No matter how harsh the world is, some people refuse to let it harden their gentle, compassionate hearts. Tonight, I had the privilege of witnessing one of them.

(Found this diary entry and felt the realization might be useful to someone else, so I decided to share it with minor edits while keeping the people involved anonymous.)

This evening, after finishing one of my classes, a friend approached me, asking if we could add a classmate to our group. Earlier that day, the lecturer had asked us to form teams, and we had already agreed to stick together since the beginning of the term. Yet, as soon as class ended, he turned to me, mentioned a name, and insisted that we include this person. I wondered why he decided to take someone who I considered didn't academically perform well in the class to be a groupmate. However, I respect his decision thus I nodded. Of course, I still had the curiosity while saying “Bye and I’ll see you next week” to him when we were almost separated. He was supposed to go to the car park while I was going to the light rail station when he stopped and said:

“Nur, you know he struggles with English, and I don’t think his individual assignment marks are great. This is an opportunity for us to help him improve. I hope you don’t mind,” he explained, almost as if reading my thoughts. “I mean, we can support him while also helping him understand the material better.”

There was a brief silence I can even hear the sound of the wind blowing. The realization hit me. While we weren't necessarily excellent students, we could be a small help to him. After hearing the reason, I don't really mind that.

I didn’t mind to help. What I did mind, however, was something deeper—something about myself. For as long as I can remember, I never saw life as a competition. If I ever competed, it was only against my past self. My grades mattered, of course—especially as a scholarship student with responsibilities to uphold. But I had never gone so far as to intentionally choose a teammate who might lower my performance.

Lately, I had also felt myself getting caught up in the constant race to keep up with the world’s frantic pace, unconsciously becoming a little less considerate. A little less thoughtful. So when my friend said those words, it felt like a hammer striking my head.

I nodded again and replied, “I appreciate your thoughtfulness. Let’s help him as much as we can.” then continued my steps. My brain can’t help but reprocess the conversation with this “government buddy” (how we call each other since we both work for the governments of our respective countries) when I arrived at the station.

Above all else, we are human. And as humans, there is beauty in choosing to be kind—offering genuine support, making space for others, and lifting people up. More than any academic achievement, more than a perfect transcript, kindness is the highest form of performance.

In the hurried competitive world we live in, it's easy to forget to exercise kindness so this moment is a reminder to put a great amount of thought and effort into performing kind gestures. I am glad in the way of practicing kindness that always becomes my annual goal, along the line, I witnessed this piece of example from a friend that is so willing to do kind actions. I am grateful that I am once again reminded to get out of my own little world and start committing on make kindness a priority over any achievement in the world.

The train has arrived so it is enough for today. Let's close the diary with a promise to consciously choose to go the extra mile in practicing kindness. Let’s be someone who makes conscious efforts to be soft-hearted and put kindness as the top value above any worldly accomplishment. Also, please be more compassionate, my little heart. I beg you, please be more more more compassionate. 

One thing I couldn’t help but notice about how people at my university communicate is their tendency to conclude explanations with, “Does it make sense to you?” instead of “Do you understand?”. Now, imagine a good-looking young lecturer teaching data visualization. He finishes the lecture, smiles, and asks, “Does it make sense to you?” Nah, forget the visuals on Power BI—his visual is far more interesting. And yes, it does make sense. Oh, wait—actually, no, it doesn’t. Could you explain it again? I’m not exactly a diligent student, but I wouldn’t mind listening to you for hours *wink.

LoL, just kidding! That’s just my random imagination running wild in a K-drama setting. Let’s get back on track before you ask me how to enroll in the “My Lecturer is Handsome” class. Sorry, but I’m keeping that a secret. :p

Jokes aside, here I’ve been asked “Does this make sense to you?” countless times as a way to confirm whether the message was delivered clearly. But it wasn’t until recently, in a particularly technical course, that I fully registered its impact. The lecturer caught the confusion written all over our faces: blank stares, silent bewilderment. Instead of rushing ahead, he smiled patiently and said, “Does it make sense to you? I can repeat if it doesn’t.” There was no judgment in his tone, just a genuine willingness to ensure we understood.

YES PLEASE! This dumb student right here lost her sense because of your sweet smile the difficult material *I am back with that “my lecturer is handsome” joke *If any production house wants to turn this into a movie, please cast Nicholas Saputra as the lecturer. Thank you.

That question, while touching on the same thing, made me feel so different from “Do you understand?” which I usually heard. Whilst “Do you understand?” puts the emphasis on the ability of the listener to comprehend, “Does it make sense to you?” emphasizes the communicator’s effectiveness in delivering the message. I found it as a more respectful approach to verify, which I appreciate highly. This subtle (yes, I told you I love subtlety) shift in wording is beautiful, isn’t it?

Words matter. The phrase “Do you understand?” can sometimes feel condescending, as if the speaker is testing the listener’s intelligence. Not that I dislike the phrase, but now that I’ve found a more considerate alternative, I’d rather use it. “Does it make sense to you?” conveys a sense of shared responsibility in communication—it acknowledges that clarity is the speaker’s duty too. That small shift from “Can you understand my message?” to “Can my message be understood?” has changed the way I think about word choice.

I’m once again reminded of how small adjustments in language can create a big impact. Words shape not only meaning but also the emotions they evoke. Between those two phrases, one makes me feel more open to admitting confusion. That class made me realize how crucial it is to be mindful of my wording—because communication isn’t just about what we say, but how we say it. Moving forward, I want to be more intentional with my words to communicate more effectively.  

Now, the real question is… should I be just as intentional about the gorgeous lecturer? Never mind—ignore my crazy self. Hihi. I know this random imagination doesn’t make sense. Does it make sense to you? :)

-------

Images credit: manfredsteger at Pixabay

Two months ago, during my first term break, my Malaysian friends and I decided on a one-day trip to Newcastle. The city was filled with beautiful sights, but the last stop—Nobby’s Beach—left the deepest imprint on me. I had visited several beaches in Sydney, yet this one held a different kind of tranquility. I walked with an empty head through the pathway alongside the shore. There was nothing in my brain but admiration for the scenery. It has been a while since the last time I mindfully looked at the surroundings. Hence, it's safe to say that that evening was quite a memorable walk for me. 

As Maghrib approached, my friend and I made our way to the cold ocean water for ablution (wudhu). Using Google’s qibla finder, we figured out that we’d perform our prayer facing the beautiful lighthouse. After we finished, we just silently sat and stared at the expanse of sand. From a distance, the lighthouse glowed, standing tall against the darkening sky. It was such a magical moment where I deeply reflected and thought about life.

During my first month in Sydney, I often felt uneasy about performing my prayers. On campus, I would search for a “safe space” or take a long walk to the religious center. Ablution was another challenge—I had to lift my leg to the sink, all the while worrying about how odd I might look to others. Praying in public spaces made me anxious; the weight of unfamiliar stares unsettled me. It was a new experience for someone who had never faced such hurdles back in Indonesia.

Later I remembered a conversation I had with my dad when I was very young. We had finished performing the Maghrib prayer and sat in the prayer room waiting for Isha's time. When the time arrived, I said to him, “Should I do ablution again? I don’t think anything invalidated it, but what if I forgot something?”

He smiled and said, “What’s so hard about doing ablution, Im? Even the simplest act of worship is counted and rewarded by Allah. Every effort you make for Him matters,“ He advised, “So, always do your best for Allah.”

That memory resurfaced like a gentle wave, reminding me of something I had nearly forgotten: worship is not just about obligation; it is about sincerity. It is about doing our best, regardless of how small the act may seem. If I truly wanted His mercy, how could I give anything less than my full effort?

I recalled a time when I feared people’s stares while praying on the street, so I chose to pray sitting down—convincing myself that it was my “best effort.” But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. I had settled for comfort instead of striving for what was right. What a shame that I couldn’t even perform the most important ritual properly yet think that I deserve a flowery fate.  

What excuse did I have? When people in war zones, those with disabilities, and those living in extreme poverty still found ways to pray properly, what right did I have to hesitate? When the Prophet (peace be upon him) and his companions continued their prayers even under threat of attack, who was I to be discouraged by a few glances? Where was my gratitude for a body that functioned perfectly, a decent life, and the privilege of praying in peace?

I stared at the beautiful beacon, with the peaceful calming sound of the beach in my ears and tears covered my eyes. As a woman full of excuses ‘’I don’t think I can”, “Shall I take the easy road?”, and “No need to put more effort as this is also acceptable”, I reflected on this mistake of mine. As a Muslim, I lacked perseverance. I had made too many mistakes, fallen short too many times. And yet, despite all my shortcomings, He continued to bless me, to guide me, to send me moments like this one—reminders wrapped in the gentleness of an ocean breeze.

Lost track of time, the sky gradually turned black. My heart felt warm on this cold seashore due to the thankfulness for this experience of becoming a minority. I appreciated how my love for Allah has grown through difficult times. I stared again at the radiant lighthouse, this time with a smile. As the lighthouse guides mariners, thank You for always guiding me. Alhamdulillah.

Love,

iim

All human wisdom is summed up in these two words: wait and hope. (The Count of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas)

A few weeks ago, I visited Cockatoo Island with UNSW’s Postgraduate Council. This island, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, was once a convict penal settlement. Our group embarked on a guided tour, exploring its layered history. After a brief ferry ride from Barangaroo Wharf, we arrived under a gentle drizzle.

While waiting for the tour guide, we gathered for lunch in a coastal restaurant. As I finished my meal, I glanced at my watch, checking if it was already time for prayer. I approached the trip leader to get her permission to excuse myself for a while.

“Is it okay if I pray for approximately ten minutes?” I asked softly.

“Of course.” She put down the pizza in her hand and smiled. “Take as much time as you need. We’ll wait.”

I immediately thanked her and left to pray. As I walked toward the beach to perform ablution, a strangely vivid feeling washed over me. Take as much time as you need. Her words struck a chord deep within me. How I wish I could say that to myself every single day. In this convict site, I realized I myself was a convict of my own self-reproach. I internally spoke “dear self who often blames herself for walking too slowly and taking too much time to reach 'places', take as much time as you need.” while patting my shoulder. I very much deserved it after years of self-blaming.  

One of the most relatable quotes for me is Bolin Shijiang’s “The world is so big and I walk slowly. What if I never find what I am looking for?”. Ever since childhood, I noticed that I seemed to "walk" relatively slower than most people. The feeling intensified when I started my master’s degree at this age. Almost everyone in my classes is in their early twenties, shining brilliantly as if they have already amassed a decade of experience. Sometimes it discouraged me that I couldn’t even manage my academic life properly while those youngsters could. It reminded me of all the things that had come later to me than to others—an endless list I wouldn’t even attempt to write down. I remember how I grew up as someone who appeared confident outside but timid inside. Truthfully, my constant failure to keep up with the “regular” timeline contributed to turning me into someone who was easily frightened and lacked confidence. 

In a world where people in the fast lane are more appreciated, I confusedly walked with a low velocity. I was drowned in a society where the deadline is tight, the expectations are high, the pace is hurried, and the competition is tough. Therefore, I was forced to rush and be impatient. I felt despair when I hadn’t gotten/achieved something while everyone around me had already enjoyed it. It was so discouraging to still wait for my turn to get a piece of cake when everyone had moved on with a bigger slice. I'm worried that I don’t have time to wait anymore--my heart murmured when I was extremely weary. On many occasions, I stared blankly and thought that probably what I waited for would never come. I've already missed the train and there is no other train afterward, or even there is no train for me in the first place--my inner voice convinced me--therefore I am stuck in the same place even though a long period of time has gone by. 

However, what she said that day straightened up my slumped shoulders. The knowledge that I can take all the time I need brings light to my dim heart. I might be left behind in several things based on society’s standards but I have the right to take as much time as I need. It’s totally okay to walk slowly or even intentionally slow down my pace when I need it. No matter how much time I need, I can wait. Even with the broken hope, I am allowed to wait. No matter how long shall I wait, or how slow my pace is, it is always okay.

Love,
iim

-------------------------

P.S.:

1. As I was writing this, one of my lecturers sent an email about group formation for an assignment. His closing words? “Please do NOT feel bad if you aren’t yet in a group—I was picked last throughout my life, and I (just about) did okay in the long run! 😊”. God knew I needed to hear that. Tears ran down my face as I knew how it felt to be the last. Even though I had already joined a group, his words still touched me deeply. Never underestimate the power of kind and encouraging words. Somewhere, someone desperately needs to hear them. Thank you, Prof! I have admired your kindness since the very first class.

2. Have you ever read Alexandre Dumas's "The Count of Monte Cristo"? The novel came to mind as I wrote about convicts. Or have you ever read Bolin Shijiang's "Entrust the Rest of My Life to You"? If you have, I’d love to hear your thoughts. :)

Dear hope, the city I wrote to you about today is drizzling—the kind of light rain I love to walk through unshielded, though the air is cold. But dear hope, I know one day, this mizzle will turn warmer, softened by someone's presence.

Two days ago, Mbak Lia (Edmalia Rohmani) visited this city, and we agreed to meet at Circular Quay. The forecast had warned of rain all day, yet our night meeting happened under no umbrella. We first connected over our shared interest in literature, so it was only natural that poem-like words found their way into our conversation as we strolled along the damp paving blocks toward the Opera House.

"Imagine walking this path with the one you love," she mused, and something in her voice switched the poetry in me back on. "Under the rain, with this view," she added, patting my shoulder—as if she knew I'd been longing for that moment. The dream I'd set aside, buried beneath the rush of recent days, where my heart felt like it had been caught in a high-speed blender.

I looked far across the beach, the Harbour Bridge was sparkling beautifully. The cars on the bridge were moving in slow motion as if it were a scene from a romantic movie where the character was surrounded by an air of melancholy. Imagine spending such a lovely night just walking serenely side to side with someone so dear to the heart. When I turned my head a bit, the Opera House was radiantly glowing. What a poem-worth situation it was. Flowery lines kept popping out in my brain as the romantic view of two Sydney landmarks shined in front of my eyes. There is no exaggeration in saying that this particular night in Sydney has inspired me to stay optimistic, especially regarding the old hopes.

As Mbak Lia spoke of her gratitude for being here, I couldn’t help but send a silent prayer of my own—that one day, I’d walk this path again beside someone dear. I listened to the gentle lapping of waves against the shore, hoping that wherever my future man was, he could somehow hear them too. The city was cold, my hands even colder as I pressed them against my face. Aamiin, I whispered into the dark sky.

That evening, one of my wishes was I wanted to fall in love. I wished for a love that steadies my heart, a love that feels like home to my wandering soul. A love that reminds me of how beautiful Allah’s plans are. A love where even the thought of his smile brings warmth. A love that is effortless, weightless.

I imagine him—a quiet, thoughtful old soul. A laid-back and grounded introvert with whom silence feels comfortable. Someone whose eyes hold the soft glow of morning light. Someone whose mind is a sunflower field I’d stroll through at a leisurely pace. Someone I could talk to for hours, days, months, years—forever—without ever reaching the end of his depth. Above all, someone who makes me remember Allah more, so that paradise feels just a little bit closer.

Sydney itself was once just a dream, a longing I had written in my diary. And yet, here I am. So I let myself believe that this wish, too, will one day come true.

Every city has a color, a feeling, a meaning. For me, Sydney is a symbol of hope. And I am hopeful that someday, I will meander this pavement, on a rainy night, beside him. When I turn my head, I can see a calm smile that will warm the cold air. I believe that the wishes I whispered into this magical city will, in time, find their way back to me.

Because Allah listens. Always.

Love, 

iim

"I feel quite lost inside myself, like I'm looking for my train tracks for my life." - Sabrina Ward Harrison

Hello, everyone. How are your days? Mine is mainly cold (homonym intended). As someone who was accustomed to Jakarta’s heat for years, Sydney’s low temperature is already challenging from the very beginning. I shouldn’t walk around dressed as if it is the early winter when people barely wear jackets but just let me. Hehe.

When I posted my previous writing, some people suggested I write down my experience navigating life as a student in Sydney. Here I am starting my #OzDiaries (Oz is another way of spelling "Aus", which is an abbreviation of "Australia") while planning to post them regularly *I wish. I hope I can share the snapshots of a mere student’s life in a big EXPENSIVE city *yeah wrote the highlight in capital letters! Hihi. Promise you they are nothing sort of bragging but more like the lessons I learn or the inner feelings unspoken. So shall we start now?

When I conveyed that I would pursue my master’s degree in Sydney, my mom asked me whether I was not tired of constantly studying and struggling. After all, women, my age should start to have a comfortable life, right? It was not that she didn’t approve of the idea. From time to time, she checks on me to make sure that I am happy with the choices I make. Truth is, that happened because she acknowledged my habit of recklessly jumping out of my comfort zone and then quietly struggling by myself. Occasionally she mentioned that my health and happiness are so much more important than the so-called growth since she was worried that I did everything out of the desire to outgrow myself. While the betterment I aimed for is due to my wish to contribute better to society, she never forgot to emphasize the importance of enjoying life.

(I bet she is actually struggling to be a mother of someone who likes to do difficult things when actually deep down is a coward.)

I told her that I was not just ready but also excited to embrace the adventure. So she smiled and said that I should take care of myself because there would be none to lean on, to accompany. She also mentioned that I should be responsible for the privilege I got: be a good student and come back as a better me. I nodded while holding back tears because I should contain the emotion as always. All by myself, in a new city, I knew my train would be heading to a station of uncomfortableness. Yet there I was holding the ticket tightly.

What happened later were the things that warmed my heart. I accepted a lot of help both from the people I knew and I didn't. Someone offered me her phone when I said that there was no wifi outside the airport building, and a Ph.D. student at my university DM-ed me and took care of me whenever I was on campus, an old man approached me who was standing in front of the city map asking whether he could provide me assistance, some people greeted me “assalamualaikum” when I walked on the road with a tired face after classes, the UNSW Muslim community members who embraced me warmly, and many more that I couldn't mention one by one--they didn’t know that they came right exactly the moment I needed morale-booster.

At one moment, a woman on the light rail offered me the seat beside her. I couldn’t help saying “I am new here and the people are so kind. Thank you.” which was replied with a big smile on her face. We talked about several things and when the announcement said that shortly we would arrive at The UNSW station, I prepared myself to stand up. She poked me and handed me a piece of paper money that was $50. Overwhelmed by the surprising act, I said I can’t receive that. Her kindness was already an uplifting chunk of my day. However, she insisted while saying “if you want to repay for that, please pray for my husband. He has been in hospital for months.”

I didn’t walk to the campus right after I arrived at the station this time. Instantly I sat down and stared blankly at the money in my hand. She might have had harder times than mine but helped me anyway. What I called tough days might never come close in difficulty compared to hers. Yet she patted my head and continuously said “Good luck. I wish you all the best.” as if she knew that that particular morning, I really needed someone to pat my head and say that I’d be okay. She was really the answer to my prayer that day and I can’t thank her enough for giving me additional strength. (writing this part got me in tears. Huhu)

After all the difficulties I had in life, I realized how Allah always sends me what I need to bear. For my very first days in Sydney, that woman was the symbol of how I should always be hopeful about my life here. I should always know that the smiling faces of friends and strangers would be there when I need them the most.  

The series of kindness from people in Sydney reminds me of something: the next time you see someone with a confused face or you are in a position to help, please do yourself a favor. If you can, please offer help. You never know how much that person needs your help. You have no idea how many times that person would want to say thanks to you. You never know that perhaps that person will pray for you due to your kindness and hoping that he/she could also be a kind person like you. You never know what someone is going through so be kind, always.  

Lastly, Eid Mubarak for my Muslim friends. Taqobalallahu winna wa minkum. I will see you again later insyaAllah! 😊

Love, 

iim