018. I fall asleep with you vivid in my arms~

My father passed three months shy of his 78th birthday.

He would've been 80 today.

There's a little thing we do on each other's birthday: we'd call each other at exactly the time we were born. I was born at 1:24pm (you should know my birthday by now), and him at 10:10am. We never wished each other anything earlier than those times. He never did that anyone else, just with me.

Yes, I was his favourite.

Was. You never realise the impact of the word until you have to continuously use it when you want to talk about someone whom you can't reach out to, try as you might.

I'd be lying if I said I don't miss him, or if I no longer felt the grief of losing him. And we all know I'm not a very good liar. It still hurts on some days, but you learn to live with it.

Some days, I tear up and think "why didn't you wait for me?!", but then I realised that him living as 10% of the person he used to be is just making him him suffer even more. Redha, that's the word my mother and I used to say.

There were days I felt so much guilt for leaving him when I knew he needed me most, I felt selfish and I had to punished for it. The punishment? Not being able to see him take his last breath, and cry alone in a foreign country in the middle of a worldwide pandemic. You know that scene in Avengers: Age of Ultron where Wanda falls to her knees when she felt Pietro get shot? That was how I felt when my mother delivered the news. It was my punishment that I needed to bear alone.

Many people said they dreamt of him a few days or months after he passed, but he didn't appear in mine. He did, once, but he turned his back to me, refusing to talk to me. I never told anyone this because, again, I felt that it was my punishment and I needed to go through it alone. I deserved it.

My mental health took a severe blow. I had to take time away from people to be okay, I had to go on radio silence for a long while to focus on myself. I cut off some people from my life, lost some friends along the way. It's okay, I probably deserved to lose them too. "My punishment".

Until one day in April last year, he appeared in my dream. We talked, we went out together and did all the things we used to do together. He told his silly "how tall are you?" joke (to be honest, it's not even funny) and we laughed. He held me and I leaned my head on his shoulder and he told me "it's okay" and he hugged me. I woke up at 4am feeling very confused, and then I remembered it was the release of BTS' new song 'Film out'. Someone very close to me told me to only listen to it when I was ready. In true Roxy fashion, I never listen to anything anyone says, so I listened to the song.

Big mistake. I cried even harder because the song really put into words how I felt about losing my father. There is really no surprise why Film out was my most played song on Spotify in 2021.

Even before his cognitive abilities deteriorated, he would always put me first. I never understood why, to be honest. I wasn't the smartest, nor was I the best in anything; but he held me in the highest regard to everyone. His friends always said that he really loved me, and that they were surprised that he quit smoking for me. "If I can live with the fact that you're staying in the UK, I can live without my cigarettes". His friends tried to snap him out of it, but that man, stubborn as he is, refused to budge.

There were days he let his temper control him, and he would not talk to anyone. I could sense when he was in one of those moods (he had his tells), and I'd let him cool down before attempting to talk to him. By the third day, he would be the first one to break the silence. 

"I bought you mutton briyani, go eat"

"I bought laksa for you. Only you"

"Going to Mani's shop. You want to come with me? We can have sup kambing"

His love languages were acts of service and food. He loved food so much, he'd always take me out to eat. It's part of the reason why I love food. He would just buy the food I liked and tell me very quietly that he bought an extra packet for me. He would buy two portions of food just to share with me (or more like "you need to eat more food, I'll take a quarter and you finish the rest" haha). He would go all out whenever I had friends over for any celebrations, and order the best food.

He always helped everyone around him, especially if they were mistreated. He used to help this Bangladeshi worker (who has now become our family friend for nearly 25 years) whenever he had problems. He drove me and my best friends to our tuition classes. He would help me with my Kemahiran Hidup woodwork assignments. Anytime I had a work event where I was part of the committee, he would help to tap some of his friends to help out (and get good prices) and help me carry all the items too.

My father was the kind of person who would fight for the right things. When I was bullied in school by a teacher, he had wanted to take the matter to the State Education Department. I was a scared 16-year-old girl, I didn't want to get into trouble with anyone at the time, so I told him to drop it and let me leave school quietly. He was angry about it for months, but eventually he understood why I had acted that way.

If there's one thing that surprised me about my old man, is how he remembers the smallest acts of kindness. When I was 7, there was a jumble sale at school and I saw a pair of shorts and I thought "oh this would look nice on Papa!" because he wore shorts all the time at home. So I used whatever money I had as a seven-year-old girl (read: not a lot) and bought those shorts, and excitedly gave it to him. He didn't have the heart to tell me that the shorts I had bought were for women, so he took it and thanked me profusely for it. Somewhere in 2016/2017 while we had some relatives over, he had brought out those shorts and told them the story about how much he appreciated the thoughtfulness of a seven-year-old girl that he kept it as reminder for him that I had a good bone in me (not really, I was too young to understand how clothes worked because I had a couple of hand-me-downs from my brother so, yeah, for me fashion works for everyone).

Every morning after he sent my mum to work, he would always take the longer route to go home just so we could stop at someone's house in Taman Dato' Senu just so I could gush over the little bunnies they had. He'd let me coo and cry over them for a good 15 minutes or until I said I was satisfied. It's probably why I get so excited seeing people's dogs and cry very loudly in public about them (if you've seen this in person, sorry not sorry).

Any time we went shopping, he would know the shops I frequent: music, books, clothes. He would patiently wait until I got what I wanted. Sometimes, he would see a nice outfit and tell me to try it on. If it was nice, he'd get it for me. If it was so-so, he'd just go "oh we can KIV this first, we'll go around, and if we still feel this one is the best, we'll go back and get it, yea?". I can't imagine finding someone who'd be this patient with me and my indecisiveness (I like to keep my options open, thank you very much).

He never liked my favourite football team, but would stay up with me and keep me company to watch the matches (and watch me mope when we lose). He would put up with my team the same way I would put up with his.

He'd always send me anywhere I needed to go (he never trusted me with taking public transportation alone...oh, if he could see me now), so much that my friends could tell when his car is outside the building (my father's old car was VERY loud). I loved that car so much, no matter how old it was. 

When I continued my Masters in 2010, I had a panic attack on the plane and I couldn't eat. I think it hit me that I was going to be away from my family for the first time in a foreign country and I had to be independent. I always had their support so it was weird not having someone tell you where to go if you had stomach cramps or ear infections. I just cried and he just said "it's okay" and held my hand. I calmed down after a bit and we went on with life. Two days before they were due to fly back to Malaysia, I had another panic attack and called my mum and just sobbed "I don't want to do this any more! I don't think I can do it!" over and over again. My mum couldn't handle me crying (ever since that day, we have a rule that we can't cry during our calls), so she passed the phone to my father. All he said was "It's okay, forget about everything. You have an open return ticket. You could fly with us home too. If you feel you're not ready to do this, it's fine. It's okay". He handled it in a way I never thought he would: very gentle and patient. All he wanted was for me to be happiness. He said "it's okay" a few times until I had calmed down. Eventually, I apologised for having a meltdown and told them I'd sleep over it before making any decisions. (no surprise what happened here)

My father was the kind of person who is loud when he needs to be, and soft when he needs to be. His stubbornness and sternness was something I aspire to have (but I'm too soft-hearted sometimes). He loved with his entire being and would dote on those he loved the most. Some days, I wish I was half the person he is but I don't think I'm anywhere near there.

I went home in April 2022 and I finally got to see him and tell him many things. My spring day finally came.

Out of habit, I kept looking into his room expecting him to be reading the newspaper at midnight. I hoped he'd look up and smile at me before pulling me into a hug, just like he used to. Hope is a lovely thing to have, but hope is also pretty dangerous. But it's nice to imagine once in a while.

I felt lighter when I went home. I feel even lighter putting my thoughts into words now.

Happy birthday, pa. I love you. As per tradition, I will celebrate you by doing the things you love.

From all the memories stored in my heart

I gather up the ones of you, link them together

Gazing at them projected across the room

I feel you with every burst of pain

017. Thank you, 2015.

Dear 2015,

I believe that you were a great teacher to me. I received many lessons and blessings in disguise.

Allow me to share the lessons you imparted which I didn't know I needed the most:

1. Never say 'no, thank you' when someone graciously offers you help. You can't always do it alone. It may hurt the "I'm a strong, independent woman and I don't need your help!!!" persona you project, but it's always better to ask for help than burning out and being overwhelmed by everything at the end of it all.
2. Please hold your tongue when arguing with someone who is close to you. You have a tendency of saying things out of spite and it always hurts the other person. You come out of the battle both a winner and a loser. Think for a minute, is it worth losing a friendship over a petty argument? If your answer is 'no', take a deep breath and be the bigger person. Apologise. Hug. Kiss. I don't know, just do something that lets the other person know that they're important to you and not worth losing.
3. Take care of your health. Sure, you never intended it, but you lost weight in 2015. Always nourish your body with good food (cheat days are okay once in a while). Know what ails your body and treat it right. Your rheumatoid arthritis flares up once in a while, but you're managing the stress well that even the doctor said you're getting better. Take it one day at a time.
4. Learn to get out of your comfort zone. I know you are painfully shy (this hasn't changed much, I'm afraid), but with new challenges coming your way, you will learn to work around your shy, awkward self and deal with people and situations better. Give your opinions, no matter how silly they sound at times. You will learn and grow from this.
5. Change is scary, but exciting. Take as much as you can absorb, and be better. That way, you will grow into your new role and be less hesitant to make decisions on certain things.
6. Your blood type is B+, which essentially means you should 'be positive'. Of course, life isn't always rosy, but you should always keep your head up and put a smile on your face as you face the day. Be positive about anything new that happens in life:  new friends, new roles, new challenges.
7. Your football team will disappoint you at times, but that's okay. You will get used to it and realise that winning/drawing/losing (and changing of managers too) is just a part of life.
8. Spend more time renewing friendship and family ties. Learn who will be there for you when you are troubled. Cut the ties with toxic people; never forget what they've done for you, thank them and move on. You will be much happier because you don't need that kind of negativity in your life.
9. Learn some important life skills - like cooking or killing a cockroach. You never when you might just need it. 
10. Sometimes, all you need is a new haircut.

B+. It's in you.

Get out of that comfort zone, self, and you'll go far.

Thank you, 2015, for all the important life lessons. I will carry this with me into the new year.

Your future's so bright, you have to wear shades.

Hello, 2016, I'm ready for you. I am good, but I will be better this year.

016. Your cigarette

I am your cigarette
whose smoke clouds your head
You tell everyone I'm good for you
that I keep you warm
You ignore their constant pleas,
of my causing you nothing but harm

To you, I am a perfect fit
in between your fingers
that is where my scent lingers
I felt alive when I was lit
and with every puff
we fell in love
You became addicted to my taste
while I became addicted to your kiss
Indeed, ignorance is bliss!

But you woke up one night
and realised that baby, I'm no good
Suffocation from swirls of white
and burns from specks of ashes
allowed you to see
how toxic this love could be

Slowly you started throwing away the matches
and you began to kiss me less
left unwanted, I was tossed aside
and I watched you confess
that you would allow yourself to slide
my tiny frame around your lips one last time

I was your cigarette
until you stubbed out the last flickering flame
and made sure that I was dead

015. Pain don't hurt.

As I sit here and type this post, I am still searching the internet to find ways to cope with/treat rheumatoid arthritis.

Yes, you read that right. I have rheumatoid arthritis.

When I started having pain in my right wrist, I listed down possible reasons why I had the pain. I thought it happened because I used a bowling ball that was too big for my hand. I also thought that carrying my niece was the cause of my sudden wrist pain. I even suspected the cold air from the office air-conditioner was getting into my bones. 

After reading so much about carpal tunnel syndrome, I began to assume that given the nature of my job,  this was the cause of all my misery. After getting a referral from the doctor, I went to see the orthopaedic surgeon that my family has been seeing. He took one look at my hand and said "your wrist is swollen, we'll do a blood test to see if it is arthritis". Of course, I didn't like the sound of that. I'm not THAT old to be having arthritis like my mother. If I could carry three suitcases from one flat to another and carry five heavy bags of groceries from the supermarket to my flat, I don't see how I could possibly have arthritis.

After two weeks, the test revealed that I showed signs of rheumatoid arthritis. I was calm when he told me. When I asked him if there was a way to lower the reading, he said 'no'. Again, I was calm. The moment I reached the office, I was upset. I went online to read up about this ailment I was having. (please don't ever do this because you will end up reading the worst possible scenarios and think "OH SHIT I AM GOING TO DIE!". The joy of being a hypochondriac). I was distracted because all I wanted to do was cry. At lunchtime, I went down to my favourite spot and cried. I only told three people about it that day. I unleashed my anger on my mother for not calling to check on me because she would always call to find out if I was doing okay. I did apologise to her for my outburst, but she understood that I was upset.

On Wednesday, I went to see the orthopaedic surgeon again. After finding out that the pain was still there and had extended to my forearm, he referred me to a rheumatologist (who is also treating my mother). He asked me a lot of questions and told me to get another blood test done. After that, he told me "Yes, you have mild arthritis. While not curable, it can be prevented from getting worse. It is hereditary, which means that you don't have to worry about being adopted. It's very common in women, and it can also be caused by stress. It can go away and never return. It can go away and return. It can get worse". He told me to destress and sleep early (hahaha) and to go back in three months to see if it has subsided or worsen.

It is overwhelming to take in and understand. I can't ask "why me?" because hey, I got from my mama. It has set me back from doing things such as chores, lifting a box file at work, and carrying my niece. Seeing my parents carry her makes me sad because I want to be able to do the same without feeling pain and/or hurting the little girl. It makes me sad because I can't be of much help to the family when they need help. It makes me sad because I can't lift things without wincing in pain. It makes me very sad that I have to cut down on working out/exercising and intake of certain foods (the latter was instructed by my father because he thinks that eating cold foods at night is going to kill me, when the doctor said that there is no scientific proof that cold foods make it worse. better to be safe than sorry, you know?). I'm also sad because I've also caused people to worry about me (my family, my friends - online and real-life, my colleagues, my boss (who has already yelled at me to go for a full medical checkup as per my entitlement)).

I am going to take things one day at a time. I will learn to destress and relax, and hopefully, this thing will leave and never return. I won't let this pain consume me.

I'm so thankful for all the well-wishes, support and scoldings I received in the last few days. I'm truly blessed with good people in my life.

Remember: pain don't hurt.

014. Love yourself.

I know I'm not overweight, I have an average built. I'm comfortable with it, but when you have friends/family members who are much smaller than you, you become the butt of all jokes (literally). I shrugged it off in the beginning, but sometimes, it gets to you and it hurts.

I had a teacher who would tell me that I was fat at every opportunity she got. She went one better by using my name in an English exam paper. We had to write the opposite word for the underlined word in a sentence...one of the sentences was

Rowena is a thin girl.

It doesn't take rocket science to tell you what she had implied. It didn't matter if I came in first in my class, it didn't matter if I had the highest score for Maths. None of that mattered because all I was to her was that I was fat.

I was 9.


I'm also one of those unfortunate people who gain weight from vacations. I gain at least five kilogrammes every time I come home from a trip. Losing the weight isn't that difficult for me because I tend to lose them all during the fasting month. But again, when you have skinny/smaller-sized friends, standing next to them makes you feel like you're a beached whale.

After my one-month trip to America when I was 16, I gained five kilogrammes and I couldn't fit into any of my clothes. Being at an age where other people's opinions were important, I knew I needed to lose weight. So, what did I do?

I used laxatives.
I fasted a lot.
I skipped meals.
I exercised excessively.

And then I masked it by eating normally. Then, when I felt 'flabby' and guilty, I'd do it all over again. It was a beautiful cycle: eat so much, feel guilt, do shit loads to lose the weight, rinse and repeat.

I kept doing it for eight years without people knowing. It was the only thing I knew I could control, because I couldn't control other parts of my life. One day in 2011, I looked in the mirror and I could see my ribs and said "this is bad". It was the first time that I admitted to myself that I was bulimic, and that I had a problem that needed fixing. I never publicly admitted it, but at least some of you knew about it from my other blog.

I took it one day at a time, because you just don't tell yourself "snap out of it, you're beautiful" and rainbows and fireworks would magically appear. Every day you look at the mirror and tell yourself that, the mirror would reply "hahahaha nope you're not". It's the hardest part to convince yourself all these things when you don't feel like it's the truth. It was a struggle in the beginning.

After a while, I felt better and learnt to accept and love myself for the way I am. Sure, there have been times I would have a relapse, but with supportive friends and a conscience, I would make sure that I don't go back to the old me.

It took me a few years to realise that being skinny wasn't going to make me happy. Being healthy and fit was the way to go. I decided to follow an exercise regime and change my diet, and I've seen the improvements. I'm much happier now.

All I want to say to you reading this is: love yourself. Don't let anyone define your worth, you don't need that toxicity in your life. I learnt my lesson the hard way, and I suffered. I hope you're a lot smarter and wiser than I was back then. You are NOT your weight.

I'll leave you with something Miranda Hart said:

Be kind to yourself.

013. Things I learnt from the World Cup 2014.

With the World Cup 2014 coming to an end, here are some of the things I learnt during this wonderful month.

01. People still use the term 'rape' when the scoreline looks like '1-5', '4-0', or '1-7' as if it were a joke. 

In every football match, the teams go in knowing their opponents and the outcomes could be either a win, draw, or loss.

In rape, there are no such outcomes besides shame, grief, pain, and in some occasions, death. 

The part that sickens me most is that women are also using the word 'rape' to signify a humiliating loss. We cry about how it's always the victim's fault for rape, the way we dress and behave are the 'reasons' for rape. Yet, people use the term so lightly when it comes to sports.

To equate a loss to a rape only does disservice to rape victims and shows how lightly people consider rape to be.

It's 2014, rape should NOT be treated as joke. 

02. Supporting the England NT will only leave you disappointed.

I always tell people that I root for England at every single tournament, and people laugh at me and say "Why do you always do this to yourself?". I know, I am a masochist. After all, suffering is part and parcel of football.

In 2002, I spent 30 minutes crying to my best friend (a Brazil fan) when Brazil beat England at the World Cup quarterfinal. I didn't even want to go to school the day after the match because I was devastated. We still talk about that moment every single time we meet (I cringe every single time).

In 2004 and 2006, I spent the entire week moping about England unfairly losing to Portugal on penalties. Losing on penalties is the worst way to exit a tournament.

In 2008, they didn't even qualify for the EURO Championships. Of course, I cried.

In 2010, I was really upset when they were not given a goal against Germany (poor Lamps will never have his World Cup goal). I am still angry with Neuer because of that.

In 2012, I sat and sighed as I watched England lose to Italy. On penalties. Sigh.

This year, I sat and laughed as England exited the tournament at the group stage. I didn't like the team that was selected (excluding Ashley Cole in favour of the 'youth'), so maybe that's why it was a lot easier to watch England flop play this year. Yes, I do understand the idea of 'mixing it up' but it was done horribly wrong (you should seek advice from Jürgen, Roy).

It's okay, England. You can try again in 2016. Or, you know, whenever.

03. Never underestimate the underdogs.

When the groups were announced, I made predictions of the top two teams from each group. It did not include the likes of Costa Rica, Colombia, Algeria, and Chile.

Oh, how wrong I was. I made the terrible mistake of counting them out. I won't do it again.

They played amazing, beating the top teams (whom you would've expected to actually advance to the second round)!

Chile, perhaps inspired by this video of the Chilean miners, amazingly beat Spain, the current World Cup holders. They also nearly beat Brazil. *coughs*robbed*coughs*

Algeria did well to hold off Germany despite the fact some of the players were fasting on the day of the match. I know I wouldn't have been able to do such a thing, I fainted in the bathroom once due to dehydration while fasting for 19 hours.

I was gutted that they didn't make it far. (*coughs* COLOMBIA AND CHILE WERE ROBBED! *coughs*)

These teams have so much to be proud of, and I hope they will come back for the next World Cup stronger than before.

04. My niece is beginning to show signs of being a football fan.

According to my mum, when Portugal scored the equaliser against the USA, my niece started crying loudly. I still laugh about it because she's only 5 months old, what does she know about football?

No, darling little snowflake, please don't be a mini-me. Watching/supporting a football team gives you enough pain and misery, you don't need that. I mean, look at me and England. Or the Czech Republic. 

SO MUCH PAIN.

05. Sportsmanship is a beautiful thing.

What this old man did, I sincerely hope other football fans will follow suit. Football rivalries exist, but at times you have to look past all that and for once, just be a decent human being. I know I have been a terrible person at times, but I'm trying my best to be better. So should the rest of us.

06. You realise how old you really are.

Miroslav Klose broke the record of the top scorer, surpassing the Brazilian legend Ronaldo. I cried so hard because I've watched him score all 16 goals from 12 years. In the span of those 12 years, I graduated from high school, got a Bachelors degree, got a Masters degree, and found a job.

I've seen all the goals and all the backflips. My inner 15-year-old has been crying non-stop over this.

It's also been 12 years since Germany last featured in a World Cup final. This has been my battle cry the last few days.

*wipes single lone tear streaming down my face*

Yes, I'm ancient. Don't make fun of me.

07. Your best memories of the World Cup always involved the people you loved.

I was always surrounded by friends at every World Cup. We would discuss the matches, cute players (it is an added bonus), and predictions. You could cry at a loss and no one would judge you (okay, not entirely true - refer to point number 2, but it does make good conversation!).

I would watch the matches with my family and I'd always be entertained by their commentaries. In 2010, my dad stayed up with me and we played Blackjack (he cheated) while watching the match and discussing about being away from home for a year. He was also very excited that two of his favourite players from his favourite football team featured in the World Cup final.
(who knew he'd end up hating them a few years after that final?)

This year, I have been fortunate enough to have wonderful friends who would keep me awake with texts and random funny things. It's nice knowing that there are people who are willing to put up with your nonsense at a horrible hour of the day. (#olifortopscorer, eh?)

08. Every other song sounds better than the actual official World Cup 2014 song.

We had quality World Cup songs, and this year, we get THIS.

I would've preferred THIS or THIS to be the official World Cup 2014. (preferably the former, but my niece loves the latter. Who can deny my Colombian queen?)

09. Same, old boring tactics can only get you so far before someone calls you out on it.

I'm looking at you, Spain.

10. The internet is a wonderful place.

One funny moment, and you become an internet sensation. God bless you, you creative little buggers.

Some of my favourites:

Jasper Cillessen being the voice of conscience for James Rodriguez.

Alejandro Sabella channelling his inner Michael Jackson.

Robin van Persie can fly!

That is all for this crazy one month of football. I've enjoyed myself immensely and I hope you had a great time too. See you in the another four years!

(or two years if you're going to watch the UEFA EURO 2016 tournament. I know I will!)

012. Take the night and tear it down.

I suppose I should apologise for the serious lack of updates. I seem to only pop in to write an obligatory post that marks how old I am.

I actually have a post lying in my draft, but I just gave up on it because I really didn't feel like posting it. I might post it when I'm actually ready. We'll just have to wait and see on that one.

I did say to a few people at the beginning of the year that I would start blogging again. Unfortunately, I haven't written anything (except for that draft). Sigh, procrastination is such a terrible thing.

It's the second half of the year, and what a better time to pick to keep to my promise. I will attempt to blog like I used to, not just for the usual "oh boo, I am a year older but hey like wine, I get better with age" nonsense.

Yeah, so here we go again. Let's hope I stick to my promise.