I guess I had the simplest birthday ever. Yesterday, I had a simple meal of kuetiau goreng with abang before heading to uni. Mama made nasi kerabu for lunch, and for some reason, it tasted better than usual, there was something about it that just hit differently, like every bite was extra special and unbelievably sedap. It was nothing fancy, just a quiet moment in the midst of everything. Ibu wished me happy birthday from her hospital bed, and I can’t explain how much that meant. Please, if you’re reading this, pray for her. I know I’ve asked for this a lot, but I’m really hoping someone’s doa will be granted. This time, it’s hard to hide just how sad I am about my birthday. For the first time, I let it sink in. Sometimes, I’m scared of growing up because growing up feels like losing more people or things. Can I just stay 17 forever?
Today, honestly, felt like a really sad birthday. I woke up to messages from close friends on iMessage, which was sweet. I spent most of the day in bed, just reflecting on everything. A few close friends sent me paragraphs, heartfelt ones, and those messages carried me through the morning. By noon, Far and Nadiea came by with slices of cake, and for a moment, things felt a little lighter. We sat, we talked, and I realised just how much these little moments matter.
After Far and Nadiea, Qis, Ecah, and Iffah showed up, and honestly, they just made my day even better. They brought me small pancakes and even bought me Mixue. It’s funny how something so simple can lift your mood entirely. What made it even more special was that all of them actually sang me a birthday song. I didn’t expect any of this, and the fact that they went out of their way to do something so sweet, well, it just hit differently.
There’s something about being celebrated in small ways by the people you care about. It’s not the cakes or the Mixue, though those were great, but more about the thought behind it. It’s like they knew I needed a little extra love today, and that’s exactly what they gave me. It was nothing extravagant, just cakes, pancakes, ice cream, and a song, but it was everything I needed.
I guess birthdays aren’t about big parties or extravagant plans. I should be happy with a celebration like this which small, intimate, surrounded by people who truly care. And I am happy. I really am. It’s just that sometimes, happiness comes with layers of other emotions too, and that’s okay.
Being 19 isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Lately, I’ve started to see things differently, noticing how many opportunities slipped through my fingers not because I wasn’t capable, but maybe because this is just how it’s meant to be. I’m realising that trying to juggle everything at once can be overwhelming, and maybe I’m not built for that right now.
October really has a way of bringing out my softer side. I don’t know why, but it feels like all my emotions are heightened this month. I’m sad, and I cry. I’m happy, and I cry. It’s been like navigating an emotional rollercoaster, and honestly, it hasn’t been easy far from it. There have been so many breakdowns, days where I’m too afraid to admit what’s really going on inside my head.
Sometimes, the only way I can make sense of things is by writing about them. But even then, I hold so much back, filtering my emotions because it feels safer that way. The truth is, people don’t see me fully, not really. I write here, pouring out my thoughts, knowing that the people closest to me might never truly understand how I feel. It’s a strange contradiction, isn’t it? It’s almost like saying, “I’m not okay, but you’ll only know if you read my blog!”
In the end, what I need most from my 19-year-old self is to stay strong, to hold on through the ups and downs, and to stop being so hard on herself. I want her to embrace life, the messy, unpredictable parts of it and understand that it’s okay to stumble, to cry, to feel a little lost sometimes. She doesn’t have to have everything figured out right now. This is her time to learn, to grow, and to give herself the grace to make mistakes along the way. There’s so much more ahead, and she deserves to navigate it with a little more kindness toward herself.
So, that’s my not-so-little rant about my birthday. I’ve decided to give myself a few months to regain my full potential. Thanks for sticking around. And if you liked this, feel free to check out my other blogs. Oh, and remember don’t struggle in silence. Even if you feel like no one’s listening, someone will listen. And if all else fails, you’ve always got me… and this blog.
Today, I’m going to share my fun (read: exhausting) experience as the caregiver of Ibu! And let me tell you, it took every ounce of energy and emotional resilience I had to sit down and write this. But here we are. So, buckle up, because this ride is wild.
Okay, quick context: Ibu has been unwell for more than two years. No need for specifics, but let’s just say if she actually listened to people (especially me), she’d probably be on the fast track to recovery. But, nope! She’s stubborn, and honestly, I don’t even know what else to say about her ego. It’s like I’m fighting a never-ending boss level in a video game that I didn’t sign up for.
I guess Ibu’s still in her denial phase. It’s been over two years since she first got sick, and honestly, I don’t think she’s ready to admit it. Like, I get it. No one wants to say, “Hey, I’m sick now, and I need help.” But come on, we’re way past that. We’ve been to the hospital, we’ve seen the doctors, and the situation is pretty clear. Yet somehow, she still acts like nothing’s wrong.
It’s wild, honestly. Some days, I think she just doesn’t want to admit it to herself because that would make it real. I think it’s that pride, you know? The pride of someone who used to run a whole household, work a full-time job, and never need anyone to do anything for her. She’s just not ready to let go of that. I guess that’s just part of the process, right? The denial. But it’s hard. Hard for me to watch her push herself too much, hard for her to accept that she needs to slow down.
Oh, and before you ask—yes, I do have brothers, but you know how brothers are… They’re just there, doing brother things. I don’t know, man, they’re clueless half the time. It’s like they exist in a completely different universe where house chores magically do themselves. So, yeah, I’m not exactly holding my breath for any help from them.
Now, let me just say this: being the only daughter in the family? HATE IT. With a passion. I feel like I’ve been cursed to juggle 100 different lives all at once. You know those video game characters that do everything – cook, clean, fight bad guys? Yeah, that’s me, but with house chores. And it’s not fun. I was not prepared for this. I’m only 19! (Wait, I’m not even 19 yet!) Here I am, trying to adult my way through this chaos, and I am straight-up crying every single day.
I’ve got friends, sure. But do you think they’d really get what it’s like to cry over the exhaustion of cooking, sweeping, and being a human alarm clock for an elderly person who refuses to listen? Nope. I don’t think so. They’re out here stressing over exams or, like, boys or something, while I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing toilet floors, mentally debating the meaning of life.
Let me tell you, when Ibu got admitted to the hospital, being the youngest among all the seasoned adult caregivers was pretty depressing. All these 35+ year-old daughters who looked like they had it all figured out, handling their stuff like pros, and then there’s me: trying not to burst into tears while struggling to figure out how to navigate all this without losing my mind. Sometimes I wonder, shouldn’t I be crying about flunking an exam or getting ghosted by a guy? But noooo, I’m out here crying because I’ve been sleeping on hospital floor for 10 days straight. I have no space for myself, and it’s just exhausting.
Oh, and don’t even get me started on the classic comment from Ibu’s friends when they come to visit: “Wah, dah boleh kahwin dah. Pandai masak semua.” Like, excuse me, if being able to cook and clean means I’m ready for marriage, then no thanks. I am NOT signing up to be someone’s personal maid. Hard pass. And then they throw in the whole “be patient” advice. Ugh, I really can’t stand hearing that! Maybe it’s because it feels like I get it all the time, and it just adds to my frustration. I know they’re trying to be supportive, but it makes me feel like a bad person for not handling everything with grace. Sometimes, I just wish they could understand how overwhelming this really is.
To cope with the madness, I started making vlogs of me cooking and baking–just to make it feel less overwhelming. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not out here posting them, because let’s be honest, my cooking journey isn’t exactly influencer material and no one needs to listen me ranting about how tired I am in the background. But, you know, it helps me feel less like I’m drowning in house chores. Oh, and dancing! Yep, I dance while sweeping just to keep my sanity intact. It’s the only way I’m surviving.
Now, if you know Ibu, you’d know she’s one of the most diligent, fussy people on this planet. She sweeps the house every. single. day. without fail, even when she’s working 8 to 5. And, apparently, that means I’m expected to do the same? Um, no thanks, I’m tired. I’m emotionally drained after pushing myself to the limit in college, and now, being home is no walk in the park either. But I’m here, doing it anyway because… what choice do I have?
Oh, and let me tell you about the time I got scolded because one of Ibu’s plants died. I used to love plants, but honestly, Ibu has way too many! I even asked my brother to help take care of them, but he kept putting it off—ugh, I wish I could put off cooking for him! So, of course, the plant ended up dying. I get it; when you’re sick, everything feels more intense. But crying over a plant? Really? In the end, Ibu just asked the pekebun to handle it. Kan senang.
Sometimes I don’t want to say it, but the house does stress me out. The pressure is real. It’s tough though, you know? The house can be overwhelming sometimes. It feels like there’s no time for me. I just want five minutes of peace where I don’t have to think about laundry, or whether I remembered to give Ibu her meds. Some days, I wonder if the walls are closing in. Other days, I just cry it out and call it a win. But at the end of the day, I push through because what else can I do?
Now, I know this sounds like I’m complaining (okay, I am complaining), but hear me out. I’m learning things I never thought I would at this age. I’ve learned patience (well, mostly), and I’ve learned how to be adaptive. I’ve learned to find joy in small things and to appreciate the strength it takes to care for someone you love. I’ve learned that daydreaming about being married to a charming guy while scrubbing the toilet actually makes the chore a little less awful. And I’ve learned that sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is laugh–even if it’s at how ridiculous everything seems.
And let me be real with you all for a second: I wasn’t always this involved. Ibu did everything when I was growing up. So now, it feels like life is giving me a crash course on adulthood, whether I’m ready or not. But deep down, I know this is for a reason. Maybe it’s shaping me to be more responsible, more empathetic, and maybe, just maybe–more appreciative of everything Ibu did for me. Yeah, yeah, that’s what I’ll tell myself, even though it hurts along the way. Right now, I’m lying in bed, exhausted to my core, but you know what? I don’t care. I did the house chores, and I’m making sure Ibu’s health is priority number one.
So yeah, if you’re ever feeling like your life is too chaotic, just remember that somewhere out there, I’m probably crying over a pile of laundry or trying to convince Ibu to please take her medication. Anyway, make dua for Ibu, please. Not just for her health, but for her strength to get through this.
We cry a lot. But I.. don’t know how to express these feelings.
It’s like, most nights, when things get exhausting, all I want to do is just cry for no apparent reason. I’m just tired and mostly scared. Am I doing the right thing? Have I been a good person at all? Have I.. been anything?
So I’m writing this letter as a promise to myself.
I promise to forgive myself for all the bad decisions I’ve made.
I promise to forgive myself for all the false versions of me and the kinds of feelings I pushed through in order to feel something. I’m not angry when I’m supposed to be angry, and I pretend to resent people when I’m just creating my own safe boundary.
I promise to forgive myself for pursuing perfection and trying to pry all these emotions until the tiny ripples turn into waves and I don’t even know what’s real anymore.
And.. I remember a promise I made before graduating from high school. Not to cry anymore.
And I’ve broken my promise every single day.
I pretend to be strong, but I know that I am strong, and I often pretend as if I can’t hold everything together. But most times, I pretend as if I can hold everything together when, in reality, I just want to break down and cry. I can hardly convey my difficult feelings into easy words… I’m not really good with words or expressing myself. It’s just tears, all tears, and..
It hurts to be something.
But time moves forward, and we have to move forward.
I’m just surviving, although I can’t tolerate all the bad things I’ve said and done. But most of the time, I just want to cry.
But I promise myself to slowly write about the great future ahead. I am worth all the effort of living, and I am worth the effort to be happy. It’s alright to admit that I’m content, that it’s alright to take myself on dates and eat and love and smile and joke and talk to people and do anything at all. It’s alright to actually live and not to think about anything at all.
And I promise myself not to spiral into the past stories that’ve moulded my wounds to be a forever-scratched tomb upon my skin, but rather a reminder, a lesson, of what it felt like to fall and to build all over again. I promise myself whatever it takes to live again. I truly do.
Love is simply love. I promise to love myself. I promise to love You.
Had a good cheesecake from my fave bakery now I am so happy.
When asked what my favourite month is, October is always at the tip of my tongue, even when I have no idea what’s waiting in store for me. It’s an intuitive answer, because I know in my heart that regardless of what might come, I’m going to make this month work for me because I deserve a good birthday month. If I had this same energy every other month, I’d probably be happier tenfold, but oh well, some months bring out the best in you.
Turning 18 has got me thinking about what kinds of things it will bring. There could be a whole lot of new opportunities, but with that will come new responsibilities. It means that I’m suddenly accountable for my own actions, that I’m no longer able to hide behind the shield of being the minority, and that I’m just a little bit terrified.
Terrified to enter the real world.
I’m almost a real person.
I guess as a teenager, I have always romanticised the idea of being 18. And yet, here I am at the age of 18, still unsure about what path I should take when I “grow up”. It’s like I thought I had everything planned out before, but right now, nothing is turning out the way I anticipated. The problem with the media is that they get us so caught up in romanticization, like glorifying the idea of turning 18, but in reality, it’s not nearly as exciting.
I think the age of 18 is particularly difficult to navigate out of all the adolescent years. You’re fresh into adulthood and, in theory, supposed to be more emotionally mature and think with reason. For me, I haven’t really experienced the year like that.
I still have no idea what I’m doing in life at the age of 18. Sure, I’ve started studying something I’m interested in in university, but honestly, I still have questions about whether this is what I’m actually supposed to pursue for the rest of my working career.
As for relationships, I have no experience with them. While attending a mixed-sex secondary school and exclusively forming friendships with people of the same gender was more comfortable throughout the formative years of adolescence, it had a negative impact on my social skills and left me in a state of awkwardness and just utter incompetence around the other gender. I can’t even talk to guys my age, let alone be able to develop friendships or a romantic relationship with them.
Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I see all my physical flaws pointed out so blatantly. My face is too round, my nose too large, and I’ve always struggled with losing weight. As for loving myself and what I look like, I know I have a long way to go. To be honest, on some days, I look at myself and feel disappointed that I’m not one of the pretty or attractive 18-year-old girls I know. This whole thing could just be part and parcel of the teenage syndrome, but deep down, I just can’t help but compare myself to the many other prettier and more confident girls my age.
I started constantly reminding myself that beauty goes beyond appearance. It goes far beyond that. It is something you experience, feel, and have within you. I don’t have to be beautiful like her. I can be beautiful, just like me.
For a major part of my life as 18, it felt like I was shrouded in uncertainty. I’m probably not where I wanted to be a year ago, but I’m happy here.
I remember being so ambitious after SPM, intent on ticking off my bucket list and making the most of my time. Of course, I didn’t get to do the most of everything, but I explored different sides of myself, and I loved it all.
I am entirely grateful for my SPM results; those who have known me from high school would know how hard it was for me to keep up with science subjects and that it really isn’t my forte; not what I was ever looking to pursue anyway. But towards the end, my hard work paid off, and for that, I am entirely thankful and blessed.
I was looking forward to other options, looking forward to scholarships and grand opportunities, but maybe when I was too busy chasing the moon, the stars were what God thought to be fit for me.
I entered a university that, though my first choice at UPU, wasn’t exactly my first choice in life. Looking back at all these years, I probably spent the better half of my high school days wanting to pursue A-levels, dreaming of studying somewhere in the States or in Britain. I was always ambitious, and I’ve always wanted to surpass my own limits, but maybe what I have now is what would’ve been best for me.
I trust in Him.
Indeed, my experience at the university for the past two weeks has been nothing less than a blessing. I could never have imagined meeting someone as kind as Nadiea, but I also found myself enjoying the company of my newfound friends. Prior to entering the university, my biggest worry was not having friends I could be genuinely comfortable with, but right now? I’m so glad that I’m graced by the company of some of the best people on campus.
There is a verse from Al-Quran that I have grown to love: “If you are grateful, I will surely increase you [in favor].” (14:7). Gratitude is one of the purest forms of energy that you could emanate. I think I’ve talked about this on Twitter once; the energy that you give will always return to you. It might not always come from the same person it was given to or in the same form it was given, but the world will always give back what it receives in the kindest way possible.
Entering my 18 will present its own set of challenges, that I am sure of. But I’m looking forward to facing it head-on since I know that everything will work out in the end as long as I keep working hard.
That brings me to another lesson I learned: The truth is, we’re all trying. We all wake up one day thinking that we finally have life sorted, sort of, and we go about our day energetically; we tick all the things off our to-do list for the day; we spend time with the ones we love; and we go to bed feeling good about ourselves. Then suddenly, we wake up the next day feeling like we’re back at point zero and wanting to spend the entire day under the blankets, listening to the ultimate heartbreak playlist for absolutely no reason.
Life can be cruel, as it takes our best moments and turns them into clouds of endless happiness only to extinguish them the next day, leaving us with sombre thoughts and emptiness. But life is life, and what we do have is the choice to become a slightly better person every day, regardless of what life throws at us.
If I had to sum up what 18 years of life have taught me, I would say that progress is not linear. Sometimes it’s a sweet disappointment to want to work hard but know that you’ll inevitably give up and sink into sorrow. Progression is not linear. Because trees don’t grow into straight lines and eyebrows aren’t made to seem symmetrical, nothing should be set to preset. By all means, life is not walking on a tightrope, but if you have the option to swing on it, go for it.
You don’t have to have everything figured out before you hit your 20s. Embrace the constant that is change, and your life may never be the same (it’ll be better!).
Life is fair in that you can have everything, but not all at once. In one hand, I held the true riches of life—my family’s support, my friends’ warm embrace, and the rocky but worthwhile ride up. On the other hand, outwards and upwards, struggling to grasp stability and dreams of what could have-beens.
I am teaching myself that there are people that I have to leave behind and that it is possible to make peace with the bygones while making space for what lies beyond. There are dreams that are not meant to be, and there are pathways that are not meant for me. It takes a whole lot of peace to be happy with where you are in the now, and even now, I am not yet as happy as I’d like to be, but that’s life, isn’t it? It is most definitely not a stroll in the park, and there were days where I felt most at loss and questioning my own choices, to the extent that it suffocated my chest, but it brought me comfort to know that there was always more to come. There are more people to love. There are better days ahead.
Cheers to another year of leaping out of comfort zones and growing comfortable in my own skin.
Every birthday reminds me that Allah has given me another year—another chance to be a better servant of His. It reminds me of how far I’ve gone since day 1 and how further I am willing to go in the future. It constantly shows me the people who have stuck around, though some may come and go. The person who wished me first last year may not have wished me at all this year, and perhaps some of those who made it a point to make my birthday memorable years ago do not even remember, but that’s alright.
Everything’s alright because we are growing and there is so much left to be explored, rather than allowing myself to succumb to this horrid avoidance of change.
It’s enough for me to know that the people who do matter make it a point to wish me, although it’s through small, simple gestures because, really, it’s honestly the thought that matters more than anything. And call me a sucker for clichés, but I honestly look forward to my first and last wishers; these people make an effort to be on time to do so, and there is nothing I adore more than that effort done to make another happy. This year showed me so much more.
This is for every letter that I have ever written—to myself, in the past and future, to the ones I love and the ones I’ve lost. This is for every night that I cannot forgive myself and for every minute that my heart aches more than it soars. This is for myself: a reminder to remain gentle in a world that might not always be gentle and to endure with strength in the face of adversity.
Happy 18th birthday, Sofea! ♡
— I’m hoping that anybody who sees this will pray for my mother’s recovery. May Allah always favour you! xx
Syawal is most likely one of my favourite times of the year. I love having a good excuse to have raya reunions, shamelessly eating kuih raya at my relatives’ houses, make some tiktok videos with the family while you realize you are downright awful at it, having nasi himpit and rendang for breakfast, lunch and dinner; I have a profound affinity towards all things raya, except for mercun but that’s just because I’m personally not a huge fan of loud explosive sounds especially when it’s played non-stop.
Doesn’t exactly negate the fact that raya brings out the most festive side of everyone and it’s a celebration that can be enjoyed irregardless of socioeconomic standings. I’m exceptionally glad to see everybody celebrating raya cheerfully despite the fact that everybody is praising it humbly. But it’s complete and impeccable.
Of course, this Syawal is far different from previous ones especially since I spent the entirety of Ramadan within the confinements of my own house. My favourite part of Ramadan used to be iftar at my Mama’s because that’s the time where the entire extended family would berbuka together on the floor of some sorts and Mama would always make the extra effort to cook everyone’s favourite dishes.
This Ramadan really has been so wonderful for me alhamdullilah. The beyond couple of years have not been this way. I’ve been through some difficult and disappointing situations. As part of my spiritual journey, this has taught me that not every Ramadan will be pleasant. Lessons can also be learned from the lows. Trust that He will judge you fairly and kindly.
Ramadan begun for me at the comforts of home and I am thrilled that it’s ending at home too, but the events of Ramadan at Maktab has never been a boring affair either. My favourite part of Ramadan this year was the time spent with my family and all the dining table conversations we have, even the drowsy, sleep-induced ones during sahur.
Time really flies, it seems. But Eid Mubarak, nonetheless! I thoroughly apologise for all the mistakes I have done, whether I meant it or not, and I hope everyone has a safe trip back to their kampung. Laters!
This is not my first try on blogs but this would be my first serious attempt. Sincerely, writing played a huge part of my life. As I grew older, I realized that I spent most of my time by myself. When I was a young girl, I preferred to spend my time alone in the room doing nothing than to watch television with the other kids. I would say that I did not have any entertainment growing up. Everything in my life is just about me. Also, I was too young for my social circles. So I turned out to be the one that simply pays attention to all that grown-ups are contending. I also don’t have any cousins my age. Instead of talking to the people around me, I talk a lot to myself.
I think that every person has something that makes them feel at ease. It could be baking, going shopping, watching a movie, etc. Personally, I enjoy sleeping! However, writing has always brought me happiness. Putting my feelings into words has always helped me gain a better understanding of them because I can be so sensitive to the actions of other people, which can easily hurt my feelings.
When I was 11 years old, I decided to start writing because I felt like I needed a way to vent my thoughts when they got too much. At first, I thought writing wasn’t for me because I prefer to talk more than write. However, as I get older, I realize that not everyone would always listen to what I have to say. I came to the realisation that I needed to learn how to write about my emotions more frequently. Another good reason is that when I was a kid, I loved buying books with fancy covers. I kept a detailed diary in my notebook so my mother would buy me more books!
When I was 13 years old, I started to prefer typing my thoughts on phone than writing them down in a book. At the point when I’m in boarding school, I understood that I got such a lot of things to rant about, everything are so irritating. Consequently, I start jotting down whatever comes to mind in my notes on my tiny iPhone 5s. I am aware that I have a lot of friends who will stand by and listen to whatever I have to say, but there is nothing better than being friend and talking to yourself. Truthly, I enjoy discussing my thoughts with others and appreciate how diverse their perspectives are. Even if the opinions are mine, I enjoy hearing them.
I frequently got lost when I was a teenager. I’m not happy with who I am or what I do. I really want to day in and day out look like people on social media. I feel ashamed that my life is not like theirs. Travel abroad, take a family vacation, and spend time with friends and others. Simply put, I frequently wonder why my life does not function in the same way as theirs. I frequently write about how miserable my life is. I realized as I dug deeper into my feelings that they were neither regret nor resentment toward my life. It just me who worries about being left out. The one who is afraid that other people will think she’s outdated. My inner self only hopes that others will notice that my life is also good. Even though I’m not, which is fine!
What I’m trying to say is that people only display what they want other people to see in this world. However, some people cannot see beyond that. Some people become irritated when they discover that their own reality does not match what they see on social media. Whether it’s about academics, wealth, beauty, friends, or family. And afterward you’re simply there taking a gander at your heap of wreck considering what you fouled up in life to not merit something as wonderful as every other person.
A part of me wants to be mysterious, but there will always be a part of me that wants to be able to express myself freely. To be able to tweet whatever I want, post whatever I want, and be myself on social media. So here I’m sharing content to a blog to discuss my thoughts. This blog demonstrates that everyone leads a contradictory life. Every person struggles in their own way. Honestly, I really value people who are willing to let others know that they are never alone in their struggles and are able to be candid about them. I save blogs written by teenagers, college students, and even university students that helped me get through my teenage years with a more open mind than I would have had on my own.
What I got is I’m so happy if being open about my difficulties can encourage someone else going through their own. I’m already beyond thankful if, through blogging, I can help even a small number of people who are just as exhausted as I am from beating myself up about things I can’t change. I also hope that this will serve as a good starting point for a lot of people who are struggling to find themselves amid the idealized lives of others.
To do good things, you only need yourself and God, not people’s praise and encouragement. The most important thing is that you’ve done something good, and you’ll even feel good about yourself after doing it! Also, I’m just going to write a blog to show Sofea in 10 years, who is 28, what goes through her mind when she’s 18 years old. She can read it and laugh at it.
s o y a w r i t e s 
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