Bismillah
You know how sometimes you have lived long enough but you only not to do or do few thing? You only remember things that you want to or were conditioned to?
I remember a lot of things since I can first start remembering stuffs.
I remember how my mom scrubbed on a red chili on my face because I said this one bad word. My sister was teasing me and I called her that and my mom happened to hear me said the word. She ran around the house chasing after me. She then pinned me with her arm and to cut the story short, my first makeup was a lipstick made out of chili. I ended up crying myself to sleep. First because the heat from the chili stung my lips. Second because my sister didn't get punished or anything for teasing me. I hated my mom for few hours. When I woke up, all was well again. But starting from that time, I tried my best not to use bad words no matter how angry or mad I am about something.
I also remember the first time I tried cycling. I got a dark purple Le-Run bicycle. Bicycle is like the in-thing for children that age. Oh yeah, I was seven. I got the bicycle for my 7th birthday. The bicycle had no bell (all the more reason why I loved it) and it came with the two wheels at the back to stabilize the bicycle for beginners. Well, being the impulsive brat I was (still am), I told my brother to take the stabilizers off because I didn't like having them there. They made it hard for me to do laps and go in circles. It was my first day of cycling. He took off the stabilizers and hold the sit and the handles. He told me to pedal the bicycle and go straight. I did. And when I thought I could handle the whole cycling shenanigans, I told him to let go. And he did. Dude, it was exhilarating. I was cycling around. For the first time, I was fearless. I felt like nothing could go against me. Then, came a car. I was trying to go left and the car also wanted to go the same way. I forgot to ask my brother how to stop the bicycle. I ended up going way too fast and the next thing, I was literally flying. My bicycle rammed into the left front tyre of the car and I had both of my knees scrapped real bad. Oh and my elbows too. Bloods were everywhere. My green shorts were covered with patches of blood from the wounds on my knees. The lady (she was pregnant and she had a child with her in the car oh dear lord what have I done) asked me if I was okay. I was so scared my mom would be losing her marbles, I took my bicycle and cycled as fast as I could back home. I was panicking dude what do you expect me to do. I did what any impulsive and short-minded seven year old would do. I ran straight to the bathroom and showered, washing away all the evidence saying I had hit a pregnant lady. I put on long sleeved shirt and long pants. I went downstairs and saw the lady in front, talking to my mom. Few seconds later, mom went inside. I was about to cry because I was afraid mom would flip knowing I rammed into the lady's car. But mom didn't. Instead, she asked me if I was okay and told me to remove the shirt and pants so she can put on minyak gamat on the wounds. All was well again. The next day, I started cycling again.
When I was 8, my dad got my sister and I each a pair of rollerblades. Mine was blue and my sister's was red. We didn't know how to rollerblade. None of us did including my eldest brother. So we just did trial and error. I fell on my face, on my back, on my knees, on my head. Basically I fell on anything and everything. But I didn't stop. I kept on rollerblading. Until at some point, I stopped because the other kids started having other obsession that was playing badminton. I fell too many times, wounds were literally everywhere. And I got fresh wound every day during that time. Mom and dad didn't know what to say to make me stop. I had a theory in which they didn't want me to stop falling on my face because they wanted me to learn.
I had this one best friend when I was 5. He was the only who called me Aina when everybody else called me by my pet name. We would play together whenever we had time. He couldn't go out much because his mother didn't let him. So I would go to his house just to ask for his mother's permission to let him out. We played with anything we could find around us. Sometimes, we just talked. We were like that till I moved to another state. I met him again when I was 9. He called me by a different name because everyone else called me the latter name. I didn't like it. But I didn't say anything. And the friendship wasn't as fun as when we were 5. We were competing for better marks in subjects and better rankings in class. We were on each other's throat every time we met. But I still went to his house on the weekends just to ask for his mother's permission to let him out. We lost contact after my family moved to another state. I started looking for him again when I was 18. I searched for his name on the internet but nothing popped up. Nobody could ever replace him. He was there when I didn't need him. We were trying hard to kill each other but we didn't. Ever since I lost him, I never find someone who is as great and cool as him.
High school was a difficult time for me, so I'd rather not reminisce about it.
I met someone when I was 16. Well, not literally met. He got my number from some magazine. And he was the only who could handle me being my usual obnoxious and impulsive self. We were close in a short time. He was there when nobody else wasn't. People don't understand why I still like him even though he crushed my heart to pieces. He was there telling me stuffs to make me happy. He was there to encourage me to be better, to study harder. And I never met him until I was 20. I had a crush on him after 2 years of knowing him. I told him I liked him when I was 19. That was the first time and he neither rejected nor accepted my whatever-it-is-you-call. When I was 20, I told him again. This time, he told me he liked someone. I helped him with the girl. I did that outta our friendship. We were so close, his family knew about me. His sister texted me at 0540 to tell me he was hospitalized because he broke his femur in an accident. I met him for the first time in the hospital. He was bedridden and drugged. I don't even know till this day whether he remembers how I look. We were still good friends after that. I encouraged him to keep on doing the physiotherapy and stuffs, to never skip on meals and pills.There were times when he almost gave up and I stayed with him just like he did when I was down in the dumps. He told me about the girl whom he had a crush on. He told me he had given up on the girl. I thought I had a chance. January 2014, I am 21, I asked him again, subtly confessing to him I still like him. And this time, he said he already had someone. I was....angry. That Monday, I went to the gym just to have my knuckles busted after infinity numbers of punching the punching bag there. I lost a good friend that day. I couldn't handle the thought of him being happy with someone else that isn't me. I couldn't handle the thought of him able to move on so quick form his former crush. I couldn't handle the thought of him seeing me only as a friend, and his bro. I couldn't handle the thought of not having him when I had already planned a lifetime with him. I was broken beyond repair that day. I thought things are gonna get better. But looking from my state, I beg to differ. That was the first time I really like someone. I offered him my heart and ended up having it stomped million times into pieces.
I don't know why but as I get older, I lost the optimism and the positive energy I once had. I used to be able to fall and have wounds and blood all over but could still go around smile like a goof and live the life as if it was the best day of my life. I lost the happiness I had in me. I lost the enthusiasm and passion to live the best life every. I lost the force I had in me.
What ever happened to that impulsive, obnoxious, and happy little kid?
So here's my resolution for awal muharram and for the new year that is 2015: I want to be happy and content again. And this time I am not going to depend on people to be happy. Instead, I am going to depend on Allah. Because I know, He will never disappoint me. Ever.
2015, do your thing. I'm gonna own yo ass.
You know how sometimes you have lived long enough but you only not to do or do few thing? You only remember things that you want to or were conditioned to?
I remember a lot of things since I can first start remembering stuffs.
I remember how my mom scrubbed on a red chili on my face because I said this one bad word. My sister was teasing me and I called her that and my mom happened to hear me said the word. She ran around the house chasing after me. She then pinned me with her arm and to cut the story short, my first makeup was a lipstick made out of chili. I ended up crying myself to sleep. First because the heat from the chili stung my lips. Second because my sister didn't get punished or anything for teasing me. I hated my mom for few hours. When I woke up, all was well again. But starting from that time, I tried my best not to use bad words no matter how angry or mad I am about something.
I also remember the first time I tried cycling. I got a dark purple Le-Run bicycle. Bicycle is like the in-thing for children that age. Oh yeah, I was seven. I got the bicycle for my 7th birthday. The bicycle had no bell (all the more reason why I loved it) and it came with the two wheels at the back to stabilize the bicycle for beginners. Well, being the impulsive brat I was (still am), I told my brother to take the stabilizers off because I didn't like having them there. They made it hard for me to do laps and go in circles. It was my first day of cycling. He took off the stabilizers and hold the sit and the handles. He told me to pedal the bicycle and go straight. I did. And when I thought I could handle the whole cycling shenanigans, I told him to let go. And he did. Dude, it was exhilarating. I was cycling around. For the first time, I was fearless. I felt like nothing could go against me. Then, came a car. I was trying to go left and the car also wanted to go the same way. I forgot to ask my brother how to stop the bicycle. I ended up going way too fast and the next thing, I was literally flying. My bicycle rammed into the left front tyre of the car and I had both of my knees scrapped real bad. Oh and my elbows too. Bloods were everywhere. My green shorts were covered with patches of blood from the wounds on my knees. The lady (she was pregnant and she had a child with her in the car oh dear lord what have I done) asked me if I was okay. I was so scared my mom would be losing her marbles, I took my bicycle and cycled as fast as I could back home. I was panicking dude what do you expect me to do. I did what any impulsive and short-minded seven year old would do. I ran straight to the bathroom and showered, washing away all the evidence saying I had hit a pregnant lady. I put on long sleeved shirt and long pants. I went downstairs and saw the lady in front, talking to my mom. Few seconds later, mom went inside. I was about to cry because I was afraid mom would flip knowing I rammed into the lady's car. But mom didn't. Instead, she asked me if I was okay and told me to remove the shirt and pants so she can put on minyak gamat on the wounds. All was well again. The next day, I started cycling again.
When I was 8, my dad got my sister and I each a pair of rollerblades. Mine was blue and my sister's was red. We didn't know how to rollerblade. None of us did including my eldest brother. So we just did trial and error. I fell on my face, on my back, on my knees, on my head. Basically I fell on anything and everything. But I didn't stop. I kept on rollerblading. Until at some point, I stopped because the other kids started having other obsession that was playing badminton. I fell too many times, wounds were literally everywhere. And I got fresh wound every day during that time. Mom and dad didn't know what to say to make me stop. I had a theory in which they didn't want me to stop falling on my face because they wanted me to learn.
I had this one best friend when I was 5. He was the only who called me Aina when everybody else called me by my pet name. We would play together whenever we had time. He couldn't go out much because his mother didn't let him. So I would go to his house just to ask for his mother's permission to let him out. We played with anything we could find around us. Sometimes, we just talked. We were like that till I moved to another state. I met him again when I was 9. He called me by a different name because everyone else called me the latter name. I didn't like it. But I didn't say anything. And the friendship wasn't as fun as when we were 5. We were competing for better marks in subjects and better rankings in class. We were on each other's throat every time we met. But I still went to his house on the weekends just to ask for his mother's permission to let him out. We lost contact after my family moved to another state. I started looking for him again when I was 18. I searched for his name on the internet but nothing popped up. Nobody could ever replace him. He was there when I didn't need him. We were trying hard to kill each other but we didn't. Ever since I lost him, I never find someone who is as great and cool as him.
High school was a difficult time for me, so I'd rather not reminisce about it.
I met someone when I was 16. Well, not literally met. He got my number from some magazine. And he was the only who could handle me being my usual obnoxious and impulsive self. We were close in a short time. He was there when nobody else wasn't. People don't understand why I still like him even though he crushed my heart to pieces. He was there telling me stuffs to make me happy. He was there to encourage me to be better, to study harder. And I never met him until I was 20. I had a crush on him after 2 years of knowing him. I told him I liked him when I was 19. That was the first time and he neither rejected nor accepted my whatever-it-is-you-call. When I was 20, I told him again. This time, he told me he liked someone. I helped him with the girl. I did that outta our friendship. We were so close, his family knew about me. His sister texted me at 0540 to tell me he was hospitalized because he broke his femur in an accident. I met him for the first time in the hospital. He was bedridden and drugged. I don't even know till this day whether he remembers how I look. We were still good friends after that. I encouraged him to keep on doing the physiotherapy and stuffs, to never skip on meals and pills.There were times when he almost gave up and I stayed with him just like he did when I was down in the dumps. He told me about the girl whom he had a crush on. He told me he had given up on the girl. I thought I had a chance. January 2014, I am 21, I asked him again, subtly confessing to him I still like him. And this time, he said he already had someone. I was....angry. That Monday, I went to the gym just to have my knuckles busted after infinity numbers of punching the punching bag there. I lost a good friend that day. I couldn't handle the thought of him being happy with someone else that isn't me. I couldn't handle the thought of him able to move on so quick form his former crush. I couldn't handle the thought of him seeing me only as a friend, and his bro. I couldn't handle the thought of not having him when I had already planned a lifetime with him. I was broken beyond repair that day. I thought things are gonna get better. But looking from my state, I beg to differ. That was the first time I really like someone. I offered him my heart and ended up having it stomped million times into pieces.
I don't know why but as I get older, I lost the optimism and the positive energy I once had. I used to be able to fall and have wounds and blood all over but could still go around smile like a goof and live the life as if it was the best day of my life. I lost the happiness I had in me. I lost the enthusiasm and passion to live the best life every. I lost the force I had in me.
What ever happened to that impulsive, obnoxious, and happy little kid?
So here's my resolution for awal muharram and for the new year that is 2015: I want to be happy and content again. And this time I am not going to depend on people to be happy. Instead, I am going to depend on Allah. Because I know, He will never disappoint me. Ever.
2015, do your thing. I'm gonna own yo ass.
