Chapter 14: How I met your father

dear children,

The New Year came barging in and before I could wish everyone just that, I was betrothed, such was my love story.

2011 did me no disappointment. Rather, with the presence of my dream guy, that very year presented me a different kind of love from a Platinum platter- the silver could jolly well go! This was ultimately a new lease on my life.

I used to think I was a failure when it comes to relationships.  Men would cheat, they would run and during the peak season, they’d plainly lie, all in the name of ditching your dearest mother. (On a side note, to add salt to my constant wound, I even heard rumours being said about me. The men, yes plural at that, were making up stories for the feasts of ‘em listeners and all I could afford to do was wait quietly for God’s retribution to befall on them.) Of course, I knew I was climbing up a gum tree so I wanted out. However it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize I was none the wiser. Afterall kids, I was “on a search” for your father and this was all a game.

Today I can confidently tell you I have met your father and it is the best feeling in the world. Who would have thought HE came in the form of a tall handsome chap dedicated to give me his utmost love and it is an honour to return the ‘favour’ full of pleasure. I reckon it’s too early to sing his praises but he deserves such recognition.  I’m sure by now he’s already in your good graces my children, so there.

 Having said the aforementioned, our relationship wasn’t ups a daisy. In between our passionate embraces, there were many challenges we had to overcome.  Nevertheless he was there throughout all of my ordeals. That was when I knew I’ve met The One. We pulled through, safe to say, and I couldn’t ask for a better man for this job.

The irony of all this was I tricked him into believing I was special only to have him make me realize indeed I was.  He brought out the best in me. He’s not a perfect man but God is great, he made your father a perfect fit for me. Now not only am I thankful, I am disgustingly addicted to this man I now call ‘fiance’.

If you were to ask me just months ago whether I would get engaged, I’d ground you children for a week for even asking such a silly question. I wouldn’t do it for love nor money. But your father made me a romantic video then got on one knee with a gorgeous diamond ring in tow, tell me how could I ridicule such action. A perfect proposal for only God was our witness.  I accepted this new status like a duck takes to water. It was THAT easy, it felt so natural.  So goes the phrase, every Jack has his Jill.

I pray 2012 would be kind and amplify the love we share which is now growing day by day. Like I said since day 1, I have faith and with this in my hand, insyallah everything will be just fine.

This is the beginning of our story ‘How I met your father’.

p/s: I love you children.

cinta
your mother 

Chapter 13: Life as it is

dear children,

Okay, so it’s quite apparent that your mother is nothing short of lazy that she simply allows this blog to be buried in dust. Still, don’t get all smart on me now kids.

If you must know, which I am sure you are keen to, my time was spent with the company of your FATHER. Wait, is that a gasp I hear? Aha. It was merely a jest my girls.

 

….Or is it?

 

Alright alright, I’ll cut to the chase. Your mother, according to the Facebook status quo, is ‘in a relationship’.  An elaboration is unnecessary since that mere phrase covers it all. So that’s why I was busy. Swooning in cloud nine as if I was eighteen again, shame on me.

I met my match it seemed. Perhaps my vision is blurred by pure acts of lust but otherwise, I think this time it’s for real. Maybe I can safely say I’ve broken that mold, so to speak. I shall not jinx the moment and suggest that he is your father because as luck would have it, at this point of time, I…. Nevermind. Like I’ve mentioned, thy shalt not anyhow say anything.

Radin Zulkifli, his name is, or simply Pipi,like everyone including myself calls him. The thought of him makes me weak, there are no words left to speak. Disgusting but admit it, my tackiness does have a kick. I am in love children, in every sense of the word!

So much so, I choose to talk more about him in my next entry. Too much sugar coated words today and you lot would disown me I fear if I continue, be that as it may. But be warned, the next time I write, it maybe revolting for you although wonderful for me.

My life besides the presence of he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned-for-now is again, on the right track. Even PMS couldn’t deter my happiness. I guess it’s true when they say it’s all in the mind, heck or in my case, the heart.

To date, family is still the best, of which my cousins come right after. Wretchedly, because of our clashing schedules, meeting the whole lot of your aunties is as easy as setting a date with the Queen of England. In other words… hardly feasible, yes. But we try to meet up if time kindly permits.

Speaking of England, I brought your grandmother to London on my birthday last February. Note the fact that I bring my mother to Europe and I expect nothing less from you children. But Mommy loves you!

It was splendid, indeed  it was. I couldn’t ask for a better day, or a better weather and obviously a better companion. As you’d know by now, London is my favourite country to visit and sharing the joy with the most important woman in my life really did it for me.

To summarize my life thus far, it is where it should be. I wouldn’t trade it for Britney Spears’, though it wouldn’t hurt to have her bank account. Right.

So…..

Career-check
Life-check
Lovelife- check check check

 

It’s no wonder I’m all smile.

One step closer to how I met your father.

p/s: I love you children.

 

cinta
your mother

Chapter 12: Case of the Ex

dear children,

Days and months are going by and still at present, I have not an inkling who your father is. Needless to say, I am not losing hope, Faith aint allowing me to. Truth be told, I am not mulling much over it, what when finally I have straightened up my priorities.

 

A girlfriend of mine poured her heart’s out to me the other day when she confessed to meeting her ex even when he is with another girl. Happy or not, I’ll let God be the witness.

Like any other girl, sanity didn’t quite sink in. Denial with a capital D overruled her better judgement and as much as I hate to say this, I felt her.

I smelled her malevolence a mile away but I had to help her set the record straight. Play with fire only if you could muster enough strength to counter the consequences. Life’s won’t always go your way even if you hold the upper hand more oft than not.

Why? Why do women still do it? Clinging on to that iota of hope that someday miraculously a turn of event will be the solution to your sorrows.

That shouldn’t be the case, right? Why make men the reason for your happiness? Yes, an oxymoron even for me but really, now that I manage to see from the other point of view, I could do nothing more but instil some sense into her, into me. Yes, I became as wise as Solomon that very moment.

She is beautiful, her height is sucha bonus, and it doesn’t hurt that she is doing well for a living. Yet, there she is waiting for a bugger to make up his mind.

I’m pretty sure with all my heart she could get someone worthier but I guess the green-eyed monster clouded her common sense. Was she really in love with this guy or was it because she has now gotten herself a competition? Again, I shall let God be the judge.

Children, should one day broken-heartedness lead you to believe you deserve second best, think again. I wrote this journal for a purpose and by all means, let me face the mistakes so that you kids wouldn’t.

 

I could have waited for him. I could have consoled myself to believe we’re meant to be. But down inside I know within the depths of my soul I left him for reasons, for reasons Oprah would strongly formulate as a preposition.

It’s okay children. Your father would come. You just have to wait for a lil while more.

 

p/s: Have faith for such can even move mountains.

 

cinta
your mother

Chapter 11: I am a Mangosteen.

dear children,

Beauty is only skin deep, my teacher used to tell me. Ahhh… Right on teachers.

Daughters of mine, beauty is the means to get you the boys and make them yearn for you as if Venus is you and you are Aphrodite.  Goddess of Beauty, need I say more? Be her and you got yourself a deal.  And as for you sons, looks can make any girls wait for you on hand and foot, it’s true.  A pointer, it won’t hurt to work on those abs. Facts are facts.

In my generation, and I’m sure the ones to come, it is dampening to know your flaws escalates your insecurities to a point that some are willing to go under the knife. Okay, but that is not the topic here.

A month ago, my sister, (your Auntie Nurul) and I went for a holiday in Kuala Lumpur. It was my first time paying a visit to our relatives across the causeway, an interesting trip I must admit.

Two of our nieces (your cousins, hence) had a sleepover at our hotel and before long, girlish talks and squeals of laughter filled the room.

“Kak, show me some handsome guys from Singapore”, one said as I was seen scrolling down the list in my Facebook.

“Eeee…. Not handsome only,” she then claimed.

And as she showed me the photos of the supposed good-looking men in Malaysia, it was obvious to see our taste of the opposite gender differ quite drastically –in other words, handsome NOT!

Funny aint it. We see the same thing but our depth of appreciation speaks otherwise. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, how true is that saying. Ironically, so different are our views that we choose to think the other party lacks so much in taste. Like really?

 

In Singapore, the Malay men in general prefer girls who are faired-skin. Not good news for me since that would make me the unpopular choice. Another sad story, I dig Malay men. Sod it.

I grew up envious of Auntie Nurul because she was apparently a stark contrast to me. Aunties sang her praises and their spoken comments echoed their thoughts, “ Adiknyer gelap eh, tak macam kakaknyer, putih.”

Translating it in English is just going to pile on the agony so we’ll leave it at that.

My grandmother used to comfort me back then by saying “You’re like a mangosteen fruit. So dark is the skin but so sweet is its flesh.”

Comforting but it only worked there and then.

Miraculously, if I may say so, there is a light at the end of my tunnel. Little did I know, the colour of my skin was actually a blessing in disguise. 

When I started flying three years ago, I realized there was hope for me after all. I got attention from passengers who valued my look. Ahh, fancy thing, I sometimes received more compliments than my fellow colleagues, who’s to say?

Caucasians, in fact, love this exotic look. They said I was what an Asian girl should look like; at least I remembered one who did.

Ever since those boost of confidence (a good start per se) I kept my hair long. I wanted so badly to appear like the traditional Javanese girl, I could do nothing more but maintain this look.

It worked, truth be told. And I couldn’t be happier.

Story of my life.

Except as much as I hate to say this, those blasted teachers do make a good point. Albeit looks do matter, at the end of the day, it’s the heart that determines whether you are beautiful or not.

Wait, remember brains play an important role too so don’t forget your studies kids!

I’ve met so many people whom I wasn’t impressed initially because they didn’t quite suit my taste for beauty. But then as I started knowing them more in depth, I realized beautiful on the outside is nothing without the inside.  That is how the universe works. Amazing.

When you’re old enough to watch a movie, I’ll let you watch “Shallow Hal” acted by Jack Black and Gwyneth Paltrow. It depicts the significance of inner beauty. Inspiring much.

 

Speaking of which, I keep telling everyone my children are beautiful. Such bonuses you guys have both; you’re  worth your weight in gold. Aha.

 .

.

.

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So is your father Caucasian? Look at the mirror and tell me.

 

p/s: I am the luckiest mother alive.

 

cinta
your mother

Chapter 10: An awesome beginning makes an awesome ending

dear mr & mrs bloggie…

I don’t want 2009 to end just yet… reason unknown, I am not ready to embrace 2010. Anticipation warred with reluctance seems to cloud my thoughts. What if nightmares do come true, and yes the new year is just another disappointment, so help me God, it proves nothing but the very fact that I am doomed? Countries I have visited people I have met and new clothes I have worn. But singledom engulfed me in such a funny manner, this soul is numb. Oh, be still, this lonely heart of mine. The solace of tomorrow seems promising albeit. Or is it not? Another year, twelve moons older. This is a boon and my burden. A mite too strong for me to accept, don’t get me started please. I sang my praises too soon, I broke my promises too many.

May Allah bless my family and friends the happiness they deserve and live long healthy lives.

2010…. Be kind. cinta
fasyalba

 

 

dear mr & mrs bloggie,

My prayers not only came true. If anything, it was better than I had anticipated. Indeed, life is like a box of chocolate, you never know what you are going to get; especially the chocolates made from Germany

Did I mention it is also delicious?

I’m just saying, 2010 was just that. It handed me love from a silver platter, like my life is being carved to receive such extravagance. I was given the prestige to be acquainted with kind souls, having bestowed the luxury to once again travel all over the world, and at that, my bank account has been beaming with much pride ever since. Shame on me should I complain all this while.

My heart was bruised once in a while by dimwits not worthy of my mere attention but I got up, prouder than before; I’d be damned if need make me a sitting duck. Singledom got the worst of me sometimes. Nevertheless, if you get my meaning, it’s exhilarating when handed the chance to date around. I thought it was a case of a sad story. It was not to be, apparently. On the contrary, it gave me an opportunity to study myself even better, and personally, personality wins looks hands down, if my theory is right.

Life is such.

 

With that said, everything else I took it with a pinch of salt. That’s what you get when you have Faith. You know deep down life lessons are quite painful, in all honesty.

Given a choice, I never want this year to end. But then again, that’s just silly. The very angels who made my year a wonderful one are the people who are going to stay by me through thick and thin until I take my last breathe. Between you and me, I vow to do the same, as God is my witness.

The women in my family are my pillars of strength, and I hold them in the highest regard.

If not for them, I’m just a talking weakling. If you ask me why I should be the luckiest girl alive, just look at them and there you will get your answer.

THANK  YOU MY FAMILY, you have made 2010 an easy feat.

And with my friends in tow, I couldn’t ask for a better bunch. Friendships are rekindled, new ones are formed and platonic ones established, I am truly loved.

THANK YOU PEOPLE!

So why I am afraid of 2011 is anyone’s guess. Perhaps age is partially the factor, but otherwise I think the chances of a disappointment maybe the key.  Elaboration is not necessary. It’s dampening.

In a nutshell,  2o1o was awesome. Thank you for making it so. I bid you farewell now.

 

2011, you better be good. I would be twenty-five and a quarter of a century is no joke. You be nice and I promise you will get an angel, name’s Nurfarah Fasya, Hello there.

 

You can count on it.

 

Ahhhh….. all’s well that ends well.

 

The end.

cinta
fasyalba

 

Chapter 9: It’s Just a Lil Crush.

dear children,

Yes, these past few days Mommy’s awfully busy occupying her every minute with loved ones, ah she must be THAT determined to paint the town red. How apt.

But of course amidst her hilarity, she hasn’t forgotten about her children, oh simply never. I must say though the subject in discussion today was inspired by the music that was playing in my head the other day. Jennifer Paige titled “Crush” filled my mind.

 

You see children, as I have probably mentioned say… too little too much with regards to my unflattering looks back then, such had accounted to me being a very unpopular girl in school. Unless you want to consider my achievements as an activist participating in multiple CCAs a wow-factor, then that’s a different story altogether.

What I am trying to get here is, having to be the nerd in school, I wasn’t noticed. Okay, that isn’t newsflash I realize. Because of that lil pathetic fact however, it had given me an opportunity to have more crushes instead, I hope you get my meaning. (On a side note, perhaps I should leave my deep crushes on my teachers out ya because somehow that’s so taboo. Still, one couldn’t help but infatuate.)

To cut my grandmother story really short, I suppose the word “crush” was earlier invented for the very reason of its purpose; to crush my heart. I remembered many a time I was ridiculed by the ‘crushers’ for even having the slightest feeling for them.

For instance, I used to like this one boy in school. Fair he was, blessed with Arab blood, I thought he was godsend, exaggeration intended. So imagine his horror (Trust me, no other words could be more fitting at this time) when he found out that I fancied him, yea sometimes my bestfriend just couldn’t keep her big mouth shut. -___-

He laughed it off and said he would never like me. To rub salt vigorously on my already infected wound, he said 1) He liked my bestfriend instead, 2) He was only drawn to fair girls and 3) He found me ugly.

You hear that loud sound of shattered glass outside? No no, that’s my heart breaking into million pieces. It still hurts me so now because he rejected me quite transparently and stirred with my self-esteem. Yea, I’ve gotten my ass in a sling. Scene one.

 

There was another moment of time that secretly I was ‘crushing’ on a boy a year my senior. A jock and the popular kid in school, you must be blind as a bat not to notice him.

However, much to my disappointment, (gasp now or forever hold your peace) he was a bully. Not just anyone, mind you, he was a bully to nerds like me. Well, to be fair, I am  not sure whether to be happy though for at least he acknowledged my existence but God I  recalled having to duck away whenever he was around. Calling out “Jendol” (meaning wide forehead), aloud, mind you, it was simply hard to ignore, I was anything but flattered. Embarrassed to a point of no return, school days sucked. Broken-hearted girl, Scene two.

So much for a crush aye.

 

Now, last I checked the Arabic idiot is engaged to some boring BIG chick. Not that I am being a sour grape but for that hurl of insult thrown my way, I would have thought he would find someone much better. And that acne on his once smooth skin? Hah, tough luck Prince Charming-no-more!

For the other bully in my life, I must say calling the shots now serves the best revenge. But we’re good, afterall since we’re playing the ball in my court and it’s quite an adventure to be the one turning down offers most times.

With this so much power, I managed to go out on dates with majority of my crushes. Not much of a happy thought though because I must say they were actually quite a disappointment, a damper to boot. At present, they are just bones to pick with. Children, a word of advice; looks can only bring you so far. If you want to own a personality that of a duck, stay home and rot. Urgh. God is fair indeed.

 

Yes, your teenage years might be a terror. But studying hard really pays off my sweetlings. You graduate, land yourself a good job, and shed those extra pounds along the way. Not to mention, if you can afford some pampering, monthly facials are to feel like a million.  Then, just like that, your crush-ers will become your crush-ies. Sweet success in your hands. I know. I’ve been there. Still there.

So I’m smiling now. Scene three.

 

p/s: Be good my children.

 

cinta
your mother

Chapter 8: It used to be my playground.

“Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.” – The Wonder Years 

 

dear children,

Your Aunt Nurul, my ever caring sister, fetched me early in the morning the other day and we chanced upon driving past my old school, Singapore Polytechnic.

As I forlornly took a long look at this place once considered my playground, I spotted two malay teenage girls smoking at the very same bus stop I used to hang out with my mates. My lips carved a grin because those two minahs held an uncanny resemblance to me and a close girlfriend of mine, your Aunt Ina back during our poly days. A spitting image, truly.

They even shared the same hairstyle as us; one with long brown wavy hair while the other owned a spunky bob cut, complete with highlighted blonde streaks, (no prizes for guessing who the latter bear a resemblance to.) They were smoking at a time where they were supposed to be in class. Tsk tsk I so know, why, because we used to be them, see. Nine-thirty in the morning and no students in sight but them and a few other smokers? Trust me, they were on a break, a long one I bet. Rebellion never goes out of fashion, it seemed. I smiled in remembrance.

There and then, my mind couldn’t help but tip toe past memory lane, yes the one I hold dear in my heart.

If you must know, nothing beats campus life. Secondary days don’t even come close, I’m telling you now.  That’s why I pray you children study hard and get into a good Polytechnic, where you get to experience the things I did. God forbid you follow the bad traits though, I don’t condone them now kids. There there.

Back then, it was all about boyfriends and partying. The bizarre part had to be where we surprisingly hand our assignments in time (didn’t matter if it’s plagiarism!) and exams we managed to pass. Amazing aint it? Everything else, we just didn’t give a rat’s ass. Just reading back my old journals back in 2006 and 2007, I must say I’ve grown over the years. I got to give myself props for that.

In my prime of life, I lost weight, got rid of my pimples, wore make-up, donned jeans and t-shirt to school, had many admirers, (had many boys to admire), the start of rotting lungs, experimental hairdos, in love with boyfriend, working part-time, played floorball in school and a club, met girlfriend Ina everyday and the list just goes on.

Good times, good times.

I don’t mean to get all excited but please allow me to continue…

I used to sing in class you know, the kind where everyone in the room could hear, i.e LOUD. I remember being asked to shut up all the time. But there was this particular time, I remember so clearly, it seemed just like yesterday.

The class was about interior designing. While everyone was engrossed drawing some layouts or whatnot, I was as usual singing (aloud). This time it was Brian Mcknight’s song, Back at One.

 “I feel like a little child, whose life has just begun…”

My lecturer, God bless him and his unzipped pants, paused to whatever he was babbling about, stopped his writing on the whiteboard, turned around and said to me, “Yes life is wonderful.”

I did feel great after that because hey, he paid attention to my singing when the rest of the class could do nothing more than to ignore this sad piece of melodious voice, fine, make that off-key. Yes, a shot of cheap thrill your mother got.

What’s better was many people in school hated your Aunt Ina and I. We were total bitches, safe to say. Even during presentation, we could pick fights. We always rocked it despite the last minute effort to put together powerpoint slides.

“Good morning everyone. Today, our presentation is about…”

I would pause mid-sentence, look at everyone in the class and said, “Are you guys ready? I won’t continue until everyone is quiet.”

To top it off, I said it with a height of nonchalance.

And I actually suited my action to my words. I refused to present until they paid the fullest attention to me. Ya, the idiots would actually hush down. I was within a hair’s breadth of laughing out loud. Yet, God love a duck, when it was their turn to present, my mates and I would either create our own set of intolerable noise at the back of the class or make a loud We-don’t-give-a-f*ck exit and head down for our usual break at the bus stop.

 

 Yes, life was wonderful. What’s not to love?

 

 

Ahhh… I really could go on but I don’t want to be bad influence to you children so this is as much as I can say.

I’ve changed so much during the span of working as an ambassador for Singapore. So much so, I forgot what fighting back feels like. I couldn’t recall being late for class, couldn’t remember the last time I picked a fight with anyone, be it a boy or girl, coloured hair is uncommon in my dictionary now and that is that.

But my life album is here to stay, it is. I am just thankful I own a beautiful memory box. I learn to appreciate the whys and wherefores of things the way they were.

.

.

.

 

Nonetheless, I’m keeping it shut now though…. Because as we speak, painful recollection suddenly seem to pop out, just like J-in-a-box.

Life aint THAT wonderful anymore.

Children, appreciate what you got because Goodbye will come soon after.

So… Was this where I met your father? Hmmm… Thou shalt not speak too soon.

p/s: Study hard children. Make me proud.

cinta
your mother