Archive for January 2014

SPM Essay Sample: God, thank You.

It was the first day of the semester. Of course, like always, my parents have to gather enough money for my school’s fee. I didn’t know why they kept on burdening themselves while they could just send me to a normal primary school. Like years before, they have to do extra work so that they could pay the registration.

But, that’s it. When you got into a private school, all your friends are rich. So did mine. They were all rich, that the teachers thought I was among those people as well. That was the problem. When your parents sent you off to a private school to get better education, the institution actually thought that your parents were having too much money, that’s why they are sending you to a private school.

Without understanding how hard my parents have to work to support my education, all of my teachers were asking the whole class to get a few books from the Hasani Store. They need all those books to be used in the class by next week. This includes my Maths teacher.

I don’t think that they have any idea of being a private school student, but in the same time, not having much money.

Maybe, it is not just them. Maybe it was me too. I choose not to talk about our family economy situation. There must be someone to give their hand to help me with my books. My friends come from well-known families. Most of them have a kind heart. But no! I would never talk to them about anything personal. Even if  I have to secretly suffer on my own.

I was a bright student. I never get any other grades other than A for every single subject that I have except for Arabic – can’t help it. Who on Earth talking in Arabic, other than Arabics themselves?

But still, the teachers didn’t even recognize me for that. They thought of me, but never bother to know my name. I never sleep in any of my classes, but some others, who actually sleep during the lesson were much more popular than I am. It could be because my parents never show up in any parents-teachers meetings since they have to struggle with their work most of the times. So, the teachers thought it is not compulsory to notice me in the class no matter how smart I am.

To win the teachers’ attention, I have to fight with a few girls in my class, whose parents were active in attending all the meetings that we had in school. Not just that, their parents also always have some extra money to give to the school in terms of donation or whatever. Obviously, I couldn’t compete with them since I have none of that. I only have this brain inside my head, smart one but will never be noticed by anyone.
I’m smart, but I’m completely invisible. 

Back to the story, to a day where my Maths teacher came into the class. She introduced herself as Mdm. Park. She has a chubby shape for her body, but a strong jawline. I wondered how that happened. She might sound weird when I put her figure into words, but trust me, she was just normal. She has no friendly mimic but a perfect sense of humor. Again, I didn’t know how that possibly happened.

Mdm. Park told us that we should purchase an exercise book from Hasani. The book was thick and heavy, looking by the way she held it. It must consist of hundreds of pages. When she was done explaining the book, she continued on with her very first lesson for that semester. I looked around. I really hope someone would raise their hand and ask Mdm. Park regarding the price of the book.

Mom has told me to do so because she would need to know what to buy first and what to buy later. But, just like the others, I was too afraid to ask for the books’ prices on my own that I ended up knowing nothing.

That evening, I came back from school. Mom was in the kitchen, writing something in her dull book which I recognized as a financial journal of her small business. I pulled one of the kitchen chairs and sat.

“Your teachers asking for more books?” Mom asked while her hand was ticking something in her book.

“Yeah,” I answered with a slow voice.

“Did you have the total price of them?” Mom asked without taking her eyes off her book.

“No. But I know which one I need to buy first,” I explained, rushingly.

This time, Mom looked at me. Her eyebrows were raised a bit showing me how surprised she is, “My Maths teacher had asked us to finish the tutorials on the first hundred pages before next week.”   

That’s mean, I only have five days before the due.

“We will talk about it during dinner later, ok, dear? Now, go change first.”

I nodded. I knew Mom was panicked – she was biting her lower lip.

During dinner that night, Dad came home with a few pieces of chocolate cake from his employer. It was for Mom, who have been craving for cake since last week. Looking at Dad, handing the cake to Mom, I smiled. I would never know how Dad keep up with our needs, but still, he managed to fulfill most of them.

Using a calm and low tone, I told Dad about the book that I need. Dad took his face up and stared at me.

“I will buy it for you tomorrow. Leave me the details,” and I smiled. Dad will never say no. He will stay calm and say yes for whatever I wanted because he know he can trust me. I am his pride, and for that, he will do anything for me.

That night, I went to sleep with a broad smile on my face. I will have my book tomorrow and the remaining four days before I have to submit the homework.

But, during dinner on the next day, I couldn’t believe myself. Dad didn’t show up at all, not until past midnight. By that time, I was already on my bed, crying my heart out. Mdm. Park already asked the class, whether everyone already had the book. I told her that Dad will buy it for me today, so I will start doing the tutorial tonight. But of course that didn’t happen.

Mom and Dad thought I was already asleep, but the truth is, I pretended so. I didn’t want her to keep her worried and also, I couldn’t force myself to sleep, realizing that I will only have three days to finish up my homework before the due. And that will only happen if Dad managed to get me the book by tomorrow. 

What will I tell Mdm. Park when she asked me about the book the next morning?

When I was doing some monologue with my inner side, the thin wall that separated my room and my parents’ suddenly allowed me to hear my parents’ voice in a whisper. Slowly, I walked across the room and stuck my left ear to the thin wall to hear the whisper better.

“Have you gone to the book store?” Mom’s voice whispered.

“Yeah. I have checked out the price too. I couldn’t believe that the book is that expensive. It could take my lunch money for a day and I only found out about the price after I used my lunch money,” Dad sighed.

Listening to his voice, my hand ran over to my mouth and covered my lips. A sob escaped from my chest. Slowly, I dragged my feet to my bed. The night became colder than usual that even my cozy blanket my granny made for me couldn’t rid of the cold. I covered my whole body with the blanket, hoping I could feel my granny’s warmth through it, but the cold didn’t want to leave me. That night, I let myself cry silent tears and few sobs escaped under my blanket. I ensured myself to minimize the noise, not to disturb my parents.
I let the rhythm sadness lullaby me to sleep.

On the next day, before I went to school, I kissed Mom’s forehead as I told her that I will make her proud of me forever. When I kissed Dad’s rough hand, I told him the same. After what my parents had done, how worried they were, how much effort that had put to support my education, I shouldn’t make them worry about anything, right? I told myself to be brave that day and went to see Mdm. Park straight away once Dad left.

I knocked her door. She was surprised, of course, to see me early in the morning. She invited me in and allowed me to sit on the cushioned chair she has in her office. I took a long breath and told her everything. Starting from the point where I came into this school just because my parents believe this school can give me a better education and not because my parents have the money everyone else have. She didn’t move an inch, listening to my story. Her expression remained he same throughout my sad story. I couldn’t believe my eyes that after I ended the story, I actually failed at winning her sympathy.

“I believe that is your problem and not mine, young lady,” and that sentence remained burning in every inch of my body.

That evening, I went to the kitchen and helped Mom with her chores. Mom did ask about the book, but I told her that everything went fine and the teacher actually extended the due to me. I knew lying was a sin. I swear to God, I was doing that just for the sake of Mom’s happiness. I couldn’t bear her biting her lower lip again. God, please forgive me for that.

After dinner, Mom and I started to clean the table. Dad didn’t show up for dinner because he has to do extra work in the factory. I knew he was lying. I knew he was doing it for the sake of me and Mom. We both just couldn’t stand the pain, breaking the hope of our beloved ones.

Just right before I went to bed, Dad knocked on my door. He peeked through the opening slid before taking a step into my plain room. Mom was standing behind him, smiling prettily.

“I know the due date is just two days ahead, but I can’t help myself from believing that I can count on my girl,” he said, handing me the book he got from the bookstore. It was the book I needed!

I didn’t grab the book but I pushed myself to his chest. His smell was awful, but he is my Dad, my hero. He will never disappoint me. I could feel his hand going through my long hair and his breath above my head. I knew he was trying to hold back his tears.

“Dad, aren’t you hungry?” I asked him.

“I can eat an elephant right now,” he said jokingly. But I realized it wasn’t a joke. Of course he is hungry after going through a hectic day without taking his lunch.

Mom brings out the leftovers and heated them. Dad ate them hastily. I took the book and started doing my homework. I’ve only got two days more and I’ve got to be fast since Mdm. Park has no heart at all. That night, with Dad eats hastily, Mom by his side, I strived to death to finish the first fifty pages of tutorials.
A couple of days later, the due date have come and all of us have to submit our homework. With a truly dark, dark circle around both eyes, I went to Mdm. Park’s office and submit my work. I said nothing to her so did she.

A week after the due date, all of us got our marks for the homework. I couldn’t believe my eyes looking at the corner of the hundredth page of the book.

“You’ve just made your parents proud of you without my aid, young lady.”

Years after that, here I am, writing the untold story of my life.

When life gets me, I know myself better. When life gets dark, I trust myself to be stronger for the sake of Mom and Dad. When life gets harder, I believe myself for having the strength God has given me since forever.

I don’t know about the others, how can they live fighting for their friend or lover because I will do nothing for those people since they have not given me anything to fight for. My fight is for my parents because I’m living this magnificent life, thanks to these beautiful people.

If my parents can do basically anything for me, I wonder what I can’t give them. Their lives have been devoted to see my success, to see my happiness. And with that, I’m going to make my parents proud of me forever. I know God is listening and I know He will help me through this. He always knows how to work His miracle on me.

Now, I would like to say thank you to God for my parents that I am now a much better person with the education they have fought for me. And not to forget, thanks to Him, again, for giving me such a great teacher who teach me that I am capable of anything that’s coming.

God, thank You. 

Posted in | Leave a comment

College by Anzia Yezierska

That burning day when I got ready to leave New York and start out on my journey to college! I felt like Columbus starting out for the other end of the earth.  I felt like the pilgrim fathers who had left their homeland and all their kin behind them and trailed out in search of the New World.

I had stayed up night after night, washing and ironing, patching and darning my things. At last, I put them all together in a bundle, wrapped them up with newspapers, and tied them securely with the thick clothes line that I had in my room on which to hang out my wash. I made another bundle of my books. In another newspaper I wrapped up my food for the journey : a loaf of bread, a herring, and a pickle. In my purse was the money I had been saving from my food, from my clothes, a penny to a penny, a dollar to a dollar, for so manh years. It was not muchbut I counted out that it would be enough for my train ticket and a few weeks' start till I got work out there.

It was only when I got to the train that I realized I had hardly eaten all day. Starving hungry, I tore the paper open. Ach! Crazy-head! In my haste, I had forgotten even to cut up the bread. I bent over on the side of my seat, and half covering myself with a newspaper, I pinched pieces out of the loaf and ripped ravenously at the herring. With each bite, I cast side glances like a guilty thing; nobody should see the way I ate.

After a whilr, as the lights were turned low, the other passengers began to nod their heads, each outsnoring the other in their thick sleep. I was the only one on the train too excited to close my eyes.

Like a dream was the whole night's journey. And like a dream mounting on a dream was this college town, this New America of culture and education.

Before this, New York was all of America to me. But now I came to a town of quiet streets, shaded with green trees. No crowds, no tenements. No hurrying noise to beat the race of the hours. Only a leisured quietness whispered in the air: Peace. Be still. External time is all before you.

Each house had its own green grass in front, its own free space all around and it faced the street with the calm security of being owned generations, and not rented by the month from a landlord. In the early twilight, it was like a picture out of fairyland to see people sitting on their porches, lazily swinging in their hammocks, or watering their own growing flowers.

So these are the real Americans, I thought, thrilled by the lean, st raight bearing of the passer-by. They had none of that terrible fight for bread and rent that I always saw in New York people's eyes. Their faces were not worn with hunger for things they could never have in their lives. There was in them that sure, settled look of those who belong to the world which they were born.

The college building were like beautiful palaces. The campus strectched out like fields of a big park. Air - air. Free space and sunshine. The river at dusk. Glimmering lights on passing boats the floating voices of young people. And whennight came, there were the sky and the stars.

This was the beauty for which I had always longed. For the first few days I could only walk about and drink it in thirstily,  more and more. Beauty of houses, beauty of streets, beauty shining out of the calm faces and cool eys of the people! Oh - too cool...

How could I most quickly become friends with them? How could I come into their homes, exchange with them my thoughts, break with them bread at their tables? If I could only lose myseld body and soul in the serenity of this new world, the hunger and the turmoil of my ghetto years would drop away from me, and I, too, would know the beauty of stillness and peace.

What light-hearted laughing youth met my eyes! All the young people I had ever seen were shut up in factories. But here were young girls and young men enjoying life, free from the worry for a living. College to them was being out for a good time, like to us in the shop a Sunday picnic.  But in our gayest Sunday picnics there was always the under-feeling that Monday meant back to the shop again. To these born lucky ones joy seemed to stretch out for ever.

What a sight I was in my gray pushcart clothes against the beautiful gay coloursand the fine things those young girls wore. I had seen cheap, fancy style, Five-and-Ten-Cent store finery. But never had I seen such plain beautifulness. The simple skirts and sweaters, the stockings and shoes to match. The neat finished quietness of their tailored suits. There was no show-off in their clothes, and yet how much more pulling to the eyes and all the senses than the Grand Street richness I knew.

And the spick-and-span cleanliness of these people! It smelled from them, the soap and bathing. Their fingernails so white and pink. Their hands and necks white like milk. I wondered how did those girls get their hair so soft, so shiny, and so smooth about their heads. Even their black shoes had a clean look.

Never had I seen men so all shaved up with pink, clean skins. The richest store-keepers in Grand Street shined themselves up with diamonds like walking jewellery stores, but they weren't so hollering clean as these men. And they all had their hair clipped so short; they all had a shape to their heads. So ironed out smooth and even they looked in their spotless, creaseless clothes, as if the dirty battle of life had never yet been on them.

I looked at these children of joy with a million eyes. I looked at them with my hands, my feet, with the thinnest nerves of my hair. By all their differences from me, their youth, their shiny freshness, their carefreeness, they pulled me out of my senses to them. And they didn't know I was there.

I thought once I got into classes with them, they'd see me and we'd get to know one another. What a sharp awakening came with my first hour!

As I entered the classroom, I saw young men and girls laughing and talking to one another without introductions. I looked for my seat. Then I noticed, up in front, a very earnest-faced young man with thick glasses over his sad eyes. He made me think of Morris Lipkin, so I chose my seat next to him.

"What's the name of the professor?" I asked.

"Smith," came from his tight lips. He did not even look at me. He pulled himself together and began busily writing, to show me he didn't want to be interrupted.

I turned to the girl on my other side. What a fresh clean beauty! A creature of sunshine. And clothes that matched her radiant youth.

"Is this freshman class in geometry?" I asked her.

She nodded politely and smiled. But how quickly her eyes sized me up! It was not an unkind glance. And yet, it said more plainly than words, "From where do you come? How did you get in here?"

Sitting side by side with them through the whole hour, I felt stranger to them than if I had passed them in Hester Street. Wasn't there some secret something that would open us toward one another?

In one class after another, I kept asking myself, "What's the matter with me? Why do they look at me so when I talk with them?"

Maybe I'd have to change myself inside and out to be one of them. But, how? The lectures were over at four o'clock. With a sigh, I turned from the college building, away from the pleasant streets, down to the shabby back alley near the post office, and entered the George Martin Hand Laundry.

Mr. Martin was a fat, easy-going, good-natured man. I no sooner told him of my experience in New York than he took me on at once as an ironer at fifty cents an hour, and he told me he had work for as many hours a day as I could put in.

I felt if only I could only look a little bit like other girls on the outside, maybe I could get in with them. And that meant money! And money meant work, work, work!

Till eleven o'clock that night, I ironed fancy white shirtwaists.

"You're some busy little worker, even I do say so," said Mr. Martin, good-naturedly. "But I must lock up. You can't live here."

I went home, aching in every bone. And in the quiet and good air, I so overslept that I was late for my first class. To make matters worse, I found a note in my mailbox that puzzled and frightened me. It said, "Please report at once to the dean's office to explain your abscene from Physical Education I, at four o'clock."

A line of other students was waiting there. When my turn came I asked the secretary, "What's this physical education business?"

"This is a compulsory course," he said. "You cannot get credit in any other course unless you satisfy this requirement."

At the hour when I had intended to go back to Martin's Laundry, I entered the big gymnasium. There was a crowd of girls dressed in funny short black bloomers and rubber-soled shoes.

The teacher blew the whistle and called harshly, "Students are expected to report in their uniforms."

"I have none."

"They're to be obtained at the bookstore," she said, with a stern look at me, "Please do not report again without it."

I stood there dumb.

"Well, stay for to-day, and exercise as you are," said the teacher, taking pity on me.

She pointed out my place in the line, where I had to stand with the rest like a lot of wooden soldiers. She made us twist ourselves around here and there. "Right face!" "Left face!" "Right about face!" I tried to do as the others did, but I felt like a jumping-jack being pulled this way and that way. I picked up dumbbells and pushed them up and down and sideways until my arms were lame. Then she made us hop around like a lot of monkeys.

At the end of the hour, I was so out of breath that I sank down, my heart pounding against my ribs. I was dripping with sweat worse than Saturday night in the steam laundry. What's all this physical education nonsense? I came to college to learn something, to get an education with my head, and not monkeyshines with my arms and legs.

I went over to the instructor. "How much an hour do we get for this work?" I asked her, bitterly.

She looked at me with a stupid stare. "This is a two-point course."

Now I got real mad, "I've got to sweat my life away enough only to earn a living," I cried. "God knows I exercised enough, since I was a kid -"

"You properly exercised?" She looked at me from head to foot. "Your posture is bad. Your shoulders sag. You need additional corrective exercise outside the class."

More tired than ever, I came to the class next day. After the dumbbells, she made me jump over the hurdles. For the life of me, I couldn't do it. I bumped myself and scratched my knees on the top bar of the  hurdle, knocking it over with a great clatter. They all laughed except the teacher.

"Repeat the exercise, please," she said, with a frozen face.

I was all bruises, trying to do it. And they were holding their sides with laughter. I was their clown, and this was their circus And suddenly, I got so wild with rage that I seized the hurdle and right before their eyes I smashed it to pieces.

The whole gymnasium went still as death.

The teacher's face was white. "Report at once to the dean."

The scared look on the faces of the girls made me feel that I was to be locked up or fired.

For a minute when I entered the dean's grand office, I was so confused I couldn't even see.

He rose and pointed to a chair beside his desk. "What can I do for you?" he asked, in a voice that quieted me as he spoke.

I told him how mad I was, to have piled on me jumping hurdles when I was so tired anyway. He regarded me with that cooling steadiness of his. When I was through, he walked to the window and I waited, miserable. Finally he turned to me again, and with a smile! "I'm quite certain that physical education is not essential in your case. I will excuse you from attending the course."

After this things went better with me. In spite of the hard work in the laundry, I managed to get along in my classes. More and more interesting became the life of the college as I watched it from the outside.

What a feast of happenings each day of college was to those other students. Societies, dances, letters from home, packages of food, midnight spread and even birthday parties. I never knew that there were people glad enough of life to celebrate the day they were born. I watched the gay goings-on around me like one coming to a feast, but always standing back and looking on.

One day, the ache for people broke down my feelings of difference from them. I felt I must tear myself out of aloneness. Nothing had ever come to me without my going after it. I had to fight for my living, fight for every bit of my education. Why should I expect friendship and love to come to me out of the air while I sat there, dreaming of it?

The freshman class gave a dance that very evening. Something in the back of my head told me that an evening dress and slippers were part of going to a dance. I had no such things. But should that stop me? If I had waited till I could afford the right clothes for college, I should never have been able to go at all.

I put a fresh collar over my old serge dress. And with a dollar stolen from my eating money, I bought a ticket to the dance. As I peeped into the glittering gymnasium, blaring with jazz, my timid fears stopped the breath in me. How the whole big place sang with their light-hearted happiness! Young eyes drinking joy from young eyes. Girls, like gay-coloured butterflies; whirling in the arms of young men.

Floating ribbons arid sashes shimmered against men's black coats. I took the mearest chair, blinded by the dazzle of the happy couples. Why did I come here? Aterrible sense of age weighed upon me; yet I watched and waited for someone to come and ask me to dance. But not one man came near me. Some of my classmates nodded distantly in passing, but most of them were too filled with theor own happiness even to see me.

The whirling of joy went on and on, and still I sat there watching, cold, lifeless, like a lost ghost. I was nothing and nobody. It was worse than being ignored. Worse than being an outcast. I simply didn't belong. I had no existence in their oung eyes. I wanted to run and hide myself, but fear and pride nailed me against the wall.

A chaperon must have noticed my face, and she brought over one of those clumsy, backward youths who was lost in a corner by himself. How unwilling his feet as she dragged him over! In a dull voice, he asked, "May I have the next dance?" his eyes fixed in the distance as he spoke.

"Thank you. I don't want to dance." And I fled from the place.

I ound yself walking in the darkness of the campus. In the thick shadows of the trees I hid myself and poured out my shamed and injured soul to the night. So, it wasn't character or brains that counted. Only youth and beauty and clothes - things I never had and never could have. Joy and love were not for such as me. Why not? Why not?

I flung myself on the ground, beating with my fists against the endless sorrows of my life. Even in college I had not escaped from the ghetto. Here loneliness hounded me even worse than in Hester Street. Was there no escape? Will I never lift myself to be a person among people?

I pressed my face against the earth. All that was left of me reached out in prayer. God! I've gone so far, help me to go on. God! I don't know how, but I must go on. Help me not to want their little happiness. I have wanted their love more than my life. Help me be bigger than this hunger in me. Give me the love that can live without love.....

Darkness and stillness washed over me. Slowly I stumbled to my feet and looked up at the sky. The stars in their infinite peace seemed to pour their healing light into me. I thought of the captives in prison, the sick and the suffering from the beginning of time who had looked to these stars for strength. What was my little sorrow to the centuries of pain which those stars had watched? So near they seemed, so compassionate. My bitter hurt seemed to grow small and drop away. If I must go on alone, I should still have silence and the high stars to walk with me.

Leave a comment

Life of Pi. Hadiah dari Tuhan.


Life of Pi..

Pengajaran yang dalam.

Ini mengenai kepercayaan.
Ini mengenai kebergantungan.

Pada saat aku merasakan Tuhan sudah tiada,
Dia tetap memerhatikan aku.

Orang lebih risaukan Pi. Bimbang dia ditelan harimau, Richard Parker.
Tetapi sebenarnya, Pi rasakan, ini hadiah cinta dari Tuhan.
Cerita dia merupakan cerita yang buat Tuhan tersenyum.

Ini bukan tentang keselamatan dan ilmu survival atas laut sahaja.

Ini mengenai hadiah dari Dia,


Hadiah dari Tuhan.  

Leave a comment

Inspiring Story: Nick


Today is my second day in INTEC and it is fabulous! Alhamdulillah..

Maybe because today is the day where there is a homecoming celebration and the award giving ceremony. A lot of seniors and juniors showed up today. It was awkward at first but eventually, it gets better. The seniors are incredibly friendly and the juniors, well, so far, I’ve got nothing to say yet. I don’t know much about them. But I know, they are going to be just fine like the others in INTEC.

So, regarding this award giving ceremony I attended today, there is something that I would like to share.
On one of the award receivers. He is a non-Muslim but still, he amazed me. I was in complete awe looking at him. Gorgeous? No. Cute? Possible. Genius? HE IS!!!!!! Awesome? HE IS!!!!!!

So, here is the story.

This guy, Nick (I made up the name, ok? I don’t even remember his name. Hehe..) is such a genius. He got an award because of his achievement in an international exam which is 99.6%! International exam, ok? This INTERNATIONAL thingy involved students from all over the world  still, he got one of the best!!! If someone is asking me about the other 0.4, who cares about the other 0.4? He is still the economic genius, anyway.

What amazed is his story that he happened to include in his speech.

Nick was suffering when he first got in INTEC. Every day comes with tears. He hates his roommates, classmates, housemates,  lecturers, buses, noises, foods and etc. To make it simple, his hatred INTEC just too much.

Then, one day, he thought, that no way things went so wrong around him. Things can go wrong but not EVERYTHING can go wrong. So, he thought, maybe it is not the INTEC, not anyone but he himself to be blamed.

Starting from there, he changed his way of accepting things. He learns how to love everything. Simply, EVERYTHING. The friends, lecturers, buses, foods and etc. He opened up his heart and accept everything that comes with their own flaws. I mean, come on guys, you can never expect your classmates all to be awesome and fabulous like it never exist.

He said that, just learn to enjoy everything. Everything, ok?

“If you ask me how do I study to excel in exams, it is just the same if you ask me who do I failed in my exams. I know that those are two different things but basically it's just the same to me. I can’t answer either of the questions.”

Well, there is a genius-talk there. It sounds great when he makes it into words like this.

Then, he told us the story of him and his friend who never achieve any good result. This friend of his is a very weak person in academic. He can’t excel just like the others, but then, he never gives up. He keeps on asking questions to Nick and asked Nick to teach him this and that.

And, by the end of their semester, the results were all out. And, of course, this Nick’s friend didn’t make it as much as Nick but Nick said,

“We both know that his result is actually beyond our expectation. I am so proud of him. I don’t think success means we have high achievement, but instead, succeed means how much we have improved ourselves.”

And, that’s it! I cried. No, I’m not sobbing or anything, but a silent tears rolled down my cheeks and make me realized that, this world is ain’t about being perfect but trying to improve. The one who stays the same, is just lame (except to those who are perfect enough which obviously, no one is).

That’s the concept. That’s the belief all of us should have as a Muslim.


This story of Nick made realized of a lot of things.

First, don’t blame others for what you’ve felt. Everyone decides their own happiness and no one can make us happy but ourselves.

Second, learn to accept things the way they are. We don’t have the power to control others’ brain, but we know we have the power to control ours.

Lastly, try to get out of the darkness, although you know it is too dark in there.

Allah has not given anything beyond our capability. Trust me. Trust yourself. Be strong, (put your name here).

Posted in , | 1 Comment

Tiket 'Sakit'


Masa saya bersekolah rendah dulu, saya sentiasa berharap yang saya ni sakit. Saya malahan berharap saya berada di ambang maut kerana penyakit kritikal. Saya sentiasa berharap masa saya di dunia ini tidak lama.
Mungkin kerana saya jarang sekali sakit. Nak demam setahun sekali pun payah. Jadi, saya berharap agar saya seorang yang sakit dan tidak punya masa lagi di atas muka bumi.

Merepek. Dan saya sedar tu.

Entah kenapa, itulah yang saya inginkan suatu ketika dahulu. Mungkin, pada fikiran saya dulu, orang sakit biasanya akan dapat banyak perhatian. Yala.. Apabila kita sakit, ada orang akan manjakan kita, ikut kemahuan kita dan beri perhatian sepenuhnya pada kita. Seolah-olah, ‘sakit’ itu merupakan tiket kepada kasih sayang.

Barangkali, saya terlupa. Bahawa apabila usia semakin bertambah, tiket ‘sakit’ juga sudah turun harganya.  Apabila usia bertambah, tiada lagi perkara tiket ‘sakit’ yang dapat digunakan bagi mendapatkan kasih sayang.

Umur saya 18. Dan pada umur sebegini, ibu bapa akan mula kurang rasa risau sekiranya anak-anak sakit. Pada umur begini juga, anak itu takkan disuap ubat lagi melainkan diri sendiri yang melakukannya.
Tiket ‘sakit’ hilang harganya.

Kerana kesibukan ibu bapa, kerana kesibukan adik-beradik, tiada sesiapa yang benar-benar boleh memberikan perhatian kepada kita walau sesakit mana pun kita.

Dan malahan, kita sendiri terasa lemah semangat apabila menyedari yang tiket ‘sakit’ sudah hilang harganya. Kerana sepatutnya, setahun sekali, dengan menggunakan tiket itu, kita boleh beli perhatian keluarga, atau paling kurang pun, perhatian seorang ibu.

Menjangkau umur 18, badan saya begitu mudah diserang demam dan sakit-sakit. Dan buat masa sekarang, tekak saya terasa seolah-olah sedang dibakar. Kehausan saban waktu meruntun tekak saya. Penat sudah menelan air, namun tidak hilang juga rasa kering di tekak.


Batuk sesekali menikam seluruh dada. Hingus sedari hari itu tidak kering-kering. Badan sudah terasa penat menahan sakit.

Dan pada usia begini, dengan tiket ‘sakit’ yang tidak lagi berharga, pengharapan hanya boleh diletakkan pada suatu perkara sahaja. Dia..Yang Menguasai Alam seluruhnya.

Kerana tiket ‘sakit’ ini sebenarnya adalah tiket meraih perhatianNya. Kerana dengan menggunakan tiket ‘sakit’ ini, Allah sebenarnya memanggil hambaNya untuk membeli doa dan taubat. 

Leave a comment


Swedish Greys - a WordPress theme from Nordic Themepark. Converted by