Autumn in My Heart: A Letter to Ummi

The air has turned gentle, the skies wear a soft grey veil, and the trees—oh, the trees—have begun their quiet transformation. Golden, amber, and rust-colored leaves drift down like whispered prayers, carpeting the earth in a tapestry of memory. It is fall here in the northern hemisphere, or as we called it back home in Malaysia, autumn. A season we only knew through textbooks and television screens, yet somehow, it always felt familiar.

I walk to work each morning beneath these trees, and with every step, I feel you, Ummi.

You left several years ago, but this season—this tender, melancholic season—brings you back to me in ways I never expected. I remember you curled up on the woven screw pine mat, eyes glistening as you watched Autumn in My Heart, that Korean drama you loved so dearly. The soundtrack, especially the song Reason, echoes in my mind now, like a ghost melody carried by the wind. It plays in my heart as I watch the leaves fall, each one a memory, each one a moment I wish I could share with you.

Malaysia never had four seasons, but you taught me to imagine them. You spoke of Nova Scotia with such longing, as if the forests there held a secret just for you. You dreamed of Sault Ste. Marie, of watching the locks and the great lakes shimmer under a Canadian sky. I wish I could bring you here, Ummi. I wish I could show you the world you once dreamed of. I wish I could walk beside you through these golden woods, hand in hand, wrapped in scarves and stories.

This season is my favorite. It’s mellow, calm, and cloudy—just like your voice when you sang lullabies and dzikr, just like your presence when you sat beside me during storms. There’s something sacred in the stillness of autumn, something that feels like a quiet embrace from the universe. It’s as if the world pauses to remember, to reflect, to grieve gently.

I miss you, Ummi. I miss your laughter, your warmth, your way of making even the simplest things feel like poetry. I carry you with me—in the rustle of leaves, in the hush of morning fog, in the way the light filters through the trees like a blessing.

Al-Fatihah for you, my dearest Ummi. May your soul be wrapped in peace as soft as autumn clouds, and may the gardens of Jannah bloom with the colors you never got to see.

This season is yours. Always.

Under the Same Sky, Watching Football with Ummi

And now, amidst this melancholy haze, love has tiptoed back into my heart—like a thread from the past reknotted in the present. Since my ummi passed years ago—may Allah grant her Jannah—the grief walled me off from such feelings. But on this visit, I reconnected with her: we attended the same university, even worked together once, though we were never close enough back then. Fate brought us together now, a woman whose eyes hold the kindness of home, whose laughter mends something broken in me. I adore one quirky thing about her most: when I tease her with jokes, she gets all garang, her fierce little temper flaring up—and oh, how cute she looks in those moments, her fire making my heart flutter even more. We’ve spent so much precious time together lately—savoring plates of Malay nasi campur side by side, lost in lazy coffee dates where conversations flowed like sweet kopi ais, and late-night phone calls that bridged the gaps between our worlds. We hung out in the bustling Klang Valley, wandering its vibrant streets hand in hand, and even ventured to her hometown, where the air felt thicker with possibility and her world opened up to me. Those moments ignited something real. I feel it deep in my bones: she could be my partner, my forever, insha’Allah. I like her—love her, even—and the thought of us together forever lights a fragile spark.

But reality crashes in like monsoon rain. I’m leaving soon, back to the cold isolation of America. The fear grips me tight: fear of losing my family to time’s relentless march, fear of this new love fading into “what ifs,” fear of missing those masjid solats and athan calls once more. Trauma from losing loved ones haunts me—the sharp pain of ummi’s absence echoes in every goodbye. How do I hold on when distance pulls so hard? It’s tearing me apart, this nomad’s life. And the ache for Ramadan’s moon-sighting and Eid’s joyous hugs in Malaysia… it lingers like a prayer unanswered.

Yet, in the quiet of tahajjud prayers, I surrender. Allah knows best—He always has. Whatever His plan, be it roots here or wings abroad, I trust in His wisdom. Still, as the airport beckons, my soul weeps for what might slip away.

A Golden Opportunity: My Journey from Malaysia to the World

I often sit alone, gazing at a moon that's the same as the one back home, yet feels so different. It’s been a long time since I left my beloved homeland, leaving behind the warmth of my family, the laughter of my friends, and all the sweet memories I hold dear. A wave of melancholy washes over me with every pang of homesickness. Yes, I am an expatriate, a Malaysian navigating the vast ocean of life.

Some ask, "Why?" Why give up everything you have? Why choose this difficult path? My answer is always the same: "Opportunity comes only once." These words, spoken by a beloved headmaster, echo in my mind and have become my life's compass, guiding every step I take. I am not here just to earn a living; I am here to find the true meaning of life, to test my own strength and prove that I can stand on my own two feet.

Many might look at my life from a distance and think, "He must have it so easy there." And to a certain extent, they’re right—my life is more comfortable in some ways. But they don't see the true cost of this comfort. The sacrifices I've made are profound. I've given up precious time with my family, said goodbye to a love, and put on hold the milestones that most people my age are already celebrating. Living abroad teaches you the real meaning of sacrifice. It has forced me to be more mature, stronger, and braver than I ever thought I could be.

But for every hardship, there's a silver lining. Amidst the deep ache of homesickness, I’ve discovered an unexpected beauty. I have the chance to travel, to see the world from a different perspective, and most importantly, to meet incredible people from all walks of life. The friendships I've made, the laughter we've shared, and the cultures I've embraced have brought so much joy. I've learned to appreciate their sports and found happiness in our differences.

Let them say what they will. I know that as long as I am on the right path, as long as I hold firm to my principles and my faith, everything will be fine. With the blessings of my parents and the guidance of Allah, I believe every step I take is the right one. To all young Malaysians out there, don't be afraid to step out of your comfort zone. Life is an adventure. Always be principled and firm in your beliefs. Even when we are far from home, never forget who we are. I hope my journey can serve as an example for all of you.

Solo Road Trip: A Crazy Adventure Through the Rocky Mountains

This trip, you all. Seriously, fuiyoh, it was one for the books! I went on a solo road trip to the Rocky Mountains, and let me tell you, it was an adventure so epic, you won't believe it. My short summer break turned into a crazy, impromptu journey, and I just had to share it with you guys.

I flew into Las Vegas, just for a night. That place was so hot, my face felt like it was melting. The next morning, it was a scorching 40 degrees Celsius, but my spirit was high. I was on a mission: four days, four states, and five national parks. A bit ambitious, I know, but you gotta challenge yourself, right?

First stop, Zion National Park. The scenery was seriously power! I hiked a trail and the view of the valley from up there? Ya Allah, so beautiful. After that, I drove to Panguitch, Utah, and then straight to Bryce Canyon National Park. It’s like the Grand Canyon, but different. All these strange rock formations called hoodoos looked like a whole city of stone. After a bit of hiking, I went to the motel for a good night's sleep.

The next day, I headed to Capitol Reef National Park. I wanted to take the scenic route to Cathedral Valley, but sadly, the road was closed for construction. A bit disappointed, but I stumbled upon Fruita, a ghost town with so much history. The Mormons used to live there, you know. I even found some ancient petroglyphs and hiked to see the Hickman Bridge. But guess what? The weather was so dry and hot, my nose started bleeding! Luckily, I'm a quick learner, so I just chilled and survived. Solo trip, you see, so I had to rely on myself.

After that, I dashed to Moab, Utah, and checked into a campsite. That night, the wind was crazy—like a hurricane! I couldn't sleep well, but the bright side? I got to see the most beautiful night sky ever. Back home, where can you get a view so clear? I saw all the stars and planets with my own eyes. So surreal, man.

I woke up before Subuh and drove to Canyonlands National Park to catch the sunrise at Mesa Arch. The view, oh my, priceless! Then I went to Arches National Park to see the famous Delicate Arch. It sounds tiring, but I didn't feel it at all. The sheer beauty of it all made me forget about any fatigue.

Finally, I hit the road again, all the way to Denver. I met my old friend from Myanmar, whom I met during my college and we both were volunteer leaders before. It was so good to see him. I even went to a Colorado Rockies baseball game, which was another first for me. After a night there, I flew back home.

In short, this trip was amazing. To see Allah's creation—the mountains, the canyons, the endless skies—it was so humbling. And to challenge myself to drive all that way, all by myself? It was a crazy idea, but I loved every minute of it. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me. Even though it sounds exhausting, I felt so energized throughout the trip. Only when I got home did I feel a bit tired. But hey, it was all worth it. I'm already thinking about my next road trip in the US. The adventure must go on!

Not Jodoh: A Story of Love, Loss, and Healing at My Own Pace

Last week, I had a strange and haunting dream about the girl I loved. In the dream, I found myself wandering in a park in her homeland, the air full of children’s laughter. That was when I saw her—she was there with her kids. Somehow, I ended up helping them fix their little toy train, my hands clumsy but eager. She smiled at me, the same smile that once melted all my worries away. Then, I overheard a voice—maybe it was just in my head—saying, “Why isn’t that guy their dad? He looks like he belongs with this family, so loving and gentle.” Another voice answered, quieter but firmer, “They never ended up together because of different cultures.” The heaviness in my chest grew, and before I could say anything, I just dashed away from the scene, fading into the background as if I was never there.

Ever since that dream, I’ve been thinking a lot about my love life—about the chapters that have passed, the wounds that still ache, and the lessons I carry quietly in my heart.

Young Hearts Be Free

They say your first love will always hold a special place in your heart. For me, back in my college days, I truly believed this. Almost three years with my first love—we weren’t just students, you know. We were dreamers, leaders in societies, volunteering here and there. It was sweet, pure, and at that time, I thought it would last forever.

But as with many young loves, life took us on different paths. That chapter ended—at least, I thought it did.

The Summer That Changed My Heart

The summer after the heartbreak changed everything. Joined an exchange program overseas, just to see the world, to distract myself. That’s where I met her. At first, she was just another face—full of dreams, entrepreneurial spirit, always smiling. But slowly, the bond grew. I found myself telling her things I wouldn’t tell anyone else. When I went home, I told my late mum about her, showed her pictures. My mum’s face lit up. She liked her, gave her blessing—even hoped maybe one day she’d be her daughter-in-law. That approval meant the world to me.

Unfortunately, fate had its own plans. We lived in different countries. Our conversations became less frequent—letters, long messages, updates about daily life. She was busy with her startup and studies; I tried my best to wait.

When the World Stopped

Then the world changed. Pandemic hit, borders closed. Suddenly, the future became uncertain. I could no longer visit; she could no longer travel. Life kept us busy—she with veterinary school, me with the daily grind in KL. I wanted to meet by year end, but it was impossible.

Time moved on. We both chased dreams, lost in ambition, but in my heart, I kept hoping she’d still be waiting.

Before I moved overseas for a new job, I gathered my courage and confessed: I’m ready, I want to marry you. Her answer was hesitant—a mix of hope and anxiety, uncertainty about what lay ahead. My heart broke quietly, but I left anyway, carrying her memory across oceans.

The Call That Broke Me

Not long after, my world shattered. My mum was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I had no money to fly back, no way to see her. We talked over the phone until her voice grew weak… and then she was gone. My anchor, my strength—just like that.

After her passing, the silence was deafening. That grief kept me company for many nights.

The world felt cold, and I was completely alone.

One Last Shot

Eventually, I found a way home. Told my dad I needed closure, wanted to see her one last time. He understood, gave his blessing. When I finally saw her, after four years, she looked different—quieter, changed by life. We talked about everything: my mum, our journeys. She never knew about my mum’s passing—it broke her heart too.

But when I finally asked about her feelings, she told me gently—she had moved on. The pandemic, the distance, the culture—it was not jodoh, not written in our fate. I accepted it, though the pain lingered like rain on a window.

Living With the Silence

Coming home was heavier than I expected. I lost my mum, lost the woman I dreamed of having a family together and chase our dreams. My dad tried to be strong, but I knew he was heartbroken as well.

Since then, I’ve tried to move on. Sometimes I meet new people, but my heart doesn’t “click.” Maybe I’m still comparing everyone to her, or maybe I’m just scared of getting hurt again. Maybe I need more time.

Some will say, after a love that deep, it’s normal to take years to heal. Maybe solitude is just my way for now—taking time to find myself, to protect whatever little peace I’ve managed to hold onto.

Finding Myself, One Step at a Time

These days, I travel more—new places, new faces, chasing sunrises that don’t remind me of the past. I lose myself in new cities and unfamiliar streets, hoping to collect the parts of myself that got scattered along the way.

I don’t know when I’ll be ready again. Maybe one day, maybe never. But this I know—love isn’t always about a happy ending. Sometimes, it’s about beautiful chapters, memories that will always stay with you, teaching you to grow, to let go, and to hope again.

If it’s not jodoh, then it’s not jodoh. Until then, I’ll keep walking this path, going places, writing new stories, one step—and one heartbeat—at a time.