(Inspired by “Second Chance” episode by Pancatera)

    Now when I look back, I realize that for the past ten years, I was almost always sad. It’s a strange thing to admit because if you were to look at me back then, you’d see someone who smiled often and carried herself as if everything was fine. But deep inside, even in moments that looked like happiness, there was always a quiet sadness that never truly left me.

    It felt like I was living in a constant state of waiting: waiting for the day all the pain would finally make sense. I kept believing that if I was suffering this much, then surely, something extraordinary must be waiting for me ahead. That one day, I’d be able to say, “Ah, this is why I had to go through all of that.”. I imagined some kind of poetic fate: that I would rise from all the hardships with a heart full of smiles, stepping into days that finally felt beautiful.

    But life didn’t unfold that way. There was no fairy tale-like plot, no grand revelation, no sudden rescue, no miracle ending. Instead, unexpectedly, I fell even deeper. It was as if I kept walking through a tunnel that only grew darker and narrower. Until one day, I couldn’t see any light at all. It felt endless, as though the sun had simply forgotten I existed.

    So, I stopped walking. I stopped trying to find my way out. Maybe, I thought, this is just how my life is meant to be: an unending stretch of endurance. Perhaps the happiness stock in my life had simply run out. Maybe I had used up all the joy I was ever meant to have. The older I got, the more I believed it so I just learned to live with pain quietly.

    At my lowest point, when everything inside me felt too heavy to bear, I decided to go to the one place where my heart might finally find rest: the house of Allah. I thought, if there’s anywhere on earth where I am the most seen, heard, and understood, it must be there. So I packed my things, and with a weary soul, I went to perform umroh.

    I still remember telling my friend at the airport, with teary eyes, “My life feels so bitter. I hope I’ll come back feeling better.”. But, deep down I didn’t even go with big expectations. I only wanted to tell Him everything: the sorrows that had been sitting inside me for years, too deep to explain to anyone else. In front of the Ka’bah, I cried in a way I hadn’t cried before, out of surrender. I told Him how tired I was of being strong. How I no longer knew how to be hopeful after a series of pitiful life events. How I wanted to believe that I could still have a gentle life, even if I couldn’t see it yet.

    And then, something heartwarming appeared before my eyes. My roommates were three women in their 50s and 60s, best friends who came together to perform umroh. They were devoted in their worship, yet they also carried such lightness in their hearts. They prayed with tears, but also laughed with joy. They teased each other, shared snacks, and told stories about their families and lives with warmth that filled the room.

    Watching them, something soft flickered inside me. Seeing their happiness, it was the first time in a long while that I thought, “Maybe I can be like that someday.” Maybe I can also grow older and still find reasons to smile. Maybe my life’s happiness hasn’t run out after all. Maybe there are still things to look forward to: moments yet to come, people yet to meet, memories yet to be made.

    Maybe my happiness isn’t the bright sun constantly shining over me, but a collection of small candles along the way: the heart that slowly accepts Allah's decree, the people I encounter, the little kindnesses I receive, the warm words that breaks through a tired heart. They are the lights from Allah that reminds me that even in darkness, there are still reasons to keep walking.

    So now, I want to give myself a second chance: a second chance to live. To stop merely surviving and start feeling again. To stop blaming myself for everything happened in my life. To stop rushing toward a future that must “make sense,” and start appreciating the small pieces of joy that already surround me.

    Also a second chance to forgive myself, for my failures to make my late parents happy, for being heavily lacking, for not healing fast enough, for feeling lost, for being sad almost all the time. A second chance to believe that Allah has never forgotten me, even in the moments I thought He did. While others might walk under the bright sun and enjoy the scenery effortlessly, I’ll learn to cherish the small candles I find along the way in this tunnel.

    I will heal insyaAllah. With time, with patience, with faith, and with every small step forward, I will heal. Someday I will find myself smiling from the heart again. Someday, I will perform umroh again, with a better condition, with a heart full of gratitude insyaAllah.

----------

    I remember a reel by Putri Ratu Balqist that appeared on my Instagram’s explore tab. She narrated: When I talk “I don’t want to get married. Besides, I never deserved to be loved by anyone.”...... but I cry in Madinah.

    And I felt that deeply. Not necessarily just about marriage, but I also often told myself I didn’t expect anything anymore. I found it hard to stay hopeful with this broken-into-pieces heart of mine. But I cried in Madinah because deep down, I realized it's not I don't want to hope. I just think I don't deserve it. I think Allah is extremely kind but I just don't deserve it.

(Inspired by “Sore: Istri Dari Masa Depan” (Sore, Wife from The Future), a movie by Yandy Laurens)

If one day I wake up and find someone next to me claiming to be my husband from the future, I think I would be stunned into silence. Not because I don’t want to believe it, but because deep down, I’ve never been so sure that I would actually find him. And yet, if he did appear, my first words would probably be: “Are you really my husband from the future?”

I would want to know what made him decide to come back to this very moment. Did he want to bring me a message? A warning? A glimpse of what’s waiting ahead? Or perhaps a gentle guidance on the things I should change, so that one day, I will carry fewer regrets.

But first of all, let me ask about the dark cloud that is hanging over me.

Do I still look the same: someone who hides misery behind her smile? Has the sadness that once weighed so heavily on my heart finally softened with time? Do tears still wait quietly in the corners of my eyes, ready to fall at the smallest trigger? Does my breathing still feel heavy from grief, or have I finally learned to breathe freely again? The deep pain I’ve carried for several months, tell me, has it healed?

And then, what about the life we’ll share? What kind of wedding will it be for someone like me, who has never been able to picture herself in a wedding dress? What kind of family will we build together?  What kind of home will we call ours? Will it have a small backyard garden, like the one I’ve always dreamed of?

Of course, I know he might not give me any answers. Maybe he would just smile, keeping the future a mystery. Maybe that’s how it’s meant to be, because some journeys are not meant to be spoiled in advance, but lived, step by step. And that’s okay. Because just knowing he exists, knowing that somewhere out there, someone is destined for me, would already be enough to make my heart a little lighter. I would carry that thought with me: that I am not walking toward nothing, but toward someone.

So thank you for existing. Thank you for letting the current me know that you exist. I have a lot of shortcomings, so please treat me with patience, understanding, and mercy. And I promise, when our paths finally cross, I will take good care of you, too. For now, let’s pray for each other until the day our prayers are answered in each other’s presence.

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(I write this today on my late mom’s birthday. Her last wish was to see me get married. I am deeply sorry that I couldn’t make it happen while you were still here. That regret still weighs on me every now and then. I pray that your wish, though delayed, still found its way to me. I will sincerely pray about it.)

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P.S.: It took me 5 months to finally be able to write again. Hello, everyone. I hope you and your loved ones are doing well. 

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image source: idntimes.com

“Please come home now. Your dad and mom faced a misfortune.”

My heart stopped. This is the moment every child living far from home fears the most: the call that asks you to come back, but not from the voices of your parents. The call that shatters the illusion that there will always be more time.

I rushed home in tears, my hands trembling as I clutched my ticket, my breath uneven as I boarded the train. The journey stretched endlessly, each mile carrying me closer to a reality I could not bear to face. I pressed my forehead against the cold window, silently pleading: please, let this be a mistake. Please Ya Allah, I beg you.

But it wasn’t.

I arrived home to find two lifeless bodies lying in the living room. My parents, who once filled this home with laughter and warmth, were now covered in white shrouds.

Time stopped. My world stopped. I wanted to wake up, but this nightmare was infuriatingly real. As I walked closer to their corpses, these thoughts ran through my mind: How am I supposed to continue life without their voices calling my name? Without their prayers in every step I take? Without their hands, once so strong, now forever still?

I tried to console myself with words meant to offer comfort:

“Someone’s fate, including their death, is already decided 50.000 years before the world was created. Please accept it.”

“Your parents were taken in such a beautiful way, you couldn’t ask for better. You should be patient.”

“No matter how much you cry, they will not come back. Please be strong.”

“Hold yourself together. Your younger brother needs you to be someone to comfort him.”

But nothing could reach me. Nothing could make this hurt less. All I thought was: I am supposed to continue life after this? Isn’t it too impossible with the heart that will carry great pain all my life? Also how? Someone should tell me how to continue life after something so heartbreaking like this.

I thought, maybe with time, the pain would dull. That grief would grow tired of tormenting me. But days passed, and I remained numb. I still cried even when I told myself to let it go because there was nothing I can’t do anymore to bring them back. I moved through life as if in a fog, my body present but my soul somewhere else, somewhere still clinging to the past, still reaching for hands that would never again hold mine.

As I couldn’t rewind time, I would try to do everything I could do, including saying the words I never said. Here are the words I’ve been wanting to tell you both, Mom and Dad. I regret that I couldn’t say them while staring at your eyes:

Mom and Dad, even if I could choose my fate, I would still choose to be your daughter a thousand times over. I asked Allah to make me yours not once, but twice: here in this world and in the hereafter. Forgive me for every time I failed you, for every hardship I unknowingly caused. Forgive me for being difficult when all you ever gave me was love. I regret every unspoken thank you, every moment I took for granted, every time I thought we had more time. Thank you for raising me, for giving me all that you had, for being my home. I witnessed that you two had done your best. I pray you both have a beautiful life there.  

Until we meet again in the hereafter. 

Love,

iim

I watch him the way one watches the sea: awed, yet knowing that they can never be part of its vastness. He moves through the world like sunlight breaking through leaves, warm and kind, never failing to bring light to those around him. Even in his quiet moments, I can see it: the way his life must be filled with calm laughter, effortless joy, with a world that welcomes him with open arms. I imagine his path, lined with flowers, that he could carry himself with ease.

I have spent years wondering what it would feel like to belong in his world. To hear his stories, not as an insignificant outsider, but as someone he chooses. However, as someone with a cloud hanging over her head, I have always known that I do not belong there. I know that he deserves a woman with light in her eyes, someone who mirrors the beauty he carries. He deserves someone whose voice sparkles with optimism when she speaks of dreams. He should be with someone whose steps match his own, someone who walks beside him on a path just as beautiful as his.

He deserves a love that is radiant, uncomplicated, and full of life—everything I am not.

But if I can erase the stark contrast, I want to be someone he dearly calls home. I hope he will be looking forward to coming home because I am his safe space. I want to be the person he turns to when the world feels too heavy. How I wish coming home for him meant meeting someone who understands even the things he does not say. How I yearn that, when the day fades, he would find solace in sharing what happened with me over an afternoon tea. How I wish that even on his toughest days, he would smile at the thought of the deep conversations we would have after long hours of exhaustion.

But I know he wouldn’t want to come home to someone whose life is complicated like me. I am sure he doesn't want to spend his lively life with someone whose life is as dull as mine. 

Therefore, I will keep my distance so I don’t burden him. Instead, I will silently pray for him, asking for nothing in return. I hope he will spend his life with someone as bright as he is. I hope that person gives him a life as beautiful as the one he deserves. And when that day comes, when I see him happy, I will smile. Even as my heart breaks, I will definitely be pleased. Because if he is happy, then that is enough. That is also a sort of happy ending for me.

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The title is inspired by a letter in the Thai drama "My Cherie Amour". In the letter, the main character wrote, "I'm not sure if you would want to spend your exciting and joyful life with such a boring person like me,". 

(As always, it's labeled fiction because it is fiction)

Malam itu, jemariku berkelana di antara kumpulan catatan di ponsel. Di antaranya, aku menemukan secarik tulisan yang kubuat tepat di hari pertama tahun ini. Biasanya, aku menuliskan beberapa target di awal tahun, tetapi kali ini hanya ada satu kalimat:

"Berikan waktu kepada Sang Pemilik Waktu."

Jari-jariku yang semula lincah terhenti. Apa yang terjadi saat aku menuliskan kalimat itu? Apakah aku sedang bersedih atau justru berbahagia? Aku mencoba mengingat kembali momen itu. Tak lama kemudian, aku tersenyum. Aku teringat rasa lega dan hangat yang memenuhi hati mengetik kalimat itu.

****

Di suatu subuh di bulan Maret 2024, aku tersentak oleh sensasi dunia berputar begitu cepat. Sejak saat itu, keseimbanganku seolah menghilang. Saat berjalan, aku merasa hendak terjatuh. Saat berdiam, aku merasa badanku berguncang. Setiap pagi, aku terbangun dengan kelelahan yang mendera dan kekhawatiran yang tak kunjung reda. Hari-hari berlalu dalam tatapan kosong, seolah dunia yang kupijak sedang menelantarkanku.

Lambat laun, aku mulai lelah menunggu pemulihan.

"Apakah ada kemungkinan jika saya tidak akan pernah sembuh, Dok?" tanyaku suatu sore, di kunjungan yang kesekian, dengan suara yang lemah.

Dokter itu mengerutkan kening, mencoba memahami arah pertanyaanku.

"Jika memang demikian, saya ingin belajar menerima vertigo ini sebagai bagian permanen dalam hidup saya." Aku bahkan tak tahu berapa banyak energi yang telah kuhabiskan hanya untuk bisa mengucapkan kalimat itu dengan tenang.

Tatapan dokter yang biasanya lembut kini semakin melunak. Ia menepuk pundakku perlahan dan berujar, "Kamu pasti sembuh. Percaya bahwa kamu pasti bisa sembuh. InsyaAllah."

Namun, entah mengapa, kata-kata yang seharusnya menggelar harapan itu terdengar seperti penghiburan semata. Aku tersenyum pahit. Setelah berbulan-bulan berada dalam lorong panjang yang gelap, aku tak lagi bisa melihat di mana ujungnya. Aku mulai kehilangan kepercayaan bahwa aku ditakdirkan untuk pulih, tidak bahkan setelah waktu yang panjang berlalu.

Sebagai seseorang yang kerap merasa waktu membiarkannya terbengkalai, aku mulai terbiasa tidak berharap banyak. Setelah lebih dari satu dekade dipenuhi pertanyaan tentang kapan masa-masa yang kuharapkan tiba, kini aku hanya ingin berdamai. Hati yang dulu dipenuhi keraguan: "Pasti datangkah semua yang ditunggu?" seperti dalam puisi Sapardi Djoko Damono, kini tak lagi terlalu menunggu. Batin yang dulu resah: "I used to think that I couldn't find it for my entire life. The world is very big and I walked it slowly," seperti ujar Bolin Shijiang, kini tak lagi begitu mencari.

Aku tersadar bahwa menanti dengan harapan jauh lebih berat ketimbang tanpa berharap. Maka, aku berhenti bertanya dan memilih menerima bahwa mungkin, tak semua orang mendapatkan apa yang mereka perjuangkan. Aku mulai berbisik pada diriku sendiri, "Mungkin memang begini hidupku selamanya.".

Sampai akhirnya, di suatu hari di bulan November 2024, aku mencoba bersujud, sesuatu yang berbulan-bulan tak bisa kulakukan tanpa dunia terasa berputar begitu kencang. Aku bisa melakukannya. BPPV (Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo) yang sekian lama menggelayuti langkahku perlahan mulai membaik. Air mata jatuh tanpa bisa kutahan. Aku menyadari bahwa Sang Pemilik Waktu hanya meminta hatiku lebih berlapang sebelum akhirnya disembuhkan.

"Beri waktu kepada Sang Pemilik Waktu," kalimat yang melintas di pikiran.

****

Setelah kejadian itu, aku tak lagi berlari ke segala penjuru, mencari jawaban. Aku berhenti tergesa-gesa menuntut kepastian dari waktu. Aku memilih untuk berdoa dalam senyap lalu percaya.

Percaya bahwa waktu memiliki caranya sendiri. Percaya bahwa Sang Pemilik Waktu tahu kapan saat yang tepat untuk menghadirkan apa yang kubutuhkan. Percaya bahwa badai, sebesar apapun, akan berlalu. Percaya bahwa Dia sedang merangkai setiap potongan hidupku dengan baik meski saat ini aku belum bisa melihatnya.

Tahun ini, aku hanya ingin berkata pada diriku sendiri:

"Kamu sudah berusaha dengan baik, Nur Imroatun Sholihat. Tetapi untuk perkara waktu, mulai sekarang, berikanlah kepada Sang Pemilik Waktu. Dia tidak akan menelantarkanmu". 

Love, 

iim

I sit across from him, the world humming softly in the background. The clatter of dishes and the conversation from nearby tables: all of it fades beneath his voice. He’s telling me about his past few days: work, silly annoyances, and random moments of joy. It never truly registers just how many years we’ve spent like this, having our regular conversations stretching for hours. We don’t flood each other’s inboxes with daily updates, nor do we call just to fill the gap between our Fridays. Instead, we patiently wait for the weekly after-hours catch-up in a Japanese restaurant.

He rolls up his sleeve so the food won’t stain his white shirt. It’s a small gesture that feels so familiar. I’ve seen him do it a hundred times before, and yet, I still find myself watching. He smiles while his eyes light up as his favorite ramen is placed in front of him. Just a moment ago, he told me he was feeling low. And yet, here he is, looking at the meal like it’s the one thing that can make the day a little better.

The sadness hasn’t entirely left his eyes. I can still see its traces, lingering in the quiet corners of his expression. But now that he’s smiling, I’m reminded once again that this delicate balance, this ability to acknowledge his own emotions yet carry them with such calm optimism—that’s what makes him him. And I think I could watch him like this forever.

“This week, I got a demanding task, so I bought a lemon cheesecake and finished it myself,” he says, laughing. His eyes curve into crescent moons.

And just like that, my heart stumbles. I can picture it: him, sitting alone on a gloomy day, in front of his computer, eating his favorite Japanese lemon cheesecake as if it were a small act of opposition against the weight of the world. 

Can I tell the whole room that I really like someone who laughs so innocently when talking about cheesecake? I want to turn to every stranger here and say: look at him. Look at this man who finds joy in the smallest of things. Look at this person who carries his burdens lightly, who never lets the weight of the world steal his laughter. Take a proper look at him because I believe there is something so joyful about being in his presence.

“What was the task?” I ask.

“Creating a project dashboard. I had to learn Power BI for it.” He furrows his brows slightly, thinking.

“That must’ve been tough. But we learned Tableau back on campus, so it shouldn’t be that difficult, right?” I say, recalling the memory of studying in Japan, which made us best friends.

“Yeah. But Power BI isn’t as user-friendly or intuitive, I think,”. He starts explaining the dashboard he built, detailing how Power BI compares to Tableau.

At that moment, I realized that I never planned on falling for a tech geek, yet enjoying a conversation like this. Also, I never thought love would feel like this: soft, unhurried, and soundless. It happened somewhere between these easy conversations and bursts of laughter over tech memes. Somewhere in the way his voice softens when he speaks just low enough for only me to hear. Somewhere in the way his jokes always work because I know almost all the inside stories. Somewhere in the way the world feels a little lighter whenever he’s near. 

And now, I can’t help but be curious: Am I the only woman who gets to see this storyteller side of him? People say that if the long-time person was meant to win, they would have won already. And yet, here I am, wondering if I was never meant to win his heart at all. What if someone new comes and instantly becomes his favorite person to tell stories to?

I want to stay still, and yet I want to tell the world. I want to write his name in my SNS, in the sand, in the lines of every application I have built, in the pages of every book he has ever loved, so that no matter where he goes, he will finally see. I want people to stop and ask, Who is it that makes you smile like this? Maybe then it would be easier for me to tell them about him.

But instead, I keep it a secret, not because I am afraid or unsure. I just want him to navigate his feelings freely, even if that means he will fall for someone else. When that day comes, I hope he tells me about the person who makes his soft eyes even softer. Tell me about the one who makes you tell stories even more frequently than you do with me, my heart hopes.

But until then, take a proper look at the way I always listen just a little more intently when you speak. Notice how I memorize your stories, even the ones you'll forget later. See how I treasure each of these moments, knowing that you might never see me the way I see you. And maybe, one day, you will look at me and see all the love I’ve carried so gently, so patiently. And if that day ever comes, please don’t hesitate to come closer.

As we part ways, he waves a hand. “I’m afraid tonight you won’t check your SNS. Don’t forget to check it after this because I posted something.”. SNS (Social Network Service), that’s what the Japanese call platforms like Instagram. We share the habit of rarely updating ours, so I can’t help but wonder: what could he have possibly posted?

I open his Instagram story, which features a picture of ramen and the caption ”#好きなんだ”, which is read as “#sukinanda” in Japanese — a casual way of saying "I like it". I call his name just before he walks too far from the restaurant. He turns around.

“You meant you like the ramen?” I ask. "We can visit this place often if you want."

He smiles, slowly shaking his head. “Take a better look.”

I glance at the photo again. There, reflected on the table near his ramen bowl, is my faint shadow.

"See you next Friday,” he says, waving once more.

And I am left standing there, heart pounding, breath caught between realization and hope.

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image source: Wiktoria Labudzinska via artstation.com

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Background story: When I opened YouTube, a video of JKT48’s #kusangatsuka MV appeared on my recommendations. I randomly played the song and thought about how cute the lyrics were. Then, I searched for the original version performed by AKB48. The energetic and playful melody perfectly captured the feeling of young, reckless love: the kind where you secretly, but not-so-secretly, adore someone. The lyrics tell the story of a girl who posts #sukinanda (I like it) along with a picture of food, with the subtle shadow of the person she loves in it. They hang out together with their friends on the beach, playing the watermelon-smashing game.

The song ends on a happy note with these lyrics: "He replied to my post with a picture of me trying to smash the watermelon, captioned ‘with someone I love.’"

I wanted to write a story inspired by that lovely song but with a more mature, quiet kind of love. As always, this story is labeled as fiction because it is fiction :)

Hello, everyone😊

2025 is here, and I hope this year brings you closer to achieving your personal and professional dreams. I’m thrilled to share some good news: I’m now officially a Certified Information Systems Security Professional (CISSP).

The CISSP journey has been one of the most challenging experiences in my career. While preparing for it, I realized it would be useful to share tips and insights to help others navigate this path. If you’re an aspiring CISSP, I hope these tips make your journey more manageable.

1. Understand why you want to become CISSP

Reflect on your reason for pursuing CISSP, and let it anchor you throughout the process. For me, the CISSP was more than just a credential. It was a commitment to deepening my expertise in information security, enhancing my career prospects, and (hopefully) contributing to a safer digital world. This "why" will help you be motivated through long study sessions, tough practice questions, and moments of self-doubt.

2. Use the right resources

It's essential to select effective and trustworthy study materials. Here's what worked for me:

a. CISSP Official Study Guide & Practice Tests by Mike Chapple et al.

This comprehensive guide helped me systematically cover the eight CISSP domains. The practice tests were instrumental in identifying my weak areas and honing my exam strategy. 

b. Pete Zerger's CISSP YouTube Videos

Pete’s concise explanations and practical examples made complex topics easier to grasp. Don't forget to also watch the 2024 addendum video.

c. Sunflower CISSP Summary

This resource was a hero for quick revisions. It distills key concepts into a compact, digestible format suitable for last-minute reviews.

d. Resources to shape the right mindset

Preparing for CISSP is not just about mastering the content, it’s about developing the mindset of a security leader. These videos helped me align my thinking with the exam’s expectations:

a. Why you will pass the CISSP by Kelly Handerhan

b. How To Think Like A Manager for the CISSP Exam - Director's Cut by Prabh Nair

c. How to "Think like a Manager" for the CISSP Exam by Pete Zerger

These resources taught me to approach scenarios with a big-picture perspective and to consider the organization’s risk appetite, compliance requirements, and operational goals.

3. Build a solid foundation with work experience

The CISSP isn’t just a theoretical exam, it’s designed for practitioners. The questions often test your ability to apply security principles in real-world scenarios. If you’re new to the field, don’t worry. You can still take the exam and earn the Associate of ISC2 designation, working toward your required experience later. But real-life exposure to security operations, risk management, and so on will give you an edge.

4. Domain by domain

The CISSP exam covers eight domains, each requiring a mix of technical knowledge and strategic thinking. My approach:

a. Domain-by-domain study: I focused on one domain at a time, using the official study guide and videos to understand key concepts deeply.

b. Conceptual clarity: Instead of memorizing materials, I aimed to understand the philosophy behind every concept.

5. Practice like it’s the real exam

Practicing exam questions is non-negotiable. Here’s how I practiced:

a. Allocating time to practice questions: I dedicated days to solving practice questions from the CISSP Official Practice Tests and other online resources (one of my favorites: www.examtopics.com).

b. Full-length simulations: Attempting mock exams under timed conditions helped me build endurance and refine my pacing strategy.

c. Focus on weak areas: Each incorrect answer was a learning opportunity. I reviewed explanations thoroughly to strengthen weak areas.

6. Develop the CISSP mindset

To pass the CISSP, one must think like a security leader. This means:

a. Always use the business perspective, therefore security efforts should align with business objectives.

b. Think security with a holistic approach

c.  Help the business manager make decisions based on the risk.

d.  Considering long-term implications over short-term fixes.

e.  Human safety is always the first priority

f.   Always consider the cost vs benefit of every effort

g.   Guide our organization to behave ethically

h.  Compliance and ethics are important

7. Time management during the exam

The CISSP exam is adaptive, with 100–150 questions to answer in 3 hours. My strategies:

a.  1 Minute per question: Stay around this limit to avoid running out of time.

b.   Stay calm: Trust your preparation and yourself.

c.  Don’t give up too early: When I reached the 100th question during my CISSP exam, I started doubting myself, thinking I might not be cut out for it since others had passed after 100 or 130 questions. But it doesn’t end until it ends, so keep doing your best.

8. Take care of your well-being

CISSP preparation is a marathon, not a sprint. Here’s how I stayed balanced:

a.  Rest: Sleep is crucial, especially before the exam.

b.  Exercise: Staying active kept my stress levels in check.

c.   Breaks: I took short breaks during study sessions to maintain focus.

9. Read the CISSP’s holders’ stories

One of the most underrated preparation strategies is reading the experiences and stories of CISSP holders. Their journeys provide invaluable insights beyond study materials, offering practical tips and lessons learned from real-world attempts.

10. Pray, trust, and persevere

For me, prayer was a source of strength and calmness. Whether you pray, meditate, or practice mindfulness, find something that grounds you and keeps you focused on the journey ahead.

Final Thoughts

The CISSP journey isn’t just about passing an exam, it’s about becoming a better information security professional. While the process can be demanding, the growth you experience makes it worthwhile.

If you’re currently preparing for the CISSP or considering it, I’m rooting for you! Feel free to reach out if you have questions or need encouragement. Let’s build a more secure digital world together.

Good luck, everyone 😊