International Women’s Day

It’s the 8th of March today and acknowledged globally to celebrate women.

I woke up at my usual waking time - an hour snooze after my alarm beeps. Right away, I checked my work team chat and tried to quickly pull my self together. Got some tasks up my sleeves. So I clocked in some hours, working on some design which was exciting, on the international women’s day nonetheless. The day rolled out quickly, rather intense, I managed to take a break for my usual 12 minutes meditation, kitchen cleaning and brewed coffee.

At 4pm I finally had my first meal, took shower and stretched my legs.
All the while, social media and group chats buzzed with the greeting: happy International women’s day. Look at this women who done this done that… Look at ourselves, so fierce and powerful, slaying in red lipstick and heels. The many colors, layers and hats that we wear. Look how far we’ve come!

But honestly, I’m tired.
I’m a f*cking tired woman. And I hope I revisited this piece in the coming years without regret. This woman right here is apparently very salty in terms of celebration.
I know we’re celebrating women’s achievements, there’s no denying that we are so much, we are a lot. But in the tiredness of it all, I just want the world to stop pointing at what we do and instead respect as for who we are, women. I just want a day for my self to feel enough without the need to show the world that I’ve-done-it-all-smile behind my bruised heart, broken bone and dark circle under my eyes.
 
I took 3-hours nap today. I got up, fixed up my CV, sent the job application and made my self a dinner. Maybe a glass of rose later. Sorry girlfriends, for not feeling that festive, not even up with the colorful dress and turban. It’s one of those days.

Tomorrow I’ll smash the patriarchy again.

My favorite color

Gifting is a tricky, isn’t it? I love Christmas gift tradition but sometimes I need to squeeze my brain (and wallet) in order to nail that perfect gift. The last one on my list is for my work bestie, and after visiting many stores, I couldn’t seem to find the one that will make her scream in joy.
She is into journaling, so I would like something in that category, but nothing in the store served that function, nor affordable enough, nor expensive enough and most importantly cute enough.
I finally gave up, wrapped up my Christmas shopping spree and on the cashier counter spontaneously bought an orange pen as a back up for anyone. At the end of the day, I ran out of ideas, it was getting late so I decided to wrap the pen for her in addition to a cute pink necklace that I know she would like.
I laughed to myself. A pen. How ridiculous is that. Why would anyone intentionally give a pen to someone? It seems like an afterthought AF.
But anyway. Let me buy her a drink and hopefully she will still count me as a bestie.

The next day we exchanged gift. I opened a box from her, and guess what did I receive? A pen. I laughed to myself again, is this karma? Albeit, mine is a luxurious fountain pen in maroon color.
“Oh my God, we gave each other a pen!”
“Yes, I know red is your favorite color, so I choose the maroon pen for you!”

I really appreciate this pen, but can’t help but think: Yes I love red, but maroon is not red. And of all colors, I think maroon is my second list favorite color. Red is brave, shocking and required immediate attention. And with an additional splash of blue, it takes away those characters of red. I look good in red, but never really invested in any of maroon stuffs.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the pen and I love her with all my heart but this gift gets me pondering, do I not show my true color on daily basis? Am I conveying the wrong message through unintended actions? Which side of personality is clouded and does not shine? And, is it really important to be known as myself, with my favorite color and all that?

I caress the pen and promise to write some more. I didn’t take this personally, she might run into trouble of finding the perfect gift like I did, and it was not a big deal really.

But my favorite color is blue.

That was the tiger year

The remnants of 2022 were empty journal pages, notes on the long list of international shipping company and stack of legal document dented with frustration. It was the tiger year, the year when I supposed to be the bravest. But bravery comes in many forms, and the horoscope writer left that in a vague end. Vague AF.

I guess I was brave enough to move my self, my partner and our kitty to a new city. A new country. A new continent. Across the ocean! I’ve done that several times, as one person with two suitcases and a cast of evergreen support system. So, it was more of me replicating the routine, embracing the newness. But this time around, I’ve dragged these two that I can’t live without and I must say it was complicated. There were two months prep with my anxiety all time high and countless research/discussion/arguments/compromise/enlightened moments/and what not. There were tears and countless small wins celebration.

And once we arrived, the adjustment phase was another story. I lived in this country before, so it was kinda homecoming queen vibes. But taking care of the family was the complication that I didn’t put into the equation. And many times I couldn’t offer comforting space and snapped easily. Mainly because I was exhausted. Physically exhausted from full-time working, social time and using my self to the max. Not the 2018-exhausted, but still I need more time napping and filling my cup again. You’re in a new country, and all you want to do is napping? Doesn’t seem right.

I haven’t done something this big in the recent five years. Moving to Portland might be something close to it, but it was also a part of this moving scheme. I have already forgotten how a big milestone impacted my life and I didn’t process it at all until now. A dear friend asked me, how do you feel? Are you adjusting well? I couldn’t answer. I blurted, it was ok, moving as usual. But reflecting on 2022, moving was the big word that shadows everything else.

And honestly, that is not how I would like to remember about 2022. I kept a daily illustrated gratitude journal and amidst of the blank columns, life indeed is full of little cute things. I have trained myself to strive for those moments. Reading on the park by the canal. Rosé, lots of rosé. Great shows at Paradiso. Any shows at Paradiso. Creating mini posters for J’s shows. Bunch weeknight dinner. Movies at Trianon. Making friends with the bartender downstairs. Train ride with view of farmland and practicing “Koeien!” “Paarden!” “Schap!” Listening to new Soccer Mommy album back to back. Xian comforting noodles. Any noodles!

And I keep forgetting that I did travel to London and had my underground moment. That day drinking wine spritzer on the park in front of Tate Modern before Pete Doherty’s show at Kokos was one of the best days. I also had some elation post Geneva super-recharging trip. And visiting my best friends in Trieste after 10 years of separation! Ugh, how can I forget all these people walked into my life? Reunions and new friends that willingly offered: we are your support system now. How did I manage to say 2022 was blah when on the flip side I met and befriends with awesome people? This does not add up ;)

But that was the 2022 and it was a tiger year. The year when I was broke but regaining too many new experiences for growing. If I look back at the year, would I do things differently? Definitely. But would skip the moving part? I have no other choices and no regrets. Was it worth it? Hell yeah.

Am I hopeful for 2023? Ugh, after a harsh note on 2022? I will try my best. Because the only way is up now. And I will come back to my ordinary little moments and my people often. Because they keep me grounded and makes this life worth living.  

Find Me Here

I rarely talked about this, but I am so freakin’ obssesed with Call Me By Your Name. This one movie made me went down the rabbit hole of many things, and Timothy Chalamet was only the top of the iceberg. I think the whole package of CMBYN was masterpiece in many levels. Yes the outstanding performance of my dear Timothy, the whole mood of summer in Italian sleepy town and fantastic screenplay adapted from a great book. Thanks for Luca Guadiamo for that.

And the soundtrack that up to these days, are still frequently played whenever I need to focus.

And the book, I’m surprised that the book was not trending on booktok, because in the book we can be intimate with Elio. His fear and doubt, his excitement! It was all the feelings! It was almost the perfect queer lit and even has more stories of Elio Elio. Although, after reading Giovanni’s Room I can’t help to notice the similarity.

Few months before pandemic, I was lucky enough to attend the book sequel launch with a book talk by no less than Andre Aciman himself. Yes I gotta talk to him and of course I asked a silly questions, “What’s the name of the dog in the train scene?” And he answered, rather annoyed, of that was not the thing he focused on.

Because of course in the talk, one take away that I learn from this whole obsession and how great Andre Aciman is, he really likes to explore feelings or situation or circumstances that can not be precisely defined. And that idea has been lingering in my head so long that I feel the urge to write down in this blog again. It is so very relatable with me and the way I’ve been approaching writing in this blog. Not that I’m self-proclaiming my self as a great writer as Aciman, but let me say, it is an aspiration. This place is never been about my self, my activities and will never be about travel itineraries or skin care products. My favorite thing about writing here is when I can ramble for a while, sometimes down to the very details. In the end I feel very satisfied when I can explore a place, or a person (mostly is about this! Ha!) or a situation where or when the nuances are carefully laid out. It is really about the feelings.

I’ve been tinkering for a while whether or not I would like to invest my time again in this space. My other place is great, by being direct and open, it has led me to beautiful friendship and opportunities that I have never thought before. But I guess there is a novelty of being a bit indirect and limitation often sparks creativity. And I kinda enjoy Sunday early night with my words. I’m still scared of commiting to anything, but for the time being, I think you can find me here.

Of course, I am no Andre Aciman and I will focus of the dogs’ names.

Park (of Eleanor and Park)

I was not feeling very well couple months back and decided to read some comfort books. I scrolled through my kindle library, and decided to reread Eleanor and Park, my all time favorite young-adult romance.

I finished it in couple of days, I re-savored all the feelings, oh first love, first kiss and first everything… Sometimes I wish those feelings are not exclusively reserved for the young and reckless kind. This time around, I also understand more and more the social injustice issues in this book: poverty, domestic abuse, peer pressure, racial issues, and so on. And in the end, the second re-reading validated me that Eleanor and Park still deserves the five stars in my heart.

Additionally, what stroke me the most was how I understand my self more by meeting Park in this book. Of course I fell in love with this boy who always wore band t-shirt and created mix-tape (!!) with all his heart. Because in my teenage year, that was me! Not that I think Eleanor didn’t deserve Park - they were teenagers in love, so let them live that world.

But this is about me, and I feel seen with Park character.

It started when I was thirteen, I guess. I was an adolescent girl with limited social activities and all the time at my hands. Fashion, make-up, and most of features in Seventeen or Young & Modern were not interesting to me. I mostly spent all my time in the world with listening solely to Oz Radio, devouring all pages of Hai magazine and watching too much MTV (also [V] channel). I had a thud in my heart when I discovered Oasis. Jon Bon Jovi was my biggest crush, and not so long after that, Eddie Vedder took the place. I spent my after school hours imagining band life, musicians daily pursuits and other rock n roll scenes. Would it be nice to be in a room with Damon Albarn and listen to his thoughts? LA must be awesome, I would be frequenting all Guns n Roses gigs.

All this time, I had no one to converse with about all these stars. My closest circle consisted of girls, and despite that I really enjoyed spending time with them, sharing secrets about our crushes during sleepover and whatnot, no one seems to understand my obsession with music and musicians down to the finest details. No one seems to get that discovering Crush with Eyeliner video was a brain-f*cked.

No wonder, when I finally met a classmate who recited Yellowledbetter and can talked forever about what a brilliant song Married with Children was, I had this strange feeling in my heart. Unlike Park, he was a popular boy in school and had exes in tow! Argh, I was secretly in love an in denial, but would spend hours conversing about what we have seen on MTV last night. He was the one who gets it when I discreetly showed him my brand new Hard Rock Cafe Michael Stipe edition when I was passing by. We both, of course, had a long argument about who loves Michael Stipe more.

Now readers, this is a story about Park and me, not about how I had my heart badly broken. I moved school - not because I was broken hearted, mind you, it was just about time to choose a new high school - it took another lonely two years until I found someone who speaks about Ten album with sparkling eyes. This time it was an awesome girl, and we’ve been best friends ever since. We had falling out and making up, but safely to say, no hearts were destroyed, and our relationship has grown so much beyond punk and hardcore scenes.

And still after all those years, meeting Park in Eleanor and Park, was a revelation of what it feels like to meet someone who speaks your language. And for that, I will always hug this book whenever I see it in a book store.

And readers, I wish you meet that kind or person, many many times in your life, and never stay out of touch.

The devastating feeling of accidentally shrunk sweater

I just got home from a short day trip form Amsterdam and casually sorting my laundry out of the washer. I have one hour till the clock hit midnight and might as well finish this core, I thought. Then there, in the middle of jumbled damp clothes, I saw it: my favorite rainbow sweater is now 5 size smaller. And my heart was in million pieces.

I know this is a laughable first-world country problem. Jesse keeps on repeating “It’s just a sweater!” And I couldn’t manage to feel other than sad. Sad is underrated. It is devastating to be exact. I can’t shake it off and decided to wallow for a while.

Back in the beginning of winter, I decided to pamper myself with something nice and cozy that would get me a tad excited about cold weather. I’ve always wanted a stripes sweater in rainbow color and the stars aligned, my favorite clothing brand sold that online. It was a little more than my budget and I took few days of contemplation. But one morning I got up, sleepily checked e-mail and I bought that in a wimp. I cursed myself for couple of days, why did I splurged when I supposed to be saving. But when the sweater arrived, I couldn’t be happier.

In the spirit of spark joy from our beloved Marie Kondo, I realized that was the feeling when you own a piece that you really love and proud of. A piece that was well-designed and in high-quality (albeit the mass production from China) that embodied your value and vibes. It’s just your forever thing. And mine was this bright colorful sweater that I got compliments for every so often. With this, I can conquer the world. At that time, I swear I don’t need to buy another sweater. (Fast forward: I was wrong. Two months later I bought a classic black sweater).

And last night, I couldn’t fit into this sweater anymore, the fabric felt heavy and fuzzy and I sat there with a lot of question in my head. Of course, I turned into youtube to the rescue, did my best soaking it in conditioner, and so on.. Although I managed to pull the wool and it is now in a bigger size than when it just come off the washer, I realized that it will never be the same sweater again. I went to bed with frown and overthinking of what could have been and what I should have not done. A good portion of that involved myself questioning my the spark-joy theory versus attachment. I felt betrayed with my faith in the sweater. It supposed to bring me confidence that I sort things out in my life. But seeing it in tiny form, I’m wondering if I should have bought a cheaper version advertised by targeted ad. I maybe can shrugged it off easily.

It’s just a sweater. But this feeling is devastating, I can’t deny.

    

Sheer simplicity

Illustration by Design Love Fest

The truth is, I’m a little bit sad today with the demand of this fast world. It’s not enough that you are something, you gotta do what it takes to keep you in the market. It’s not enough that you produce good stuffs, you gotta keep up with the marketing to keep rolling. When you are beautiful, brilliant and radiant, everybody would want something of you. And sometimes it takes a lot to keep on giving.

I’m not naive, I know there’s business models, balancing where ends meet and other logistics. There are middleman and messengers in between. It is never as simple as farm to kitchen to table. It’s not enough that we survive with hunting and cooking skills. The world is so much more complicated now, that we have to understand spreadsheets. With the advancement of technology, shouldn’t life be simpler?

And often I wonder, is this the picture of success would be? When I was a kid, I always wanted to be an architect, innocently thought that I would be drawing, drawing and drawing. Never crossed my mind that it includes dealing with clients, building the company and making sure there’s enough coffee beans in the pantry. And that kid with assortment of pencil color, did she wonder about her salary digits? Or the type of couch she could afford?

Life is simple, or not?

Barista

A long time a go, I had a crush on this barista in a small coffee shop nearby my office in midtown. He is not too tall, pretty lean with just the right amount of muscles. And oh so handsome and he starred with a deep cut to your soul. I think he used to wear a black-rimmed glasses, the kind of look that I imagine was stolen from from Raphael Saadiq Vintage Ray era. I didn’t really pay attention until one day he told me my cortado has 4 shots of espresso and he hoped it does the work for my Monday morning.

Almost every morning (because sometimes went straight for a morning meeting), I passed by the coffee shop window and smiled or waved at him. Heart skipped a beat. By the time I got to the order counter, my coffee is ready. He handed me the cup and I sheepishly received it. His left arm was tattoed with a Keisya written in big cursive letters. Almost covered the whole lower arm.

For once I would like to believe that Keisya is a name of a country.
But I am a geographer, and this lie can only stays a second in my head.

That Rockaway feeling

I can feel it’s ending. That Sundays, when everyone rushed to the beach just because we had unseasonably warm weather in late September, there was a pang in my heart knowing we tried our best to grab the remains. Just like when we polish our past bowl with a piece of bread to soak the scrumptious sauce.
The beach was the same, gorgeously lit and warmed by overloaded summer sun, and cooled down by the water nature and breezy wind. The beige sand felt a little rough on my feet, but maybe I was a little too sensitive.
But the food bazaar has closed down, leaving snaky lines in front of the remaining vendors. I didn’t manage to get my last dose of stroberita, the bar closed its curtain before four and I opted for Naraganset from the other seller instead. And at the end of the day, everything felt a bit off. There was something really sad about the fold down the umbrella on top of all the picnic table.
The day was shorter, we talked about this as we were walking down to the van line. It was before 7pm, and the sky already had a dash of pink. We joked around on how winter sucks, but deep inside my heart I know it is never a joke. Oh summer, I know I could never detach my self from you. I tried to smile it off, but it came out bitter. I guess I still couldn’t resist the temptation to hold on to you. I want you to stay, I don’t feel like making space for a new beginning. I want my life to be a forever summer.
But life happens, and northern hemisphere has it’s own thing. This is my test, I guess. I can’t fight something that is not there anymore. That summer feeling, that Rockaway vibes, they don’t come out in pills.
Good times come to an end, they say. I believe they’re making a way for a new beginning. In which at this point I know that it is not always for the worse, it is often for the better. I am hopeful as usual, and believe that time heals. There will be pumpkin season, Halloween party and second season of Stranger Things. I will have more time with my pile of books-to-read and illustrations projects. But as I was sitting in the back seat of the van crossing the bridge going to Flatbush, I wanted to be alone with my whim.
I’m gonna miss you, and I convinced my self that it is okay to feel this way.

2016: Where did we go wrong?

I am so not in the mood to wrap this year with a contemplative writing or some sorts. I feel that this year everything just happened, for better or worse, mostly weird. It makes it difficult to draw some strings or to categorize things. But the tradition must live on, and I kinda miss rambling in English.
So, let’s see.

2016 begins with a new team and a new title: graphic designer. A title that might seems so mundane and hip and all the twenty-something ever think about, including the twenty-something me. Yes, I took a career detour before I got here, but I landed in a pretty good spot. I need to learn and unlearn many things, but never felt this good to be true to myself. Although until now, I sheepishly smile if someone ask what I’m doing which is choosing colors and lay-outing document on a daily basis.
Nothing major happened in the early 2016, maybe because I know I’m not functioning well during winter. So I hauled up with myself in the apartment and read couple of books. We didn’t even have spring! I marched through cold April and May, worked my ass off, spent hours digesting more graphic design books.
And then, boom! It was summer. The summer where I had two two-weeks long vacation, spent endless times by the beach, and was beyond happy. I didn’t even remember any other major life events in the summer, except those smiles and high doses of post-beach session endorphine.
My beau and I managed to visit Indonesia this year. It was a big trip for us, not only in the amount of miles collected, but also a big introduction of Indonesia, islands and culture for him. It also tested us as a couple in a new environment who sometimes barely knows each other.

Fall was dedicated to another phase of learning as I enrolled in a advance graphic design class. I guess the gift of learning is the one that stays with me the longest. The teacher is super awesome and encouraging, the assignments were interesting although could be time consuming. This time I was not shy to give comments in class and actually enjoy the critique class. At the very last session we watched Milton Glayser video and commencement speech by David Foster Wallace as we enjoyed drinks and crackers. I guess I had too much white wine that time, but those clips sank deep into me, as I wrapped my head around the idea of learning and failure.

On the downside, digital life was messy. I’m not into twitter anymore since there are too many marketing induced and sponsored tweet. Instagram was heavily infused by jealousy. And Facebook, oh dear Facebook God, did you intentionally created Facebook to channel that many hatred? I thought dislike button was for fun.
These clutter and noise poked me to commit to less news source. I read at least one article from nytimes these days. And oh, blogosphere still consists of the best people in the internet *fistbump*

And the rest of 2016 was a bit cold and incoherent for me. There was this pang in my heart knowing that I live in the world without David Bowie, Alan Rickman, Prince, Muhammad Ali and Leonard Cohen. There was this sick in the stomach counting the day of the new president of the United States will be in full force. Where did we go wrong?

I guess everything happens for some reasons. Maybe we haven’t seen the light through the crack, maybe we need more reasons to learn and be relevant. Maybe, this world is indeed a bad place if we do nothing about it. But I honestly have no clue. Like I said, it is been difficult to contemplate things these days. Maybe because on the spiritual or side, I am kinda depleted this year. Nothing really enlightened me and I stop searching for my happy place. Because I know, summer ;)
On the contrary of last year note, this year I found that happiness is not a place or destination. It is us or myself or this soft spot in the centre of my chest that warmth my whole being every time I spend minutes watching kitten video. It is this strange illusions that we must go somewhere to be, but we don’t have to. It is kinda like a feel good lost feeling. I guess in 2016 we learn that we have been doing it wrong all this time, in a hard way.

So, taking notes from a rotten year, may we take a little time to be with ourselves, before we throw a better version of us out there. May we find our centre, our core, our reasons to be here. May 2017 be the year we find our way home and open the door to let people in.

And thank you 2016 for the Stranger Things, Raden Mandasia si Pencuri Daging Sapi and Hinds full album.

Highschool of the damned

I suspect that I have unresolved issues with my high school time and I just couldn’t point out exactly what it is. Though over good fifteen years have passed, this still drives me crazy. Guess the teen angst were tattoed on my mind. Forever.

I was reading Dilan and waiting for a sea of memories drowning me in. But nothing washed me over, not a single tingle of how sweet high school was. When I took a break and tried to recalling things, the first thing that come out was Faith No More. What a weirdo, I spent the first year of high school wishing I was home listening to Digging the Grave instead of spending time with real people in white and grey uniforms.

But I remember finally had a good time with the rest of my time in high school. I ended up relating with my classmates, was in a all-girls gank and took a lot of pictures of them. This awkward and gloomy girl molded herself into one supposedly cheerful chick.

But the truth is, I didn’t get it. I didn’t get it why my friends didn’t get it when I talked about Kurt Cobain. Have you heard about pop-culture? I thought MTV was nation-widely aired. There were places where we feel that we fit in nicely, and high school was not one of the few. Maybe it was too homogeneous for my preferences. Or it was me who miss-understood the hormones imbalance with completely misguided role models. We’ve been very much oppressed our sexuality and as I’ve always been a good girl, I thought I did it well.

And the ugly thruth is, most of the time I felt ugly. I didn’t have a positive body image and hijacked my self-esteem with brain and bad-ass-ness. Maybe, I was not really sure what was happening back then but surely I don’t want to feel that way again.

..

Flash forward to summer vacation of September 2016, the day I finished the Hairstyle of the Damned. This book by Joe Meno is my forever thing and I wouldn’t take it off the shelves unless I would give it to someone who would sincerely cherish it. For the reason that every time I turn the page, I made a peace with myself and whatever happened in my high school year. Yup, the impact was that prominent. It was so weird that Brian Oswald life in Chicago resonated with me who lived thousand miles away, and the more I read the book the more I get my self.
I finally OK-ing my obsession with alternative music. And I also accepted when I decided that pop music is trash and only listened to music with guitar riff in distortion. And the later when I shyly jumped into the punk scene.

That halloween party scene in the book leaves me to ease to admit all we were, teenager in different costumes tried to blend in. Perhaps, if we had halloween party during high-school years, things would be better? Maybe. I stop my what-ifs and contently leave them like that. I understand my self now, as much as I tried to understand everyone who went to school wearing white and blue-ish grey uniforms. Because high school is what it is despite that I didn’t have any boyfriend or hairstyle.

Starting over

Has it been four years? Nearly five years maybe. Quite a stretch of time since I committed not to have direct communication with him. Well I slipped two times, dialed a number just to hear his voice. I regretted that because the conversation was stiffed, but ever since I’ve been very clean. Living continents apart set a solid distance and I must say that I had my heart healed.


But suddenly the opportunity arrived and I’d be in his town. It makes some sense to pay a visit. Say a hello, maybe. A coffee or two. I braced my self to confront my own shadow and the ghost of him. The soft dark tone that wasn’t haunting anymore but softly lingering.
And it turned out to be a burst of fun. We started with a meet-up in a bar, our bound with beers have always been there. His broken English were still apparent, but I got it. I always got him. His brutal honest sense of humor has always made me like him a little bit more. And after few pints, we quickly tightened the bound between us. It was as perfect as we began our first relationship, as best friends.
So many laughs, as this country was the country we lived in. He seems distanced, but I was very open. I ordered another round, and nudged him to confess. And by then he realized that I didn’t do any harm, the air was filled with a good intention. It was raining gently outside, but inside I felt nothing but warm. We had a good time, but I signaled him that I have to end the night. He dropped me off in front of my hotel gate, and when I took a look out of the window, I could see him walking slowly on a wet pathway with a sheepish smile.
The next morning my landline phone in the hotel room rang. It was him telling me that he managed to rent a bike for me and would like to take me for a daytrip in a country side. We pedalled our bike on the road to Amerongen, he went ahead I followed suit. Such a fine late summer morning until we hit the muddy road. We had too much fun that we forgot yesterday’s rain. His sports bike strolled easily while mine was dragging along with a lot of mud burst everywhere. Oh, we let a lot of laugh.
I had a another day trip without him to meet the guy that I used to have a huge crush on. Two hours went by in a flash, my dreams were fulfilled. During some alone time waiting for the train, I jotted down that I was very happy. Also, I can’t wait to meet him to tell him how happy I was. The urge to share was unbearable.

On my last night in town, we decided to meet up in a student pub. Oh, well. This could have been difficult and awkward. He was usually quiet as I fished out some talks. But I was glowing, and couldn’t stop smiling. I was glad that I spent time in his town and rekindled our connection. After all, he deserves to be loved in a sincere way and sparked with good will.
And when the night finally gave up, we hug. Such a deep and warm hug with all our might. It was as perfect as we hug four years ago, before I departed with my flight.

Only this time we start it all over again as best friends.

I guess I have done my part of forgiveness very well.

#kantorism

It’s been over a month or so that I’ve been under a big project. It will be over soon, and I’m still in the thick of it all, but I feel tired and broken. I made so many mistakes along the way, and I felt that I haven’t prepared enough for such a big project. For the record, I’m not a master of planning, and couple of things I didn’t anticipate beforehand. Usually such things never chickened me out. But the reason that I am very regretful today is, I was unable to nurture my kindness and compassion in a difficult time. When I look back and ask these questions: Was I kind? Did I deliver a solution? Was I supportive for my team? And I hang my head in shame, I wasn’t and didn’t. I was cranky, self-centered and was only able to see things from my perspective. I failed to understand the problems of other people. One of my goal and actually my base to maintain my sanity is, I want to be not only a skillful person but mainly a nice person to work with. I would like to be that co-worker that you’d like to hang out with for a mini coffee break, and I couldn’t remember the last time I did that. I’ve been learning to be a team member except a hero of my own, but I guess I need to learn some more. I don’t know, I might join a hockey team or something like that. I’d be happy to be a compassionate goalie.

The non-presidential debate

I'm signing off the debate. I know where I stand and I'm tired of lame argument. I might be shame of my self because my lack of understanding on religion.
But I guess there's no point of proofing who's right or wrong. We might hate each other a little, and break our friendship. Which I think it is not a purpose I'm connecting with people.
But in the end, there's nothing I can do but sharing space on earth with these people. We might never reach the world peace but I think I can make peace with my self and people around me.
We might have different opinion, because we are two different people with two different personality and background. We were raised differently, our religion might be different. But alas, we have to live side by side and make sure we smile every once in a while.
Cat person ans dog person can argue so much, but cat and dog might live together in harmony. Why don't we learn from them?

BITCH!

2015: A meandering road to a happier place

It is the time of the year again. I started this ritual on January 2010, skipped 2012 and decided to continue. In one way or another, I’ve always been contemplative, and new year suits this the best, whether I party out, hygge up or sleep it off. 

 So, 2015 went by in a flash, in a blink. I think this is the quickest year I’ve ever experienced. One snap and there it goes. They say time flies when you’re having fun. I guess so, although as I get older, everything seems more mundane, bit by bit. None can top 2013 yet, eh? 
I began 2015 with a firm step, along with a new job and a new point of view. I fell in love with my new team with our Friday WTFisforlunch ritual. I actually looked for to come to the office in the morning and say hello to them. But I guess nothing could beat my eternal love for waking up late and overdose of sleeping. I thought with this killer combination I could go day by day with a smile. 
But the year 2015 was the year when I learn about depression and anxiety. I worried too much about everything. I had thousand what ifs in my mind yet not a single of whattheheck. My top biggest worry was the apartment rent, other new york bills and my work performance. At the same time, I wanted to work less and spend more time enjoying the city or go somewhere warmer. And those summer days finding an apartment, moving in, moving out and can’t stop thinking about the beach! Early summer 2015 didn’t take it easy on me. 
There were times when I felt a pang in my heart and a dire need to go for a walk. There were times when I scratched off my to-do-list, and bundled up inside with endless thoughts and worries in my head. Now I understand why some distressed people could not party out, because there were times I shook my head and avoid activities that I used to enjoy. I was not interested in running, going out, vacation, drinking or anything, I simply dig my own rabbit hole of unhappiness. 
Then it was the point where I could not take it anymore and reached for help. I decided to yell screw you and get back on happiness track. Yup, that two weeks vacation, meet-up with lovely family and friends was my fu*k it escape. One of the happiest day of 2015 was spent by the beach with late night swimming and never ending giggling. I remember the feeling of the setting sun on my almost translucent skin and how warm it was surrounded by bestfriends and summer. 
Ups and downs, it was not always a joyful ride, but it sure gets me somewhere. This year I unsurprisingly reunited with my not-so-long-and-lost passion, painting and graphic design. That summer when it was striking hot outside, I spent hours with white paint and slanted brush, working my way until my apartment basked in ultra white. And that autumn when it was gorgeous outside, I spent weekends with adobe package and crashed with stir craziness. One of the memorable article I read this year was about finding passion: You already found your passion, you’re just ignoring it. And universe also granted me with a slower life as I had two months of part timing. It was scary at the beginning, as I was faced again with my anxiety. But in one lovely noon I took a long walk during lunch break and suddenly it hits me, that I could have my lost weekdays. All smily, I decided to embrace it. And indeed it was lovely, I immersed myself in my love for Brooklyn with a frequent bike riding over Brooklyn Bridge. 
 Then everything sped up in December. I wrapped up the year with a old-and-new job or whatever the name is. At the same time, I got the chance to be featured again in the alumni magazine, and this time I also gave a remote talk on my grad school anniversary. It was nothing big, probably more of self center talk rather than inspirational profile. But I must admit I couldn’t deny the nice feeling during my subway ride home. For once in 2015, finally I went home feeling like a champion. 
 But hey, I am not up for any competition. I hope we are all gonna make it. For sure, no one is going to get out of here alive. No one is really sure when this world is going to end, and who belongs to heaven or going to reincarnate over and over. At the end of the year, I had enough battle and slaying dragons and would love to just dance the night away. So, why don’t we pledge to make it easier to live for others, maybe by throwing confetti of kindness? Or more picnic and outing? Oh, I would love to succeed in the party and hospitality department. 

 2015 might be a long and meandering road to a destination, but I’m not gonna give up my journey to a happier place. I’m not gonna stop my soul searching and my attempt to make this world a better place. Nope, I’m not trying to be a powerpuff girl, but at least hopefully you can count on me for a good time.

Happy New Year lovely people, I wish you love, happiness and good fortune throughout 2016.

Halfway through 30ies and back to bookworm

Those lazy days, waking up late and went to the beach are all I need.
And I’m back in NYC, 36 yo. Man, being 36 feels so strange. I feel like I’m older than anyone else in the world but at the same time can’t deny that I’m very young. So much of the world to see and so many people I’d like to meet.
I’m no longer hiding the fact that I’m over 35 despite and I’m behind in a lot of aspects of life. 35 was so weird too, I juggled between staying young and wants to fast forward at the same time. It went by in flash, in a snap. I remember the struggles, the breakdown and the anxiety creeping in, and so many sleeps in between.

Another thing, the time has finally has returned, that I enjoyed reading again. I love books so much, but it’s been difficult for me to devour readings. So many books and pages I’d like to digest, but so little time and attention span. I was struggling with it in a past years. But in this vacation, I grab a book and I’m hooked. And it makes me feel so alive.
This is rewinding those moments of Kafka on the Shore, Eleanor and Park, Us (oh the five-stars books I have read in 2014), One Day, Life of Pi and many more. Jesse, and most of the people I met here, is of course into reading. He read faster than me and many times he forced me to read his version of classic books. I was not confident with my ability reading classic lits, but Moveable Feast is merely 100 pages or so, let’s do this. And boy, don’t you love how Hemingway describe Paris? Don’t you remember how Midnight in Paris touched you? Aren’t you happy that these great writers depict your favorite cities in such delights?

So, I think it would be it for the rest of the year. What have you been doing would be replaced with what books have you read lately?

Moving, often is not a good idea if you involve a lot of stuffs. Or people.

Things I learn from moving apartment (which I already know before, but this further convince me about my self).

1. I fucking hate packing or unpacking. Unless I have tremendous amount of storage space, it often blew my mind how I have to make decisions to put things where it belongs. Yes, I am messy and cluttery, but it is fucking hard to change my personality from the girl who just spread things over space to that girl who rolled all of her socks into one of the drawers. 
2. I’m small, so I don’t like storage space that requires me to use stools or ladder. Meaning, I’m not comfortable storing stuffs above my head and I question my ability to keep everyone’s safety with over the head storage. 
3. Since I’m small, I’m also weak. I don’t have the muscles to lift heavy stuffs. I would do it anyway, however it often ended up with me hating myself being weak. I like things accessible. Thus, I tend to store stuffs by the frequency I use it and proximity. I demand storage in the closet, by my bed, most on the lower level where I can reach out easily. I also have garbage bins, scissors and throws in every room. 
4. I like minimalism, and this drives me crazy. Insane. Because I have clutter everywhere and I get mad at myself. I never build the muscles or ability to restore stuffs to where it is. Because, I am super lazy, and I would leave everything within arm reach. 
5. I love assembling and building stuffs. Maybe because I’m crafty, I like building stuffs from scratch, woodworking and all things involving my creativity and mostly soft motoric skills. I love screw and unscrew and working with electricity if I have the knowledge of. 
6. I also love figuring out how to solve problem using available source. 
7. I looooove painting job, with the absence of lifting heavy equipment and reach out to ceilings. I think there’s a serenity in seeing the color applied to new surface. And the joy of moving the brushes up and down, using delicate touch. Oh! 
8. I love throwing out stuffs but often conflicted with the other side of my head thinking of what I can do with that thing instead. I use to have a recycle box which I throw garbage and what I can make of it. Of course, it always ended up overflown with just garbage. 
9. I don’t like asking for help. I’m such an independent junkie that I want to do everything on my own. Sometimes I end up learning new skills, but often I am stuck, slow and cursing myself who is not good enough.

If you like camping by the beach

Last night I dreamt about revisiting Banda Aceh. I worked together with Iday, like I used to do, but with different set of people. And everything was so different, we looked for familiar faces but couldn't find one. We looked for familiar places, but they have changed names and appearances. I told everyone I wanted to go to Lampu'u and one place that I didn't remember the name of but they took us to Lhok Nga. Lhok Nga was beautiful but crowded. I insisted to go far to the west but they shook their head off.

I wanted to meet this boy who used to take me around, take pictures and enjoy Banda Aceh in a million different ways, but they again told me to forget it.

Later I knew, it was Lamsenia that I missed a lot. And as soon as I woke up, tried to remember the details, I sighed, this is not going so well. Lamsenia has been my sanctuary, I planted it down inside of me. I alwasy carry the name, the place and the feelings because from time to time I need the serenity. It's like a natural theurapy, I often call out the memory of quiet morning in Sarah's river, the day playing with the kids and the laughters we shared while grilling fishes. The long ride on the back of motorcycle and the wide grin I had on my face.

Lamsenia dream means my life is at the shaky state, just like Lamsenia once were devastated by tsunami waves. But I once was shared the happiness of people living in temporary tents, Lamaenia dreams means that everything is going to be ok.

Even more if you like camping by the beach, it's going to be great.

The return of Summer, now she's biking and enlighted

I almost forgot how fun it is riding in the city. I know it is never the hills are alive and the sound of music here, but I ride with joy anyway. It’s always fun for me to maneuvering between cabs, pedestrians and other fellow bikers. I also enjoy the lights, the skyline and the bridge. Biking forces me to focus other than my self. I have to ride safety, but I too have to make sure I won’t hurt others. Yeah, that lady who’s fiddling with her iPhone while crossing the 10th street, I’d make sure no blood spill on the junction.


I guess that’s also the nature of my self. That I don’t want to hurt others, whatever that means.

2014: Let It Go, Interstellar and other lesson learned

2014 for me was a bit stagnant, in a good way. Nothing was really exciting and I didn’t hit the bottom. I stumbled, like most of us did, but the fall was not bad. It was a consistent float in the cloud of contentment. And as it is difficult to tell it chronologically, let me break it down by departments.

Place most visited: New York
I didn’t go abroad at all, my passport pages are blank and boring. This was somehow unlike me who always itch to hop on a journey. But on the other side, I sent several visa invitations for lovelies to set foot on the big apple. And seeing their smiles when they awed Manhattan skyline from my rooftop was beyond my jawbreaking moment of staring at South Rim of Grand Canyon. We strolled happily on the dirty sidewalks of the city, taking pictures of them mostly with me as a cameo. This city is still so much greatness, so much to offer. So many good people are living here. And this is always the side of the city that I want to share with the visitors.

Hottest exercise: Running
And of course I hold on to it, gripping hard. In one of my late afternoon jogging trips, I gazed into the Williamsburg Bridge ahead of me and curse: stay. And I continue miles after miles moving with my running shoes, even after the temperature dropped to 5 centigrade. This constant movement gives me energy to keep me going, keep me floating. I joined my first fun race in 2015, only to find out that I am in a competition with no one but myself. And to further confirm that I could not live without music as Shuffle by Bombay Bicycle Club has been played more than 137 times along with my jogging.

Most played music: Let It Go
While the most song played by my Spotify is Shuffle, the rest of the world might be earwormed by Let It Go the Frozen soundtrack. I didn’t catch the virus, but I must say, let it go is one my greatest lesson of 2014. This also I’ve seen in so many people life in 2014. The moment when they let go of something, that was also the moment they gained it back, in higher level of awesomeness. And this was true to me.

Most interesting movie: Interstellar (no worries, no spoiler)
Let It Go the song has nothing to do with Interstellar, but it surely reflects in one of the scenes and how the movie ends. It was a bit awkward to my liking but happy ending in short. And I felt like like Matthew Mcconaughey when I finally let go of my dream job, only to find the better one was already reserved under my name. Don’t worry too much about the future, because of what you have in mind is sometimes a crack version of what universe will grant you next.

Most interesting read: Be Nobody
And when you do it for the greater reason, greater cause, it will come back to you multiplied by tons. Reading Be Nobody is the antithesis of our striving to success. Of all the time I have been implanted by the doctrine to be somebody, this time I stepped back and flipped it the other way around. And it feels good. It feels good to convince my self again and again: this time, do it to make other people happy. Or maybe, it was actually feels good because after years of no significant amount of good reads, 2014 was the year when I finished more than ten books.

All in all, I’m still learning to be a better person by nurturing love and kindness, which is always challenging in a fast-phase of big city. But in general, it was not as painful as before. It is actually starting to bloom. I’m thankful for every people around me, and I’m also glad that I had some times by my self. Can’t compare which one was best, days in San Diego just by my self, or summer getaway with boyfie in Portland, Maine. I don’t know which one I like the most, partying on my rooftop or days enjoying Lower East Side alone. I guess each day I grow younger, finding every inch of this earth is my playground. And year in review is not suitable anymore, as moments are sometimes intangible, the pleasure extends beyond time and space. What I gained in 2014, I will carry it with me throughout the coming years. And what I lost in 2014, they are making room for better things, intentionally playing parts in a possibly better 2015.

Neverthelessly, have a great new year. I wish you love and kindness, not only from people around you, but more from you to the rest of the world. I wish you meet a lot of strangers, only to find yourself with greater friends at the end of the year. I wish you travel more, only to find a better home or a better home is where your kitchen already is now. I wish you’d lost a lot in 2014, only to find that 2015 has much better things to experienced with.

And I hope by the end of 2014, you'd already watched Boyhood, danced to D’Angelo new album and read Eleanor and Park. If not, you know what to put in your 2015 resolution by now, because those were also my highlights of 2014.