My boo is back …

It’s been a while since I caught him staring at me while I slept. And I felt loved. At 33. 

No. I am not talking about Soong Joong Ki.

For the past year – I have gotten used to being alone at home with Ee at night especially when Mr Husband is in KL . He rents a small room in an urban flat just so he could conveniently go to his classes on the weekdays. He was after all pursuing his Masters – sacrifice is almost mandatory. Unlike some couples who connect through phonecalls – we got in touch through Watsapp and sending voice messages. It has always been like that since courtship years – we were just not the gayut type. But when we go out for our dates – we really talk about stuff. It felt more real and of course on my part – animated – to tell a story face to face.

So when he recently passed his year as a Masters Student and started his semester break  – he no longer need to be in KL that much anymore.This means both Ee and I could have him to ourselves as this manly figure in the house. The house felt a tad safer with Mr Husband around. I no longer need to double, triple check the locks of the house. I don’t have to wear jeans under my kaftan. Nor do I need to keep my car keys under my pillow. I don’t have to sleep at the hospital when I’m on night shift and have to continue for the next morning shift. Better still – my sleep is more rested at home as I don’t have to be extra cautious of the sounds my house makes at night. Ha ha.

He is back to helping me with the laundry. Bathing our boy in the early morning. Preparing breakfast on days I find difficult to drag my butt out of the bed. mow the lawn. And watch me as I sleep with those loving eyes I never knew he had. We are going into our 6th year of marriage and I had thought he wouldn’t look at me like how we first met anymore. I was wrong. Absence does make the heart grow fonder. He literally paid RM150 for a weekend lesson from a male masseuse on the art of massage. Just so he could give me a good spa-like therapy at home. All this commitment was done while I was oncall. If that is not love – I don’t know what is.



Of giving.More.

A friend once told me,

“Minci, You are going to die one day because of the Idealist Syndrome”

I asked her what she meant. She said,

“you’re asking for a perfect world in an imperfect world. Nobody is perfect. You want to save everybody. You want to be nice to everybody. You aspire to be a combination of Mahatma Gandhi and Mother Theresa – but you forget, you’re not anybody. We are just normal people. We are not ministers. We’re not even close to being in the Student Committee to make a change. Because of that, you will be sad.. your heart will break and your soul will literally die”

I don’t really remember what happened afterwards although I’m pretty sure I would just remain quiet – not because I agree with her but more of because she doesn’t understand my reasons for thinking and doing the things I do. And so you know, the above sentiment did not come out as eloquent as how it is written, in fact it was quite harsh.

If you believe the world is small, you can make a difference

If I think of Syria as a distant problem, which is only accessible to people working in the UN or celebrities like Angelina Jolie, then I will forever think that Syria is a predicament I read in papers. Not real and could only be solved and saved by people called ministers who attends international meetings and such.

So how can I find Syria? How do I put Syria as the tip of my finger. This is where organizations like Islamic Relief comes in. We should applaud the effort made by these volunteers to bridge the gap, to strengthen ties and to champion human compassion across Malaysia. Just by clicking on the donation button, already.. ANYBODY is making a difference, is initiating a change.


You cannot help everybody, but you can always help somebody

We can’t eradicate world hunger and famine. We can’t stop human trafficking or prostitution on a global scale. We can’t save every drug addict. We can’t cheer-lead on every girl who thinks she’s not worthy of anything. Sadly, we are just not capable of doing it in one donation no matter how big, one petition no matter how long or one demonstration no matter how vocal.

My line of work involves humans. I like to believe that even though I could not fix the poverty line for instance, I can make a difference to that one life I come across that comes to see me for a medical opinion/treatment. It can be in a form of plain human touch/hug or salam, a short motivational speech to my young ladies, a word of encouragement to the single mothers, a way of redemption to my mat rempits or chronic smokers, a slice of roti to my hungry elderly who fell from her bed last night only to be found by her neighbour the coming morning. I may not be able to change the world, but I can make a difference to her life.

Charity begins at home

Everyday when I look at Hazeeq, I wish upon him that if he can’t do good, at least I  don’t accidentally raise him to become evil. Evil which manifests in so many ways lately. Disrespectful keyboard warriors, opportunistic sleazy men etc. It’s like if he is not Gandhi, let him not be Botak Chin or something.

Teaching him by good example. Introduce him to Rasulullah. Expose him to acts of being happy and charitable. Show him that every small acts of kindness means something to someone.

Syed Azmi is a good example -as he illustrates to us followers on his FB page regarding the struggles in everyday life – and trust me, he himself is also struggling in his own way but he makes ‘helping other people’ so easy and feel so good. He started off small – helping customers who goes to his small pharmacy daily to the strangers he bumped into. Later, when he had the capacity – the network – he launches bigger acts of good deeds. Some of the wonderful programmes we know off are #tamakpahala and #freemarket.


Finally, everything starts with a niyat. It should not be for show or riya’. I only pray that the good I do will be rewarded with pahala. And that these pahala will go to Mr Husband as he leads us all into Jannah. I may not be an awesome cook but I do hope that this will be my way in contributing to the serenity of this marriage.

Honey Madu for dinner

Mr Husband is working extra hours today. This means dinner for one is 2 slices of honey buttered toast with a mug of hot cocoa. No fancy dishes – just toast.

In Vietnam, honey is served with tea.


During one of our visits to the bee farm, we had tea mixed with a small dollop of honey and a sprinkle of pollen. Topped with a mini-squeeze of limau kasturi. It was a wow tasty drink. I had seconds. And a third. But I didn’t buy their produce because it was too expensive and most importantly – they were in liquid form. I did not pay for extra baggage for the Saigon trip. Liquids in hand luggage? Risky…

In Malaysia itself, I came to hear of Teh tarik with Madu in Johor. Now that is something worth a day trip for.

An act of romanticism ..

When I was a student in Manchester, I once went on a trip to Stratford -upon-Avon, home of the famous English poet, William Shakespeare. Those who lived there always prides in how the town has remained the way it is since the 16th century. Unchanged, unmoved despite modern civilisation.

“If Shakespeare was to rise from the dead and come back, he wouldn’t get lost because this is how it has always been”

Much romanticism I must say. I decided to put on my own form of ‘romanticism’ at home as well.

Mr Husband has been outstationed for the past few days. He was on a course in Kuala Lumpur. I had wanted to take leave and follow suit – enjoying a short break and the amenities of the hotel but I had more engaging responsibilities. This time our son is entrusted in my care as opposed to the last time he was away in Jakarta. In Jakarta, Hazeeq was with him for 5 days.

When he came back from Jakarta’s last trip, I kind of reorganized our little room at the back of the house into Hazeeq’s playroom as a surprise. They were both elated. Macam sidak ang moh.. ada little nursery. As of now, I couldn’t think of a better home project. I supposed keeping the house the way it is, would be good enough. At least, my own Shakespeare won’t lose his way around the house when he gets home.

Romanticism at its best, huh. Hakikatnya, aku malas.

Subjective pain

I got home to a crying Hazeeq post-call. He was sobbing and clinging on to Mr Husband like a koala. I asked what was the problem. Mr Husband responded cheekily,

“He fell. Got an abrasion wound on his left knee but is wailing like he’s got an open fracture”

HA HA HA. My drama king son!

 EE merajuk

He walked like a cripple the whole day – saying he can’t walk. And we kept reassuring this boy that there is nothing wrong with his leg. He of course does not agree. He forgot about the leg for a while after watching his favourite cartoon. He wanted to run to the fridge to get his Vitagen until that ‘pain on knee extension’ kicks in and there he goes – crying again. He merajuk. He doesn’t want a cute plaster even! He chose to be sulky.

I was more worried that he wouldn’t want to take his shower – but this brave young man said to me,

“Mummy, jom mandi. buang itam”
(mom.. lets go shower. Clean the black thing)

.. this is referring to his wound of course.

He kind of showered himself with special attention to the wound. He drizzled so much water on it, probably hoping that that it will peel off his skin. After a lather of soap and more water, we pat the wound dry and dressed him in his pajamas. I put on his long pants thus concealing the wound and all of a sudden, he can walk almost straight to the kitchen! Still on tiptoes and bent knees but more upright and at a faster pace.

That was when I realized that to him,  Pain will only manifest when it is something he can see. Once I covered up the wound, his pain dissipated and almost went away.

And the next morning, he was already jumping on the bed!