Holding on to the Past

Sometimes I wonder, what makes me always thinking of the past. Why, at some point, I still couldn't move on.

Someone made me realize that I have been harping on the past and keep on thinking about it. She suggested that I should let it go. I've been holding on to the past for so long. I know it's dragging me down. I'm not happy.

There are things that I couldn't let go. I'm afraid if I do, I will lose the memory. Good or bad. As if the memories are the only things that can keep me going, moving ahead. When in fact, they are just dragging me back.

I'm not moving. Not progressing at all. Even when there are 'some' development. Actually, there's nothing much. Frankly. And sadly.

As I sit and type this, all those memories, all those feelings, came flooding back. However, this time I'm making them conscious. I want to see and feel them. I want to know how it really feels at its darkest moment.

Fear. That's what I'm feeling after the deaths of my parents and my elder brother. It came in the form of sadness. Disguised itself so that I couldn't realize it for what it actually was.

Guilt. That's what I felt after my elder brother passed on. I felt guilty because I wasn't able to do the best that I should, for him, when he needed me. Guilt because I knew I should have done more. However, the fear that I felt kept me away from him.

Self-pity. I've had this for the longest time. I think probably it went back to my teenage years. Or probably since I was a young child. Pity myself for not having the love and attention that I wanted. This is the deepest feeling that I have ever felt. One which even my alter ego wouldn't confessed of having.

Self-pity was also the reason why I feel dejected all these while. The reason why I had the suicidal thoughts not too long ago. The reason why I refused to let go of the past. By far, I think this is the cruellest form of a dark feeling.

At some point, I knew these were the reason why I kept on changing my lifestyle and my needs. I didn't actually know what I want until I realised these were the darkest secret that my own being have been keeping from me.

Now that I know, I need to deal with them. Once and for all!

What Matters Most

I was hospitalised in August, after having a bad cough for a few days. Luckily it wasn't tuberculosis or anything serious. It was first diagnosed as bronchitis. After a few round of tests, the Specialist finally diagnosed me as having 'Cough-Variant' Asthma. She said was a rare kind of asthma. Hardly found in any of her patients. So she considered my condition as unusual, in a special kind of way.

I was warded for four days and given the next week off. At the time of discharge I knew I was still unwell. Even after the week's off and when I got back to work, I was still coughing and wheezing. I had a hard time sleeping at night. Started to snore. I've never snored!

When I had to see the Doctor again for follow-up check, she found that my coughing had worsened and she admitted me again. Wow! Hospitalised again! She was actually at lost with what kind of treatment should be given to me. For she had given me the best and the strongest of medicines. For the second time, I was warded for five days. When I was discharged, I felt a little bit better.

This morning, I went to the Doctor. For follow-up check again. But also because I had an asthma attack on Friday, three days ago. The Doctor told me that my condition is chronic. She told me that she had given me the best treatment and I took the medications (particularly the inhaler) according to her prescriptions. The only thing that could have made my condition worsened was the triggering factor. After discussing about it, we came to a conclusion that my asthma can be triggered by cold environment. Air-conditioned room / car, rain, fan. Rainy season is definitely not my good friend. When it rains in the night, I'll catch this big A in the morning. Most of the time.

I could also get it easily when I'm having flu. The mucus will block my nostrils and my air passageway, making it difficult to breathe. That'll create spasms in the lungs, thus creating 'ronchi' as the Doctor told me.

This coughing, I've actually had it for a long long time. I knew that I'm an asthmatic. My panel doctors know that I'm asthmatic. But I didn't know that there is such a specific name for it. And according to the Specialist, this kind of asthma cannot be easily identified. Not many Doctors would have given the correct diagnose. So I consider myself lucky for having met with this Specialist.

When you're having health problems that leaves you choking for breath every time it occurs, you'll start thinking if this is the last breath. It'll make you feel even worse when you have kids and work to worry about. At this point of time, I'd say that health is more valuable than any amount of money and materials that we have in this world.

HEALTH is all that matters.

Tribute To Self

To the Most Beautiful Soul in the world,

Have I told you lately that I love you? I do. With all my heart!

First and foremost, I must apologise for being unfair to you. After all these years I have never acknowledged you. Let alone to appraise you. I have never told you that I love you, either. Today, as you are celebrating your 48th birthday I thought it might be fitting for this more than rare or possibly extra ordinary tribute, to be given in such a manner. 

So here goes...

I have known you all my life. I have seen your ups and downs, your highs and lows, your laughter and your tears, your anger and your jubilation, your warmth and your wrath, your happiness and your sadness, your success and your failures. I must say that I have never seen anyone as determined, deep-rooted, strong-spirited and principled as you are. Your parents have taught you well, my dear. Your surroundings have definitely educated and groomed you up to become a better person, too. 

You were once a happy-go-lucky gal who cares of nothing evil in this world. You've had a fair share of a good time in your youth. You have enjoyed your life so much. You have laughed, danced and sang to the songs of life. It was full of colours. Full of joy. Life was so much simpler then, hence your tagline 'Simple Is The Best'. I am proud to have been a part of it. 

However, when your heart was broken, your life seems to have faded away. You were listing your life to the near end. After your parents passed on, followed by your beloved brother Amri, it was as if there was no more life in that soul of yours. There was no more joy, no more happiness that radiates through that smile. Your eyes could only see sadness and despair. With all that has happened, you became a very deep person. People could hardly understand you, even those who are closest to you. I could hardly recognise you! And I began to wonder...where was that cheeky little girl that I once knew? Where have that happy-go-lucky girl who loved sports, nature and adventure went to? What have you done to her? 

This is why I must apologise to you again. I have not been a good companion to you. I merely watched you wasted your adult life away without doing anything. But I must say that you are one hell of a tough hag! 

Every time you fell into misery, every time sadness came to you, every time your heart broke and every time you became lost, you came back. You will always have your head high above the waters even when you were about to drown in your suffering. Yes...I must admit that your mind is your most powerful strength. I admire you for that. You have my highest respect for being able to make it thus far. 

As the late Muhammad Ali once said "It's not a matter of how many times you were knocked down, but how many times you got back up after being knocked down". You did just that! You got back up on your feet, held your head up high and moved on with your life. Every time you fell, you got back up. Every time you failed, you came back with sheer determination to make things right. Every time you got lost, you found your way back home. It shows that you can do whatever you want to, if you really put your mind to it.  

On this auspicious day of your life, I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. You are the most wonderful person that I have ever known. You have the kindest of heart that would reach out to others even when yours are bleeding. You have the purest and most beautiful soul I have ever met. You are the most loving, most gracious, most intelligent and the most caring. Most importantly, you have the brightest of smiles. Nothing else in this whole wide world could match your endearing love and affection for your kids. Your kids are very lucky to have you as their mother. My heart is about to burst with the intensity of my love for you. 

And I am asking you, my dearest beloved, to please live happily again. After all that you have endured, you deserve to be happy. Find your passion. Go out and enjoy nature like you once did. Laugh! Sing! Play! Do whatever you have to do to find that glint or that flicker of happiness. Bring that ol' Lepih girl back to life! So that that wonderful smile of yours will radiate the world and shine through the universe once again. Can't wait to explore the world with you,babe! 

I will be here for you for ever and ever and for eternity. No one will ever love you as much as I do. Because you are part of me and I, part of you. 

REMEMBER!
You are a beautiful soul. 

In the meantime.....CELEBRATE!!!!


Yours Forever, 
ZADE.


P/S: This song is specially dedicated to you....Special Song for a Special Person

Here It Comes Again

I've been trying to avoid this feeling that I feel inside. Probably trying to "ignore" it would be the best word to describe what I've been doing.

Every time this feeling creeps into my heart I would just put it aside and do something else. All the while putting up a brave face, pretending to be strong, busying myself and my mind with work and assignments and family. You know what? It's not going away. It's still there, deep inside my heart. So sometimes, like tonight, it will come back to surface.

It's been a while since the last time I cried. In fact, it's been three days. Heh. Yeah...grieve hit me that night when I was in Melaka. Because it was the 2nd of August. My Abah died on the 2nd of August, 5 years ago. Five years! Not only that, I was also crying for Mak and Abang. Oh, I missed them so much!

It cuts me deep when I feel "lost". You know, at times when we need to get away, we can always go back to our hometown and ask our mothers to cook our favourite food? Just being there was comforting. Protected, somehow. But I'm unable to do all that now. Not anymore. That thought alone, is devastating. How sad...

At the back of my mind, there is always this feeling of 'void'. Something's amiss. I once asked you, have you ever feel alone even when you are in the midst of a crowd? I get that feeling a lot.

Time will heal. So they say. I hope so, too.

How Do You Get Over Grieve?

How do you deal with the loss of a loved one?

Once, I care not about this question. Though a very long time ago, when I was 12 years old, I would often dreamed of my mother passing away and I would cry in my sleep.

When my father died in 2012, I was in a short bereavement because I could comprehend the fact that he died in a blessed way. It was Ramadhan, the holy month of Islam and it was also on a Friday, the day of all days. People said that if one passed away on Friday, means he is a blessed soul. I guess Abah was doubly blessed. Not only did he passed away on Friday, but it was the holy month as well.

Besides, at that time I still had my mom to think of. Not too long after my dad's passing, she fell ill so I had to take care of her. While working and taking care of my two young kids, I had my hands' full and not so much time left to grieve.

But after my mom passed on in 2013, it was too much to bear. Probably because I felt guilty for not taking care of her as much as I should. Probably because she was my mother, the woman who had given birth to me and took care of me since I was a baby. Probably because I felt like I had no one else to turn to, now. As a muslim, I was supposed to accept the fate that every living things will die including humans. From God do we come, to Him we shall return. I did accept the fact that she was gone and will never come back. However, the feeling of sadness...oh, God! Didn't seem to go away. Was it sadness, was it guilt, was it lost, I don't know. I was in grieve. That's all I know.

Immediately after she passed away, it was as if she had taken a part of my life along with her. My spirits died with her. I had no more passion to work, I had no more need for laughter, I couldn't even bring myself to take care of my kids. Everything just....died. It was a very dreadful feeling. Emptiness. Void. Something is amiss. That kind of feeling.

I realised that it took me almost two years to get over it. TWO YEARS! Throughout those years I prayed and prayed and prayed and I cried and cried and cried and I read the Quran and its translation, something that I had never done before.

So, how did I know that I had gotten over the grieve?

It was this feeling of peace that I could finally let go of my mom and her memories. Not forgetting. But letting go.

Now the cycle begins again, after my brother died. It was too hard for me. Probably the same ol' feeling of guilt, for not taking care of him enough, not doing enough and not trying hard enough. Probably all those sadness from my father's passing and my mother's came flooding back.On top of all that, I think was this feeling that I had no one to turn to, anymore. The attachment is not here anymore. It's gone. Like a lifeline that I've been holding on to, for many many years...and suddenly it's been cut off. Or like daylight that suddenly turns to darkness.

After almost four months, I am still grieving. Deep down inside, I am still in bereavement. Even though publicly, physically, mentally, I may not have shown the traces of grieve. I still am. Physically, it is taking a toll on my health. I've been constantly sick, subconsciously. Not really in my top form. Mentally I am in an auto-pilot mode. Not really thinking on my feet.

No, it is not something that we can turn on and off like a switch. It is something that we have to endure and only time would tell when we will get out of it. IF we would ever get out of it. Some people die in their grieve. They never did get out. So I'm praying for God to grant me peace. To give His Love and Kindness to get over this pain, this suffering, this grieve. Because I still have my husband and my kids who needs me. I still have to live this life, for myself.

In time, I'm sure, I will get over this grieve. "When?" is the question I can't answer. If God is willing, I will heal in no time.

How did you get over your grieving period? What did you do? How long did it take you to get over the loss of your loved ones? Mind sharing this with me. Perhaps it will also give me some sort of relief.

Moving Forward

Last year, in the midst of all the frenzy when my brother was diagnosed with the deadly cancer, I had to make a difficult decision.

You see, I did the Executive MBA some time in 2003. But I managed to pursue the course only for half a year, when it was a one and a half year programme. Last year, I chanced upon a MBA programme with the Henley Business School, in University of Reading right here where I live. The campus is just 10 minutes away from my house. They were willing to give me a 50% discount with a very attractive installment package. How could I say "no"? I have been putting it off for more than 10 years. It is something that I have been wanting to do in my life.

It was a difficult decision because when my brother was sick, I had to attend to him every alternate week. With the study, there may be times when I couldn't go and visit him.

Nevertheless, I took up the challenge. Life has to go on, right? At that moment in time, I thought to myself "it is now or never". Furthermore, the School provided us with online study materials and almost anything you can find, in their virtual library, online. The classes, which they call 'workshops' are done every once in two months and an assignment in between. So I guess it wouldn't be as hard.

I finally signed up for it and made the payment for two semesters. The first class started in February. Indeed, it wasn't so intense. They told us that they have revised the modules so that the whole programme will last for 2 and a half years. Meaning that I will only complete it in 2019. May God bless my journey.

Some things are just meant to be, when God says so.

Reflection #01

There are times when I feel like I have not done enough in my life. Even though I now have my own family with two wonderful kids, I have my own house that I call "home", I have a steady income and almost anything that I could ever think of.

Why is that so?

Most people would say that I am being ungrateful. I don't think so. I am always grateful for what God has bestowed upon me all these years. Since I was young, I have never lived a life of misery. My family was never "dirt poor". We would always have something to eat, a house to live in, clothes to wear (even if they were hand-me-downs from my cousins) and we were always able to go to school. Though it wasn't luxurious, we had what we need.

I have been thinking about what I'm feeling for the past few days. Looking back at my life, I realised that this feeling is not about 'what' is missing but it is about 'how'.

I was the second child in the family. More often than not, second child is labelled as 'The Rebels'. Probably because we do rebel a lot. But why we do that? It wasn't because we envy the first child. It wasn't because we wanted the attention. But it was because we were not given the attention that we were supposed to get. More so when the third or fourth or fifth child came along. The second would always remain as a second.

In my case, sadly enough, I was always compared to, against my elder brother by my mother. Not only in terms of education but also in terms of behaviors. Yes, I was the active one. Yes, I was the naughty one. Yes, sometimes words that came out of my mouth were unwarranted words, unworthy of being spoken by a child. Should I be punished and labelled as "spoiled" just because of that? Should I be denied of the attention and love that I was supposed to receive just because of who I was?

I've been trying in vain to let go of these ill feelings. At times, I am proud of myself for all the achievements that I have gained in my adult years. I am proud that I managed to score the same grades as my brother did, twice! Perhaps that's why sometimes I feel like I'm letting myself down. I put high expectations on myself! So, when I couldn't meet those expectations, of course I would feel bad and incapable.

No, this is not easy but I have to try and get it over with.

To all you parents out there, my plea to you is this:
Please DO NOT differentiate the treatment between your children. Each of them, has their own uniqueness. Just monitor and manage. If there is a need, change it individually so that they can become a better person. But down downgrade them against their own siblings.

AMRI ROHAYAT - Part 4

Through the Lenses of a Sister

This may be the last...but not the end of our life story.

 

 

Good Natured and Intelligent

 

Abang was intelligent by nature. When we were in primary school and I’m talking about a very young age of 7 or 8, Abah subscribed a few comics on monthly basis for us. The likes of Beano and Dennis the Menace, if any one of you would recall? When we got home from school, we’d go after these comics. That’s where we started to learn the English language. 

 

Of course, those subscriptions came with a price. We had to excel in our studies. 

 

Abang was an avid reader. I think it was the genetics from Abah. Abah had this complete collection of the James Bond novels. Abang read all of them! Then Abah bought us a complete set of the Britannica Encyclopaedia. You know...the red books? Abang would read them and told Abah what he had read. 

 

At such a young age, he had this passion for science. He’d tell Abah about the stars and the planets that he learned at school. I’d just be the listener. As he grew up, among his favourites were Battle Star Gallactica, the Transformers and later on, the Star Wars. He would also watch the Bermuda Triangle. You know, all the mistery and sci-fi stuff. He was also the one who introduced me to the X-Files. 

 

Abang could play Scrabble with Abah since he was 8. I’d sometimes join them because Abah wanted me to learn. I tend to lose every time so I’d be sulking and didn’t want to play anymore. At times Abah would also get us all to play the Monopoly which I didn’t do any good either. I guess I was terrible at every thinking games except for the card game “Who’s at Home?”. 

 

He was also a good and obedient son. It was rarely, very rarely, that he would raise his voice to Mak or Abah. He’d do so at me, that is. Quite often, too. Huhu. Everyone loved him. Everyone adored him. 

 

But he was mischievous in his own way. Haha. Oh yes…he was!

 

There was a time when my cousin Chai came to stay with us. One day, Abah sent the three of us to watch a movie at the local cinema in Lepih town. They were showing Ultraman 7. After the movie, we waited for Abah. When he didn’t come to pick us up, Abang made a decision to walk home. It was quite a distance away. I think it was about 3km. Then we got to this sundry shop near Rumah Tok. 

 

This sundry shop was owned by two brothers, Panjang (the elder brother) and Hamzah (the younger brother) who originated from India. So when we got to Panjang’s sundry shop, Abang stopped to buy ice cream. Yes, Abah did give him some money earlier which I didn’t know of. He bought 20 sen ice creams each for me and Chai. He bought a 50 sen ice cream for himself! When I asked “how come?” he said there was not enough cash. Yeah, right!

 

There was also a time that he was caught red handed when Mak found out he had been buying food off credit from Panjang. Mak usually bought supplies from the shop using the ‘buku tiga lima’ (a small note book with 555 written on the cover. In the old days, this note book was used to record purchases bought on credit). One day, Mak came home shouting for Abang. I was so surprised because Mak rarely scolded Abang. 

 

Then I overheard Mak explaining to Wan that Abang had been buying things from the shop and had asked Panjang to write in that book. How clever. I’ve never thought of doing that. Later that night, when Abah came home, he was punished. Very rare, indeed! But I felt sorry for him. 

 

Those were among the very rare occasions when Abang was caught doing something wrong. Whilst me…well I’m with the Second Child Syndrome aka ‘The Rebel’. And everyone knows that. I was the spoilt one. 

 

Abang went on to become different in every way. At home, he rarely spoke. We rarely talked. We could hardly hear him laugh. The most he’d do was “Heh heh” with a wide grin on his face. But he got amused at things quite as easily as he could get irritated. He was kind of a serious person. 

 

When I got married, I bought pieces of cloths for Abah and my brothers to be made in Baju Melayu (Malay traditional clothes for the men). I bought some for him, too. And he didn’t wear it! Forgot to bring it home, he said. So he was the different one in MY wedding photo!

My wedding photo

Back in 2010, we had a Family Day in PD for the Ismayatim Clan. Each of the family was to wear a colour-themed clothes. Ours didn’t. When one of my cousins asked him “why?” he said “Oh, our theme is “individuality””. Heh.

The Individuals. Heh.

Religious Studies

 

Mak Long taught us to pray when we were in Kuala Atok. She was the one who made me my first “telekung” (prayer clothes). She’d take us to the surau almost every night. When we got back to Rumah Tok, sometimes we’d follow Tok whenever he prayed.

 

Tok would also taught us how to read the Muqaddam. The introduction to Quranic verses. Almost every night, after Maghrib prayer, Tok would sit on his sajadah waiting for us. 

 

If any of you would remember, those were the days when Six Million Dollar Man was aired on TV, at 8pm. Later on, it was Bionic Woman. So we’d quarrel on who would start reading the Muqaddam first so that we could go and watch the drama. If we were late, the drama would have ended. More often than not, Mak would have to dictate who could go and read the Muqaddam first. Otherwise, she would switch the TV off. 

 

After a while, I completed the Muqaddam earlier than Abang. When Tok asked me to take the Quran for a read, Abang was bawling. Haha. Among a few of my victorious moments!

 

We were also taught to fast at an early age. Mak would start us from as early as 6 years old. For a start, she’d let us fast for half a day. When we got older, we’d fast full day but maybe not the full one month. But she’d give us ‘incentives’ for the days that we fast. 

 

One of the perks for fasting was that we’d get to sit with the elders at the dining table. If we were not fasting, we got to sit on the mat, on the floor. Mak would also make us the bandung drink (syrup mixed with condensed milk) and cooked whatever dish we desired. Sometimes Mak would make the cendol and the soy drink. And we’d get a hefty ‘duit raya’ (money given to kids on Aidil Fitri) for the days that we had fast. 

 

Sometimes we would cheat. We could’ve accidentally drank or ate at school but we didn’t tell Mak about it. At home, we’d take a very long bath and while bathing we drank the water from the tap. But Mak usually knew of our tricks. Somehow, mothers were born with a device to catch naughty children. Hehe. 

 

When we shifted to the house in Jalan Tok Kaya Haji, Mak employed a Bilal to teach us how to read the Quran. This Bilal, whom we called ‘Tok Bilal Karim’ would come to the house every three days after the Asar prayer. Being naughty as we were, we tried to avoid being at home during those evenings. 

 

We’d tell Mak that we had something at school. Sports, curricular activities, extra classes and such. Then we’d come home very late in the evening. Once or twice, the trick worked. When we got home the Tok Bilal had gone home because he had to prepare for Maghrib prayer. Suddenly, when we got home as late one day, we were surprised to see him still there! Mak with her stern face shouted “Mengaji!” and we scrambled into the house to take our ablution and read the Quran. 

 

We knew of other religions because Abah had friends of various backgrounds. When it was Chinese New Year, we would visit his Chinese friends at their houses. If we were in Sungai Bakap, Tok Timah would ask us to send plates of cookies to the Chinese neighbours. They would return the favour by giving us sugar, Mandarin oranges and Ang Pow! When I asked Tok why did they give us sugar, Tok said so that their lives would be as sweet as sugar. We went to our Bengali friend’s house for Capati and our Indian friend’s house for Deepavali. It was all so merry. 

 

We were taught to respect each other since we were young. Abah would cane us if he got to know that we’d said anything vulgar or rude to our friends. 

 

 

The Pahang Club

 

Abang was not so keen on sports while I was quite active with the field sports as well as long jump. So I was quite surprised to know that he played Rugby when he was in SAS! I guess we didn’t take after Abah on that part. Perhaps we are bound to be more of bookworms than sports people. 

 

Abah was a true-blue sportsman. He used to be the Sports teacher at Clifford Secondary School. He played hockey and football. When he sprained his legs so often, he quit football and took up Tennis. Abah played Tennis for the State of Pahang. But none of us siblings took it up. Even though Abah did send me to a Tennis clinic, once. 

 

We used to follow him to the Club, though. It’s called Pahang Club. Kind of an elite place, in the old days. Heh. When Abah was out on the Tennis Court, we’d play inside the Club. There was a pool table and also a lounge where we could just sit or watch TV. Being kids, most of the times we spent our time running around the premise, chasing after each other or played hide and seek.

The Pahang Club. This photo was taken in 2013, when I went back to Lipis for a visit.

Those fun memories would forever be in my memory, for as long as God would permit them to be. 

 

My family, we are not affectionate people. Abah and Mak had never hugged or kissed us. Too disciplined, they both were. So we were not used to say “I love you” to each other. But we all know that we do. Blood is thicker than water, anyway. No matter how different we became, we are still from the same root.

Family...that's what we are

He became an Uncle when my daughter was born. The first gandchild of my parents. He was quite awkward at first, trying to hold that small baby. But you can see how amused he was right there, in this photo. Taken in 2006.

This photo was taken the day after Abah was buried. The Menteri Besar of Pahang came to visit.

The Ismayatim Family.

These two kids are like me and Abang. They could be the best of friends at times, couldn't live without the other and they fought all the time! Now I understand how Mak and Abah had felt then! Huhu. Abang adored them. They adored their Pak Long, too. Though sometimes they were scared of him.

The End.

AMRI ROHAYAT - Part 3

Through the Lenses of a Sister

Education

 

We both never got into kindergarten. Never heard of the word before. We went to a ‘sekolah tumpang’ (sort of an unofficial and temporary school) in Sekolah Rendah Kebangsaan Relong, a small school about 11km away from home. Mak and Abah were both teaching at that school then. So they put us along with the other Standard 1 pupils. Of course, Abang went there first. 

 

SK Relong was the first formal education introduced to us. Sometimes, the teachers would take us to learn outside the classrooms, under the trees. After the morning assemblies, all the kids were asked to pick rubbish and ‘kemuncup’ (weeds) off the field. Before going home, we need to clean the classrooms. Nowadays, I guess parents would go viral saying that we were being ‘tortured’ by the teachers. Heh. But, no. I’d like to think that it was an effective approach to teach us kids on discipline and responsibility. 

 

The community consisted of villagers. Humble and friendly people. Mak and Abah got a lot of home-grown produce from them every now and then. Not only as a token of appreciation for teaching their kids, but also as a means of respect. You know, those days, teachers were considered as highly respectful people because they provide knowledge for the young ones. They’d give corns, fruits, vegetables, tapioca, sweet potatoes and etc. including durian, when it seasoned. 

 

When he was 7, my parents registered Abang to Clifford Primary School which was very near to Rumah Tok. When I turned 7, they registered me into the same school as Abang. 

 

Clifford Primary School was a co-ed school. We were introduced to friends from other racial backgrounds. So we got to mix with Malay, Chinese, Indian, Serani and Punjabi friends. We had no problem mingling around because we already had mixed culture of friends in Sungai Bakap. But in Clifford School, that’s where we learned how to communicate in English and that’s where we learned to respect each other’s cultural and religious belief. 

 

In the early years, Abang went to the morning school session and I went to afternoon session. So he’d be sent to school by my parents. In the afternoon, when Tok sent me, he’d pick Abang up. When Tok came to pick me up after school in the evening, Abang would tag along and Tok would take us for a ride in his ‘Beetle’ (a classic Volkswagen). Most of the time he’d take us to Kampung Tempoyang for tea at his favourite roadside stall. 

 

Sometimes we’d go and visit my great grandaunt, Moyang Temah, also in Kampung Tempoyang, where Tok would collect beetle nut for Wan. Sometimes we’d just walk across the school to Pak Cik Majid’s house, a good friend of Tok’s. 

 

But when we were in the same morning session, we’d just walk to school. Security wasn’t a concern at that time therefore we could walk that 1km to school without any chaperon (save for the time when a car no AR1000 became the talk of the town for kidnapping kids, if any of you would recall). 

 

Abang often left me behind. Sometimes he would intentionally run ahead and that would make me cry. I’d always complained to Mak and she’d tell him off but he’d do it again anyway. Once, when I got out of school he was nowhere to be seen. I saw some of his classmates already going home so I’d figure he must’ve gone home without me! So I followed some other kids who were walking towards the same direction, until I reached home. Lo and behold…there he was, happily having lunch in the kitchen! He told Wan (grandmother) that he waited for me but I was nowhere to be seen. Yeah, right!

 

Rumah Tok gave us a good view of the road down below. One day, as we were sitting on the stairs in the evening, we spotted two kids walking hand-in-hand. A brother and his younger sister. Then Mak exclaimed to Abang “Look! That boy was holding his sister’s hand. Isn’t that nice?” But that didn’t have any effect on my brother, none so ever. 

 

When I was 9, my brother Amran was born. My days of being the last child were over. Suddenly, I became a big sister. Two years later, my younger brother Amir was born. 

 

We were living in a different house already. It’s a quarters for government staff in Jalan Tok Kaya Haji which is on the other side of the hill.

Semi-D houses for the government servants. Most of the people living there were teachers. Like Mak and Abah.

When he was 11, Abang had to sit for a very important exam. Then, it was the ‘Penilaian Darjah Lima’ (standard five evaluation). When the results came out, he was the only one in the whole school who scored 5As. Never before, in the history of that school, had anyone scored straight As. He was the first. 

 

So one morning, during the general assembly, the Headmaster gave a proud speech to acknowledge my brother’s achievement and congratulated him. Then the headmaster said “we hope that his sister would repeat the same glory next year and make us proud!”. I was stunned. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I knew I wasn’t anywhere near his intelligence. That speech gave me a scare. 

 

Abang was made Head Boy when he was 12. At that time he was in Standard 6, the last level for a primary school. Oh yes, I’m sure many of his friends and teachers would still remember him. Handsome Head Boy, intelligent and well behaved. 

 

Fate has it that I only managed to score 4As and 1B. Thankfully, 7 of my good friends scored 5As and that seemed to make the headmaster forgot about me. Phew!

 

 

Off to Boarding School

 

After primary school, we had to go to secondary school. Sadly, I got news that Abang managed to go to a boarding school in Kuala Lumpur. He was leaving! So after he finished his Standard 6 at the Clifford Primary School, he went straight to Sekolah Alam Shah. I could vividly remember sending him off to that school with Mak and Abah and my two little brothers in tow. Mak had all the things one would require at a hostel – buckets, hangers, brush, soaps, etc. The school was situated in Cheras, KL. Cheras at that time was like a remote area, in the outskirts of KL. And it was an all-boys’ school. I think we went to visit Abang only once or twice a year and not a very long visit. 

 

I was angry at him for leaving me. Since we rarely went to visit, my relationship with Abang became distant. Furthermore, whenever he came home for the holidays, Mak treated him with all the niceties. Never once did she ask Abang to do any house chores. He was totally pampered! And I was jealous or him. 

 

To make it even worse, Mak was always comparing me to Abang. Yes, I know that Abang was the apple of her eyes. He was a good boy and intelligent. But comparing me to Abang was kind of too much. I didn’t understand why she would create such rivalry between us. 

 

I ploughed through my studies anyway and finally I managed to get the same score as Abang for my SRP. But I was frustrated when Mak didn’t allow me to go to a vocational school in Kuantan because ‘they have water issues’ and actually it was Abah who didn’t allow me to go. I was totally controlled and overly protected and that made me a rebellious daughter.

 

 

Went Abroad

Abang and Tok at the airport the night he was going off. In the midst of all the chaos, he asked me to carry his jacket for him and I was so proud of it!

After his SPM, Abang was offered to study TESL at Bognor Regis, in the UK! Mak of course was reluctant to let him go. She couldn’t say there was water supply issue in Bognor now, could she? Heh. At the same time, Abang was also offered a place in ITM Shah Alam for Diploma in Accountancy. So Mak tried to coax him into taking the ITM offer. 

 

But Abang decided he wanted to go to the UKs. His rationale was that “people wouldn’t ask what did I study for but people would ask where did I study”. And that kind of cut Mak off. She couldn’t say anything anymore. 

 

You know what? Actually it has always been his ambition to go and play in the snow. Ever since he was a boy. So that was the main reason why he wanted to go overseas. To play in the snow!

 

When we were staying at Rumah Tok, the rubber leaves would dry up during hot seasons. They would be blown by the wind and fell down in front of Rumah Tok like rain. We were delighted whenever that happened. Remember, those were the times when such simple thing could bring so much joy? 

 

We’d be shouting “Snow! Snow!” while trying to catch the falling leaves. We’d also play with the pile of leaves on the ground as if we were throwing snow at each other. 

 

So when I got to know of his decision, I was kind of sad and excited. Sad that he’d be leaving me again and excited because he’d finally got to play in the snow. 

 

We got a postcard from him showing a man playing the bagpipe. He said it was his semester break and he went to Scotland to experience the snow and that when he got back to Bognor Regis, it was snowing heavily! He said he went to Scotland because the local people told him that it hadn’t snow in Bognor for almost 6 years. 

 

I replied to his postcard and asked him if he could post some of the snow to us. Huhu. 

 

While he was there, I ploughed through SPM and it turned out that my results were the same as Abang. I was so delighted. Then I got an offer to further my studies in ITM which Abah had reluctantly allowed. Since then Mak had never compared me to Abang again! 

 

When Abang came back, I was already studying in ITM Shah Alam and didn’t come home that often. So we didn’t see much of each other except for Hari Raya and semester breaks. He was already a different person then. 

 

 

...to be continued (again).

AMRI ROHAYAT - Part 1

 Through the Lenses of a Sister

  
Amri Rohayat, screen writer, director, founder of Pekan Frinjan, co-founder of Neohikayat and source of inspiration for young indie writers. I knew nothing of all that. All I knew was that he was my big brother. The only one I’ll ever had. This is the story of our adventure together, written as a tribute to who he was to me – my Abang. 

LEPIH – where it all began

Abang was born on 2 October 1968 and I was born in September 1969. So literally we were only 11 months apart and we both have the same birth mark. We were both born in my grandparents’ house (known as ‘Rumah Tok’) at No. 96, Jalan Pekeliling, Kuala Lipis, Pahang. A quaint little wooden house on the slope of a small hill surrounded by fruit trees. To get to the house, one has to walk up a man-made stairs with uneven steps.

Some time in 1970

This photo was taken during Hari Raya in 1971. Mak made those clothes for us, so I was told.

I called him ‘Abang’ (big brother) and he called me ‘Adik’ (little sister). But he’d refer himself as ‘orang’ whenever he spoke to me or to other relatives. When he spoke to my parents, he’d call himself “E”.

Mak originated from Pahang (but my great grandfather, Tok’s father, came from Sumatera). Abah came from the north. He’s been teaching in Pahang for a long time and remained in Pahang til he retired. 

If you drive down to Kuala Lipis (locals mentioned it as “Lepih”) today, you’ll get to a Petronas fuel station at the junction between going to Kampung Tempoyang and going straight to Lepih town. Rumah Tok is just behind that station. It’s not visible from the road, hidden by a lush of trees. There used to be a small slaughter house just behind the station which was torn down when they started building that station. That’s where we used to get fresh supply of cow or buffalo meat, right before they were taken to the market!

Due to no other residential area nearby, we were left with no other choice but to befriend each other. Heh. No, really. He was the only friend I had until he went off to boarding school. Of course, we had our good days and bad days. You know, the usual siblings stuff.

We grew up in Rumah Tok surrounded by love, culture and happiness. 

I would say that our early upbringing in Lepih has provided us with a good foundation in terms of religion, culture and multi-racial tolerance. Mak and Abah giving us the freedom to explore our surroundings with just the right degree of discipline have helped us grow up in a supportive environment.

It was a fun and active childhood because we spent most of our times outdoor.

Carefree Life

No.96, Jalan Pekeliling (photo taken in 2002)

Rumah Tok was surrounded by fruit trees. From the front yard up to the back. Next to his lot was a small rubber plantation. We knew the area very well. We’d play in the rubber plantation most of the time because it was fully shaded. 

When we were being naughty, we’d pour the latex from the collecting cups and took out the dried latex from the bottom of the cups to be rolled up into a ball. Sometimes we did it just for fun. When Tok got to know about it (because the owner complained to him) we got the slash from his sash (a piece of long cloth that he’d wear across his shoulder). So we stopped pouring the latex but we’d still play in the plantation. 

We’d collect the seeds and turn them into games. 

There’s one game where we’d put one seed into each palm and tried to break one of the seeds by clasping our hands tightly. The winning seed was called a ‘Gurka’. Until now, I still don’t know why or how come it was called as such.

Biji Getah (Rubber seeds). (Photo credit: https://ibuberbicara.blogspot.my/2012/12/sambal-biji-getah-aka-sambal-rong.html)

At times we’d play domestic. The seeds would become our meal. We’d place the seeds in coconut shells pretending to cook something. Abang was the Ayah and me, the Mak. Abang would go around picking leaves off my grandmother’s plants pretending that they were fish. Wan, as we called her, planted a lot of ‘puding plants’ species around the house. So we’d have many kinds of fish. Sometimes, he’d come back and said “There was no fish at the market today. Only vegetables” and I’d answer “Laaa…So what’s there to cook?” then he’d say “Cook whatever there is”. Hehe. I think we picked that up from my Tok and Wan. 

Fruit season was our favourite time of the year. Tok had a lot of rambutan trees. We’d be up and down the rambutan trees picking rambutans for the elders. Tok had this special type called the ‘Gula Batu’ (rock sugar) because it was sweet and the texture looked exactly like the rock sugar. But Abang didn’t like to climb the trees. So most of the time I was the one climbing and he’d wait on the ground, while directing me to go here and there and yelling at me if I couldn’t see the rambutans which usually were hidden by the thick leaves. Then I’d throw some rambutans at him out of anger.

Tok also used to plant corns in a few places. He would make holes in the ground with a long pole, sharpened at the end like a pencil. We would then put the corn seeds in the holes and covered them up with soil. When the corns were ready for picking, there would be some with incomplete seeds. Tok said I must’ve planted those because at that time my teeth were still not complete. 

Tok also had a durian orchard across Sungai Jelai, not too far from his house. When it was durian season, we would all walk down to the river. While the elders went across, we would stay at the riverside, bathing in the cool water accompanied by Kak Muna, my cousin who stayed with us. When we got older, we’d follow Tok across to help him picked durians.

We sold the durians on the roadside, just beneath Rumah Tok. Kak Muna was the head of finance so she’d set the prices and we’d call people to stop. We’d also collect rambutans, tied them up with rubber band or ropes and sold them at 20 sen. Sometimes we’d put the rambutans at ‘Kedai Panjang’ a sundry shop near Clifford School which is a walking distance away from Rumah Tok. 

Our business acumen did not just revolve around selling fruits. If you’ve seen the film Seniman Bujang Lapok, there was a scene when a Chinese man came to buy used newspapers and bottles. Remember that? Well, there was this Chinese man whom we called ‘Apek’ who would come to Rumah Tok on weekly basis to purchase those kinds of things. Because the family was fond of eating rice with kicap (black soy sauce) we’d have the bottles kept so that we could sell them to the Apek. He bought the bottles for 5 sen each. We’d also rummage through the house to find used aluminium products. Once, we found an aluminium pot at the back of the kitchen and sold it to the Apek. We got 30 sen for the pot. That was gold for us! Later that night, Mak told us that Wan was still using the pot! But all was well because we used it for sale. Hahaha. 

In the mornings, when we woke up early enough, we could follow Tok to town. He’d drive his Morris Minor and parked outside the rail sidings. Then we’d cross the rail tracks to the Kuala Lipis rail station. Tok would buy his Utusan Melayu from the vendor at the station. Then he’d take us to a Chinese restaurant just outside the station, for breakfast. There was a Malay man selling roti canai at that restaurant. The restaurant owner sold only drinks and toasts. Tok would order hot Milo for us, pour the Milo onto the saucers and we’d sip the Milo from the saucers. Then we’d head on to the post office where Tok would pay his bill. Afterwards we’d go to the market to buy supplies for the day.

Kuala Lipis Railway Station. Gone were the days where this place was the hustle and bustle of this small town.

Tok didn’t eat frozen fish. He’d buy fresh fish from local vendors and also vegetables. His favourite was red spinach. When it was cooked, the soup would turn red and we’d drink the soup as if it was syrup. Tok also reared his own chicken. Whenever he felt like having chicken for meal, he’d slaughter the chicken himself. Yeah, we hardly ate frozen food then. Probably that was why we were very healthy when we were kids. 

Mak would order fresh cow milk from a Punjabi who reared his own cows in Batu 2 (second mile). Every night, the Punjabi would come to deliver the milk. Two bottles of freshly squeezed milk. Mak would heat the milk until it simmered and made us drank it before we went to bed. I hated the taste of the milk even after Mak put some sugar in it. But Abang liked it. 

Kuala Atok – place of more adventures

Before we were of school age, Mak would ‘export’ us back to Kuala Atok where her elder sister resided. Mak Long as we fondly called her, was like a second mother to us. Kuala Atok was a small village in between Kuala Lipis and Raub. Pak Long, her husband, was a retiree from the Royal Malay Regiment. They tended a piece of paddy field just next to a small stream. Well, at that time I thought the stream was quite big but when I visited the place again some time ago, I realised that it was just a small stream. 

We’d have the time of our lives when we were in Kuala Atok. Such freedom! We’d accompany Mak Long and Pak Long to the paddy field. Abang was brave enough to get into the field and helped them to plant. I didn’t dare go in for fear of the big fat leeches, especially when I saw blood oozing from Pak Long’s leg once when he was bitten. Ewww! So I’d just sit by the side. Mak Long gave me a task that is to pull a string which tied some empty cans together. Every time I pulled the string, the cans would knock into each other making a loud noise to scare the birds away. But most of the time I’d fallen asleep. Who wouldn’t? It was out in the open, under the shades of trees with gentle breeze blowing softly. I bet anyone would have dozed off to sleep in that condition. 

When they finished working in the field, Pak Long and Mak Long would take us to the stream for a bath! The moment that we had been waiting for. But it was frustrating sometimes, when we went to the stream quite late in the evening. Then we didn’t get to spend much time splashing around. Mak Long had never allowed us to go to the stream on our own, without any adults. So we had to wait for them to complete their chores or went there with my cousins whenever they were home. If my cousins were home we could go there early in the morning and bathed until late noon. At times Mak Long had to shout for us to come home. 

Gasoline lamp (photo credit: www.irjune.blogspot.com)

When it got dark, we’d watch in awe as Pak Long pumped the gasoline light. We’d shout with joy when the dark suddenly turned bright once it was lighted. Those were the days when such a simple thing could bring much joy.

When it was harvest season, we’d watch Pak Long work to split the paddy from its straw. Then Mak Long would get a few ladies from the village to help her pound the rice. They’d use two types of mortar i.e. the big one and also the small one. Harvest season turned into a feast for the villagers.

Us kids would just make ourselves busy around the elders. Sometimes they’d get us to help. Sometimes they’d just shoo us away. But I’ll tell you what, freshly pounded rice flakes tastes so good! And no, we don’t eat them with milk like corn flakes. We ate it just like that, mixed with some sugar.

Legs are used to work this mortar to lift it up and down. Good exercise for the legs! (photo credit: http://www.wikiwand.com/ms/Lesung)!

This mortar is used by taking turns to pound the paddy in the hole, using the long pole. If they sycronised, it could sound like music. Good exercise for the hands! (photo credit: http://rumpunhajiismaildansaudah.blogspot.my/2014/05/lesung.html)

Bigger and merrier feast in the village were weddings! Weddings in the village involved almost everyone from as early as two weeks before the big day. They would make all sorts of preparations together, especially cooking and setting up the ‘balai’. Balai is a makeshift cover for people to cook, usually set up at the back of the house and for guests to eat, at the front. In the olden days, the balai was set up with wooden stilts and zinc roof. At times they use tree trunks or bamboo for the stilts. Nowadays setting up balai took only just a few hours using steel pole and canvas. 

However, those were merry times. You’d see how everyone from the village converged to help each other for many days and many nights just to celebrate a wedding. 

For me and Abang, those times only meant that we’d have more friends to play with and more food to eat!

-to be continued-

Life and Death

Seems like I have not been keeping my own part of the deal to keep this Blog going. I should have used it to pen down my thoughts and my feelings. But I have been turning to Facebook in doing all that nowadays though this Blog has always been on my mind. 

I wrote in 2015 that 2016 was going to be a year of HOPE. In way, it has. 

This photo was captured in 2015

Alhamdulillah, all praises to Allah, I managed to secure a job in the middle of the year. Based in Johor where my family resides. I thought all was well until I had to travel more often than I thought I would. Not only because of my work but also because I had to attend to my elder brother.

Sadly, he was diagnosed with cancer sometime in September. Stage 4! Not any kind of cancer, it was pancreatic cancer. One of the rarest kind. It was indeed a devastating news for all of us. He was in shock. So was I and my other siblings. How could we afford another loss after all those years trying to get over the sorrow of losing both my parents?  

Since my brother was a bachelor, I knew I had to be there for him to support and help him in anyway I could. Hence I travelled from JB to KL almost every other weekend to attend to him. That's over 600km to and fro. He started his chemotherapy session in October. Prior to that, we tried to look for other alternative treatment but they were too expensive. So my brother decided to go for chemo first. 

At first, he was put on the normal chemo regime for 6 cycles. Every cycle would require him to undergo treatment once a week for three weeks. Then he'd go on 'break' for two weeks before he would go for the second cycle. However, he did only the first cycle before the Doctor at the ward asked him to go home and spend time with family. Just because the treatment has no effect on my brother! How insensitive. But the Head of Oncology asked him to be put on another regime. This time, my brother had to take the chemo pouch home for 48 hours every alternate week. There was quite an improvement. 

Unfortunately, my brother became weaker and weaker by the weeks. He couldn't eat very much. What he did was drink milk made for diabetics. Every now and then he'd ask me to buy some food but when I put them in front of him he just won't touch it. People said that's what chemo did for patients. It kills their appetite. 

My brother passed away on 20th March 2017. Most people thought that he fought the Big C in a matter of 6 months, because that was when he got to know about it. But I knew and the Head of Oncology said it himself, that he's been having this dreadful thing for almost 2 years before he was diagnosed. 

Laid to rest.

I was indeed a very sad moment for me and my two younger brothers. We've lost yet another family member. But who are we to deny his fate? 

My brother was laid to rest in line with my parents' grave. Our family and his friends were there to bid him farewell. They were there when he breathed his last breath at the hospital. Others gave tribute to him through his Facebook timeline and also through their own Blogs. It was so heart wrenching. I didn't know that my brother had contributed so much to the creative industry. 

So, 2016 was indeed a Hopeful year because we were hopeful that my brother would overcome the Big C. Finally he succumbed to it in 2017. 

Us. 1971.

In trying to make this year an awesome year, I have to face this challenge of getting over my brother's passing. It's not as easy as it seems. Me and my brother was only 11 months apart. He was my best friend and my foe since we were kids. Most people don't understand how it feels. Only those who have lost their loved ones one after the other would feel the pain. So yes, I am still in grieve although it has been more than a month. Given time, I will get over this sinking feeling. Insya Allah. 

As a Muslim, I have to move on with life. Yet I can't forget that soon, my time will also come to join my parents and my brother wherever they are. I have to live my life as it is while at the same time make the effort to increase my investment for the hereafter. For that's where my final destination will be.  

AMRI ROHAYAT BIN AHMAD RANI (2/10/1968 - 20/3/2017)

May Allah bless his soul and place him among the righteous. May Allah ease this sorrow and grieve that I am feeling and place it with His never ending love, forgiveness and mercy. 

Amiinnn.


On the News

Five Years in Summary

Soon, very soon, 2015 is going to leave us. And soon, very soon, 2016 will come a knocking.

Reflecting on my life the past 6 years, this is to summarise it:
2010 - Anger & Frustration
2011 - Repentance
2012 & 2013 - Sadness
2014 - Trying Hard To Forget
2015 - Peace & Coming Home

For 2016, I place my hope. So it'll be a year of Hope.

Reflection

Tonight I had the chance to reflect on my life. I mean, really reflect.

I have carried this hurt, this pain, this frustration and this disappointment for 20 years. Yes, that is a long time. In suffering those feelings, I became angry and laid it out on other people. I wasn't being a happy person. I wasn't being me. I blamed it on those who have hurt me, those whom I consider the cause of this hurt, this pain, this frustration, this disappointment. People often say "time would heal". I can't deny that. Yes, time would heal. But it took me 20 years! That was almost half my life.

I've wasted away my youth. I was trying to find 'true happiness' and yet, I led myself to being hurt one after another. Then I became a workaholic. I failed to see all the beautiful things that have happened to me along the way. I wasn't being ungrateful, no. I was only living my life on 'auto pilot' (if you know what I mean). I couldn't appreciate the life that I was living. How foolish of me.

Then, God gave me the opportunity to heal. He showed me how to find myself. Again. I am glad. Because then I was able to really get it into my head and my heart that all these while, it wasn't those people who made my life miserable. It was me. I failed to understand that it was all fated. Written in my Book long before I was put into my mother's womb. I know about it, but I failed to make my thoughts and my feelings understand it. But since God has opened my heart to Him, I finally do understand. The feeling was like coming out to the open after being shut in a dark room. Everything became clear to me. And I really felt like a bonehead!

As Jennifer Steed would have put it, I "came home". I am now at peace. I am myself. I am so grateful that Allah has given me this chance yet again to find my true path. Allah is the AlMighty. He made everything happen according to His Qudrah and Iradah. Indeed, He has given me everything that I NEED. And I realise that now. And I pray that He will guide me on the right path til the day I go back to Him. Insya Allah.

‪#‎AllahKnowsBest‬

Soul Search

I have to admit, ever since I quit my job in December 2014, I have been a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM). I send my kids to school, pick them up, do the laundry and cook.

Day after day, it becomes monotonous. Most of the time I'll be wondering what to cook because I've been cooking the same dish day after day. However, I am grateful that my husband and my kids are not picky eaters. They will eat whatever I serve on the table. Though sometimes they will request what dish they want me to cook. And I would oblige.

I have also been praying and reading the Al Quran. A realisation came to me when I was warded in the hospital on the second day of Ramadhan. I realised that I have not been a good servant. When I was working, I didn't take care of my prayers. Most of the time I didn't complete the five times.

But since Ramadhan, I have been praying and reading the Al Quran so much that I think I prayed and read the Al Quran verses more in these few months than I ever did in the past years. How ignorant can I be, huh?

Apart from that, I have also been very grateful for what I have in life and I'll tell God that I am grateful. Even though I now have less money than I had before, I think now I have what I haven't had before (or what I haven't been truly grateful for) and that is my family.

Self Worth

I've never thought about my self worth before. I've been working for other people since I was 21 years old, after being unemployed for three months upon my graduation.

I started out as an Officer, because the company wanted to "test me out". My salary then was only RM800. I didn't mind, so long as I was given the opportunity to work. My first task was to do filing. Lots and lots and lots of Bills of Lading. The staff was too busy with their daily chores that they didn't have the time to file all the copies. I did that, for almost a month.

Then the Business Development Manager, who recruited me, wanted me to work on some Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) for the Documentation Department. I worked on that for a few months, compiled everything and showed it to him. He was quite impressed (I guess, because not long after I was promoted to Executive even though my probation period wasn't over yet). Then I got a raise. I think it was about RM1200. From then on, I developed myself horizontally. Meaning, I worked as an Executive but in different fields. During my tenure with the first company, they gave me a lot of opportunity to learn other things apart from my core function as a Documentation Executive. I was tasked to handle cargo claims and also reporting.

After about 11 years, when I was in a different company, I was promoted to a Managerial level. I remained as a Manager for almost 14 years. Again, in different functions. Still, I couldn't value my self worth. Because I was working for other people.

In December 2010 I went to this seminar called the Millionaire Mind Intensive (MMI), which is one of T. Harv Eker's signature programs. I became enthralled by the seminar so I signed up for their 'Quantum Leap' program. That entitled me to five other training programs. I'm telling you that the way they conducted all their trainings are so much different from the 'conventional' trainings aka 'classroom' trainings. After 4 years being in and out of their programs, I finally realised that my self worth is much much higher than I could ever imagined. But of course, all the experiences and trainings that I was put through in all those years working for others did add to the value.

This is my take about self worth:
When we work for other people, we are working under the 'direction' of others i.e. our immediate Superior, the Management and the Company as a whole. So we don't have the privilege to set our own dreams. Even the goals that we have to achieve, the KPIs that we set on monthly or yearly basis, are the goals set by the Company. Is it true or true?

At the same time, we are also confined to the 'mercy' of the Company. How much increment we will get, what kind of promotion, how much is the bonus, how far up can we go, et cetra, et cetra. We don't really have the opportunity to explore our own journey. Everything was already set for us. So even when we think that we have done our best or that we have 'sacrifice' our time and effort for the company, we might not get the promotion that we've been dreaming of just because the Company decided we are not fit to be upgraded. Even when we have worked the entire year without taking any medical leave or annual leave, we still didn't get that maximum bonus because the Company "said so". Or maybe because the Superior didn't like us or couldn't stand our guts. I mean, these things do happen. Can you relate to what I'm saying here?

So our self worth is determined by the amount of salary that we get every month. With the stress, the lesser time we have to spend with our loved ones and the small percentage that we actually got from the pay to spend on luxury items for ourselves, decreases our self worth even more. Sometimes, when we get frustrated with the way the Company treated us, we tend to rebel or look for a job in other Companies just to find that they are all the same. How many of you have felt and done this before? Well, I did, too.

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If you ask me what did I get out of the training programs that I've been to, my answer is "I've finally found my self worth". I can't tell you the benefits that I've reaped in terms of Ringgit and Sen (because I did not take massive actions after each trainings and I've just started doing that since October last year), but I can tell you that I have managed to find myself and realise that I can do much more than what I have done before. I can't quantify that. Its priceless. Totally priceless. I love and appreciate myself more compared to the last 25 years. I began to pursue those dreams that I've dreamt before but too scared to make the move. I finally worked on my Life Plan. Seriously worked on it and followed through with it every single day. I only have 5 years to make my Vision a reality. But as people are saying "It's never too late".

I now know that I have what it takes to achieve my dreams. I will do whatever it takes to fulfill my dreams. Nobody can say that it is right or it is wrong, because these are my dreams.




My Life Plan - target for accomplishment in 5 years