BEFORE BLOGSPOT

Before Blogspot, there was Friendster. I wrote and wrote, as a way to improve my writing skills and also to share my thoughts. The only people reading were my university coursemates who would leave a comment or two after each posting.

Then I got bored and moved here. My Friendster account is no longer active. Alhamdulillah pukullima.blogspot.com [named after the trees outside my hostel windows] has grown, with more than 600 posts. And along with it, like the strong and shady trees, I've grown and changed too. From a single divorced Muslimah lady [recorded in Friendster], I've become a wife and insyaAllah soon to be a mother [as written in blogspot].

Looking back and going through my old posts in Friendster, I came across this:

The Price of Freedom
Saturday, December 23rd, 2006

My decision to break free from the strangling ties of an empty marriage wasn’t well received by my immediate family. Dad was furious for being kept in the dark and told me to work things out. He still believes that a woman who is married, no matter under what circumstances, is better off than being a divorcee.
For once in my life, I refused to listen. I put my foot down.
I told Dad all my reasons for leaving but Dad, who has been brought up to believe firmly that the husband is always right, was quite adamant that I reconsider. I was told that he would never be able to face the relatives if they found out his daughter is a divorcee.
I was given the ultimatum : divorce and he’ll disown me as his daughter, or stay on in the marriage and work things out with my so-called husband.
Of course, I chose the former.
Brother told me later that Dad’s face turned as dark as Justice Pao; he couldn’t imagine I was that stubborn.
Poor Grandma was caught in the middle of the feud. She has always supported Dad but then, I was her favourite grand-daughter. She knew I would never have made such a drastic decision without thinking it over many times.
So if life better now?
You bet.
No more heartaches, no more having to fork out my half-salary to "maintain the household". Lonely? Perhaps but I’ve gotten used to the quietness. Gives me more time to contemplate and do my own stuff. Forced me to be more independent.
At least now I know I can survive on my own.. even without a man by my side.
[note: one of the reasons why I don't write about my MIA father. This was written before I was proposed to and married again]

and this:
Boxes of Our Lives
Friday, April 27th, 2007

Been packing away since last week. Boxes here and there, luggage bags full of stuff lying about the room. A scene I hate to see.I have a lot of boxes because in them are mostly stuff that I need for my studies. Can’t do without them… dare not do without them, so I have to take them along wherever I go. Such a burden really.

It is a human habit, I think, that whatever we have gathered in our lives in material possessions are filled in empty boxes to be carried to another location. As I look at those boxes sealed with masking tape, I realised that all those stuff in them are not really very important. Yes, they have sentimental values; some are expensive and are irreplacable but still, they are materials that may be damaged by fire or water.
We take them along because they are a part of us; we tend to identify ourselves through our worldly possessions. We tend to feel that we have achieved success by the number of things we have, by the number of boxes we keep, by the number of houses and cars we own. After all, we spend our hard-earned money to have them, therefore we tend to cling to them as a sense of security and belonging.

Few of us realise that we have another box that has limitless storage space. A box that is to be filled not with material possessions but our emotions that we have about the past. Hopefully that box is filled with compassion and love for another living thing, and not one that is filled with anger and hate. Hopefully it is a box that keeps us warm and fulfilled even when our physical boxes are destroyed through human neglect or natural disasters. A box that we call our heart.

I have little to show about the memories that I’ve kept throughout my thirty-six years of living on earth. However, they are always fresh in my mind. Perhaps one day, I will slowly dig up the storage space of that special box and put them in writing as a special tribute to those special people who has left a mark in forming who I am today. And that may include you who are reading this post at this moment.

The boxes of our lives. They are a part of us. It is we who should determine what we keep in those boxes and what we take along with us. Do not let our material boxes be so heavy that they limit our movements. Also do not let our heart be so burdened with anger and regret that we have little space left for love and happiness.

I have thrown away the unnecessary stuff and feelings. How about you?

[note: was in one of my moods, huhu]