There was one question I always get asked.

“Vivy, who is your inspiration in life?”

I cringe now when I see what I chose as my answer. Like I am legit embarrassed and want to hide under my blanket.

I answered, “Well I like a lot of people, but my current inspiration is….”

Guess who.

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It’s a new school for us so it’s my first Mother’s Day experience here. I have four kids and I’ve never seen a school care this much about Mother’s Day – it was all done by the teachers and the students. And vice versa, for Teacher’s Day, the moms and kids also plan for the teachers. It’s heartwarming – very the community vibes here.

So moms were invited last Friday to come for a little tea session with the kids. When I got there, I was so touched. There was a snack station with labels that the kids made themselves. There were fruit sticks that the kids cut themselves and made like skewers. There was a flower station where we got to make a bouquet with our child. There was poem-reading by the kids to their moms.

It was all so sweet!

Then… this happened.

“Miss Vivy, come and join this activity,” the teacher invited me to a board that says “Guess The Mummy.”

So you have to guess which one you are, drawn by your child.

Some moms had stick legs, some moms had 8 strands of hair, some moms had crowns on their heads, some moms had big circles as bodies… it was all very ummm, artistic.

“Guess which one is from Idris,” the teacher said.

Idris stood next to me, holding my hand. I carried him so he could see the board.

“Ok, let’s see. Which one is Mommy,” I said to Idris, while I scanned each drawing.

Am I the one in that floral dress? Aww. Or maybe I’m the one with the crown? He thinks I’m a queen. Ok maybe the stick figure with the hearts.

I chose that last one.

The teacher and Idris shook their head.

Oh wrong.

Oh, must be the queen then.

“You are this one,” the teacher said, holding back her laugh.

I’m… this?

No, cannot be.

Idris looked at me and nodded and looked so proud of himself.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

There is no way I look like this.

I alwayssss smile at you, Idris. Where got I look like this?

WHERE IS THE REST OF MY BODY?!

“Oh…” was what I could manage as I gulp down what I really wanted to say.

“Awww, Idris, thank you,” I kiss him, with gritted teeth.

He hugged me back and didn’t leave my side the entire event, wanting to just spend time with Mommy. Kinda sweet, I guess. Could’ve given me a floral dress or a crown, but NEVER MIND, IDRIS.

I guess a half-eaten cookie looks cute, too?

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Private Era’s just over a couple weeks old and Just Gimme restocked Better Control so it’s been packing mode for us. It’s still a very lean team so all of us are doing everything from getting boxes from the lorries to running to Mr DIY to get more tape to getting everyone’s coffee orders.

We’ve been running on caffeine and adrenaline - it’s great. 😂

But one thing that’s not great is that…

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Errr….

I look at my kids, especially my small ones.

How do I stay away from them? 😂

There’s no such thing as no stress when you’re a mom!

I don’t know how other moms experience it, but I had a moment where I had to sit and breathe because I was getting angry at the two small ones. They’re constantly fighting with each other. And then I felt guilty because... well, they’re just kids. And I asked myself why I’m always telling them off so hard about their mess and their slowness in eating their meals and spilling stuff etc.

But if I don’t tell them off, nothing moves in this house.

Then I saw this:

This was sent to me by Fadza btw. So I guess that’s permission to keep yelling. 😂

The hardest is the mornings - to get all four kids woken up, pray and get ready. Getting all their clothes and preparing breakfast for the little ones, while getting myself ready too. And picking up the little toys on the floor as I pass them. While quickly washing the dishes, when we’re already late because the kids took too long to eat. Mind you, I don’t have a helper anymore so I’m also the helper. On top of being Mom trying to discipline, teach and nurture the kids.

“Why are you still sleeping?”

“Yes, already snoozed 10 minutes!”

“Why are you taking so long in there?”

“Have you eaten your vitamins?”

“Put on your clothes now!”

“Stop wetting the entire bathroom!”

“Enough looking in the mirror!”

“Comb your hair again.”

The hardest one to manage is of course, Idris. He takes his time and dances around the house naked so that I’ll catch him. He plays in the shower and sprays the entire bathroom because he says he’s a fireman putting out a fire. Then he refuses to clean up his toys and asks why should he do so (I’m so tired of explaining that we have to be responsible for our own toys). Then I delegate dressing him to the other siblings but he throws a fuss and says he only wants Mommy. Which delays the other 99 things Mommy needs to do.

So you can bet I’m shouting the entire beautiful journey we call Morning.

In the car, I find comfort in listening to morning adhkar (zikir) to calm myself down and also to remind myself to be grateful.

Because I know at the end of the day what a privilege it is to have them. They’re not mine, they’re temporary gifts from Allah swt that can be taken away from me anytime. So while I get the honor of having my children, I better soak up all the sweetness there is in motherhood (even if I have to dig deep sometimes…). My friend said to me, “One day, you won’t have these rushed mornings anymore and the house will be so quiet, too quiet.”

😭

Ok ok, I love them.

That night, Sarah hugged me at bedtime and said “Mommy, I think you’re an awesome Mom because you take good care of us.”

Sorry, guys. That’s my melted heart puddle on the floor. Let me get a mop.

She has never said this to me, and I really think it’s because we have no helper now so she sees how much more I do for them.

I gathered my emotions and said, “I love taking care of you guys.”

And she smiled herself to sleep after that.

All they see in the morning is a stressed mother getting the entire household together - that’s what they go to school with. ☹️ But actually in the overall picture, I am a very happy and grateful mother. 😍 Do they know this? I had a realisation that maybe, I’ve never told them this. I should tell them that I love being around them, I love taking care of them and even through all the times Mommy is stressed, I would never trade being their mother for anything else.

Idris then comes to me, this big troublemaker of mine.

He wraps his arms around me, plonks himself onto my lap and says sleepily, “Idris love Mommy.”

Argh these kids. They sure know how to wrap your heart around their tiny powerful little fingers. I sleep hugging him that night. Knowing very well that the next morning I’ll be shouting at him again to get ready for school.

Happy Mother’s Day, yalls.

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How can He be the Most Loving when He lets bad things happen to me?

… is what some of us might feel when we go through challenges in life.

I’m sure you have your own tests in life. Each of us will have our own curated “menu” of tests that we each have to go through. And many times, we look at each other’s tests and think “Omg I could never go through what you went through.”

Someone said to me before, “If I went through what you went through, I think I’d kill myself.” Fuhhhhh. Well, thankfully, I never thought to do that. 😅 But honestly when I look at some other people’s tests in life, I think “God I could never imagine going through that.” Truly truly truly, we have all been chosen for tailor-made tests that God knows we each uniquely have the strength to bear. And no one’s test is smaller or bigger than the other.

But we’re still human.

Yes, maybe we can bear the tests.

We have no choice, really.

But how is it that we can feel God is Most Loving when we go through them? You love me, therefore You put me through pain? Hmmmm. Make it make sense.

… was what I thought initially too.

See, when I went through a big test, I got a lot of DMs from strangers online and the summary of it is largely this:

“Allah must love you because He’s testing you like this.”

I had to read that a few times because I just couldn’t see the logic. What I went (still going) through was so scary, so public and extremely humiliating – you’re telling me THIS is love?

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Those beads bracelet set thingies.

Because the kids can get engrossed for a long time making bracelets and that gives Mom a lot of quiet time. AHHHHH BLISS. Thank you, their-friend’s mom who bought that for their birthday.

When they’re done, I simply tell them oh, make one more for Aunty So and So.

“Huh? We’re not that close, we’ve only met her once,” they say, confused.

“No, no, we’re very close. Go, go make it,” I would reply.

We’ve run out of aunts.

But then they’ll get bored after an hour or so, and then say the words I dread.

“Mom, come make it with us,” normally it’s that Sarah girl, very clingy that one.

Pretend don’t hear, pretend don’t hear…

Face appears in front of me, I can smell her cookie breath. “Mooooommmm, you didn’t hear me.”

Actually, I did.

So, here I am, taking out bead by bead because Sarah insists on a certain colour pattern that we must repeat meticulously, with no mistake. The pink comes before the blue. If you accidentally put the blue first, you have to take everything out and re-do it.

“Mom, I’m making one for Kawthar. Should I put smiley face or heart?”

“Smiley face,” I say.

“Why?”

“Uhhh.. cos uhhh, it’s cute.”

“But heart is also cute.”

“True, but smiley face has more cheerfulness so when people see the smiley face, they might also smile and it’ll make their day.”

“But heart will make people feel loved, and they will feel happy knowing someone hearts them. And then they’ll smile. So it’s the same.”

Oh this is turning serious. I wasn’t prepared for this.

We debated some more about the pros and cons of a smiley face vs a heart. Like it was an important 60-minute debate on TV. I got tired of using my brains after a while so I gave up.

“You’re right,” I say.

“So heart or smiley face?” she asks.

“Smiley face,” I stay, consistent with my choice.

“But why?”

Ya Rabb.

“Ishhh, I already told you why. Also, Kawthar is always smiling, so it suits her very well.”

Sarah pauses to think about this big life decision.

In the end she says, “I think I’ll go with the heart.”

Then. Why. Did. You. Ask. Me.

Daughters, I tell you. So argumentative. Yet I can hear in the back of my head, my mom’s voice… “You were exactly like that.”

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Before you go…

Let me know you’ve read this. Comment your choice (heart or smiley face) on my latest post at @sincerelyvivy.

See you there! :)

A weekend has passed since launching Private Era.

And I still can’t believe I have a handbag brand.

Feels weird to write that.

My own one.

At a time after I was knocked down to my all-time low. After going through something so painful, losing my business, losing my income and ultimately losing my credibility and reputation. Over an alleged crime I did not do, given the villain role by people in power creating their narrative.

“She’s done, there’s no coming back from this,” people said.

Well, there’s no power mightier than Allah swt. Whatever He wills, will happen. And He has willed that I get back up and start not one, but two businesses after my big fall. And this time, He made me see so many lessons, so many Do’s and Don’ts that I get to learn from my own experience. Things you can never learn from a textbook.

One example is choosing investors.

So, who invested in Private Era?

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Part 1 was Just Gimme’s. Part 2 is Private Era’s.

And you’d think I’d be calmer for the second time round.

But this was me yesterday:

Rethinking decisions, rethinking strategy, rethinking design. Basically complete nonsense use of time, when really I should have been celebrating and patting myself on the back for finally launching my own handbag brand. Something I’ve wanted to do for years.

I bought myself a mocha with extra chocolate (don’t tell Better Control). And took a moment to sip and enjoy the moment.

The moment finally arrived.

My own handbag brand.

This time, my way. I’ve always tried to do things differently. When people do small and trendy, I want to do big and classic. When everyone goes a certain price range, I’ll choose a different bracket. When everything is accessible and public, I want to limit. Truly make it a private era. Maybe it’s the degil girl in me, but I wanted to go against the grain and challenge the norm.

Do I know if it’ll work?

Does she look like she knows? 😂

But I’ve learned - La hawla wala quwwata illa billah. There is no might nor power except with Allah.

I strategised, I created, I put my deposit and took the risk, and now I leave my tawakkul in Him.

It’s been so fun and I can’t believe I managed to keep it a secret for over a year. Designing the bag was such a joy - I put all the elements of my favourite Zionist bags into this, and being a mom, the practical part was very important. Compartments inside and outside, secure but not too secure that opening the bag slows you down, oh and the water bottle compartment is waterproof mmkayyy. I love prints, but a printed bag would be a big NO, so we put the print on the inside. Which fits the ethos of Private Era so well. The story, the meaning, the beauty… is on the inside, only for your eyes to see.

But the journey didn’t come without drama. There were delays all round, from the printed lining issues, to the bag to the box to the padlock to the website customisations. Because the concept isn’t a simple open-website-come-shop, Fadza and our colleague had to crack their engineer heads to come up with a system for a waiting list and timed access. Sounds simple, but a lot of work was poured into the backend.

We got the boxes yesterday at 11pm.

ON LAUNCH DAY.

So we took a huge risk launching before the boxes arrived.

But I can breathe a bit now, knowing that the test batch went out without any hiccups.

Chapter One has begun, and I cannot wait to go through the story with you.

If you’ve already joined the waitlist, I thank you for your love and support. If you haven’t, come join here. When it’s your turn, you’ll get an email for the access to your own Chapter One. (p/s: please check spam folders too)

Bismillah!

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Let me know you’ve read this. Comment which colour you want (Black, Blood Red or Nutshell) on my latest post at @sincerelyvivy.

See you there! :)

Because something has been occupying my mind.

You’d think it’s because it’s Private Era’s launch week and I’m anxious. Nope.

Or maybe because I’m gearing up for Just Gimme’s next product. Nope.

Or maybe I’ve been busy with my four kids? Nope. Well, yeah, they use up all my energy (and then some). But that’s not the reason for this.

Wanna know the reason?

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I don’t know if you know how much I love harummanis.

It’s my favourite fruit – the tangy unique taste of this fruit, the sweetness bursting in your mouth when you eat it. The wonders of God’s creation – one fruit can give such joy. But He makes it limited edition. It has seasons and only appears to you in exclusive drops so you’d appreciate it more.

Well, tis the season!

Woohooooo, harummanis season!

I only knew because I went to the supermarket and saw it at the fruits section. I did a doubletake and actually reversed my trolley (was the annoying one that keeps getting stuck when you push it but for harummanis, iSanggup). I took three and put them in my trolley, as I pictured eating this cold, in front of the TV tonight after the kids sleep.

At the cashier, I stopped smiling.

A harummanis is 20+ bucks?! ONE?

Is that… normal?

Usually, I just steal the ones in my parents’ house. I had no idea they were designer fruits.

I paid anyway, desperate to realise my TV vision tonight. Ate every orange bit in the mango that night, cutting the green skin as thinly as possible. Ahhh it was so good.

This week, we had my inlaws over for dinner. Got the mains sorted, yummyyy. For dessert, I looked at my fridge and saw the harummanis.

Oh… but… I only have a bit left…

Plus, they like watermelon right?

My heart: You obviously have to share this with your family.

Syaitan: No no, you don’t have much left. Keep for yourself.

My heart: You must share good things with others.

Syaitan: Watermelon is also good.

So, which one did I serve my family?

YEPPPP.

I SERVED BOTH, YALLS.

BOOOMMMSSS.

The family loved the harummanis and finished it all in a few seconds. My heart pain-ed because a) it took longer to even cut them and b) they didn’t leave any for me. 🗡️ But I love them, so it’s ok.

I also learned this: our Prophet s.a.w. said “The most beloved act of Islam is to feed others and to give salam to those you know and those you don’t.” Did you know that? Then there’s also in the Quran about prioritising your family first when wanting to do good deeds.

And then the one that sealed the deal for me was when I remembered a hadith:

The Prophet s.a.w. said:

“None of you truly believes until he loves for his brother what he loves for himself.”

- Sahih al-Bukhari & Sahih Muslim

Fine. I’ll cut up the harummanis. 😂

Now, I need you to pay attention to the next part.

The next day, I moved on and went about my day. School run, bla bla, then I had a lunch meeting. My colleague arrived at the meeting, carrying a bunch of things – his bag, some other stuff and a big orange bag.

He hands me the big orange bag.

“This is from my grandma, she said it’s for you,” he said.

“Aww so sweet!” as I peeked inside it.

I gasped when I saw what was inside.

There was a big green box inside.

That said... “Harummanis.”

I was shook. Like the shook was shookething in my bones.

Is this for real? I gave a couple harummanis to others yesterday and THE VERY NEXT DAY, I get gifted not one, but A WHOLE BOX of new harummanis?

?!!?!?!?!?

I didn’t even know what to say.

I would’ve cried if I wasn’t so shooketh.

In all seriousness, this isn’t really about harummanis. This is about God’s blessings that I witnessed today. You give a little bit, for the sake of Allah swt. He then pays you back “in cash”, three times what you gave up, the very next day.

Sigh.

A verse we should never take for granted was right in front of me:

All of us are chasing such big things like wealth and success, but we don’t notice the other many many manyyyyy blessings that God tries to show us every day in our lives. We never deny any of His favors yet we fail to say thanks. The more we sacrifice for His path, the more He gives back. I was reminded of that today. 😭 😭 😭

I love You, Ya Rabb.

Forgive me whenever I am ungrateful to You.

I also love you, Colleague’s Grandmother Whose Name I Should’ve Asked For. You’re my new bestie.

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Before you go…

Let me know you’ve read this. Comment your choice: watermelon or harummanis on my latest post at @sincerelyvivy.

See you there! :)

And just like that, it’s Entry #52.

52 weeks of Sincerely, Vivy. 🥳

I’m thankful for this space. Really. In a world full of noise, I love channeling my energy into this little cocoon I have built with you. It feels nicer, safer and more meaningful, if I can be really honest. While social media is a powerful arena of competing announcements, this space feels like a welcoming garden that isn’t rushed.

If you’re a subscriber, I thank you for joining my space and hanging out here with me. Allowing me to document my journey for a whole year as I pick myself and my entire life back up after a big knock. And being patient with me as I myself am uncovering this journey for the first time, without any answers.

If you’re a paid subscriber, know that you have contributed at my hardest time to put food on the table for my four kids and pay for necessities. At a time when our bank accounts were unfairly frozen without any warning, my writing helped build some income for our family. When it felt scary, your silent heart wanted to help me instead. I hope you will be rewarded abundantly by Allah swt and that this goes into your scale of good deeds on the Day of Judgment.

I’ve never told you guys what led me to start this newsletter phase of my life, have I?

It was one special night in April last year…

.. that honestly didn’t feel special at all. I was on the couch aimlessly scrolling through Instagram (some good can come out of it, I guess).

I follow a lot of entrepreneurial and marketing accounts, and one caught my eye.

It was a carousel about goop and Gwyneth Paltrow.

Not a fan if she hasn’t spoken out against the genocide, but I guess here, we give credit when it’s due. And Masyaallah, she started from a newsletter and built her brand up. It helped, of course, that she was a public figure so she had a leg up to get people to subscribe. But she took a chance and just rolled with it, and now it’s been 18 years.

Cool.

Ok.

Moving on, next post - as we do while doomscrolling.

I wanted to scroll down to the next post, but something stopped me.

I found myself hanging out here for a bit.

Errr why am I hanging on to this post?, I wondered.

Oh….

Could this lady be me too?!

I hadn’t been writing for months then since I went private on Instagram and deleted everything else. I missed writing so much but there was no safe outlet. Instagram, Twitter, Threads – so much negativity around and full of people (who don’t know me) ready to attack me. So I withdrew and was accepting that I just had to disappear. Proudduck would’ve shook her head in disappointment (and full of judgment of me).

Could this then be the answer?

We learn as Muslims that our Prophet s.a.w. was told to hijrah (migrate) when things got too hostile for him in Makkah – Allah swt instructed him to move to Madinah and start over. So we Muslims can take a lesson from this that sometimes, the smartest move to make… is to move. Whether it’s moving countries, or moving jobs, or moving mindsets, we need to hijrah when something isn’t working anymore. When people don’t want us there anymore, no matter how hard we try.

If social media wasn’t working for me anymore because there are so many wanting to put me down (or so this was what I felt back then), why not try a new platform? Why do I have to disappear and accept people trampling all over me? Don’t fight them. Just hijrah elsewhere. In other words, try a different strategy.

Newsletters… hmmm.

I love to write so I was immediately excited.

It was midnight and I couldn’t sleep anymore.

I woke Fadza up and normally he’s my voice of reason, so when he got excited about this, I was like “OK THIS IS HAPPENING.” I started brainstorming concepts, and Fadza researched newsletter platforms.

Guess when we launched?

THE NEXT DAY.

Hehe.

Finding the name, creating the logo, creating the domains and social media account, and posting my first post? Yep, all in a few hours. It was just driven by adrenaline and excitement that this could be my new thing.

I laugh when I think about this. I couldn’t believe how fast it all happened, from the Goop newsletter post to the birth of Sincerely, Vivy. Few hours. Really goes to show that Allah swt can test you, then can give you little nudges of signs, then it’s really up to you when or whether you act on them or not.

Sincerely, Vivy has helped my livelihood in more ways than once. Financially yes, but also emotionally and spiritually. I get to heal for this past year, through my random entries. And with your encouragement and comments, I get excited to write consistently not just once, but twice a week. I haven’t missed a single one. KPI met! Gonna treat myself to a cake tonight.

So yeah, please imagine me coming out of your screen and giving you big fat hug to say a big THANK YOU FOR EXISTING HERE.

Happy one year birthday, Sincerely, Vivy! 🥳

Of course I went to my kids to tell them it’s Sincerely, Vivy’s first birthday. Daniel and Mariam just mumbled some congrats, and Idris went on eating his apple. Sarah stayed on, looking interested.

“What do you mean, Mom?” she tilted her head confused.

“Sincerely, Vivy. My blog. It’s her first birthday this Tuesday!” I explained to Sarah excitedly.

She looked at me like I was crazy.

“Mom,” she said to me slowly with an Are you ok? look.

“Blogs don’t have birthdays.”

How dare she.

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Let me know you’ve read this. Comment blogs don’t have birthdays on my latest post at @sincerelyvivy. :)

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I believe I have come out a stronger human being today.

Sarah single-handedly did that for me.

Here’s what happened….

“Ok, bye guys. All the best, Sarah!” I kiss Fadza and Sarah off as they left home to go to the dentist. The mood was good, Sarah was chirpy and ready, all good. I was happily at home, doing laundry, cleaning the house, as I await their return.

Hmmm it’s taking a while. So I turned on a podcast about Aisha r.a., learned about her slander story and the lessons from it, and they still hadn’t come home.

I sat on the couch and put my head down for a bit. Think I napped without realising.

Then I heard footsteps.

Angry footsteps.

Uh-oh, what happened?

Fadza, completely sour-faced, marched into the house, straight to the bedroom. Sarah, walking slowly behind him, head down.

“What’s wrong?” I rushed to Sarah.

She didn’t do it. Teeth was the same crookedness as before. One and a half hours of Fadza taking her to the dentist, convincing her nicely, convincing her forcefully, nothing worked. The girl squirmed her way out of the tooth extraction. LIKE A PRO.

Dads, I tell you. Too soft.

Step aside, let the Mother in.

I called the dentist and managed to get another appointment after lunch. After feeding her well, I told her that we were going to go again, and this time she’s going to go through with it. I even let her play games for a few minutes to give her a slither of fun before the doctor yanks out her teeth.

On the way, I told her about being strong, about facing your fears, about maturity. The 7-year old gave me a thumbs up and I thought ok good, she understands. What a star, my Sarah.

Few minutes later

“I DON’T WANNA DO IT. I DOWAN. I DOWANNNNN,” was what happened on the dentist chair.

“Sarah, we talked about this, you are going to be a brave girl, right?” The doctor, Dr Ibrahim, so so kind, talked to her very patiently.

“NO, I DON’T WANT! I DON’T WANT TO BE A BRAVE GIRL.”

Yes, from this moment onwards, she spoke in all caps.

An hour later

“Sarah, just relax and let the doctor do his job ok? It’s not going to hurt if you stay still and calm down,” I try to comfort her.

“NO. IT’S PAINFUL!” Sarah said. Sorry, shouted.

“No, It’s not,” I said nicely.

“IT’S PAINFUL!!!”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW IT’S PAINFUL?! YOU HAVEN’T EVEN TRIED! HOW DO YOU KNOW IT’S PAINFUL?!”

*clears throat*

Sorry about that moment of burst. It’s been an hour in this clinic.

Dr Ibrahim would do all the prep work – putting the pink numbing gel, putting ice, to prepare for the needle. Sarah was ok with all that – she was calm, she listened to us prepping her, she agreed it was going to be ok, she agreed not to move when Dr injects her. She even negotiated how many seconds it’ll be – from twenty seconds, she negotiated down to ten seconds and we would count together.

Then everytime we got close to the injection and the doctor picks the needle up, she moves and squirms and forgets all her sweet promises.

We tried everything. I spoke nicely, I threatened, I bribed her with ice cream, I pulled her to the side to speak to her privately, I turned on YouTube, I turned off Youtube, we even took the cute alligator casing out from the doctor’s needle in case that was the problem for Sarah. I even told her that we have to put “Scared Sarah” in the pocket for a while and I actually took a piece of the air and put it in my pocket, guys. Like a cuckoo person. “Now Scared Sarah is in my pocket, it’s only Brave Sarah left in you.”

That’s how desperate I was.

Two hours later

I pinned her down, but she was so bloody strong that she wrestled all of us and managed to cover her mouth and clamp down so hard.

I have never seen her so stubborn. Fighting for her dear life not to get an injection.

ARE ALL THIRD CHILD LIDDIS?!

“So how?” I asked Dr Ibrahim, after so long.

“The other option is gas or GA, but we’ll have to go to the hospital,” he says to me quietly.

I almost laughed. Go to the hospital just to get a tooth extracted. This will go down in history, Sarah.

At this point, it’s been two hours at the clinic. Please imagine that. Two hours. I was getting so tired of wrestling Sarah that I almost wanted to give up. But no… Moms never quit. Dads do pfttt, but Moms… never. The Moms community will be so disappointed.

“Come on, we gotta do this,” I said to Sarah.

“NO, I’M SCARED, I’M SCARED.”

“ENOUGH, Sarah. I’ve heard enough. I know you’re scared. You’ve said it a thousand times. The whole clinic knows. You have to push through that fear. If you don’t, I’m walking out of this clinic,” I say seriously as I took my handbag. “One… Two…. Three… Four….”

“I DOWANNNNN.”

“…Five. I’m out. Bye.” I stomped out of the doctor’s clinic.

… to the wall behind it so I can listen to what’s happening in there.

She was crying.

Then the crying stopped and it was silence.

Then I heard a giggle. Dr Ibrahim was working his magic on Sarah and calming her down.

I was called back in after a few minutes.

“Sarah said she will try to do it now, Mommy,” Dr said.

First, she wanted to doa – so we had to do ayat kursi, the three Quls and say Bismillah together, including Dr Ibrahim and his nurses. Then second, she wanted to just “test”. Like just put the needle on the gum for her to “feel” it. From there, the doctor put the injection in so softly that I think she had no idea it was already happening. Then we counted to ten together. The doctor pulled the needle out and I think the entire clinic, even the walls, clapped for Sarah.

“See? Was it that bad?” I asked her.

She shrugged.

If I could do an “I told you so” smack…

There were two teeth that needed extraction, so now we had to do another one.

“Can I do the other side now, Sarah?” Dr Ibrahim asked her.

“Yeah sure,” she said cheerfully.

Unbelievable.

The other side was done. So quickly, she didn’t even flinch, she didn’t even move.

“Did it hurt?” I asked.

“Nope,” she smiled.

WELL, IF YOU HAD LISTEN TO ME TWO HOURS AGO….

Moral of the story: Sometimes parents have to walk out and leave them because if you’re around, they get even more mengada. Without us, they can actually do it better. The two teeth were pulled out and she didn’t feel a thing. Doctor put them in the tooth necklaces and she wore them so proudly. Then he whipped out a box of toys to let her choose not one, but two toys.

WHY ARE YOU REWARDING THIS BIG BABY?!

In the car, she was so amazed with how numb her mouth was. She kept touching her lips, wondering why she couldn’t feel them and she giggled. She touched her tooth necklaces and looked at them with pride and joy. Her new treasures.

“Mom, I was so brave, right?” she asks me.

Was she even there?!!

And me? Exhausted from two hours of screaming at her, and now having to hold her gauze full of blood while she hands me more, and now I have to compliment her?

YOU KNOW WHO’S BRAVE? ME.

And so I muttered the lie, “Yes, yes… sooo brave.”

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It’s Private Era.

Thank you for the follow. It’s almost at Just Gimme’s following that it worked so hard to build after 2 months. Private Era did it in like a couple days. 😂 Can’t run away from the fact that women love fashion.

Yesterday we revealed the elements from the print, and it felt just like dUCk days, except it’s different. Weird that both things can be true. Like dUCk, it’ll have a story behind everything. Like dUCk, it’ll be illustrated because that’s just my style. But unlike dUCk, it has a bit of maturity to it. While dUCk was fun and colourful, it has an innocent naivety to its vibrance. With Private Era, it has a subtle somber, almost as if its founder went through traumatic things and had to grow up. 🤔

And I think that’s a beautiful thing.

Our evolution as a human shows in what we create.

I was just thinking about my journey in entrepreneurship...

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I’m writing to you now from an island.

Had a good time at the beach and it was my first time ever just laying on the sand. Usually, I’m on the beach chair or a beach towel. But this time, my entire body was on the sand, head resting on a rock. Just me and Allah’s nature.

Suddenly, not scared anymore of the ants. Or the tiny crabs. None of them disturbed me. And the most shocking of all, not looking for my phone. The unread chats can wait.

I could really soak in the music of the waves coming by. And the birds in the sky. And the laughter and chatter from my kids, nieces and nephew. They’re busy connecting a river stream they found in the beach, to the ocean. And I heard something about a dead fish. But I’m too happy in my zen era on the sand right now to get involved with that. The older kids look like they’ve got it covered.

I thought of reading a book. It’s there in my bag. I could reach it with my arm. But nah, let me soak up a bit more of this moment – no new information, no other objects, no nothing.

To just simply be.

Is a blessing in itself.

Rizq comes in these forms too – contentment, peace of mind, barakah of time. You can’t buy these things with wealth.

I saw this yesterday and it really hit deep.

The productivity apps bit really got me. So true, we’re doing so much in a day and we still somehow feel like we’re not doing enough. Cray cray.

Anyway, the weekend is coming so if you can find time to slot in “simply be”, go ahead and experience some peace and clarity of thought. If not during the day, maybe during an odd hour in the early morning while the rest are soundly asleep. It’s sooo good.

It doesn’t have to be long.

It can’t anyway.

Especially if kids exist around you.

I’m up again now from my nice sandy cocoon. Because Sarah made a treasure hunt (in this massive sandy beach 🤨) where she hid shells and now we have to find it.

Clue: find an X in the sand.

Gonna be here for a while to find more X’s…. 🤕

Guess “simply be” time is over.

Have a good weekend, yalls!

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I have thought of a hundred fancy ways to write this but I’m just going to come out and say it.

I am starting my own brand.

Fuh that feels so good.

Six words. So simple. Yet it took so much labour of love to get to this point to be able to announce that.

Yes we have Just Gimme that launched earlier this year. God is kind, it’s doing so well Alhamdulillah that we now have to limit purchases to one tin per customer. But this is another thing.

And this time, it’s got to do with….

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This morning, I was doing laundry and I thought about a conversation I had with a friend during our Raya meet up.

“I love working!” she said.

“I love doing housework!” I said.

And we both laughed. Because our other friends know we each wanted the opposite of what we are now. She didn’t like working and hadn’t worked in years after having children. And me? Well, you guys know my story. Chasing unicorns, working 24/7 around the world, career was always priority.

If you could take a snapshot of me right now, you’d laugh! In my kaftan, hanging bathmats by the window, wearing house slippers with cute bunny ears coming out of them. Somewhere on the floor, are my two smaller kids, helping me load the washing machine.

In my previous era, at a 10am like this, I’d be in my third meeting already.

Both our predicaments were decided for us. My friend had to start work to provide for her family, and I was forced out of my career. We were pushed in the opposite directions, she and I. And yet… can I just say that I’m at awe of how God works so beautifully. We both became women we never wanted to be – and we’re both eventually… happy?!!

HOW?!

Does this mean…

a) We humans can actually adapt to any given situation, OR

b) We humans think we know what we want in life, but actually none of us really know.

Or maybe both? 🤷🏻‍♀️

Ultimately, it’s a reminder that we humans are so small.

Tiny.

Powerless.

We plan for things, we work towards things, but the Decider is never us. We make a 50-page document of a ten-year business plan with professional consultants, but something happens and no, none of these plans will happen. We make a vow of promises when we marry someone to grow old together, but somewhere down the road, no, the journey ends earlier. We make plans to have three children, but no, we end up with one or six or perhaps none at all. It can even be as simple as we make travel plans and book the flights, pack and then nopeee, flight is canceled, no holiday, go back home please.

When I think about this, it really humbles me.

And fascinates me at the same time.

Because if you really think about it, we humans get upset when our plans don’t work out. But who made these plans? Us. Mere mortals making plans on God’s earth. Then when they don’t work out, we’re surprised and disappointed. We’ve become entitled to “our” plans.

We’re setting ourselves up for failure because we forgot the biggest thing – everything belongs to God.

Nothing in this life is ours – not our careers, not our looks, not our homes, not our children, not even ourselves. It’s all just borrowed, on loan. And that’s a hard pill to swallow. To accept that reality.

When I embraced that fact and dropped my ego, I started seeing life in such a beautiful way. Wherever life detours me to, whether it’s to the Forbes stage or the washing machine, I’m smiling because I know if God chose this for me at this time, it’s good for me.

But that doesn’t mean we stop trying. Sincerely trying to be the best version of ourselves. Sincerely trying out that new job, taking a risk on that new business, learning a new skill (ironing…), and working hard in all areas of our lives.

And then doing the hardest, but most beautiful part: ultimately being happy with whatever God decides for us after that.

“They planned, but Allah also planned. And Allah is the Best of Planners.” – Surah Al-Anfal (8:30)

May we embrace this verse in its entirety.

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One day.

Twenty four hours.

That’s how long it took to entirely reverse all the discipline I had during Ramadhan. 🤦🏻‍♀️

I’m left with cookie crumbs on my Raya dress, an inflamed body because I had way too much gluten, and completely avoiding eye contact with the weighing scale. Even Better Control gave up on me these two days 😂

Some personal photos to share:

(always on a Tuesday, for my paid subscribers, my inner circle)

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Yes, I too was eagerly waiting to see what colour his baju raya will be this year. 😂

We all watched the announcement on TV. Tomorrow is Eid, Alhamdulillah. And I’ve been sitting with a feeling I can’t quite describe – somewhere between unfamiliar and freeing.

Why?

Because this will be the first time in ten years that I don’t have a new dUCk Eid collection to don on Raya day. No new print, no “this is what everyone has to wear” announcement to the entire family.

And strangely, I feel… light.

This year, I get to experience something I haven’t in a long time – I get to be a customer. If previous years, what I wear gets dictated by dUCk’s design team, this year I actually get to search my heart’s desire at other brands’ shops and bazaars. I walked with my family, booth to booth, touched fabrics, admired details, compared prices and did what everyone usually does.

It was so fun, albeit a little overwhelming. Choices are crazy abundant!

I chuckle thinking about how in the previous era, I was the Eid-zilla in the family. If you know me, Raya outfits in the family used to be… a production! I’d pick a theme colour, make sure every person matched perfectly (same shade, same print, even the tiny babies needed to match), run back and forth between fabric shops and tailors, get everyone appointments to do their measurements and stress about every tiny detail. Mind you, this I impose on both families – my side and Fadza’s side. From the newborn to the grandparents, we all had to match.

I even had a powerpoint file of everyone’s needs. I remember being so stressed about every detail. Everything had to be perfect.

For what? For the photos.

Bless my family for cooperating and not killing me.

This year?

Was at family dinner.

“Eh so what colour this year?” my sister in law opened the conversation.

“Black?” Someone said. I can’t remember who.

“Ok.”

“Good. I already have black, no need waste money.”

“Cool.”

JUST. LIKE. THAT.

And I dare say I think everyone’s pretty excited that they get to wear what they want – their own style, their own fabric of choice, their own design of choice. No Eid-zilla Vivy to boss everyone around.

It made me realise something.

Life is actually very simple.

We’re just very good at making it complicated.

And maybe this is what this new era looks like for me – less control, more appreciation. Less perfection, more presence.

I’m sad Ramadhan is ending but I also can’t wait to celebrate tomorrow. To eat during the day (pleasures of life!) with my family, to visit both sides of the family, to hug everyone tight after a month of Ramadhan together. And to see them shine in their outfits, beautiful inside and out.

As long as they show up in black.

Or else.

Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri, Maaf Zahir dan Batin.

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I just can’t believe Ramadhan flew by so fast. I know every year I say it’s my best Ramadhan ever, so get ready to roll your eyes… because this Ramadhan really is my best Ramadhan ever.

There are so many things that are different this time.

It’s my first Ramadhan without a…

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There, that looks good, I said to myself, looking at the plastic table and chair I just put in the middle of the kitchen.

Well, a little in the way of everything, but it’s ok.

It’s necessary.

I’ve been so tired trying to separate the fasting kids from the non-fasting kids in this household. Daniel and Mariam fast like adults, Alhamdulillah. Sarah is seven, so we just encourage her to do full days. She has this fasting calendar where she keeps track of her Full Days and Half Days, and we promised to get her a present after Ramadhan.

Idris is four, so he doesn’t fast at all. Well he says “I continue my fast now,” after he’s done with a meal. #salahconcept

The problem is Sarah gets so tempted when Idris eats in front of her.

“Moooommmmm! Idris is eating in front of me,” she complains.

“Idris, I told you so many times don’t eat in front of people who are fasting. It’s not nice,” I scold Idris.

But other times, I get annoyed with Sarah when she’s complaining too much. “Sarah, you cannot expect the entire world to stop eating in front of you just because you’re fasting,” I’d tell her. I usually get more unreasonable whining in return.

So finally, I set up a little area for Idris to eat in the kitchen so no one sees. He’ll sit there quietly, chomping down a bowl of rice and going “Mmmm yummy!” to which Sarah will reply from the living room “I can hear you, Idris!” 😬

First few days, he will obediently go to the back to eat or drink. But after a while, he got bored of it. And he started going to the front because he’s fomo - he wants to be with everyone else. But with a biscuit in his hand.

Ahhh an innocent biscuit.

The enemy for Sarah.

A trigger point.

“Mom, he’s doing it again,” Sarah points it out at me.

What I want to say: Can the both of you please grow up and not complain about these things. I’m also fasting ok.

What I say instead, “Sarah, we cannot lock people up in the kitchen. Try not to look at him. Just focus on yourself.”

“I can’t. The biscuit looks so good. Can I do half day today?”

Ishhhhh. Biskut ni punnnnn.

“No, Sarah, you can’t just give up because someone else is eating. You’re stronger than this. Be strong,” I remind her how many Full Days she’s done this month, and how impressive it is. I know she can do it!

“But moooooommmmmmmmmmmm….” she starts whining with the longest Mom in the world.

Then this Idris, sighhh. He goes up to her and says right to her face, “Yeah, Sarah,” with a biscuit in his hand, he continues, “Be. Strong.”

And then, in front of her face, he bites the biscuit.

In slow motion.

Both ended up crying and screaming at each other.

ARGHHH THESE TWO.

Ramadhan really does teach us patience. From eating, from gossiping, from looking at haram - and also from pulling your children’s ears even when they absolutely deserve it.

Moms with many children at home – tips pleaseeee. How do I separate these two?!

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