365 / 365

A quick reflection,

It’s the last day of the year! We made it!

Okay, let’s just have a look back on the year for now.

It was an okay year for me. Nothing was so bad or so great that generally made up my previous annual review. One of my sisters got married, that was exciting. And while we’re at that, many of my friends, too. So amazing. The fact that people around my age are ready to take one of the biggest steps of their lives is an amazing thing. I don’t know how far I am from that point, but at the moment, it’s hard to picture myself in that position. But I never say never. I only say, maybe.

This year I got into a better lifestyle than in 2014. I don’t eat out as much. I exercise weekly (baby steps, people). I read more. I wrote more. I spoke up more. I still didn’t listen enough, but that’s on my to-be-improved list. I shopped more (much more) because online shopping is a magical thing that I am sorry our ancestors did not get to experience. I didn’t travel much, but that’s fine. Wanna change that one too for next year, so, fingers crossed.

And… what else?

I spent less and less time alone and not feel really exhausted about it. I used to pull back on myself at least once every other week, but lately, I feel fine doing it just once in every blue moon. It’s a good news, right? Still enjoy solitude, practicing it less. That was an improvement.

Also, I don’t hate myself as much this year. I’m still learning to love myself a little more each day, and as hard as it seems, it’s not a losing game. It’s a daily battle that I have to live with every single living day, but I guess everyone is fighting their own, too. There's no loneliness in that.

Before the year ends,

I would like to write this part for the me who will continue this fight in 2016, because she needs constant reminder, because she's forgetful, and because months from now, she will be thankful that I'm doing it.

We accept the love we think we deserve. You always thought you knew what that means, but really, you had no idea until now. This very day you're writing this. That's okay. You're (still) 22. Nobody expects you to master the arts of life; you're too young for that. Don't be too hard on yourself, you're not living this life to impress anyone. You're not in a race with someone else---it's really just you in the arena. Don't beat yourself up for something that doesn't exist. Even Donald Trump probably knows how stupid that is.

It's truly important to know that you deserve more when you really deserve it. Know when it's the right time. You'll figure it out. Or, you'll find a way to figure out. You're not too shabby when it comes to life skills, you know?

Please always remember to be humble. To be nice. But also remember to be tough and fierce when you have to. 

Anything other than that, you should be fine.

Good luck!

Perfect Stranger

 

My only regret in life is not because I dream too much, or wish too high, or buy too many lipstick and not enough shoes. My only regret in life is because sometimes it takes me such a long time to realize something that was so obviously in front of me because I deny things for sport or maybe am just plain stupid. I don't know. Ignorance is bliss.

It took me a lot of years to realise that it wasn't you. It wasn't the way you look, not the way you smile or the way your hair curls on your forehead. It wasn't the way you say my name. It wasn't the bass of your voice, not your speaking tone, not even the way you never seem to open your mouth in the instances that you actually speak. It wasn't the way you don't act like stranger with me. And it's not your LinkedIn page that I totally don't get; not the title of your thesis or the list of hard-earned titles that you get for being uber smart. It was nothing you did.

It was the time.

Of course, you are perfect.

But with me, it wasn't that.

It was because anyone would seem perfect for 10 days. Anyone. It just happened to be you, and I still haven't decided if that was a good thing. I still haven't decided if this is how will I let the truth slap me on my face and just drop it---drop everything here.

But at least it all makes sense now.

On Religious-ness

What is it for you?

I was watching this really cool series that sucked me right in, Orange is The New Black, where one of the most fun characters, Black Cindy, is trying to convince a Jewish rabbi to convert her into Judaism. The rabbi didn't understand her urge, since previously she had tried to make him declare her a Jew just so that she has access to the Kosher meal, where there's fresh broccoli, unlike the regular prison meal. It's very beautiful, I had this scene replayed at least 10 times, because I couldn't believe what just happened, my eyes watery, and the rabbi's question echoing in my ears: What is it for you?

I used to have a difficult relationship with my God. As a Muslim, I've been going to the mosque ever since I was a baby, even though all I could do was distracting my mother and sisters from their prayers. I had teachers come to my house to guide me reciting the Koran. And as an Indonesian in public school, for 12 solid years I had Islamic lesson as one of the mandatory classes and it wasn't always the easiest of the bunch. What made it hard, now I start to understand, was because I didn't know that it's not the saying that's important. It's the believing, that's essential.

I had a moment of thinking back in high school, where one of my Religion teachers didn't take the traditional method of teaching his pupils about Islam. He didn't make us memorize parts of the Koran. He didn't have oral exams for any new religious practices just to score us for the report book. What he did was telling us stories about what made him believe. He told us that it won't be easy to believe. There will always, always, be someone, or a time, or anything, that will test your faith. He told us that even him, who studied religion in college and came from a pretty religious family background, found a hard time arguing about his religion to the people outside of it. Because there will always be a blank space, in our understanding of the religion, that can be easily turned into something that becomes a boomerang for us. It would be too hard--impossible even--to win a debate about our religions to other people, especially the non-believers. Because apparently, we shouldn't be debating about faith. It's your faith. Anything you believe in is relevant. You should believe whatever you want.

So, he told us that the first and hardest step of developing your religious belief is having the faith, and only then, the commitment would start coming along. The commitment is not the hardest thing, see? The faith, the real faith, is the most crucial. The real faith being, this is it. It's not just a religion that you have because your parents chose it for you. It's not something that you have just so that you have something written in your administration documents. It should be something that you believe in because you believe it. Nobody paid you to do this. You're not getting anything out of it, except that you feel like you finally belong somewhere. It's ridiculous, and non-believers would find it ridiculous. But religions are nothing but ridiculous if you compare it to science. It has to be. If it's so believable, it should've been science.

I'm not exactly what you'd call religious, and you can see that clearly, because while my religion made it an obligation for women to cover their bodies, I'm complying to that call at all. I don't recite the Koran as much as I should. I don't say my God's name as much as other observant Muslims in the world. Well, I'm not even sure if I did anything in my religion right. But I have faith. And what it is for me, is the question that I chose to ask for the rest of my life.

If you ask me today, I guess what it is for me to be in this religion is because I have found many instances where it speaks for itself that not only does it make sense every now and then, it also always has the best of intentions for everybody. I like that my God makes sense. Most of all, I like that my religion has a very long history in the making. Consider it a job well done.

Here you might argue that you have read many verses from the Koran that the terrorists say before they committed their act and they're extremely violent. You might say that it's ridiculous, and outdated, and brings too much of a burden for its followers, especially for women. Hey, Islam is so non-feminist! What makes you think you're in the right team? And I agree, some of them sounds very, very violent. But what the world doesn't understand, is that you can't read a holy book from any religion by reading it word for word. It's not made to be a manual book for kids to read. It has its meanings, its own context, that regular people won't understand? Do I understand all of them? No! It's very hard to, and I'm not at that level yet.

Now, I only believe in one religion and one god, but I also believe that religions are fundamentally the same: it teaches mankind to believe. To have faith. And to be kind while you're at it. I don't feel the need to defend my faith because it is mine, and no one can take that away from me. If God is the most powerful, surely He can defend himself in the face of atrocity? I don't believe in a god who asks us to kill in His name. I don't believe in a god who teaches hatred for some groups of people. I think parts of religions are up to your belief, and my faith is against killing and discriminating LGBT and supporting feminism. Even if I was wrong about my religion, the best thing is that I believe in it, and even though it means that what I had was a stupid, blind faith, I didn't have to walk through this life having questions unanswered while feeling miserably alone. Because there is nothing wrong with having a religion, whatever it is, as devout Catholic Stephen Colbert once said while interviewing the notorious atheist Bill Maher, "If I was wrong, I'm an idiot, but if I'm right, you're going to hell."

Yes Woman

You might have been thinking, for the past few months at least, when was the last time she wrote a book review here? Has she stopped reading or something?

Well, no, dear readers. I have not stopped reading. I never wanted to. It's just that, sometimes if I found a book is only slightly remarkable, I wouldn't take the time to bother writing reviews about it. Of course, they still get a review, though mostly they stay at my Goodreads (some very good ones aren't here too, because I'm lazy that way). So if you give a shit about what I've been reading, go check it out instead. And why am I here again, reviewing another book and not being lazy about it? Well, because, anything for Shonda.

Reading Shonda's memoir is like reading into the mind of Meredith Grey and aspiring to possess what Cristina Yang has inside of her. I don't really watch Grey's Anatomy, but I know those women. They are fierce as hell. They are, in a sense, is how I imagine Shonda is like.

What surprises me is how much she and I share opinions about some aspects in life. These are the opinions that may not be popular among women, especially in Asia. My peers wouldn't understand this. No one around me would think I'm crazy for thinking it, and I should be ashamed or feel worried or talk to a therapist or something. So outrageous some of them are, that I won't talk about it here. You should do yourself a favor and read the book. Thank me later.

Shonda, I know that you won't be reading this, but here's the thing: When you said that you only ever write about one thing, and that is being alone, and that it's really the fundamental need of a human being to know that they are not alone... I feel like I want to thank you. Thank you for having the greatness in you so your voice is heard to the world, so people like me know that we are not alone. Thank you for writing the most quotable book I read in 2015, if not ever. Thank you for sharing your story.

Thank you for creating Cristina Yang.

Mystery Man

I'm sorry if I always go back to remembering you.
It's not that I want to.
It's not that I'm better at writing sad pieces---I am not fucking Adele.
I'm not selling my years old sad stories to generate any kind of benefit.
But I just really miss you, and I wish you could know that.
That every now and then, when I miss you, I write.
That every now and then, I tried to stop myself from writing any word about you.
But all of that is for naught.











All of that is for naught.

Leading Lady

Eyang Putri, at my favorite place on earth

My grandmother has no official birth date.

Nobody knows exactly when she was born, what year, in what month, or what day, not even what the sky looks like when she came into the world. What her mother knew, that night, there was a full moon.

Her official birthday, based on one local administration officer's judgement many years ago, happens on December 31, 1940. So all we know now is that she's 75, and her birthday is to be celebrated by everyone around the world.

Her family was poor, her biological father died when she wasn't even born yet, and the man she always thought to be her father, was in fact her stepdad. She did not even make it past 7th grade in school, and she was married off at 16, to a man 14 years her senior: my Grandfather. He was a man of ambition; even when people back in their era chose to be a soldier and fought in the war, he stayed as a civil worker and later in his life, went back to college and learned economics. He'd rather use his brain and worked his best to feed his family. He was a respectable man, and since this was way before Indonesia is famous for its corruption, he was genuinely honest in doing his job. He worked for the local governor until his last dying breath at age 51, leaving 7 kids to his widowed wife who had no education whatsoever, while their youngest daughter was just 5 years old.

So you understand now how long she's been left without a husband, when the man is her only window to the entire world? The world can be such a small and scary place for someone who's uneducated. It can be too full of uncertainty, and pressure, and hardships. I dare not to imagine myself in her shoes, because I might break down in tears because I don't even know if it was possible.

I don't know if she's an excellent mother, because I suspect she wasn't. She's not even very great at being a grandmother. But you know what she is? She is doing what she can, in her capabilities, within her own means, despite her own limitations.

I don't know how she does it.

Maybe it's through her prayers. Maybe it's what she said to her kids. Or maybe it's something she did that inspire them. Who knows? Life is a series of sequence that work together to create a story so distinct for one person to the other, which is why life is a mystery and it's bigger than what anyone could ever write about.

It's been a long 28 years since my grandfather departed, and the woman has seen quiet everything a woman in her standard would be expected to see. People have lost count how many times she's traveled to the Holy Land. She's gone south to the Kangaroo Island. She's visited the great Uncle Sam. She's seen the land of the Turks, and therefore she kind of has been to the Blue Continent.

She's been to every single one of her grand children's graduation ceremony, wherever it is. She told me how it's her favorite part of having a family: "Weddings are weddings. It's just a wedding. But graduation is something you worked hard for. It's a milestone. It's the start of a good life. I didn't go to school. Your grandfather could not finish his college education. But you can. And that's something."

The woman doesn't even have the slightest idea about what having an education feels like. She only went to school so that she's not illiterate, but she understands how important it is to be educated, even though her grandchildren are 95% girls.

The sad part is, she lives in a society. A society that has a system that's always bigger than its people. Even despite her own greatness, her unbelievable endurance in facing the hard reality of life, she's still limited to the things she could have done if her husband were still here. So many of the things she said she'd missed, things she said she'd want to do again in this lifetime, would be followed by the crashing sound of her voice saying, "...but what would people say if I do that by myself? I'm a widower. I have been, for longer than I wasn't."

I used to dislike hanging out with my grandmother. Somehow, I wasn't free to do what I wanna do, and because whenever I hang out with her, the focus shifted from hanging out with my nuclear family to simply making her happy. What I didn't understand is that, she deserves all that treatment we're supposed to give her. She's endured her own limitations for so many years, that now, it's truly the least thing we can do for her, from whom I was partly generated from, to focus on making new memories that she will cherish, despite the mild dementia that's starting to gnaw on her memories.

Now every time I was going to spend some time hanging out with grandmother, I'd take note; because this is how I should treat my mother someday. Hopefully in the same healthy condition as she is treating her mother, and the same capability to make each other happier than the world usually made us. 

Let's Move On

Let's talk about moving on for a second.

Moving on is a very hard thing to do. No, it is. If it's not hard for, then it never meant anything to you in the first place.

I find moving on to be quiet a challenge because, for lack of better words, I'm the kind of person who lives in the moment but tend to romanticize the past. Sometimes when I look back at something, it gives me some weird warm feelings and I'd feel like cherishing it forever to the point that I'd be thinking, "Why did I give it up?"

Sometimes my stupid self can be sabotaging my own way to the realness by simply forgetting why I did it in the first place.


You know my favorite thing to do in the world besides writing and watching smart guys do comedy? Writing thank yous. I'm good at it. Sometimes I see people tear up when they read my thank you notes. I'm good at remembering the good times I had with someone because I'm simply good at romanticizing the past.

But I guess I'm not good enough to thank people who have been acting in the way that God has chosen for me. It was as if they're angels. Some people come into your life to fuck you up, but there are also people who come into your life to represent angels that God sent to you to teach you a lesson.

So you see... I came across a bunch people who taught me things; who taught me things that I think God wants me to learn: to be humble, to be real about who and what I am as a person. I know I sound so ridiculously religious here and maybe some of you don't like it, but either way, that's the way I see it now.

And leaving these people is hard.

Finding Arien

I don't know if 22 years is a long enough time to figure out who someone really is, but I think that I lost the me that I had been in the past 21 years and for a whole year long I've been trying to find if she is indeed still in there; there, in my heart and mind.

Because sometimes it's so easy to remember who you really are, and to lose yourself when you think you were going somewhere.

I like to consider myself a writer; at least to myself, because I know that most of my writings are for my sole consumption and they were never meant to be anything more than that anyway. I like to write about life and its problems. I like to write about love, when I happen to have something to say about it. Most of all, I like to write fiction, because that's where the life is. One day, you will be surprised that sometimes there's more truth in a fiction than there is in someone's life story.

But a writer writes, and most recently, I don't.

Not because I don't have time or I have a writer's block.

It was more like because I stopped caring. Because I stopped having things to say---things to write about.

It's like I stopped feeling feelings.

Have you ever tried to look back in time and see the stuffs you've said (or written/tweeted/posted) and think, "I did that? Really?" Mostly, at the same time I'd shamefully think, "What was I thinking??!" and then try to excuse myself that I was just a teenager, I was (probably) unstable emotionally, or it was just PMS talking. But these days, whenever I try to look back, mostly what came up to mind was this one depressing question---one that I share with you because I wish that you're not wondering the same thing I do---"Where had the girl who wrote this gone?"

Because if you're not, please know that it is such privilege to not have let go of your preferred version of yourself.

Office Life

The Office is one of those series that I can watch over and over in any kind of mood and will still find funny after the umpteenth time I've seen it. It's kind of my comfort series now, like, I can watch it while I'm bed-ridden sick with flu and not feeling like meeting people outside of my room. Some episodes I know the words by heart (especially that last one where everyone meet again and Steve Carell's back only to say the punchline "That's what she said!" at Dwight's wedding day and it brought me to a river of tears) and some other, I decided to be kept as something precious and shall only be opened on rainy days (I'm talking about that one where Michael proposed to Holly and actually made it rain in the office). I think this series is amazing, and it's going to be one those things that I'll brag about to my grandkids and introduce as my generation's finest.

What I didn't know until very recently is that the original version, where Ricky Gervais is the critical person responsible for the creative part and the acting part of the series, is something of a legendary work of art by itself! The British version is more bleak and dreary, much like the weather's like in England, but also, it's far more acerbic and cynical than the American version. If you are more familiar with American movies, you'll probably find it weird that the British version of Jim (brilliantly portrayed by my favorite John Watson, Martin Freeman) isn't 6'3" and Dawn (British Pam, obviously) has curves for days (and, oh God, is even more reluctant to help herself find her happiness! God help her!). The American version also has far more characters, it's so hard to choose which one actually made the story on each episodes, because they're all great, and even though Steve Carrell's Michael Scott is supposed to be the center of the universe, they actually share almost equal parts of making the show interesting---which is probably why I find the show so interesting. On a side note, the British version does not shy away from sexual innuendos and generally conversations about sex. It even played with carrying around a pink dildo around the office once, and that's exhilarating to see on TV. I haven't seen any recent British TV other than Sherlock (which third season plots and dialogues I know by heart) so there's a lot of getting used to. It's nothing compared to older shows like The Inbetweeners and Skins, though.

The best part about both versions? Well, you know I love Jim and Pam from the American version, and my love for them will hardly ever change, but what drives me toward it was all the supporting characters, in which the British version was lacking. But the Brit one was rather short in only 12 episodes and 2 Christmas Specials, so of course it had to be simple. And yet, David Brent is surprisingly a very eloquent man who often quotes from literature and Tim is far, far wiser than Jim ever was, so points for them. Anyway, my favorite bit from the original version has got to be Tim's last monologue in the second part of the Christmas Special. He may not closed it, but he did hit close to home.

"The people you work with are just people you're thrown together with. I mean, you don't know them, it wasn't your choice, and yet you spend more time with them than you do your friends or your family, but probably all you've got in common is the fact that you walk around on the same bit of carpet for eight hours a day. And so, obviously, when someone comes in who you have a connection with, yeah.

And Dawn was a ray of sunshine in my life, and it meant a lot, but if I'm really being honest, I really never thought it would have a happy ending.I don't know what a happy ending is. Life isn't about endings, is it? It's a series of moments and it's like, y'know, if you turn the camera off, it's not an ending, is it? I'm still here, my life is not over. Come back in ten years, see how I'm doing then, cause I could be married with kids, you don't know. Life just goes on. "

             - Tim Canterbury, The Office UK

Jack of all trade, Master of None

Have you seen Aziz Ansari's new currently buzzing Netflix show, Master of None?

If you haven't, you should.

Adulthood

Hey everyone, how's life? Or even better, how's adulthood?

Personally, it's crazy. It's been a constant roller coaster between paying the bills, taxes, saving up money for future plans, making a living and keeping friends close. This is exactly the things adults never tell kids to enhance those 'I can't wait to grow up' sayings. This is, in part, a great set up.

I realized that I haven't been here for over a month and by God, I miss you guys! *sigh. I'm not sure if anyone is still reading this page. I don't even care. In part because I write for myself, and another part because I'm not writing so that my voice is heard. I'm writing so that I could let some of these words and ideas constantly grilling inside my head made their way into the world.

So, how's adulthood? 

I do hope that at least one of you finds it enjoyable, because personally, I think adulthood is tricky. It's exciting, yes. But it's not as exciting when every payday it just reminds you that you have bills to pay. You have to save up and invest in something. You have to pay the taxes (this guy is the necessary evil, I'm telling you). You have to make sure that you have time for your family, for your friends, your lover............or lack thereof. 

Yes, sometimes I'm contemplating my own state of adulthood and I just end up thinking, "It would've been a lot easier if I had found someone with whom I will spend the rest of my life with." You know, because then, figuring out how my future would look like is going to be easier. 

But you know what, I kind of hate myself for that (yeah, I know I hate myself a lot already). I hate that I think I need someone to define my future when my future is mine, and it doesn't have to depend on anybody else. I may get married someday, but who or what my husband is doesn't have to define who or what I am as my own person. I may be a woman, but my life is not less a life than my husband's.

You might be thinking, is she a feminist? Well, it's quiet a phenomenal word right now, and sometimes it's been taken out of context. I'm not proclaiming myself one because as much as I believe in women's rights (whatever it is that real feminists tell you), I do enjoy being a woman in a man's man's world. Just the other day, I was in a situation where my being a woman proved as an advantage in a place where the male bureaucrats rarely see a woman wearing lipstick. I know, even that is a sign that women aren't being treated the same as men and it's probably even degrading in a sense. But you see, sometimes feminism isn't about gender equality. In more than one occasion, it's about indulging in privileges. So maybe, in a sense, I am a feminist.

What I'm trying to tell you, I guess, is this: Adulthood is about knowing who you are. It's not too late to find out who you are. No. We'll never know if we're actually late bloomers. But knowing who you are helps. Knowing who you are lessens your worries and saves you a lot of time. Knowing who you are makes you actually look age appropriate---adult. Knowing who you are is good. Because even if you are one day proven to be wrong about who you think you are, at least you had a good start.

Sanctuary is where your actual self is

Did you ever wonder why, whenever you are at home, where supposedly it is where your heart is, and that it's no longer a place, but a group of people, you still feel like you are not in touch with yourself? Somehow, even at home, the best place on earth to rest your bones, you still think that there is someone else inside of you that's screaming, because it is yet to be fulfilled?

I'd like to believe that I love my home---I do. If there is anything I learned from being with myself in the past 22 years, it's that I know how to be content with myself, wherever I am. And yet sometimes, even when I'm at home, at the place where I'm supposed to be most comfortable in, I'm still not myself. I'm still someone else who has this pressure to defend the me who's sitting on the back, not wanting to be visible to anyone.

People told me that maybe I just like to be alone. I like to be with myself so much because solitude (not loneliness) gives me a time to listen to me and only me. I did not have to think, did not have to listen to anyone else except for me. I have this huge ego to be listened to and I'm going to annoy the hell out of people if I demand them to listen to everything I said. This is why sometimes I feel like misunderstood. This is why sometimes, even in a sea of people, I still feel so alone. Because I have so much to say, and yet I know nobody would hear it so I just swallow them and let it live in me.

There is a place that I love the most in my city--it's so close to the hustlin' and bustlin' of the city and yet it just feels so comfortable... Like I don't have to worry about anything here. Like I will be fine in this place. Like this is an entirely different universe, and it's the only place where the people are nice and the people won't hurt me. It's the place where I can be okay. It's a sanctuary for the restless, and even if, perhaps, every single person in this place are lonely wanderer like I am, it is fine. Because that's what sanctuary is. It's the place where the restless find themselves---and be okay with it.

So if you ever happen to be around Starbucks Kinokuniya Plaza Senayan after hours, do take a look at the small table behind the straw bar. I should probably be there, writing the same random posts here like I don't give two cents about the rest of the world.

I hope you find whatever you've been looking for

 

I'm not a very good talker, and just slightly better at writing, but, even though I know you have no idea that you'd pop up in this page, for like, ever, let me do it here. Because you deserve the words. The words I'm not good enough to speak directly to you. The words that would be lost into oblivion unless I pour them out here.

I believe that congratulations is in order, so, Congratulations. Everyone told me how happy you looked that day, and they were right. I wanted to deny it, but I couldn't, and you have every rights to be happy. It was your big day. That day, I didn't even look the way I used to, but, that particular day, it wasn't about me.

Growing up wasn't always a good time, and you out of all people sure know that. Having more than one sisters wasn't usually a blessing--well, it's a slippery slope, because sometimes it's the best thing I'd ever imagined and sometimes it's a curse that I was born with. But what nobody ever told me before yesterday was, no matter how tumultuous our relationship is, I still wish you to be happy. I still wish you good. I still wish you joy, and luck, and happiness that might have been robbed out of you. And more than anything else, I still wish you to be a better person for everybody else, even though you probably weren't nice enough to me. I know you can do that. I know you are. I don't need proof, because I have this blind faith that you are genuinely good, and I want to believe that.

So, yeah. Congratulations. I hope you're happy. I know you are. And I hope that this kind of happiness isn't fleeting, but rather, everlasting. I hope that it'll only be magnified with time. I will never wish you any less than that.

Midnight Memories

No, I'm not sad. I just really miss you and I hope that one day you'll find all of these writings and know that they are about you. And I hope that when that day comes, it wouldn't be too late for any one of us.

Race Equality

Over the weekend, everyone in the world is celebrating the 5-4 ruling for marriage equality by the Supreme Court of the United States of America. It was a big win, because even though several countries around the world has recognised gay rights way ahead of SCOTUS, no other countries have claimed to be a free country more than the Uncle Sam himself. This weekend, basically, #lovewins.

Even though marriage equality is still pretty much a long shot in my home country, I have to say that I do support gay rights. I think that people shouldn't have to be forbidden from marrying people that they love, and that the law doesn't have to go hand-in-hand with anyone's religious values. The truth is, even though I am quiet religious, I believe that people need to shove their religious values up their own butts and keep it to themselves.

However, there are many other equality issues that were overlooked in this very weekend. Gender equality. Equalities that have something to do with disabilities. With race. The truth is, perhaps, like almost half of America as mirrored by the number of judges voting "No" to marriage equality, the world is still not ready for equality. It might even be possible that we are not created equal. Some are better than the other. After all, we did come from a majority of patriarchal cultures.

But let's talk about race, for instance

Seeing all of these equality issues buzzing before me, I can't help but reflect on who I really am and the boxes that I will be put into should all of these issues remain a utopia. I am a pure blood Malay race who still live in the land that belonged to my ancestors. In fact, my race inhabits most of the areas in the country and are the majority every where you go in the archipelago. Like many other Malayans, I have tawny skin and black hair and average height. I'm Muslim, and I consider myself to be moderately religious with libertarian preferences. Does that speak anything about me? Well, in this wild, wild world, of course it does.

I work in an environment where, strangely enough, I was the minority. Things are different outside of this office though, sure, but right here, I'm the minority. I have found myself in numerous meetings where I was the only one without light, yellow skin and small eyes and an Eastern Asian-style last names. I have dined in a table where everyone was happy to order pork while I have to convince myself that it's okay to eat as long as I only have the salad. My bosses are all of the same race. They were all male, and that's only acceptable because it's man's man's world (still). I don't think that it really necessarily means that they are smarter or work harder than the rest who did not fulfill that criteria, but, who am I to say? I'm not the boss. Yet.

My country did not have a beautiful history about racial equality. There had always been some kind of discrimination. It's probably something that was rooted from the fact that we were not exposed to much diversity from early on, that even when the laws that work in different ways for certain groups of people have been cleared, we are still living in fear of other races, and perhaps even worse, ethnicity. The fact that racial equality is an even more sensitive issue than marriage equality is a jarring truth, and it seems that the law wants people to do it not in writing. It's like saying, Well, the truth is, people were born racists. I guess there's a truth in there, yes. But there's a difference in being a racist and not giving people the opportunity in spite of their color. I guess I don't mind the former, but I actually mind the latter. The former is being conservative, while the latter is being a plain jerk.

The truth of the matter is, people are all the same in the world. With only very small number of deviation, we're all made from the same flesh and bones. Our blood is red, and we were built from the same tissues. Our biological systems work in the same manners. We are all 72% water. We bleed. We were all born from someone. Discrimination over someone's race is something that I believe is a form of injustice. It is not a First World Problem. It is a World Problem. And I am ashamed that, two years ago, when I had the chance to speak in front of hundreds of students about indigenous rights, I thought it was a problem that only countries with racial issues would understand, but it's not. I don't think I have ever been more unwise than I was in that very forum.

Am I writing this post to be furious about the world that we live in? Or am I writing this just to understand my situation better? I'm not sure which one is my true intention, but earlier, I thought that all of racial discrimination is a historical injustice that we still suffer because God knows why. I know that there's not a lot that we can do, because, if being a racist is a God-given basic instinct that everyone was born with, what can we do? However, I believe that by knowing that everyone was created equally, and how colors are skin deep and physical features are only as deep as the eyes can see, we can help to make the world a more comfortable place. A place that we can be proud to call home and introduce to our offspring. A place where we're not constantly dreaming of another place that can accommodate our wishes and aspirations.

Jim & Pam

Jim Halpert ruined me for every other guy out there.

You'll be on my mind, my dear destiny

You are the one who constantly come and go in my days.
There are days when you are just a memory, and I like you better those days.
There are days when the memory is just so vivid and clear
and that's when I have to hold back my tears.

You never let me enter your life.
Never once, not even for a split second.
Someone was living inside you
she breathes in you, she thinks in you
and you love her.

I don't know how it happened, but there you are now.
Out and free, vacancy in your mind, your body, your soul.
Breathing the foreign air that wasn't used to be yours
filling your lungs
keeping the emptiness bearable.

You look okay.
You look like you.
Not the way I remember you, but I don't look the way you'd remember me either.
You look bigger. Stronger. Mightier.
You look like you could be the king of inventions, and you don't even know it.

I know I said I've let you go.
I know I've said I would never have another word written about you.
I know.
I just couldn't do it.
Not when it's about you.

One day, you will be my destiny.
But until that day comes, you'll be on my mind
my heart
my soul
And I wouldn't ever let you go.
Not again.

Riptide

I am not a girl destined to be at ease with water

When I was five, I almost drowned

and maybe it scarred me for what seems to be my whole life

I like the bright sun

The sticky, salty air on the beach

The fishy aroma inhaled during the day

I like the colours on the giggly girls' cheeks

The blushing of the apples

The bronzed, sun kissed skin 

I like the sound of the waves

The fishermen's whistling

The small coffee shops overlooking the sea

The laid-back, casual conversations

But I was sitting there on the boat

Just slightly below the surface

The blue so blue it bled my eyes

The grey so grey it blinded my hearts

If all of these things are to be found only at the sea

Will happiness ever find its way towards me?

I Say A Little Prayer For Me

I wish I could deny myself the fact that we are the choices that we made. I wish I could say that, no, we are not defined by them. Those decisions cannot define me, because they are only occasionally made, sometimes I can be right or wrong, and I shouldn't be defined by who I am at a one-time occasion. But the truth is, I can't. I can't deny the fact that sometimes I'm right and sometimes I'm not, and that sometimes I'm stupid, sometimes I'm smart. My life cannot be defined just by the smart decisions, because a smart life isn't about a life so full of good decisions. A smart life should be a life where I know how to live with myself, and have a good sleep at night, knowing that I've done myself enough good to the me who keeps on feeding and feeling my emotions.

The truth is, we are the result of the choices we made. You wouldn't be sitting on that desk on your hopelessly dull office if you decided not to come to the interview several months ago. You wouldn't have a purple hair if you didn't tell your colourist to do so. The truth is, bitter as it seems, you are responsible for your own (un)happiness. It's not always destiny playing dice on you, no. Sometimes it's you sabotaging your way into happiness, and nobody else is to blame for it. You can be manipulative to yourself, you know? Sometimes I lie to myself in more times than I am being honest, and if that wasn't a depressing enough fact, I don't know what is.

Being true to yourself will set you free. It will give you a good night sleep. It will send you to a nirvana of sweet dreams. It will give you the chance to make friends with yourself. Isn't that nice to hear? To know that you haven't ruined your life beyond repair?

Staying Sad and Moving to Happier Places

People can't stay sad forever, yes. They can, but they shouldn't.

But when they're not ready, should they be forced to move to a happier place?

Cold Weather

This holiday post has been long overdue--I know, not that I intended to--and it's even started to smell like spring somewhere (where?) But I owe you this in a way. I've been gone, and when I came back, I felt like writing a lot of sad and melancholic posts instead of sharing some bits of my holiday to you... Where were my manners?!

So, yes, I went to the US of A, as you've probably heard people whispered. It was more for the Christmas rather than New Year's Eve, as I didn't even get a proper new year celebration this year. It all started from the East Coast, which meant that I could play Taylor Swift's Welcome To New York a couple hundred times and felt her excitement about the city *cue T-Swift new album on the stereo*

What do I think about New York? Well, try what don't I think about New York! You know how I always have this life-long fascination towards London? Well, it hardly compared to how excited I am about New York City. Every street, every building, every monument, seem to mean something for me, the ever-crazy fangirl of rom-coms based in New York. Empire State Building will always be Sleepless in Seattle, and Bryant Park in winter will forever look like the witness of Kate Beckinsale and John Cusack's impossibly cute love story in Serendipity. It's so interesting. So wild. And I couldn't seem to catch my breath with every city's landmark passed before me.

I love East Coast for how it feels like the laid-back Europe that it is, but I strongly hate the climate. Like normal winters, it was constantly dark and bitter cold there--not to mention in danger of rain and possibly snow. I have terribly dry and flaky facial skin even at home in Indonesia, so could you imagine how wonderful it would be staying in the East Coast for me?! Well, luckily, I was smart enough to visit Sephora on my first day in New York, and the BA generously put me on a proper winter skincare regime that I learned to grasp quickly. She used (of course) very expensive stuffs, but I ran to CVS immediately and get my own version of the products that helped. As a result, when everyone in the tour complained about how flaky their lips and skin became, I didn't experience the same thing (even though I couldn't do anything about my frizzy hair, I'm just glad it's still kind of short) I did, however, complain about how I catch a cold and could not stop sneezing and coughing.

In that sense, I owe a huge gratitude to Josie Maran Argan Oil Light, Clinique Moisture Surge Extended Thirst Relief moisturizer (A gel formula that my skin drinks like serum. This is basically magic to my dry skin!) Aveeno 24 Hour Moisturising Lotion for my body (because I'm an idiot for taking super-long hot showers as it dried my skin even more) and at night time, I practically slathered myself in Egyptian Magic Cream. Oh, and Cherry Chapstick all throughout the day. I bought it originally because of that Katy Perry song (I know, I'm so cliche) but then surprised at how awesome it is at $2!!!!! Sometimes I long for the day my local beauty brands back home could be so cheap and work so well at the same time.

Compared to the first leg of the trip where I spent my days and nights trying to bundle myself up in so much layers and inhaling faux fur from my angora shawl, my West Coast trip was so much better. I can't believe how bitter it is to swallow up the pride that I had several years ago when I told everyone that I'd never been interested to go to LA because it's so shallow and pop and plastic... Well, the younger-than-21-years-old me knows nothing, my friend. Because the 21-year-old me definitely thought that LA is really nice. A really nice place to be--if not live. I took this picture in front of the Tiffany & Co. Beverly Hills Golden Triangle as an aspiration, because, why not? Maybe 40-year-old me would've been able to wear one of his designs on my finger, who knows? (Amen to that, please)

Now, I may be 21 years old, and have been to all of the Disneyland theme parks in the world (well not really, never been to Orlando yet, but, in the American continent) and knows full well of the tricks to be able to enjoy the rides better (Single Rider lines, Fast Pass tickets before everything, early lunch, etc.) but I'm still so excited about it mainly because of the new characters added to their festivities. I spent the entire Christmas Day in Disneyland fighting the cold wind despite sunlight (thanks, Cali winter) yelling at Olaf balloons and whining about the long queues at photo sessions with Elsa and Anna. I got myself an Olaf plush doll (because I collect plush dolls, in case you didn't know) and a Maleficent headband. I think I scared off some kids while wearing it all day, because I saw some little girls look at me nervously as if I was an evil stepmother. Well guess what, little girls? The older you get, the more you'd understand how Maleficent is the closest thing to real-human experience Disney has ever made. And they call me an awful big sister because I tell the truth. *sigh*

The highlight of my LA trip, though, is the Universal City. THIS IS AS SHALLOW AS LA GETS, AMIRITE?

Well, sure. But as a Hollywood enthusiast, life cannot get any better than a visit to the Universal City and getting on that Studio Tour ride hosted by Jimmy Fallon. Yes, he is my ideal kind of husband, but that is not why I love Universal City. I love it because of the diversity of its characters--you can practically see Bart Simpsons walk around Megatron and Minions side-by-side and not feel weird about it. The day I came to Universal City was what the Brits call 'Boxing Day', which is the day after Christmas, and The Mindy Project was shooting that day. Of course I didn't get to see my long-lost Indian big sister Mindy Kaling, but I went passed Stage 27, where they were filming, and I was hysterical. Not really proud of the way I acted that day, but, that was my experience, and I thought I'd share it with you because I know you guys accept me just the way I am and I really love you for that *smooches*

Okay, so this post isn't complete without sharing my thoughts about Las Vegas. I admit that I'm not really a wild soul, and it wasn't like I get to do anything crazy because I was there with my family, but I think I wouldn't enjoy it too much anyway even though I wasn't. Maybe it's just me hating the sticky casino air thick with alcohol and cigarette smoke everywhere I go, but I'm just not into a place where it's constantly evolving in such materialistic way. I didn't really enjoy Dubai, didn't love Vegas, and I suspect I wouldn't enjoy Macau that much (but, what do I know? I was wrong about LA)

Another bucket list ticked off during my trip: GRAND CANYON! (The other one is Disneyland, because it's been an obsession of mine to visit every single Disneyland in all the continents in the world)

The Grand Canyon is a magnificent work of art that clearly wasn't man-made. It's not rocket science for me to believe in the Higher Power while I was here; in fact, it was rather very spiritual to be there. There's a lot of Native Americans working here, which I think is quiet nice of them to acknowledge their existence rather than shoving them off out of the picture. It's hot topic to be talking about racial discrimination these days, but I liked what I see here---and the fact that there was just so many Chinese tourists coming to the US was overwhelming. I mean, wasn't there extreme poverty in China just a few years ago?? Now they massively travel to the US wearing the latest Marc Jacobs coat?? What a great nation it is. 

Okay, so you probably wanna ask me, which city do I like the most? Well, I'm kind of sad to announce that it had to be the last city that I visited that was my favourite. Do you know how my heart beats for London? Well, it beats almost the same way while I was in San Francisco. Better weather, though. Even though it can be foggy and terribly windy, at least it's not constantly under the threat of wet rains everyday. It's really, really nice to be here. They charge you for every shopping bags you need, but at least they have lower tax than New York. I like how open to LGBT Frisco is, with rainbow flags proudly present in many houses and buildings around the city, and, oh, those steep roads... It can be quiet an exercise just strolling around the shops at Union Square. 

And that selfie above, taken right in the middle of the Union Square's infamous Christmas tree on my last day of the holiday, is how much I am willing to ridicule myself to take a bare-faced selfie. I never let myself go bare-faced in the winter because I will look homeless, so I swore by my Sephora Cream Lip Stain in Always Red or my trustworthy pinky coral MAC LE Archie lipstick in Betty Bright (on a bad day, it makes me look like Nicki Minaj, though, so I'm not always so fond of it). Also, I learned to put some colour on my cheeks to look more alive because winter skin could look so dull (and mind you, I'm MAC NC30). So you see, it was a worthwhile experience to be in this winter holiday, beauty-wise, even though it left me longing to stay in that kind of weather, because it never let my face shiny so much.

Now, it's no longer time for me to keep talking about such an ancient holiday story (I've even used up that Josie Maran organ oil because I love it so much and I'm so galau where I could repurchase it). In case you skipped this post all the way to this end, I would like to sum it for you: if you only got a limited time, spend it in SF. I'll leave you with the view from the Peak Point, and I dare you not to swear you'd go there someday the second you have the chance.