My Labor Story (Part I)

Growing up, I dreamt to be many things, but being a young mother was never one of them. But now that I am one, my beautiful baby boy feels like a dream come true. Weird how God works - blessing me with something that I didn't even know I wanted and/or needed. So this is me reliving one of the best days of my life. This is my labor story.

Friday, 15th May 2015

Hafiz and I had planned to go to the baby fair that was happening during the weekend weeks beforehand. We still had a couple of things that we needed to buy before we welcome our little one. As a matter of fact, our weekend was revolved around preparing for the arrival of our baby. Besides attending the baby fair, we had also planned to rearrange and/or spring clean our mess of a room to make space for the little guy. Weekends are the only time where we can actually get things done due to our full-time jobs, thus the forty-eight hours we have at the end of every week is eminently crucial. There was basically so much to do in so little time. But that week in particular, I had requested to be excluded from work on Monday so that I can get more things done. Before we said our goodnights, we had gone through our things-to-buy list together - carseat, diapers, bathtub, carrier... amongst other things. I had also texted a friend to confirm our lunch plans for the following day. With fluffed pillows, alarms set, and lights turned off, we cuddled to sleep.

Saturday, 16th May 2015
6.30AM - I was woken up by an intense pain in my abdomen and lower back. It was my first time feeling that kind of pain throughout my whole pregnancy, but I was only 36 weeks pregnant then, hence I didn't think much of it. Besides, it was just like one of my bad period pain days. "Perhaps this is what they call Braxton Hicks...", I thought to myself. Performed my Fajr prayers, and went back to bed in hopes that the pain will go away when I wake up.

9.30AM - Hafiz woke me up, and asked me if I still wanted to go to the baby fair. Half asleep and in pain, I dragged myself to the toilet.

"Mm, sayang? I don't think we can go to the baby fair." Me.
"Huh? Why?" Hafiz.
"I'm bleeding." Me.
"What?! Banyak ke?!" Hafiz.
"Quite lah. Can you help me call Azi (my gynae's asisstant), and ask her what we should do." Me.
"OK, OK." Hafiz.

I took my time in the shower - not really feeling anything. It was only when Hafiz told me that he was asked to bring me straight to the labor department, that I started feeling rather apprehensive. I immediately texted my mom to let her know what was happening. Thank goodness I had listened to her, and had packed my hospital bag way beforehand. After I had gotten myself ready, I sat on the bed, and watched my husband pace back and forth across our room while gathering his things. Surprisingly, he was more anxious than I was. After he was done packing, we looked at each other and just hugged in silence. I remember it so clearly because I think it was at that moment that we realized that our lives were going to go through a major transition after this trip to the hospital. We stayed that way for awhile.

10.30AM - On the way to the hospital, we made a pit stop at the petrol station to get some snacks - Ribena (seriously guys, this was my #1 energy booster), candies, buns, etc. Another occurrence to prove that my husband was more nervous than I was was that he had suddenly forgotten the way to the hospital despite him always accompanying me to my monthly prenatal check-ups. That made me forget about the pain I was feeling for a little while.

We reached the hospital, and I insisted that I walk from the parking lot together with my husband instead of him dropping me off at the lobby. As instructed, we went straight to the labor department. A nurse had then led us into a room, and asked us to wait in there until someone comes to assist us. The room was huge - bigger than any hospital rooms I've ever been in. There's a bed, a toilet, a couch, a couple of chairs, oh cool - there's even an extra sink... Hey, what's this spotlight for? That's odd - why is there a table of apparatuses over there? Wait a minute...

"IS THIS THE ROOM THAT I'M GONNA GIVE BIRTH IN?!" Cue panic attack.

A few minutes later, a nurse came in and said that she wanted to check how far dilated I was. I remember having a conversation with my colleagues in which one of them told us that doctors and/or nurses have to insert their fingers inside your lady parts in order to check your dilation (/gulp). I gave Hafiz a look that probably reeked of terror, and he immediately held my hand.

"Hmm, I can't seem to find your cervix. Hold on just a sec." And she walks out.

"What does she mean she can't find my cervix?! Did you see the amount of blood she had on her gloves?!" Obviously I was freaking out. Hafiz tried his best to reassure me that everything was going to be fine. The nurse came back with a superior and she too proceeded to check my dilation. Yikes, here we go again. One centimeter. Still a long way to go, she said. In the mean time, the nurse suggested that I go out and have a feast because in her words, "It'll be a while till you get to eat good food again". But before she could let me go off on my food run, we had to wait for my doctor to come and check me up.

Yumm, salmon sashimi...

(To be continued...)

Monochrome

Cotton On striped dress

Cotton On denim jacket

Charles and Keith shoes

____

When one opens the doors to my closet(s), they would instantly notice the lack of color amongst the chaotic mess. Black, white, grey, army green, black, more black, etc. No, I am not one of those who obsesses over the coordination of colors of my wardrobe, nor am I the type of person who chooses to wear only a certain amount of colors. It is all unintentional and by pure chance. As a matter of fact, I hadn't realized my penchant for monochromatic colors until a colleague had questioned my choice to suddenly stumble into work in a multicolored tie-dye cardigan. 

On a different note, what you might notice there is my five months baby bump playing peek-a-boo with the world. Still feels surreal that there is another life growing inside of me. All praise to the Almighty. More of that soon.

Journey To Getting Hitched (Part 2)

God had other plans, however. Not long after my dad made the statement of wanting to have a man-to-man talk with Hafiz, he started developing severe back pains -- severe enough to land him a three-month long medical leave from work. With the uncertainty of when my dad would resume work, and the possibility of him having to undergo a major surgery, we had to put all marriage talks aside. After numerous trips to a myriad of doctors, hours of physical therapy, and nights of worrying, my dad got better -- slowly but surely. In the midst of my dad's recovery, my grandma had succumbed to liver cancer. It was a very dark moment for us all, given that it was the first death within the family. With that said, it took our family quite some time to get used to the absence of our beloved Nanny/Mama. 

Even though discussions regarding a possible union were put on hold, the idea was never fully ignored. My parents would talk about the matter with me from time to time, making sure that I hadn't changed my mind. With God's will, my dad got so much better by the time March arrived. His doctor and physicist had both given him the thumbs up to get back on the plane. And then the moment came... the man-to-man talk (/shivers). My dad insisted that the talk should be just between the two of them, and no one else. Quiet as a mouse, I sat on the stairs whilst eagerly trying to make out what was exchanged between the two. It didn't take me long to give the mission up though. Who would have thought that the talk would last for four hours. Yes, four long hours. I didn't know what to think of it -- did it mean that they got along really well, or did my dad use those hours to cover up a murder scene... (/gulp). Thank the Lord it wasn't the latter. During the talk, it was decided that both parents would meet the next coming weekend to discuss the matter even further whilst Hafiz and I attend the compulsory pre-marital course. Another crucial thing that was agreed on by the two was that Hafiz and I would not see each other until the day of the wedding -- a wedding that was yet to have a date. I was genuinely upset that he would agree to such thing. Within the two and half years we had been together (+ some months before), we had never been apart except for that one time I went to the UK for a family vacation. And here he was suggesting that we do not meet and limit all contacts in the next, what... three months? But he assured me that it was going to be worth it, and it is something that he had to do, for him, myself, and our future. 

Our last 'date' was during the pre-marital course, and it was also then that it all felt real to me. "Wow, this is really happening. We are really getting married." I thought to myself about only half a million times. And whilst we were in the mosque, our parents were having their own little meeting. Yikes. I kept on sneaking text messages to my mom to see how everything was going, but of course she refused to spare me any details via the telephone. But Alhamdulillah, with just one meeting, our parents had managed to mutually agree on a date -- 15th of June 2014. My dad had made it clear from the start -- he wanted to take the easiest route. Why make the process of completing half your deen arduous? Everything was surpassingly straightforward and painless that most times it didn't feel like I was going to tie the knot in three months' time. No entourage were sent to ask for my hand, no overpriced fancy-schmancy engagement, no ludicrous conditions and/or demands were set, no nothing. I realize now that marriage is made difficult due to our culture. If things are planned based on Islam, almost nothing is burdensome. Most parents have too high of an expectation when it comes to choosing partners for their children. All my dad asked was if I was confident that Hafiz could lead me closer to Allah. He didn't ask me how much Hafiz earns, what kind of car Hafiz drives, or if Hafiz lavishes me with branded goods. It wasn't because my dad didn't care, but it was because all that do not matter. If you do things purely for the sake of Allah, He will make things easy for you, and it will all eventually fall into place. All you have to do is put your trust in Him.

And that meant that we really had to stay away from each other. To genuinely purify our intentions of getting married for the sake of Allah. Many people gave me bewildered reactions whenever I tell them that Hafiz and I are staying away from each other until the day of our wedding. "How are you going to plan your wedding if you don't see each other?","But what is wrong with seeing each other? Just don't do anything you're not supposed to!","But, wwwwhyyyy?","Aren't you worried that it'll drive you guys apart instead?","I don't think that's necessary.", and all things simultaneous to those. To describe the three months as being difficult would be an understatement to say the least. It was a very intense and emotionally-straining period, especially on my side, given that I didn't understand the purpose of it all in the beginning. But thinking about it now, I'm glad that we went on with the three-month hiatus. It blossomed our relationship into one that is much more genuine and powerful. And the feeling of seeing him for the first time on the day of our union was... (/sigh) nothing short of beautiful.

And that was that. Before I knew it, I became someone's wife. And I wouldn't trade the life I have now for anything.

Journey To Getting Hitched (Part I)

I remember very clearly telling my mom that I don't want to get married before 27 and/or before getting my career on track. My mom let out a little laugh and said, "Yeah, right. When you meet the right guy, you will be the one begging me to marry you off." Obviously I thought my mom was being nonsensical. I wasn't even a believer of love back then. It's either my mom secretly possess the ability to see the future, or she knows me a little bit too well because as it turned out, what she predicted was right on the dot. Well, I didn't beg, but... you know what I mean.

I don't know what happened, how it happened, but it did. And I couldn't be happier.

My now husband made his intentions of marrying me very clear right from the beginning of our relationship. Of course I thought he was just pulling my strings what with him knowing how big of a commitment-phobe I was at the time. I realized his marriage talks and hints were all serious after he shared them with my mom. Even so, I still remained calm as I knew that that chapter of my life is still a gazillion miles away - especially after my dad had made it clear that marriage is totally out of the picture until both Hafiz and I graduate, and land ourselves stable jobs. However, a few months and an epiphany later, with a 1/2 don't-take-me-seriously, and a 1/2 no-actually-I-am-being-serious face, he nonchalantly suggests that I get married next year (this was sometime in September '13). When I told Hafiz of my dad's sudden and unforeseen suggestion, I could see fireworks going off in that head of his. If he could marry me right then and there, he probably would.

I don't quite remember how I got comfortable with the whole idea of marriage, but it was around the time when my dad asked me the two questions that kept haunting me in the AMs - "Do you see yourself with anyone else? If the answer's no, then why wait if you can do it now?". He has a very good point there right? Why wait and pile on the sins, when you can make it halal and get rewards for even the simplest of acts? And so I agreed - but not after asking both my dad and Hafiz a million and one questions. Who's going to support us financially? Where are we going to live? What about my studies? What am I gonna feed you if I can't cook? But the two of them never fail to assure me that everything will be alright if I just put all my trust in the Almighty. When I gave my dad the thumbs up, I could see that he was having trouble processing it - as if he couldn't believe that his one and only daughter, the rebellious one out of the whole lot, has agreed to settle down. He kept asking me if I was being serious, and/or if I was actually ready. Well, I was serious, but I wasn't sure if I was ready.

Without a doubt, my dad could sense that I wasn't ready. Hence, before anything was proceeded with, my parents and I had a myriad of serious (and slightly awkward) talks. Talks that involved a lot of questions, interrogations, heart-to-hearts, feelings, and tears. Alongside with making sure that I'm making the right decision, they wanted me to know what I'm getting myself into - they explained to me about the side of marriage that are hardly ever portrayed in the movies I watch, and the books I read. After about a whole month of this, my dad decided that it was time for him to have a man-to-man talk with Hafiz.

(To be continued...)

VM Noobie

After three months of scrambling from one window to another, I am finally done with my second internship. Phew. The ninety days of me being a visual merchandising intern was by far the most tiring period of my life. Five pair of hands, twenty-eight stores, seven states -- could I be blamed? With that said however, I did enjoy my short stint working under the well-renowned spanish fashion house. Before I was in fashion school, I didn't know how very much important visual merchandisers are to the industry. I previously thought that the mannequins were handled by the store promoters -- and by handled I mean, the changing of the garments, and only that. Needless to say, I was unaware that the lighting, props, position of the mannequins, are usually meticulously planned by a group of people known as visual merchandisers.

Intrigued by the subject, I had decided to entertain my engrossment by getting some hands-on experience. Truth be told, I had underestimated the workload of a visual merchandiser by a mile despite already knowing what their tasks and duties are. During my time at the company, I had changed nothing less than thirty windows. Every two weeks or so, we will be given dossiers and garment lists by the company's headquarter in Spain, and are expected to change the whole look of the windows according to the two lists. A typical working day for us would sound something like this:-

1. Select garments based on garment list.
2. Iron and/or steam garments to perfection.
3. Untie and undress mannequins.
4. Disable and remove previous window props, flooring, stickers.
5. Assemble new flooring, and props.
6. Dress mannequins, and position them accordingly.
7. Locate and place additional accessories.
8. Apply stickers onto the windows.
9. Prepare price lists for window display.

Believe me, it isn't as easy as it sounds. Especially when you are constantly being pressured by time, and have to change the look of two to three windows by yourself (if you're lucky, with a partner). I didn't expect to be on all fours and get both my hands dirty working as a visual merchandiser -- like I've mentioned before fashion is not all about 'lights, camera and action'. I felt like a contractor, a decorator, a stylist, and more. Did I mention the crazy working hours? The earliest I had to be on the go was at 7.30AM, and the latest I had to stay on was until 1AM. In more ways than one, I did enjoy the job. I liked how I was almost always never in the office, and always on the move from one place to another, traveling from one state to another. I liked how I was able to put my sense of creativity into good use. The job was exhausting, but never boring. The sole reason why I had to turn the company's job offer down was because I couldn't afford to travel so much given my decision to settle down.

Bigger things await, insyaAllah.

Eternal Freedom

Ever since I could remember, it has been a dream of mine to dedicate a portion of my life abroad. With that said, I had always seen my education as my ticket to see the world (or at least a part of it). My pre-pubescent self had spent many hours building castles in the air, visualizing myself in somewhere foreign. An institution that leaves us in awe with it's architectural splendor, old vintage halls with high ceilings, spacious green lawns, etc. I can imagine it all too well -- myself settled on the greens accompanied by a book, the cold wind brushing against my skin and blowing my carefully placed hijab out of place, and surrounding me is the sound of blissful laughter from a myriad of unfamiliar faces. As I grew into my teens, I watched my relatives, one by one leaving the country for another. I was green with jealousy and it took all I had not to squeeze myself into their luggage. The shade of green that engulfed me turned darker as I witnessed my own friends boarding planes en route to the other side of the globe.

"When will it be my turn?"

There were a few occasions when I thought that my turn to leave the motherland had finally arrived, only to be bitterly disappointed soon after. And as time passed, I could feel my dream slowly freeing itself from my grip. Instead of a dream, it had become somewhat of a fantasy. Something simultaneous to me being a mermaid or having the ability to converse with elephants -- impossible and only alive in my mind.

It's not really about furthering my studies abroad, it's more about having a new start. It's about the sense of escape that comes along with it. It's about freedom. But, as I grow older, it dawned on me -- perhaps my 'freedom' is not elsewhere. Perhaps my 'freedom' is right here where I have lived all my life. Perhaps my 'freedom' is doing what I love. Yes, that's it.

Freedom is doing what I love.

I don't need to pack my bags and run from everything and everyone that I am familiar with. What is the point of attaining freedom abroad if it is going to be temporary anyways (degree = three years tops)? Hence, my new dream is to achieve eternal freedom -- doing what I love, when I want to, and how I want to. And who's to say that my work won't land me in another country (/ countries?) in the future? I will make a name for myself and I will be able to see the world. Because if God willing, nothing is impossible. Nothing.

House of Curators

I can't believe I am finally an Advanced Diploma in Fashion Marketing and Management holder. That didn't feel like two years at all... Within the two-year period that I had spent at fashion school, I had managed to get a deeper understanding on how the industry actually works. The tasks and assignments that were given to us had taught me how to efficiently work under pressure, how to communicate with different types of individuals, and how to put my imagination and creativity into good use. To be honest, the past two years had been a journey that was full of trials and tribulations as well as one that required constant striving. The amount of emotional breakdowns that I had... God knows how I survived. But with all that said, I have never regretted my decision to follow my heart. To this day, I feel utterly blessed that I was given the opportunity to study what I consider to be my passion.

And in the end, all it came down to was our Final Major Project (FMP). Predicaments smacked my group and I right in the face from the beginning - hardheaded lecturer, not being able to use our own ideas, fall outs within the group, etc. But with reams of patience, sleepless nights, arguments, and passion, my group and I had successfully come up with a business idea that I am whole-heartedly proud of. You see, our lecturer had rejected every single idea that were presented to him. And the ideas that he had suggested to us were... horrendous, to say the least. During one of the dreadful meetings that we had with him, he had asked us what our personal passions were and suggested that we combine it all into one business idea. And that was how House of Curators was born.

"Formed as a collaborative effort of a team, House of Curators aspires to nourish the local creative spirit by providing homegrown artisans a likeminded curated platform to share the penchant for everything well designed and all else in between. Raising the bar of a brand new retail experience, 'You can buy whatever you see in the store', House of Curators coin the lifestyle concept store that focuses on offering a consistent and carefully selected array of 'exquisite homegrown designs'. 

Located on the slope of Bangsar's Damansara Heights, this bungalow retailer is an elaborately reconfigured homestead, designed to resemble a place of residence, occupied with the whole nine yards of actual objects made purchasable to patron. House of Curators offers an eclectic mix of designers' and timeless collectibles. Expect to find fashion merchandise, home furnishings, collectibles, alongside quirky to pre-loved items, all under one roof."

A little introduction on what House of Curators, my FMP, was all about. I am so fond of the whole concept that we came up with. The idea of gathering like-minded people and allowing them to bond over a mutual passion and/or hobby is just wondrous. What intrigues my interest even further is how the concept store doesn't revolve around making big bucks, but instead concentrates on spreading the talents of many awe-spiring individuals and taking them to a soaring level. My group mates and I had the opportunity to work with many remarkable people during the works of our project -- WhenOurEyesMet, Tengku Syahmi, Pearly Wong, Gyn Ling, Industry, Kedai Bikin, A Retrospective, and etc. Everyone was equally enthusiastic in making House of Curators into a success, thus making the whole thing a joy to work on.

 

To know that the project that you had been devotedly working on for six months and studying for for the past two years had gotten the "Best Group and Visual Merchandising" title is beyond phenomenal. A myriad of feelings had jumbled up in the pit of my stomach the moment it was announced -- happiness, excitement, relief, satisfaction. We were speechless. All we could muster were high-pitched shrieks with a sideline of happy tears while glaring our goofy grins at the flashing cameras. But the best feeling of all is the one I got when my parents said, "I'm so proud of you." Nothing beats that, nothing.

I am now one step closer in making my dreams into a reality.