Saturday, February 10, 2018


Two weeks had passed since the baton was passed to me. I am now the PIC (person-in-charge/pegawai pergigian yang menjaga) at this oral maxillofacial surgery department.

I was not mentally prepared. I still am not. After all, the transition of responsibilities was prepared for someone else until that one not-so-fine morning, when my boss greeted us with a glee on his face. "Good morning to our new YM", and while all of us expected him to look at my senior, he turned to me instead. I sensed my sanity slowly dissipating.

I am after all still pretty much a junior no matter how independent I seem at work. Those who held the post before were way more senior. We're talking about a specialist clinic in a state hospital.

I am drowning in inferiority complex. I have difficulty in communicating with my supporting staff because all of them are at least a decade older. Albeit labelled "the crazy bitch" at my previous clinic because I was very outspoken and strict, I never liked being that person. I hate conflicts. I hate unnecessary dramas. Life is supposed to be simple, but people love complicating them.

All I want is a simple and calm life. For me, dramas are confined to clinical duties and nothing else - which explains the reason I am still single till now, meh.

I would rather be standing from morning till night in an operation theater, assisting and performing surgeries rather than running around like a headless chicken, keeping the clinic under control. Making sure our wards are covered properly when my surgeons aren't around. Prepare redundant reports my district bosses demand for. Supervise and assess junior officers who come here for short-term attachment. I have more than ten new work-related emails delivered to me every day. A fellow PIC even advised me to, "Check your email QID (four times daily)", as if I have nothing else more important things to do. Work-related texts (admin job) coming in after office hours, up to midnight at times. That's just shit. Some people should be taught to respect others' personal space and time.

Since a week ago, I lost joy in things I used to love doing. I only do lightweight cooking these days. I could barely play my guitar for more than half an hour. My books are untouched for five days already now.

At the end of everyday, as I enter my car, all I could feel is to just break down and cry my heart out. I don't want to do this. I am still resisting my duties.

I am a perfectionist by nature. Just as how I like my flaps go untorn, clean-cut, planned before I pick my scalpel up, my surgical sites closed nicely, uniform, symmetrical knots; while others are okay with their minor oral surgery completing within thirty minutes, I aim for less than ten minutes with zero iatrogenic injury; my bedsheet tucked in neatly along its edges, tight and taut, my pillows stacked uniformly, of the same height, my clothes folded neatly, along one axis in the cupboard - I can't help but to do so with this new additional responsibility too; and I am losing grip. My boss told me many times, "You have to learn to let go at times, Zahirah". I tried and failed so far. I have to learn macromanaging. I have to stop micromanaging when it comes to admin work.

I really have to learn loosen up a bit. This is yet another challenge, just like other initially seemingly impossible tasks which I killed.

I know my shortcomings. I know I am always too tough on myself. I know what and where I should correct.

You can do this, Zahirah, inshaaAllah...

Oh Allah, I really need strength to persevere...

Sunday, November 26, 2017

of eggs and coffee

It's 920am.

I went to bed with a troubled mind yesterday. I initially was not sure what was actually bugging my brain, but I had a dream last night. The past haunted me. A man, his hand gripping my wrist tightly and pulled me down a staircase. His eyes, bloodshot, staring into mine in anger. I woke up in realisation. I have been fearing that - Violence, possessiveness, and emotional manipulation.

A few weeks ago, I met a new lad who is of different race and religion, of polar opposite, and yet, I felt a sense of unexplained comfort. I guess working everyday with adrenaline rushing through my blood vessels all the time, to feel content became so alien. Unconsciously, I projected my paranoia onto him, of which is the utmost injustice. I have been sleep-deprived for awhile too, granting me less grip on my emotions. So I went to bed early yesterday. Back to normal bedtime. I woke up early today, fully-charged. Changed my bedsheet, as I usually do on weekly basis. Went to the kitchen, closed my eyes, and talked to myself...

"What feels like home?"

I imagined a fluffy well-whipped three-egged scrambled egg, freshly crushed black pepper, the scent of good pure butter, a slice of warm toast, the smell of a ripe, juicy navel orange, and the intoxicating smell of a mug of long black.

Ten minutes later, I was sitting beside the window. Enjoying breakfast I know I could not get elsewhere but home. The morning sun smiling gently at me. William Joseph's rendition of Safe and Sound playing in the background. I feel composure slowly creeping back in.

Sunday mornings are always the best.

Monday, August 28, 2017

four months, thank Allah

A month had passed since I moved to Seremban. So far, so good. The greenery surrounding my residential area grants me peace - such peace I had been craving for. I love my challenging and hectic job, here at the oral maxillofacial surgery clinic, every second spent on it, but beyond it, I seek for something totally contrary. 

Four months had passed since I decided to walk out of a relationship. So far, so good. I think I am done with trying to buffer negativity from others. Not sure whether it is just me who had not found the right one, or really, I am not meant for one because every single time that happened, I'd find myself deteriorating physically and mentally. 

Just finished my usual daily cup of black coffee, a navel orange, and two-egg-cheese omelette. It's Monday - supposedly the most dreaded day of the week for most, but today feels right. Spending the weekend with my ladies, movies, food, food, food, AND FOOD - left me fully-charged. Looking forward to our November trip to Bali :)

p/s: Happy birthday, Umi ♥

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

why oh heart

Why is it so easy to forget one's evil deed?

Be strong, heart. Be hard. Be firm.

Move on.

Saturday, July 8, 2017

you have my heart, at least for the most part

Perhaps because I appear somewhat flamboyant, choosing not to trust in my words is easy for some. Like how a man in whose hands I put my trust could tell every single person around me that I am a liar.

If anything, I am at times too bluntly honest. I might cherry-pick details, but I do not lie.

This time, I have my evidences. These bruises on my right shoulder, right arm, left wrist, right knee. This swelling on my back. This mark on my right arm outlining someone's palmprint. These are my evidences.

Like how someone yelled at me to shut myself up in front of the public as I begged him to stop and return my belonging. They are my witnesses. 

Like how I got dragged onto someone's car as I desperately tried to escape, but not without my possessions.

As I desperately sent desperate pleas for help from a fellow female acquaintance. Yes, acquaintance. A person I had known for barely a year but betrayed my trust in every single aspect. Woman to woman, if you were in my shoes and I were in yours, I would go to extents you could never imagine with one mission in my head. "Save her", but there you were. Just as your bloodline. You defended him while he violated me. He took away my sense of freedom. He made the only place I once experienced joy from constant adrenaline-rush, a hell for me. 

That night, Allah showed how much of a liar one can be. Perhaps he's good with words. So good to the point that I began to doubt myself. Am I really that horrible person he portrayed me to be?

That night, Allah showed me how much of a liar one can be. He knows that being soft-hearted is my weakness, but Allah always has better plans. As I read his lies, one by one, as much as I wanted to believe him, truth was put on the table. As naked as it could be. How three strangers and three friends became my witnesses. 

But these bruises. They will speak on my behalf. My evidences sent to numerous people for safe-keeping. Just in case anything happens to me. This post alone might spark rage unlike anything I have seen, but I am doing this to be fair to myself. Just in case anything happens to me. 

If something grave really happens to me, dear people who encouraged him and believed in him, my blood is on your hands.

To those who betrayed my trust... the afterlife awaits us. Preach righteousness all you want, but one should not underestimate the weight of being entrusted secrets. One should not underestimate evil deed committed on another fellow being. You shall forever be indebted to me for this.

Thursday, June 29, 2017

could it be any harder

"Like sand on my feet
The smell of sweet perfume
That sticks to me forever, baby"
- Could It Be Any Harder by The Calling


Remember the pain

Remember the words

Remember the cusses

Remember the prison, the cage

Remember the treason, the ache

I close my eyes, hoping everything had never happened. Back when I had not tasted love.

Sleep doesn't come easily these days. I kept getting 4 hours of sleep or less these days. By midnight, I'd fall asleep. 4am my mind would be wide awake. The thought of having insomnia looms. How terrified I am to go through it all over again.

To hope is to risk being disappointed.

Remember that, Zahirah.

Saturday, June 17, 2017


"Why don't we hit restart and pause it at our favourite part

We'll skip the goodbyes.."

- Tiger Lily by Matchbook Romance

A few days ago, as I was working beyond office hours, a few old memories came flashing back. Like how I used to look forward to seeing someone right after that. Or perhaps during on calls when no matter how tired I was, I would not mind seeing that familiar face.

I found myself sobbing over what's lost. It would not be right to get back for all the wrong reasons, when I know that I had given enough chances. To be hurt and recover repeatedly... to what extent can the heart bear such pain? To what extent can the heart repair itself? To what extent can the mind subconsciously block bitter memories so that new ones can be made and cherished?

It was just a couple of months ago that I dared bringing up the topic of marriage to my mother. And barely days after that, I was made to feel how terrible of a person I am. That marriage is something I fear. That how fearful it is to put your neck on that chopping board, hand a man a knife, and trusting in him not to slam it down. Threat by threat. Humiliation by humiliation.

At this point, I am giving it a rest.

I looked at my parents. I looked at my patients. At times, I'd feel so exhausted that to walk just another pace, to extend a limb just to reach those instruments, to reorganise my mind and plan my treatments, become such a struggle, my knees feel like they're about to give way.

I will stay on my own. Sacrifice my life for people I might not even see a few weeks later. Sacrifice my life for my parents. I don't have much good deeds, but I know that God is All-Just. May these little ones bring peace in me.