Nadhirah Rizal: 2026

somewhere in august 2025: my first MyBar Games 🏸

Flashback to MyBar Games 2025

I came as the only chambee representing Pahang Bar and was chosen to play mixed doubles against Selangor Bar and Terengganu Bar.

This wasn't just another game for me.

I chose academics back in 2016 and stepped away from my school badminton team and any badminton tournaments. It wasn't because I stopped loving the sport. I wanted to focus on my studies. To grow in a different direction.

I still played badminton regularly just for fun since then. No tournaments, no big competitions. Merely because there is also something I couldn't share here, but ytjt :)

For years, that was enough.

Then came the interbatch faculty game in late 2024. This was my first small step back to competition.

And in 2025, I was given an opportunity to join MyBar Games as a pupil.

It wasn't a perfect comeback. To me, it was not about winning. It was about showing up. About remembering that passion doesn't disappear, even if it rests for a while.

Though I lost my match, Pahang Bar placed 3rd in Team A and 5th out of 9 states.

I regret nothing. I met good people, I laughed, and I felt the excitement of competition again.

Thankful for my captain of the badminton team for Pahang Bar, for giving me this precious opportunity to join the game :)

To Dani, Far, and Najwa, who came to support me on game day, thank you for surprising me with an early birthday cake that night. Two days early, but it made the day sweeter :)

To me, sportsmanship means accepting the result and still respecting the game. Passion means coming back, even after years away.

I may not be the sporty girl I once imagined, but I am someone who keeps trying :>

And that matters.

Love, Nadhirah Rizal⋆

Pahang Bar Badminton Team 🏸💖

Girlssss :) 💋❤

a screenshot from my vlog

trying to calm my nerves la konon ahahaha

a lil training sess before game with my partner for mixed doubles

this was with selangor bar if i'm not mistaken

warm up before phg bar vs tganu bar

we were given free unlimited zussss 😋

with dani, naj and far <3

post-game: me dani and naj went hung out to kill time before dinner

we tried hejau and it was 6.5/10 for me :>

rushed back to our airbnb to get ready for dinner, but this Petaling sunset got me paused for a moment 🤩

post game dinner 🥂

Pahang Bar PingPong Team got 1st place 🤩😋

at Dani's. they surprised me with these cakes 🤗

next morning, I woke up very early and decided to have one last breakfast with them at Tingkap Cafe 🥲 food was really good!

then, balik Kuantan :")

5:00 PM
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one year ago today, i left a place i once called home

down the lane

23.02.2025.

Exactly one year ago today, I moved out of my first rented house in Shah Alam. I stayed there from October 2022 until February 2025. Almost two and a half years. Long enough for it to stop feeling temporary. Long enough for it to shape me.

When I first moved in, I wasn't alone. I had a roommate, someone who felt more like a sister than just a friend, my best friend 🍑. Adjusting felt less frightening because we were doing it together. We did not just share a room, we shared stories, stress, inside jokes, recipes (hehe), and quiet support during hard days. I'm not gonna lie, her presence in the room cured my homesickness even if just a little bit.

And around us were other housemates, once strangers, living in the other rooms. We didn't start as a family. We started as people simply sharing a house. But slowly, through shared kitchens, borrowed items, random late-night conversations, games and movie nights, laughter, passive-aggressive jokes, misunderstandings and reconciliations, they became part of my daily life. They become familiar. They became my safe place there in Shah Alam.

Then my roommate graduated.

And so the room became quieter.

From late 2023 until Feb 2025, it was just me in that space. That was when the attachment deepened.

Because that room saw me alone. Truly alone. No family. No roommate. Just me figuring life out day by day. I learned how to sit with my own thoughts. How to calm myself down after a hard day. How to motivate myself when no one was physically available to do it for me.

It stopped being just a rented room.

It became mine.

When I first decorated it, I tried to make it look like my room in Kuantan. I placed my things in familiar ways. I was homesick more than I admitted. I wanted something that resembled home so that I wouldn't feel so displaced.

Slowly, it wasn't just a copy of home anymore. It became its own version of home.

It became the place I would return to after long days of classes. The place where I could close the door and not explain myself to anyone. Where I could cry without worrying if my parents would hear. Where I could sit in silence and just think.

That room witnessed my jatuh bangun.

The nights I cried over performances and friendships until I fell asleep.

The days I felt strong, in control, and independent.

The moments my heart broke once or twice within those walls.

The times I questioned myself whether I was doing enough, being enough.

The quiet victories no one else saw.

It held every version of me.

It was also the place of so many first times.

My first time cooking proper actual meals.

My first time buying groceries for myself.

My first time navigating the city by myself.

My first time handling breakfowns without immediately calling home.

My first time realising that I could actually survive on my own when I am away from my family.

There were so many firsts in that house that I didn't even realise I was growing while it was happening.

my favourite sunset picture I took from the apartment <3

And outside that room, there was a whole world I didn't realise I would grow attached to.

Almost every Friday, I would walk to the pasar malam just to get my usual taufufa. It became a small ritual, something simple to look forward to after a long week. I can still recall the familiar taste that somehow felt comforting. Because it reminded me a lot of my home in Kuantan.

There were the usual sidewalks I walked on to and from classes. The same route, almost every day (until I started taking Grabs instead of buses). I knew which parts were shaded. Which spots would flood slightly after rain. Which turns felt longer when I was exhausted.

Behind the apartment, there was the KTM railway track. Almost every evening when I didn't have night class, if I felt bored or overwhelmed, I would stand by the kitchen window while cooking dinner and just stare outside. I would watch the sky change colours. The small playground downstairs, where kids played football. Sometimes random people from different block arguing loudly in the distance. And then the sound of the train passing by.

That sound became part of my routine. Part of my quiet.

There was a stray dog I named Goldie because his fur was golden and he looked like a golden retriever. I would see him wandering around the apartment area like he belonged there. I think about him often now. Is he still there? Still alive?

There were the stray cats we used to feed too. I wonder if they are still around.

The grocery store nearby that sold things cheaper every Sunday. The flower shop I randomly stopped by, not even to buy anything most of the time, just to look. Just to pause for a moment.

Did everything continue as usual after I left?

Because when I left, life there didn't pause. The pasar malam still opens on Fridays. The market probably still sells cheaper groceries on Sundays. The flower shop still arranges new bouquets. The train still passes every evening. Goldie probably still walks around like nothing changed.

But it's been a year since I left.

I am no longer part of that scenery.

On the night I moved out, I carried my belongings down bit by bit. Clothes, books, decorations. Removing everything that once made the room feel alive. When everything was already in the car, I went back upstairs one last time.

The room was empty. Except for the wardrobe I left behind for whoever comes after me.

No bed on the floor. No bookshelves. No decorations on the wall. No familiar mess. No warmth. Just plain walls, silence and darkness.

It didn't look like my room anymore.

And that was when it hurt.

But honestly, I didn't cry as much that night as I did later in the car on my way back to Kuantan after my convocation day in November 2025. That, was tragic. Because I knew, that was the real closure.

Now I am here in Kuantan, back for good. I have my own room here. I always did. But whenever life feels overwhelming at home, whenever I feel misunderstood or tired, I miss that room in Shah Alam deeply.

Not because life there was easier. It wasn't.

Or maybe it was.

But because that room represented a version of me who was figuring life out on her own. A version of me who had the space to break down privately and build herself back up quietly.

I found myself there.

I lost myself there.

And I found myself again.

That may be why it feels heavy.

Because sometimes I don't just miss a place.

I miss the routines.

The sounds.

The small rituals.

The version of myself that only existed there.

And maybe that's what makes it unforgettable.

Love, 23.02.2026 Nadhirah Rizal⋆

the usual sidewalk

I took this picture when I got back home after evening class, cuz it felt nostalgic at that time

my study table's state, in my very last weeks before I moved out ;')

sunrise from the bus stop :>

again, cuz it felt nostalgic. this is the window at the kitchen (I was cooking dinner when I captured this)

straight view from the kitchen window (where we can see the train passing by)

the upstairs neighbour's cat that sneaked into my room through my room's window when I took a nap (the owner told me the name is Meimei)

another sunset picture from my level <3

sunset captured on my way walking to pasar malam

my very first time taking a train, and all by myself

my favourite stray cat that I always feed. he loves my sardines.

the name is Oyen Pu, full name is Oyen Pudar (I named him oyen pudar cuz my housemate and I used to foster the other Oyen, yang pekat colour dia haha)

one of a few sweet treats when I have a rough day :>

*additional* this is Panda, my sleeping partner :P

P.S. There are more memories I keep close to my heart, these are just the ones I can share here :)

5:00 PM
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it feels scary because it is unfamiliar

chambering

I've been meaning to write this for a while. Longer than I'd like to admit.

My short call was on 30 October 2025. But the road to that date wasn't straightforward.

There was an amendment to my Borang 2. In May 2025, a new amendment came into effect requiring pupils to file Borang 3, 4 & 5 within 30 days from the filing of Borang 1. I was well aware of this amendment. I started my pupillage in June. But by the time my hearing for the amendment of Borang 2 took place, it was exactly 30 days from the date of my B1. Naturally, that 30-day window had already lapsed.

So the moment the hearing was concluded and I obtained my PSP, I filed B345 immediately. Not long after that, I was given my short call date to be on 30 October 2025.

On paper, it worked out. Emotionally, it didn't feel that simple tbh.

I was anxious. I kept thinking I was late. Late compared to others. Late to gain experience. Late to appear in court on my own. And this is where I went wrong: comparing my pace to everyone else's. Still, the feelings were real. I worried that I didn't have enough time to learn, to observe, to prepare myself for what comes after the short call. It felt like everyone else was already moving, while I was still trying to catch up.

I've always been to court. I've sat in, observed, followed my master and the LA for hearings and submissions. But watching from the side and standing there on your own are two different experiences.

Then came 26 November 2025, my first appearance in court after my short call, handling matters on my own, with the help of my favourite LA from our firm. It was in chambers. And sitting there, I realised the fear was never about lack of exposure. It was about ownership. This time, I brought this case. The file was mine. The silence, the questions, the outcome, it rested on me. Haha nothing dramatic happened. But something in me shifted quietly.

I realised that unfamiliar doesn't mean unprepared. And taking a longer route doesn't mean I'm behind. It just means I arrived when I was meant to.

Both dates felt scary for the same reason. Not because I didn't belong, but because I was stepping forward instead of standing beside someone else.

Maybe growth isn't about feeling confident before you're ready. Maybe it's about taking that step anyway.

And for now, that is enough.

Love, Nadhirah Rizal⋆

The only pictures I took on my short call day 😐 (I lost pictures on my first appearance huhu):

3:19 PM
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the faintest ink is better than the strongest memory

featured

Growing up, I've always been a girl who loves to write. Maybe it's because my mother taught me to. She has always loved buying me books, be it diaries, sketchbooks, notebooks or even log books for me to collect biodata of people around me. She never stopped encouraging me to write, to express, to be honest with myself through words. And I did. I learned that writing makes me feel lighter. It's like putting the heavy parts of your heart somewhere safe, somewhere you can revisit when you're ready.

During my school years, my teachers also encouraged this habit. Every Monday assembly, no... basically every day, we had to bring a notebook to jot down whatever was said. It could be something important, or completely random, but the rule was simple: catat apa yang awak dengar. Sometimes I'd doodle instead, but most of the time I'd write.. words, phrases, announcements, anything that I heard that stuck in my head.

Then, one day, a teacher from high school said something that really stayed with me:

"Write everything. Your thoughts, your tasks, your goals. So that you can see them."

And I've held on to that since. Because when you write, you're not just remembering. You're freeing your mind. You don't have to carry everything inside your head. Some things deserve to be written down so that you can focus on what's in front of you. Writing, to me, is a way of letting your mind breathe. It's also a way to mark moments...like..like a 'witness'(?) or exhibit that you were once there, that you existed, that you lived.

Then I entered my foundation year in law school. I still remember one lecturer telling us that law requires a lot of writing. I smiled when I heard that, because I've always believed that law and writing go hand in hand. Everything in law starts from words... a contract, a judgement, a letter. All of them begin with writing.

But when I entered my professional year, I met a lecturer who believed otherwise. I still remember the moment clearly. My classmates and I were taking notes in that lecturer's class when they suddenly said, "No, put your pens down. There's nothing to jot down here. I don't want to see anyone writing in my class. As a lawyer, use your brain to remember." I froze for a while because what she said went against everything I believed in and was taught. I thought they only said that during that particular day of our class, but nope. That's just their way of teaching. Honestly, I understood what she meant, that a lawyer should train their mind to think quickly and remember details without relying too much on notes. But at the same time, I couldn't fully agree. Merely because the concept of not wanting to see a single note taking to me is just not it... for a student.

We are human. We are not machines, not robots, nor AI. We cannot possibly store everything in our heads. There was a point where I actually tried to follow her advice. I stopped writing, I stopped taking notes, I tried to rely only on my brain. But at the end of the day, I felt burnt out. I couldn't see my own trail. I knew what I did, but I couldn't see it. There were no footprints, no words, no reflection to go back to. I just moved forward without remembering much how far I'd come.

And recently, something happened that reminded me of why I believe so strongly in writing. A client angrily gave us a call asking about the progress for some sort of her case from 2016. I had no idea or anything about it as I was still in high school back in 2016. I was the one who picked up the call, so I couldn't help her much, but I did follow up with my master later. Later, my master asked me to find a file from 2016, a case involving a land grant. But after we found the file, the grant wasn't there. Nobody could remember exactly what happened, or where it went, or whether the client took it back. And in that moment, I thought: this is why documentation matters.

A simple note, even just one line. 'Client submitted land grant on yada yada' could have saved hours of searching and guessing (metaphor only hihi). It's such a small thing, but it makes a huge difference. But yknow what, the land grant ended up being in another firm's possession huhu, not us. This incident reminded me that when I become a lawyer (officially soon), I want to write things down, every single thing. It doesn't matter how small it is, what documents the client gave, what they collected back, what was discussed, or what was done. Because one day, those small things might matter.

Iknow some people say that writing doesn't mean anything in the end. That once you're gone, your words can't even stand as evidence in court. And I know that. But to me, that's not the whole point. I don't write for others. I write for myself. As long as I live, my words belong to me. They remind me of what I've been through, what I've done, and who I am becoming.

Maybe it's because I was raised by a mother who believes in the power of words, or maybe it's because I know how easily we forget. But I've always believed that every word written is a footprint, a quiet proof that you've lived.

So yes, my lecturer wasn't entirely wrong. A lawyer must train their mind to think and remember. But I still believe that even the sharpest mind needs somewhere to rest. Writing gives that rest. Because writing is not just about remembering, it's about being. And as long as I live, I'll keep writing.

After all, there's an old Chinese proverb that says, "The faintest ink is better than the strongest memory." And I couldn't agree more.

Love, Nadhirah Rizal⋆