Learning to Accept Allah's Plan, One Tear at a Time

 

A letter from Mommy to her little boy

Zake, Mommy Is Learning to Be Ikhlas

Loving you, trusting Allah, and holding on to the hope that we will meet again.

✧ ❀ ✧

For Zake, our precious son, our little panda, and our forever love.

Dear Zake, my little panda,

Ikhlas is such an easy word to say, but one of the hardest things to truly practice. People can say, “You have to be ikhlas,” or “You have to accept what Allah has written for you,” as if accepting everything is something we can do in the blink of an eye. But the truth is, my little boy, learning to be ikhlas is not as easy as saying the word. It is a journey that requires so much patience, courage, and faith. It means learning to accept something even when your heart is still breaking, learning to surrender to Allah’s plan even when you do not fully understand it, and learning to keep moving forward even when a part of your heart feels as though it will never be the same again.

Mommy is trying, Zake. Mommy is learning how to survive this pain, how to accept what has happened, and how to continue living with the memories of you. Every day, I remind myself that you belong to Allah and that one day, all of us will return to Him. I remind myself that Allah’s knowledge is greater than mine, that His plans are beyond my understanding, and that there must be wisdom in things that I cannot yet comprehend. I tell myself that I have to be strong, that I have to keep going, and that I have to trust the destiny He has written for our little family. But, Zake, even though Mommy is trying so hard to accept everything, my tears still fall whenever I remember you.

Sometimes, I can go about my day as usual. I can smile, talk to people, and do the things that need to be done. From the outside, perhaps I look like someone who is slowly learning to live with her loss. But then, something reminds me of you, and suddenly, all the sadness comes rushing back. It could be a memory of your tiny face, the thought of the days when you were still inside Mommy’s tummy, or the realization that I can no longer hold you in my arms. Sometimes, I do not even know why I am crying. I just miss you so much, and my heart cannot contain all the love I still have for you.

I am learning that being ikhlas does not mean that I have to stop crying. It does not mean that I must forget you, pretend that I am no longer hurting, or act as though losing you has not changed my life. It means that even while I cry, I still trust Allah. Even when I miss you until my chest feels heavy, I still believe that His decision is the best, even if I cannot understand it today. It means that I can love you endlessly, grieve for you honestly, and still surrender your beautiful little soul to the One who created you. Mommy may not have mastered the meaning of ikhlas yet, but I promise I will keep learning, one day at a time. For now, please be patient with Mommy, my little boy. My heart is trying its best.

“Mommy is learning to be ikhlas—not because Mommy has stopped missing you, but because Mommy is learning to trust Allah with the person she loves most.”

A Love That Goes Beyond This World

People often say that Jannah, or Paradise, lies beneath a mother’s feet. Before becoming a mother, I understood those words as a beautiful reminder of how special mothers are in Islam. But after meeting you, holding you, and saying goodbye to you far sooner than I ever imagined, those words have taken on a different meaning in my heart. I sometimes wonder if you love Mommy and Papi so much that, instead of allowing us to hold on to you in this world, you became a means of hope for us to reach Jannah. It feels as though you have gone ahead of us, my precious son, leaving Mommy and Papi with a reason to keep striving to become better people and to hope that, by Allah’s mercy, we will be reunited with you in Paradise.

I do not know all the secrets of Allah’s plan, Zake. I cannot tell you exactly why your time in this world was so short, and I would never pretend to understand everything that happened. But I find comfort in believing that your life has a beautiful meaning, even if Mommy is still learning how to understand it. I hope that your presence in our lives will become a source of goodness for us, a reason for us to draw closer to Allah, and a reminder that this world is only temporary. Sometimes, a love that lasts only a few days can change two hearts forever.

And you, my little Zake, changed ours in ways that will never be undone.

The Prayers Mommy Made for You

Before you were born, Mommy often thought about what it meant to become your mother. I imagined all the things I would teach you, all the experiences we would share, and all the ordinary little moments that I once thought would be part of our everyday lives. I imagined watching you grow, hearing your laughter fill our home, seeing you learn new things, and holding your hand as you discovered the world around you. I imagined being there whenever you needed comfort, kissing your little forehead before you slept, and watching you become your own person. There were so many dreams, Zake, so many little pictures of the future that Mommy and Papi had begun to build in our hearts.

In our faith, we learn about the knowledge and decree of Allah, and sometimes Mommy thinks about the mystery of the soul and the beautiful ways Allah brings people into one another’s lives. I imagine, in my own heart, that before you came into this world, you accepted the journey that would bring you to Mommy and Papi. I imagine you choosing us, even knowing that our time together would be short. That thought brings Mommy both sadness and comfort. Sadness, because I wish I could have given you a longer life filled with all the love I had prepared for you. Comfort, because I feel so grateful that Allah allowed our paths to meet.

Mommy often prayed to Allah to give you the best destiny in His sight if you were to be born into this world. I did not know what that destiny would look like. I did not know how our story would unfold, and I certainly did not know that our time together would be measured in days rather than years. But I prayed for you, Zake. I prayed for your goodness, your happiness, your protection, and your future. I prayed that you would grow into a righteous son, a sholeh child who would bring goodness to your family, your religion, and your country. I prayed that you would become someone who lived with kindness, faith, and a good heart.

I never asked Allah for you to have a long life simply for the sake of having more years. What Mommy truly wanted was for you to have a life filled with goodness, to become a righteous child, and to be someone whose existence brought benefit to others. Of course, like any mother, I secretly dreamed of having you beside me for as long as possible. I wanted to see your first steps, hear your first words, and watch you grow older. I wanted to see what your face would look like when you became a toddler, a little boy, a teenager, and eventually a grown man.

But Allah knew the story that Mommy did not know. Now, Mommy is trying to believe that the destiny written for you was the best one for you, even though it is the most painful one for me to accept. I am trying to trust that Allah, who created you and entrusted you to us, knows you better than Mommy ever could.

“You were only here for five days, my son, but you will always be part of my life.”

Five Days That Changed Our Forever

Five days may sound so short to the rest of the world. Five days may seem like barely enough time to get to know someone. But for Mommy and Papi, those five days were the days when our dreams became real. You were no longer just the little baby we imagined, the little one we talked about, or the tiny person we waited to meet. You were Zake. You were our son. You were the little boy whose face we could finally see, whose cry we could finally hear, and whose presence made us parents in the most beautiful and unforgettable way.

I am so happy that you chose us, Zake. I am happy that you gave us the title of Mommy and Papi. I am happy that you allowed me to experience the miracle of giving birth to you. I am happy that, even for a little while, we were able to welcome you into this world and call you our own. If I could go back and choose again, knowing how painful our goodbye would be, I would still be grateful for the chance to have you. Because even though losing you has broken my heart, having you has given my life a kind of love I will never regret.

Mommy is grateful that I was given the chance to give birth to you, to hear your very first cry, and to see your face for the first time. That first meeting will always be a part of my story. I wish I could have welcomed you into a future filled with all the things I had prepared for you, but I am grateful that I was able to meet you at all. You were real, Zake. You were here. You were loved. You are loved. And no amount of time can ever take those truths away from us.

I am grateful that I had the opportunity to change your diapers, even though I wish I could have changed them thousands of times more. I am grateful that I got to look at your little face, even though I wish I could wake up every morning and see it again. I am grateful that I had the chance to see your little smile, even though I wish I could have watched you smile at Mommy and Papi every day as you grew older. Every little thing that might seem ordinary to other parents has become precious to me.

And most of all, I am grateful that I was able to hold you in my arms. I wish I could have held you longer. I wish I could have hugged you from the very first moment you were born. I wish I had known how little time we would have together, so I could have held you closer, kissed your cheeks more often, and treasured every second without ever looking away. But life did not give Mommy the chance to know that our time would be so short.

Mommy Is Sorry, My Little Boy

Mommy is sorry, Zake. I am sorry that I could not hug you from the moment you were born. I am sorry that I could only hold you in my arms on your last day. There are so many feelings in my heart when I think about that. I wish I could have been there in the way I had always imagined a mother would be. I wish I could have wrapped my arms around you earlier and made you feel the warmth of Mommy’s embrace. I wish I could have held you while you were still here, with more time to look at you and whisper how much I loved you.

If only I could have known, my little boy. But Mommy does not want you to remember our story only through my regrets. I want you to know that you were loved from the very beginning. You were loved while you were still growing inside my tummy. You were loved in every prayer I made for you. You were loved in every dream Mommy and Papi created for our future together. And when I finally held you, even though it was not as early or as long as I had hoped, I loved you with everything I had.

I hope, somehow, that the warmth of Mommy’s love reached you. I hope you knew that you were never unwanted, never forgotten, and never alone in our hearts. Mommy and Papi were proud of you, not because of anything you had to achieve, but simply because you were our son. You never had to do anything to deserve our love. You never had to grow up, become successful, or prove yourself to anyone. You were already enough, exactly as you were. You were our little Zake, and that was more than enough to make us proud.

The Pain No One Prepared Mommy For

People often say that giving birth is painful, and of course, Mommy knows how much physical strength it takes to bring a baby into the world. But there is another kind of pain that I never imagined I would experience: the pain of going through the postpartum period while my baby is no longer beside me. The pain of recovering from childbirth while my arms are empty. The pain of feeling my body continue to prepare milk for a little boy who is no longer here to drink it.

Zake, I do not know how to describe that feeling in words that can fully explain it. My body still remembers that I was your home. My body went through so many changes to carry you, nourish you, and bring you into this world. And now, while Mommy is trying to understand how to live without you beside me, my body is still going through the physical process of becoming a mother. My milk continues to come in, and sometimes that feels like one of the cruelest reminders of everything that has changed. My body is doing what it was designed to do for my baby, but my baby is not here.

Sometimes, the pain is not only in my heart. It is in my body, too. It is in the physical discomfort, the exhaustion, the changes I have to go through, and the quiet moments when I am reminded that I should have been caring for you. I should have been feeding you, changing your diapers, holding you close, and learning how to understand your little cries. Instead, Mommy is learning how to recover from giving birth while also learning how to live with the loss of the little person I gave birth to.

I never imagined that motherhood could feel this way. I thought I would be tired from taking care of you. I thought I would be learning your sleeping schedule, figuring out how to soothe you, and adjusting to life with a newborn in our home. Instead, Mommy is counting the days since we said goodbye. And that is a reality I am still learning to accept.

But even in this pain, I want to remind myself that my body is not my enemy. My body carried you. My body gave you a home before the world ever got to meet you. My body worked so hard to bring you here. And even though the physical reminders of your absence are difficult to face, I want to treat myself with kindness as I recover. Mommy deserves time to heal, both physically and emotionally. I may not be able to rush the process, and I may not know how long it will take, but I will try to be gentle with myself.

May You Be Safe in Allah’s Care

I believe that you are no longer experiencing the pain and struggles of this world, my son. I pray that Allah has surrounded you with peace, mercy, and happiness beyond anything we could imagine. I pray that you are safe in His care and that you will never have to experience suffering again. When I think about you, I try to imagine you in a place without pain, without fear, and without all the difficulties that human beings must face in this temporary world.

Of course, I wish you could be here with us. I wish you could have grown up surrounded by the love of your family. I wish you could have experienced the beauty of the world, felt the warmth of the sunshine on your face, and heard Mommy and Papi calling your name every day. But if your journey in this world had to be short, then Mommy prays that your next chapter is filled with a peace that never ends.

I pray that Allah protects you in ways that Mommy can no longer do with her own hands. I pray that He takes care of you more beautifully than I ever could. I pray that He grants you a place in Jannah and allows your little soul to remain under His mercy. And I pray that one day, when the time is right and Allah has forgiven us and granted us His mercy, Mommy and Papi will be able to meet you again.

Until then, please wait for us, my little boy.

Mommy and Papi Will Keep Trying

Mommy and Papi promise that we will keep trying to become better people. We promise to work on ourselves, to strengthen our faith, and to keep asking Allah for guidance and forgiveness. We know that we are not perfect. We know that we have weaknesses, shortcomings, and many things we still need to improve. But we want to use the time Allah has given us in this world to become people who are worthy of His mercy.

We want to learn to be more patient, more grateful, more sincere, and more faithful. We want to learn how to accept the things we cannot change without losing our trust in Allah. We want to be people who remember Him not only when our hearts are broken, but also when life is beautiful. We want to keep praying, keep doing good, and keep trying to live in a way that brings goodness to others.

We cannot promise that we will never feel sad. We cannot promise that Mommy will never cry when she remembers you, or that Papi will never feel the emptiness of your absence. We cannot promise that every day will be easy, because healing is not a straight road. Some days may feel lighter, while other days may bring back the sadness we thought we had already learned to carry.

But we promise that we will keep trying. We promise to keep turning to Allah when we feel lost. We promise to keep asking Him to strengthen our hearts and guide our steps. We promise to remember you with love, to make du’a for you, and to allow your presence in our lives to remind us of what truly matters. We promise to keep living, even when living feels difficult, because our time in this world is also a trust from Allah.

And, Zake, Mommy hopes that Allah keeps our hearts firm in faith. May He help us remain istiqomah in our worship and in our daily lives. May He protect us from losing our way when we feel overwhelmed by sadness. May He guide us toward goodness and make us people who are always trying to return to Him.

A Little Panda From Papi

And now, I want to tell you something a little different, something that might make you smile if you could see Mommy right now. Yesterday, Papi gave Mommy a gift. Do you know what it was, Zake? It was a panda doll!

Yes, my little boy, a cute, soft, cuddly panda. And the moment I saw it, I thought about you. You know how Mommy always said that I wanted to make you look like a panda because pandas are so cute, chubby, and adorable? Mommy used to imagine you as a tiny little panda, with your round cheeks, your sweet little face, and your adorable expressions. I imagined dressing you in cute little clothes, taking pictures of you, and calling you my little panda whenever I wanted to cuddle you.

I imagined holding you close to my chest, kissing your cheeks, and telling you how cute you were. I imagined Papi looking at you with that proud father’s smile while Mommy kept saying, “Look at our little panda! Isn’t he the cutest baby in the whole world?” I imagined all those ordinary, happy moments that I thought would naturally become part of our lives.

And now, Papi has given Mommy a panda doll. It is such a simple gift, but it carries so much meaning for me. Maybe Papi remembers how often I talked about wanting to make you look like a cute little panda. Maybe he knows that this little doll can remind me of you, even if it can never replace the warmth of your little body in my arms. Maybe he simply wanted to give Mommy something soft to hug on the days when she misses you the most.

Whatever his reason, I am grateful for that little panda. When I look at it, I think about the baby I once imagined holding. I think about all the little things I wanted to do with you. I think about how I wanted to make you laugh, how I wanted to see you grow, and how I wanted to fill our home with memories of you. The panda reminds me of a future that Mommy had dreamed of, but it also reminds me that those dreams came from a real love for a real little boy.

You were not just an idea in Mommy’s imagination. You were not just a dream that passed through my mind. You were my baby. You were the little person I carried inside my tummy, the little boy I waited for, the son I gave birth to, and the child I will always love.

And even though I cannot dress you up as a panda now, I can still smile when I see one. I can still imagine your tiny face and think about how adorable you would have looked. I can still tell stories about you and share the little dreams I once had for you. I can still love you in all the ways that remain possible.

Maybe, for now, this little panda will become one of the things that helps Mommy feel close to you. Maybe I will hug it when I miss you, hold it when I need comfort, or keep it somewhere special as a reminder of you and Papi’s love. It will never be you, Zake, and Mommy knows that. But it can be a small, precious reminder of the love that surrounds your name.

Thank you, Papi, for this little gift. And thank you, Zake, for giving Mommy and Papi so many reasons to love each other more deeply through this journey. Even in the middle of our sadness, we are learning to take care of each other, to hold each other a little closer, and to remember that we are walking through this experience together.

You Will Always Be Our Son

Papi is Mommy’s hero, too. I know that he carries his own sadness, even when he does not always express it in the same way I do. He was waiting for you, just as Mommy was. He had his own dreams of becoming your father, holding you, teaching you, and watching you grow. He wanted to see you experience the world and to give you the best life he could.

Now, he is learning how to live with your absence while still trying to take care of Mommy. And Mommy is so grateful for him. I am grateful that we have each other, that we can share the memories of you, and that we can remind each other that our little family will always include you.

We may not be able to see you sitting beside us. We may not be able to hear your cries or hold your tiny hands. But you will always be a part of our story. You will always be the little boy who made us Mommy and Papi. You will always be the son whose arrival changed our lives and whose goodbye taught us how fragile this world can be.

Zake, I want you to know that Mommy is not giving up on learning to be ikhlas. There will still be days when I cry. There will still be moments when I wish things had turned out differently. There will still be times when I look at other mothers holding their babies and wonder what our life would have been like if you were still here. I may still feel a quiet ache when I see baby clothes, little shoes, or the things I once imagined buying for you.

But I will keep reminding myself that my sadness does not mean I have forgotten Allah’s mercy. My tears do not mean I have stopped trusting Him. Missing you does not mean that I am unwilling to accept His decree. It simply means that I am your mother. And a mother’s love does not disappear just because her child is no longer physically beside her.

I will always be your Mommy, Zake. Even as you grow beyond my sight, even as the world continues to change, and even as the days turn into months and the months into years, that part of my heart will never change. You will always have a place in my life that no one else can ever fill. No matter how much time passes, I will never stop being grateful that Allah chose me to be your mother.

I will carry your name in my prayers. I will carry your memory in my heart. I will carry the lessons you have left behind as I continue to walk through this world. And whenever I feel that I am becoming too overwhelmed by sadness, I will try to remember the beautiful part of our story: that I was once given the privilege of carrying you, meeting you, holding you, and loving you in person.

Not every mother gets the amount of time she dreams of with her child. Our story was not what I expected, and I would never pretend that it does not hurt. But I do not want the pain of losing you to erase the gratitude I feel for having you. I want to make room for both. I want to be able to cry because I miss you and smile because I was lucky enough to know you. I want to remember the difficult parts of our journey without forgetting how beautiful it was to become your mother.

You were here, my little boy.
You were here, and Mommy loved you.
You were here, and Papi loved you.
You were here, and you made us parents.

That is something no goodbye can ever change. Perhaps this is what Mommy’s journey toward ikhlas will look like. Not a life without tears, but a life in which I slowly learn to carry my tears with faith. Not a heart that no longer aches, but a heart that continues to trust Allah even while it aches. Not forgetting the little boy I lost, but learning to remember him with gratitude as well as longing.

I will keep asking Allah to help me. I will keep praying for patience. I will keep asking Him to make this difficult journey a means of bringing me closer to Him rather than further away. And I will keep hoping that the love I have for you will become one of the reasons I strive to live a better life.

Until We Meet Again, InshaAllah

My dear Zake, if there is one thing I want you to know, it is this: Mommy does not regret having you, even for a single moment. I do not regret the journey that brought you into my life. I do not regret the days I spent waiting for you. I do not regret giving birth to you, meeting you, or loving you. Yes, the goodbye hurts more than I could ever have imagined. Yes, I wish we had been given more time. Yes, there are moments when I still struggle to understand why our story had to be this way.

But if the price of knowing you was that I would one day have to miss you this much, I would still be grateful that I got to know you at all. Because you are worth loving, Zake. You have always been worth loving. And you will always be worth remembering.

Thank you for choosing Mommy and Papi as your parents. Thank you for allowing us to experience the miracle of your arrival. Thank you for the first cry that announced your presence, the little face that Mommy will never forget, and the tiny moments that became precious memories. Thank you for teaching us that even a short life can leave a love that lasts far beyond the time we were given together.

I hope that one day, when I look back on this part of my life, I will be able to see not only the pain of losing you but also the strength Allah helped me find along the way. I hope I will see how much your little life changed me, how much it taught me about love and surrender, and how it encouraged Mommy to keep becoming a better person.

And until the day Allah allows us to meet again, I will keep doing my best here. I will take care of myself. I will take care of Papi. I will try to be patient with my own healing. I will continue to pray, to learn, and to seek Allah’s forgiveness and mercy. I will try to remain istiqomah, even when the road feels difficult. And I will keep making du’a that Allah grants us all a beautiful reunion in Jannah.

Please wait for Mommy and Papi, my little panda. We have so much love left to give you, so many hugs we still wish we could share, and so many kisses that we never got the chance to give. I hope that, by Allah’s mercy, there will come a day when none of those hugs will have to end and none of those kisses will have to be our last.

One day, I hope I can hold you again without fear. One day, I hope there will be no more tears of goodbye. One day, I hope all the questions that Mommy carries in her heart will no longer hurt, because Allah will have replaced our sadness with a happiness greater than anything we could have imagined.

Until then, my son, let Mommy keep learning. Let Mommy cry when she misses you. Let Mommy smile when she remembers you. Let Mommy hug the little panda that Papi gave her. And let Mommy continue to love you in every way she can.

You will always be my little boy, my precious son, my tiny panda, and one of the greatest blessings Allah has ever given me. Your time with us may have been short, but your place in our hearts will never be temporary.

May Allah protect you in His mercy. May He grant you a beautiful place in Jannah. May He accept our prayers, forgive our shortcomings, strengthen our faith, and guide us to live our lives in a way that pleases Him. And may He grant Mommy and Papi the opportunity to meet you again when our time in this world is complete.

I love you more than these words could ever express, my little boy.
I love you in the memories of the days we shared.
I love you in the tears that fall when I miss you.
I love you in the prayers I whisper when no one else can hear.
I love you in the dreams I once had for you and in the hope I now hold for our reunion.
And I will love you for as long as Allah allows me to live. Wait for us in Jannah, my little panda.
Mommy and Papi will keep trying our best to find our way there, by Allah’s mercy.

Your Mommy, who will always love you.

Love you forever, Zake. Until we meet again, inshaAllah. ♡

Made with endless love for Zake · Back to the beginning ↑

Dear Zake Arkan Wijaya — Five Days That Changed Our Lives Forever

 

23 September 2026 – 28 September 2026

My dearest son, Zake Arkan Wijaya,

How are you, my little one?

It has only been a week since you left this world, but it feels like time has stopped somewhere between the moment you came into our lives and the moment we had to let you go. Five days. Only five days. Your time with us in this world was so short, but those five days have become some of the most meaningful, precious, and unforgettable days of Mami and Papi’s lives.

You were born on 23 September 2026, and on 28 September 2026, you returned to Allah. Only five days separated those two dates. Five days that may seem so short to other people, but to us, they contained a lifetime of love.

Five days of knowing that you were here.

Five days of calling you our son.

Five days of looking at you, worrying about you, praying for you, fighting for you, and loving you more than words could ever explain.

And even though I wish with all my heart that Allah had given us more time with you, Mami and Papi are incredibly grateful that we were given those five days. We are grateful that we got to see you. We are grateful that we got to know that little person we had been waiting for all these months. We are grateful that you gave us the chance to become your parents.

You came into this world and, in such a short time, you made so many people fall in love with you.

My Zake, you were loved before we even saw your face.

You were loved when you were still inside Mami’s tummy.

You were loved when you kicked Mami every day.

You were loved when Mami talked to you even though you could not answer.

You were loved when Papi put his hand on Mami’s tummy and waited for you to move.

You were loved when we imagined what you would look like, what your smile would be like, what your voice would sound like, and what kind of person you would become.

And when you finally came into this world, you were loved even more.

I am so sorry, my son.

There is one thing that Mami wishes she could change more than anything.

I am sorry that I couldn't hug you from the moment you were born.

I am sorry that circumstances made it impossible for Mami to stay beside you the way I wanted to. Every mother dreams of holding her baby immediately after birth, feeling that tiny body against her chest, kissing his forehead, and whispering, “Welcome to the world, my son.”

But I couldn't do that with you.

Mami couldn't give you that first hug.

And that thought will always live inside my heart.

I wish I could have held you sooner. I wish I could have stayed beside you every moment. I wish I could have protected you from everything that was hurting you.

But Allah knows how much Mami wanted to be with you.

And on your last day, when I finally had the chance to hug you, I held you with everything I had.

That hug may have come too late, my love, but please know that it contained all the love Mami had been carrying for you since the moment I knew you existed.

I held you and wished that time would stop.

I looked at you and tried to memorize everything.

Your little face.

Your little body.

Your presence.

I wanted to keep every detail of you inside my heart forever.

I wanted to tell you how proud I was of you.

I wanted you to know that Mami never stopped loving you.

And I hope somehow, wherever you are now, you know that.

My dear Zake, Mami and Papi are so proud of you.

You were so strong.

You came into this world already fighting.

You fought with your disease. You fought through pain and difficulties that no little baby should ever have to experience. And even though your life was only five days long, you gave us something incredibly precious.

You gave us five days to be your Mami and Papi.

You gave us five days to call you our son.

You gave us five days of hope.

You gave us five days of memories that we will carry for the rest of our lives.

And maybe that was your journey.

Maybe Allah sent you to us not to stay for many years, but to teach us a different kind of love. A love that does not disappear just because someone is no longer physically beside us.

Zake, have you seen your Papi?

I hope you have.

Because your Papi was incredible.

Your Papi tried so hard for both of us.

During your first and second day, Papi had to manage his time between Mingalar Hospital and Children's Hospital. He was going back and forth between two hospitals, trying to make sure both Mami and you were okay.

He was exhausted.

He couldn't sleep properly at night.

He spent the whole day taking care of us.

He worried about you.

He worried about Mami.

He tried to manage everything even when he was tired.

He didn't complain.

He just kept going.

Because that is what your Papi does.

He loves us.

He protects us.

He takes responsibility for us.

So, Zake, if you meet him somewhere in Jannah one day before we arrive, please tell him that he was the best daddy.

Actually, you don't need to tell him.

He already knows how much Mami appreciates him.

But I hope you can see how hard he fought for us during those days.

Your Papi was not only your daddy for five days.

He will always be your daddy.

And I will always be your Mami.

Nothing can change that.

And then there was Mary Abla.

My dear Zake, you also got to meet someone who loved you so much.

When Mami couldn't stay with you, Mary Abla was there to replace Mami beside you.

She stayed with you.

She cared about you.

She gave her time to you.

She even left her exam just to stay with you at the hospital.

Do you know how precious that is?

She could have chosen to focus only on herself, but she chose to be there for you.

And together with her husband, Nay Lin Abi, they spent their time, energy, and money for you.

They worried about you.

They helped us.

They stayed beside you.

They did so much for our little family.

Zake, you were so loved.

Even though you were only here for five days, so many people were willing to sacrifice for you.

Your abis and ablas helped us in so many ways.

They prayed for you.

They cared about you.

They worried about you.

They loved you.

And I hope that somehow, wherever you are now, you know that your short life touched so many hearts.

My little boy, you were never alone.

You had your Mami.

You had your Papi.

You had Mary Abla.

You had Nay Lin Abi.

You had all the abis and ablas who cared about you.

And most importantly, you had Allah.

Maybe I will never fully understand why Allah chose this path for you.

Maybe I will spend many nights wondering why your story had to be so short.

Maybe there will be days when I am okay and days when I suddenly miss you so much that my heart feels heavy.

But I am trying to believe that Allah's plan is better than anything Mami could ever understand.

You fought for five days, my son.

You fought your disease.

You fought through everything your tiny body had to endure.

And perhaps your fight gave us something too.

You gave us the chance to become parents.

For those five days, Mami and Papi knew exactly what it meant to have a son.

And we will carry that title forever.

Your Mami.

Your Papi.

Nobody can take that away from us.

It has already been a week, Zake.

Only one week.

But I miss you so much.

I miss you more than I know how to explain.

I miss feeling you kick inside my tummy.

I miss the little movements that used to remind me that I was not alone.

I miss talking to you.

I miss carrying you everywhere.

I miss having you accompany Mami wherever I went.

I miss the feeling of knowing that my little boy was growing inside me.

I miss imagining our future together.

I used to imagine taking you places.

I imagined watching you grow.

I imagined your first smile.

Your first steps.

Your first words.

Your first day of school.

I imagined Papi holding your hand.

I imagined us taking family pictures.

I imagined celebrating your birthdays.

I imagined so many ordinary days with you.

And now, those dreams are memories of something that never had the chance to happen.

That is one of the hardest parts, my son.

Mami doesn't only miss the five days we had.

Mami misses all the years we thought we would have.

But even with all of this pain, I am proud of you.

I am proud that you fought.

I am proud that you stayed with us as long as Allah allowed you to.

And I am trying to be proud of the way you chose your own nasib.

Maybe Allah knows something that Mami doesn't.

Maybe you were protected from a life of suffering that Mami could never have protected you from.

Maybe your five days were enough for the purpose Allah had written for you.

And maybe your journey was always meant to lead you somewhere much more beautiful.

So, my son, I will try to let you go with love.

Not because I don't want you.

Not because I don't miss you.

But because I love you enough to trust Allah with you.

Mami is sorry, Zake.

I am sorry if during my pregnancy I didn't eat well enough.

I am sorry if there were times when I didn't take care of my health as well as I should have.

I am sorry for every moment when I wonder if I could have done something differently.

A mother's heart can blame herself for so many things.

But I am trying to learn that not everything is within our control.

I did not know how your story would end.

If I had known, I would have done everything differently.

I would have given you everything.

I would have done anything to keep you safe.

Please don't think that Mami didn't try.

Please don't think that Mami didn't love you enough.

You were loved every single day.

From the moment I found out about you, you were already part of my heart.

And you will remain there forever.

I hope you're happy now, my little boy.

I hope you are not suffering anymore.

I hope there is no pain where you are.

I hope you are surrounded by peace.

I hope you are safe.

And I hope that one day, when Allah allows us to meet again, you will recognize us immediately.

Please wait for us in Jannah, my Zake.

Mami will try her best to make Papi happy.

I will take care of him.

I will remind him that you loved him.

And together, we will keep loving you.

You don't have to worry about us, okay?

Just be happy there.

Play.

Rest.

Smile.

And wait for your Mami and Papi.

Dear Zake Arkan Wijaya,

Have you met Prophet Ibrahim and Siti Sarah?

I hope you have.

Please behave there, my little boy.

Be a good boy, just like you were here.

Maybe you are somewhere beautiful now.

Maybe you are being cared for in a way that is more perfect than anything we could have given you here.

Maybe one day, when we meet again, you will run toward us.

Maybe Papi will hold you.

Maybe Mami will finally get to hug you for as long as she wants.

No hospital.

No machines.

No fear.

No pain.

No goodbye.

Just us.

Together.

Forever.

Until that day comes, I will carry you with me.

You may not be here for Mami to hold anymore, but you are still part of my life.

You are still my son.

You always will be.

Your five days may have ended, but your story did not.

Your story continues in our hearts.

It continues in every memory.

It continues in every prayer.

It continues in every person who loved you.

It continues whenever Mami remembers the little kicks in her tummy.

It continues whenever Papi remembers holding you.

It continues whenever Mary Abla remembers staying beside you.

It continues whenever your abis and ablas talk about you.

And it will continue for the rest of our lives.

Thank you, Zake.

Thank you for choosing us as your parents.

Thank you for giving Mami the chance to carry you.

Thank you for giving Papi the chance to be your daddy.

Thank you for five beautiful, painful, precious days.

Thank you for showing us a love that we didn't know could exist.

Thank you for making us parents.

And thank you for leaving so much love behind.

23 September 2026.

The day you came into our world.

28 September 2026.

The day you returned to your Creator.

Only five days between those dates.

But those five days will stay with us forever.

You were here for five days, but you will be loved for a lifetime.

Maybe Mami will cry when I miss you.

Maybe I will have difficult days.

Maybe sometimes I will wish I could go back and hold you again.

But I will also smile when I remember you.

Because I was blessed to be your Mami.

And Papi was blessed to be your Papi.

That is something no one can ever take away from us.

So sleep peacefully, my little boy.

No more pain.

No more fighting.

No more hospitals.

No more suffering.

Just peace.

Just love.

Just Allah's mercy.

Please wait for us in Jannah.

Mami and Papi will do our best to live our lives, take care of each other, and keep your memory alive.

And when the time comes, I pray Allah brings us together again.

Until then, my son...

Mami loves you.

Papi loves you.

We are so proud of you.

You will always be our little boy.

You will always be our first precious memory of becoming parents.

You will always be our Zake.

And you will always, always be loved.

See you in Jannah, my son.

Love,

Mami

The Last Month of Waiting for You

36 weeks by my last period. 34 weeks by ultrasound.

And somehow, here we are.

When I look at the number of weeks, I can hardly believe how far we have come. It feels like yesterday when I was still trying to understand what was happening inside my body, still wondering if I was really going to become a mother, still learning how to accept all the changes that were happening to me. And now, my little son, we are getting so close to the day when I will finally meet you.

This month may be your last month inside Mommy's tummy.

Just writing that sentence makes my heart feel strange.

Part of me is so excited that I can hardly wait. I want to see your face. I want to know who you look like. I want to hold your tiny hands, touch your cheeks, hear your first cry, and finally see the little person who has been with me every single day for these many months.

But another part of me feels nervous.

There is something emotional about knowing that our time together like this is almost over. For months, you have been living inside me. You have been my little companion wherever I go. I wake up with you, eat with you, rest with you, walk with you, and fall asleep knowing that you are there. Even when I cannot see you, I can feel you. Your movements have become one of the most familiar things in my life.

Soon, though, you will no longer be inside my tummy.

Soon, I will have to share this little person I have been carrying with the world.

And honestly, my little one, this final part of the journey has not been as easy as I imagined.

There have been many struggles, many moments that made Mommy worried, and many times when I wished I could take away every difficulty from you.

At around 33 weeks, we were told that your weight was smaller than what was expected for your gestational age. Hearing that made my heart sink. I immediately started wondering if I had done something wrong. I wondered if I had eaten enough, if I had given you enough nutrients, if I could have done something differently to help you grow bigger and stronger.

Mommy felt guilty.

I am sorry, my little one.

Maybe sometimes I wished I could do more for you. Maybe I wished I could somehow see exactly what you needed and give it to you immediately. If I could transfer all my strength, all my energy, and everything inside me to help you grow, I would do it without thinking twice.

But I am also learning that pregnancy is not something we can completely control.

Sometimes, no matter how carefully we try, there are things that are simply beyond our hands.

So instead of spending every moment blaming myself, I want to keep trying.

I will do my best to take care of myself so that I can take care of you. I will listen to the doctors, follow their advice, eat what I can, rest when I need to, and do everything within my ability to support your growth.

You and I still have a little time together.

So let's use this time to fight together.

My little son, please keep growing inside me. Keep getting stronger. Mommy will keep trying her best for you.

Then came another unexpected part of this journey—the OGTT test.

I remember waiting for the results and hoping everything would be normal. But when the results came back, they showed that something was not quite right. The last blood sample was quite high, which meant that my body was having difficulty processing the glucose easily.

Another thing for Mommy to worry about.

Another thing to learn about.

Another thing to manage.

At first, I felt overwhelmed. Pregnancy already comes with so many emotions, and sometimes it feels like just when you think you have finally become comfortable with one situation, another one appears.

But I don't want to spend these final weeks being afraid.

I want to face everything with you.

If this is another challenge that we have to go through together, then let's go through it together.

Mommy will be more careful. I will try my best to follow everything I am supposed to do. I will take care of what I eat, listen to the doctors, take care of my body, and do everything I can to keep both of us healthy.

You are not alone, my baby.

Every time I feel worried, I remind myself that there is a little boy inside me who is also fighting in his own little way.

You have been so strong all this time.

And maybe I need to be strong for you too.

There are days when I feel tired. There are days when my body feels heavy, when sleeping comfortably seems impossible, and when even simple things require more effort than before. There are days when my emotions change so quickly that even I don't always understand myself.

But then you move.

And suddenly, everything feels worth it.

Sometimes I put my hand on my belly and wonder what you are doing in there. Are you sleeping? Are you stretching your little legs? Are you listening when Mommy talks to you?

I hope you know how much we love you.

Your daddy thinks about us all the time too.

I know he worries about you and me, even when he doesn't always say it out loud. He is always trying to make sure that we are happy, healthy, comfortable, and taken care of. He is working hard, trying his best to earn enough money for our little family and preparing for the life that is waiting for us after you arrive.

Sometimes I look at him and realize that he is also going through this journey in his own way.

He cannot feel your kicks the way I do.

He cannot feel you moving inside his body.

He cannot carry you inside his tummy.

But I know that you are already inside his heart.

He thinks about our future. He thinks about what you will need. He thinks about how to make our family safe and happy. And even though becoming a father is also something new for him, I can see that he is trying his best.

He is our hero.

Maybe he doesn't realize it, but every little thing he does for us means so much.

One day, when you are old enough to understand this story, I hope you will know how much your daddy loved you even before he met you.

You were already part of his plans.

Already part of his dreams.

Already part of the reason he works so hard.

And now, as we enter what may be your final month inside Mommy's tummy, I find myself thinking about everything that has happened since the beginning.

The excitement.

The fear.

The tears.

The doctor's appointments.

The waiting.

The changes in my body.

The little kicks.

The sleepless nights.

The worries about your growth.

The unexpected test results.

The moments when I questioned myself.

And all the moments when I felt incredibly grateful that you were here.

Pregnancy has taught me that love can begin long before you meet someone.

I have never seen your face, but I already know that I would do anything for you.

I have never held you in my arms, but I already miss you when you are quiet for too long.

I don't know the sound of your voice, but I already recognize your little movements.

I don't know what kind of person you will become, but I already pray that you will grow up healthy, kind, strong, and surrounded by love.

And soon, my little boy, I won't have to imagine you anymore.

Soon, I will finally meet you.

Maybe the first moment I see you will be the most unforgettable moment of my entire life.

Maybe I will cry.

Maybe Daddy will cry too.

Maybe we will both just stare at you, wondering how someone so small could change our entire world.

I wonder what it will feel like to finally say, "You're here."

After all these months of saying, "My baby is inside my tummy," I will finally be able to say, "This is my son."

My son.

Those two words still feel so magical.

So for these remaining weeks, I want to slow down and appreciate everything.

I want to remember the feeling of your little kicks.

I want to remember how my belly looked when you moved.

I want to remember the nights when I couldn't sleep because you decided it was time to have a little party inside Mommy's tummy.

I want to remember every appointment, every picture from the ultrasound, every little worry, every happy moment, and every prayer I whispered for you.

Because one day, this pregnancy will only be a memory.

One day, I will look back at these weeks and realize that they passed much faster than I thought.

And maybe I will miss having you this close to me.

But I know something even more beautiful is waiting for us.

You will be in my arms.

Daddy will finally be able to hold you.

Our home will have a new little heartbeat.

And our lives will never be the same again.

My little son, if you could understand Mommy right now, I would tell you this:

I'm sorry for every moment when I worried that I wasn't doing enough for you.

I'm sorry for every time I felt scared.

I'm sorry for every time I questioned myself.

But please know that I have been trying.

Every day, I am trying to be a better Mommy for you.

And I will continue trying long after you are born.

I cannot promise that I will always know what to do.

I cannot promise that I will never make mistakes.

But I can promise that I will always love you.

I can promise that I will always try to protect you.

I can promise that I will always cheer for you.

And I can promise that you will never have to wonder whether you are loved.

Because you are.

You have been loved since before we even knew your face.

So, my little one, let's keep fighting together.

Just a little bit longer.

Keep growing.

Keep getting stronger.

Mommy and Daddy are waiting for you.

We don't know exactly when you will decide that it is time to come into our world, but whenever that day comes, we will be ready to welcome you.

And when you finally arrive, I hope the first thing you feel is love.

The love of your Mommy.

The love of your Daddy.

And the love of everyone who has been waiting for you.

This may be your last month in Mommy's tummy.

And although I am nervous about what is coming, my heart is also filled with so much gratitude.

Thank you for choosing us.

Thank you for making me a mother.

Thank you for giving Daddy another reason to work hard and dream about the future.

Thank you for changing our lives before you even arrived.

We are waiting for you, little one.

Our little son.

Our little fighter.

Our greatest adventure.

Soon, very soon, we will finally meet you.

Until then, stay safe inside Mommy's tummy.

We still have a little more time together.

And I will treasure every single second of it.

Mommy loves you more than words could ever explain.

See you soon, my little boy. 🤍

My Pregnancy Journey: 27 Weeks of Love, Gratitude, and Countless Blessings

 

First Trimester – The Beginning of Our Greatest Blessing

As I write this, I am already 27 weeks pregnant, and my heart is filled with nothing but gratitude. Alhamdulillah, Allah has blessed us with the opportunity to become parents, and every single day I thank Him for entrusting us with our precious little one. To our baby, thank you so much for coming into our lives. Even though we haven't met you yet, you have already changed our world in the most beautiful way.

Our journey began in early February. At first, I developed a sore throat and a mild fever. The doctor assured me that there was nothing to worry about, but deep inside I felt that something was different. Day by day, my body became weaker, and I also realized that my period was late. We decided to buy a pregnancy test just to make sure.

One early morning, before Fajr prayer, I took the test. To my surprise, two red lines appeared. I immediately showed it to my husband, but we were both unsure because one of the lines was still very faint. We tried not to get our hopes up too much and decided to wait another two weeks before testing again. Those two weeks felt incredibly long, but when I finally took another test, the result was clear—two bright red lines. Alhamdulillah! It was one of the happiest moments of our lives.

Soon after, we made an appointment with my obstetrician to confirm the pregnancy. Everything looked good, and the doctor prescribed several vitamins and supplements to support both me and our growing baby. That was the official beginning of my first trimester.

To be honest, the first trimester was far from easy. I experienced nausea and vomiting almost every single day. I completely lost my appetite and couldn't stand the smell or taste of meat. Most days, I survived on fruits, boiled eggs, fried eggs, vegetables, and other simple meals. It was even more challenging because this happened during the holy month of Ramadan.

During this difficult period, my husband became my greatest source of strength. He lovingly prepared sahoor and iftar every day, cooking for both of us without ever complaining. He constantly encouraged me to eat, even when I didn't feel like it, and made sure I took all of my vitamins. Looking back, I realize how blessed I am to have such a caring and supportive husband beside me.

During my first trimester, we also traveled by train from Naypyidaw to Mandalay and back again because we needed to check on our new apartment in Mandalay. My husband didn't want to leave me alone at home, so he invited me to join him for the two-day trip. Although the journey wasn't easy—I vomited several times on the train and struggled with my appetite—I was grateful to experience it together with him. Thankfully, by the third month, the nausea slowly began to improve, and I was finally able to eat a little better as I reached the end of my first trimester.

Second Trimester – A Journey Across Countries with Our Little One

The second trimester became one of the most memorable chapters of our pregnancy journey. We traveled back to Merauke, Indonesia, which required almost two days of flights from Myanmar. Naturally, we were worried about such a long journey while I was pregnant, but Alhamdulillah, everything went smoothly. Throughout the trip, my husband never left my side. He constantly reminded me to eat well, drink enough water, and take my vitamins, making sure both the baby and I were comfortable.

Arriving in Merauke was a very special moment because it was my first time meeting my parents-in-law and my husband's extended family. They welcomed me so warmly, making me feel like part of the family from the very beginning. While we were there, we also celebrated my four-month pregnancy with a beautiful Javanese tradition as an expression of gratitude to Allah for blessing us with this pregnancy. It was such a meaningful experience that I will always treasure.

We stayed in Merauke for about a month. Even though I was still dealing with dizziness, nausea, and occasional vomiting, I was surrounded by so much love and care that it made everything feel easier.

After Merauke, our journey continued to Semarang and Boyolali. During that week, I had the opportunity to meet many more of my husband's relatives for the first time. It was wonderful to finally know the people who had been part of his life for so many years. Alhamdulillah, despite all the traveling, both the baby and I remained healthy.

At the beginning of May, we continued another exciting journey to Malaysia, where I reunited with my mother and sister. We spent about five wonderful days exploring together. Most of our sightseeing involved a lot of walking, and I was amazed by how well my little baby stayed strong throughout the trip. Alhamdulillah, every check-up continued to show that our baby was growing well.

After returning to Myanmar, we began preparing for another big chapter—moving to our new home in Mandalay. As I settled into our new apartment, I finally started enjoying the last months of my second trimester. My condition improved significantly. My appetite returned, I gained weight, and I finally began to feel much stronger.

One of the most magical moments happened in June when I started feeling our baby's tiny kicks and movements every day. Those little movements became my favorite part of each day because they reminded me that our little miracle was growing safely inside me. Then, during the last week of June, we had our 4D ultrasound appointment. It was one of the most emotional days of our lives because we finally discovered our baby's gender.

It's a baby boy.

Our hearts were filled with overwhelming happiness and gratitude. Seeing his tiny face on the ultrasound made everything feel so real. Every difficult day, every moment of nausea, every long journey, and every challenge suddenly became worthwhile.

Looking Forward to the Third Trimester

Now, at 27 weeks pregnant, we are preparing to enter the third trimester. Looking back, I realize that pregnancy has been one of the most beautiful, emotional, and life-changing journeys I have ever experienced. It has taught me patience, strength, gratitude, and unconditional love. None of this journey would have been possible without Allah's endless mercy and the incredible support of my husband, who has been by my side through every appointment, every tear, every meal, every journey, and every milestone.

To our precious baby boy, thank you for choosing us to be your parents. We may not be perfect, but we promise to love you with all our hearts. We are already counting the days until we can finally hold you in our arms, hear your first cry, and begin our greatest adventure together as a family.

Alhamdulillahi Rabbil 'Alamin for every blessing, every challenge, and every beautiful moment along this journey. We cannot wait to meet you, our little miracle.

From Barbecue to Graduation: How Students Gave Me Back My Teacher’s Heart

I never imagined the ache and the joy of teaching would find me again from the sidelines, a warmth that bloomed not from standing at the front of a classroom but from the small, luminous corners of my life where my husband and his students live. For a while I stepped back from the daily rhythm of lesson plans and school bells; I thought that by taking a break I would leave a part of myself behind, that the quiet of no longer grading papers or hearing the chorus of teenage voices would slow the pulse that teaching had long given me. Instead, that pulse found new life through him — my husband, a secondary math teacher and the devoted homeroom teacher of Year 7 Sapphire at Naypyitaw International School of Acumen. Through his stories, his worries, his laughter, and the little rituals of family life we share, I was reminded that teaching is not merely a job but a way of being: patient, curious, tender, and endlessly hopeful.

Watching him prepare for school, listening to his late-night recounting of a student's breakthrough or the subtle shift in a child's posture after a sincere conversation, I began to understand the layers of relationship that make a classroom a home away from home. He is a teacher who wears many hats: the subject teacher who will coax understanding from the bewildered eyes of a student wrestling with equations; the homeroom guardian who notices when someone is quieter than usual; the advisor who thinks carefully about a student’s future; a friend who celebrates their small victories; and sometimes a parent figure who disciplines with love and explains consequences as a lesson in life, not punishment. These roles are not neat or separate; they bleed into one another, creating a fabric of trust that students can wrap themselves in when the world outside school seems too large or too cold.

We discuss his days like rituals. Over late dinners, he tells me about the boy who hesitated to speak in class until one simple, sincere encouragement changed everything, or the girl who solved a complex problem simply by looking at it a little differently. He worries about the students who carry invisible burdens, the ones whose anger masks fear or whose silence hides anxiety. We brainstorm how to approach them: a gentle question at the right moment, a quiet note of praise, the offer to stay after class for extra help, or simply listening without judgment. It is never a quick fix; it is an architecture of care built patiently, brick by small brick. I see him carry their stories home like delicate artifacts, and we hold them together, deciding the gentlest, most honest way to help a young person feel seen and understood.

Then there are the moments that surprise you with their sweetness. Though I had only met Year 7 Sapphire twice — once at a lively barbecue and again at an emotional year-end ceremony — they left a mark on me. At the barbecue, children ran with the easy abandon of those who feel safe; they asked questions about where we were from, about food, hobbies, the small things that stitch strangers into acquaintances. In that casual sunlight they were curious and candid, offering pieces of themselves in laughter and stories. At the year-end ceremony, there was a different kind of hush: proud parents, proud teachers, and children standing on the cusp of summer, full of promise. The students’ eyes were bright, their hands energetic with the last-minute choreography of youth, and the applause that rose felt like a benediction.

What truly moved me, however, was what came after that ceremony. I received gifts — handmade, thoughtful, and utterly sincere. They were small objects infused with the kind of meaning only young hearts can make: a delicate handmade flower whose petals spoke of time and care; a cute couple keychain, a playful token that made me smile at the thought of the students’ careful choice; a sweet doll, stitched with innocence and whimsy; and a letter — a romantic, earnest little note accompanied by a picture — that pooled with feeling and childish eloquence. These gifts were not costly in any worldly measure, but each was priceless for the love and intention behind it. I held them and felt a surge of gratitude so deep it almost startled me. I had been away from teaching, but through these small tokens I felt again the intimate reciprocation that exists between teacher and student: you give them knowledge, time, and care; they give you a mirror of your impact and the warmth of their trust.

It surprised me how strongly I would miss them when my husband told me he would be moving to another school. He has been their steady presence — a guide through labors of learning and adolescence — and I watched his face fold with the soft sorrow of someone who knows he won’t be there for the next set of victories, for the graduations, for the late-night clarity when a lesson finally clicks. I empathized with the students’ unknown response to this change because I had seen how much they had invested in him. Even though my direct encounters with Year 7 Sapphire were brief, I felt as if I had been given a fragile window into something permanent: the blossoming of young minds and hearts under the gentle stewardship of an attentive teacher. I believe they might know me a little through this blog — the way words can make someone present even when miles and months stand in the way.

There is a tenderness to teaching that often goes uncelebrated: the endless small decisions that protect a child’s dignity, the late-night worry over a student’s safety, the stubborn belief that every child is more than their mistakes. My husband and I would discuss how to handle difficult moments without breaking a student’s spirit — how to give constructive correction that educates and uplifts rather than punishes; how to turn consequences into lessons about responsibility and resilience. It is hard work, and it is quietly heroic. For every applause moment there are a hundred small, unseen acts of patience. Yet those acts accumulate, like pebbles forming a path, until one day you look up and find a landscape you helped grow.

To Year 7 Sapphire: thank you. Thank you for the handmade flower, the tender keychain, the charming doll, and that heartfelt letter with your bright picture — gifts that now sit with me like relics of a beautiful season. Thank you for trusting my husband enough to make him part of your days, for letting him share in your laughter and your struggles, for allowing him to be a witness to your small miracles. You have potential in rich, varied ways — creativity, intelligence, kindness, and that fierce human capacity for growth. I believe in you. I have watched from both near and far, and I have felt the truth in your smiles.

And to my husband: thank you for letting me share in this life, for bringing me stories that lift my spirits and sometimes weigh my heart. Thank you for the conversations where we untangle a problem together and find the gentlest path forward. As you move to a new school, carry with you the knowledge that you have made a difference — not just in test scores, but in the way you held their hearts, the way you taught them to see the world, and the way you showed that learning is an act of love.

I will miss Year 7 Sapphire. I will miss the barbecue sun and the hush of the year-end stage. But I keep their gifts close, and I keep the lessons — for teaching is not confined to the classroom; it is a steady presence that finds us wherever we stand, whether at a desk or at a kitchen table, talking into the night. If words can cross the space between us, then let this be my promise: be brave, be kind, be curious, and remember that someone believed in you enough to teach you with patience. That belief changes everything.

💖 My Fifteen Stars: A Farewell to Secondary 1B

 

Becoming a Form Teacher at SIS Palembang this year has been one of the most unexpected, heart-warming, and profoundly meaningful chapters of my entire teaching journey. It was a step into the unknown. I walked into this school as a first time international school teacher. hmm of course nervous, excited, and constantly wondering: Would I fit in? Would I connect with the students? Would I even be able to do this well?

Then I met Secondary 1B.

They are just fifteen students, six wonderful girls and nine dynamic boys. But somehow, they manage to fill the room with enough personality, noise, colour, and glorious chaos to feel like thirty. They didn’t know it on that tentative first day, and certainly, I didn't either, but they were about to become one of the most significant and meaningful experiences of my life.

The Dynamics of Our Little Cosmos

Our classroom quickly evolved into its own unique cosmos, a space where every student held a distinct gravitational pull.

The nine boys of 1B are a whole, unforgettable story of their own. There’s Alfath, our resident deep thinker and expert in looking utterly lost in his own thoughts. His distant gaze often makes it seem as if his mind is constantly travelling somewhere far, far away, perhaps solving a cosmic problem only he can see. Then we have Ben, an Indian Muslim boy who speaks with the vocabulary and composure of someone who just concluded a conference with world leaders; sometimes I genuinely feel like I’m teaching a university student. His best friend, Max, is our dedicated Class Captain. He is a beautiful mix of responsible, humble, and funny in a very dramatic way especially with his signature, daily protest: “Child abuse!” whenever I assign homework or a project. Every single day, he delivers the line with perfect comedic timing, and every day, I pretend to be utterly shocked.

Creativity flows through Kenzie, who is always absorbed in drawing or creating something intricate on his iPad. I’ve watched his confidence bloom since the first day, and his sparkling eyes when he proudly shows me his latest progress reports and artwork are a joy. Ravito is another calm soul: friendly, warm, and perpetually ready to play a game or offer a kind word. Even while managing a health condition like GERD, he remains incredibly cheerful and deeply kind.

The talkative spark and chief instigator of fun is Gilbert. He is always doing something, always laughing, and always playing usually with his trusted seatmates, Ivander and Mario. Ivander is our quiet one, a gentle soul who initially struggled with confidence but possesses a quiet, unyielding determination. Watching him slowly, steadily open up and improve in his academics and his willingness to participate, is a profound, heart-filling experience for me. Mario is a logic genius, particularly brilliant in Math. He loves gaming with his friends but is remarkably on-brand by refusing any form of competition unless the subject is purely academic. And finally, our last boy, Zheldan. He has a beautifully critical and questioning mind, always eager to ask the 'why' and 'how' behind anything he finds interesting. Sometimes his friends inadvertently forget to include him in their whirlwind of games, and bridging that gap, ensuring every child feels and has a place in the circle, is a subtle, continuous priority for me.

Sunshine, Melodies, and Group Hugs

The six girls of 1B offer two very distinct, yet perfectly balanced, energies.

First, the cheerful, effervescent quartet: Giselle, Wellyn, Cammy, and Tiffany. They bring an undeniable beam of sunshine into the room. They make the class feel alive, colourful, and often, quite literally, Instagram-ready. They are a whirlwind of fun, loving to take pictures, record Tiktoks, give spontaneous surprise hugs, and generally brighten the day with their loud, infectious cheerfulness. They are sweet, fun, and sometimes, yes, a little too relaxed during lessons, but that wonderfully chaotic energy is fundamentally what makes them, them.

On the other side, we have the calm, steady duo: Rheyaa and Sarah. They are the soft-spoken, gentle pillars of the class, always smiling sweetly. They follow every instruction perfectly, rarely complain, hardly ever interrupt, and quietly excel in everything they do. They are the peaceful, harmonious corner of our little family like two soft, consistent melodies in a room otherwise full of vibrant, chaotic drumbeats.

The Sweetest Chaos

Serving as both their Form Teacher and their Math Teacher has been an intense, beautifully emotional experience, one that has reshaped my perspective on teaching. This group of fifteen kids has made my first journey in an international school truly unforgettable.

Yes, they are noisy. Yes, they love playing games, and the classroom often morphs into a mini-carnival of elbows and excited chatter when they feel passionate about something. Yet, they are also incredibly respectful, warm-hearted, funny, and possess a depth of kindness that often surprises me. They even took the time to celebrate my birthday with the sweetest, most romantic little surprise, a moment that truly touched me and demonstrated their capacity for genuine care.

I am so profoundly thankful for them for their boundless energy, their sweet chaos, their visible growth, and the open-hearted way they welcomed a newcomer like me into their world.

A Difficult Goodbye

This is the hard part. Although our time together is only six months, I have to leave in the middle of the school year due to personal circumstances. This departure feels heavier than I anticipated, precisely because of the depth of connection they forged with me.

I want them to know how deeply I cherish and love them. I know I will miss them terribly: the morning noise, the inside jokes, the sudden bursts of play, the constant requests of “Miss, can we get a free time?”, the small friendship fights, the beautiful reconciliations, the sudden group hugs, and the way the class seems to get so delightfully crowded whenever they start playing games in the corner. They made my mornings brighter, my days meaningful, and this unexpected chapter of my life’s journey unforgettable.

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My Fifteen Stars: Keep Shining

To my dear Secondary 1B, I am truly sorry that I cannot accompany you until the final bell rings at the end of the year.

But please, know this: Each and every one of you has secured a special, permanent place in my heart.

I am thankful for your kindness, your warmth, your sincerity, and for the incredible growth I have witnessed in such a short time. Keep shining your unique light, keep challenging yourselves, and keep being the wonderfully complex, funny, and unique human beings you are.

I wish you all the very best in school, in life, and in every beautiful dream you choose to chase. Wo ai ni men. Wo hui xiang ni men. Hen gaoxing renshi ni men.

See you on top, my fifteen stars. Good luck, and thank you for being the highlight of my SIS Palembang story.

Loving Across Borders: Our First Two Months as a Long Distance Married Couple

 

If someone had told me that right after saying "I do," I would be living thousands of kilometers away from my husband, I probably wouldn’t have believed it. But as we all know, life moves in the most unexpected ways.

For Khairu and me, our first week as a married couple was also our last week together for a long time. Right after our akad nikah (wedding solemnization), we had to go our separate ways for work. Khairu flew to Myanmar, and I stayed right here in Palembang. That's how our long-distance marriage began.

The Reality Check: Tears and the First Farewell

The moment he left, the reality hit me—hard. Being a wife who lives far away from her husband is not easy at all.

The first week was the absolute hardest. It was filled with tears, a mind that couldn’t focus, and emotions that came rushing whenever I saw something that reminded me of our short but beautiful moments together. Everything felt overwhelming, as if my heart was still trying to understand how quickly everything had happened.

But despite the sadness, we always reminded ourselves of one crucial truth: This is our decision, our journey, and we choose to make it work.

🔗 Building Anchors: Our Long-Distance Routines

Slowly, after that tough first week, we began to build routines that made the distance feel lighter. These simple routines became our anchors—the proof that even when we are far apart, we are still growing together as husband and wife.

• Daily Check-ins: We text each other throughout the day, updating even the smallest things so we still feel like we’re living life side by side.

• Morning and Evening Calls: We have our essential morning call before work and another call in the afternoon, which somehow makes the day feel complete.

• Team Decisions: We discuss budgeting, make decisions, and plan for our future as a team, just like any other couple.

• Spiritual Connection: We even recite Qur’an together.

All these acts, done consistently across thousands of miles, show us that a marriage is strong not based on proximity, but on intention.

❤️ Choosing Patience: Navigating Emotional Distance

Of course, being in a long-distance marriage also comes with its emotional challenges. There are days, especially during my sensitive cycles, when I become more emotional and overwhelmed. It makes my husband feel worried and confused because he can’t physically be here to comfort me.

But this is where his character truly shines.

He always chooses patience. He chooses gentleness. He chooses to calm me instead of questioning or dismissing my feelings.

And for that, I am forever grateful. Thank you, my husband, my perfect man, for never making me feel kekurangan (lacking), for always being patient with me, even when I act like a little child. Thank you for loving me consistently, even from far away.

I love you so much, all the way to Jannah, InshaAllah.

A Marriage Built on Choice

These first two months of Long Distance Married life have taught us a lot. The longing is real, the loneliness comes unexpectedly, and the challenges can be tiring.

But through it all, we keep choosing trust and honesty.

Distance can certainly create doubts, but it can also forge incredible strength if we allow it. And we choose to let it strengthen us. Even though we are far apart, we are building a marriage that is strong not because everything is easy, but because we choose each other every single day.

That is the beauty of this unexpected journey—loving, growing, and holding on, even across borders.