Making Dua Against Our Ego

 Salam Brook,

    I am still in disbelief of how much healing my soul has undergone within the past 10 years. Now my mind won't stop assessing the shift and wonder how I can keep up the effort since I never realized it in the first place. I don't feel I've matured either. I just mounted a TV on my bedroom wall and brought in my PlayStation 4, aaah the privileges of a singleton. In my earlier posts I remember mentioning the concept of levelling up. I can confidently say I have gone up a considerable amount of levels because although I still have dark days and where-in-the-world-has-my-iman-gone? days, it's not so bad. I can manage. 

    Most of the change most probably occurred in 2020, just before the pandemic. I have been listening to Nouman Ali Khan's lectures on the Quran. On that particular day, it was the meaning of Al-Fatihah. By the end of it I had a paradigm shift, a religious awakening and cried for a week realizing the depth of ignorance I've allowed myself to fall into. "Guide us to the straight path." It was as if a climbing rope from Allah fell into my hands. It felt so amazing. It was as if I could tell syaitan whispers from my own thoughts. The struggle to improve my ibadah and memorise more surahs was anything but that, it was pure joy, nothing I've ever felt before. And for it to take place during lockdown! Pure bliss, I miss it dearly. 

    I remember looking at myself through a side mirror during school pickups, I smiled and was happily loving life. To be honest, I can't remember how bad my mental state was prior for that instance to be so ingrained in my memory. I know I've forgotten the purpose of life and was surrounding myself in hedonistic ideologies. My bucket was empty and my prayers were done without the presence of the mind. Lower than a basic Muslim. As long as I remember that, I can remember not to ever fall that far down again, which is my battle everyday.

        "No one will enter Paradise who has pride in his heart equal to the weight of a grain of a mustard seed, and no one will enter Hell who has faith in his heart equal to the weight of a grain of a mustard seed."

Narrated by 'Abdullah

    That hadith scared the darkness out of me. I waged war with my ego and fixed the toxic relationship with my sister. But relationships are a two way street and if only one party makes the effort, there will never be perpetual peace. I do see her efforts sometimes but as humans WE tend to slip a lot and forget. I forgo my past pleasures of music and film (of course anime has some what replaced it but under strict supervision!) and also the pride in my appearance. I used to laugh at myself if my hijab was as low as an ustadzah, now the transit kids sometimes tell me I  dress like one. 

    I've always been a stubborn brat but everyone can change for the right purpose. And Allah is the ONLY purpose. Although, it has been 5 years since the shift and I can feel myself waning here and there. I haven't been up for Tahajjud for loooong time and it's a punch to my gut everyday. Where has my vigour gone? I do not want to be one of those who take their desires as their gods. This is my jihad.

Don't Judge a Book by It's Ridiculously Beautiful Cover: A Lengthy Review of The Interdimensional Detective by Ten

 Hey Brook,

    Yes, I've moved on from films. I'm not sure why but I don't enjoy them like I used to anymore. I still watch them from time to time, just not as religious as I used to. No more digging for indies and no longer pausing life until it ends. I have better things to do now. I have cats.

    In this post, I will TRY (apologies in advance) to review the book, "The Interdimensional Detective" by Ten, which is the first locally published English novel I've ever read. Since I'm on a mission to write one myself, I figured I'd need to research the types of stories the local crowd prefer. Unfortunately, I'm unsure if Ten is Malaysian. I have to be honest though, I am quite distant from the entertainment industries of my own country. I only spent three and a half years in England as a child but it must've been impactful enough to shape my sense of humour and way of thinking that I preferred British entertainments more than anything. Well, for the longest time, I used to. Ever since the world has waken up to the double standards of the western world regarding the rights to self-determination and international law in general when it comes to the onslaught of the Palestinians, I've mostly moved away from that too. Or maybe even before that. I remember having an epiphany while watching season 4 of the Netflix series "The Crown": My country was colonised by these idiots who care more about their petty etiquette than the livelihood of the people from the different, rich cultures they conquered. [insert crickets]

    Moving on. This book, yes. I chose to read it because of its absolutely beautiful cover and my love for space and science fiction/fantasy. Of course, it was cousin Dhuha, again, who told me about the Bookiut publications. From the title itself, I did wonder and even asked Dhuha if it was anything like Doctor Who, to which she ignored for not being familiar with it. Having lived in England, Dr. Who has become part of my general pop culture knowledge even without watching a single episode. So, after a few chapters in, I was convinced, this is indeed a fanfic (fan fiction).

    Not that it's a bad thing to draw inspirations from other narratives, a lot of great films were inspired by other films. I was initially excited for recognizing the similarities. But there is a line between quality storytelling and a self-gratifying self-insert. A big fat line. Even if I looked beyond the glaringly obvious switcheroos: The Doctor to The Detective; the police box to the porta-potty; the sonic screwdriver to the microwave multi-tool; and the T.A.R.D.I.S. to the V.O.R.S.T., the fact of the matter is that this story lacks heart and purpose. 

    Here is the story, abridged. Ava woke up to her brother, River, missing. She called for help via a number from a dodgy ad for The Detective, an hour after she couldn't find her brother. The Detective arrived, asked a few questions, had some ego-fuelled banter, and off they went to find River, who The Detective was convinced was kidnapped by space slave traders. The two travelled across dimensions in V.O.R.S.T., emerged in the slave trader ship, had a tussle, freed slaves, saved River, had a boss fight, hijacked the ship, then back to Earth. The story is pretty straightforward but is almost impossible to flesh out since it is only a 110 paged short novel, yes, very unfair.

    This is a heavily plot-driven story. We don't get any background to make us care about River, who barely exists in this story, although being the main plot of it, and contributes nothing after he was found. He might as well be replaced by a dog and the story will still be the same. But instead we get pages of technical mumbo jumbo, without any exposition, on how The Detective was saving the ship. The Detective herself has an attitude, great, maybe it's the same ego that got her off The Doctor's T.A.R.D.I.S. in the first place, but it was never highlighted. Ava, I'm guessing, is the self-insert because she's the brave one, the smart one, and the only emotional one. I'm merely guessing for I too have a few self-insert "head films" that none of you will ever hear about except for a selected few. 

    This novel has been labelled as fiction. A certain site has labelled it as young adult fiction, which I embarrassingly missed. So, what is their message to their young readers? There are potentially a few but none were truly emphasized. There was barely any interaction between Ava and River, I couldn't feel the familial bond. Even after they got back, River continued as if nothing happened and Ava got over their separation so quick that she then selfishly disappeared from her brother. No heart, no purpose. The author tries to be funny at times but some totally went over my head. Maybe a Doctor Who reference?

    There is potential here, absolutely there is! Ten's writing reminds me a little of Douglas Adams', just a smidge. Maybe it's just an attempt at British humour. But Ten spelt "colour" as "color", which bugged the heck out of me. That reminds me, the editor has been slacking off! In the final chapter, "We've alive?" [insert facepalm]. And on page 100, there is a line that writes, 'Just as the captain said that, the lights were completely pulled.' The last person to talk was The Detective, a few paragraphs above. Something definitely got deleted.

    The Interdimensional Detective already has a 150 paged sequel that was published earlier this year but it hasn't gotten any reviews on Goodreads yet. I am wondering if they've improved but I'd rather wait for reviews first and not be persuaded by the ridiculously beautiful cover art, again.

Later days.

10 Years Later...

 Hey Brook,

    I apologise (Holding back laughter).

    Before we start this back up again, let me confess that I no longer swear, I'm happy, and I love being me. I did forget the last post as I said I would. I even forgot I started fiction blogs and felt like I was reading a stranger's draft. How terrifying. I teared up reading the ending of the previous post because it was all true. It was a relief that I no longer feel all the rage that was being conveyed. There is an urge to delete that embarassing existential crisis rant but I'd like to remember the dark spots in my timeline in order to appreciate the current existance. What an angry idiot I was but I'm glad I kept this blog.

    2015, I just graduated from UiTM film school then. It wasn't what I expected. Underwhelming to say the least. I guess that was part of the disappointment back then. Of course, now that I've found my way back here again, I will be rereading all the past posts because, yes, I like the sound of my own...writing? (whatever works) The reason I've come back to blogging is because cousin Dhuha has inspired me to start noveling (instead of screenwriting). But since I haven't been writing for quite some time, I figure I need a little warm up. I might even continue the fictional blog, "Filling the Void". But I'd have to change the story since it was started in 2009, prior the dental exit, and I have no memory whatsoever of any "head films" about it. Let's call it that from now on, head films. The films I've mentally constructed for my daydreaming pleasure. I'm pretty sure it's maladaptive daydreaming.

cousin Dhuha & I

    But I digress, here are highlights since I stoppped writing (the ones I haven't forgotten). I began managing Mama's transit business around the time I wrote the previous post, reluctantly at first but am now really grateful for it. The same year, I traveled to Seoul, South Korea with cousin Hannan and my earliest friend, Ayunni, serving as our tour guide. A few months later, I went to Tokyo, Japan, alone. Well, I flew alone but stayed at my brother, Syam's apartment when he was still working there. I accomplished 10 pull ups on Eid in 2018 after training for nearly a year for it, the year that I peaked in physical fitness. I still miss the 2020 Covid lockdowns, which was a blessing because I had a paradigm shift the week prior. Being in seclusion with the Quran was very much needed. I also learned to bake bread during the same time and contradictingly to my religious awakening, dove into the world of anime, albeit cautiously. Papa had a stroke in Ramadan 1443H/2022, a few months before I went for hajj with Aisyah and Faris. There has been an ongoing massacre in Palestine since the end of 2023, may Allah relieve them of their suffering. A year later in October, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and have just completed my treatments at the National Cancer Institute (IKN) on 30th July 2025. I learnt to bake chiffon cakes during the better days of my chemotherapy treatment.

    And here we are, still childless and unmarried nearly 6 months until my 40th. Being the eldest "andartu" (spinster) amongst my cousins does feel like an accomplishment, somehow. But I am honestly happier now. I remember writing about the elusive state of happiness somewhere on this blog. I'm glad it all worked out. No, the real measure of success is not by the numbers in our life, but the closeness of our hearts to Allah SWT. My bucket has been leaking a lot lately and I've been trying to tape it shut. It is a never ending struggle. But as long as we accept that that is what life actually is, then the suffering stops or at least become bearable.

I can't say I missed you, Brook. I haven't even thought about blogging one bit. Hopefully, I can keep this up again. It is quite masturbatory, I know, sorry (and sorry for using that word, although, it won't be the last time). I will try my best to talk less about myself. But as a forgetful person, this helps in my self-assessment efforts. Also, I am on a mission. 

Fare thee well, for now.

Oh, I mean...

Later days.

p/s: I have cats now.