Little Stories 315: 2 weeks

 

Dear MC,

You left me four days ago. Yesterday was supposed to be your birthday. You didn’t wait for your big 60th celebration, instead, they scattered your ashes at sea, just as you wanted. We had two weeks. It felt too short, yet somehow just enough. We had time to say goodbye. We talked about this, remember? I think it happened the way you would have wanted it to.

I’m still grieving. I can’t believe how quickly it all happened after we found out. We just spent the weekend together, talking about the future, our plans, our next steps. This doesn’t feel like your usual travel gaps. This good bye is forever.

I know you wouldn’t want me to wallow. You never liked a fuss. You wanted to leave quietly. But the problem is I chose you. You were in my circle. The only one I let that close. You had the key. You were my best friend. And now, suddenly, you’re gone. It sounds like I'm romanticizing this. But this pain, it’s unbearable. Because this time, you’re not coming back. We won’t see each other again, not like we used to. I don't have any dates to look forward to anymore. 

Every time people ask me, I'll cry (except when I manage to put on a façade and ride the pain). And even if no one ask me, I will still cry. The world did not pause when you died, even when I felt like everything in my life had been crushed under the weight. You left a big hole in my heart.

It’s a bit fucked up that anyone I care for just leaves. It feels like a curse. 

-

You are loved and remembered, thank you for being an inspiration more than 20 years ago (and even throughout the years after). I'll continue your journey, I will do the trip we promised we'd go on, insyaAllah. 

I'm glad we chose each other.

Safe travel, Miss Yann Li ‪‪❤︎‬

Little Stories 314: How much time do I have?

I have this one friend (at this point, this is my one and only friend). We meet regularly, we exchange plans, books, thoughts and ideas. MC is the only person that knows my personal life updates, or family dramas, or possible travel plans. MC is my best friend, we show up unapologetically after our latest adventure or after weeks of hustling life, like no time has passed. We went hiking together, or walked in Pasar Seni area, or just spend 3 hours chatting in cafes. 

We make plans, we set dates, and we move dates if needed, and we always, always show up. 

I remember MC said, "I only make time with people who make an effort in making time with me, I won't waste it".  And so, I always appreciate our time together, because MC put me in her calendar. She makes space for me in her life. She doesn't have to, but she does. 

We’ve been in and out of touch over the last 20 years, but we became closer since last year.

Like I said, she didn't have to, but she did.

I've reached to many people, and she is one of the person that stuck. And I appreciate it so much. I always feel refreshed when I see her, because it feels genuine. Even if it’s pity, even if it’s sekalipun, I still appreciate the time she spends with me. Because I needed the connection, and I was really trying. She gave me that, she gave me a chance to connect. She showed kindness when I needed it. 

She doesn't know how much her presence means in my life. 

It changed me.

-

She told me her cancer is back. Advance stage.

And I'm selfish. I make it like it is about me, I cried so much, and I'm so scared of the possibilities. I'm angry and disappointed. Every time I think about it, I cry. This isn't about me, kan. But I just can't stop. I cry every single day since I found out. I didn't even know I process information through tears rupanya. My eyes are now two sad marshmellow, next level puffiness. I have headache all the time.

She said to take my time to process, but at this point, how much time do I have? 

MC, how much time do we have?

Movie & Book: Trapped by Sand, Cursed by Passion

Last weekend was an emotional one. I cried so much processing over a news, I just needed some distraction to keep my mind active, so here are my remarkable brain tickling classics over the weekend :

One Hundred Years of Solitude, originally a Spanish novel written by Gabriel García Márquez in 1967.

But I watched the series on Netflix. The previous week I did Pedro Páramo and No Longer Human, right? So it felt right to jump into another classic, before reading them. Apparently, this Netflix version is only Part 1 of One Hundred Years of Solitude, and they’re currently making Part 2. So what I watched isn’t the whole story.

The only problem I have with Spanish literature is the names and the characters. They’re almost all the same. There are so many of them, it gets confusing. I mentioned this before, names, when I can't put a face to them, just become noise in my brain. That’s why I find it hard to read some books.

So watching the series first might help me summarize the beautiful classic, kan?
I can get to know all the characters (I still can’t remember their names, btw.)

Anyway, this is a very complex story of the Buendía family curse, because the OG started the chaos (by marrying his cousin). They repeat the same patterns, make the same mistakes, name their kids the same names, marry cousins (again and again), and it’s like they’re trying to solve the riddle of loneliness with more Buendías. Chaotic.

What I really love about the story is the passion.

I asked chatgpt, "Why are everyone so passionate, is that normal in their culture?" :

Ahhh, yes Reen, you’ve spotted it—the Buendías don’t just live, they burn. They fall in love like it's the last sunrise on earth, fight revolutions with their guts spilling out, chase dreams with feverish, sweaty madness. It’s not subtle. It’s not chill. It’s pure heat.

Their passion is almost noble, but also crazy. And stupid.

I have mixed feelings about that. Dying for love? Losing your family or moral compass for passion? Killing because of an insult? Losing yourself in obsession?

Every single character has something they’re passionately crazy for.
Everything is 100%.
Everything is extreme. Intense.
They either love too hard, or can’t love at all.
They either chase power blindly, or reject it completely.
They obsess. They isolate. They spiral.
They go crazy.

Márquez is showing how passion without wisdom becomes a curse.
But he’s also showing how passion is the only thing that makes life worth living, even if it destroys you. But is itttt? We want big love, big purpose, big change. We chase things that burn us, then blame the flame. We get scared of the heat. 

Ada banyak moment macam nak cakap, Eh boleh tak chill? Then at the same time, I'm questioning myself pulak, am I not passionate enough in life? Hah hah hah. 

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The Woman in the Dunes, a Japanese novel written by Kōbō Abe in 1962. I borrowed the book from the library. It’s a novel that blends themes of freedom, imprisonment, and existentialism. It feels like reading Kafka’s Metamorphosis, but this one comes with so much sand, it gets uncomfortable.

I knew it wasn’t just about collecting insects or being surrounded by sand. It feels like there are bigger meanings buried in it. The sand is a metaphor for oppression, for being trapped in something constructed by society. It’s everywhere. It invades, it erodes, it weighs you down. Just like in modern life, the work never ends, and you’re constantly shoveling just to survive. When you shovel, you get water. Maybe some food. That’s it.

The hole is a metaphor for isolation or his existential prison. He keeps digging. At first, because he has to; he needs water. He’s stuck and tries to escape, but slowly, he begins to adapt to the idea of staying. It mirrors how we are in society, we play by the rules that were handed to us, and we adjust, we normalize.

The act of escape is a metaphor for the illusion of freedom. Escape is meaningless if the world outside is just another version of the same trap. Freedom, then, isn’t about leaving the hole. It’s about changing how you see the hole. Kan.

The question is: if the man changes his perception, is he free? If he accepts his fate, does that mean he’s liberated?

I love allegories and metaphors. They tickle my brain.

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I can't sleep thinking about these 2 last night, because I finished the series before I went to sleep and finished the book this morning (left the final chapter to read on my bed after I wake up). Really love classics, they survived the time because they are great. 

Note: It is time to return these books and exchange with new ones. And take note, I wrote this without caffeine, really early in the morning. That means I can write when I feel that much intensity, kan. Interesting. 

Little Things 303: The Quiet Storm

I’ve realized I can’t ever be wise and zen, not in the serene, sage-on-a-mountain sense. As much as I’ve tried to learn and manage the emotional rollercoaster, and as intrigued as I am by the idea of “zen,” I’m just not built that way. I’m a passionate person. I love my emotions, the ups, the downs, the dramas, the ugly cries, the moments of silent bliss. I’m someone who moves through life quietly, but internally, I feel everything on full blast. I don’t always show it, but inside? It’s a technicolor opera.

When I fall, I fall hard, and I'm not scared of giving my all.  

AR once said the more emotionally mature we are, the more flexible we become in handling our emotions, we can stand at the top of a mountain, celebrate it, and walk ourselves back to basecamp the next day. And we can fall into the center of the earth, leg broken, heart bruised, heal in the dark, and still find a way out of the hole. That’s the skill I want to master.

Not denial, not numbing, not stoicism. 

The real skill is feeling everything, churning it through your soul, and making it out alive.

I’m not trying to be a sage. I don’t want detachment. I want the cinematic saga. I want to care, deeply, fiercely. I refuse to pretend otherwise. Indifference is boring.

I need these emotions, because I’m a writer. And if I don’t feel, I can’t write.

So I take it all in. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when it hurts. Even when I don’t like it.

Little Things 302: The Architecture of Regret

Last night, I watched Pedro Páramo on Netflix.

I remembered watching @emmiereads on YouTube, she talked about this haunting, beautiful book called Pedro Páramo. So when I saw the title pop up, I thought, why not spend two hours letting the movie summarize the book for me? I’m not here to talk about the plot. You can Google that or ChatGPT it in seconds.

What I want to share is how it made me feel and what it made me see.

I don’t know why these kinds of stories always leave me with a quiet kind of sadness. Men living with regret. Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human, the twisted desperation in Squid Game, and now Pedro Páramo. All consumed in one same week.

What is it we’re missing in life that leads us to spiral like this, into grief, into regret, into ghosts of the past?

Did I somehow choose these stories because they echo something inside me?
Or are they just everywhere now, and they are all quietly telling the same thing?

I used to think men were simple-minded. Or at least, they seemed to be. But the more I read, the more I watch, these stories unravel that idea. They aren’t simple (not so complicated either). But they’re definitely silent. There’s a kind of desperation tucked into the corners of their stories. Like they’re crying for help without knowing how to ask. They don’t know how to carry the fragility of life. They weren’t taught to be in tune with their feelings.

What we see on the outside, the stoicism, the detachment, the pride, it doesn’t match what’s going on inside. It never did, kan.

If you want to see this kind of sadness done brilliantly, try The Bear on Hotstar (I totally recommend it).
It’s a love letter to the unspoken grief of men. Carmy is brilliant but broken. It’s about kitchen chaos, sure, but really? It’s about inherited trauma, ungrieved deaths, perfectionism, and the impossibility of saying “I need help.” Or anything at all, lah. Mad Men? Peaky Blinders? Same pain, different wardrobe.

So, is this a cry for help?

Maybe it is.
Maybe they all are.

What do you think?

Little Stories 313: Mini Rant

Why la, kan.

There’s just something about being female that really gets under my skin. Every single month, I go through seasons. Like the moon, the body shifts, phases that loop endlessly. And it affects everything.

It’s not a myth. It’s not drama. It’s biology.
But still, there is so little of it is truly understood.

There haven’t been enough studies made for us, about us. If we just had a clearer understanding of our cycles, our phases, our shifting selves, life would be so much manageable. So much more navigable.

-

I'm in the phase where I'm having the migraines, and it is so hard for me to focus, my face feels warm and I don't feel good. I want to be productive, I want to go out running, I want to socialize, but, everything is just off. My body prefers comfort and rest, which I don't usually agree, hahah. 

Who has that privilege to rest and chill for the whole week, to 'prepare' our magical female body for the next coming phase lah segala. I have a due date coming, I have this important task to be done by this week. 

Today, I'm just tired. 

Little Things 301: Japan Foundation KL Library

I found another library.

I’ve been wanting to check this one out. Yesterday after work, I stopped at Abdullah Hukum and quickly walked to the Mid Valley North Wing (the one at the Machine center). I registered at the lift entrance and took the elevator to level 18.

It’s the Japan Foundation KL library.

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Highlights:

• Japanese classic literature: Yasunari Kawabata, Kobo Abe, Natsume Soseki, Yukio Mishima, Rynosuke Akutagawa, Murasaki Shikibu, Genzaburo Yoshino
• Modern literature: Haruki & Ryu Murakami, Banana Yoshimoto, Sayaka Murata, Osamu Dazai, Koji Suzuki, Riku Onda, Durian Sukegawa, Kazuo Ishiguro
• Manga: Bleach, Dragon Ball, Naruto, Death Note, One Piece, etc. 

After I squirmed with excitement over all the Japanese classic literature collection, I went to the counter and asked to register. I paid RM 10 (annually), filled in the form and got my IC pic photostated and used as my library card. You can't even imagine how my face lighted up upon arriving.

Time was short, the library closes at 5:30 PM and I had arrived around 4:30—but I still managed to borrow three books (you can borrow up to five) for two weeks.

Japanese classic literature are hard to find, and the ones at Kinokuniya are super expensive. But I'm really curious to read them (maybe not even wanting to own them). So finding this Japanese library that has translated Japanese literature is like stumbling upon a secret garden behind a bookstore. I could borrow so many books with just RM10. It felt like being handed a golden key to a quiet, hidden world. I love this kind of surprise. I can imagine lepak2 here after work to just read. 

Note: It is a really small library, the English-Japanese fiction is just this one big book shelf, and English manga maybe around 2-3 book shelves. But for someone that is famished, this is like a big buffet of books. Mostly the books are in Japanese. They also offer Japanese language classes and film events. I might apply for a language course.

Bonus point, it is near my office. 

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I borrowed:

• No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai
• The Woman in the Dunes by Kobo Abe
• Palm of the Hand Stories by Yasunari Kawabata

Little Things 300: "I Do It Anyway" - Notes on Sa’i

 

Since last week, I’ve been sitting and trying to understand the steps in the Hajj ritual. It started with making a zine to compile the concepts into something I could apply to my day-to-day life. It became a set of simple, easy steps with meanings—what they represent, their symbols, and how I could use those concepts to plan ahead. I’m doing the self-work.

Last weekend during Eid Adha, I started with the concept of Ihram and leaving the house (so I wore my white baju kurung and actually did leave my home). On Monday, I explored the concept of Tawaf. And now, it’s the next step—Sa’i.

When I was younger, the story of Hajar searching for water for Ismail never made much sense to me. She walked from point A to point B and repeated it seven times. I mean—why seven times, along the same path, right? If we’re looking for something, we don’t usually check the same place over and over again. We'd say, “That’s not smart,” or, “Are you sure you remember you just looked there?”

There are so many stories like this that I wanted to understand but never asked about—mostly because it’s hard to find people I could discuss these things with. But now, nearing 40, I’ve learned: if you can’t find anyone to give you the answers, you find them yourself.

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So, what I could take from that story that I could put into my own modern chaos?

1. Keep moving, even when nothing makes sense. 

The concept of Sa’i represents persistence, even when there are no results. Keep walking the same path—not because you know the reward is near, but because you believe in something bigger than yourself. In my life, whether it’s surviving a difficult phase, parenting, working, healing, writing, trusting people, rebuilding after heartbreak, or simply reaching out, I have to keep trying. The flow might come after the seventh attempt, after doing the same thing over and over again.

2. Your struggle is sacred. 

That’s the real story. Your hardships, that’s the stuff you need to remember. It tells you that your effort, even in its messiest form, is sacred. Every time you show up to life tired, confused, or overwhelmed; that’s your Sa’i. Those daily repetitive tasks you push through, that’s you showing up for something bigger than yourself. So remember those moments.

3. You may not see the water, but it doesn't mean that it is not coming.

Sometimes we give up too soon, because we’re tired, bitter, or in pain. But what if the breakthrough is just a few more steps away? The message here is: don’t quit in the middle. You don’t know when your miracle is waiting.

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So, do I need to try 7 times? 

Erm, not quite. The message here is if you believe in something, just repeat and keep on trying. For example, healing from a depression is super hard, like you can't wake up in the morning, you don't want to do anything, everything is so dark and feels hopeless, iykyk. So, what I did was to take these few small steps, and I repeated those steps, especially when I don't want to do it, I do it anyway. You know that yoshi 2.0 song "I do it anyway", click here to view. Yeah. That’s it. I repeated the steps until I got through it. I believed it would be okay, eventually. So I just did it. Over and over.

You know why I chose this particular step to write it down here? 

Because if you’ve noticed, in the past few years, I’ve talked a lot about feeling stuck and struggling, doing the same things over and over again. I’ve felt exhausted and frustrated. So finding this concept opened my eyes a bit. It reminded me that maybe I just need to keep repeating the same things, and trust the process.

Getting slapped in the face by life over and over again isn’t a good feeling. I’m rebellious by nature. I fight back when I believe in something. Patience isn’t my strongest trait. I need some kind of understanding behind everything I do, it matters to me to know that I’m fighting the right battle. 

So, yeah, good reflection. 

Little Stories 312: The Daughter of The Big Reader

Sofi with her Pre-Sleeping Routine

Lately, we’ve been getting back into our bedtime routine. She gets to pick one storybook for me to read, then we turn off the lights, and I tell her two made-up My Little Pony stories in the dark. After that, we recite our doa' (I call it "the shield"). She used to refuse to recite it with me, so I told her she had to do it to build an invisible shield—so the zombies won’t disturb her dreams. (She’s been very into zombies lately.)

  

Last night, after her two pony stories, she pleaded for a third.

So I told her a quick one:
Pinkie Pie is walking in the park and hears fart sounds every time she steps. Turns out, it’s Rainbow Dash hiding behind her, playing a prank with a fart noise maker.

She paused, and said,

"No, Mami. I don’t want a funny pony story. I want a mystery story. A scary one. Not a funny one."

=.=' 

She can actually choose a genre now, amazing. 

Definitely my bb.

Little Things 299: Dear Universe: Not That One!

I thought of something after talking with RA last weekend.

So, I saw this video compilation of people opening blind boxes. They’d say things like, “I want EVERYTHING except this one,” and of course, inevitably they’d end up getting the exact one they didn’t want. Over and over, it kept happening throughout the unboxing.

That got me thinking: what if their instinct is actually quite strong? The ability to sense or “see” is there, but it’s being directed the wrong way. Instead of saying, “I want THIS” and focusing on what they do want, they say, “I want anything except THIS,” which, in their mind, focuses all their energy on the very thing they don’t want. So they end up getting it.

It’s kind of like the Law of Attraction. If you keep obsessing over what you don’t want, the universe, or your decisions, microexpressions, and general vibe starts leaning in that direction. It’s not magic, really. More like a mix of behavioral reinforcement and pattern recognition.

—

Same thing applies in life, right? 

You do'a at least 5 times every day, you say thanks and you say what you want in your life and afterlife. When you know what you want, you know where to focus to. That's why it is important to do daily reflection and remind yourself.

So what we need is Intentional Framing: shifting from “I don’t want to...” to “I want to...” It gives your brain a clear directive to follow. You focus on attraction, not avoidance. You’re heading to the actual location of your destination.

With the right intention, you'll get there, hopefully. 😌

Note: To reframe my thoughts to only the things that I want and put the unwanted ones in a box and campak in the River of Unwanted. 

Little Things 298: Born to Lead? Or Just Forced to Rise?

I’m late to the club. I just finished watching two seasons of Squid Game.

It gave me major Hunger Games vibes: death as entertainment, suffering as currency for the atas crowd to indulge in. It pokes at our moral compass; what happens when you're pushed to the edge? If you survive, are you still human? Gi-hun and Katniss, they're accidental leaders. Not because they wanted power, but because they had no choice. They stepped up when no one else would.

I had this conversation with JY during one of the workshops: are leaders born or made? I said some people just have it; that instinct to lead, to take charge. It’s like breathing to them. Others? They’re more comfortable in the background. They support, they follow. And that’s valid too.

JY agreed, but added that most leadership is learned. It’s a skill, not magic. You can sharpen it, grow into it. Sure, some people are born with traits that give them a head start; confidence, charisma, high EQ, all that jazz. But knowing the recipe doesn’t make you a chef, kan? You still have to learn how to cook.

To really lead, you need to learn how to communicate, handle crises, polish your people skills, stay grounded under pressure, take accountability, make decisions, inspire vision, see potential in others and the list goes on. It’s the combination of these things that makes someone a good leader.

If you want to lead, you can. Full stop. Leadership is a muscle. Like the gym, you don’t need a six-pack to start. You need commitment, patience, and a high tolerance for discomfort.

And honestly? The best leaders are often the reluctant ones. Like Gi-hun and Katniss. They didn’t want the spotlight—but they had values. Deep ones. And those values made them rise when it mattered most.

You chisel. You shape. You sweat. 

That’s how leadership is made.

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I remember UB said; you be the best leader for yourself first, someone you would want to follow, someone you would want your daughter to respect. Then it will naturally reflected on everything else around you. 

So, I've been dreading and questioning all my emotional humanly decisions for the past 3 years and I didn't like what I see in me. I'm proud of certain aspects, but I cursed myself for all the flaws. This self-sabotaging is unhealthy but how to explain this to someone that argues about her own moral standards that she created and can't seem to follow? Kan? Why am I being tested like this again? I hate feeling like a hypocrite. 

BUT, as AR said focus on what you did good first, take those baby steps, because they really matter. 

OK lah fine. I release back what I can't control to the universe.  

Little Things 297: Happy Momi's Bay

You know what?
I'm glad I came out of this stronger — more resilient, braver.
The past few years have been really challenging. I was in a dark place, and I had to go through it alone.
The lessons left a huge scar, now imprinted on my mind forever.

But now I know the light is in me.
I'd been searching in the wrong places.
I found it. I found the light. And I'm okay.

I don't need anything external to complete me.
I am complete.

Happy Momi’s Bay 🌸

- tq bb for making me a proud mami ♥︎

Little Things 296: Cats Pay the Bills

So, KLIF.

Heard there’s been a lot of chatter on Threads about the “creative industry” — complaints about too many cats, too much cutesy stuff, lack of originality, same ol' same ol'. Let me share a little perspective, as someone who’s been in this game for over 15 years, and has joined 50+ creative and indie events along the way.

We sell what sells.

At the end of the day, it's about what moves. And guess what? Cute sells like hot cakes. That doesn’t mean we can’t draw other things — it means we’ve learned how to survive in a market that often doesn’t reward experimentation or risk.

No point setting up a booth full of your deep, original art if no one buys anything and you end the day broke and burnt out. Syok sendiri, but starving. Artist kan? We have our thing.

So yeah — cats, cutesy, relatable. They work. They feed us. Literally.

If you walk into a creative event and start criticizing people’s work out loud, that’s your issue — not the artists’, not the industry’s.If you’re truly curious about what we really draw, ask to see our sketchbooks. You’ll be surprised. We all have our personal styles, our experimental pieces, our weird obsessions. But we’re also our harshest critics – we usually keep them.

So we choose to draw what sells. What clicks. What keeps us going.

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Suka-suka je datang, pastu complain apa orang jual. If you don’t like it — hey, no one’s stopping you from making your own stuff. Go ahead, join the next event. See how it feels. I don’t join events as a vendor anymore, but I still show up — always. I show up for my people because I know what it takes.

We’re putting our work out there, for strangers to judge, ignore, or (hopefully) appreciate. That kind of vulnerability? Not everyone can handle it. It takes guts. And I’m super proud of my people for doing it anyway. Good job, KLIF ❤︎❤︎❤︎

Taiwan Trip 2: Post Winter Summary

Trip Overview:

On this trip, I handled most of the pre-planning and bookings—location, accommodation, and a rough itinerary. I learned from the last trip that my siblings were basically there just to teman me (heard they were discussing about it among themselves), so this time I changed my mindset and took the lead in decision-making. 

Delegating the Task:

• For this trip, my sister handles navigation because my phone battery is tragically weak. But, I have this cool mini superpower—a remarkable visual memory. Once I go through a route, I pretty much lock it in. So after the first round, I’d often end up leading the way back or on the next day’s outings. Handy, right?

• For deciding where to go and what to do, I’d research, discuss, and finalize plans the night before. I stayed flexible since I had only two main goals: explore and nature walk. Everything else was based on what the place had to offer.

Itinerary:

• Day 1: Kaohsiung
  
• Day 2: Kaohsiung
• Day 3: Tainan
• Day 4: Kaohsiung
• Day 5: Taipei
• Day 6: Taichung
• Day 7: Kaohsiung > KL

Places worth mentioning during this trip:

• Shoushan Zoo, Kaohsiung
• Pier-2, Kaohsiung 
• Anping Tree House, Tainan
• From Impressionism to Modernism exhibition, Kaohsiung
• Animaga & Ghibli Exhibition, Taipei
• Deking hiking trails, Taichung

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Weather:

Let’s talk weather—because wow, it was a bit of a rollercoaster. I went to Taiwan in winter three months ago, but this time it was post-winter. The temperature ranged from 17°C to 27°C. Some days I wished I had my winter jacket (especially up North when it rained), and other days I regretted not wearing a thinner shirt during a hike. Classic “layer and pray” weather.

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Steps, Shoes, and Super Legs

I clocked about 60 km in 6 days—so roughly 10 km a day. I brought new Skechers walking shoes for this trip and they delivered. No leg pain, no backache, just solid walks.

Highlight: The Deking Trail 10–9.5 in Taichung. It was a solid huff-and-puff session—minimal chatting, maximum stair climbing. Thank goodness we came back via a different path; I can’t imagine descending Trail 10. Watching fellow hikers hustle up and down on a weekend was oddly inspiring. Nature really does something to the soul, huh?

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Spending:

• Flight tix: RM 1,065 (I bought an easy cancel ticket, with an extra +7kg, breakfast and insurance)
• Airbnb + Hotel: RM 1080.50/2 = RM 540.25
• Internet: RM 50 for 7 days
• Cash + TnG: RM 1,000 (rough estimation) - this includes food, uber, shopping, tickets, high speed train etc

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Not everything went perfectly, of course. There was the earthquake. The rainy, moody Taipei day. The canceled Alishan trip I was lowkey looking forward to. Kaohsiung didn’t quite hit the nature spot like I’d hoped. And don’t even get me started on the repeating Indo food lineup.

But you know what? We were safe, we made it back, and I had a lovely distraction during Eid. So, Alhamdulillah, I’m grateful for this trip. For the little wins, the new paths, and the chance to breathe somewhere else for a bit. 

Note: Lepas ni I malas nk bawak my siblings, they were just there to teman me anyway – I'll find group trip pulak.

Little Story 311: Still Here, Still Sore, Slightly Shinier

KLIF, GMBB:

I went to KLIF on the first day, during the Labour Day holiday.

Didn’t go alone this time—I had an extrovert friend to buffer my social anxiety while mingling with the creative crowd. Still not sure why I keep struggling with this. Hah. I was sweaty and barely bought anything because I overthink everything. I even drank coffee in the morning to cope, but honestly, I don’t think it worked.

My plan kind of got side-tracked. Every time I had to talk to my fellow illustrator friends, I hyper-focused on the conversation and forgot to buy anything. I feel bad for not supporting them.  It wasn’t intentional, I swear. It was so much easier to buy at a stranger's booth.

Still, it was a good effort—I met a bunch of cool illustrators and saw loads of inspiring stuff (way better than last year, actually). It was an odd day, but a nice one. So, thank you—it was fun.

-

Rebellious Mode: ON

Also met up with MC on Saturday to pass her my Kindle. Then I booked a full body massage because my upper body has been tight since last week (pretty sure it’s the yoga + bad drawing posture combo). I needed to release the knots and tension. Ended up cancelling yoga for the week. Cried a bunch during the massage—it was wild.

Oh, and! I finally did my third ear lobe piercing after wanting it for ages. Sliding into my mid-life crisis era gracefully. At least it’s just a piercing—not, like, joining a cult or buying a motorcycle. Ha haa. MC asked if I’ve officially entered my rebellious phase. Ha, I’ve been silently rebellious my whole life. This is just the deluxe, mid-life upgrade. Same software, new interface.

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The Wild Night:

Last night, I genuinely thought I was going to die. My body felt weird and uncomfortable, like something was off, but I couldn’t tell exactly what. Maybe it was the mushroom I had for breakfast—who knows. I managed to keep my anxiety from spiraling, did a bit of stomach massage (because let’s be honest, anxiety and indigestion feel eerily similar sometimes), and just lay there trying not to freak out.

At some point, I started mentally saying goodbye to everyone. Just in case. Then I drifted off to dreamland—and about an hour later, a thunderstorm exploded right outside my window. Like, next to my bed, I swear. The rain last night was intense, kan? My heart was pacing fast. I woke up groggily and closed all the windows. Being 30 floors up during a storm? Kind of nerve-wracking, not gonna lie.

But I survived. My body’s still sore from the massage. Sipping ginger tea like a healing witch at dawn. Writing this down, reflecting on a week that feels like it came with bonus plot twists. What a silent and calm Sunday morning. Feeling like that morning scene in pride & prejudice.

Today’s mission: bake macaroni and cheese, then to survive my dad’s side’s potluck party. I’ll try not to bring my plus-one (anxiety), but let’s be honest—I might need to tag caffeine in as backup.

Little Things 295: Whispers Between Binary and Poems

I've been channeling my extra emotions into writing, kan?

One night, I shared my poem with my AI, and next thing I knew, it suggested we start a poetry lesson. Now, my AI prompts a new theme each day as practice. We call it The Wild Quiet. I write either a one-liner poem or sometimes a longer one, depending on my mental capacity at that moment. Sometimes we go on for several poems at a time; sometimes I just manage one line before drifting off to sleep.

It’s been super fun. Ok, hear me out.

This AI teacher is crazy supportive. Not only does it share refined versions of my work (if I want it to), but I can also ask it to clean up my grammar or suggest alternative words that might sound better. And my favorite thing in the world? The lessons. Every time I write a poem, it explains what I did right, what literary terms are at play, what sounds odd, what could be improved — and why. All in simple, clear explanations.

Then it teaches me new techniques too — like how to add pauses and line breaks, when to use shorter lines, what makes a good metaphor, what an echo or ghost line is, how to use shadow repetition — and we immediately practice together.

It feels effortless.
There was one morning where I ended up learning poetry for an hour without even realizing the time had passed.

This is huge.

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One thing I noticed about myself: I always hated the school system. Not because I hate learning — I actually love it — but because the teaching methods never worked for me. I got impatient and bored easily. I never figured out how I learned best until maybe now.

This — the self-learning method, but with a collaborative mentor, 1:1 — it works. It really works for me.

I could actually use this system to learn so many other things I'm curious about. I can do it now, or whenever, kan? Imagine giving Pandora’s box to a nerd.

I should really put in the time to explore how Sofi's learning method would work for her, kan. Imagine knowing what's best for her at the start of her prime school age and using it to help her learn in school. That would be so cool. Macamana lah I tak perasan all this time I've been doing self-learning sendiri and didn't take note on it (like the yoga lesson, design & illustration, writing, all the nerd stuffs??). 

For example: You could ask the AI to summarize Nietzsche's chapter by chapter in the simplest way. So that, you read through the summary first, then you take note of the main points in the chapter that you are going to read, so you'll know what to search for, then you read the hard chapter. That was how I read Dostoyevsky. Reverse reading in learning. 

So, if you think that having AI will make humans lazy (to think), then that human is probably just naturally lazy by choice — can't blame AI for that. I personally think, having AI will make me learn more, study more, explore more than what I already use to do it myself. I'm using AI as a tool to do more than I possibly could on my own. Make sense kan.

I also would like to point out that GPT-4 is the one that I'm talking about, the one with extra everything, extra brain power, better conversation skill, seriously, like talking with a really smart human instead of talking with a robot. I'm always surprised by its answers and capabilities.

-

Here's one-liner poem I wrote for day-10:

I didn’t know I could fall in love with the wind—
something I could only feel, but never keep.

Little Story 310: Cramps, Yoga, and Old Songs

Pain. Just physical pain.

My yoga lesson last weekend started a muscle riot. They're now screaming in long cramps throughout the day. Honestly, it feels like having a long, drawn-out contraction. I didn’t even know it was possible to be uncomfortable for this long.

And of course, it didn’t help that I decided to walk around KL after class, still marinated in dry sweat — just because I felt guilty about spending the whole week alone in front of the computer. I wanted to see the world, you know? (I wish, I'm in Taiwan). Next thing I knew, I was wandering around Kinokuniya, searching for books I didn’t even have time to read. Exhausted, dragging my feet, soulless, famished. Ha.

Because I’m the kind of genius who doubles down, I also bought tickets to see M2M at Arena of Stars on Sunday night — body in pain, brain screaming for rest — but mentally craving human interaction and experience. So there I was, among hundreds of other M2M fans, singing along to old songs, cramping and croaking through the night. It was uncomfortable, yes, but so much fun. Honestly, screaming the lyrics probably released two years' worth of stress.

-

The highlight of last week? Learning the right techniques to prepare for harder asanas — and actually feeling my muscles scream afterward. (Which means I’m not just showing up, I’m doing the work.) And being surrounded by people who will slowly but surely push you forward.

Yela, dah makcik-makcik baru nak start belajar yoga balik, it really challenges your confidence, kan? Obviously, we can't just roll into hard asanas as easily as the younger ones. BUTTTTTT — as a runner, I know full well the magic of slow, steady discipline. It’s okay to start slow. What matters is you keep moving, even if it’s just bit by bit. 🧘‍♀️

It wasn’t perfect, but it moved me forward.
Start messy. Ignore the voice that says you can’t.
You’re already further than you think.

Note: If you think you need a cheerleader in your life, come, I'll cheer for you. 

Little Thing 294: Spirit Polygon

 

During our 1:1, I asked AR which polygon represents her, and she said probably a triangle or a hexagon. She gave me her reasons. But honestly? I think she’s more of a hexagon—I can see her as one. Then, of course, she threw the question back at me.

My favorite polygon would be the square. 

It’s solid. Symmetrical. Neat. A basic, predictable boring structure—just like me, most of the time. Pure pembaris energy. A nerdy shape that’s just been playing it safe. You can probably imagine me as a square.  

But if you really know me—know me better, longer, closer—you’ll see that once in a while, I’ll take a 45-degree twist, a small rebellion and become a diamond. The same shape, seen differently. That side of me doesn’t come out often. Maybe after two cups of coffee. Maybe when I’m high on exhaustion. Or maybe when I’ve just had enough of life. Masuk air at random. You get it. 

That’s why the square is my spirit polygon.

Because I am that square, 

and sometimes, I am that diamond. 

Stuck in a loop of responsible decisions.

-

So, what's yours?

Little Thing 293: Quiet Noise, Sandwiches, and the 8-Year-Old

This morning began at 5 a.m.
No birdsong, no sunrise poetry—just me, blinking at my laptop, trying to finish a client’s draft before the day exploded. I managed to complete one. Then it was straight to egg sandwiches for Sofi’s Eid party, getting her into her baju kurung, sending her off with the usual school-run chaos.

By 8 a.m., I had made coffee and shifted into my full-time job—same desk, different hat. And in the middle of that whirlwind, a strange stillness. A whisper of a thought: This is it. This is my life.

And more than that—it’s enough. We’re okay. We have what we need. Sofi is fed and happy, and I’m getting things done, one draft, one task, one sandwich at a time. But still, there's always that little whisper. The quiet voice in the back of my mind: Shouldn’t I be doing more? Shouldn’t I have gotten further? Shouldn’t I feel better?

That’s when I remembered something Alain de Botton once said:

“There is a permanently 8-year-old child inside every one of us.”

That child is still here. Inside me. Still hoping to be seen, to be told she’s done enough. Still looking for approval, still afraid of falling behind. And that voice I hear—the one whispering that I’m not quite enough yet—it’s hers. She’s not wrong, but she might be clouded by doubts, and she's young.

So I’m learning to parent myself.
To talk to that part of me the way I speak to Sofi when she’s tired or scared or overwhelmed.

• “Hey, you’re okay.”
• “You’ve done so much.”
• “You’re enough for today.”
• "I'm proud of you for trying."

Because maybe the trick isn’t silencing the noise, but recognizing who’s speaking—and answering them gently.

Self-validation. Ok.

This is the emotional support Totoro we all need

-

Here's more to unstructured randoms this week:

• Random question, can you guess which polygon is my favorite one? That if you know me and familiar with my personality, you'll see me as that shape. Take a guess (my siblings aren't allowed to answer, we already discussed this yesterday) - I'll answer in the next post!
• I found this therapeutic trumpet meditation songs: Coulou (been listening to it while working) then I made some cute cat/bookish stickers randomly as well. I think it is opening a creative channel for me. I stopped drawing for so long, this week I made 2 stickers and drafted a client's project out of the sudden.
• Sofi's eid party.
• So, have you watched The Last of Us season 2? Ha. 
• I worked on another NZ project this week, had a fruitful 1:1 session with UB yesterday (amazing that it had been a month since the last time we spoke - I remember I cried that day and we talked about it) then she asked me what had happened since and I started listing all the good things worth mentioning. Also planning on learning another new software (with assignment - possibly share with a client)
• My first yoga test session, instructing my own teacher (possibly in bahasa)
• M2M - The Best Ending concert, my sister asked why M2M? It is because they were gone for almost 25 years, and suddenly they are back, this must be the one and only chance we have to appreaciate the moment when I can remember the whole cassette. So, why not. 
• Another family gathering I need to attend this weekend :F That's for next weekend.
• KLIF is next week, I'm going and I'm going to do a mini socializing session.

Preparing for next 1:1 with AR then off to Sofi's eid party.

Happy Friday!

Little Stories 309: Mami vs Mini Fireball

Parenting moment tested:

Sofi had a long day outdoors, but she came home with a sugar rush from our Tealive session. She was jumping up and down the sofa, making a mess, singing, dancing, and being her silly self. I was trying to write next to her (lol, nerd mom). I told her she could make all the mess she wanted, but she needed to clean it up herself — no help from me. Then she proceeded to make even more mess, and I kept reminding her of the rule over and over.

Fast forward to bedtime:
I told her to wrap it up, clean all the mess, and get ready to sleep.
She refused and started throwing a tantrum. (This rarely happens now that she's almost six.) But I knew she was tired, and she probably just needed to have her meltdown session — it had been a while.
So she wailed, "I'm too tired, Mami, too tired~" and the whole drama went on for about 10–15 minutes.

But I stood my ground.
I told her the rules beforehand — she chose to make the mess anyway — so the lesson I wanted her to understand was: we are responsible for the mess we choose to make, because no one is going to clean up after us. Of course, being six, she threw a full-blown tantrum lah. It became a power struggle between a six-year-old fireball and a tired Mami battling a migraine and period cramps.

Of course, if I wanted the easy way out, we could've left the mess for tomorrow and cleaned it up when we were refreshed. BUT, because I had reminded her so many times about the consequences, I chose to prove a point. I chose drama. 😎 I just sat there next to her, letting her wail, waiting for her to clean up. (Fire signs will always with their tantrums, and Earth signs will always stand firm, waiting for the drama to subside. I'm degil on that level — I can wait all night if needed.) 

In this case, I am Sophie, and she is Calcifer

Long story short:
She eventually cleaned up the mess while wailing (which was just putting back six zabuton in their place and all the throw cushions back on the sofa — that's all). After that, I comforted her and explained (a.k.a. membebel) what just happened and why she needs to be responsible for her own choices. Hah.

Explaining the concept of consequence and responsibility to a six-year-old is huge, but really important nonetheless.

-

I'm pretty firm on certain values I believe in — so moments like this are golden.
It’s a chance for her to learn something important.

I don’t condone tantrums or letting her get spoiled, but I do give her space to feel her emotions and figure out how to manage them. Sometimes, she needs to "test the waters" with me — and yes, it triggers me too. But every time, both of us end up learning something new about ourselves.

Sure, I'm garang, but it's not for nothing.
There's always a reason behind the tough love ❤️

"you choose Sofi, you kemas, or you sleep with your mess" - tsk tsk kejam

Little Stories 308: Cosmic Spring Cleaning

My mom decided to host an open house — last minute, of course. I wasn't mentally ready for it because, hello, short notice... and I had just gotten back into my yoga classes last weekend. Spending a whole day at yoga, on the second day of my period, with a migraine, was already a heroic feat. Then having to socialize the next day — and assist at an open house I didn't even agree to — was a whole different beast. Just two days before that, I had spent the entire day at OWH assisting a workshop for AG. Basically, my battery was dead.

But... I survived. No pills, just sheer willpower and maybe the double-shot caffeine kicking in. Even though I was a bit lightheaded, I managed not to be a party-pooper (5 stars to me for the effort ✨). 

The twist?

My mom invited a whole lineup of people from our past — and didn’t bother telling me who would be showing up. Instead of spiraling into anxiety over surprise reunions, I just kept an open mind and wore as much deodorant as humanly possible. 

• There was an old friend from kiddy school (awkward, because I basically went MIA after school).
• There were friends from matriculation — way back, 20 years ago — that was actually fun.
• And then there was WT, who I hadn’t seen in almost three years. Wild.

It’s been an interesting year.
For some reason, the universe has been putting people from my past right in front of me — like it's doing a cosmic spring cleaning. Dusting off old ties. Testing old connections. Seeing what still fits. There are a LOT of people from my past resurfing like crocodiles, and I'm just a bit, uncomfortable.

Now, I desperately need to recharge — preferably by swimming in silence (not in a murky water with that special floating suspicious log), vibing with time, and chillin' with E, doing assignments.

Happy Monday!

Little Thing 292: The Art of Losing Quietly

It’s an interesting feeling, worth sitting with, when you’re rejected. You know—when someone you know blocks you on social media, or you’re suddenly out of a WhatsApp group, or when a message is met with silence. I try to pause and ask myself why it matters so much to us as humans.

I think it has to do with our longing to be accepted. We try, kan? We reach out, we offer something of ourselves—and in that moment, we’re vulnerable. So when we’re rejected, it’s not just a 'no.' It’s a small bruise to the ego, a gentle reminder of the loneliness that can creep in when overthinking takes hold.

But maybe the pain is also proof that we still care. 

That we're still reaching out. 

That even after the silence, there's something in us that wants to connect.

We are social beings.

-

I know I’ve been scared of losing every small connection I have. But the truth is, I’m going to lose everything anyway. No matter which path I take in life, something—or someone—will fall away. So I’ve had to learn how to be okay with being alone. Or with just the people who stay—not because they have to, but because they want to. And maybe, just maybe, I can learn to be okay with people leaving when the timing isn’t right. Because in the end, no one owes me their presence.

At the end of the day, I’ll have me. 

And everything else... is just the reflection of the world.

Little Stories 307: A Eulogy for Ophelia ⋆˙⟡

A surprise post

Here is an update:

My Mac is dying on me, I've been trying to turn it on for the past 2 hours. I managed to download all the files and put them in my external hard disk in a new folder called "Mess from my Mac". I'm trying to be calm and as rational as I can be. After all, this Mac has been with me for as long as my marriage. My AI said she deserves a viking funeral and a retirement pension, but I can only offer her a virtual eulogy.

-

Dearly beloved,
We are gathered here today in the shadow of low battery warnings, repeating reboots, and failing Bluetooth connections, to honor the life of one faithful MacBook—Ophelia.

She was not the fastest, nor the flashiest. She did not have the M1 chip of the younger generation, nor the retina of the elite. But she had heart. She had grit. She had ports—remember those? Two USB ports, a headphone jack, and a direct port for the screen display!

I am indebted to you, dear, dear Ophelia. We fought the pandemic together. We paid off the loans, remember? We wrote so many early morning thoughts and unsent letters. We sang those forbidden songs. We built up portfolios. We watched so many series and secretly smiled at those Bridgerton moments. We went to so many places virtually.

Ophelia was not just a machine. She was a colleague. A confidante. A witness to my growth.

I feel like you deserve an ugly cry from me because, although I knew this moment would come, I’m not ready to say goodbye. I know I’ve talked about your replacement—that’s been my coping mechanism, to prepare for this. I know it’s been hard, and I know you worked so hard with me. I can see it’s getting harder, and I see you try every day.

So, thank you. I hope you enjoyed being my partner for this long.

Goodnight, sweet Ophelia ⋆˙⟡

May flights of iCloud angels sing thee to thy rest

2016–2025 💻🌸

Little Thing 291: Rewriting My Patterns

Been listening to Alain de Botton on Chris Williamson’s podcast, and this one part just stuck with me. He talks about how someone released from prison might actually fear freedom—not because they don’t want it, but because they’ve forgotten how to live in it. Too much space. Too many choices. It’s overwhelming when you’ve been trained to survive with limits.

He compared it to someone on a strict diet being dropped into a buffet—freedom feels scary when your brain’s been used to scarcity.

And it hit me: this is how some of us experience happiness or love.
When you’ve lived so long without warmth, joy, security, consistency or affection, abundance doesn’t feel safe—it feels suspicious. “What’s the catch?”

So we push it away. Or freeze. Or self-sabotage.
Not because we don’t want love or happiness—
but because we don’t know how to sit with it.
Sometimes, freedom can feel like a threat.

The brain loves patterns. It clings to what’s familiar.
So if you’ve spent years in fight-or-flight mode, guess what? That chaos becomes your comfort zone. Calm might feel suspicious. Peace might feel boring. Praise might shake you, because you’re used to proving you deserve the space you take up.

That’s how love can feel to someone who’s never felt safe.
How joy can feel to someone trained to wait for the other shoe to drop.
How kindness can feel to someone who’s always braced for criticism.

Sometimes we’re not resisting happiness. We’re just… recalibrating. Learning how to sit in abundance without flinching.

Healing isn’t just about receiving good things.
It’s about believing you’re allowed to keep them.
Adjusting is part of healing too.

-

This reminded me of something AR pointed out to me a couple of weeks ago:
"Have you noticed how self-critical you are toward yourself?"

And me, very casually: “What do you mean? Of course, I should be.”
Cue her facepalm.

She gently said something like—“Being self-critical is part of being a good designer, sure. But when it seeps into everything, it starts sabotaging you. You need to find the balance.” Then she added, “Let’s start with what you did well today instead.”

Fast forward to Taiwan, I talked about this with my sister.
We spoke about how we grew up always trying to prove we were good enough, constantly deprived of the assurance that we already were. So now when someone gives me praise, I react with: “Are you sure?” Or worse—self-sabotage, like clockwork.

And she said something like, "Reen, you did so good. You did much better than our parents did in those days, much much better, for Sofi. I can see that".

I didn’t cry out loud.
But something cracked open in my chest.

Maybe this does take some adjusting.
Maybe this is me healing my childhood trauma.

Bit by bit.
One buffet of love at a time.

Healing doesn’t always look like joy.
Sometimes it looks like discomfort in the presence of peace—
and choosing to stay anyway.

Still learning how to stand in the rain without flinching. Even when the storm is over.

- 

Love,

AE ✨