A GLIMPSE INTO LOVE AND LOSS
Isnin, 1 Januari
I don’t have much, but love seems enough for now.
The village wakes with the sun, just like it always does. I feel the warmth on my skin, and for a moment, I let it hold me. My son sleeps beside me, his tiny chest rising and falling so gently. I listen to his breaths, soft as the sea breeze.
Right now, everything feels… right.
Langkawi has always been home. The waves guide our days, and I find my rhythm in my batik work. Each pattern I create tells the story of who we are, of where we come from. It’s how I stay connected to what’s real, to what matters.
But something is different lately…
It’s like the air itself is heavier, pressing down on my chest. I try to ignore it, to keep going, but deep inside, I feel it—something is changing, and I can’t shake the feeling that life won’t stay this simple for much longer.
Khamis, 4 Januari
Adulterer.
I never thought it would come to this. People I’ve known my whole life, who once smiled at me, now look at me with hatred. They think I’ve done something terrible. They say I’ve betrayed my husband, that I’ve been unfaithful. How could they believe such a thing?
It had started with whispers, but soon the whole village turned against me.
They’re all repeating the lies my mother-in-law has been spreading. She never liked me; she’s found a way to ruin me.
I feel like I’m drowning.
Everywhere I go, people stare, judging me for something I didn’t do. I try to hold my head high, but it’s like the whole world is against me. I’m so tired. I ran from the accusations today, crying, and hid in the one place I thought was still mine—my home.
But even here, I feel their eyes on me.
I just hope this will pass, that the truth will come out. I can’t lose everything, not like this. I still have my son. He’s my reason to keep going.
Jumaat, 5 Januari
Today, I finished the last batik I’ll ever make. This one is different. It’s for my son. As I fold it, I feel the weight of it in my hands. It’s more than just cloth. It’s my love, my hope for him. I want him to have something that shows who I truly am. Not the lies they say, but the truth of my heart. I hope, one day, he’ll understand. I hope he’ll remember me—not for their words, but for the mother I was.
Sabtu, 6 Januari
There was peace.
They came for me today. The village dragged me to the centre. I didn’t fight. I didn’t cry. I just felt tired. The keris shone in the sun. I knelt in the dirt, feeling the weight of it all. I looked at the faces around me. I don’t recognise them anymore. They’re filled with hate. I looked for my mother-in-law. She didn’t flinch. She pushed for this. And now, she’s won. The blade cut through me. The pain was sharp, but I didn’t scream. I just thought of my son. My heart broke, but then…
Ahad, 7 Januari
Somewhere, in him, my story will continue.
The blade cut deep, and the world began to fade. I felt something stir inside me. This can’t be the end. There’s more. There has to be. The batik I made for my son lies beside me. It’s the only piece of me I can leave behind. Maybe it will be enough. Maybe he’ll remember me not as the woman they said I was, but as the mother who loved him. As I close my eyes, I think of him.
