The one thing that makes me sad about not earning a monthly salary is that, I don't get to sadaqah my money in a consistent amount like I used to. Now it's a different amount every month depending on how much I get to make at that point of time. It sucks. It feels like I owe someone something all the time. I'm ashamed of myself for not giving more and doing more. It's embarrassing to eat and sleep and do normal things when there are so many news about people and kids out there in conditions which we are not even strong enough to read about.
Just that one thing, really.
Resigning and becoming a full-time writer/performer was still the best decision I had ever made last year. No regrets on that one.
On another note, I am grateful that I received my royalties just days before Ramadhan, enabling me to sadaqah as much as I can this holy month. Basically paying my (overdue) rent for living in this world, taking up this tiny space on earth.
Today I parked my car at the basement of a supermarket and fell asleep in the vehicle for at least 3 hours with its engine running. It just happened. It was random yet comforting. It was a moment when my mind refused to function, and my eyes longed to shut, and I felt the urge to take a break.
It has always been the rain or the carpark. Whenever I'm alone, and I meet one of these two, I just have to pause. I simply have to. It's probably my way of "getting away". Or my coping mechanism.
Last night I dreamed of a miscarriage. I had a miscarriage. It was not a baby. It was my love for you. It was forced out of me.
I had knives and needles in me, searching and digging until finally they found what they believed should be killed.
I felt every inch of my love for you as it was being pulled out of me. It was as if- I was being cut alive. I was so weak I could no longer fight. I let it be though my heart disagreed. My face and my hair were soaking wet with sweat. My arms and my thighs were trembling in pain like I was mad.
When it was finally out, the doctor placed it beside me. My love for you. I looked at it. It was much bigger and much more beautiful than I expected it would be. But it was covered in blood. Too much blood it was a mess. I was in no power to save it; I was too weak to do anything.
I shut my exhausted eyes. I could not bear looking at it being taken away. A part of me had been stolen and I will never be the same again. As my b...
Once upon a time, there was a boy who fell in love with a broken girl. The girl was under a magic spell. She could not speak. She was very scared in the beginning. She was so used to being hurt, she did not think she was worthy. The boy continued to treat her with nothing but kindness, and eventually, she fell for him too. She was unable to utter those three words, though. And so, to show her truest feelings, she gave him her heart, her body, and her entire soul.
I have always been the kind of girl who does a million things at one time. I'm happy when I'm busy. So when I had to move to this laid-back town called Ipoh, away from the big city where I socialised all the time and did all sorts of creative work, I had a hard time to adjust. I love Ipoh for how it makes me feel like I'm living in the 90s (the 90s has always been my favourite era) but the nonchalant environment was just too overwhelming for me sometimes. I needed to keep myself busy, meet people, do things. I was inspired by Rumah Titi in KL and Rumah Sanur in Bali which are managed by my good friends in the art scene, Zulhabri Supian and Farhan Azahan of Frinjan. I told them I wanted to do the same and I'm very grateful that they support me.
2. What is the actual aim of Rumah Ipoh?
To be honest? To help me pay the rent. I have always loved old houses with character - wooden floor, white wall, unfinished look - but back in Selangor, the old ho...