Telling The Truth

In my book A Nobody’s Observations I wrote about how Telling The Truth can set me free. So for a while, I’ve been trying to be as truthful as possible. I believe that truth can be delivered with compassion no matter how painful it seems.

But what happens when I’m not being told the truth? When someone was not being honest to me?

I understand that everybody has their own version of the truth, but to take the truth and to sugarcoat it, then dip it in honey, wrap it in shiny paper and wear it on your sleeves feels not quite right. Being only human, I felt betrayed because the person felt I was unworthy of the truth, and that his level of respect for me was close to nothing in the first place. When you respect someone, you strive to be as honest as you can. When you don’t respect, you try to find ways to make yourself look good, or you don’t want me to feel bad, when it would have been more compassionate to just tell me the truth.

So I took these feelingsContinue reading

Miss Fifi in Jakarta

Taking a break from my random experimental writing in Malay (because seriously, kepala sakit) and I came across some pictures of me in Jakarta.

I don’t like to sugarcoat things because people seem to think that travel = fun = happiness, but to me it’s travel = work = tired. That’s why I rarely share about where I am; don’t want people to misunderstand anything. I also get messages telling me “You travel so much!” and “You probably spent thousands a year on plane tickets.” and I shake my head.

Let’s clear the misunderstandings, shall we?

1) I only go to Indonesia “a lot” but then again it’s never for a holiday. I long to wake up to an ocean view and room service a masseuse and bathe in flower water too. Also I’ve yet to discover Europe but I think the place I’d like to visit is Jordan.

2) No, my boss paid for my flight.

So, why do I go to Jakarta fairly often?

It’s because I lead a semi-secret life called the Continue reading

My Aurat Kaki

A couple of times on my Facebook posts, out of humour, I had written about the things that happened to me when I don’t wear socks out. Once I kicked a small stone and didn’t even realise it until I went home and found my toe bleeding and I couldn’t sit for prayers comfortably for a week. Another time I came home with feet rash. I took it as a sign from the Divine, a gentle shake, a subtle reminder that my feet is part of aurat and I’m supposed to cover it. Aurat is modesty, parts of my body I’m supposed to cover. Well, that’s the basic meaning of aurat. It goes beyond than that but I’m not going to talk about it this time.

So I’ve made myself clear: I have to wear socks out or else something would happen to me or my feet. A few days ago I was like “Oh what the heck!” again, forgetting everything’s that happened to me, and I wore slippers out. Twice in a week. First it was just for dinner at a neighbourhood place for an hour. The second time was just for the 30 minutes drive before I changed into my socks and sandals. You know what dinner means, right? Evening. About 6ish PM. You know what driving means? It means nobody sees my feet.

I came home and noticed a horrifying difference in my feet.Continue reading


“Aren’t you tired?”

It was 9 am, I just entered the house from my morning chores outside which began at 7 am. I was carrying my high-maintenance Persian cat in to the grooming station. I blinked and my usually quick steps slowed down for a second when my mother asked me that question.

“No,” I replied confidently, but as a matter of fact, I was doubting myself.

I looked back at how in my family everyone relied on me on everything. And I didn’t mind even though I had my things to do too. I only trusted myself, anyway. My mother knows that she could ask me to take her from points A to B to C to D to Z and I wouldn’t complain. And I wouldn’t. I have work to do, but it’s okay, I will put my family a priority. My father would complain about traffic jam. My brother would groan. I don’t want my mom to do things on her own. So okay, I’ll do it. It’s my duty.Continue reading

Disco With The Flow

Lately I’ve been feeling a bit disco…nnected.

My mother pointed it out when we were out shopping. “Why are you frowning so much?” I looked at my reflection in the mirror. She’s right. I was frowning. I did wear the “don’t disturb me” face. These forehead bumps that resurfaced last week aren’t helping either. My face feels so dirty.

“These shoes hurt,” I said.Continue reading

The Crush Saga Continues


A few years ago a friend told me to “be careful” about what I write on Facebook because people, not knowing me, might take my words a bit too seriously. “I know who reads, and I get to set custom audiences,” I told him. He said oh okay.

Recently I met an old friend too who told me not everybody could “get” what I’m talking about unless they give it a thought. That just because I see a word and branch it into different possible meanings doesn’t mean other people do the same. That people usually jump to conclusions. “Is it my fault that people jump to conclusions then? Am I not teaching them to stop to ponder about its meanings before coming to a conclusion?” I responded. He shrugged.

This is a new blog and I haven’t had a booming crazy popular post that people keep coming back to (SalWalks skincare posts were popular), so I roughly know who my audiences are. I didn’t mean for my blog posts to be about a guy I met twice. But because we only have two mutual friends, I felt safe in the comfort of knowing the guy I have a crush on wouldn’t read my stupid blog posts. It’s also because I know where he is located and my blog didn’t report any visits from that place at all. Besides, why would he bother to read my posts?

It turned out Google Analytics didn’t accurately report my visitor locations.

I received a message from a friend this morning. I am extremely busy in the mornings. No time to sit down with phones. But my friend’s message caught my eye.

“Oh my god, what’s going on with W? Did you see his posts? Do you think it’s about his new girlfriend?”

Continue reading

9 Reasons Why Guys Don’t Like Me

I have one particular blog reader whose identity I do not know, but somehow she seems to have an interest in who I “like”. She could be a he or someone under a pseudonym for all that matters. It’s all right. We need to be more open about our feelings anyway. This blog post is somewhat for you, you know who you are, anonymous blog reader.

Last night I received perhaps an important revelation about the guy I “like”: That he already met the parents of a girl who “approached” him first.

I stopped dead in my typing tracks. Wait, what? I don’t go after guys who are already considering other people!! I wanted to strangle him. Why didn’t you tell me so all my cryptic faux love poems didn’t go to waste to someone who ALREADY MET THE PARENTS OF SOMEONE ELSE?! I wanted to type. But instead, I wished him luck. All these while his words had been “I don’t have anybody” and “I’m focusing on my studies.” This is like Fourteen-Year-Old Salamahafifi all over again. Ten years ago, the LAST time I liked a guy, he said the same thing and then introduced me to his girlfriend two weeks later.

If only people had been more truthful. I wouldn’t have wasted eight months of my life carefully arranging sentences. Oh well. What’s done is done. That stopped-dead-in-my-typing-tracks feeling left me speechless. I really didn’t know what to say last night. Other people were messaging me but I just didn’t want to reply. It wasn’t a sad feeling. It was a did-I-really-just-go-for-a-ride and a wow-Fifi-that-sucks kinds of feeling. The kind where you realised you did something stupid and you can never take it back. So I let myself sleep off with that feeling. “A great novel to come?” someone asked.

Something should come out, right? I expressed my last fake rejection with so much emotion. (Usually, I get one emotion and I can expand them so much that it becomes fiction.) I woke up excited and went straight to the laptop to write something. Continue reading