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.