2 days ago
- Business
- New Straits Times
From broken home to fierce faith: entrepreneur Aida Ihsani's unbreakable spirit
FROM afar, the figure cuts an effortlessly striking presence. Slim and graceful in stature, Aida Ihsani moves with the quiet confidence of a woman who's made peace with life's chaos. A simple but stylish tudung frames her face, and a broad, contented smile seems to find a permanent home on her lips.
Around her, a small circle of young women gathers, drinks in hand, their faces lit with admiration as they hang onto every word she speaks. Beyond them, the Sabahan sun begins its stately descent.
The skies over Shangri-La Rasa Ria in Tuaran bleed into a rich orange, washing the beach in a surreal, golden glow. The moment feels cinematic, as if nature itself has decided to honour the sisterhood quietly forming here.
Eventually, their conversation tapers off, and one by one, the women turn to face the horizon, a hush descending like a collective exhale. Against the breathtaking canvas of sunset and sea, they marvel at God's handiwork, and for a few precious seconds, the world feels at peace.
It's in this moment that I spot her again — Aida, inspiring influencer and founder of Malaysia's first women's woodworking workshop, walking with deliberate ease towards the dinner venue. The smile hasn't left her face. There's no rush in her steps nor burden in her shoulders.
I catch her eye and gesture for her to join me. She responds with a warm, knowing grin and a slight nod. But before making her way over, she turns once more toward the horizon, her gaze lingering on the sun-drenched skies — as though offering a quiet, unspoken thank you to the world that still grants her the grace to inspire.
FORMATIVE YEARS
"My formative years were tough," begins Aida, founder and chief executive officer of Aida Ihsani Enterprise, voice steady. We're seated next to each other over a quiet brunch, the memory of yesterday's breathtaking sunset still hanging gently between us. She places the orders for us to share — a simple, thoughtful gesture that feels less like an interview and more like catching up with an old friend.
There's a calmness in the way she speaks; the kind that belongs to someone who's faced the darkest corners of their past and learned to lay those ghosts to rest. Born and raised in Petaling Jaya, the 35-year-old is no stranger to hardship.
The struggles arrived early, uninvited and unrelenting, weaving themselves through the fabric of her childhood like wild, stubborn vines. Yet what lingers isn't the weight of her pain, but the grace in how she chooses to carry it.
"I come from a broken family," she continues, absentmindedly twirling a strand of pasta onto her fork. Briefly, her eyes cloud over, a flicker of old hurt passing like a shadow across her otherwise radiant face. But it's gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by a gentle smile.
I duly learn that Aida grew up in a bustling household as the fourth of eight siblings — seven girls and a boy. Their father left when she was still in college and her youngest sister was just a schoolgirl. "I can't even remember what he used to do for a living," she admits, before adding calmly: "We cut him off." Their mother, a tenacious woman from Kelantan, became both anchor and sail, raising eight children single-handedly, working any job she could find.
Recalls Aida: "Our mother instilled many values in us. She didn't just tell us to study -- she taught us about life. Even when we had no money, she'd still bring us out, just to learn how to order at a restaurant. It's those soft skills you don't get anywhere else."
From young, Aida was street-smart. While most were funnelled into science streams in school, she resisted, choosing the arts — an early act of defiance against societal expectations. "My mum supported me. She never forced me to follow what everyone else was doing," she shares.
It would prove to be a recurring theme in her life.
A voracious reader growing up, Aida once aspired to a life in law. She earned her degree but was forced to halt her legal ambitions when financial constraints made continuing her Bar qualification impossible. "I thought that path was mine," she reflects, "but circumstances cut it off. And in a strange way, that opened up my world."
She dabbled in different jobs — starting with a stint assisting author Karim Raslan in producing documentaries across southeast Asia, managing logistics from Indonesia to the Philippines. Later, she worked with non-governmental organisations (NGOs), where a volunteer project building homes for the Orang Asli became an unexpected turning point. "That's how I discovered woodworking," she says, smiling softly.
What began as a side pursuit in 2016 evolved into a custom furniture business, Adiaidareka, which she co-founded with her then-husband, Shafril Hadi. Alongside bespoke carpentry projects, they started running hands-on woodworking workshops for the public.
When the marriage ended after six years, she rebranded herself and the business under her own name, focusing primarily on creating safe, empowering spaces for women in carpentry — a field long monopolised by men.
In 2019, she founded Malaysia's first women's woodworking workshop, a Human Resources Development Fund (HRDF)-certified programme offering practical woodworking skills to women from all walks of life. In just a few years, she's trained more than 2,000 women — from corporate executives and mothers to students and retirees, even some from Singapore and Sabah.
Shares Aida: "When women walk into my workshop, they're always saying, 'I've been looking for something like this'. Back when I started woodworking, there was no one who looked like me doing this. I had to figure it out on my own."
GROWING A COMMUNITY
It wasn't just about learning to use tools; it was about unlearning the things society conditioned them to believe. "A lot of women are scared to make mistakes," muses Aida, brows furrowing in thought.
Adding, she elaborates: "They've been conditioned for perfection. They're scared to ask questions, worried about being judged, or being talked down to by some 'mansplaining' uncle."
Meanwhile, in her workshop, the rules are different. Mistakes are welcomed. Curiosity is encouraged. "All we need is guidance, not scolding," she says, simply.
The workshops grew into a community. By 2023, Aida had formally established Aida Ihsani's Women's Community, a multicultural, multigenerational collective of women that meets through activities as varied as hiking, car maintenance classes, basic electrical workshops, entrepreneurship circles, picnics, even pickleball.
"Where else do you find Gen Zs and baby boomers sitting together, talking about marriage, mental health, menopause or raising teenagers?" she poses, adding: "It's not just about the activity. The conversations we have are powerful."
The roots of Aida's worldview run deep. "I didn't grow up chasing money," she confides, adding solemnly: "A lot of people feel they need financial security first before they can live. But life is about living. And I live through my work."
For her, empowerment isn't a slogan or a social media post. "Women's empowerment is vast. It's about having autonomy of choice. It's about making your own decisions — whether it's in the kitchen, at the office or in a workshop holding a power drill."
Her mission, she insists, isn't driven by a grand end goal. "It's the now. Every time I run a workshop, or take women hiking, or just host a circle, that's enough. If that one moment changes how a woman feels about herself, it creates a ripple effect — in her family, among her friends, at work. That's how real change happens."
The community has become a sanctuary for many. Says Aida: "Women go through different phases in life — marriage, motherhood, career changes, divorce — and sometimes, they lose themselves. A lot of them don't have a support system. And even if they have friends, those friends might be at a different stage, or just not get it."
The beauty of her community lies in its empathy. No judgment, no hierarchy, just shared humanity. Her own resilience is testament enough to what women can endure and overcome. Shares Aida: "I've seen my mother go through so much. I've experienced failed relationships, financial struggles, and moments of doubt. But I've always had my faith, my mountains and my community."
Hiking, one of her passions, she says, teaches her life lessons no classroom or courtroom ever could. "On a mountain, the peak isn't going anywhere. You have to pace yourself. If you rush, you get altitude sickness," she says, eyes flashing with conviction.
Continuing, she muses: "It's the same in life. If you're always chasing, always rushing, you'll burn out. The mountain teaches patience. It reminds you to be with your own mind — something many are terrified of."
These days, Aida continues to build spaces — literal and metaphorical — for women to claim as their own. And through every plank of wood, every uphill trail and every shared conversation, she chips away at the old narratives that once kept women in their place. In her world, there's no room for fear. Only freedom.
POWER OF FAITH
As our conversation trails off, a companionable silence settles between us. The gentle clink of cutlery against plates fills the quiet, a small, grounding sound in the midst of heavier thoughts. Aida gazes down for a moment, as though tracing memories in her mind. Then, almost to herself, she says: "I never planned to be a social media figure."
Adding, she confides: "I have a healthy following, but it was unplanned. Even woodworking wasn't planned. My life has always been about going with the flow. But doing what I see has purpose — an impact. I share what I like doing and I don't care what other people want to say. On my social media, I don't do makeup or fashion. I don't see it as important."
What anchors her, beyond the wood shavings and workshops, is faith.
When asked if she carries any fears, Aida doesn't hesitate. "I fear going against my faith," she replies, continuing: "Challenges are a part of life. It's not about how I go through them. It's about me holding on to faith, being able to go through it. Not on my own, but by having faith."
She pauses, searching for the right words. "A lot of people don't understand how important faith is to me. But this — all this — happened because of my spiritual journey. The stronger my faith, the more everything flows. I can't explain it."
That inner reckoning began before her divorce, during a period of deep self-discovery. She recalls: "I was trying to find myself. And at the same time, I found religion. Before this, I wasn't wearing a hijab. It was a whole cycle of change."
It's the kind of experience she wishes more young people would embrace — not necessarily religion, but the act of trying. "They'll always say, 'I don't know what I want to do'. But how would you know if you never try? How do you discover your passion if you don't allow yourself to experience different things?"
Her motto, etched into every decision she makes, is simple yet defiant: Stay true. Stand up for who you are, what you believe in, and what you want to achieve. Even if it means going against the grain. That's how you discover your true self.
The road ahead, Aida acknowledges is going to be rife with trials. "It's always going to be a journey that's filled with challenges and setbacks. But if you don't hold on to something — for me it's faith — you'll go down a deep hole and it's going to be very hard to get out."
Pausing, Aida eventually concludes emphatically: "If I didn't have faith, I don't know how I'd have survived."
It's this quiet, unwavering belief — in faith, in self-discovery, in doing what matters even when no one else understands — that has shaped the woman Aida Ihsani is today. And as the scent of sawdust lingers in the air, and another woman steps into her workshop to carve out something of her own, Aida reminds us that it's never about where you start. It's about what you choose to hold on to when life threatens to drag you under — and the courage to build something beautiful from it.
