This year, more than any other, I approach you with humility. I do not come with a mile long to-do list, with a set of goals, gorgeous journals or lanterns and arts and crafts. I come to you as heavy-hearted slave, empty-handed, barefoot and broken. I am in need of Allah's generosity in this month. I am in need of Allah's mercy in this month. I am in need of Allah's forgiveness in this month. Without it, I am lost, lost and alone.
(Written by Na'ima B Robert, sourced from Instagram)
So, yesterday I spent a few hours in my aunt's house in Sleman. I talked about a few things with her in front of the TV before went into my cousin's room to check my phone. Mbak Dany, also graduated from the uni I will soon graduating from, gave me a little bit of an insight about ... I don't know, perhaps, adulthood?
She said she saw the same phenomenon happening to (almost) all the people around my age (very early 20s). The struggle to find one's identity. A walking wardrobe full of doubts and questions. Almost always looking walking around with miseries. Probably doing their undergraduate thesis. Avoiding people to meet. A human form of indoor anti-other-human cat. Mbak Dany did not ask too many questions about my life, which is good, thank you, she just reminded me to remember breathing.
Mini atau tidak, erupsi tetap erupsi. Kali ini sebelum memasuki bulan suci Ramadhan, manusia kembali diberi peringatan. Erupsi freatik Merapi kemarin menandakan ketiga kalinya Nazhifah menghadapi hujan abu vulkanik di kota Jogja tersayang. Bangun pagi, terkejut, keramas, mengemasi barang di koper kecil, pergi ke rumah tante, mengabari orang tua, mengecek keadaan sahabat, makan siang.
Tahun 2014 lalu, juga di hari Jumat, Jogja mendapat kiriman abu dari timur. Hari itu, 14 Februari, Opa Thahir Tuanaya meninggal dunia. Bandara ditutup. Air mata turun. Hidup berlanjut. Tahun ini, Merapi batuk. Masih ngantuk. Tidak boleh mengutuk.
Tahun 2010 dulu, Merapi meletus, lomba speech CIBI di UNY, handphone hilang, indomaret depan hotel, mama panik, meminjam handphone, travel ke Surabaya, rok batik, masuk angin.
Semoga bisa sehat dan selamat sampai selesai Ramadhan dan hari-hari setelahnya.
Tidur jangan terlalu lelap.
Jangan lupa baca doa.
Kertas notebook (loose leaf)
Obat maag mylanta
P.s: ini sebuah puisi
I long to open up my heart
For my heart do my part.
My story was yesterday’s news
From rivals cannot keep apart.
On this holy night stay with me
Till the morning, do not depart.
On a night so dark as this,
My course, how can I chart?
O breath of life, help me tonight
That in the morn I make a start.
In my love for you, I will
My self and ego thwart.
Like Hafiz, being love smart;
I long to master that art.
حال دل با تو گفتنم هوس است
خـبر دل شنفتنم هوس است
طـمـع خام بین که قصه فاش
از رقیبان نهفتنم هوس اسـت
شب قدری چنین عزیز و شریف
با تو تا روز خفتنم هوس اسـت
وه کـه دردانهای چـنین نازک
در شب تار سفتنم هوس است
ای صـبا امشبـم مدد فرمای
که سحرگه شکفتنم هوس است
از برای شرف بـه نوک مژه
خاک راه تو رفتنم هوس اسـت
همـچو حافـظ به رغم مدعیان
شعر رندانه گفتنم هوس است
Above is one of my favourite Sufi poetries. Ah, speaking of poetries... I love writing them. I love formulating words to pinpoint my feelings. I enjoy making them. But I do not read my own poetries. I read others' but mine. I like how its up to the reader to interpret the mixture of words of my making. How they would read it. How they value it. If I read my own poetry, I'm baring my soul naked. I can read other passages that I write, but not my poems. How I read them is a secret I'm keeping only to myself.
Jogja is very hot these days. I opted not to go anywhere today, since I assumed its going to be traffic jam everywhere and I wanted to save money and energy for things that matter, like drawing and finish the book I'm reading. The difference of mom being here and mom not being here is pretty obvious. Her scent has already left the room, her suitcase was no longer on the floor, I bought my own breakfast via gojek and spent the day indoor like any other passing days. The last few days were spent outside in sunlight because mom wished for us to do so, so we did.
I think its going to take me a while to finish the book I'm reading since I'm too busy drawing. Not that busy busy, but I find it more relaxing to try the new set of pens I bought yesterday with the money mom gave me. I washed some laundry today, though. Speaking of pens, I like the artline drawing system acid free 0.2 in the colour of black (I wanted to try the blue one yesterday but since I was on a budget I chose to only buy things that I will actually use); I have been using it for sometime (as you've seen in my previous photos) and the stabilo point 88 fine 0.4 -- I've been having these sets of coloured pens since high school, I basically begged for mom to buy me this (we were buying schools supplies for the national exam, which only consists of pencils and eraser, and I wasn't into drawing at that time, I only liked it because its pretty), thats why some of the pens are running out of ink, like the green, red, black and grey (soon, I think the orange will also run out of ink). I said run out of ink a bit too much in one sentence.
About the hot Jogja, I wrote on my instagram a few days ago while I was embracing (and saddened by) the idea that I will leave this city soon, but its in Bahasa Indonesia and I wrote it in the bathroom; funny where ideas came from. A bathroom wordsmith; Nazhifah. No, I'm a lamp. Not yet a woman, not yet a grown-up. Or am I a grown-up-is, woman-ish, lamp-shaped bathroom wordsmith? Maybe.
What will you miss from Jogja?
Jogja itu magis, dia punya daya tarik yang mampu membuatmu hilang didalamnya, tapi ia membuatmu menemukan dirimu sendiri. Di Jogja, kamu bertemu banyak muka, beragam jenis manusia. Di Jogja, kamu jatuh cinta. Kamu tumbuh. Tumbuh. Tumbuh. Menjadi dewasa. Menjadi lebih pengertian. Menjadi manusia. Jogja adalah rumah yang terdiri dari ruang-ruang yang membuat dirimu nyaman. Rumah dengan pintu menuju tempat peristirahatan yang sesungguhnya.
If I were to speak about Jogja, I don't think I'll be able to stop myself. This city, with its rolling clouds, silver linings, sometimes blood rain, has taught me so much. Well maybe not the city but the people in it, or some people that were partially in it. If I were to fall in love with cities, Jogja would be my first love. If I have the money, when I'm financially stable -with my own income, no longer receiving pocket money from my very kindhearted parents- I will buy a house and make it home, here, in Jogja. I don't need a big one, just a simple one, maybe two stories (or just one? so when I get old, I no longer need to "climb" the stairs. Maybe I will settle this with my husband later) white building with lots of windows and a big yard for my kids to play, maybe with a fish pond so when papa came to visit he'll like it, and for me to plant flowers; I was thinking tulips or something that resembles tulips. Something orange. And lots of sanseviera, so mama will feel at home, too. A small but convenient clinic for me to treat my patients also would be nice. Inshaa Allah, amiinn.
Jogja, Jogja, Jogja, I will have a house here in Jogja.
Today I drove mom everywhere, we didn't use GoogleMaps or Maps provided in my phone. Mom wanted to go to Hamzah Batik, so I drove her to Malioboro and along the way I told her some of the stories of Jogja that I know of. She told me not to wait for her and gave me money to buy my art supplies. Mama told me she likes my art; the drawings, the poetries, the sketches I taped on the wall. She told me to keep making the good ones.
I drove to Toko Merah on my own, but I just follow the road. I passed the Pakualaman Village, drove passed the train track in Lempuyangan and circled the Kridosono stadium twice because I missed the turn I should've taken. I drove passed the UGM boulevard, made a turn to Kolombo street and made my way to Affandi street. I put on a budget to buy my art supplies, because I only have the money mother gave to me and I did not bring my cards (not that I have plenty in it). Its difficult and challenging to buy things in Toko Merah, part of me wanted to buy everything I laid my eyes on, the other part wondered which ones were made for me. The thing about art is you get to experiment a lot, but what you like doing, what you enjoy making, what you put your emotions into; are what matter. I bought new set of pens but couldn't find the right pencil so I decided to just buy it online later. I realised that I'm not really the pencil type but if I do have to use pencil in my art, it has to be the right kind. The pencil I have now is I don't know how months old but its old, sadly I couldn't use it for my art because the new surface I'm going to draw on isn't suitable for the 2B Faber Castle that I have. Maybe this process of looking, finding the right kind, is also part of my art-making journey. I'll let you know when I'm finished. Or maybe I never will, because I will keep making, experimenting, telling stories, pour my emotions into crafts that I make, my arts.
I drove back to Malioboro to picked up Mama. Her figure is slowly shrinking, I must sadly say. My mom has been complaining the pain in her legs, in her joints. My mama is getting old and this is saddening. I told her, you need more calcium, don't forget to drink milk. Exercise, too, exercise. I hate Osteoarthritis. I don't like seeing her joints hurt. My mom is patient, she told me she has her own kind of medicine which includes series of body position and homemade herbs formula she likes to make for her. I told her, but you do what your doctor told you right, ma? don't drink things that are not evidence-based medicine, drink what your doctor prescribed you to drink, okay? she told me yes she does drink her doctor's prescription but her own formulation of herbal drinks are just complementary, she doesn't drink it every week. I told her, Ma, don't wear high heels too often. She told me, my darling, I'm short, these heels give me confident, its fine really. I did not continue, instead I drove her to a nearby mosque because its Ashar time already. We spent sometime in the car after prayer while waiting for Maghrib. Mom talked a lot about women's period in the old time, she was comforting me for my dysmenorrhea. We then drove to Ambarukmo Plaza because mother insisted to buy my monthly supplies for me, I told her to just buy me a shampoo and sanitary pads, she agreed. Afterwards, I drove her to the airport and played the big girl part. We hugged a lot, me and my mom. Its nice, wonderful, to have her around. Before we parted, she told me to be less angry with my self. I love her. Always know the right thing to say. I love papa too. They're the only thing I have in this world. I need to stop writing now or I'll start crying. I don't wanna cry.
Mama arrived on a late Wednesday night, her flight was delayed for a few hours. I picked her up from the airport; wearing my best possible smile. You could see on her eyes that she was at ease when she saw me, skin and bones, in person. Mama still smelled the same, she smelled like flowers, fresh air and kindness.
She came with a message from Papa. They love me, like they always do and always emphasis me on their every prayers. Mama told me that Papa told her to tell me, its okay if you do not come to Ambon this holiday (or next year holiday, or the next next year), its okay if you do not see Oma this holiday (she is a very understanding old woman and loves every bits of you), its okay if you don't feel like living in this world anymore and its okay if you often feel worry and sad that you won't graduate on the month you wish for. Please, do not forget where, who, the real Home is. Always come Home to Allah. Be at Home, all the time. He is the only Being that can and will make everything right. Whatever you're feeling, whatever you're about to do or doing, Allah first. Allah first, then you eat. Allah first, and then you study. Allah first, and then you sleep. Come back to Him always, all the time.
I think my parents always know just what to ask from me, but they always ask for the easy stuffs. This time, Papa and Mama are requesting for something very big, the Biggest there is. They ask for the right thing. They remind me of the only thing worth remembering.
Salah satu sifat buruk manusia adalah lupa, tapi kalau sampai lupa Allah, lebih baik tidak usah ingat apa-apa, tidak usah jadi manusia. Sekolah, jadi dokter, semua itu komplementer. Sholat, mengaji, dzikir (mengingat Allah), mencintai Allah; menyembah Allah, itu tugas utama Zhifa.
I discovered Bukowski on 2015, when my life was revolved around poetries. A bit late, I must say, since Bukowski passed away on 1994; the year when I wasn't even born yet. Bukowski once said; if you have the ability to love, love yourself first. That words had haunted me since the first time I put my eyes to read it, when I was still writing on hellozhifa.com, so yeah circa 2015-2016.
Bukowski was not unique, I guess, hell, I don't even think he'd like to be called that way. Bukowski was different. He wrote don't try on his tombstone, he was an original. What I really admired from him was his ability to keep on doing things without really trying and his honesty. My admiration for Bukowski was awaken by Mark Manson on his book, chapter one, where he mentioned Bukowski, from the short biography Manson provided I went on, looked for more.
Bukowski was honest with himself. Painstakingly honest, I would say. He admitted his truth for the worst parts of himself. I don't think that most people can do that, including I. Upon the publication of his first book, he wrote that the book was dedicated to nobody. I still haven't get a grip on Post Office yet and since I respect this person so much, I do not want to read his work in a free PDF shared online, I want the real deal, the book; if I can, the first copy (its hard, I know, but I'm still looking). With that dedication for a book, I think Bukowski was implying that he did not wrote for people. He wrote for himself. Or maybe, he wrote for the sake of writing. Such a cool guy. Mind you that that book was published when Bukowski was 50 years old, yet he kept on writing.
I'm going to be like Bukowski, you know, like the part of him that write for the sake of writing, not because everyone else thought its good or cool to write, not for other people's expectations or judgments, not for the people who hates me, not for the readers; for those people, I will not try. And if I have to try, I'll try whatever it is I want to try for me.
“Sometimes when everything seems at its worst when all conspires and gnaws and the hours, days, weeks years seem wasted— stretched there upon my bed in the dark looking upward at the ceiling I get what many will consider an obnoxious thought: it’s still nice to be Bukowski.”
Just the thought of calling them, kills me.
After all these years, I thought,
I have gotten better.
I was never better.
I just got a little less
I often have this urge to drive to my lands of the unknown. No, no, no, I wasn't talking about taking roadtrips or the likes, but to actually go to the unknown lands (in my perspective). I have spent the majority of my life living in two cities in Indonesia, one located in the east and the other one in the central, yet my heart still crave more, more, more.
Today I dreamt of Muscat, Oman. The reason to go there is simple, I have only been able to be in-transit (even thought life is actually the ultimate transit) in cities in Middle East (actually, I have only been in two cities for transits; Qatar and Abu Dhabi). I like Middle East because, the name itself is the mix of the two regions I have spent living in Indonesia (Ambon; eastern Indonesia. Jogja; central (middle) Indonesia). The other reason is because little Kirana and Rumaysaa are there. I want so badly to meet these kids, talk to their mother Ibook on how to raise such obedient and cheerful little angels!
I also dreamt of Abu Dhabi. I wanted so badly to pray in Sheikh Zayed Mosque and visit the Louvre Abu Dhabi, I wanted to look with my eyes the Al-Jahili Fort and the Masdar City and last but not least to see all the things in Al Ain Palace and National Museums. Maybe pay a visit to Dubai, too.
The best two things to visit in Middle East for me; must be Mecca and Medina. Do you know that Medina's old name was Yathrib? Before the hijra (the emigration) Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) had already been well-known as a trustworthy and reliable man that notable people from Yathrib (300 kilometers north of Mecca) had sought his emigration to their city so that he could serve as the leader and mediator of the disputes. The disputes in Yathrib were caused by two main tribes; the Aws and Khazraj and had turned deadly in the year 610s, there were also numerous Jewish tribes who found it hard to co-living with the local Arabs. After Prophet Muhammad's hijra in 622, Yathrib then got renamed as al-Medina al-Munawwarah meaning The Radiant City and officially known as Medina which means The City. Anyway, like any other muslims, my dream is to perform Hajj and to pray in the Most Holy place on Earth; the Ka'ba. Hopefully, in the near future, I can perform umrah and witness with my own eyes the greatness of Allah and the beauty of Mecca and Medina, and eventually perform Hajj, inshaa Allah, aminn...
I have always been fascinated with the shading umbrellas in the Medina Haram Piazza, those pretty convertible umbrellas in the veranda of Prophet's mosque. Given the fact that I've never been there and to have fall in love with it was the driving reason why I decided to draw them today. Except for the hands, I was just trying to properly draw hands and it was the result of today's practice and calming therapy.
I know this word when I was in high school, from Coelho's The Alchemist. The Alchemist is one of my best favorite from Coelho's, along with Veronika Decides to Die. My first encounter with Paulo Coelho's book was incidental; I bought The Alchemist without knowing who Coelho was, and bought the book simply because the cover was orange, my colour.
The word means fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it. In The Alchemist, it was explained that you have to be born an Arab to understand it, but in English, its something like it is written. Its my favourite part from the book.
"Maktub." she said. "If I am really a part of your dream, you'll come back one day."
The whole idea about this word does not limited only to love/romance, but to dreams, rizq. The word also doesn't sound too grandiose, it sounds very simple yet it holds a very dear meaning.
In Indonesia, 21st of April is celebrated as the day of Kartini. Kartini, or Raden Ajeng Kartini, was one of the empowering women Indonesia ever had, she wrote a book titled, From Darkness to Light or in Bahasa Indonesia; Habis Gelap Terbitlah Terang. This year, like other past years, I did not celebrate it.
I think that dressed up in traditional dresses does not really do much. Instead, I think we should celebrate women everyday, if not other women then maybe ourselves. Today, I decided to celebrate myself by cutting my hair short and read a book. Initially, last month I planned to go to How To Write a Book in 30 Days workshop along with a book purchase that was scheduled to take place on April 21st, but since I'm still not in the mood to see other people and do not want to spend the day doing things I don't actually want to do and talk to people I do not want to have conversation with, I decided to not go. I stayed in my room and celebrate me.
You know one of those things you always think of doing but never really doing it? For me, this few months in particular, was to cut my hair short. Simple, really, but I never put much thought or time to actually do it. I did tell Inov that I didn't plan to get a haircut until my medical co-assistant life officially begins, but then I realised maybe; because I told her so, me not cutting my hair is me trying to proof a point. Stupid, really. Until this morning, I decided to just do it, because my head felt heavy and a shorter hair might freshen things up. I cut my hair in my bathroom with a new scissor (because the old one wasn't that sharp anymore) and I felt good. I'm so grateful that I get to live a life where I don't have to feel bad for the look of my hair (partly because I'm not yet married so the only person who gets to see my hair is me and partly because the jilbab protects. Either way, its fine) and not being told to do this or do that with my body.
I remember my conversation with Saba, a muslim exchange participant from Australia, sometime last month about how she perceived the lives of Indonesian muslimahs. She stated that the Muslim women here in Indonesia could actually lead a life they wanted without had to feel afraid to be seen by the opposite gender. She told me that in her hometown, you couldn't just walked without being seen or checked out by the guys, even thought with the jilbab, khimar; and sadly some were Muslim men. Saba said that walking on the street when it just started to get dark could be so adrenaline pumping, because you might not know who's gonna look at you. I can understand it, as woman I feel so conscious about my bodily appearance, even when I covered up; wearing big size khimar or wear dresses that do not look as if they're stamped onto my body; when men sees me I often feel as if I'm naked. So I guess the verses about keeping the gaze down is indeed important -- not just for the men but also for the women.
Anyway, the point is, living as a woman in this country has never been so easy. For me. Alhamdulillah for that. May we keep prosper and become smart mothers, working mothers, lovely mothers to the kids who'll bring joys, happiness, noor, softness and warmth in our families. Amiiinn.
p.s: the drawings below were made during my thinking time on how to cut my hair short. I still have lots to learn about drawing, but until now what I do with the pens helped me calm down. Alhamdulillah for that again.
Spending time with people who are generous, kind and eye-witnesses of your wreck self is liberating. This post is going to be about my KKN (student study service/community service) mates. Last year, I spent roughly 1 month going back and forth Purworejo and Jogja, I was meant to stay for the whole month in this small village but because I'm a spoilt rebel; I bailed. These people, however, seemed to understand, they knew that I must went through something rough and they compromised.
I acted silly in this mall that we went to visit yesterday, just like what I usually did in our home during the community service. Sahiba, the anti-camera person was the one who took these photos. Aya, was the one who's having her birthday. Afi, the baker, every time I remember her I remember the cakes she baked. Lala, the head cook at home, unfortunately she wasn't there yesterday to witness our silliness. Qodri, the joker who cooks. Faisol, the one we couldn't get mad at. Fahrul, we stole his individual project and made it our team's.
During the maghrib prayer, heavy rain came pouring down. Sahiba took all other shoes but mine and Qodri; she forgot which ones were ours. My shoes were wet. Qodri's shoes were also wet, but nobody got angry. We went to eat at Marugame Udon and jokingly bullied each others, listen to Qodri's love life story and gave him some dating advices as if we were the experts, picked a fight with Sahiba just because and laughed at Aya's hungriness for food (we had been waiting for over an hour for the other guys' arrival, Aya and I were the first one to showed up in Amplaz), Afi was quiet; turned out she was also hungry, she laughed at every sentence Qodri said about his chats with the girl he likes and Faisol who was very late and the last to showed up. We discussed movies, laws and some prep talk, you know on how to adult and some stuff, because like it or not; adulthood here we come!
The outing today was very neatly put by God's destiny. I was a wreck the day before, but He made me smile today through these people (whom I sadly forgot to take good pictures of). Thank you. Thank You.
This might be the contrary to previous post but I think the sole reason why I named this blog The History Taking was because I want honest stories, the ones you tell your doctor about so that s/he will try to cure you the best way s/he can, so here it goes. I know people get seasonal depression, or that a lot of people are living with GAD; but its different story when it is you.
Having constant worries about a lot of things, the sudden urge to cry alone at night, the scary thought upon making an appointment with a doctor, the need to always or at least; often feel loved by people you cared for, the thought about maybe you will leave zero things for your parents to miss you about, the worries about school, medical school co-assistant, the not yet done undergraduate thesis, the worries about having to spent your money for unexpected things, the thought about next month's finance when its just the first day of this month, the worry about what if you got sick, the thought of living alone, the thought of dying alone and nobody knows... the endless worries; its like a haywire, right here in my brain.
I do not know when my anxiety started, maybe when I was getting non-stop stresses from the headmistress in my old high school, or when I lead that one campus organisation. I don't know exactly when but my doctor told me, the anxiety could be formed by many life events that give much marks to my self. It could be from many childhood memories I have now starting to forget, like, the almost 5 years of being bullied in elementary school. Or as simple yet complicated as love story, or the unfulfilled ambitions. Maybe even from hearing a news about bombing somewhere in Middle East or spent too much time studying about it.
Funny thing about having a GAD is that when you told some people, they will look at you in the eye and told you maybe you haven't done enough praying. Some people will tell you to just calm down, which is technically what you would do if you could. Some people just told you that you're being manic, and they will laugh. I forgive them though, maybe they just don't understand. Because the traffic here in my mind is never ending, its like the traffic jams in Jakarta, India and China combined; but mostly I just covered it up by making un-funny jokes or try to laugh. Other times, I just told them sorry for being so dramatic and energised; I just had my lunch or sorry, I became more chatty and often mumbling unnecessary details about unnecessary things when things seem awkward or maybe I told them, sorry, I just don't feel good, I have this bad feeling, I don't know. Believe me, in my head, I get all sorts of possibilities going on. Does this, will this, is this, is this is this, is this, what does this means, what does this, what, how, how, why, why, how, what if, can I, am I, is she, does he, will us, can we... but, but, but, maybe, I mean, I think, maybe, but, remember that one time, no, no, relax, relax, relaaaaaxxxxx, astagfirullah, astagfirullah, close your eyes, breathe.
I don't know. I don't even know why I'm writing this. Too often, these worries reduce my quality of life. I rarely could live in the moment. Yes, praying helps. Yes, eating right helps. Yes, running helps. Yes, reading good books in a dimmed room with suitable cold temperature helps. Humans, the walking creatures with their own thoughts, judgments and ideals, sometimes do not. Sadly, other people are just variables I cannot control, and to worry about things (even though I do not want to) that mostly related to other people's behaviour or judgment is tiring, but I think this is my reality now; but I'm healing. Tomorrow, I should not be worried about anything but God. Tomorrow, I will.
There's this thing about staring into the peak of the mountain every morning that put my heart at ease. Its beautiful, of course, but there's more to it than just that. The mountain, the clouds that sometime block my view to the peak, the slowly but surely rising sun, the quiet morning, the everyday different birds chirping... They're proofs that this, life and everything, is always moving; changing; shifting.
Have you ever thought about having a problem that will lasts forever but then the next day it was magically solved and you felt the burden on your shoulder lifted up somehow? Yeah, I often felt that way too. Its not magic, its just God's way of making things happen; Kun Fayakun. To deny God's Divine intervention is to deny life itself. I mean, how do you think this all happened? Somebody does not just woke up one day and thought that the universe was formed by The Big Bang, it was with God's permission that he could have had that thought. It was with God's permission that the Universe exists in the first place.
So is with our successes and failures, even though, technically, we are the ones who called it those, you know, we named it successes and failures; according to whatever situation that we think suits us. I mean, as human, we never know for sure which condition will arise from what. One day you called it a success but it drifts you apart from the things you hold dear, or things that you should love. One day you called it a failure but somehow it brings you closer to a happier, wiser, a content version of yourself. There's this Ayat in The Quran (Surah Al Baqara:216) that means, "But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. And Allah Knows, while you know not.", and its true. For example, when I was in grade 3, at the first day of going to the Quran class, I got beaten with rotan jawa by my teacher. He told me that the way I recited the Ayat was wrong. I cried, of course and told my parents what happened; my parents, contrary to what I thought they would do, sent me back to the class every afternoon everyday. At that moment, I despise it, but after going back and forth from home to the Quran class, I started to actually like my teacher and his teaching. At first, I did not understand that what he did was for my own good, and of course, reciting the Quran wrongly is a big NO. I also came to understand the reason why my parents sent me back to the Quran class was not to "punish" me but because they're good parents who wants me to understand God's language and that studying is important. If I had actually left that class, maybe I wouldn't be too fond of my religion. Or not won that Da'i Cilik Maluku 2006 competition. My teacher's name was Ustadz Ali Fauzi, we usually called him Bib, and to date; Bib is still my 2nd favorite teacher, after Opa Thahir Tuanaya.
The other examples come from many people, even maybe from people close to you, for example a very good friend of mine, Wintang, just said yesterday, "here you see, I did went to college later than other people, but because of that I met him and fell in love (mentioning her lover's name)" and she did! not only that, her grades are also very good, I think that the fact her being "late" to study in medical school, give her more energy and effort to study more than the other friends. If she were to be admitted at what we think is "on time" to medical school, I do not think that she will have the kind of energy and understanding that she has now. I also think that if she hadn't been "late" to medical school, I wouldn't have the chance to know her, to look up to her and even to have the conversation we had yesterday that inspired me to write this post right now. Steve Jobs also mentioned something related to this on his commencement speech at Stanford; "You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something." It has been my favourite quote since I first discovered the video on YouTube, because Jobs was right. The fact that we're not fortune teller or that we're not born with super power to foresee the future make us clueless creatures. Yes we can assume, predict or stress the future, but what can actually happen in the future is not something that we can stir. Jobs told us that you have to believe in something, and I think it is best to believe in The Greatest, The All-Knowing; Allah knows what is best and when is best for us. All we have to do now is try and pray, ask Him for whatever is best for us and keep having a good faith that whatever happen is because Allah wishes so, and to keep striving for a Good End.
1. Thoughts On Love
2. Self Love
3. Love Letter Number Three
4. Love Letter Number Seven
6. Being A Woman
7. Outgrowing Limitations
8. Coldplay, Singapura Dan Paula
9. Less Is More: Why Oversharing Is Not Good For You
10. The Greatest Showman: Is It Great, Really?
11. A Little Gift: January
12. Morning Prayer
13. A Tale Of New York City
14. Queensgate Dan Pintu-Pintu Kebahagiaan Lainnya
15. A Book A Day
16. Train Ride To The West
P.s: Click on the list above to download the PDF file on Google Drive, enjoy!
Yogyakarta-Jakarta-London-Singapura-New York-Boston-Kebumen, 2016-2018