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When Ordinary Stopped Looking Ordinary
For most of my childhood, cigarettes were simply part of the scenery. They were everywhere—family gatherings, restaurants, bus stops, university campuses. Someone was almost always smoking, and everyone else was breathing the smoke. That was simply how life looked. I didn’t like cigarettes. I hated the smell, and as a child I had a rather creative solution to the problem. I thought someone should invent a smoker’s helmet—a fully enclosed helmet that kept every puff of smoke inside so the smoker could enjoy it while the rest of us enjoyed fresh air. I was quite convinced it was a brilliant invention. Sadly, no one seemed interested in investing. But if…
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The Woman Who Read Tess Gerritsen
“Years later, we don’t only remember the stories. We remember who we were when we first turned the page.” A Familiar Name in an American Bookstore There are authors we enjoy for a season. And then there are authors who quietly accompany us through life. For me, that author was Tess Gerritsen. For years, I thought my story with her books began in 2005, during my first trip to the United States after getting married. My husband took me to what was, to us, the perfect place to spend an afternoon: a bookstore. I can’t even remember whether it was Borders or Barnes & Noble now. I only remember the…
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The Books That Built Me
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We All Smelled Like Cigarettes Anyway
Growing Up Around Smokers in Indonesia There are certain smells that instantly transport you back to childhood. Fresh rain. Old books. Fried noodles from a roadside stall. Cajuput oil. And then there is cigarette smoke. Not because I wanted to remember it. It was simply… everywhere. Growing up in Indonesia in the 1980s and 1990s, I don’t remember anyone asking whether smoking was allowed. There was always somebody smoking—a father, an uncle, the neighbour, the man waiting for the bus, a wedding guest, someone at the family gathering, or a stranger in a restaurant. Sometimes I think even the ashtrays had ashtrays. My own father smoked. Some of my friends…
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MacGyver, Quantum Leap, and My Wildly Unqualified Childhood Confidence
I sometimes think old television gave children from the 80s and 90s an unreasonable amount of confidence 😭 MacGyver made us believe intelligence could solve almost anything using: a paperclip, duct tape, and emotional determination. Knight Rider convinced us that the future would obviously include emotionally supportive talking cars. Airwolf somehow made helicopters feel deeply dramatic and spiritually important. And Quantum Leap? Quantum Leap convinced me that time travel was not only possible, but emotionally manageable. Which is how childhood me ended up creating an entire imaginary storyline about becoming a time traveler accidentally stranded in the Wild West. Naturally, I adapted extremely well. I became a cowgirl. I learned…
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An Example of My Jumbled Mind (The Forty-Tab Brain)
I talk a lot about having “forty tabs open,” but let’s be real—it isn’t just about being busy. It’s a survival mission that lives entirely inside my head. And look, I’m not trying to make myself sound like the center of the universe. I know, deep down, that life would go on even without me. The world doesn’t stop because a mom takes a break. I also don’t want to belittle the massive part my husband and kids play in keeping this family moving—they are the ones spinning the wheels every day. But even when the wheels are rotating perfectly, the mental load is just… there. It’s the invisible architecture.…
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The Trail I’m Leaving Behind
I really have to share why I started Barakah Roots—not as a “brand” or a project, but so you can understand why I am here, opening up my house and my head to you. I was born in 1981. I’m a child of that bridge generation—the ones who remember the silence of a house before the internet lived in our pockets. Now, it’s 2026. I live in Sharjah, managing a house of twelve. Ten children. A multicultural marriage where we are constantly translating our very souls across different languages and unspoken codes. Most days, I am the logistics officer for a small army. My mind is a Forty-Tab Brain. I’m…
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Hijabi’s Path to Jane Austen’s Longbourn
It might seem like a stretch. What does a 19th-century Englishwoman—preoccupied with balls, bonnets, and social standing—have to do with a 21st-century Muslim mother of ten in the UAE? On the surface, our worlds are oceans apart. But when I open a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice, I don’t feel like I’m reading about a stranger. I feel like I’m looking into a mirror. The Path Through the Woods I’ll admit, my love for Austen didn’t start with the dense, original prose. English is not my first language, and the intricate, looping sentences of the 1800s were a challenge to grasp. I took the scenic route. I started with…
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The 10:00 AM Ramadan Heist
We like to think of our childhood memories as deeply spiritual milestones. But if I’m being truly honest? One of my most vivid Ramadan memories involves a storage room, a locked door, and a very poorly timed snack. I wasn’t even hungry. That’s the funny part. It was only 10:00 AM. But the house was quiet, the day felt long, and I was… bored. And in the mind of an eight-year-old, the best cure for boredom is a forbidden banana. I remember the strategy. I snatched the fruit and made a run for the storage room—that dark sanctuary of old suitcases and dust. I didn’t just hide; I locked the…
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My TV Memory Lane, from Oshin to Si Komo
Memory is a funny thing. When I look back at my childhood in Indonesia, I often lump all my favorite shows into one giant, sunny morning. But if I’m being honest, they didn’t all happen at once. They were a patchwork—some were for Sunday mornings, some were for rainy Tuesday afternoons, some for those times after school, and others were the quiet, heavy dramas we watched with our parents in the evening. They didn’t just occupy a timeslot; they occupied different seasons of my soul. Oshin Taught Me About The Lessons of Resilience: If I think about my very first “telenovela” experience, it wasn’t a glitzy soap opera. It was…
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The Books That Built Me
Before I was a mother of ten in Sharjah, I was just a girl in Indonesia with a book in my hand… and a very specific obsession. British stories. I know exactly how it started. My paternal grandfather and grandmother were the ones who paved the way. I still remember my first encyclopedia; my grandmother bought it from a walking salesgirl who came to our door every month for a year. My grandma paid for it in installments—month by month, page by page—investing in my mind before I even knew what a “future” was. Then there was the time in Grade 2. I had broken my arm at school and…
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The Woman Who Read Tess Gerritsen
