Her Voice, My Compass: Love, Loss, and the Search for What’s Next

In every love story I’ve ever lived, she was always my first listener.

The moment my heart fluttered for someone new, before even my closest friends knew—I'd tell Ummi. Her eyes would light up, a playful smile teasing her lips, ready for the drama, joy, or heartbreak that followed. She was my love consultant, my storyteller-in-chief. With her, there was no shame in vulnerability. Just the warm, patient presence only a mother can offer.

When I was in love, she giggled with me. When I was heartbroken, she'd hugged me and say, _“Jodoh itu rahsia Allah”—soulmates are God's secret.

And I believed her.

But then she left, and everything changed.

Since she passed, my love life feels like navigating through a storm without a lighthouse. I try—I talk to women, open up sometimes—but it doesn’t feel right. It’s not the same without her giggles in the kitchen, her quiet advice during city walks, her prayers whispered while I slept. There's an emptiness that no one sees but that shadows everything.

I travel now. The world has become my therapy. I’ve watched the sun set over Key West, wandered the quiet alleys of Toronto, sipped tea on Oxford mornings—seeking joy, chasing peace. On the outside, it looks like I’m living a dream. And maybe I am. But the truth is, behind every photo I post, there’s a part of me still searching. Not just for the right one, but for something—or someone—that can help fill that sacred space she once held.

Sometimes, I still talk to her. Not out loud, but in moments when I'm staring out a plane window or standing at a crowded street corner. I imagine what she'd say. She’d probably smile and say, “Aiman kena kuat. One day, you’ll find her.”

I miss her most when I'm happy.

I know she’d want me to move forward—to open my heart again, to let someone in. And I’m trying, Ummi. I really am. But until then, I carry your wisdom, your spirit, and your unwavering faith in love with me.

Wish me luck. The journey is long, but I still believe that jodoh is written. Somewhere.

Al-Fatihah, Ummi. You are missed every day.