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.

The Ideal Lover

I probably would've attempted suicide too if I lost someone with whom I can just do this.

I always said that love would be so much easier if I could find someone who's just like me. Someone who listens to same music as I do. Someone who likes to watch reality shows just as much as a serious drama with long pauses and a bunch of award nominations associated with it. It would be a lot easier if it's with someone who likes to read the same stuff I do. It would've been the best thing in the world to be with someone who mirrors you; whom you don't have to try so hard to relate because you can even guess how his mind works and complete his sentences when he's nose deep into something that he's reading.

And then I met you. Like I won the lottery. Seven billion people on the planet, and I found you.

The world wide web is a mysterious place, but I found you. I befriended you anywhere you are on the internet until you recognize me. This is the most ideal way to find a soulmate, I told myself. This is how you could easily find out if someone is compatible with you. You like the same things, talk the same way, and you think the way I do. I'm impressed. I found you.

You.

The taller, darker, skinnier version me. With a dick.

I guess I proved my theory right because it was so easy to love you. It was so easy to imagine how to spend the rest of the time--not just my life--with you. We could always just step into a cafe, murmur the song they played and found out that we've loved that song since high school. We could list down the movies we've watched for the umpteenth time and the movies we couldn't wait to see and most of them matched. We could just sit down on the sofa, reading the books we recommend to each other and loving it--because we love the same things and we never had to guess what the other person is going to like. If you like it, I'll like it. And I didn't even have to lie.

But everyone has issues, and ours is self-loathing. I hate myself every now and then, here and there, that was also mirrored in you. I hate you because you remind me of myself, and I remind you of some parts of yourself you are still not at peace with. We are dealing with the same issues and we don't know how to cure it.

It's too late now to leave. You are stuck with me and I am stuck with you. Seven billion people on the planet, and I have to be stuck with you. 

I still know you well. I know when you will be hungry, when you will need some fresh air and sit on the back porch, reading that lousy Tolstoy book you brought to our first meeting. I know when you will call me and ask if it was time for you to feed the dogs, or trim the bonsai trees, or make an afternoon tea. I still know you very well.

I just didn't know when you start losing me, or I'm losing you, and now it was all just a story of make believe.

High Hopes

 Liz Lemon found these words sooner than me.

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.