that corridor

That once heard the laughters of 4 doctors sharing their tales of the day – the demanding patient, the poor makcik who cant afford our chemo, the nasi lemak that was worth the calories – appear bare and hollow in every sense.

That once led us to her office, where we sat in her room listening to the wisdom of our sister – of another way of being grateful, of another chance to repent, of another resource that shall not go to waste – still hangs her name of the door.

I wish I can tell somebody who can understand how I feel, walking the same corridor.. seeing the same signage on her door.. hearing her voices everywhere I go in the department.. seeing her smile in the surau we spent an afternoon too many.. is just very difficult.

Ya Allah it is so hard not to miss her. Ya Allah it is so hard not to remember her. Ya Allah it is so hard not to touch her gifts, her belongings and expect her warmth enveloping me.

From time to time, I go back to my entries on her and take comfort that some of the words I failed to say, she managed to read on this space. From time to time, I scroll down her messages, always full of naseehah and always full of love, and my heart will stop hurting for a while.

This place, brings so much memory. And I’m too overwhelmed.

Allahummaghfirlaha warhamha wa ‘afiha wa’fuanha. I love you. Always.

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About miss M

Just another person, finding her way through a catalogue of errors and a series of accomplishments. Each time arriving at the same conclusion: everything is from Him.
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