Aiyoh. Global chaos outside, personal catastrophe inside.
HERE comes a point in life where everything unravels – violently, ungracefully and with zero warning – like your last kuih lapis on a hot plate. Layer by messy, humiliating layer.
You lose your job, your ex resurfaces like a blocked drain after heavy rain and your car breaks down on the Federal Highway during peak hour, naturally. Your boss fires off a 4pm email in full caps – “URGENT!!!” – as if the subject line alone will resurrect your will to live.
Your child auditions for a horror film by performing a full tantrum in the middle of a shopping mall in the city centre, complete with floor routine. And that last piece of fried chicken you were saving? Gone – eaten by the legendary “I didn’t touch it” ghost who has apparently been living rent-free in your home since 2009.
Welcome, sayang, to the storm.
And not just your personal storm; the world outside is also doing the absolute most, completely unprompted. One minute you are calculating petrol budget like a responsible adult with a spreadsheet. The next, headlines are screaming about supply shocks, geopolitical tensions and the closure of the Strait of Hormuz – that suspiciously tiny stretch of water that somehow has your wallet in a chokehold.
Aiyoh. Global chaos outside, personal catastrophe inside. Double combo meal, no fries, no loyalty points and no receipt.
This is life’s little way of saying: “Oh, you thought ONE drama was enough? Cute.”
And so you have two choices: sprint around like a headless ayam screaming, “Why is this happening to me!” into the universe’s completely unbothered face. Or – channel your inner Zen, sprinkle in some Makcik-garang energy, plant yourself firmly in the eye of that storm and sip your teh-o-ais-limau like the absolute legend you were born to be.
Right then. Let Makcik walk you through it – step by magnificently passive-aggressive step.
Step 1: Acknowledge the chaos. Stop lying to yourself
Drop the “I’m fine” performance immediately. Your eye is twitching. Your soul has not just left the chat – it has blocked the number, deleted the app and moved to Langkawi. You are NOT fine and everyone can see it, babe.
It is perfectly acceptable to declare: “I am overwhelmed. This is too much. If one more person asks me when I’m free, I will become a person of concern.”
Even global markets don’t pretend everything is rosy when major shipping routes get threatened – so why are you sitting there telling people your completely collapsing schedule is “manageable”? Acknowledge the storm. You cannot bail water if you are still insisting the boat isn’t sinking.
Step 2: Breathe like you just dodged your mum’s flying selipar
Inhale – four counts. Hold – four counts. Exhale – six counts, nice and slow.
Breathe out the unpaid bills, the toxic people, the passive-aggressive colleagues who reply all for sport and the fuel prices that naik every time you have just filled your tank. This won’t fix your problems but it will stop you from becoming the problem. We have enough breaking news already, thank you.
Step 3: Choose your response. Not your unhinged reaction
Resist the urge for the full telenovela collapse – dramatic hand to forehead, slow-slide down the wall, everything. Instead, pause, breathe and ask yourself what actually needs doing right now versus what can wait until your blood pressure is below category five.
Even nations don’t react blindly when things go sideways at the Strait of Hormuz. They assess, strategise and move deliberately. You can do exactly the same – minus the press conference – plus nasi lemak. Come back when you are human again.
Step 4: Do NOT catch other people’s panic. It is not yours
People will arrive at your door – emotionally flapping, dramatically monologuing, full “What-are-we-going-to-do” energy.
Listen carefully: just because someone lobs their panic at you does not mean you are obligated to catch it. You are not a buy-one-free-one deal for existential crises.
Smile, nod, offer tissues and maintain your composure like a duck – serene on the surface, legs going absolutely berserk underneath but face? Calm. Cute. Unbothered.
You are not everyone’s emotional recycle bin, okay? Okay.
Step 5: Laugh, cackle, even. It is genuinely that absurd
Your car is dead, your cat peed in your shoes, your ceiling is auditioning for Titanic 2 and petrol prices are apparently doing CrossFit. At this point, the only dignified response is to laugh – loudly, witchily, like someone who has seen things and survived them anyway. Storms cannot fully conquer a person who still finds the whole situation completely ridiculous. That is not weakness; that is power, darling.
Step 6: Protect your peace like it is the last serving of sambal tumis
Peace is not stumbled upon; it is built, guarded and defended with ferocity. So, say no, cancel the plan and mute the group chat – especially the one with 47 unread forwarded voice notes. Ignore the fifth cousin requesting a “small loan” while your own budget is doing yoga stretches just to survive the month.
Even the world’s most critical shipping routes have boundaries. Don’t let people turn you into an open port for absolute nonsense.
Step 7: This storm will pass. It always does
Yes, yes – it is on the motivational mug, the Facebook poster and your auntie’s WhatsApp status with the sunrise emoji. But it is true, no storm has lasted forever – not in nature, not in geopolitics and not in your life.
You have survived 100% of your worst days to date. Look at you. Still standing. Still sarcastic. Still fabulous, somehow.
This one? You’ll get through it too. Possibly with mismatched socks, mascara down your face and zero grace whatsoever – but you will get through it.
Being calm doesn’t mean being emotionless. It means being focused when everything is on fire around you.
It means being the Makcik at the warung who still wipes the table with full commitment even though there is a screaming baby, a broken kipas, no more cooking gas and petrol prices have just naik again, purely for dramatic effect.
You are the calm. You are the eye of the storm. And also, when absolutely necessary, the thunder.
Now sit up straight, adjust your crown (or tudung, whatever applies) and take on this glorious mess – calmly, stylishly and with a side-eye that could stop traffic.
Sekian. Storm on – but make it fabulous.
Azura Abas is the executive editor of theSun.
Comments: letters@thesundaily.com