Book Review: Intermezzo by Sally Rooney

There are books so compelling that you can’t put them down, the real page-turners. And then, there are books so beautifully written that you don’t want to finish them, because you’re not ready to let them go.

Intermezzo is the latter.

I first picked it up earlier this year, but I couldn’t even make it past the second page. The narrative structure confused me; was it a dialogue? A monologue? It’s written in third person, but it felt abstract, hard to grasp at first.

Later, I brought it along as a hospital read. With fewer distractions, I finally sank into the emotional undercurrents of the story; the thoughts and feelings of the two brothers felt unfiltered, raw, and deeply human.

Peter’s inner world is restrained, his thoughts brief and dismissive, as though he’s always holding back. He’s the eldest, the responsible one, and you can feel the weight he carries. He seems to suppress his own feelings for the sake of the family, and I understood that.

Ivan, on the other hand, is all depth and complexity, overthinking, overanalyzing, and struggling to make sense of his emotions. I’m glad he found Margaret. She’s probably my favourite female character, someone who, despite her own troubles, manages to gently peel back each layer of Ivan’s emotional mess. She’s always present, always attentive.

Then there’s Sylvia and Naomi.

At first, I liked Sylvia; she felt like a safety net for Peter. But as the story unfolded, I struggled to understand her. Her actions felt selfish. Although things were eventually resolved between her and Peter, I wish the author had explored more of her past to explain her behaviour.

Naomi brought a refreshing shift. Even though she complicated Peter and Sylvia’s relationship, her presence made things feel lighter, less emotionally burdensome.

Overall, Intermezzo is a poignant reminder that grief affects people in different ways. 

And while friends can offer comfort, there’s something irreplaceable about family. 

As messy and complicated as family can be, they’re the ones who’ve lived through the same chapters of our lives, and that shared history means something.

I'd rate Intermezzo a solid 4.5 out of 5.

It took me a while to find my rhythm with the writing style, but once I did, the emotional depth and character exploration were incredibly rewarding. 

It's not an easy read, definitely, but it's a worthwhile one.

The book is also available here :)

Mimi’s Nikah: A Story of Love, Rain, and Friendship (Part 2)

The nikah day~

Ever since 2022, we made it a point to meet at least once a year. 

If we were lucky, twice. And that rhythm carried us all the way to the end of 2024, when Mimi confided in me something big. She was planning to get married. But she wasn’t sure how to tell her parents. She needed my advice.

I’ve known Mimi’s parents since high school. 

Aunty Liza has always been the coolest mom, free-spirited, a total social butterfly with a radiant warmth. She carries this energy that makes you feel instantly welcome. She’s fun, approachable, and above all, her heart is just... good. Kind. Big.

Uncle Rosley, on the other hand, is quieter. More reserved. He has a serious air, especially next to Aunty Liza, but beneath that calm exterior is a father who would do absolutely anything for his daughter. He might not say much, but his care is unwavering.

So I told Mimi, “You’ve got nothing to worry about. They’ll understand.”

But she hesitated, not because she doubted their love, but because she’s the youngest, and would be the first among her siblings to marry. It felt like a leap, even for her brave heart.

One of the first things I remember telling her was this:

Marriage isn’t just about you and Jijui. It’s about two families, joining as one. Two sets of people, with different values and upbringings, learning to coexist and grow together. It’s not always easy, but it’s beautiful when it works.

At the time, I was four years into marriage, and Allah had blessed me with such loving, supportive in-laws, I wouldn’t trade that for the world. And as her best friend, that’s the kind of joy I desperately want her to experience. The kind that goes beyond the wedding day. The kind that feels like home.

Eventually, planning began. Mimi once told me she wanted to get married on 10 January 2025. A few weeks later, I shared with her that I was pregnant with my second baby, and due on 1 January 2025. It broke my heart to tell her I might not make it to the wedding. But then, she changed her wedding date to 10 May. And got engaged on 10 February. I would like to believe she rescheduled everything just for me, and I refuse to believe otherwise. Hahaha.

I was the first to know what kind of wedding she wanted. The venue, the vibe, everything.

December 2024.

We met up one last time before my delivery date. I insisted we go to Big Bad Wolf (the book festival), despite being very pregnant. Mimi said I was insane, who goes book shopping at 9 months?! But she still came.

Mimi and Pan (my husband) are alike in one way: neither of them loves reading. My best friend and my husband, why?! Opposites attract, I guess. Thank God Iryss was there, and she had the best time. At least someone shared my joy.

10 February.

My confinement had just ended, and the very first event I attended was Mimi’s engagement. It was on a weekday, Pan even took leave so we could be there.

It was intimate. So Mimi. She picked up her engagement ring just the night before. And to my surprise, Aunty Liza made all the dais decorations by hand. They used what they already had at home, plus touches of daun keladi (elephant ear plant) and orchids everywhere. So simple, yet so breathtaking.

The food? Top tier. That laksam was unforgettable. And Mimi’s makeup? Flawless. It lasted all night! Of course, we stayed till late, because it’s Mimi’s house. Her home has always been a second home to her friends. Even Iryss made new friends with Mimi’s cousins’ kids!

Now, in just three months, Mimi will be a wife. She chose her bridal entourage, and we, her Guya girls, threw her the most adorable, intimate, cutesy bachelorette party. I may not be the most creative, but I love planning, and the girls made my Pinterest boards come alive. Mimi? Of course she cried. Of course.

She doesn’t love packing. Planning ahead isn’t her favorite either. But Mimi always knows what she wants. And while she might leave some things to the last minute, she rolls with it with grace. That’s her gift.

She wanted an intimate nikah, and that’s exactly what she got, on the lawn of her home in Kota Damansara, surrounded by loved ones all dressed in white.

10 May.

I had all these things I wanted to say in the moment, but I’ve learned now - write it down. Because when you don’t, the rawness fades.

Before the event began, it poured. The ceremony was meant to be outdoors. No tent. No shelter. I was worried, and all I could do was pray that Allah would let the rain stop. And by the time I arrived... it did. Almost.

We had very little time to get everything ready.

I was mostly assigned as the liaison officer/seat arranger for the reception, but I also helped with the setup. Mimi entrusted me with the final dais look, which made me nervous. The flowers smelled divine even from afar, all fresh. It was asymmetrical, and I had my doubts, but the florist said it matched the design Mimi approved. I didn’t question it further. It was beautiful, even if not symmetrical.

Everyone pitched in. Uncle Rosley, her brother, her aunties and uncles. We wiped chairs, laid tablecloths, set candles and flower vases. All the dulang girls played our parts. Upstairs, once all done downstaris, we tried keeping Mimi calm, helping with her dulang trays, fixing details, hyping her up.

I even got to meet Dato’ Khadijah Ibrahim, whom we called ibu. Such a sweetheart.

When it was time, we all got into position, guided via walkie-talkie by the real MVP of the whole event, Kak Shasha aka Mimi’s sister. I didn’t have my phone much, so I didn’t vlog. But this post, this is my record.

I was the ring bearer, one of the dulang girls. Naturally, the ring should come first... and it should be the smallest (read: shortest) aka me. Hahaha!

The akad was intimate. Uncle Rosley as wali, marrying off his daughter. Jijui was so nervous, it was honestly adorable. And when the words “sah” were spoken, fireworks lit the sky. It took me back to my own nikah day. But this time, all of Mimi’s best friends were there. I cried. We all did. She’s now a wife.

When the formality settled and everyone started mingling, Ummu, our best friend, sang “Bukan Cinta Biasa.” Her voice. The lyrics. Mimi hugging her mid-song. We were in tears. Magic was in the air. 

It felt like we were teens again. Back in 2008-2012. The years when we first grew into ourselves, through heartbreaks, losses, dreams. We’ve seen each other in every version of ourselves. And even though we don’t talk every day, when Mimi hurts and needs to talk, I’m there.

To see her this happy, it means the world to me. The whole event, while meant to celebrate Mimi and Jijui, ended up becoming a full-circle moment for all of us. It was healing. It was joy.

We took Polaroids, laughed, ate till late, but not too late. I’m a mom of two now, remember?

But as much as I felt joy, I also felt regret.

Regret for not being more expressive that night. For not telling her, really telling her, how happy I was for her. For not taking more photos together. For not helping her enough with those flying lanterns she had planned so carefully. For not doing more, even if I know she didn’t expect me to.

So Mimi, if you’re reading this:

I am so, so happy for you.

We’ve been through so much together. We’ve dreamed big dreams. And even though we’re on different timelines, different paths, the moments where our lives intersect? Those are among the best things that have ever happened to me. To have you as my best friend is a gift from Allah, and I love our friendship so, so deeply.

Welcome aboard the wild, beautiful boat of marriage. It can be scary, but with the right partner, it’s the most amazing journey. And Jijui is so lucky to have you. Just as you are, I’m sure, to have him.

Now… Iryss, Nawwafh, and the rest of the Guya babies can’t wait to meet Mimi and Jijui’s Jr. 💛

Should I write part 3? The Reception?

You already know I will.

My Best Friend Got Married: A Walk Down Memory Lane (Part 1)

May oh May...

Who else feels like May is the busiest month of the year? 

And somehow, just like that, we’re already at the end of July? It’s Q3?! Where did all the time go? 

Oh yeah… I gave birth, and time has been speeding ever since.

So many things happened in May, but the biggest highlight of all?

My best friend since 2008 got married.

Her name is Amelia, and this is her story (well, our story, really).

Our first encounter was at the bilik wudu’. She had long, straight hair. I complimented it, asked her name, and she told me, “Amelia, but you can call me Mimi.” And the rest? History.

Mimi and I are complete opposites. I love packing, she hates it. 

She played basketball, I was in the debate team. 

She was a house captain, I was the head girl. 

She didn’t quite agree with me becoming head girl at first; 

I remember us barely speaking after the announcement because she was afraid I would change(?). 

But after I returned from the Asian Schools Debate Championship (ASDC) in South Korea (which we won!), 

she gave me a note. 

In it, she said she’d support me in everything I do from then on. 

I never forgot that.

When I was 17, I had my own room - perks of being head girl - but I wasn’t brave. 

She was. I’d sleep with the lights on, and she would come by and turn them off once I had dozed off. 

She understood what I went through. 

The pressure of leadership, the academics, the mental load of being on the school prefectorial board. 

I cried almost every night, and she always knew. She lent me her giant teddy bear to keep me company. 

And knowing I wouldn’t eat when I was stressed (a habit I still have), she would make me instant porridge and make sure I ate, even if it was just a little.

After school, life took us to opposite ends of the world. I flew off to Canada for my degree, and she went to New Zealand. But during my first summer break, I visited her in Auckland, to console her after her first heartbreak :(

In my second year, I returned to Malaysia for an internship. On one of the weekends, she third-wheeled on a date I had with Pan and took me to Fattah Amin’s café in Kota Damansara. We also spent hours at her house with Aunt Liza (Mimi’s mama) karaoke-ing, laughing. I remember Edda was there too!

In summer 2018, she told me about a guy she used to borrow a car from, but had never actually met. They were in the same university but had different circles. They finally met after graduating. Oh and did I mention she graduated with flying colours from the University of Auckland?! Proud bestie moment.

When I asked her what her plan was, she said, “I’m going with the flow.” And surprise, surprise, the guy turned out to be Ajijui. We even had our first double date on Skype!

Before my final year, during winter break, Mimi and Kak Shasha flew all the way to the US to travel with me. I mostly free-rode the trip because she did all the planning and bookings (I was drowning in schoolwork). We drove across several states. Just the three hijabis on the road!

Honestly, if my daughter Iryss ever asks to do an all-girls trip across the US, I’d say, hell no! 😂 Nothing major happened, but we did stay in a sketchy downtown LA hostel where people got high every night. I got really bad bed bug bites. Aside from that, it was one of the best trips of my life.

When we shopped at the LA outlet, we became Aunt Liza’s personal shoppers. We bought almost half of the Henri Bendel store, no exaggeration. Our handbag haul could cover a queen-size bed. The security guard had to escort us to our car. Iconic.

Little did I know, that was the last time we’d meet before the pandemic hit.

When I got married, none of my best friends could attend. Zero best friends in my wedding photos. Sad, right? 

And Mimi’s case was worse as she was stuck in New Zealand. As the youngest in her family, living abroad, she couldn’t see anyone for over three years.

When we finally met again in 2022, she teared up. The last time she saw me was in January 2019… and suddenly we were face-to-face again, more than three years later. Me, married with a child! Wild! 

But that’s our friendship. We don’t talk every day. Sometimes we go months without a call. 

But every time we reunite, we pick up exactly where we left off. 

We may not talk all the time, but it always feels like no time has passed.

To be continued.

Stay tuned for Part 2: the wedding day. ❤️

Clocking into life...

So many things happening. Work, life, and more life. Sometimes I have to remind myself that life is bigger than work, and to stop associating work as life. But lately, life has been 50% work. Or maybe more. I clock in at 7.30am and only left the office at 8pm. So yeah, pardon my math earlier—it’s definitely more than half a day.

Life Update

Nawwafh, my newborn (in case you missed out, I've written a few blog posts about him), has turned 4 months! During his last check-up, his weight was way above the recommended curve, and I'm sooo happy. Alhamdulillah, it means he's absorbing all the breastmilk well. It makes me feel good and motivated to keep going. He’s already fitting into Iryss’ clothes from when she was 7 months old. We even compared their baby photos and he's clearly bigger than her. Go Nawwafh, go!

And then there’s Iryss, my sweet sweet firstborn. She's now… a full-on teenager. Okay she's turning 4 in July but emotionally? Rollercoaster. I suspect it’s because she wants all the attention (which I get, as a fellow firstborn myself 😂). But it also made me realise that with work hours stretching longer, she needs more of me. So dear colleagues, if I don’t reply after 8pm or on weekends, it’s because I’m clocking into another duty, the biggest amanah of all: being a mom.

And then there’s Pan, my husband. And no, his name is not Irfan haha. I call him Peter Pan. He’s been a gem, so understanding, so helpful. From helping with the chores to taking over cooking when I’m stuck with work. Our favourite kind of night? The eve of a public holiday, kids asleep, just us and a movie. Or the long car rides to Melaka or PD (long because… hello, traffic). But at least we get to just talk and talk.

I always believed in finding the right partner, and Alhamdulillah, I found mine. I once saw a viral video telling girls to “shop around” before getting married. I didn’t really shop around hahah (for realll) but I found the right one. My theory? Find the right place, and you’ll find the right one. In my case, the head prefect leadership camp lol. And yes, I’ll probably tell my kids that too. No pressure kids. Just sharing what worked for Mama :P

And there's mu dad, who just had his last day at Pet after 33 years of service. 33 years?! I said it twice because… wow. In my generation, if you last more than 5 years in a company, you practically deserve an award (which I should, by the way... 5 years and counting hahah). We had a small celebration, and it was beautiful to see the love and respect people showed my dad, it was heartwarming.

At home, he's just our Ayah, typical dad. But we always wondered: what was he like at work? As a colleague? As a boss? I used to go to him for advice; school, career, life, and even when he was tired or mentally still at work, he’d try his best to focus. My family says I might win the “workaholic” title next, and honestly? Fair.

But what I learned from him is this: he didn’t work hard for himself. Not for praise, not for promotions. He worked hard for us. For the family. To give us what we needed, to grant our wishes, to give us the best possible education and life.

I often question, why did he stay so long? Didn’t he ever feel like giving up? I’m sure he did. I’m sure there were years of feeling demotivated or underappreciated, like how I feel sometimes. But the thing is, he never spoke badly about the company. Ever. To him, without Pet, he wouldn’t be able to give us this life. And for that, he was grateful.

And then there’s Mama. For all of those 33 years, she was there. Behind the scenes. Preparing his clothes, managing the house, making sure the kids were okay, sorting the bills cause she's the CFO, clearing the kitchen after he cooked (yes, he cooks), reminding him to eat his meds… all of that, just so he could focus on work. He had her. And that made all the difference.

I think my generation, myself included, always wants more. And that’s great. It keeps us driven. But sometimes, we forget the basics. We forget gratitude. We forget to thank Allah for what He’s already given us.

Everything, this life we’re living, everything we have, is from Him. I believe that because my dad was always thankful, Allah gave him more. And when Allah gave him more, we felt it too. The whole family felt the blessings. And that’s the kind of joy he always worked for. Not for himself, but for his family.

It changes wow I see work now (and I hope for long). Yes, lately work has been consuming my time. But I’m grateful. Because this job is what helps us live, what supports the family, what gives us the life we have. We may not be earning as much as some of our peers, but we’re happy. We have our kids, our joy, our amanah. They’re the reason we get up each day. And having a partner like Pan, that’s a huge blessing too. Sometimes we forget how much that matters.

I’m crying as I write this. And I’m reminded of a quote I once read but I forget who said it:
"If today you're only living with the things you thanked Allah for yesterday, what are you living with?"

Honestly? Probably not much. 

Because I need to be more thankful.

So today, I’m saying thank you.
For my parents.
For my husband.
For my children.
For all the things I've just written about.

Thank you, Allah, for all of them.

The Internet Has Been Scaring Me Lately

My social media threads have been sounding a little depressing lately. Maybe it’s just me, but the amount of negativity I read, it’s like a projection of people’s true feelings, and honestly, I just can’t contain it anymore. It overwhelms me. It makes me scared, anxious, and a little bit terrified of where we’re all heading.

Some might say, “Well, you posted it, you asked for it.” But I’m mostly on the other end of that thought. Like, why can’t we just say something nice? And if we really can’t find anything nice to say... why not just keep quiet?

And somehow, as if always perfectly timed, Aida Azlin came through again in her Closer email last Tuesday. The dua she shared was so beautiful, it just hit right where it needed to. SubhanAllah :( it’s like Allah sent it through her to act as a great reminder.

But the reason I’m writing this post... goes a little deeper.

Last month, someone took my dad’s picture and circulated it on the news and social media, wrongly accusing him of something he didn’t do. His photo appeared on Google when people searched the name of the actual accused, and somehow, it got picked up and spread through WhatsApp, Telegram, Facebook. People just forwarded and shared without thinking. The comments… ya Allah, they were insane.

But thank God for the people who know my dad and his work, who stood up for him and helped clarify things. My dad is a man with the kindest heart and I don’t say that just because I’m his daughter. I’ve never met anyone so humble, so giving. He treats everyone with respect, even when he doesn't get the same in return. He’s helped so many people without expecting anything back. And to see him being wrongly accused like that… it broke something in me.

I posted about it on Instagram, and I’m so grateful to everyone who supported and shared the truth. Because of you, the post reached so many accounts. Still, I can’t help but think how easy it was for people to believe something false, just because it looked “official.”

This incident really opened my eyes, and my heart. It reminded me not to trust everything we see online. Not every forwarded message, not every viral post. Everything must be fact-checked. And before we post or comment on something, just imagine if the person you're talking about was your own family. Imagine saying those things to their face. Just because we’re behind screens doesn’t mean there are no real consequences. The pain is real. The damage is real. In this world and in the next...

Then recently, there’s the whole situation with Sincerely Vivy going viral. I’ve been following her since her early days, one of her first email subscribers. I was curious to see what her life looked like now that she’s in her “de-influence” era. Whatever she’s done, wrongly accused or truly guilty, only Allah knows. But the level of hatred she’s been getting… it’s just a lot.

Even after she shared her diagnosis - SLE, a chronic illness, I thought people would be softer. Kinder. But no. The threads were still fuming.

And that made me sad. Because in Islam, when someone is sick, we’re taught to make dua for them, to visit them, to care. That’s the sunnah. Even if you’re angry or disappointed, at the very least, be decent. But what I saw was the opposite, especially from fellow Muslims. It just didn’t sit right with me.

These two stories made me realize something: I want to keep believing the best in people. Everyone’s carrying something we don’t see. Everyone has a story, a struggle. And just because their lives are public doesn’t mean we have a right to add to their pain or worse, to spread more lies about them.

It’s made me post less. Reveal less. I’m honestly scared of what the internet can do. I know I can’t generalise as there are still kind, loving people online. But the loud ones, the hateful ones, they make it hard to breathe sometimes.

So I’m choosing to rant here, on my blog. My safe space. I miss the old days, the blog era, tumblr days, when people were so supportive of one another, when the internet felt more like a community than a battleground.

Let’s try to keep that harmony here, shall we?