Unhinged Menses

 I have a new fear. This is not merely a premonition anymore, it’s a confirmed fright that I have to face every single month.

Of course there’s a few reasons why I am always excited to hit my monthly menses but the week, those few days, right before I have my period, my emotional state will always turn haywire, to the point I feel slightly traumatised. If most people will always get so much more angrier for no solid reason, mine always falls on the darker side. Those anger they felt, it never came to me, to the point, I had this strange hankering for it, at times. 

All I felt was a heavy longing, deep uselessness and huge sadness mixed together which felt like I was in the abyss of emotions, and there I was, curled like a ball, wasn't able to stop crying in such a discomfort and pain. Then, it made me start to long for total quietness, and the calmness where the sky and sea convened. 

I feel helpless that I have to go through this fight for all those upcoming months. I don’t know if I ever will get used to it since people said we’ll never get used to pain, which I heavily have to concur. 

I hate (fear) my monthly menstruation for the main package it comes with; the unbearable emotional and physical pain. Not to add how my hair becomes a lot dryer and my skin turns haywire. And this erratic state of my body and mind will remain, usually until the first few days of menses. 

Those anticipation of my body is what wrecked me. In Him, I seek refuge. 

But I love it because it’s the only time my sahara skin will become oily! I envy those with oily skin because having an oily skin, it only means that your skin is so much more resilient. And! Of course because I could focus more on my reading. 

See, every pain comes with relief, and every sadness, will be washed away by happiness.  

Life is a constant fight for someone like me. 

Subtle

So, mom told me in the kitchen, before iftar, that she couldn't tolerate or actually stomach the taste of plain yogurt (the recent one we had was from Fernleaf). That's actually answered my question of why she bought the strawberry-flavoured yogurt, a huge one even. I noticed how there's a resignation and nervousness in her tone of admittance, and she actually appeared timid when she said that. She must be worried I came up with the refined-sugar-is-the-true-culprit speech, which she was the one who told us countless of time. 

I always like plain yogurt. It's creamy and more on the sour side. It's perfect when I feel like resetting my palate. Well, mainly because I don't have to be overly self-conscious while eating it. And of course, it's good for my troubled gut. I've tried quite a variety of plain yogurt, from different brands. My favourite one is from Sunglo, which is a local brand (and hey, their vanilla yogurt drink is also my favourite!). But recently, I tried the lactose-free plain yogurt from Farmers Union, and it's actually really good, by means, I honestly think, those who cannot tolerate the blandness and the sourness of typical plain yogurt, especially from certain brands, they will definitely like it! Oh how blessed those with lactose intolerance. And among brands, plain yogurt from Farmers Union actually contains the least amount of sugar, just so you know, but their protein content is slightly lower than our local brand, Farm Fresh. 

On the other night, I was writing and mom appeared in front of my room, saying, she applied the unpleasant essence on her hand instead of on her face, which I replied, that's great, because I get it, it's so greasy despite the consistency, and how it takes such a long time to fully absorb.

Just that, and she went back to her room.

And later, I can't stop thinking about it. How fleeting it was yet there's something felt like worth pondering. I like the fact that she came to me, and told me about the very thing, when she could just keep that to herself, considering how unimportant it was, but she came to me. You know, I like it, I like it when in relationships, we are able to tell them even the most ordinary things, without the trepidation of being mocked or judged. Things that don't seem to have any importance but does hold an impact over time. And how the casualness of those moments, actually reflects security and safety, which is one of the key ingredients for a healthy relationship.

 There's no awkwardness (a bit of it, is actually welcomed), no adrenaline-rush, and how the sweet randomness could really bring smiles to my face. 

It feels like there's no holding back, and how it just flows freely, and how that feels liberating. Going through adulthood, you know how a huge sum of it is just about self-control; holding back, holding back and holding back. Not that I'm complaining, but at times, it can leave us feeling constricted, so it's essential to allow ourselves basking, and relishing in these small moments, which actually can help to lift up those heaviness, even if it's just a small part of it. We need them, those are what kept us alive. 

“He loved her for this, for her knowledge of the world and her knowledge of him. She didn’t seem embarrassed that he had asked such a question. Oh, he really was happy!”

Laughter

 We had a really good laugh. Mom and I. It makes me smile merely at the thought of it. 

Addin confided in mama, saying how he could not bear the cold. That coldness always made his head ached. How the very discomfort sounded very familiar. 

 I always find the cold exhausting, how I hate it the way it saps away my energy and liveliness. That if I stay longer than I should in the cold, my fingertips will turn periwinkle, before my sensories feel numb. I always prefer the good hot over the bitter cold. 

The way our body rippled with mirth, that we had to turn our body from the lightness of it. I glanced at mom laughing her head off, and a thought passed, on how it wasn’t really the context of joke that is capable of making us laugh, it might be simply the affection we had for the person, that makes her actions and thoughts are so much contagious. 

I was asking mama to make a prayer for me, to be able to secure a job sooner. And telling her to forget the idea of getting me wedded because I want to bring her to nice places first. 

She told me story about a woman she saw at the mosque yesternight. How she felt sorry for her. The person asked the wife of the pious to make prayer for her, to be able to come to a decision and be sure of what she wants. She’s getting married in a few days but nothing feels right, even after she tried everything. In the middle of the story, I was thinking how how Allah is the beholder of the certainty of our hearts, that it is humbling. 

I hovered longer around her that she had to ask me to go away because she wanted to sleep. 

Holding Hands

 We held hands. I was wondering what it would be like to have a home of your own where you could come and go, where people would be welcome, where you would never be frightened again. –Jeanette Winterson

It was night-time and it’s drizzling. I was walking in a hastened gait, but on the inside, I was feeling rather defeated and engulfed with a familiar sense of longing. 

I hate getting wet and being in cold only meant misery. 

I heard a brisk footsteps behind me and before I knew, out of nowhere, a warm hand weaved through my every finger, chanelling the warmth of his skin. And I how smiled at that. 

His very touch felt all familiar and I didn’t have to turn to know who he was. A relented and relieved smile crept up my face. I stopped and didn’t turn immediately. 

I enclosed his hand in mine, and turned. He always appeared out of nowhere. And how his presence is always felt like a gift. 

Still smiling, I was trying to find his gaze, and turned completely to my side to really take him in. 

He was being all playful, tightening his hold, but was looking away as if feeling sheepish for his act. How my heart was brimming with love, and felt like it’s going to burst at any moment. 

Warmth

While getting ready for my iftar, I was flooded with feelings and memories, that made me crave so much more for warmth than it was. I took the cup that filled with hot tea and hold it in my palms. It had gotten warm, just the perfect warm for my liking. 

Feeling pleased and relieved, I sipped the tea. 

I was at the brink of tears but was forced to blink it away because there were people going in and out of the kitchen incessantly. I was indignant, defeated and in the crackling of ire, thinking, why we always said things that we don’t really mean? It wasn’t unfair. Not just to us but also for themselves. Why would we want to trade that fleeting satisfaction with lasting regret, when that’s only going to draw away the people we love, creating an outstretch, far-fetched gap. The very thought had finally overwhelmed me. It was always there before, nagging at the back of my head.

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In the very moment, I was reminded of the uncle, how he always said that I am full of potentials, that I need to take care of myself well. I received that a lot from random people saying how they see such a potential in myself, to the point I had become indifferent to it. I would always brush off the awkwardness of their words with a mild laughter. Behind the open door, I would always find myself crying defeatedly over their words, when I always found myself incapable of seeing things that they saw inside of me. There were times I was filled with a vigour to prove them right but came crushing down because I didn’t I have what they thought of me. That I am just the very ordinary woman. 

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The thought brought me to the question I received. 

It was in the evening, and I was just done buying my dinner at the night market. I looked at the back of the person, her familiar gait with the very one shawl style, and I called out for her. She turned around and walked towards me. I remember feeling giddy and looking at her expectantly. We changed remarks and then she came to the very question;

Are you happy?

Are you happy?

Are you happy?

When being bombarded with such a question thrice, I couldn’t help but to ponder on my answer afterwards. To question myself how far the truth behind it. If I really meant it. I answered yes with such a gusto. Looking back, I was happy (I think), to finally being able to feel belonged at one place, which it took me by surprise (that I was capable to experience such majestic feeling). Where everyone had their own quirks, that my own didn't have to stand out so much. 

How the word happy itself is very objective. 

Now, let me ask you a better question; what makes you feel happy today?

The Waning Friendship

 I’ve been thinking about this strenuously again after reading Firecrackers last month. The thinking actually had been started since July last year. And maybe I will finally write about it now after the dream I had last night. 

At times, it seemed easier to disengage. It always downs to that one time when the realisation came and hit you, on how contradictory your values had become between the two of you. And how the gap suddenly and surprisingly, had stretched so much that you started to think if it’s possible again to have such a connection with the same people, or other people in the future. 

And you thought, what had gone wrong? Does it always have been this way? Had the spark been long gone without you realise? 

You started to become hesitant telling them about things that matter to you. Because what's the point?

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I saw her, standing there, and my chest was instantly flooded with a yearning that I don’t remember owning but everything felt familiar and it was hard not be convinced with the feelings I had. 

I ran and gave her a tight hug. I told her how I felt relieved to finally able to touch her, and how I longed for this embrace. I cried heavily with all my might. 

She asked, why it took you so long to come back to her?

I said I wasn’t sure but it didn’t matter anymore that I have her now. 

We talked, taking each other in, listened intently, mending our longing hearts for each other. 

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Having this dream, it forced me to tend to this very thought that I’ve been putting off for some time now. It also makes me think about how it always amazes me how confounding vulnerability is capable of making us feel, but why we always hesitate when we were in the moments that demands for it?

And why, only by having them in person, it feels like it’s the only way we could confirm things that were on hold, like emotions? 

Korean Literature

 You know how sometimes we are under conditions that will not allow us to explore our own emotions, whether that makes us thankful to be under such circumstances or simply will leave us agitated for not be able to tend them immediately? And at the end, they were left untended, forgotten and we thought that we had got rid of them by simply putting them away. 

Reading Korean literature books, I always feel like I was being forced to actually sit with those old emotions (in a good way) by processing the thoughts and feelings I had during the reading process or the afterthought I had after I finished them. 

Simply put, they always feel heavy on my mind. The stories itself doesn’t necessarily fall into the heavy type, neither felt heavy. They were just weaved so perfectly, intricately that they reminded me of the gentle, unjudging, touch on my shoulder I received when I was at the brink of breaking. 

The touch that made me feel that I am now allowed to break, that it made me feel like it was safe now to come crashing down, that it’s okay to shatter if that's what's going to make me feel better.

 I couldn’t help but to cling to them, thinking it felt somewhat worthwhile to be brood over. And usually they stay longer on my mind, for days, sometimes weeks or simply longer than that, to the point it feels like they never actually leave me.  

Then I started to think, if their capabilities of writing so well had something to do with their background, I mean, if their history and culture actually did contribute a huge sum to it. I know each of the stories is only an individual work but they possess a similar quality. Maybe because their past had shaped their culture and culture shaped them in the most intricate ways. Their writings simply show how deeply they are rooted to their belief.

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Their writing is so impactful on the mind. Poignant, heavy with emotions and rich with feelings, but never seem to leave out the most important parts; facts, which usually cover on their history. 

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This is exactly what I felt when I read The Kinship of Secrets. The storytelling is so vivid that I could picture the scenes and feel every emotion between the lines. I never thought I would like the book this much and feel deeply about it. The story felt immersive that I found myself crying thrice over the story. I have to admit I actually like this one slightly better than Pachinko.

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Choi eunyoung is my new favourite Korean author. After reading her note, at the end of the book; Shoko’s Smile, how I could feel thankfulness bubbled inside of me, for her perseverance to keep writing despite all the hardships she faced in past. For being sensitive as she claimed, (being sensitive at heart is rather a gift isn’t it?) I’m able to read a brilliant piece of hers, which seems simplistic on the surface but sharp enough to leave such an impact when being dissected. It makes me think over what capabilities I need to own to be able to evoke an array of emotions in someone, within only short pages? I’m still in awe. 

I wonder how much I am (or if I) actually missing out for only I am able to read the translation one. 

Our Happy Time (A Book Review)

 

5 stars from me. No doubt. 

No wonder millions were sold. I didn’t know it was a bestseller when I included this in my TBR a long time ago. Found it on BookDepository once, and I was left intrigued by the synopsis but took me long enough before I finally dived into it.

It’s been awhile since I read a Korean literature and reading this book, I was being swept over with the remembrance of how Korean lit books are capable of making me feel things that no other authors capable of.

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His situations of life made him think he was the way he acted but we know it’s never the case with anyone. And how saying this, reminds me of the line from When the Stars Prostrated;

“People mold themselves to become a reflection of how the world sees them.”

Honestly, it left me deeply upset over his decision. Sure, he could think of it as an act of salvation but, how I wished he fight harder for his life. It wasn't going to be easy for him because lack of proof or whatsoever but it left me feeling crestfallen. 

But in a way, he was made to believe he deserved what he was going through, how life makes him think he acts in certain ways because that what he is without realizing the way he acted was only an act of survival under such dire circumstances.

And I was thinking, if we could blame someone, who should be blamed?

Asking that, makes me think of how truly things happened for some reasons.

But after all, it seems to be like it’s all worth it at the end of his life.

Hospital Trip (Part 2)

 Then datang sorang doctor lelaki. Aku syak dia doctor sebab dia cakap lembut. Aku jadi cuak, aku fikir, dia datang nak tegur sebab adik aku jerit kuat tengah-tengah malam ni. Dia tanya kenapa, then aku bagitahu. Aku pandang dia memang direct mata, tapi bila pandang tu, payah nak baca reaksi mata dia. Dia tanya aku mak sedara ke, aku jawab kakak. Then dia cakap kita nak kena transfer adik awak kat hospital lain, sebab dorang tak boleh buat kat sini. Sekarang tengah tunggu ambulance.

Aku literally stared at him, zone out then tersedar bila dia tanya soalan. Aku dah makin nervous, tak tahu nak expect apa. Then ambulance datang, tiba-tiba aku rasa I/C aku tak ambil lagi. Then aku pergi tanya nurse tadi then check balik, ada je dalam bag. Haru dah aku ni. Aku macam bersyukur gila the doctor ikut sekali and the other nurse lelaki.

Aku duduk facing the nurse, and dia tak berhenti-henti tersengguk. Dalam kepala aku, what makes him choose this profession. Aku kesian gila. The doctor belakang aku, keep checking the notes dan kadang simply buang pandang ke luar. Lajunya ambulance, aku rasa nak duduk peluk lulut, tunduk muka, tapi aku fikir, adik aku dah cukup takut and traumatized dengan nurse, takkan aku nak tunjuk lembik aku depan dia. Dia pun tak tidur, padahal dah nampak penat sangat.

Sampai hospital, the doctor mintak surat beranak adik aku, sebab nak daftarkan. Aku hulur kepala kat luar, nampak nurse tu selesaikan registration, and the doctor was behind him. Aku pandang je dorang, then the doctor pandang aku balik. Mesti dalam kepala dia, kesiannya budak ni.

Then dorang hantar kitaorang sampai dalam wad kanak-kanak. Otw tu, the doctor was kept trying to make conversation tapi aku tak boleh focus, sebab banyak benda dalam kepala. Aku memang takde kapasiti nak make small talks masatu, otak aku ke mana, jiwa aku ke mana, mata aku tak boleh fokus. Aku tak tahu dia sekadar nak mengisi masa sebab nampak aku dah floating away atau dia simply nak distract diri dia dari penat. Dahlah awal tadi dia tanya dah buat PCR test ke, aku cakap belum, tapi swab test dah. Pastu dia cakap haa sama lahtu, pastu terus aku rasa makin bodoh daripada biasa and refused to keep talking. The nurse yang tolong tolak adik aku guna wheelchair sampai lah kitaorang semua masuk dalam.

Sebelum dorang masuk bilik doktor dan menghilang, aku sempatlah cakap terima kasih earnestly pada nurse tu dan dia senyum dan angguk. Doktor tu sempat tanya aku study mana right before dia stripped away his plastic overall, lepastu aku automatically look away dan boleh rasa darah naik ke muka, lepastu aku rasa makin bodoh, bukan dia bukak baju depan aku pun lol. Awkward gila.

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Nurse selalu datang pada masa-masa janggal untuk bagi ubat. Tengah malam, sebelum subuh, maghrib, lepas isyak. Kadang aku jadi segan sendiri bila tengah terpisat-pisat baru bangun tidur, dorang dah ada depan muka. Tapi tak sampai separuh hari kat situ, aku dah hafal rutin dia, so senang aku kunci alarm untuk bagi adik aku neb dan surmise bila nurse datang nak check. And I started to feel like home there. Duduk dalam tu, aku rasa jauh dari dunia luar, secluded, tapi in a good way. Macam dapat ruang isolasi yang tiba-tiba, yang kau pun tak terfikir yang kau akan suka.

Masa dekat hospital ni lah, aku start fikir pasal suara budak-budak menangis ni sebenarnya, is a sound of blessing. Aku tak sure lah kalau benda yang aku cakap ni make sense ke tak tapi bila those kids menangis serentak bila nurse pergi setiap katil nak bagi ubat, aku jadi senyum sendiri.

Tapi sebelum aku capable of taking in the situation positively, penat jugak aku asyik nak tahan air mata sendiri. Kau pusing sana, kejap lagi kau nampak baby terbaring layu, kau pusing sini, kau nampak those mothers' eyes, drooping with expectation and softened with love. Sampai aku asyik kena tunduk dekat lantai rapat-rapat nak kesat air mata sambil marah diri sendiri. Aku terfikir, kalau one day aku ada anak sendiri, then dia tak sihat, then aku kena stay lama dekat hospital jaga dia, mampu ke aku? 

And how much does it take to be a good mother?

Hospital Trip (Part 1)

 Benda ni dah jadi few months lepas lagi, tapi masa baca Crying in H Mart bab 13, A Heavy Hand, baru rasa the real urge to write this down. Tapi tulah, still jugak tak tulis terus considering how I’m only writing this now. This is going to be looong one, this time, I don’t want to write in restraint.

Masatu aku tengah tengok movie Our Friend kat dapur. Tak pernah-pernah tengok movie kat dapur, tapi malam tu rasa nak berubah angin. Dah dekat separuh cerita tu, tak berhenti pulak air mata aku jatuh. Terkesan dengan the depiction of witnessing the death of your loved one, tapi yang paling rasa kena dengan diri sendiri, the selfless, kindest friend. It shows how kadang serapat mana pun kita dengan orang tu, yang kita even anggap as family, kita tak tahu pun sebenarnya dia pun suffer secretly, tapi dia still tolong orang sekeliling dia as if, with the act of kindness, it helps him to stay afloat.

Dah hujung-hujung movie, makin lebat pulak air mata aku jatuh. Aku tak seka sebab semua macam sibuk kat luar. Tiba-tiba keadaan jadi gamat sebab mama call babah daripada hospital cakap Hurin, adik aku yang paling bongsu kena tahan kat hospital, tak boleh balik. Babah pass phone kat aku, suruh mama cakap sendiri dengan aku nak mintak tolong pack kan barang dia. Aku pun ambil mana patut then babah call mama balik, bagitahu biar aku je lah yang jaga Hurin. Mama tak payah.

Aku dengar tu, aku dah cuak sebab aku tak tahu nak expect apa. Mostly sebab aku tak pernah jaga orang kat hospital. Mata aku basah lagi masa tu, tapi rasa banyaknya benda nak proses at one time. Then aku unpack barang mama then start packing barang aku. Aku dah tak boleh senyum, tak boleh nak bercakap sebab aku cuak. Lepas tu babah gesa aku cepat sikit sebab dah nak gerak tapi phone aku pulak tak jumpa kat mana. Sempatlah aku grab buku Crying in H Mart sumbat masuk dalam tote bag hitam aku.

Sampai hospital, aku duduk diam je kat tempat menunggu tu. Aku tak tahu nak expect apa. Mama dengan kakak aku nampak penat. Mama lah terutamanya. Dorang kat hospital since maghrib. Ingatkan Hurin demam biasa, rupanya ada jangkitan kuman kat paru-paru dia. Nafas pun pendek sebab dia ada asthma. Then kakak aku panggil aku, bagitahu kena daftar kat meja depan.

Then lepas tunggu kejap, dah boleh masuk, mama masuk sekali dengan aku. Hurin ada kat katil, tak tidur, nampak alert gila walaupun dia nampak penat. Mama pujuk Hurin, cakap mama kena balik dulu. Aku kat sebelah, literally choking in tears. Aku lemah lah bab-bab ni. Suara mama dah bercampur penat, berat hati, nak nangis semua. Bila mama betul-betul dah nak pergi tu, aku hulur tangan salam, memang tak cakap apa-apa. Mama cakap apa pun, aku angguk-angguk ja daripada tadi sebab tahu, ni kalau keluar sepatah je dari mulut aku, melimpah habis air mata sekali. Aku tak pernah suka separation, tak kisah lah besar ke kecil, sebab aku kena hadap keadaan aku macam tu lah, and memang tak boleh nak bercakap langsung padahal dalam kepala dah siap skrip. Bye pun tak boleh nak cakap.

 

Aku serba tak kena, berdiri, squat, bersila, semua rasa salah. Aku risau tapi at the same time aku cuak sebab tak tahu nak expect apa. And sampai bila sebenarnya kat sini. Ada pak cik sebelah katil Hurin, dah terlena. Aku pujuk Hurin tidur lah, sebab dah lewat. Aku cakap kat dia, aku ada, tak pergi jauh. Nanti cepat sihat, cepat kita balik, Hurin boleh jumpa mama. Sedihnya tengok budak sakit, lagi-lagi adik sendiri. Aku gosok perlahan lengan dia, pujuk dia tidur.

Bila dia dah tidur, aku duduk atas lantai sambil cuba bertenang and simply absorb semua benda sekeliling aku. Then ada nurse panggil kejap untuk swab test. Gila tak selesa. Lama jugak discomfort tu lingers. Aku duduk balik and tengok sekeliling. Aku perhatikan pak cik sebelah lena, dah nangis balik aku. Aku perasan pada belakang bajunya basah, and the hospital air smelled rancid because of the urine. Kemudian aku cakap, tak boleh jadi ni, kena distract diri, then aku bukak buku and baca. I can’t seem to focus tapi aku paksa jugak baca.

Lama sikit lepas tu, dua orang nurse datang cakap nak buat swab test pada Hurin. Aku kejut Hurin perlahan then dia nampak je nurse, dia dah nangis kuat-kuat. Kalau aku yang dah besar pun rasa sakit tak selesa, apa lagi budak macam dia. Nurse bagitahu, aku kena pegang dia. Aku pegang biasa je lah, takde lah kuat sangat, sekali nurse tu tekan kepala adik aku kuat gila, aku dah terdiam. Aku faham sebab adik aku melawan and tak nak bukak mulut and hidung dia, tapi apa dia buat tu, macam tak kena. Suara aku dah start sound very desperate, nervous, helpless, pujuk Hurin bagi kerjasama. Sekali nurse tu give up and cakap kuat-kuat, ‘suka hati lah’. Dia membebel kuat kuat  sepanjang dia berjalan pergi. Aku dah rasa defeated gila.

In Control

 You know what I was thinking when I saw all the bottles were not in places which I had arranged?

Rage. Holding it back. Pausing.

That I had to pause to get a grip of myself.

Sometimes, the burning, bitter taste of rage felt almost shocking (if not refreshing) in my throat, which I never thought I’m capable of such a strong emotion.

I despise it when my stuff is not in their place, exactly like how I arranged it.

I hate it even more when people touch my belongings, which these two happened to be closely related. Sure, there were certain cases I could absolutely tolerate but longer pausing was always required.

Talking about this reminds me of that young man.

We were on a bus, on our way to the main stop for most of us, and because of the sudden halt, most of my books came crashing down to the floor from the seat, which was a few feet away from me. I looked defeatedly at the books, letting out a deep sigh, weighing in if I should go and set them right again, but I didn’t feel like moving.

He stood and moved deliberately toward my books. 

Right before he was able to touch my books, I said almost menacingly,

“Don’t touch it. I’ll do it myself.”

I remember how cold I sounded like. 

I hated myself for acting that way but I was even more ashamed when I caught him smiling, amusingly over my reaction, before he retreated back to his seat. 

I felt stupid over my defensiveness of such random act of kindness. Why I always make it hard for people to be just kind to me?

Maybe because I hate it when people do something nice for me when I am capable of doing it for myself, or maybe because I hate it when I am not in control of things in my control. And maybe because I hate the idea of unpredictability.