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  March 02, 2025 | 0 Cloud(s)Looking back at my old blog, I've been thinking a lot about the girl I used to be. The one who inhaled books like oxygen, who filled her diary with terrible poetry and dramatic confessions, who made entire songs on her tiny button phone just because she felt too much. The girl who curated Spotify playlists to match every version of her soul, who never apologized for being earnest, curious and slightly chaotic. Her love for books began in Chinese primary school, where her teacher encouraged her to visit the library regularly. The first novel I borrowed was Biarlah Aku Pergi by Azizah Johor, and I remember feeling devastated while reading it. That moment sparked my love for books. Between 2011-2014, I expanded my reading into darker and creepier genres. I was drawn to books like Mr Midnight and the novel series from Fixi, which had a raw and thrilling edge. Around this time, I also discovered famous fantasy fiction like the Harry Potter Series, which became another favourite. One Novel that holds a special place in my heart is Bumi Cinta by Habiburrahman El-Shirazy. Its pages have stayed with me, shaping the way I see the world. In 2013, I ventured into blogging. Looking back, I don’t know if I was any good, but I do know I always wrote from the heart. Not suddenly, life got louder. Responsibilities stacked up. Anxiety moves in quietly and makes itself comfortable. And somewhere between trying to be 'reasonable', 'practical', and 'adult', I started dimming pieces of myself just to get through the days. I burnt the diaries, I abandoned the poems. I stop writing. I stop singing and dancing. I stop trusting my own. I didn't realize how much I'd stripped away until I caught myself thinking, When did I stop being me? Losing yourself is terrifying. I spent years feeling stuck, exhausted by sadness. I’ve learned that it’s also part of life. Sometimes, we get so caught up in our pain that we forget there’s still light ahead. And Allah is kind. He is kind, even when we aren't kind to ourselves. “Indeed, with hardship comes ease.” (Surah Al-Inshirah 94:6) I read that verse again recently, and it felt different, like it wasn't just informing me. It was calling me back. So I started picking up the pieces. Baby steps. I look back. Start to cherish the good things that happened. Then, I remembered my favourite book. My favourite songs, favourite moves and favourite authors. It doesn't rely on panic or people-pleasing. It was a slow rhythm, intentional and soft enough for me to breathe again. It was mine. Rediscovering the small joys that once made life feel warm. I'm reading again. I'm blogging again. Taking care of my skin because I want to, not because I want to fix something. This is not about trying to become the old me. She was beautiful, but she was also fragile. I want to build a version of myself who remembers her sparkle but knows how to protect it this time. Life is still messy. Healing is still slow. Faith still wavers on bad days. But I'm here, trying and learning. Labels: "sometimes you have to look back to comeback"  |
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Not suddenly, life got louder. Responsibilities stacked up. Anxiety moves in quietly and makes itself comfortable. And somewhere between trying to be 'reasonable', 'practical', and 'adult', I started dimming pieces of myself just to get through the days.
I burnt the diaries, I abandoned the poems. I stop writing. I stop singing and dancing. I stop trusting my own.
I didn't realize how much I'd stripped away until I caught myself thinking, When did I stop being me?
Losing yourself is terrifying. I spent years feeling stuck, exhausted by sadness. I’ve learned that it’s also part of life. Sometimes, we get so caught up in our pain that we forget there’s still light ahead.
And Allah is kind. He is kind, even when we aren't kind to ourselves.
“Indeed, with hardship comes ease.” (Surah Al-Inshirah 94:6)
I read that verse again recently, and it felt different, like it wasn't just informing me. It was calling me back.
So I started picking up the pieces. Baby steps.
I look back. Start to cherish the good things that happened. Then, I remembered my favourite book. My favourite songs, favourite moves and favourite authors.
It doesn't rely on panic or people-pleasing. It was a slow rhythm, intentional and soft enough for me to breathe again. It was mine. Rediscovering the small joys that once made life feel warm.
I'm reading again. I'm blogging again. Taking care of my skin because I want to, not because I want to fix something. This is not about trying to become the old me. She was beautiful, but she was also fragile. I want to build a version of myself who remembers her sparkle but knows how to protect it this time.
Life is still messy. Healing is still slow. Faith still wavers on bad days. But I'm here, trying and learning.
Labels: "sometimes you have to look back to comeback"