Dearest my darling, darling,
di hari ia melahirkan cintanya
ia berkata kepada kekasihnya,
“kita tidak usah berjanji untuk setia,
kerana kita tidak mahu setia kerana janji.
kita akan setia kerana cinta,
hanya kerana cinta.”
di hari perkahwinannya
ia berkata kepada kekasihnya,
“perkahwinan ini adalah ikatan,
tapi kita tidak usah terikat kerananya.
kita terikat kerana cinta,
hanya kerana cinta.”
di hari-hari kemudiannya
ia berkata kepada dirinya,
“perkahwinan kadang-kadang
mengajar kita melupakan cinta
untuk belajar hidup bersama.”
— Zurinah Hassan
I reread your love letter on July 28, 2025, while we were on vacation. It was one of those quiet, tender moments we spent together. I know you’re not one for endless adventures, so I chose a slower holiday—not packed with plans, but rich with stillness. You were right when you said travelling can be exhausting, yet it gives us precious time to simply be. How was your day at home with our four little toddlers? Are they still as quick and mischievous as ninjas? Take your time to eat, enjoy your meals slowly, and 休む時間を取りなさい.
I wanted to send you a short message, but instead, I found myself writing this letter. This is actually the second time I’ve rewritten it. I often feel my writing isn’t good enough. I was trained to write technically, not emotionally but you always remind me that my words carry warmth. I stopped writing for years, then returned to journaling—to writing letters to you. It calms me. It helps me untangle the thoughts that never stop running through my mind. Writing makes me feel alive. It makes me pause for a moment, and then let myself bleed onto the page.
Today, I reread Satu Cerita Cinta by our National Laureate, Zurinah Hassan—again and again, as I often do. I keep returning to it, trying to feel every layer of its meaning. I was never drawn to women writers, but through our years together—besides music—you’ve opened a new door in literature for me. You used to say that I introduced you to good books, but truly, you also led me to profound readings that shaped my thinking. I’ve come to enjoy your kind of literature. There is no waste in exploring something new—it always builds a deeper understanding.
Between us, you’ve always had the stronger emotional intelligence. You’re mature enough to carry even the hardest conversations. You listen deeply, without judgment, and you think differently with a rare clarity that feels both kind and wise. I love you for that. Every conversation with you whether a passing thought or a long discussion has sharpened the way I think, making my mind more perspicacious. If there is one person I should thank for that, it is you. You illuminate the other side of the coin, helping me see what I might have missed.
Leo Tolstoy once said, “Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the company of intelligent women.” And Buddha wrote in the Dhammapada “If you do not find an intelligent companion, a wise and well-behaved person going the same way as yourself, then go on your way alone—like a king abandoning a conquered kingdom, or like a great elephant in the deep forest.” Both remind me of you. Since young, I’ve admired intelligent women—they are, after all, the foundation of civilization. Marrying you has been one of the greatest blessings from Allah.
Love is not always beautiful. Sometimes we grow weary—of life, of routines, even of each other. We tend to wander, yet each time that happens and we choose to stay—that is love. Love isn’t about choosing someone only when it’s easy; it’s choosing them again and again, especially when life grows heavy, when emotions falter, when money is short, or when health wavers. Love isn’t always a magical world, as you often remind me, but I believe it is something far greater. It is strength disguised as tenderness. It carries us through every storm.
In marriage, we can’t always avoid difficult conversations; those we wish we never had to face. Not everyone can express what lives in their heart. It takes courage and maturity to do that. I’m not someone who opens up easily. I’ve always been taciturn. Not one to wear my heart on my sleeve, keeping most feelings to myself. When I’m angry, I often stay silent. I don’t want to deliver great invective in fury, so instead, I’ve punched mirrors. By doing that, I was trying to be more sangfroid—it calmed me in ways words never could.
Saidina Ali once said, “There will come a time when you realize that restraining your tongue to avoid offending someone is more noble than expressing what is in your heart.” Yet in marriage, this cannot always be applied in full. There are things we must speak of, however uncomfortable they may be. It takes courage, patience, and maturity to be honest about the heart. Sometimes, we stay silent because we don’t know what language could make others understand what we truly feel, or how to turn our silence into something they can perceive.
When I was a child, I met evil too soon. I saw and heard terrible things almost every night. I was helpless—covering my ears and closing my eyes, praying for it to stop. I wiped my tears and begged God for peace. That was my quiet trauma. I was taught never to speak out, not to “hurt” others’ feelings, to always obey. The place I grew up in was both a nightmare and a heaven, but I choose to remember the beautiful days and pretend the horrid trauma never existed. I couldn’t speak to anyone about it. I felt I shouldn’t.
The purpose of marriage is companionship: a mind beside a mind, a heart tied to a heart, a hand that heals, a soul that supports, and a presence that brings peace. Saidina Umar al-Khattab once said, “The greatest gift after faith is your wife.” Marriage is a long journey; we must take the bitter with the sweet. Sometimes we tire when our hearts run out of strength. That is when patience becomes love’s truest test. Saidina Ali ibn Abi Talib once said, “The best patience is the patience shown toward the shortcomings of the one you love.”
Many live in marriages that take away their very essence. But marriage should nurture growth—it should help us expand in thought, in faith, and in the fullness of being. It may take years to build, but deep down, we always know whether we are growing or shrinking. A person raised in love and one raised in survival will always see the world differently. Yet through our differences, we’ve learned to exchange ideas and understand each other. The boundary between us is that we always agree to disagree. That, I believe, is the most beautiful part of us.
You never saw love the way I do. You’re a realist—a woman who moves forward quickly and never builds her home in nostalgia. I’ve always seen you as strong and capable of anything, yet once you chose a man, you let him lead and guide you with grace. You listened to my advice, devoted yourself to me, and made me feel like a king in his own kingdom. You always wanted me by your side, never letting me out of your sight for even a moment. Finding you has been one of life’s greatest honours—for you were, and always will be, the closest to my soul.
From my soul to your soul,
Abang
October 25, 2025 / 1:44 am
Hong Kong