Love is Patient

I wake up with a million of feelings; gratitude, excitement, and hope and spend every waking moment jealously guarding these feelings while embracing life.  I’ll mentally list a myriad of things to share with almost vivid visualisation of how my ‘piece’ would later pen itself and form into a deep story of love, life and living…and yet when I sit at the end of the day to work on a masterpiece, my emotions gets drained by fatigue and my mind distracted by sights and sounds that are merely noise, but I welcome theses distractions to justify my lack of desire to allow flow.

Months of fear have robbed me of my freedom to expression; my passion for words and my desire to share my love affair with life that once fragrant by morning dew, morning traffic, brewed coffee and toast, and fresh roses in the garden but now filled with hasten needs to overtake rats in the race, to avoid being fresh meat for dogs and to find time to swim with sharks for the best deals.  I used to talk about how the sun felt against my skin, how the wind combed my hair and how rain smelt like heaven.  Today, I hand over my hat and just can’t find my will to write.  I fear that I am no longer enough to shoot a ray of life to remove blankets and blankets of the numbing darkness.  There is just so much anger, pain, humiliation and hatred…I feel sad.

I found every reason to blame work of stealing my days.  I rationalised that hours spent learning are necessities for growth.  I agreed that my bubble needs a burst for my true potential to soar — there is more of me, I just have to work harder…and harder…and harder.  Love can wait.

I was a lucky girl because love waited patiently. 

So, my writing will begin with a story of love who waited for me to wake from sleep.  Love would wait to steal a few moments from me away from modern gadgets.  Love would labour over hot meals and my favourite green tea.  Love would burst into a story when he catches me dazed with nothing to do.  Love grabbed every possible moments I could spare in between everything else I dubbed as urgent no matter how irrelevantly unimportant it truly was. 

Who is love?

She is called mother. 

She is called daughter. 

He is called son. 

He is called husband.

…love is a miracle I underestimated and though often lost in between a ridiculous maze I personally designed, love ensured that it is never absent and it never lost sight of me.

MY MOTHER

Malaysia is an extremely hot and humid country.  When I was young, air conditioned cars are a luxury.  Our windows are manually wind and every middle class owned car was in stick shift.  The seats were made of plastic to look like leather and it burned my skin each time we enter the car after it sunbathed while we hung out at the cafe for lunch.  For payback, the vengeance is repaid by baking us for the next hour as we drive to our next destination.

Still, the journey in the hot and humid day, baked in our ford accord was not a big deal with mom at the wheels.  We’d share stories and laughed till we cried.  We would sing songs that even the radio would begged us to shut up, but our old cars were to cheap for a radio, so we sang our hearts out.  I always enjoyed my time with mom…she was fun.

I can’t remember when we crossed that line and stopped seeing each other.  We stay in the same house but barely shared a space.  We talked but never having proper conversations.  I tried the releasing stuff, clearing programs and even gave the forgiveness circle a shot — mom and I never made advancements.  I want my mommy back…I really do.  And as she patiently laboured in the kitchen for my meals and snacks with love, I continued to whine for my mommy back.

The fact is, I forgot she grew old…and I realised I had an issue with being the adult.  I felt that the switch was too sudden and I am not ready for the caretaker role.  The demands of growing up was way off my comfort zone.  It’s been years that I looked at her from the eyes of a daughter and suddenly two nights ago I had my breakthrough.  I stopped justifying and stated my truth.  My sight came back and right in front of me was Mommy.  She listened intently to what I had to say.  Then she stepped out of the car and went on making my meals, my snacks and my herbal tea…exactly how she has been doing it for years and years.  

Love is patient and it patiently waits.  I met her yesterday and rekindled.  It was nice.

MY DAUGHTER

The best way to describe my relationship with my daughter is wet spandex.  The more I spent time with her, the more she’s stuck like second skin.  You’d imagined a child would rid you off after having too much of you…but even her best friend couldn’t tear her away from me.  How does it feel?  

Overwhelmingly scary.  

What if I don’t love her enough?  What if I love her wrong?  Did I let her miss me too much?  Did I forget to pay attention to her?  Did she walk away because I accidentally ignored her conversation? Is she sad and lonely?  Should I stay home today?  I miss my baby!!!

Oh…the agony of wanting to be the perfect mother for the perfect child haunts me every night as I watch her sleep.  I feel I have not given enough…have I?

Then like a tap of a feather, a message arrived. 

I sent her to school today and I didn’t want to leave.  I couldn't tear myself away.  I told her I needed to visit the ladies…and when I took too long, she came to look for me (worried) and asked if I was okay.  I came out and sat by the bench to watch her play.  When she saw me, she left her friends and came to sit by me.  She sat by me because she knew in that innocent and young heart that I couldn't leave…so she left her friends and sat by me.  She said nothing.  I said nothing.  We just sat with each other for 20 minutes with my arms wrapped around her and her small palm resting on mine until I had to go…

She just sat by me because I could not leave.  Is love not a silent miracle?

MY SON

I have three…each devoted to mummy and stickier than wet spandex.  Second skin cannot begin to describe how these grown young men hovers over mummy, huddles and cuddles, play video games and board games, run, swim and climb, and cook and bake.  Each wanting a slice of my moments to share with me their favourite things. 

I’ve visited old folks home to feed and keep company to moms and dads abandoned by their children.  Some were found abandoned at hospitals, bus stops and some by the street confused and lost.  I watched an elderly man cry as he tasted the ‘durian’ - the King of Fruits, during one of my visits.  I watched him sob because he hadn’t had the fruit in too many years.  I never saw him again and I just could not make another visit and feel that lost. I can't bear the pain but more because I cannot I fathom why.

Sometimes I forget that the best things are for free and like many free things, they are easily discarded and forgotten. Yet, the hands of my eldest son would come to rescue my stiff shoulders when he hears me sigh and stressed.  My charming second son would call me beautiful and ease my unhappiness over my weight and aged hormones.  My third son sat by my bed and fed me as I shivered with fever, running back and forth to make sure I was comfortable.

Love stayed steadfast in my weakest hours and they all came from my womb right under my heart.

MY HUSBAND

We should always save the best for last.  The story of love accidentally found when not looking.  A man of few words, he makes me laugh and cackle.  My children says, “Only Ayah can make you laugh that way…” I believe that is true.  I love his one liners and nonchalant mannerism when cracking his jokes.  I’m not sure if he meant it to be a joke…but he can be seriously funny.

Yet, being a romantic is tough for the heart when words are scarce.  Men with few words speaks only of practical things.  What’s happening tomorrow.  Who’s going where.  Which car and which child is who’s responsibility.  Who’s buying groceries. Let's eat!

Good night and the end.

Then we agreed to a program that landed us knee-to-knee and eye-to-eye and for the first time I saw a genuine and gentle soul waiting to break free.  So many layers of hardened protection envelopes the fragile heart…I so wish to break those hardened shells but I have learned from my many loving hearts that love is patient. 

And so for him, I will wait.

MY LEARNING

Love is patient.  Love is the mirror that awaits amidst the pain the world is feeling.  Love is waiting.  Time to write again…

#powerofwords

#creatingmemories

What I Feel Like Saying ..

The world is so busy chasing.  Everybody is so busy running, grabbing, trampling, manoeuvring, teaching, blaming, justifying, loathing, hating, gloating, showing…but the list is too long.  Status updates, articles, blogs and instagrams — keyboard warriors are just too thrilled to jump the gun.  As the saying goes…misery loves company.  How did we become a society so filled with hate and malicious intentions?  Do we hate ourselves so much that we have to make everybody else unhappy?

I’m almost sorry that I tried to keep up with updates today.  My heart is so heavy.  Then I received a beautiful posting of a baby boy who cannot stop smiling and a message from a friend with a beautiful heart that she is hurting.  I found out that a lost family member is found and a daughter who buried her mother has found peace.  I watched a bombed mother give birth to a stillborn, but through the medical relentless efforts got him breathing after 20-minutes. I read about my friend scouring through books and achieving her dreams.  Just then, I remembered why we must stay close to people we care, read and stay in touch, even if it’s only on postings and even when we are stretched apart from each other.

I feel that God works through us and each stories, updates, rantings and sharing will give us the opportunity to do good.  It is a gift.  What will you do with it?

I took a step back and allowed my emotions to settle.  When I came through I decided to spread love.  I took on my vision board and looked at my words of “free”, “peace”, “abundance” and “Islam”.  I closed my eyes and embraced my brothers and my sisters…took another step back and truly took the time to see.  

Once quiet descended and I felt whole - I said a prayer.  MashaAllah, the experience is complete.  May Allah continuously show His Mercy by guiding us in silence into his mysteries.  Feeling His presence is simply overwhelming. I am indeed blessed.  

What I feel like saying is ... thank you for the opportunity.

May Allah s.w.t Forgive and Bless us all. 

#free

#peace

#abundance

#Islam

#iammuslim

Bitter Sweet

"Parting is such bitter sweet sorrow that I should say good-night until it be 'morrow."

                                                                                                                     - Shakespeare 

I have bid many farewells in my lifetime.  Each time, it takes a piece of me and the void is never filled. 

I'm sure we all have experience death at one time or another and it takes a while to deal with loss.  Most times we don’t know how to feel, what to say nor what to do.  I usually withdraw and stay silent -- not my best trait.  I find it hardest to reach out to those most loved and those who lost the most.  

I miss my friend Paris, I miss my aunts Along and Mak Yang,  Uncle Hussein and I still see my grandfather in the hallways of Gombak — anticipating his routine walk after dinner. I still feel tremendous lost of never staying in touch with a college friend, Ozrin, who’s passing was only known years after she left.

My upbringing, however, taught me to stay steadfast and patient, for life is for the living and that all will come to pass.  I also have faith that we will meet again, as I believe that living is forever while life is temporary.

Still, recently I lost a mentor.  To soon, perhaps…but I looked up to him and wanted to learn more.  He was a giver and so sincere in his intentions, that even in the fleeting moment of knowing the good man, he has left a great impact.  I don’t know him personally but I truly felt the loss and it pains me.  So much good is needed and one is gone too soon.

Now I reflect on his stories when I experienced his genuine desire to share.  I can feel his energy lingers and I as I write, I am in disbelieve that it was only a week ago that I absorbed a good amount of knowledge in a session he gave so willingly. Yet, as I look at recent pictures, I understand that it was all planned.  I made the most shifts in the few shared moments and in every genuine answers he gave me at every question I posed.  

He told us to share whatever we took from him to at least 6 other people.  I acknowledge the privilege and I thank you, Mr Bellum Tan.

May you be rewarded with what you have given to so many…

#richdadasia

#cashflow

#bellumtan

#moneyandyou

Mr Bellum Tan sharing his stories

Dinner the night before our learning

Letter of Gratitude

I’ve been searching for lost words and the fleeting memories that I momentarily felt when my daughter reminded me of my birthday on its eve.  I used to write every thought but these days, I only have time to try and remember — most times, my memory slips and fails me.  I have since realised that I have forgotten how blue the skies can be, how the fresh the grass feels under my feet and how a shared joke with tearing laughter used to fill my trips home from school - when I was the child and my mother was the adult at the driver’s seat.

I catch myself stealing seconds and minutes of my days to savour the feelings of happiness when my daughter smile and her eyes twinkle. I jealously guard my nights to experience the surge of pride when my sons strut handsomely as young men across the room.  I just sit and watch them.  Then there’s that tug of pain and missing my mother as I watch her age before me.  I feel the fatigue from my source of strength and my rock husband, who seems equally exhausted with the toil of life.

Yet, Ramadhan brought peace and humility to the home.  Quiet and serene, somehow the tiring days are eased with nights of prayers and solitude…I always like it when it comes. I get to have private calls and conversations with my Creator, sometimes so intimate, the blessings of Ramadan is immensely felt.  There hasn’t been a time that I asked, HE did not answer…he even woke me up at 2am sharp, because I had every intention to waking dan make that ‘date'.  I had a good conversation that morning…

Then my birthday came…I almost forgot.  My daughter was only too eager to remind.  But it was a working day filled with errands and duties to fulfill. Didn’t feel much like a celebration…but, I was wrong.  I was surprised by the wonderful BNI GreatWall Leaders who bought me cake, though I could not have it until hours later at iftar.  Still, it was a beautiful surprise…for someone who is rarely celebrated or surprised -- I was overwhelmed with thanks.  

The wonderful Cake by BNI GreatWall Leaders

Then a torrential of beautiful messages came my way from Facebook, LinkedIN and Whatsapp…It should have been expected — but it wasn’t for me.  So, I took the time to thank every wish and read every message.  Ramadhan taught me so much...it especially taught me that I was wrong for I am not alone.  At iftar, I was feasted with a wonderful fruity pavlova and the family got me the fitbit — totally out of my expectations.  My mother gave me an ang pau which I used to buy a blue scarf for Eid.  In reflection…my conversations were heard.  

Yummy Pavlova

…and so HE said, and I am reminded yet again, “Call on to ME and I will run to you…”  What I feel like saying is : I am loved and I am never alone.  So, in all humility I cast my gratitude to all who had made my 42nd birthday a day of awareness that the sky is still very blue, the grass is still very green and my beautiful family is ever willing to laugh and tear if we must, even in exhaustion and old age, insyaAllah — for love is eternal and HE is with us always.

With Adli

With Mak

With Nadra

With Naqyb & Nazyh

With Nayl

For the Last Time

She shared with me a few more moments
Just that day
She joked
I laughed

I fed her oranges
I wiped the dripping juice away
I thanked her for letting me
Letting me care and love her for the day

I came by again that day
Still and serene
So beautiful was she
So fair and quiet

She lay in her bed
Resting, so I bent to kiss her
She was warm, almost living
Still scenting of life

We wrapped her with love
and knotted the ribbons
We made sure she was beautiful
As she came, so will she leave

I bid her goodbye on Monday
I bid my other mother, my favorite baker
And I whispered in all my prayers,
every possible goodbye

I watched her bathe for the last time
I watched her rest for the last time
I watched her being cared for, for the last time
I watched her until I had to kiss her for the last time

I watched them carry her for the last time
I watched them rest her for the last time
I watch the soil cover her as she slept for the last time
I thought I said goodbye for the last time

...I'm still saying goodbye
I doubt it'll ever be for the last time.
  

Who is the Bigot?

The latest report from The Heat http://www.theheatmalaysia.com/Main/No-one-is-born-a-racist-or-a-bigot, paints quite an interesting picture about an Islamic based preschool that are sympathisers of the Palestinian and Syrian plight. The content is newsworthy and I believe was a necessity but in one stroke, the author subtly threw a blanket of hate and fear onto school that suggested Islamic from an average Malay Muslim mindset, which I feel is unnecessary.  What caught my attention is the response the article is receiving and more disturbing is the feedback fuelled by the writing.  I’m reading comments by extreme intolerants from both ends of the spectrum; apparently equally ignorant about Islam.

The article hints about the growing FEAR and HATE amongst the Malay Muslims, and I have no doubt that this is true as I read through comments.  I can't quite argue against some of the shallow folks out there.  Yet, to truly reflect and stay objective, let’s read comments and feedbacks from everybody…do we not hear FEAR and HATE with equal intensity towards the Muslim?  Some with quick disclaimers of, “…but I have moderate Muslim friends who are nothing like this…”  

I question: who are the moderate Muslims?  

Truth be told…there is no such thing as moderate Muslims, fundamental Muslims, or any other labels.  There is just MUSLIMS.  There is nothing selective about being Muslim either.  A Muslim is either a follower of Muhammad saw, or not.  The Muslim subscribes to the Quran, or don’t.  A Muslim follows the the sunnah, or don’t.  Believers cannot be selective in the Ayats and the teachings that fits the convenience and rationalisation to the more preferred and popular lifestyle. 

In a nutshell - Islam is a light towards a perfected lifestyle.  It is a way of life.  It is a discipline.  The latter being the hardest because humans are gifted with free will.  For Muslims, we know that managing our free will is our Jihad - the battle of self.  This is the only knowledge that seems so obvious but so incomprehensible to too many, irrespective of belief system.  It does not help that it all got skewed and thrown out of proportion by irresponsible media houses.  

What I would like to suggest is for reporters, journalists and writers alike to stay objective, especially when putting to paper articles that are published for the mass to consume.  It is no secret that penned words are psychologically accepted as truth.  I would like to call for those with the gift of the pen, to remain responsible to the people and not spew unnecessary negativity.  

I am writing because the story is disturbing.  I am quite disturbed about the connotation of the Average Malay Muslim...who are they? As much as I trust in its necessity, I also would like to call for accountability.  There are myriads of Muslim schools that spread the message of love…Tadika ABS (http://tadikaabs.com/) being one where Islam is at its core but their work is very much focused on creating goodness with a special module on wealth creation.  A definite creative look towards learning where they extract the Prophet saw entrepreneurial skills into its modules.  There are quite a number of Malay Muslims there too. Now, isn't that a story to be told?

Coming back to the shared article, upon sharing what is definitely a concern, please also consider highlighting the good work that are being done by many good Malay Muslims -- Average and Beyond.  Certainly, in journalism there is a balance. Again, I'd like to highlight that trained journalists, reporters and writers know very well that while writing, we are conscious of our art that is created as an invitation for the audience to think.  When we write, we know that our writing guides emotions and thought processes, hence, it is highly irresponsible to inject FEAR and HATE and mostly Laying Blame. 

What is our intention with our gift?

What I am calling for is for my comrades to be careful with our pen (now keyboards) because it can be both medicine and poison…let’s not be the latter for our society.

Staying Above Water in Uncertain Weather

No…this is not an article about weather uncertainties and future climate change.  This article is written about  managing the “new normal” - that is adapting to the erratic economic changes and knowing what is, “money in the pocket” vs “money in the market”.  Basically, knowing when to just hold on to it and knowing when to let it circulate in the economy.  After all, if you don’t spend, your economy will stall.  Come to think of it, it does sound like a “Catch 22” situation…or is it?

As an entrepreneur, I believe I am quite adapted to uncertainties in my financial life.  I would stand in front of a crowd of entrepreneurs and question, “why do we do it?”  Why do we constantly put ourselves in a situation where our heart races and we break into kabillions beads of sweat when the month comes to an end and our bank statement reflects…RM5.00 or less?

As much as this “RM5 or less”  truth invite cackles from self-checked in entrepreneurs…back in the banks, multiple records showcases too many bankruptcy and painful lives of business owners who allowed poor cash flow and unhealthy financial management take over their lives.  Sadder when there is a lack of acknowledgement from the business owners that there is an urgency to seek help.  Without help many sinks into an abyss of hopelessness and progressively into other psychological conditions like depression and suicide.

I, too, have sat nervously many times looking at my balance sheet hitting unsavoury numbers.  There are months when cashflow was simply NIL.  There was a dire need to smarten up, especially when I am a sole proprietor with dependents to feed. Then, again…looking at what I have accomplished month-on-month and year-to-year, I did learn something from the many gurus and mentors I listened at seminars, workshops and conferences.  As a constant learner, there is just ONE thing I’ve picked up in the many learnings…

It is called DISCIPLINE!

It was hard to begin and I cheated on my own rules the first few months to get into rhythm, but as soon as I understood that wealth is a habit…then wealth becomes a state of being and not just mere doing.

It all hit me when I started to have a strong desire to invest, but I had no money.  I thought I was a big JOKE. Then I learned about the 6-jars concept.  It was quite a simple exercise and I thought nothing of it until push came to shove and I gave it a leap of faith.  It is so simple, I cannot imagine not  discovering the formula sooner.  All I have to do is put percentages of my income into 6 jars and manage it with sound discipline every month.

Six Jars System

Jar 1: Financial Freedom Account (10%)

Jar 2: Savings to Spend (10%)

Jar 3: Education (10%)

Jar 4: Splurge (10%)

Jar 5: Necessities (55%)

Jar 6: Give (5%)

To date, I have enough.  I won’t say that it is overflowing, but my personal income has become healthier.  I’m am now attempting to put the same system into my business so I can replicate the wealth in the business and see how far I can go with it.  I admit that it is a process but the learning curve has been kind.  It is a comfort to know that money is growing in funds and other investments, and I always have enough to continuously educate myself.  I also don’t have to think twice before I decide to give and there is still room to splurge on myself and family.  With discipline, a system and sound faith, I am slowly learning and allowing myself to believe that there will be enough, insyaAllah.

The concept of abundance is slowly making more sense though the age old habits based on previous belief systems still haunts.  Sometimes the fear of scarcity comes to bite with a vengeance.  Yet, with perseverance, today I lead a life of discipline to keep myself above troubled waters.  Naturally, there are concerns about the future and the life of an entrepreneur will remain colourful…but I trust in the creation of systems and discipline.  I’m also going to quickly put in a disclaimer and strongly state, I never discounted faith and prayers.

Still, success comes with putting in the effort and I heard that in business (and I believe even life), 94% lies in the system and only 6% in people.  I strongly recommend that we find a system that works for us, and allow it to function before making a judgement. Alternatively, there is always Agensi Kaunseling dan Pengurusan Kredit, AKPK.  All you have to do is ask for help.

Anyway, I took my leap of faith, picked a system, worked it and now charging into 2016 like the fiery tiger I was born to be.  

#http://www.akpk.org.my

The Accidental Ummi

With the Sharp Shooter

As a young girl, the journey into motherhood seemed eons away.  As a newlywed, it was equally a distance until oooops, he was a sharp shooter.  I became part of a the lucky-ones-statistics who made babies on the first night.

The beautiful quiet boy came on the 25th of September 1999.  He released three cute cries to announce his arrival and made no fuss after.  We named him Nayl Ismat, the Pure Acquirer…and a pure sweet soul he was. He remained a no fuss baby, always smiling and immensely quiet.  He stole many hearts but he owned mine - his lost, baffled and completely clueless Ummi.  I had no idea what to do but as a gift from the heavens, he became one of my greatest teacher.

Mother’s Day came and went, and as our lives lived to its best, three more beautiful teachers from heaven came to fill our home with light, joy and endless new learning. Mother’s Day Flowers started to fill my home every May.  I am indeed a blessed Ummi though motherhood came extremely accidental.  Nothing was ever planned.

We named our second born Nazyh Iman that carried the meaning Pure Faith.  He came 2 years later and he was a great suckler.  He was constantly hungry.  Stuck to my bosom with ready bottles as supplements, the baby grew from an XS to XXL within 3 months.  He was my only baby who skipped the M and L diapers — there just wasn’t any time.  He was indeed my little Michelin baby…nice rounded doughnut belly and multiple layers of marshmallows as arms and legs.  He held an expression as if the whole world’s burden was upon his tiny shoulders which was (at that time) missing a neck.  He barely smiled but will part his lips for food.

He grew up a charmer and now a teen dripping with compliments.  His words oozes the kindness that is him and the sensitivity of a young man I find so beautifully refreshing.  He calls me beautiful and he makes me feel like I am Cinderella with Mother’s Day hand bouquets from Bloom2u never missing from my May.  Silver rings, hand drawn arts and cards, and now more practical gifts to help Ummi manage her work and day…my Michelin baby is now a thoughtful, charming and handsome young prince.

He would say..."lucky ayah's friend runs an awesome store online and on ground.  I just have to visit www.bloom2u.com, one of the more renowned online florist in Malaysia and it solves my headache from making the trip to Subang".  I suppose sharp shooter got a lot of referrals points talking for the good old Subang Jaya florist, John Goh, our fellow BNI member and friend.  Wonder if I can get extra points for this blog? ...*hint *hint.

Moving along with my journey, our third baby came quite unexpected when we revisited the “oops, I did it again” phenomena but was a blessing in so many ways.  Another quiet baby who was painfully shy, he was stuck to me like glue — my little baby koala.  He clutched me with his tiny-like claws, and he would have his eyes closed when guests come to visit.  His eyes will remain tightly shut until the home was vacant of strangers.  I trust he believed that if he can’t see them, then no one can see him either.  He’ll extend his hands and offers his cheek to the guests…but his eyes shall and forever will remain tightly shut.

Naqyb Izzat or Noble Leader grew up to own his name.  Still painfully shy in public, he is a ruckus at home — leading the family into laughter and tummy cramps, and maintaining us still in stitches before turning to bed.  A joyful and playful soul, playing pranks and pulling hilarious performances with his siblings that could either break into wild laughters or … oh well, sibling battles.  A great teaser, he is equally a great lover.  He showcases his commitment, dedication and deep love for his family with great intensity.  You will see him rise above all situations to help beyond his means and holding the family with torrential amounts of unconditional hugs and kisses with a definite closing of “I love you, Ummi” when my turn comes.

But, delivering 3 boys every two years took a toll on me and though I yearned for a princess, my body cried out for rest.  And rest I did.  I rested for 5 years and then the calling came again like a flash of lightning in the sky.  I saw nothing but maternity clothing and babies in strollers everywhere I went.  It became a baby fest and all I could fathom day in and day out were babies. So, I went home and asked sharp shooter to be seriously sharp…nine months later Nadra Imany was born.

My Hearts

My one and only princess is our Precious Faith.  She came to me and brought me renewed hope and she kept me going at my gravest hours.  She was the reason I pulled through and still my inspiration.  I see in her everything that I was and everything I still can be…free spirited, strong willed, independent and kind.  Every time I capture her looking at me in photos, I cannot believe the amount of love she has for me.

I am in a whirlwind of grasping how my world has transformed.  I cannot believe the amount of love I am blessed with from my 4 beautiful children and best teachers.  I cannot believe my accidental experience has brought me so much love that are endless, pure, noble and has become my root cause to faith.  The heavens indeed had plans for me…though accidental for the Ummi, my four teachers were crafted and planned so refined to make me so much better than I could ever imagined almost eons ago.

#www.bloom2u.com
#www.facebook.com/bloom2u