You Stop Knocking

Some lessons you hear when you're younger don't land until life catches up. The words stay, but you still haven't lived enough to feel them. Then years pass, and one day everything finally makes sense. I had a moment like that recently. My mind keeps going back to an afternoon in Ustadha Amina's class years ago. She read us a piece of wisdom from Kitab Al-Hikam by Ibn Ata'illah and told us we probably wouldn't understand it yet. But she said we would, when the time was right.

The wisdom reads:

مَتى أَوْحَشَكَ مِنْ خَلْقِهِ . . فَاعْلَمْ : أَنَّهُ يُرِيدُ أَنْ يَفْتَحَ لَكَ بَابَ الْأُنْسِ بِهِ

"When Allah makes you feel distant or alienated from His creation, know that He actually wants to open for you the door of intimacy with Him."

Ustadha explained that when someone feels alone, or like a stranger even among our own friends, it's not a sign that something is wrong with us. Allah is the One who placed that feeling there to pull us back to Him. This kind of loneliness isn't there to break us from the inside. It's an invitation to turn toward Him instead of wasting it by drowning everything out. "Don't run to people first," she said. "Run to Allah first. Be happy with Allah. Truly."

I thought about her words again the other day while scrolling through my phone. We stay online all day now, but somehow we still feel unseen. All these group chats and notifications are going off, but we can sit there and feel completely empty. You know that feeling of standing at a packed train station. Surrounded by a sea of people, rushing past you, yet you remain almost invisible. Socializing starts taking up so much energy, and conversations that used to feel warm suddenly lose their life. Dealing with people becomes exhausting even when you don't hate anyone. We end up drained from pretending like everything is okay.

We often treat this restlessness with people like a problem that needs to be solved by finding better company. In Al-Hikam, this restlessness is understood as a signal. Scholars call this al-wahshi, a kind of wildness that makes a person feel like they don't belong. It's the opposite of uns, that deep sense of intimacy and belonging. Sometimes Allah uses al-wahshi to quiet things down so He can open bāb al-uns for us, the door of intimacy with Him. The word for human being, insān, shares its root with uns. Maybe that's why no amount of attention from other people ever fully settles us. If we try to satisfy that need entirely through other flawed humans, we end up feeling homeless. Allah pulls us back from the crowd through moments of rejection or sudden emptiness. He's clearing away expectations that were never meant to hold us. He wants us to stop chasing approval from faces that are as tired and lost as we are.

This isolation is a necessary stage for the heart to grow. I remember Ustadha describing how faith starts out like a small flame. When a fire is new and fragile, you have to shield it from the wind. You cup your hands around it, maybe even take it to a quiet corner, because a strong gust will kill it. That's what solitude sometimes is. Allah shielding a heart that's still too easy to put out. You're not supposed to hide forever. Once the fire gets big enough, the wind won't kill it anymore. It'll only make the fire grow. But you need that first bit of shelter.

And then, you go back.

You go back to people, but you carry a different kind of presence. You don't do good things because you're scared they'll leave, or because you're chasing a thank you. You do it like a mother who gets up early to make steamed bread for her kid. She's not even hungry for that food herself. She just knows her kid loves it. She might not have slept well, but she prepares it with care because the love she has for the child simply flows through her hands. That's how relationships change when the heart is full of Allah. You don't show up to take because you're already filled.

So when the people around you start feeling distant and nothing really lands the way it used to, it might not be something you have to fight. Let the silence hang there. Just sit for a moment instead of reaching for something to cover it up. That feeling of isolation isn't an empty hole you need to cram something into. It's more like a door that's been waiting for you to open it. And afterwards, you walk back into the world without needing to knock on every door, begging to be let in.

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What Is Sufism? by Martin Lings

I picked up the Indonesian translation of this book, Apa Itu Tasawuf?, expecting something fairly straightforward. The title made me think I was getting an introduction, something that would lay out the basic ideas and give me a clearer picture of what Sufism is. I thought I'd get an easy overview I could read with my afternoon tea.

Boy, was I wrong.

From the first chapter, I realized this wasn't going to be that kind of book. One reviewer said it wasn't exactly light reading for a coffee shop, and honestly, I can't disagree. You have to pay attention. There were times I read a paragraph and then went back to the beginning because somehow I'd understood every sentence without quite getting the whole thing. It made me feel dumb sometimes, which I suppose is not the worst thing a book can do to you.

He starts with this striking image of a tidal wave coming from the Ocean of Infinitude. The wave reaches the shores of our finite world, leaving water in what Lings calls the “consecrated hollows.” Lings uses that water to represent the formal aspect of religion, while the ebbing wave represents the movement of the mystic back towards the Source. I like that the water left behind still has a place in the image. The outward forms of religion still matter. The interesting question is what happens inside the person who practices them, and whether there is an inward movement towards the Source as well.

A lot of what he discusses wasn't new to me. I'd come across many of these ideas before, especially the relationship between outward practice and inward reality. But Lings puts them together in his own way, moving between doctrine, symbolism, spiritual practice, and metaphysics. He doesn't always stop to explain every connection. You have to keep up with him.

That was probably the part I found most interesting. Lings talks about the inward dimension of religion, but I don't think "inward" should mean separate from the outward. Prayer is outward, but it is also supposed to change something in you. Fasting is outward. Dhikr can be something you do with the tongue, but that's not where it ends. You can know the rules, do the practices, and still have a heart that hasn't caught up with any of it. It's not a new idea, but it's an uncomfortable one, and Lings takes it seriously.

Later in the book, Lings takes this further with 'Abd al-Karim al-Jili's image of ice and water. The "eye of ice" sees only ice, while the "Eye of Water" sees water. But the image isn't just about looking beyond appearances. Lings connects the melting of the ice with letting go of our claim to an existence separate from God. I had to read that part slowly.

This is where “heart-wakefulness” comes in. Lings uses it to describe Sufism from the point of view of the person practicing it. The outward practices aren't being thrown away. You can pray, study, make dhikr, work on your character, and do everything you're supposed to do, but are you actually awake to what you're doing? Or have the practices become things you're good at performing? That's a much less comfortable question.

There were also moments when his metaphysical framework was hard to miss, and I wasn't always sure how far I was willing to follow it. I wasn't sure I agreed with everything that followed from it. I wanted to think about some of those ideas a little longer before deciding what I made of them.

I can understand why some readers find his writing too flowery or philosophical. He expects a lot from the reader, and there are passages where his language gets dense enough that I had to reread a sentence just to make sure I'd understood it. I wouldn't recommend this as someone's first introduction to Islam or tasawwuf. It helps to have some familiarity with the ideas he's talking about.

As for the Indonesian translation, I found it clear enough overall, although I did sometimes wonder whether some of the difficulty came from Lings's original style or from the translation itself. Either way, this isn't a book I'd want to rush through.

But I also wouldn't want him to simplify it too much. I appreciate that Lings takes tasawwuf seriously. He doesn't turn it into a collection of inspirational quotes or a kind of Islamic self-help. He expects you to think, and sometimes to struggle a little. I certainly did.

For all that, I enjoyed the book. Not because it was easy or particularly comforting. There were parts I had to work through, and there were probably things I understood only halfway. But I was glad I read it.

If you're looking for a quick introduction to Sufism, there are probably easier places to start. But if you already have some familiarity with Islam and want to read Lings's take on its spiritual dimension, What Is Sufism? is worth the effort.

4.5/5. Just don't bring it to your coffee break expecting an easy read. I tried that already.

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Review Wardah Perfect Bright Tone Up Cream: Cerah Instan Tanpa Ribet

Beberapa bulan terakhir, saya lagi senang pakai tone up cream, terutama kalau lagi pengin wajah kelihatan segar dengan praktis. Kalau kamu penggemar K-Beauty, pasti sudah akrab deh dengan produk satu ini. Dengan fungsi cukup lengkap, tone up cream mampu membantu meratakan warna kulit, menyamarkan noda hitam, sekaligus memberikan efek cerah seketika. Cocok dipakai sebagai pelembap maupun dasar mekap.

Awalnya krim pencerah instan memang populer berkat merek kosmetik Korea, tapi sekarang merek lokal pun nggak mau kalah. Salah satu yang paling menarik perhatian saya adalah Wardah Perfect Bright Tone Up Cream.

Kemasan dan Kandungan

Ini tone up cream lokal pertama yang saya coba. Kemasannya tube mungil 20 ml, ringkas dan sangat travel-friendly.

Wardah mengklaim produk ini bisa membuat wajah segar seketika layaknya pakai mekap. Rahasianya ada pada kandungan 7 White Actives, Pinkish Bright Powder, dan Vitamin B3. Plus, sudah ada SPF 25 di dalamnya. Meski begitu, saran saya tetap wajib lapisi dengan tabir surya ya untuk perlindungan maksimal.

Tekstur dan Aroma

Krimnya berwarna merah muda dan punya tekstur yang cukup pekat. Jujur saja, butuh sedikit usaha ekstra saat membaurkannya ke kulit. Wanginya lembut khas floral, tapi cepat hilang kok setelah diaplikasikan.

Performa di Kulit

Karena teksturnya yang pekat, saya biasanya pakai ini di tahap terakhir skincare, tepat setelah tabir surya. Saat pertama dioles, wajah memang akan terlihat lebih putih. Tapi tenang saja, setelah beberapa saat krimnya bakal menyatu dengan warna kulit asli.

Tips penting: Pakai sedikit-sedikit saja. Kalau terlalu banyak, hasilnya malah jadi abu-abu dan nggak natural di wajah.

Hasil akhirnya matte dan halus, rasanya mirip seperti pakai bedak gitu. Produk ini lumayan efektif menyamarkan kemerahan dan membuat warna kulit jadi lebih merata. Kamu bisa lanjut pakai bedak atau biarkan polos saja untuk tampilan bare face yang segar. Produk ini sebenarnya cocok untuk siapa saja, baik wanita maupun pria.

Catatan untuk Pemilik Kulit Kering

Satu hal yang perlu diingat: pastikan kulit sudah terhidrasi dengan baik sebelum memakai produk ini. Kalau kulit sedang kering, hasilnya cenderung patchy atau belang karena tekstur pekatnya tadi. 

Untuk kulit kombinasi cenderung kering seperti saya, oil control-nya tergolong biasa saja. Tapi sebagai solusi praktis saat malas dandan atau saat kulit terlihat kusam, produk ini bisa diandalkan.

Dengan harga cuma sekitar Rp23.000, produk ini juga mudah ditemukan di minimarket terdekat. Memang belum jadi favorit saya, tapi untuk kamu yang mencari pencerah instan dengan harga yang ramah di kantong, Wardah Perfect Bright Tone Up Cream ini cukup layak untuk dicoba!

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The Coffee Ghost

It's 2019 and everyone is holding a plastic cup. Brown sugar boba, Thai tea, or those iced coffee cups with palm sugar at the bottom. The matcha lattes I adore? Sadly, not for me anymore.

I’m just here with my mineral water. Again.

It’s been a couple of years since I stopped. No more cappuccinos or lattes. Basically, anything with coffee, tea, or milk is off-limits now. I miss the ritual more than the caffeine, I think. But I remember 2017 too well. The panic, the ER, the realization that it was GERD all along.. and that my chest was on fire. I'm not ready to die for a drink just yet.

So I sit in these "aesthetic" cafes and I just watch. I smell the beans from across the room, it hits me how much I miss it.. and I keep my distance. It’s a bit lonely, being the only one not actually drinking the menu. I’m just the person in the corner, nursing a bottle of water and a plain croissant. Maybe a piece of dry toast if I'm lucky.

Maybe later. Maybe when I’m finally, fully okay, I’ll take one sip. Just one tiny, stupid sip to remember what it feels like to be normal.

But for now, I’m just staying safe. That’s all.

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Our Souls at Night (2017): A Place for the Silence

I read Kent Haruf’s last novel late in 2017. It didn’t feel like a story meant to be finished quickly. The pages moved quietly, like someone choosing their words because they knew there wouldn’t be time to take them back. Haruf died shortly after finishing the book. I watched the Netflix adaptation later. Ritesh Batra kept the film close to the plot, but seeing it on screen changes the perspective. In the book, the loneliness is something you just read about. In the film, you have to sit there and watch it happen in real-time. It’s a lot less private.

People might call this a romance because of the trailer, but it isn't. It’s just Addie and Louis being sick of the silence in their own houses. She asks him to sleep over just to talk. "It’s not about sex, it’s about getting through the night." That's the entire deal. Loneliness isn’t something you outgrow. You learn to keep it to yourself.

Haruf’s prose is famously spare. There are no quotation marks, no excess explanation. The book moves like a single, unbroken thought. The film tries to honor that restraint by slowing everything down. Jane Fonda and Robert Redford aren't trying to look younger or act nostalgic. They look tired, like people who are done pretending. Most of the film is just them sitting in the dark, talking about their dead spouses, and the children they failed in ways that still hurt. In the book, these conversations feel almost unbearable. In the film, they feel like two people trying to stay warm, without the promise of comfort.

The town of Holt is where the difference between page and screen becomes clear. In the novel, Holt feels like a cage. You can sense the neighbors watching, measuring, waiting. It isn’t cruelty that defines the town, but regulation. Everyone is making sure loneliness is performed correctly. The film softens this pressure. Holt looks almost too beautiful, with its open landscapes and warm, golden lighting. It makes their choice feel like a personal habit rather than something the whole town is judging. Most of the friction in the film comes from family dynamics anyway. It’s more about the kids and grandkids than the town itself.

If Addie and Louis are about finding some peace at night, her son Gene is the harsh reality that hits the next morning. He brings the outside world with him. In the book, Gene is aggressive. He’s loud, manipulative, and a direct threat to the room. The film softens him into a lingering shadow. He just stares, but the pressure remains. The book makes you want to hit something, but the film drains you. It’s family guilt. You can’t really explain it, and you definitely can’t get away from it.

The trailer looks like a story about companionship, but it’s actually much colder. There’s no void being filled here. Only two people sitting in their own emptiness, side by side, finding that the dark is slightly less terrifying when you aren't alone. This story doesn't care about "the one" or big sparks. Real intimacy starts when you finally admit you're lonely. The rest can wait.

Batra and cinematographer John Toll don't need much to show this world. The camera stays still, observing Addie and Louis from a distance like a neighbor watching through a window. It makes their intimacy feel fragile, almost ordinary. The lighting tells the whole story; the cold blue of their lonely evenings slowly shifting into the warm amber of a shared bedside lamp. The warm light from the lamp isn't there to be romantic. It’s there so they aren't sitting in the dark. With nothing to drown it out, every sound comes through. The sheets, the bed creaking, and their voices. The clock keeps ticking in the background as a way of saying that this isn’t going to last. 

The ending isn't a warm hug. It simply stops where it has to. Both versions show that liking someone doesn’t undo a life already lived. The book is rough and cold. The film is softer, but the ending doesn’t change. Love doesn’t win here. It runs into family obligations, into age, into habits that can’t be rearranged this late. It’s a familiar kind of sadness. Not dramatic. Just quiet. They don’t stop because they want to. They stop because there’s nowhere left to push.

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Friday, October 18, 2019

“Life's greatest gift is the freedom it leaves you to step out of it whenever you choose.”

– Andrè Breton (Anthology of Black Humor) 

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