The Year of Realizing Things

I hate that my headline refers to Kylie Jenner's most famous quote of 2016. I hate that I know what Kylie Jenner's (other) famous quotes are. But alas, this is the year of realizing things.

Amazing how a 23-year-old can relate to an 18-year-old reality star, huh?

2016 is notorious for being a series of unfortunate events, and as part of the netizen, I can somehow agree to that. This is the year where so many bad things happen, the good (and great) things are easily overshadowed. As I grew to be more mature and realizing things, I read more about politics and economics this year, and boy do I hate to live in this world even more.

From Brexit to Donald Trump's victory, from Ahok's blasphemy case to the whole intolerance issues growing in Indonesia, I feel like this world, in general, is going south and I didn't even know if we were ever in the north at all!

So yeah, I'm freaking out, a bit.

In terms of personal life, here's a list of things that I just explored in 2016:

- Practiced a bit of yoga this year. Don't love it yet, but heck yeah I enjoy it! This is one of the things I hope to do again in 2017.

- Coming to love salad. I used to have some weird, bitter aftertaste whenever I eat a salad, but now, every now and then, I crave for a bowl of fresh salad with some protein (preferably chicken or salmon) in it.

- Eating chicken wings. I spent the first 22 years of my life not enjoying wings because I have no idea how to eat them, and now it's like my go-to comfort food. I mean, when life gets hard, it always helps to get chicken wings, beers, and a friend who shares the same tendency to whine about life.

- Balancing out my daily intake of caffeine with juice and breakfast of overnight oats. I no longer have breakfast with nasi uduk. Chicken porridge every once in a while, sure. But never nasi uduk. I do have a regular breakfast with a cup of coffee, and then another one after lunch. I don't have tea time. I have coffee time.

- As a result of my daily caffeine intake, I started to lose some good night sleep lately. (Note: It's probably stress and pressure, but I sure hope it's just caffeine)

- Responsibilities are real. It's hard.

I could list down a few more things, but let's just end this list here because otherwise it's becoming a whiny post about things I shouldn't be whining about. Let's just focus on what happened this year:

Okay, so, two of my best friends got married this year, which was really exciting. It's something that I've been waiting for since the beginning of 2016 (haha). I was a bridesmaid twice this year, and next year, I hope I could be a bridesmaid at least once again. It's always amazing seeing how my friends grew to be adults, creating their own families... We were daughters once, and now some of them (and eventually, hopefully, all of us) will have daughters of our own.

I did some traveling this year. First, it was a grand religious journey to the Promised Land and Mecca, as retold at great length here. And then, it was Bangkok; a Southeast Asian capital I actually want to revisit again and again (hi, mango sticky rice). After that, a completely alone, 33-hour stay at Singapore for a vaguely business purpose. And then, it was my first domestic travel in many years (if we don't count my Pulau Seribu trip from 2015) to Bromo, East Java. Yeah, no time to post the last two trips because... well, the holiday to Bromo was great and I did take some photos but I couldn't find the time to think of what to present here, while the solo trip Singapore? I came home sick and still having to come to work the next day, so, really, no time. (It was probably the very long bath I took that night after an exhausting day, or the fasting-at-a-foreign-country thing, or, you know, 33-hour-business-trip-is-not-good-for-you, plain and simple) Here's a post I wrote while waiting 6 damn hours for my flight home at Changi airport alone, to commemorate that visit.

Ultimately, folks, the biggest and another important highlight of my 2016 is this post. Kindness is real. You probably don't think that you deserve it (I still don't, because you know I hate myself) but if you get it, just say thanks. Always remember to be grateful. Don't ask why. Don't question. Quit wondering how you get lucky. It probably won't come so often.

Happy new year!

Craving

The first thing you need to admit is this:

You're lonely.

You like your own company. You enjoy solitary moments thinking about yourself and your favorite things. You strive towards a lifestyle of self-sufficiency. You teach yourself survival skills or find people who can help with things you gave up learning about. You like being alone. You're not exactly good at it, but you're getting better.

But you crave something else.

You crave someone.

You won't admit that your hands are cold and no amount of heat packs could warm it the way his hands would. You don't understand how good it is to let your lips feel his touch; you think you shouldn't know it from the first place so that you won't miss it, but you crave for it. You still won't admit that your life could and would get a little nicer, if you let him in.

You don't understand that you're not that good at being alone. 

Yes, it's probably better than being with someone who only messes up your life. Yes, someone can come into your life just because they choose to. Not everyone in your life will come because they just happen to bump into you somewhere. Someone can choose to be there; if they can figure out where the door is.

My broken bones

More than anything else in the world, I feel like sobbing and break into an ugly cry for two hours while rambling about why I'm so tired and scared and depressed. More than anything else in the world, I know that if I do that--if I do what I feel like doing--it would mean that I'm weak and stupid and not being grateful for what I have.

I know. I tell that to myself all the time.

I don't despise myself, but I am my worst enemy; my biggest weakness, and my harshest critic.

I'm not weak. I know I'm not. I'm probably not as strong as some people are, but by God believe me I've tried. I'm sorry if it wasn't good enough. I've tried to pull myself together and be tougher, put on a greater strength and smile, but it's never easy.

Nothing feels weirder than being in a position that people would kill for, only to feel like you don't deserve it and hate yourself for thinking so low of yourself.

A lot of things feel worse than that, but knowing that you cannot accept your own blessings will make you doubt whether you ever love yourself from the first place.

When I'm Still in Love With You

This is what I have always wanted to tell you:

You're not real. You might live somewhere in an undisturbed corner of my heart that is yet to be discovered, but you're not real. It's supposed to be empty; that spot you call home. You're a fragment of my idea about what it's like to have you, but that's not where you are supposed to be.

Maybe

We met by chance.

Or rather, we never actually met.

I don't know how tall (or short) you are. I don't know how your voice sounds like. How the curls of your hair sit on your head, or how rough your skin feels due to your hard work. I don't even know how thick your accent is, or the gestures your hands make when you speak, but I suspect you have them.

And also, you don't know me either.

You don't know what I do. You don't know what kind of paradox I am. You don't know how I can go from smiling, feeling genuinely happy one second and then listening to a very sad, melancholic song the next because I intentionally want to cry. How really shrill my voice is, or how I squeeze my hands so often someone might think I'm a puncher. You don't know how good my hair smells, or how I have a thousand different shades of nude lipstick at my disposal every day.

We may talk like we've known each other since childhood. Like I used to come around to your house and run around your backyard while your mother makes cupcakes. Like you used to pull my ponytail at school to make you look like a tough guy, but never missed a chance to pick some wild flowers for me on the way back home. But the truth of the matter is, we know nothing about each other.

We're aliens.

I didn't expect to hear anything from you ever again since the last time we made contact, until you appeared in my inbox once again. You were looking back at the camera, standing on a small bridge, and a charming Italian town behind you. I can clearly see peach-washed houses and bikes and brown-haired people on the background. You were smiling so brightly I didn't remember you to be this cute. The caption reads, Get a house here, maybe?

I smiled. You remember my dreams.

So maybe that's why I never forget you in my dreams.

Kindness

I didn't believe in kindness.

In this age where wit is almost always equal to sarcasm, and cynicism is the way to survival, kindness just seems like an unpopular way of being. I don't think I've been a kind person. I know I'm not a very good person, and kindness isn't a trait I'm usually associated with. I don't see a lot of kindness in my day-to-day life, which is sad, but I'd like to think that that's because it's just simply rare. People don't do kindness anymore. They'd rather be anything but kind. Kind is boring.

I don't know what to do with kindness.

I'm so used to the fact that no one bothers with being kind anymore, and since unkindness (if that's even a word) is contagious, I tend to think that it doesn't exist anymore.

But it does. 

Someone could be so kind to you, even though you don't think you've done anything good enough to deserve it.

Someone could shower you with so much kindness that you don't know what to do with it.

A Little Life's Jude St. Francis didn't know what to do with Harold's genuine kindness. He's not used to it. He's unfamiliar with it, and it feels alien to him. He thought such kindness is unnecessary; soon Harold is going to find out that he's not worth all the kindness, the love, the affection that Harold offered him. Soon, something will go wrong, and he's afraid that he won't be ready when that happens if he enjoys this happiness; the happiness of being the object of someone's kindness. But Harold loved him anyway. In spite of all the danger. In spite of every thing that happened. 

I hope one day you'd find a kind person--a genuinely kind person. Someone who's kind to you. Someone who sees your worth, even when you couldn't see it; when you didn't know you had any. I hope this kind person will be kind to you just because they want to. Because they know that you could do with some kindness. That you deserve it. That you're not as bad as you think you are--not even half of it. I hope that what they do to you will make you realise that you are capable of something. Their kindness will lift you up. Nurture you. Help you to be the best person you could be. I hope that this person will awaken something in you that have been asleep and hiding in the deepest, darkest corner of you--and stick a candle to it.

And that someday, you will grow to be the kind person that you wish you'd met. 

Two A.M Ramblings

I know that I write a lot of melancholic stuffs in this page, and if you know me in real life, I sometimes act like a comic and tend to laugh at my own jokes. But like I believe all of you are, I'm not some two-dimensional character in a teen-lit novel. When the light is out and the night is dark, and my sleepiness is somewhere but in my head, I'm actually a very serious person. I re-watch Aaron Sorkin's The Newsroom for the umpteenth time, teach myself the politics between the Sunnis and Shiites, and sometimes, try to think of how to someday leave the world better than I found it. Shouldn't be a hard work, don't you think? We were born into such a messed up world, won't take a genius to find what could be improved. The challenge, however, is in where, and how, to start.

You know how I was born into a middle class family of Javanese descent with a Muslim faith, and live my entire life in Jakarta? You know how the demographics of Indonesia's big picture is? Yep, like me. My family is, politically speaking, center-right. I grew up in the southern part of suburban Jakarta, which, truthfully speaking, is mostly inhabited by people like me. Sure, many of them don't exactly share my background, but you know, more or less, we are the pribumi. Indonesians don't understand political correctness, so I believe that it's still generally acceptable to say that word: pribumi. Most of my friends, I have just recently realized, tick all of the criteria I have just mentioned, like me. Come to think of it, during my first 20 years, I hardly know anyone who doesn't look like me.

If this was America, I'd be a white Irish girl with perhaps brunette hair living in New York. I'd be a part of Trump's target demography, to be honest. I'd be in a box full of privileged people simply because of their color and their faith, though not exactly the kind that the 1% has. I'd be the majority. And you know how privileged the majority is? Always remember this all throughout your life: There is no right or wrong. There's only popular opinion. When you're a majority, of course it's easier to make your opinion the popular opinion.

Then real life came and I was suddenly in a concrete jungle of a capital city we call Jakarta, which we all have a love-hate relationship with, and I was forced to educate myself about who I am, what I am, and how I should interact with people. I had to learn the hard way about my place in the actual world; about joining a community, an entire society that I had never been really exposed with. All of a sudden, here I am. In the middle of a culturally and ethnically diverse society that I wasn't aware I was lacking the experience of. All of a sudden, I had to learn how to place myself in this world, and where I am is really important to learn how to be politically correct.

Suddenly, I was a minority. Sure, sometimes it makes you feel like you're somewhat interesting. But it could also make you feel like being in an aquarium: everyone was watching you, examining you, asking you what it's like to be in your world. Suddenly, it's just a weird feeling. Not exactly sucks, but weird.

Now, imagine that Jakarta is a miniature of America: people from different ethnics, cultures and background flocked together to create its own dynamic. Just like America, where the immigrants are the real force behind their dynamics, Jakarta is also severely dependent on these people who once came to try their luck in the big city. This past holiday, I realized what an hellhole Jakarta is during the Eid-ul Fitr, when every last person I know left this city for--oh, God knows what. A holiday, maybe. Or a family gathering in their hometowns. Everyone was updating their social media from all over the world that I couldn't even keep up where each of them went. Instead of a 3-day family visitation in a small countryside like everyone else, I was here. In Jakarta. Shops closed, malls barely functioning (and I know this, because I went to the mall that Eid-ul Fitr evening since I was done with my family gatherings) supermarkets couldn't keep their promise of fresh fruits and vegetables, restaurants running out of ingredients and struggling to serve the overflowing of customers with limited waiters... There isn't much glory to this city when it comes to this holiday, and I was left wondering what would happen to Jakarta had none of these people come back. A real-life Walking Dead, I suppose.

So, this is why I understand that had I been born American, I wouldn't be supporting Donald Trump if my life depends on it. I probably don't really understand how immigrants feel like a threat in America, but I do know that you can't hope for a better future when you're not willing to co-exist with other people who don't look like you. I'm not even going to start with political or religious views here (because God knows it's become an issue here in Indonesia, too) but just start with people who look like us. My government always said it's trying its best to keep Papua in this country, but to what extent? Nobody's doing much for them. Those who live here, people like me, who look like me, probably first thought of them as a bunch of thugs. If we have no gun controls, it's probably only a matter of time before we also have a #BlackLivesMatter movement here around us. Because Indonesians--I don't know if you haven't noticed, but we are brutally hostile. No, we're not friendly. That's a propaganda your primary school teacher told you, the way they teach North Korean kids that Kim Il-Sung is a God. No, we're not friendly. We just like to believe we are. Or maybe we are... but only to people who look (and think, and dress) like us.

A Little Life

It is no longer a secret within humanity that life is short--perhaps even too short to experience all good things in life. There's always too many good movies to watch, too many good songs to listen, too many delicious cakes to enjoy... but if this year you are planning to read one--and only one--book, make it Hanya Yanagihara's sophomore novel A Little Life.

I don't know how to start talking about this book--not then, when I went straight to review it on Goodreads, and not even now, when it's been about a month since I finished reading (and weeping). I spent quiet a long time to finish, because there was no way life didn't happen during the course of the 700+ pages. I brought this book as a companion for my flight to Bangkok back in April, but it gave me a terrible sickness on the plane. I just couldn't--God, I don't know why! But I tell you this: this is the kind of book that stays with you; it lingers for a long time that I haven't even done feeling the aftermath. This is the kind of book that doesn't come too often in life. I haven't even lived my life long enough or read lots enough to know that, but believe me when I say that you are going to thank me for recommending me this book someday.

The story started out as something of a weird, retro image of four young men fresh out of a prestigious New England college. Jude, JB, Willem and Malcolm are going to be the main characters of the story, even though as the story developed, I feel like Jude was the sun, and everybody else was some planets that revolve around him. Granted, this novel is about Jude. I just wasn't convinced enough by reading the first twenty pages. At the end of the day, I feel like the main focus of the friendship should also involve Andy Contractor, their best friend and orthopedist who's also the only doctor in the world that Jude trusts his condition with.

Now, I knew even before I purchased this book that it's going to be a gruesome experience. It's an upsetting novel at worst, but also sweet and pretty John Green at best. What makes the whole story compelling is how Jude St. Francis (he's the sun, remember?) theoretically went full circle, through so much in his life, only to go back to the place where he started. Now, Jude is a ruthless litigator at a certain New York law firm. Nobody knows where he came from, what ethnicity he was, his sexual orientation, and he never ever mentioned his past. The present Jude is what everybody had. Now imagine how annoying to have a friend who only listens but never shares.

Jude battles a kind of self-waged war against himself every single day. He grew up being told that he does not deserve love, that he's unworthy of kindness, that he was made for a certain purpose. He was raised in a certain way that he believed that is what he is until the death of him. He's reluctant to feel love--any kind of love--from anybody because he think he doesn't deserve it. He pushes people away, even people who made it clear that they care about him, that they do not expect anything in return from him. When someone told him that they love him, he's convinced that it's only because they don't know him well enough; or the time hasn't come for them to see how terrible he really is, and that they would be disappointed to have loved him at all. Jude basically sabotaged himself into not feeling happiness at all.

The book could use some slightly better editing, but the words were so deep--sometimes philosophical--and beautiful, I wish I could frame them. I'll admit that it's a bit too long, but to cut any part of it will lessen the beauty of the little life that we're supposed to witness. We were given a chance to grow old together with Jude St. Francis; let's not make it not worth the while.

Flightless Bird

It was dark, and I was sleepy, my head was heavy, and it was most likely just the wine talking...

but in the darkest, loneliest, quietest of night,

I miss you.

Unattainable

For a while, I didn't realize how I have completely stopped writing about a particular person. Not out of deliberation, just sheer coincidence. God knows how hard I've tried to stop, but it had become an obsession--or rather, a weird hobby that involves a muse that will never get a thank you note, because he doesn't even realize how he's inspired so many writings, so many words, and countless of dreams. These days, I barely ever think about him. In fact, I barely ever think about anyone at all. The very idea that I could write about someone as much as I did of him is just beyond unthinkable. Not that I don't trust myself to ever find love again (was it even love?) but I just don't think I'd ever be... as naive, as green, and as nonchalant as I used to be. I was young--younger than I am today--and I just did it so effortlessly. Now that I'm older, I can barely see someone and not immediately pinpoint something about him that I don't like and won't tolerate. I may be incapable of love--after all, you know I'm a pusher in that I push everyone away. And I know I shouldn't... I just can't help it. I had to. Otherwise, I'd feel like I'd dissolve into a million molecules and cease to exist. What makes this person so interesting in the first place? I don't know. Please don't ask me such question, for I can't even get to the very idea why. We probably wouldn't get along very well anyway. I can even see myself and this person in another universe and even in there, I don't trust myself with him. Even in another universe, I couldn't do it. I wouldn't dare imagine that there will ever be a story, in any alternate universe in this vast and unexplored life, in which we could be together and live happily ever after. Nope. Not even in my wildest dream. 

Everything Looks Perfect From Far Away

Did you ever realize how lucky we are to be born into this world?

I absolutely thought that, since we don't actually know each other, then it's not the best place to be. But the truth is, this right here, is my favorite universe. The one where you don't know me and I love the idea of you, and yet here we are. In the same frequency.

The Enigma

Did you know that I have just turned 23 a few days ago?

I'm the kind of person who tells everyone about my birthday since January. Sometimes how I remind them of my birthday can be subtle, other times just plain annoying and borderline obnoxious. I don't know, I just really like doing that, it's kind of my thing. Yeah, I probably need to get a new hobby...

Anyway, I know that a lot of my friends have been here before I do. In fact, since I'm sort of the younger one in my friendship circle, I kind of always arrive in a phase behind the rest of my peers. It's like, they've been here, done that. But it also made me go through the many stages of life that we went through together earlier than they've ever were, so sometimes people would say, I'm wise beyond my years, but sometimes also very, very childish.

I honestly don't know what I'm going to do with being 23. Some of you might know better than I do. Some of you might even think, "What are you doing? You're an adult! You should've figured yourself out!" 

All I know right now is that I'm older. Much, much older than I think I am. Sometimes when I see high school kids, I think fondly of my miserable high school years and the realize... Damn. That was almost 10 years ago. I don't know about you, but sometimes I feel like I have the mentality of a college student. I know I have a full-time job now, yes, but sometimes I thought that there would be a holiday period waiting for me. That there would be a break somewhere down the line. I keep waiting for that moment when I can just stay at home all day not thinking about a single hard thing but then I realize... I should feel so lucky that I don't have that kind of time anymore. I should feel so lucky that I have a job that requires me to spend most of my time sitting in front of a computer, typing shit that sometimes I don't even believe in. Hell, I should feel so lucky that I have all these things that I have right now, at 23 years old.

Of course, there's always room for improvement. Like a more existent love-life, for example. Or a more fit body. Or simply a more healthy diet and lifestyle. After all, life is not supposed to be all work and no play at all, and I know that. I know. I'm just not good at finding things that I like. I'm not very good at determining whether I really want something. I'm not good with money, and terrible at making plans. I hope I will get better with all of these things, and perhaps even more that I failed to mention...

For the time being, let's just start off 23 years old with caring about treating my skin and applying my creams in upward motions :) 

Bank-ok!

Sawadee-kha, people!

Very recently (as in, last week) I went for a short trip to Bangkok with a few of my closest friends. It was a great pleasure, albeit somehow miserable... Why don't I just jump into the story, as I always do? 

Chatuchak, after two hours burning under Bangkok sun.
I obviously looked like I was working out

First of all, it was a great mistake on my side not to do some research before departing to Bangkok. People always say, "Ah, it's a lot like Jakarta!" Well, that's a bit of a bullshit, because Bangkok is scorching HOT! I thought it was just because I never actually walk around the city at home, but then I stopped believing myself. It was thoroughly hot. Like, seriously-biting-my-skin-around-noon hot. Like, please-always-remember-to-reapply-your-SPF hot (God knows I didn't).

Secondly, it's nothing like Jakarta because the street food stalls are to-die-for. I didn't take any food pictures for you, because I was too busy devouring them right after the seller handed them to me, but long story short, I think I gained 2kg just from mango sticky rice. It's that good. There was almost no food stop where my gals and I didn't stop for mango sticky rice. It's like we were on a hunt for the most delicious tom yam goong and mango sticky rice everywhere we went! (P.S. My favorite tom yam goong is from a counter near the Siam Paragon food court. But that's probably just the amateur tom yam-eater in me) Anyway, I came to the city just after the week-long Songkran holiday festivities, and they say it's the right season for mangoes. Yes, the mangoes are that good.

After walking around all day long, trying out the Chao Praya river taxi, BTS, shopping at Chatuchak Market and the upscale Siam Paragon and visiting what's probably the smallest Madame Tussaud's House of Wax I've ever been (oh how I've missed you, London!), we decided to go to this very touristy place called Asiatique, where we can see Bangkok's famous ladyboys show.

The show's pricey, but I think it comes at a cost if you were born with a penis and testosterone running in your blood to look like this:

Feeling inadequate already, ladies?

Since we felt pretty... tired (um yes, 23-year-olds feel tired too) we decided to brace ourselves to get an Uber ride home. We stayed in a very nice, entirely white IKEA furnished AirBnB in a very nice area near Khao San Road, where the loud white people went for some nightlife fun, which is great. But also... it's hardly accessible with public transport other than taxis. And taxis in Thailand seem reluctant to use the meter, plus, they hardly speak English. Ugh. I read from people's experiences (as you would expect, too) that Uber drivers speak better English, so it was a deal. And guess what? The ride is so cheap we swore not to take another public transportation ever again!! Plus, our first driver from Asiatique speaks fair English. Great.

The next day, we were still pretty loaded, so we went shopping at the most famous fashion mall in Bangkok: Platinum. The Pratunam area where it is is not too far, but still we took an Uber after having our very first McDonald's nearby the accommodation. And guess what? We ordered Uber X, but what came to us was a very nice white Toyota Fortuner, where in Jakarta, it's really hard to even get a Fortuner for Uber Black!

Platinum itself is convenient compared to the same scale malls in Jakarta, and the price range is rather lower. I know a lot of online shops in Indonesia bought their supply from this mall, which if you buy clothes in bulk, you'd get even better price than if you shop retail. From there, we went across the street to Pratunam Market, where the place is almost no different than a traditional fashion market near my home in Jakarta's suburbs:

Pratunam Market (that's Meinyda. Say hi!)

And from there, we were still not tired (ha ha lies) so we (again) got an Uber to Sukhumvit, another shopping area. Now, the part where even getting an Uber in a foreign country is a challenge, began.

We were checking out the Baiyoke Sky Hotel, which is the tallest building in Bangkok, where we will be headed that night. Since the tower practically has no other place of interest nearby, we decided to wait at the lobby and get an Uber. One driver rejected us, because, well, who knows? Then one another accepts, and this one drives a sedan. There are 5 of us, and a sedan is pretty small, no? But we literally had no choice, because we ordered a few times and still we were referred to him. Thank God, this one also speaks English, though on the phone, it was still quiet a struggle to understand him. The tower, albeit the tallest, isn't exactly easy to find, I guess, so this guy couldn't find us immediately. Until he did.................. but we put the pick up point wrong.

I thought I put "Baiyoke Sky" but instead it was "Baiyoke Suite", which is in another building, and I was already getting rude to him, to which he responded in high-pitch voice, and turns out I was wrong :)

So, of course, we raced there, went through the parking lot (because the lobby of this hotel building is quiet complicated) and met him in the level 5 car park, sweaty, tired, almost not breathing, and really, really guilty. To that driver who turned out to be very friendly, speaks English, and owns a much nicer phone than the rest of us, if you are reading this, we're very sorry :(( 

The Underground station. (yep, that Meinyda again, and oh, Tiko! Say hi!)

Another thing that sets Bangkok apart from Jakarta: the transportation system is somehow on a whole other level. I could be wrong, but it's unfair to say that we're very similar because of the heavy traffic, especially at rush hour. The thing of the matter is, Bangkok has two support systems that Jakarta doesn't have: the BTS and Underground, and the latter is very much modern like the one we can find in Singapore (not even counting on the river taxi here...) Even though they probably don't serve every parts of the city (the Underground only has 2 lines, I think?) it seems to me that they are way ahead of Jakarta. Do you realize what a very long and complicated way it is to provide an infrastructure project? You should. So that you understand that it's not easy to be a governor, and those guys currently fighting for Jakarta gubernatorial are probably no less in the dark than you at this point.

Hey, Bangkok!

Later that night, after experiencing the second nightmare of the day (the Uber driver doesn't speak English when we really needed him because somehow we ended up in Bangkok Railway Station, like, the grand station where you can go for long-haul train rides) we went up to the Baiyoke Rooftop Bar. The bar isn't really rooftop, since the rooftop is at the 84th, and the bar is at the 83rd, and it was kind of lame, and the drinks just okay... But the view. Oh, the view. Breathtaking.

Too bad we were there during maintenance, and the light was turned off so it was almost pitch black and really hard to take pictures. I even had to take a selfie while my friend showering me with a flashlight. 

Also, the wind was like so... harsh. It's hard to find a picture where our faces are not covered in hair!

Tuk-tuk selfie -- a tourist's obligation

The next day, which is also our last day, we wanted to feel more cultured so we took the tuk-tuk from our AirBnB for 100 Baht to the Grand Place. No, we didn't even bargain for the price. Yes, we could probably get cheaper. Look, it's only because our two previous Uber drivers said, "Never pay for more than 200-250 Baht for a tuk-tuk! Also, they are dangerous. Better take Uber!" So we thought we had a pretty good deal.............

Anyway, (I refuse to feel guilty for paying 100 Baht for tuk-tuk when we'd probably need to pay roughly 20 Baht to the Grand Palace by Uber--but this is just an assumption) we were so impoverished by too much shopping and eating street food so we didn't even take any guided tours in these beautiful temples and palaces, so, we knew nothing about them. Mission to be more cultured: FAILED.

Also, in these places: so. many. Chinese. tourists.

It's harder to get a picture without their presence in the background than to find a halal food in the streets. I'm speaking from fresh memory and experience, you guys.

Supposedly, the Grand Palace's...something?

Supposedly some very beautiful stupas adjacent to Wat Phra Kaew

Supposedly the gate of Wat Arun

Supposedly the beautiful stupas surrounding Wat Arun

All in all, it was a blast. Short, but rather a very remarkable trip. None of us has ever been to Thailand. None of us knew any Thai besides for "Hello" and "Thank you". None of has ever taken Uber in a foreign country (turns out it could really feel like Amazing Race, finding the pick up spot your driver can get you). We did not have much cash at our disposal, but we lived like a royalty anyway (this is probably the mistake). But after all, what's a holiday without making mistakes, without getting lost, without eating food you're not supposed to eat, or without at least try to live like locals? 

Probably just a trip.

Friday After Hours: A Ballad

The day was Friday and you were sure that things would go on easy. You came into work, made a list of goals you are going to score today and promised you'll scratch them all out at the end of the day. Then your boss came, and everything was not as simple. You started juggling things, had quick lunch, and returned to your desk almost half sleepy. The next thing you know, you barely scratch any goals you set, and was instead set for new goals that you must complete by the weekend. You got frustrated and decided to have some fun on your own. You know your friends are busy and not the kind that will soothe your mind tonight, so you go alone. "Nothing is sadder than a career girl sitting alone eating ramen with a laptop on the table. Let's do that." you thought to yourself. But your favorite ramen place was so crowded; almost everywhere in the mall was. You went to the next ramen place and was set for a not-so-good one, but better than go home with nothing. You bought yourself a dress you've been wanting for months. You checked out your favorite bookstore, and was reminded of the book you have just started at home. You were torn between going home before taxis are scarce and Uber is surging, so you went pass Starbucks. The place was crowded, almost no table left. You realized that you are not alone in this world. You are not the only person alone in that mall that evening; not the only person with a laptop and a heavy boots. Not the only lonely people wanting to find some obscure sanctuary in a place like Starbucks. Apparently, people are lonely too; and they like to be lonely together. You realized that you don't need to indulge in that kind of melancholy tonight. So you get your phone, order an Uber, and go home. It was raining mildly, but the road was already jammed. You saw a young couple hiding from the rain in the tunnel--they look so in love you wonder if you will ever be ready to love again, in this city that shines bright, even without you.

Promised Land

When I was younger, I wanted to be a journalist. I used to watch Christiane Amanpour and Anderson Cooper on TV (because they are probably the most popular war correspondent in my generation) and think, I really want to go there. To wherever it was they are reporting from. Iraq, Afghanistan, Gaza, Syria. You name it. The battlefield is always an interesting place--tears and blood are shed almost every minute, but it's the story I was always looking for the most. Because to die in a battlefield means to die as a number. But if you could die, you are not a number. You are a human. You have a heart. You have a soul. You have a story.

This year, once again, I am discovering the Middle East. It's the most exotic region in the world, with constant threat of war and a history that mankind never seem to lose interest in. I think it's safe to say that it's the land where religions were born.

Egypt

   

Whenever I hear the name Egypt, I could only think about a nation that is so rich in ancient history, a society formerly the pioneer of forward-thinking innovations that today people are still seeking the secrets of its former life. Egypt to me is almost like Greece--even though I haven't been to Greece. They are both Mediterranean countries with people who could look so much alike, and so famous in history lessons, but unfortunately so behind in today's stories.

It's sad.

El-Haram District, Cairo

When I was in Giza visiting the Pyramids (the only thing that interested me about the country at first), a guy who claimed to be an official for tourism in the Great Pyramids of Giza complex approached me and told me that our countries are very much alike, "We are basically brothers!" I can tell from his tone that he was trying to be friendly, but our countries are alike for many of the bad things it suffer: a lack of jobs, high level of corruption, low GDP, and until very recently in Indonesia, a government that likes to shut its people down to go on as a nation that looks 'fine' from the outside. We both have seen terrible demonstration to impeach a long-ruling president (though luckily we did not have to witness a man setting himself up in fire to let people get to the idea).

I swear this is the best sky I've ever seen in my life


But let's forget that. Let's focus about what it is as a holiday destination.

This is very exciting for me because it's the first time that I ever landed my feet in Africa! I have always wanted to visit Africa. First on my list is actually South Africa, then Marrakech, and somehow, Sudan (don't ask). But Egypt actually sounds really good! Sometimes I forgot how it's one of the most famous nations in the continent. The Nile River is something of a phenomenon on itself, but the Pyramids? The Suez Canal? Isn't Egypt the country you heard so much about in school?!

Cairo will bring you a tinge of deja vu for Jakarta. It's crowded, it's messy, it's full of old cars that people still use, it's very dusty, most the women wear hijabs even though it is not mandatory, and the traffic is basically hell. The tramco will remind you of angkot, and the dusty cars on the road makes you think of opening up a car wash business in the city. Basically whatever happens in Jakarta, or largely Indonesia, will happen in Cairo, or largely, Egypt.

It is another story with Alexandria, though. It's a masterpiece. The seaside town will make you think that you are in the southern part of France. You can feel the European influence almost immediately. It's like their version of Bandung, you know? You can tell that God was in such a good mood when He created this city.

The saddest part about this historical country is the lack of maintenance for its places of interest. They ask for entrance fee almost everywhere, even public toilets, even though it's not written. Someone even asked for money when I was just finished praying in a mosque he happened to (probably) keep. My guide said this is because people here can be very poor and jobs are scarce, so they need to take money from people by whatever means necessary. With corruption so high, money can buy everything--it's just not everywhere.

Jordan

When I first landed in Amman's Queen Alia International Airport, I thought it would be the new Dubai. Very unlike Cairo, where I flew out from, the city seems to be very clean, the air is clear and the weather is colder, and, from up in the air, it looked like Swiss in the middle of a desert. The airport itself is beautiful and very modern, you're gonna think it's not a country blessed to border with Israel/Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Syria and Iraq. Yep, how's that for a geographical location?

See the white on the sand? They're all salt!

Have you heard of the Dead Sea? Apparently, I haven't. I didn't know that it's located among Israel/Palestine, Jordan, Syria, and perhaps other countries I didn't know. There, over the horizon on the photo above, is Israel. I was standing in the Jordan side, where Muslims can live freely and women don't have to cover their heads (this was taken after I crossed the border from Jerusalem, where I had to wear headscarves everywhere, so pardon my weird hair). The salinity level of this so called sea is deemed  one of the highest in the world, making swimming in it is pretty risky. You could float, but prepare to be covered in salt all day. I tried dipping my feet and hands, and they're all immediately covered in salt! I tried the water in my tongue, and oh boy. You will never know something so salty, it turns kind of sour in a very strange way! If you aren't very religious like me, this sea is kind of biblical. It appears in the Bible, and somehow Muslims also recognize the Dead Sea as the hang out place for the people of Sodom and Gomorrah, and mostly their LGBT community or 'the people of Lut'.

Jordan lacks water. There is no oil field, unlike its neighbors, and as far as the eyes can see, it's sand and stones. But the people--ooh. The women are free to show their hair, which for Arab girls can be wildly styled and colored, their faces are there for everyone to see. It looks like a free a country! They almost look like an entirely different race from the Arabs in Egypt, because most of them have light skin like the Europeans, and big eyes like their own peers (or probably because you didn't think you can see Arab women that much exposed). The check-in guy for my flight from Amman to Cairo even looked like the better, skinnier version of Rob Kardashian. Faces like Zayn Malik? They're on every street corner in the whole Arab peninsula!

I did not see Amman itself (Too bad! I'm a fan of the beautiful Queen Rania!) because I went straight to this newly famous small town called Petra. What is there is a 'lost city', a historical site once belonged to the Nabateans, somehow closely related to the Egyptians, Romans and Greeks. They said they only discovered this beauty in 2008, but you can tell that Jordanians treat this site very carefully that the surrounding is very well-maintained, clean, and it's so much of an upgrade from what I saw in Egypt.

After walking 2 km among layers and layers of these beauty....

...there she is!

By the way, it was here that my phone's LCD was scattered, one day before its anniversary. It managed to break in one of the most beautiful places in the world. Great. (P.S. It didn't break me. My guide, Ahmed, even asked my how the hell I stayed happy when my phone was just broken. Well...)

WHY????

If you are like me, someone who holds a passport from a Muslim (or majority of Muslim) country, chances are, your passport is no good for entering Israel. I can't enter the country from Tel Aviv since Indonesia doesn't have a diplomatic relationship with Israel, so like everybody else with the same problem, I had to cross the border from Amman to Jerusalem.

The journey can be tiring and long. There are so many checkpoints in the middle of an empty field people claim to contain explosives, and everywhere you look, there is an armed officer with firearms always watching you. I'm not sure if these people are Jordanian or Israeli, but from the way they watch you... maybe the latter.

Security checks at the border is one hell of a system. People who won't queue is apparently a problem that is not exclusively for Indonesia. Sadly, these people seem to be people who hold the Palestinian passports. They had to succumb to the extreme checks of the enemy in a country they call home, but they also failed to show that they come from a decent society. 

Jerusalem

It's not without a struggle getting them in my hand

I honestly don't know the politically correct way of saying the name of the country. Is it Palestine, because I'm a Muslim? Or should I call it Israel, because it is under Israeli occupation? So I decided to call it Jerusalem, because, as a pacifist, and someone who actually holds one of the religions whose history was closely related to this city, I think the international world should decide to leave Jerusalem as it is, not as a part of any country. Like the Southern Pole, it should be a place that doesn't belong to any country. 

My guide, a Palestinian man with Israeli ID and probably even passport, named Jamal, is very passionate when it comes to telling stories about his country. He tells it as it is, as bitter in truth as can be: "The Israeli government is a brute. They took away the Arabs of Palestine's land and claim it theirs and suddenly charge very high prices so the Arabs can stay in their places. Jobs are scarce, and even if they have it, the living cost in East Jerusalem is too high and no one can afford it. The Israelis have ultra-modern arms, they have mandatory military service for young boys and girls for at least 2 or 3 years. They are ready to go to war at any time. But the Palestinians? We only have small arms. Nothing compared to the Israelis. Corruption in the elites is high. No fellow Muslim countries actually help. We are desperate. It's hard even trying to survive here." He also said matter-of-factly that it hardly matters who the Israeli government is killing, because when they are fighting Palestinians of Jerusalem, they are also killing Israelis. They're all under Israeli's occupation now, so it doesn't matter which is Palestine and which is Israel anymore. The West Bank might be more popular as Palestine's area and they can't live on the other side of the wall, but in this side of the wall, there are also Jews, and when the government is enforcing their army here, they are enforcing it on the Jews, too.

Now, Jamal speaks Indonesians. He also speaks other languages, such as French and Mandarin, of course, but somehow he speaks Indonesian (He also speaks Hebrew and his son, who's 19, is also learning it because he said, "It's very important that we know what the enemy is talking about.") When I first hear him talking with so much inshaa Allah--God willing--I thought it's because he was very religious or somewhat on his way to be a Muslim cleric. But nope. One day, when we stopped at a souvenir shop, I heard him talking to the shopkeepers in Arabic and they all said inshaa Allah in almost every sentences! This was completely unheard of in Egypt and Jordan. It was as if they are not willing to firmly promise anything if God ends up not allowing them to fulfill their promise! It was as if, perhaps I'm almost exaggerating, that they somehow think that their lives could be very easily taken from them anytime, so why make a promise they can't really keep?

I could be wrong, of course. I was only there for 2 days, and barely interacted with the locals because I was too careful (more on this later!). 

From the top of Mount Olives, where the view is so much better IRL

Jerusalem is a beautiful, beautiful place. It is largely separated into two parts: the East, where the Arabs of Palestine live, and the West, where the Jews of Israel are. The people are also equally beautiful, I'm not gonna lie. Hands down this is by far the country with the highest number of good looking people per square meter! And I thought Turkey was the richest in this matter! Even the Israeli Defense Force who spend all day holding big guns and covered in bulletproof clothing, they are still better looking than many Hollywood actors.

Since I'm Muslim, and my main mission was to visit Al Aqsa, I had to appear like a good Muslim woman: no pants or tight clothing, head covered in scarves and all that stuffs. Al Aqsa Mosque sits on the Muslim quarter of the old city, but I also had a fair share of coming into the Christian quarter, and oh, they are both worlds apart. Extremely different.

The Christian quarter is so much cleaner and tidy, when you entered it, you'd feel like you were just stepping into a part of theme park like Disneyland. Most of the people here are Caucasian, many of them speak English in American accent. There are so many UN cars going around the city, and it all said that their mission was to help the people of Palestine. But call me a cynic, because I don't think that's exactly what they do. That's a discussion for another day though.

Jamal told us that the reason why the Muslim quarter is, uhm, dirty, messy, and overall, in poor condition, is not because the Arabs are not into hygiene issues. The thing is, much like the difference between the East and West Jerusalem, it's more about help from the Israeli government. They obviously would not put rehabilitating the Muslim quarter as part of their priorities, so, that's what happens. 

Some street arts in the Muslim quarter of the Old City

Jerusalem is beyond the famous Old City. You can literally get some history from almost every corner. It's where Moses, Jesus and Mohammad happened to create history on, and today their followers can't help but fighting over the right of the Promised Land. The war here never stops. Poverty is very common. Street beggars, from old men pretending to sell unremarkable souvenirs just to beg money from tourists, to children who would have been so cute and innocent if they weren't born into such a miserable place. They keep yelling, "Fisabilillah! Fisabilillah!--one who fights for the cause of Allah" It's hard to define who's really the fisabilillah these days, but to be put on earth in a place where you have no money, no government, no basic human rights to hold your own religion freely? I can see how much of a struggle their lives must be.

One of the child beggars in Hebron


A week later, while I was in my hotel room in Mecca, I saw the news on CNN that the Israeli police had shot two Palestinians at the same day but different time in Old City Jerusalem. They were both from East Jerusalem, and both were trying to attack the Jews. One of them actually stabbed a Jewish man and left him wounded. Both died. Both were desperate. I can instantly see that Jamal was right. Everyone here was desperate.

The Wailing Wall

So, if you were to ask me, what was the very highlight of my trip?

Here's a little narration: It was Friday. The day after, the Jews will stay home and unlikely to do anything as simple as using their cars. Plenty of Ultra-Orthodox Jews with unique hats, dressed in black and white, children with side curls, were gathered around The Wailing Wall, making it looked like a prom night where all you really have to do was wailing. And as you can see above, that's the Dome of The Rock pretty close by. A few minutes after this photo was taken, Al-Aqsa's muezzin started to call for Maghreb prayers, and shortly after that, when I was walking back to my hotel, I heard a church bell ringing.

You can't really buy that kind of feeling, you know?

The most memorable Friday prayers, EVER!

Additional information if you are a Muslim traveling to Al Aqsa: there is such a thing as curfew. Shortly after Isha prayers or around 8 pm, they'd close all gates to Al Aqsa up until it will be time for Fajr prayers or around 4 am. Apparently, that's what life is like when your country is occupied by your sworn enemy: it's a living hell.

  

KSA

If I tell you everything that I think about this country, you're gonna think that I am not a good Muslim--or not a Muslim at all. You will think that I don't understand the religion (which might be slightly true) or you will tell the person next to you that I have been too caught up in a system that glorifies Western cultures which, ultimately, was driven by the Jews (hate to break it to you, but regardless of how right or wrong that theory would prove to be, many people from Muslim countries tend to blame it on the Jews)

So I'm not going to tell you what I think.

I'm going to tell you what's really going on.

  

Here's what I need you to understand: Many feminist media (mostly born in the West) think that KSA is a country of misogyny. They hate women so much that they won't allow them to drive. The fundamental teachings of the Wahabbi is so strong that women are not even allowed to show their faces--some don't even show an inch of skin at all. The men are allowed to marry as many times as they like, while the women are hidden, almost untalked about, in this kind of culture. I read somewhere that this is also the state in Afghan culture. Men are not to talk about the women in their family, not their mother, sister, wife of daughter. This, I think, probably also happens in other Muslim countries. My guide in Egypt, he was a smooth talker when it comes to the ladies, but a quick look at his social media accounts show that he's married with two sons, but no sign of his wife at all. He probably also have a daughter that he's never posted about, who knows? The similar experience also happens in Starbucks.

Starbucks baristas don't ask for your name. I don't know if it's the procedure in all Starbucks shops in Saudi, but it's obviously not the default Starbucks procedure anywhere else in the world. Instead, they write a number on your receipt, and later they'd put your order with the number written on it. They don't even shout the number. I don't know if that also happens in the Single's Section of the cafe, where it's all men who come without their family and/or claimed 'family'.

Oh, yes. All cafes and restaurants are separated between Family and Single Section. Even food stalls at the food court. Men and women don't line up together.

Shops meant for women are marked 'Family Only' while shops for men are marked 'Single Section' or something like that--I'm not sure, because I always made sure that I did not just step into a lion's den in a country that very easily blame things on a women--let alone a foreign woman from a country where they get most of their housekeepers from.

There are no fitting rooms in clothing shops in this country. If you are going to be a dress, you buy it, and if you don't like you, you can return for an exchange or refund your money. I don't know how long this period of return is valid, but judging from the nature of their free-spirit behavior, this goes without saying that they probably have a very good consumer protection act in their country. Probably. (Truly, though. If this was a Divergent universe, it's like the whole population of the Arab nations will be Dauntless, while Islam was created in the world to make them be Abnegation. Or Amity. Both, actually)

At the most sacred place in the Prophet's Mosque in Medina, women only have very limited time to pray while men have all the time in the world. The space for women is, I suspect, slightly smaller, and yet they only give them very limited time. Women had to fight against each other for a spot to pray. It's pretty draining, both emotionally and physically. Women can't pray in the same seriousness as the men. It's like even our path to attend to heaven is somehow limited compared to the men.

It's really hard to comprehend. It makes being a female Muslim very tough, too.

I really don't know what's wrong with this place. All I know is that one day, their beloved king fought for the regions where the Prophet Muhammad--peace be upon him--made most of his history in, and POOF! Everyone has to travel there for religious pilgrimage. There. A place where gender segregation is very apparent, and it's probably even bordering on misogyny.

But let's not go there, shall we?

May we will always be welcome here

To me, the Kaaba is still the most magical place. There are true stories of how people who came to Mecca could not see it, because God did not allow them to (Yeah, because Muslims see God in everything, according to Life of Pi). For the time being, the Al Haram Mosque is under major construction which may still take a few years to complete. But that's fine. The sanctity of this place will never be second to anything else. The number of magic happening every second to everyone surrounding it will never cease to amaze. Alhamdulillah. May we will all always be welcome there.