Why I think Tokyo is for introverts:

I can go out of my house and hop on the train to go to the busiest part of Tokyo and back home without making a single conversation with anyone, and that’s normal.

You can guarantee to have a personal private time in a busy, packed train because everyone respects your personal space (taking calls in the train is prohibited, and you are frowned upon if you make noises in the train)

People don’t care how you dress. They won’t stop you in the street and ask you about your dressing (believe me, this happened)

They walk fast, so you won’t be annoyed with slow paces.

I can go on and on given how introvert I am and these are basically some few points why I like this city. 

But most of all, I love the fact that I don’t have to make small talks and just live in my own bubble.




Sometimes, change is easier done when you’re far away from people who knows you.

There’s a back story to this, which I’ll share later. 

But my heart is at peace❤️


My favorite is pastime is torturing my own sanity.

Which is going on instagram just to go to my archive and see what I posted on my feed over the years..and cry.



Today is one of those days. I not only went to the ig story archive, I actually went to the very beginning. I knew what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop it.

There it was. My first ig story was of Rayyan, maybe at 2 years old, and then Rafiy, who was a baby learning to crawl.

I was at the office so I couldn’t cry, but I really wanted to.

Watching them grow from that stage to now feels terrible. The time I’ve lost. (But thank God for ig story archives for letting me have this moment.)

And how terribly, terribly young and naive I was. Me in my late 20s was awful - trying to fit in so many places, doing far too many things at once, never quite sure where I belong or who I was. Ugh, just look at this blog’s archive, WIWT??? Really?

And at 37 years old now, looking back, the only consolation is how lucky I am to get out of that rat race. Maybe I’m still ambitious, but not THAT obnoxiously so. I can say now I have a lot more dignity..

And my kids are maybe not that small now, but they’re a delight (sometimes). I get to kiss and snuggle them in a different way now. And I never want that to go away.

I will probably torture myself by going down the archives again, but if it makes my mom heart go all smushy again, I’d do it all day long.

 I think I’ve changed a lot since the first day we arrived here.

I think I’m so much calmer now. Sure, helping the kids with homeworks and whatnot has been exhausting, what more now that Rafiy has started elementary school - but we understand the school procedures a lot now. They have regulations and procedures that are quite different (and more detailed) from Malaysia, so at first it seemed daunting, but now I can sign the boys’ renrakucho at first glance without questioning so much. So I count that as an achievement.

I’m so much I-don’t-give-a-fuck now. If a neighbour wants to pick apart our little things, well by all means. I don’t really care. If someone gives a side eye in the train cos of the kids being boys, well wtf should I do, cage them inside the house? If there’s a seat in the train and nobody wants to sit, well I’d be the first to do so. That polite Atil in Japan no longer exists. I pay taxes here, did I live here for free that I have to endure racist treatments?

By all means, they can go ahead and annoy me - but best believe I’d fight back :)


Or maybe this is just my menses talking..

 Drama this morning.

Rayyan woke up extra early today cos he heard Mommy was getting ready for work. Rafiy woke up and got cranky cos well he wants to be the one who got up the earliest (which means extra screen time before going to school, I’ve gotta discipline him)

Then Rayfa, as usual, woke up the latest among these 3 and got cranky cos she didn’t want to shower. Then when Rafiy and Rayyan are about to go to school, Rafiy suddenly realized his school bag was too heavy for him, so he wanted to wear it sideways instead. Which practically is not possible.

So he got crankier.

And Mommy was about to lose it.

And that was how Mommy reached office all cranky and in a bad mood, too.

(Am so gonna make those kids read this back when they’re older and claim back my sanity)

 When I first came here, all those years ago - at 19, I wasn’t really homesick because I had a boyfriend. He was my soulmate, who I’ve only known for almost 2 years by that time, but felt like I’d known him for years. The one who I spent my breakfast during weekends with at our college cafe, and sometimes lunch and movies at the mall.

So I wasn’t really homesick, being at boarding school for 5 years also helped at that. But I missed my boyfriend, so terribly - I couldn’t imagine living at my university without him. So we met everytime we had the opportunity to do so, usually during public holidays when we could travel somewhere together.

And so, Fukuoka became my third home, just as Hiroshima became his.

Then we came back to Japan as a married couple, with 3 kids. I thought I’m going to be so homesick, but turns out I didn’t. I kept waiting for the day that I’m going to break down and cry, wanting to go back to the familiar place.

But I didn’t. I haven’t, still.

Then we went back to Malaysia for a 2-week break. Spent a lot of time with our respective families, loved seeing and hugging my mom and sisters like finally, even made my mom kiss my cheeks - the last time she kissed my face was probably the day I got married.

Then after a blissful (and completely exhausting) 2 weeks, we came back to Japan. I cried, my mom cried, everyone cried. 

But once we reached the airport, there was a sense of relief came over me. The whole time in Malaysia, I was happy but nervous - I can’t put a word on it. But that feeling was gone once we reached here.

And when we got home, smelling that air inside the house entrance (genkan - I don’t know why but Japanese genkan always has some sort of smell!) calmed me down immediately, I have no idea why. And once we were home, it was like we never left. 

And that feeling, to me, maybe is home. I’m finally home.

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my brain dump.