2024 Miracle

 Dear Baby A,

You are the second miracle I’ve been blessed to carry, and it has been such a pleasure having you grow inside me. I want to start by saying I’m sorry. Unlike with your sister, Iryss, I didn’t write a detailed journal for you during this pregnancy. I could give excuses—work, a busy life with a toddler, and a million other things—but the truth is, no excuse feels good enough. Please know this doesn’t mean you are loved any less. If anything, this letter is my attempt to put into words all the moments, big and small, that have made carrying you so special.

The First Signs of You

I had a feeling you were there as early as April 22, 2024. I hadn’t taken a pregnancy test yet, but something in my heart told me I was carrying you. That day, I went for a massage, and a tiny voice in my mind wondered if it might be risky if I were pregnant. Around the same time, I had terrible rashes and went to the pharmacy for over-the-counter medication. I asked the pharmacist if the medicine was safe for pregnancy, even though I didn’t know for sure yet. It was just instinct.

A week later, our family—Atta, Tok Ma, Mama, Abah, Tati Na, and your sister, Iryss—traveled to Japan. As much as I adore Japanese food, especially sashimi, I couldn’t bring myself to eat any of it. Instead, I craved spicy food—a clue, perhaps, that you were already making your preferences known.

When I looked in the mirror during that trip, I noticed my waist and tummy looked different. It was subtle, but it felt like another sign. Even so, it didn’t stop me from climbing hundreds of stairs at Mt. Fuji or breastfeeding your sister. I felt strong, energized, and ready to take on the world, all while carrying you.

When we returned home, I finally took the pregnancy test, and it confirmed what my heart already knew.

A Different Journey

This second pregnancy has been a different experience—calmer, wiser, and filled with gratitude. Unlike with your sister, I didn’t meet as many doctors this time. Our go-to GP has been Dr. Fasyiezha from Klinik Menara 2, whom we first met during my pregnancy with Iryss. She’s become like family to us. Sometimes, we also saw Dr. Izzati from Poliklinik Shaikh, another kind and sweet doctor.

Your OBGYN is Dr. Sharmina Kamal at Sunway Medical Centre, and Alhamdulillah, this pregnancy has been a smooth and pleasant journey. I had barely any morning sickness and stayed active throughout—I was even driving to work until 36 weeks! The only funny quirk? I couldn’t stand the smell of Japanese food throughout this pregnancy. Maybe it’s a sign you’ll end up studying in Japan someday.

Choosing Your Name

Finding the perfect name for you has been a challenge, but I had my own special way of deciding. Your name is now set, and I can’t wait to call you by it. It feels just right for you.

The Final Weeks

I had hoped for a normal delivery this time, as my recovery from the c-section with your sister was quite tough. By weeks 36 and 37, your head was engaged, and I was hopeful. But at my 38-week scan, we found you had shifted back into a breech position. It was a shock, and I felt a little sad knowing a normal delivery might not be possible.

But Abah reminded me of the art of prayer—to trust Allah and ask only for what is best for me. So now, I surrender to His plan, knowing He always knows what is best for us.

Yesterday, Dr. Sharmina’s team called, and it looks like we’ll finally meet you on December 21, 2024, inshaAllah.

Counting Down to You

Baby A, we’re counting down the days until we can hold you in our arms. May Allah make your arrival smooth and bless our family with strength and love. We can’t wait to meet you, to see the little face we’ve been dreaming of, and to begin this beautiful new chapter with you in it.

With all my love,

Mama

A Master's Degree, A Million Lessons: Reflecting on My Data Science Journey

In August 2023, I officially completed my Master’s in Data Science at UiTM Shah Alam, a journey that culminated in a convocation ceremony this past November. While my LinkedIn post announced the achievement, I’ve been reflecting not on the milestone itself, but on the rollercoaster of emotions and life lessons that accompanied it.

Here’s the truth: I didn’t celebrate this accomplishment as much as I should have. This happens to me a lot—I tend to set sky-high expectations for myself, which sometimes blinds me to the significance of my own achievements. It’s a bad habit I’m trying to break, as it can make me seem ungrateful.

But this time, I’m reminding myself: earning a Master’s degree, topped with the Excellence Master Award, is a big deal.

So why do I feel so “meh” about it? Maybe it’s because my convocation came more than a year after I finished the program, making the sacrifices feel like a distant memory. Or maybe I’ve just been too busy chasing the next goal to pause and appreciate the journey.

Let me take you back to those years of study—a time defined by sleepless nights, relentless deadlines, and moments of doubt.

I switched careers during this period, balancing late-night assignments, group discussions, and nerve-wracking presentations.

I breastfed my daughter, Iryss, in between all of this.

My husband, Pan, took on the lion’s share of parenting while I focused on my studies.

I burned through annual leave—not for vacations, but to prep for exams and presentations.

Every achievement demands sacrifice, and this one was no exception. Yet, I often forget the pain and effort it took because I’m too focused on what’s next.

Even after accomplishing this, I’ve caught myself falling into the comparison trap. Thoughts like:

“That person has a doctorate at my age.”

“This person is a manager and they’re younger than me.”

But here’s what I’ve learned: my journey is my own.

I’m not a doctor (yet) because Allah, in His wisdom, knows what’s best for me.

I’m not a manager (yet) because perhaps I’m not ready for the pressures that come with it.

Instead of comparing, I’m trying to shift my focus to gratitude.

For those who think a Master’s degree is a golden ticket to success—let me burst that bubble. It’s been a significant investment of time, money, and energy. I paid the tuition fees entirely out of my pocket, sacrificing years of bonuses for self-investment.

And guess what? I’m not working as a data scientist. There are no stars, rainbows, or moons raining down for me. In fact, I’m now in the investment industry, and Python hasn’t made an appearance in my job description.

But I wouldn’t trade this journey for anything. The lessons I gained are priceless:

1. Perseverance: Giving 101% in everything I do, no matter the circumstances.

2. Sacrifice: Understanding that no success comes without giving something up—not just from me, but from my family and support system.

3. Gratitude: Being thankful for the process, the struggles, and the growth.

Alhamdulillah for this journey. It wasn’t just about earning a degree; it was about discovering resilience, patience, and faith.

To anyone reading this: your path doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. Celebrate your milestones, big or small, and trust that what’s meant for you will come, inshaAllah.

Here’s to more wonderful things ahead.

Life in Pause

 

Hi there,

It’s been a while since I last updated my blog—so long, in fact, that I almost forgot it existed. That was until two nights ago when I had a dream where I struggled to articulate my thoughts. It struck me how much blogging had once helped me become a better storyteller and writer. But life, as a parent and a corporate worker, has kept me so busy that I’ve neglected something I truly enjoy: writing and expressing my feelings.

Part of my hesitation has also been fear—fear of criticism. When I first started blogging back in 2009, I could never have imagined a world dominated by platforms like TikTok, Twitter, and Threads, where criticism is so casually thrown around. In Malay, we’d say terpaling kenal—as though everyone assumes they know best.

I despise that culture of snap judgments, where people read clickbait headlines and make countless assumptions. Criticism is one thing, but spreading hateful comments is another level entirely. Yet, I don’t have the energy to engage with such negativity or explain why those comments shouldn’t exist. After all, I have my own flaws, and the least I can do is ensure I don’t fall into the same trap of harshness and unwarranted criticism.

These days, I’m more of a silent reader, steering clear of comment sections that only serve to cloud my mind with toxicity.

I’ve also distanced myself from TikTok; it feels like a time sink. Instead, I’ve gravitated toward Instagram, where I follow pages shedding light on the atrocities in Gaza and the Middle East—places like Syria and Lebanon. Watching the news unfold, I often find myself wondering: beyond spreading awareness, boycotting, and donating, what more can I do to help?

It’s been over a year since October 7, 2023, the day the genocide escalated. The emotional toll has been immense. While Palestinians endure unimaginable calamities, I can’t help but feel a sense of guilt when I think about updating my own life on social media.

My Instagram stories now center more on Palestine and far less on me. There’s a deliberate choice in this. I feel more at ease not showcasing my personal life online. There’s no longer a need to impress or seek validation. My struggles feel trivial compared to the suffering of the children, women, and men of Gaza.

Instead, I’ve spent more time reading Aida Azlin’s Tuesday Love Letters, reflecting on The Clear Quran, and contemplating how to become a better person. Life on this earth is fleeting, and I often ask myself: how can I improve as a person, a wife, a daughter, and a mother?

Last December, I was blessed to perform Hajj. It’s been a year since that life-changing journey, and I still haven’t published the blog post I wrote about it—it sits quietly in my drafts.

One memory stands out vividly. I met a Palestinian woman during Hajj who wept as she asked me to pray for her family in Gaza. Her pain felt so raw, so immediate.

Another poignant moment was at Raudhah and during our visit to Uhud Mountain. I cried deeply, thinking about the sacrifices of the Prophet Muhammad SAW and his companions. Their struggles made it possible for us to embrace Islam today, and I couldn’t help but reflect: have I truly been grateful for this blessing?

I’ll leave this post with that thought.

It’s just 14 days until 2025, and there are so many updates I wish to share—not on social media, but here in this safe space. Maybe I’ll write more. Maybe I won’t. For now, it feels like enough to put these thoughts into words, even if no one is reading this but my husband.

Till then,

Lots of love.