because love's the is so wonderful that i couldn't ask for more than this.

41. Miss Kitty Skechers

Posted in A Series of Misfortunate Events by justlikeasugar on June 17, 2017

​Kitty Skechers: Salam gerls

I nak cakap but jgn shock ok

between us

KotakPermataHati: Yes?

Ada apa KS?

Mycallalillies: Yes dear..

Everything ok?

KS: I dun noe who to share onli u gerls doctor

KPH: Apa doa KS

KS: Doctor diagnose growth ony kidney cancer 90%

I don want my family know da banyak the go tru

Especially Princess having PSLE.

Just like that.

That feeling where it is like  you are being lifted 200-storey high building by a lifting crane sans safety gear and without any warning; the crane grab just release you to plunge to your end.

The bad part?

This is the second news about a loved’s one whose condition taking a turn for the worse. First was knowing Abah’s latest medical condition post-emergency surgery. And now; this.

The worst part?

It is not even middle part of the year, yet.

Ya Allah ya Rabb, please fulfill my wish of making through this year with my loved ones.



40. The Name(sake) Game

Posted in A Series of Misfortunate Events by justlikeasugar on May 26, 2017

While I always love self-appointing myself as Mrs Takuya Kimura/Julian Farhat/Ville Vallo (Disclaimer: Well, it is the truth… except they don’t know it… yet) – purely to annoy the hell out of everyone; what remains one of my treasured possessions is my own name.

Ironically; I grew up feeling the opposite.

I was not sure how the dislike came about.

Maybe finding out my name does not mean anything in Islamic context upset me a great deal then.

KotakPermataHati: But my name does not have any meaning too.

Nyah, you have a cool short name; which means a gemstone. To a shallow ten-year old self of me; when you have a name that does not carry good nor bad meaning, it counts for something.

It does not help being surrounded by friends and relatives who have either a) one-word names with good meaning or b) two-word names with even better meaning.

When I was in Primary 6; most of my classmates have names with that begins with a “Nur” light or a “Siti” lady.

Most of my cousins’ names begin with a “Nur”, even TJ. Hell; even the meaning behind TJ’s name (Light of My Eye) kicks way better ass than mine. 

It made me wondered if there was a particular fad about naming your daughter a “Nur” or a “Siti” going on in the 80s’ and my parents might have missed the memo.

Or maybe because my name is subsceptible to name-calling. Most common one was buah kana. Worst one was a particular word that rhyme with a certain Hokkien expletive; thanks but no thanks but to short-tongued friends by no coincidence, all belongs to the majority race.

Countless of times; Mama would recount to me of the origin of my name. That it is a modified name from the combination of Abah’s name and Mama’s pet name.

Can you imagine if my name is Satina.

I can’t either.

Hence; the slight tweak though in all honesty; even Mama thought the alphabet h was a waste of space.

Serena, is mostly how they pronounce my name anyways.

However; another belying story behind my name is that the name was supposed to be something else.

My Obe proposed Nuraini surprise surprise while Mama was particularly keen on Nur Ashikin.

These two names were immediately canned by Abah. He stressed that a good name must be given; contradicting himself later when he gave TJ her name. The real reason he never concede to Mama’s request was because… Nur Ashikin was the name of his ex.

Oh… Macam gitu kah?..

Possibly; it is due to the fact I was always reminded that I frequently fell sick due to my name. The Muslim community believes in giving good affable names to your newborns for obvious reasons; the Malay community believes that sometimes a name is “heavy” for that baby to carry; hence they will give other names to counteract the effect.

While I am called Ina by everyone, I am known as Ani to my paternal side.

Both names reek old school too.

How do I counteract the situation?

By asking and when I say “asking”, I meant forcing friends to address me as Siti Musliha when I was a tween. Or Waqin, where I was a teen.

Friends; they actually concede to my request. Good, well-intentioned friends entertained me to such extent before they bakul me.

SH: Siti Musliha? I think your name suits you better.

This comes from someone whose name starts with Siti.

QB: Honestly; I prefer Ina to Waqin. Anytime of the day.

HS: Your name suits your strong personality.

The last one is, of course, one of the many gems from the sister itself:

TJ: Seriously, Kak. I can’t imagine if your name is not Sarinah. Other name does not suits you.

(Then came the punchline which double served as a TKO)

Bitchy name for a bitchy sister.

Haramjad sungguh.

By saying that not only did she reinforced the love-hate sisterhold we shared back then; she also reinforced one of the bad habits from our paternal gene of which when one family member was down, you showed love by kicking that person harder to the pedestal until that person realise there was no way that person go lower except to climb back up.

I did not know whether I should accept it as an insult. Or a compliment. But the silent grudge I held against my parents for giving that name continued until I came across an article when I was twenty-one years old.

By then; I already knew what my name meant in other languages. I reconciled with the fact that my name is their first and one of the best presents my parents gave and I should wear it proudly like a medal.

Before Encik; I had plans of adopting a child since I was nineteen as I did not see marriage on the cards due to then-career aspirations.

If it is a baby boy, I will name him Luqman (Wise), calling him Loki for short. If it is a girl; the name of my favourite grandmother, Habiba (Beloved) was a shoo-in; calling her Bib for short.

You know what they say about how things will never work out in one’s favour.


When Encik happened; we came to a compromise when it came to naming the kids: he call the dibs on the name if it is a baby boy, and I, if it is a baby girl. It was an uneasy compromise on my part because if I gave birth to all sons, I would be biting my fingers in frustration. If I gave birth to all daughters, I would still bite my fingers in frustration because of the unreasonable guilt that Encik did not have a say in naming his kids.

At least if there is the other thing we agreed on is that we are both equally lazy enough to give only one-word names to the kids.

I was not even half into my first pregnancy that I realised this naming issue would be hard.

It is not only one of the parents’ prime responsibilities to their newborn child, it is something that is not to be treated with triviality.

The Holy Prophet has said:

“It is the responsibility of every father to choose a good name for his child.”1

“The children have three rights over their fathers. The first is that they are given good names. Secondly, they are provided good education; and lastly, they help them to select good spouses.”2

Encik is too well aware that I was only six months into my pregnancy that we finally gave a name to the Pahdawan.

Before; I had suggested Matin, Luqman, I remembered pushing for Syed. Just as quickly as Abah had canned the name Nur Ashikin; Encik had done the same, stating the names did not seem to gel.

On the other hand the name of a person has a lot of social significance too. It is his name, which gets recognition to a person that he belongs to a respectable family. If the parents have high regard for a well-known poet, they may name their child after him. If the parents are fond of high learning they may select the name of a reputed scholar.

The highly religious parents name their children after the prophets, the Imams and other religious personalities. If the parents desire their children to struggle in the cause of the faith, they name them after Muhammad, ‘Ali, Hasan, Husayn, Abul Fadhl, Abbas, Hamza, Jaffar, Abu Dharr, Ammar, Saeed etc.

The name came after the realisation that Pahdawan would stop kicking in my stomach whenever we switched on to listen to our favourite Qari’s recital. Of course; it is also done with the hopes of emulating the Qari’s good attributes and also; the other meanings of the name as well.

I thought Encik was being too fickle-minded for taking too long. It was not until I found out I was carrying a girl during my second pregnancy that I realised… It is that hard.

Initially; I wanted to stick to the name Habiba and be done with all the hassle.

However; as the pregnancy progresses, I seemed to detach farther from the name as various choices of names started shoving themselves in my face.

If the parents are enamored of any sport they like to name their children after renowned players of that sport. Similarly if the parents appreciate the art of any musician, they may prefer to name their child after that person.

It’s like chilli crab, medium-rare Angus steak, lamb chops, assam pedas sting-ray, spring chicken, Charcos ribs and your other favourite foods all spread out on the table but you have to choose one.

Humaira. Aaisya. Ayse. Inaya. Shereen.

I don’t really think much about flowers in general.

While I taken a shine to daisies or sunflowers (someone in Facebook pointed out those flowers are commonly used as wreaths in funerals), I never thought much about orchids either.

While they require little care and can grow anywhere; but caring for them is leceh, worse than when you are caring for other flowers. Plus the orchid is an unforgiving fragrant-less flower.

Surprisingly; the only time I took fancy to them and paid serious attention was when I was carrying Srikandi in my stomach.

The flowers seemed to be everywhere and in abundance, shoving their existence  to my face everywhere.

As wallpapers with variety of colours on few engineers’ desktops when I passed by their department.

When I passed by neighbourhood.

Or reading some magazines.

When I was watching Sepet re-runs. Or how the late Orkid Abdullah’s Penawar Rindu seemed to air more frequently of late.

Another name came to mind too when the name of the person whose smooth rendition of the Asmaul Husna always air on the mornings of FM 94.2 Warna radio station.

Ilma Plojovic.

Ilma vs Orked.

Knowledge vs Resilient Flower.

It was a tough fight but looking at the status quo; it was not easy coming to a decision.

Ilma was my initial choice.

Which parent does not want the best for their kids?

I want my kids to be smart; be it streets or books. I want my kids to grow up achieving their aspirations; both duniawi and ikhrawi. Parents spend their time – in my case; I spent the first three months eliminating many names and then next seven months tryin to decide I or O – poring over the names to give to their kids in the hopes of their kids emulating the virtues and goodness deriving from the names.

Realistically; growing up with my given name when my paternal family called me other name also made me realised I could not be ambitious either.

Ilma Abdul Malik.

It was unique as I had hoped for and a simple four-letter word name.

The knowledge of the servant of the King.

The meaning is great too.

But knowledge is a heavy word and I am very scared just like it happen with me; history will repeat itself.

When I decided to go with the other name; I chose it with the hope just as Srikandi emulating the resilience of the flower and the virtues of the Orkeds – fact & fiction (randomly… HIGHLIGHT’s title album) I have known.

All in all; from both kids, though at times, there are many “thunders and storms”, I get good temperament so far.

Eh… Only one word ah?


One word names as we; the parents of the kids and not, promised.

No Muhammad?


No Siti.


Why Orked? Should be Anggerik.

You’d be surprised at some things people said, as though they are the ones who gave birth to your kids.

But I let it slide.

Names are the least concern to me by now. Responsibility as a parent does not stop after you give them their names. The next (and definitely the hardest one) is raising them up to be responsible, good individuals.

In shaa Allah.

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39. Dumb(…Not!) Ways To Die

Posted in A Series of Misfortunate Events by justlikeasugar on May 19, 2017

Just like any other public uproar; Singapore is slowly quietening herself down as normalcy resumes.

That is until the next furore is triggered.

Never had a Presidential dismissal for clemency petition spark so much controversy and bring about split opinions.

Or churn out obvious conspiracy theories.

Muhammad Ridzuan Md Ali – a drug trafficker – was executed by hanging at 5am this morning.

Full story here.

To me; witnessing people’s reactions evoke two strong emotions in me: disappointment and resolve.

Disappointed that some of my friends can be so judgemental.

He know it is an offence, but he choose to do it… It is his own undoing.

If he succeed in bringing in the stuffs; he is causing more addicts to breed.

The last one does not make sense to me.

Taking for example; JJ (no, not Joned Jellyfish) who is doing time in DRC; will be released but via tagging. He had written us a letter; explaining why he did it.

It was never for fun.

Recalling excerpts from Mr Russell Brand’s moving tribute to the late Amy Winehouse;

The priority of any addict is to anaesthetise the pain of living to ease the passage of the day with some purchased relief.

Having said that; I am also sure if given the chance no one wants to be a trafficker. 

We are what we are by circumstances and not by choices.

Like me being stuck in a Sales line. Then again; this is not about me.

It amuse me how forgetful some people that they have kids of their own to be condemning the late Mr Ridzuan’s parents for not taking Mr Ridzuan in hand until it is too late.

Ladies and gentlemen; he was twenty five when he was caught.


He is not five years old.

Or sixteen.

Or twenty-one; but twenty-five.

According to Islamic law; he is four years way past his parents’ obligations. He had the ability to think and differentiate the rights from the wrongs.

Two wrongs do not make a right.

Again; we do not do the actual story except what the social media dictates. Hell. We did not even hear his side of story.

So, who are we to condemn his parents?

It made me resolve to form a closer bond with the people around me; especially with my family of four and specially with the kids.

It never occurred to me that the gravest danger—to him and, as it turned out, to so many others—might come from within.
(Susan Klebold)

We want the best for our kids; so much so we grit our teeth to protect them from the world.

Often; we forget they need protecting from themselves the most.

I can only pray fervently that though things might get difficult but at least my kids trust me enough to approach me with the problems they are facing in future.

So no; I do not get the condemning part.

Hate the sin, not the sinner…

… Although; it is a different story if the sin is adultery.


I was affected in a way I could never imagined; the late Ridzuan might have been someone I have worked with in my teens.

His face upon further scrutiny was faintly familiar. Lately, I found myself wondering what happened to my former LJS colleagues

I found myself praying hard that my Ridzuan and the late Ridzuan were not the same person. I am fervently praying that my Ridzuan has successfully become a skateboarder; just like he aspired to.

Back to the late Ridzuan; asides from the possibility I might be affliated to him in the past, I could not help feeling envy at his demise.

We all know nothing is constant except Death, and Death, itself, is a certainty.

We just do not know when Death beckons when our time is up. It is something which I find myself questioning.

Do not get me wrong.

I am not afraid of Death.

To quote Dumbledore;

“After all, to the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.”

But if I want to go for my next great adventure; I have to make sure I am spiritually ready for it.

I worry if I am performing my prayers properly and if so; are my prayers being accepted by Allah swt.

I worry if I am able to repent in time and seek forgiveness from everyone.

I worry if I have taught my kids enough and leaving independent and wise intellects; both spiritually and mentally.

From hearsay; the late Ridzuan spent six years repenting spiritually, even managing to perform solat Taubat Nasuha  in his last few hours.


How many of us are actually given the luxury to know when we will go? And to be given time to be mentally and spiritually prepared in the face of Death.

Not many, I would say.

Both my maternal grandmother and Mama got their wish of not wanting to burden their loved ones’ during their last breath.

If I have to go; I want to choose easiest way where I don’t cause inconvenience to my loved ones.

At their passings; both did not have to undergo post-mortem.

I want to die doing the things I love.

For some friends; they prefer to die in their sleep.

A handful; on the road since they are hardcore riders.

Some do not have a preference; with one only saying as long as she has the time to recant the syahadah.

For me; if given a choice, I will want to take a leaf out of the late Qari Sheikh Ja’far Abdulrahman’s book, and go while reading the Quran, not neccessarily in front of many people though.

In my opinion; nothing is beautiful than being send of while your whole being is immersed with the words of Al-Quran.

In shaa Allah.

For we only plan; and He decides.

38. Booster

Posted in A Series of Misfortunate Events by justlikeasugar on May 10, 2017

For those times where I felt like dropping everything, packed my bags and buy one-way non-return ticket;

For those times where I wish I have a remote control where I can mute or pause or fast-forward their tantrums;

For those times where I found myself questioning if I am really cut out for parenthood;

Or that I should be given the responsibility to care for two kids.

For those times I found myself asking if I am doing the right thing as a mother.

As one of my heroes say:

… they (the children) not liking you is not terminal. It’s not going to last forever.

– Kristina Kuzmic

A little pat on my back and wishing myself a Happy Mothers’ Day and subtle flip to my hair to rediscovering me after the past critical four years.

37. A Chance

Posted in A Series of Misfortunate Events by justlikeasugar on May 1, 2017

A non-existent but wise man once said this:

Make your passion your profession, and work will become a game.

It is about making a living out of your passion; so that work becomes a game that excites and motivates you instead of turning into a routine that wears you down.

No other sister in this world is happier than me or TJ when Gendut finally secure a proper job. While this means TJ can now relax and have the luxury of entertaining the option of storming off from her workplace in fits of anger since there is another source of contribution to the household (does not involve mine of course); it is a bittersweet reflection on my part.

Gendut – in my opinion –  has always been an introvert; the quieter one among my siblings. In spite so; he is able to hold a conversation with any stranger; albeit if being approached. 

I could never forget the day I found him staring hard at a piece of paper. I swore if he stared any harder; the paper would have burst into flames. Turned out he was practising all the possible convos that might occur with the KFC operator when he wanted to order. (Ie. He lost to scissors-paper-stone and was made to do the ordering the first time).

That is how a unique character of my second sibling aka the third child of our family is.

While I am happy that he found a job where he can utilise his knowledge and his degree, I am not surprised that he chose to study and major in a line that involves minimal human interaction ie electrical engineering.

I’d be lying if I didn’t feel jealous that he found a job that suits his passion. How many people I knew had turned their passion into work?



One or two cousins. Or friends. Or even acquaintances.

While I get what Mr Rancho is trying to putacross; in reality,  most people – including yours truly have difficulty pursuing our respective trade of interests.

Just to name one or two examples:

  • TJ – A Diploma holder in Biochemical Engineering and major in Material Engineering during her NUS stint. Of course; she had intended to pursue what she had learnt.

However; the past few jobs she held specialises more to childcare and special needs childcare.

  • Me; how does someone who holds an Manufacturing Engineering ITC certificate ends up doing Sales; even in the interim of a Diploma in Logistics Management.

To my credit, it is not as if I have not tried applying for another position before; all callbacks lead back to the same line; regardless of industry: Sales.

In the end; it all boils down to two words: a chance.

If Burger Pimp had not taken a blind leap of faith by hiring me, I wonder if I continue flitting from one place to another; all within the F&B industry.

The answer will be an astounding yes and I will have hated office jobs basing on my shipyard work experience alone.

At the oddest times of the days; I wondered how my life would have turned out if:

  • I passed and got selected as Combat Engineer in the SAF or
  • I defy Mama to pursue engineering with SIA.
  • Even better; I scored enough credits for my ‘O’s to study Hotel Management (initial dream was to work at Abah’s alma mater; Hilton Hotel)
  • Or write and publish short stories as a ghost writer

Turning 35 years old in few months’ time; I guess I will never know.

Life is too short for regrets too.

However; I will not say I am at a sad place either.

When one door closes, another one opens.

For those times when things did not work in my favour; an alternate choice led me to a different path where it made me realise that the road less taken was well worth it too.

You know; all those movies or dramas about how the main protagonist fall from grace only to rise to glory and soar high?

What these screens did not highlight is Luck. Preferably; with heaps of blinding leap of faith.

Still; what reel and real life have in common boils down to these two words: a chance.

36. Wish You Were Here: Birds of Flightless Feathers

Posted in A Series of Misfortunate Events by justlikeasugar on April 29, 2017

Initially, it was a last-minute outing I did not planned on joining.

What happened to me in the last week of year 2017 is happening to Encik. While Encik has the part-time dispatch job to pull the family through until he finds a new job, comparative to me whose car license was not put to good use ie earning income via Grab/Uber just because I sucked Geography.

I felt indignant Encik was made to suffer the same; by no fault of his though as he was a victim to political plays at his own workplace. To the person who did this; I hope you sleep well at night.

It’s ok; if you did not get the retributions in Life, you can’t escape the Afterlife.

My mood was dampened further upon no interview callbacks; the enormity of having to tender two months’ weighing heavily on my shoulders.

Happiness can be found,

Even in the darkest of times,

If one only remembers to turn on the light

It is then I realised I am stressing myself for nothing.

Encik has repeatedly assured me he knows what he is doing, and I should trust him. And I should stop beating myself after rejecting a job offer, believing I can do so much better.

If the boon is meant to be mine; it will be mine eventually. No matter how long it takes.

After persuasion from Encik and self prep talk, we joined the outing with the usual suspects.

Weather was cloudy with streaks of drizzle.

The kids went wild at the wet playground; something normal and expected. While the Dads tend to their kids’ whims and fancies, the Mums sat a corner catching up over some nasi lemaks and roti boyans.

I swear; the adults easily lose 5 to 10kgs pushing pulling the strollers and wagons up and down the slope. The only saving grace is that Jurong Bird Park is relatively smaller than the Singapore Zoo so all that pushing pulling is not that bad.

Looking at the pictures taken, I realise there are so much to be grateful for.

The biggest killer of humanity is cancer of the mind.

35. The Most Much Missed Moment

Posted in A Series of Misfortunate Events by justlikeasugar on April 27, 2017

​this moment flows by liquid sapphire

silence like the blueness of the sea

no Earth below; no Sky above.

the rustling of the branches and leaves

whispering that only you are here

only me; my breath, and my heartbeat

depth like this (moment),

Loneliness like this (moment)

and me only me, and now I believe… 

I exist

– Imraan Qureshi (Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara)

… If anyone ever watched ZNMD and the scene where this particular gem of a poem came out (and I have to admit one of Farhan Akhtar’s brilliant masterpieces), or anyone who loves the sea, they will get what Imraan meant.

This is it.

A beach vacation is a must-to-do this year.

If there are no new callbacks, make that two beach vacays.

34. When A Scientific Progress Goes Boink

Posted in A Series of Misfortunate Events by justlikeasugar on March 26, 2017

Susie: I see you’re bringing a glove today. Did you sign up for recess baseball? 

Calvin: Yeah, don’t remind me. You’re lucky that girls don’t have to put with this nonsense. If a girl doesn’t want to play sports, that’s fine! But if a guy doesn’t spend his afternoon chasing some stupid ball, he’s called a wimp! You girls have it easy!

Susie: On the other hand, boys aren’t expected to live their lives twenty pounds underweight.

– Calvin & Hobbes (Scientific Progress Goes “Boink”)

75 kgs.


That is what I going to announce to the world from now about my current weight I am scaling on the weighing scale. Or at least to any brave (and foolish) Tom, Dick or Harry asking me about my weight.

Actually, I am few kgs shy from 75kgs but since I have passed the 70kg range, why not?

Since I am slightly obese according to BMI itself, why don’t I take a notch futher and declared myself totally obese?


I am taking a piss out of myself.


Because I have reached an ultimatum. I have decided that I do not really want to bother anymore.

I have always struggled with my body weight for as long as I live. Other people wish they are taller.

Or shorter.

Or prettier.

Or unique.

For once; I wish my weight will align with the Body Mass Index. This used to be doable with constant exercise, long-distance runs and before the gublets came along.

I could not say when, but I could safely vouch this insecurity came about due to, thanks but no thanks to the women surrounding my life.

When you put me in a room of my late mum, my sister, women cousins and relatives, it is very easy to tell who have inherited the Saids’ (paternal) genes and who have inherited the Alis’ (maternal) genes.

Lucky me, I have the “best” of both worlds. When I said “best”, think of genetic big-boned structure and big hips put together and voila!, you get Ina Salleh.

My late mother; for all the saint and lovely woman that she was, was never subtle in reminding and comparing her body size to mine when I hit my twenties.

Kau belum kahwin, badan dah gini. Aku yang dah anak dua badan takda pun macam gini.

I would be lying if that particular statement did not bother me.

Coupled that with having to wake up to a sister who is way better and improvised version of you (ie tall, slim), and cousins who are of similiar built; I was almost tempted to talk myself into believing I was adopted and my real identity was that I was the long-lost daughter of some sumo warrrior from a long lost sumo dynasty.

Or that in future (nowhere to be seen hor), all these people will grow ridiculously fat by their own designs, maybe even fatter than me.

Such were the stuffs of self-deprecating moments were made of.

Big efforts were made to stay in shape.

Swimming, long-distances runs, investing in good hours of sleep and even counting calories.

Ironically; I realised I lose the most through swimming, when I am just swimming the laps at my own flow than pressuring the laps through or running.

Back then; maintaining weight was doable until the gublets come along.

Plan out a good exercise routine.

Where I could easily allocate three days out of a week for swimming before, doing the same now is complete suicide. Work – which never fail to burn me out by 4.30pm – and Time –  a luxury that I am unable to afford by now, mentally and physically drain me.

Regardless of where I am, who I am with; the moment the clock strikes 6.30pm, I became restless as worms placed on a heating frying pan and equally anxious to reach home.

It is not to say I am sitting idle once I am home. I practise specific Yoga poses, go for some occassional runs.

However; both combine have never replace the special spot I reserve for heart: swimming.

It is like suffering a bad break-up from the one person whom you are meant to be with.

Healthy diet.

Our bodies remain one of the greatest mysteries which we will never know or understand its inner workings.

Unless if you are a doctor.

Then again; even a doctor is not a God in spite of them trying to be one.

You can ask me to sell a kidney or any body parts in the black market but when it comes to food, I am not baiting an eyelid.

A food lover; and proud of it, I am not a fan of cobb salad or those extreme tried-and-tested diet regime. Although I can vouch that the meal substitute, Herbalife, does work wonders but the cost of 1 can is realistically unsustainable yearly let alone monthly

Back then; I believe in eating in moderation. There was one incident where my former colleague, Lady Joy, sounded me out for eating in healthy portion and amazed both ourselves with our findings.

Her: Amazed with my ability to last until the next meal.

Me: Amazed with her ability to grab something in between before next meal or eat with filling stomach before next meal.

I was wondering how a human could eat so much until the answer itself slapped me hard on the face after giving birth to Pahdawan. As much as I tried; I totally stopped after Srikandi came.

Mimi-Chan: I am fat.

Me: Nah, look at me. Worse.

Mimi-Chan: But at least you are a mother of two.

It was not until these words that I realised being a mother of two should not be an excuse to give up and just let go.

Since controlling food is out of portion, I opt for the next best thing: substituting for healthier options.

Bye bye to good filling breakfast.

Hello to Quaker Oats.

Bye bye to coffee breaks.

Hello to plain water.

Bye bye to whole full plate of rice laden with dishes for dinner.

Hello to less rice and more healthy snacks or fruits for dinner, accompanied by Ovaltine.

I am still not sorry for not choosing to opt for cobb or corny or cheesy salad route. If you can stomach it, hats off to you.

Invest in good hours of sleep.

Prior to marriage, I did not get to clock in long hours of sleep.

Ironically after the gublets came along; most days, I easily TKO (and that is saying something) while putting the kids to bed. Maybe it is being mesmerised by their angelic faces as I watch them sleep. Besides, it is the only time I can do. Realistically, combined with the morning madness of sending the kids to school prior to work and having to slog mentally for 8 hours at work before going through the evening chaos of reaching home will not only drain me but any other people.

But sleeping early does not mean having uninterrupted sleep. I am sure every parent know what I mean and I am just going to leave it at that.

Result is noticeable.

Old clothes no longer feel like an overload overstuffed dumpling skin.

The tightened sensation on the chest seem to lessen.

I do not suffer from breathlessness, something which happened few weeks ago.

The scale do not go down though.

To say I felt disheartened is an understatement. To say I feel like banging my head repeatedly against the wall is more apt.

It feels like I miss out something.

Until I saw this.


Pic Credit: Pink (Instagram)

Talk about the much-needed boost when you needed it.

It made me realised people would rather see what is in front of them instead of going extra step by putting themselves in that other person’s running shoes or bothering to see the efforts.

Besides; the reason I am doing it is not to please anyone except myself. Especially if it means living long enough to see the Gublets getting married or even seeing my grandkids.

So; this is it.

75 kgs will be my weight from now.

Maybe I will add 10 kgs yearly.

Next year, I will tell everyone my weight is 85kg.

33. When a 64GB SD Card Goes Boink..

Posted in A Series of Misfortunate Events by justlikeasugar on March 2, 2017

System down.

Two words.

Yet; the ripples of chaos these two words brought about hardly went unnoticed.

When the company server is down.

When the wi-fi server is down.

When the network server is down.

Same difference.

When it comes to gadgets and electronical appliances; I often feel a sense of forebodance whenever self-reflection struck. By no sheer coincidences; these realisations often happened whenever… the system is down.

Everything is going electronically digitalised these days to keep up with the ever changing world. Phones are upgraded to smartphones to keep up with the constantly changing technology in order cater to the convenience of humane population.

Like everything else though; with pros; there are cons attached to it too.

The obvious one is how it has affected the vital core of a human being: knowledge storage in the human brain.

Gone are the good old days where you have to pore over books in the library or your thick dictionary or thesaurus to search for meanings of words, idioms or even adjectives.

With Google engine hits matching our search for information too easily; knowledge proved to be too easily obtainable that we took it for granted.

I am not sure about you but personally; having information available easily on my fingertips piles on my nerves. Comparatively to poring over books and articles to learn gather information and having to search online; I found myself able to recollect what I have gathered manually painstakingly as compared to something I read online.

Maybe it is just me.

I have come to realise the more I read or stored something online; the more I frustrated myself trying to recall it.

Talking about reading; I am not surprised if reading a newspaper or the paperback novel of Dan Brown’s latest offerings might just be a thing of a past. With the emergence of Kindle in the midst of the environmental race to save the trees; publishers have started to jump on the electronical bandwagon to keep up with the consumer demands.

Maybe it is just me but reading a book in its paperback glory is more appealing than reading it in a softcopy form in a Kindle. There is something letting your imagination loose and unfold as your finger turned to the next page; while the musty familiar smell of the paper assault your senses as you delve further in the book.

While someplace nearer to our homes which exemplifies the constant need to keep up with the digital age is our workplace.

Typewriters were mercilessly replaced by computers before being rendered totally obsolete by desktops and laptops. Faxes are kept minimal and neccessary to make way for scanned copies. In fact; some companies have adopted the method of scanning documents and saving them in a centralised database instead of filing the same documents in the normal way on some A4 files

Of course; in order to regulate all these, we are one network server away before stepping into the virtual workplace. 

In our home; that network server is known as the wi-fi. Often more than not; the wi-fi occupies the kids’ time, giving me allowance to do household routine in peace. Before any of you started lecturing me on the dangers of kids being exposed to electronic gadgets; I admit I was not proud of it.

Funnily; it had been agreed that electronic gadgets were never considered in our parenting method. Everything was ok until out of the blue; the Pahdawan grabbed my old mobile phone and bossily grunted to me to open some nursery rhymes for him. Attempts to retrieve the phone was futile and when the Srikandi came along; it was a Gublet-see, Gublet-do deal.

By the time we reached to this point of the entry; you readers must be wondering why I was waxing lyrical about the digital age and electronical gadgets.

This was because I was super pissed.

Last night as it was; I was not feeling well and did not report to work.

After the consultation with the doctor; I KO-ed after the medication with the mobile phone. Imagine to my rude shock to wake up to this message prompt on my Asus which I reached out to check for missed calls/messages.

Unable to detect your SD Card. This phone does not support your SD Card Format.

Yes, I was that pissed.

This marked the second time an SD card lucked on me. And with storage of 64Gb even.

It was not so much of the amount I spent on that card; if anything I mourned for the loss of datas I had painstaking stored inside. the documents, pictures I had painstakingly amassed during the period.


Just like that.

It irked me when it concerned the pictures I took over the years; especially of the gublets starting from the time they were borne. And the quotes or memes I saved after scrolling down my FB newsfeed knowing I would never come across them again even if my whole life depended on it. And the Music folder which had stored so many mp3 files I had painstakingly compiled over the years.

The keyword here is “painstakingly”.

It was like the SD Card decided to grow a pair and decided to be a pain by committing hara-kiri just to prove a point to my face.

Eh… You never back up in Google Drive, meh?

Good question.

I certainly did not.

It was already bad we are enslaved to Technology; I am certainly not going to back up my mementos on some drive whom hackers have been trying to gain access for years. And it is only a matter of Time before they succeed ultimately.

Importantly; a bloody SD card was not supposed to luck on me.


Whatever happened to the quote “Once bitten, twice shy?”

If the maker of Samsung SD card is any acquaintance of me; I have only this two choice words to tell him/her:

Sila terjun.

Loosely translated as “Go jump.”

Layman term is simply defined as “Go and die.”

I hope you sleep peacefully knowing you have created mayhem in one of your product user’s life.

32. Reasonance

Posted in A Series of Misfortunate Events by justlikeasugar on February 14, 2017

Regrettably; realisation often comes albeit too late.