok saya curiously. Tapi saya rasa ada sedikit “heh tengok ah, handsome ennn” vibes. Entah kenapa. Hahaha. Bila ingat balik, I was so dumb, so funny.

I was so obsessed with K-pop that setiap bulan mesti minta mother belikan Epop magazine. Back then, kalau nak tahu updates about your favorite group, Epop was the only way. I even got to meet strangers who loved K-pop too in the Fans Sharing section. So boleh la cari those strangers dekat Facebook, Kakaotalk, or Line. When I asked my mother, “Do you remember that magazine?” she just said, “Why wouldn’t I remember?” Every month she bought it without fail. And all the posters from Epop? Saya tempek semua dalam bilik, like a mini concert hall. Visitors would walk in, look at the walls, and go silent… but me? I felt proud as heck. Padahal malaikat pun takmau masuk bilik masatu.

Anyway… story not finish yet. Part 2 coming soon.

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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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