Started a new role with endless possibilities, found a new feeling of calm amidst a ridiculously chaotic routine, and understood that joy comes from being with the people you love, doing things you adore. I learned Indonesian Sign Language for the first time and went to my first secular concert. I started my Saturday morning pound fit routine, even revamped my blog. I learned how to drive. My blankie made it to a contemporary installation, so I got invited to its sunset preview. The busy hustle and bustle kept me alive, as the chaos ended up forcing me to make time for the things I care about. But most of all, my patience multiplied tenfold. Might say that the month of June became a wonderful closure to a strange semester.
Your scent lingers on the pillowcase I caress; a feast of familiarity and comfort, a sense of security. Fast forward and I’m missing you all over again, a reset button with no agenda of feeling content in mind.
The concert took place on June 16, a Friday night. We spent a good 45 minutes looking for a parking spot; an impossible feat, for the whole complex was crowded by badminton enthusiasts watching Indonesia Open. As we finally accepted our fate, the fact that we would be late, we found a parking space and ran to Tennis Indoor Senayan like our lives depended on it.
We bought tickets for Festival B, and there were crews everywhere to guide you to the right section. I could hear the music playing, and my heart leaped as it was one of my ultimate favorites from Yura, Risalah Hati. We didn’t make it on time, though, as she finished the song when we stepped inside the arena. But the crowd was magical, energy was running high, and a fun tune started playing. After three songs, including singing along to Intuisi with my whole heart, I remember thinking, ‘This is such a wonderful moment, but I know I’ll end up tearful in just a few minutes.’
That’s when Yura told us the story of how the came up with Sudut Memori. It was not just a love loss or the end of a romantic relationship that resulted in such a beautiful song with grievous lyricism; it was death, it was grief. It was a pre-wedding photoshoot of a random couple at a cemetery somewhere, that led to the birth of the song. And it was the moment she told this story when my face and Risang’s got flashed on the jumbotron, my expression dreamy and somewhat ethereal, and some people started texting me on WhatsApp, saying, “Hey, I saw your face on the screen!”
We had the pleasure of attending Aul and Ovi’s wedding, a delightful occasion that also served as a small reunion for my university friends.
What followed was a gentle and slow-paced Saturday. We treated ourselves to some gelato, where we found really cool books, and then went to get my love’s watch band resized. We had some sushi after and went to The Little Mermaid exhibit. Always finding joy in the mundane: “Love, books, and jellyfish.”
A whole year ago I was thinking: she deserved better and today here I am smiling, realizing, she won in life, marrying the man of her dreams. It was lovely seeing you again after all these months, Bebek Damai, and I wish you the happiest joy upon your upcoming marriage. You deserve nothing but the very best.
After (almost) a year, one Christmas night at the childhood home
It was raining when I woke up—and my ears were once again alert to years of accustomed sounds; the oh-much-too-early breakfast, the bold cleaning routine asking to be recognized, the hushed purr of the old car’s machinery, instrumental guitar music blaring through speakers, and the strange coldness and humidity that blanketed the whole room from the night before. The dreams here were always too vivid, too strange for the liking, too otherworldly—perhaps that’s why little me had always been so different from girls her age.
This table, this pitter-patter of early rain and the lack of even the slightest sunlight, takes me back a decade back: 2012 Tumblr days, specifically noette Tumblr days. That was a golden age—the dystopian world reigning left and right, my Hunger Games obsession (poke: @burnintwelve!) at full force and the lonely teenage girl coming of age, lost in her fantasy of her self-written world of Liferstone and who knows what else. Life was much too simple back then. Colorful and lively, quiet but rebellious for itself. Love, company, and comfort was found on the web and in books, not in hearts and/or people. They were my safe haven.
I think that’s the most ironic and beautiful thing at the same time, the fact that a majority of my life was this room, this house. Vivid imaginations had let me explore the world for free, traveling without knowing any bounds, fantasizing about everything without having to pay any kind of currency.
Lunch at the dining table, staring directly at what I would call the wilderness backyard. Ideas about lush forests and secret Narnia-like dreamlands seeping through the cracks on the stone walls.
Time is running out and I write with great urgency, not wanting this rush of creativity, this fuzzy feeling, to ever run out. I take a deep breath and let it out, only to realize that the time, has indeed, passed by without pause. In conclusion, there is no going back.
My first birthday living alone, a birthday I will cherish for eons to come. Almost everything went wrong throughout the whole day, but nothing could take away from the joy I had. From minor scratches on the most loveliest gift to a deconstructed, melted cake due to my not having a freezer, I let go of every imperfection and enjoyed every moment for myself, something my closest confidantes know I am very proud of.
Thank you for making me feel loved, thank you for making me the happiest. Your presence is my greatest gift. I ask of nothing more.
I don’t know what my obsession is with this fast food chain, but A&W—the fast food chain, the food, the concept of American food, and this sweet thing of a mascot—will forever have a special place in my heart.
The evening after he held my hands for the first time, we heard a song called Dunia Tipu-Tipu on the car ride home.
Today the artist sang on my office stage, under the magnificent grand stairs, gracing us with her perfect voice, imperfect skin, and appealing charisma, reminding all of us how beautiful it truly is to be human.
What better way to celebrate the joyous occasion of my beloved’s homecoming after spending a few weeks in Europe than building a LEGO set—specifically the set that he bought home from his travels? We had a marvelous time together. I have to admit, seeing the Starry Night set in person totally converted me. It’s a complex, beautiful set that I will need to add to my personal collection soon.
Empat belas bulan berlalu. Perempuan itu tak lagi tenggelam. Empat belas bulan diombang-ambingkan liarnya samudra buat ia mahir berenang. Setidaknya, ia cukup paham bagaimana cara naik ke permukaan dan mencuri sedikit banyak udara sebelum kembali dihempas ombak dan jatuh lagi ke kedalaman. Menahan napas menjadi ritualnya. Menahan sakit (dari nyeri yang timbul ketika seseorang terlalu lama menahan napas) menjadi nyanyiannya. Sebuah bentuk pujian dan penyembahan kepada pangeran yang bahkan tak menerimanya. Sebuah bentuk kesetiaan kepada cinta yang bahkan tak tahu namanya.
Kutanya para nelayan mengapa mereka tak pernah menemukan jasadnya.
Kata mereka, ia tak pernah berteriak minta tolong.
Nine months have passed (well, technically, eight-and-a-half) since my first day of work. The pandemic hasn’t ended, it only just got worse. People I know, left and right, are fighting the virus like mad. Some have been infected, others have lost loved ones. Everyone is struggling, but sometimes they don’t know who the enemy is. Sometimes I wonder if this is how it feels like to live in a young adult fantasy novel.
Growing up, you realize that there are unlimited amounts of outlook on life which only you choose to take. The past few days taught me full well that I should not, ever, take my blessings for granted. The time I have with the people around me, the work I have, the tiny little moments passed by seconds ago without ever having the chance to be sought or thought about twice.
Let our souls be intertwined in bitter honey, sweet child—you have my heart forever. Claim my blood like a tiger would a territory, drape me in your finest jewelry. Let your voice be a poem of the lilies; let your whispers be a prose of the daisies.
Let my emotions be yours eternally, sweet child—you have my heart forever. You saved me when I was suffocating in my own brokenness and gathered my pieces from the ashes. You have my heart forever.
The morning after relapse you find yourself drowning. Feeling like a soiled dress, ironically ironed perfect, waiting to be worn again. The morning after relapse reminds you of the oh-so-many ways things could go wrong, could turn bleak. Did go wrong, did turn bleak. Could swallow you whole into a never-ending spiral of doom, or worse. In the morning after relapse there are no ways to express pain, or guilt. It all just builds up into grief and anger, but mostly rage.
The evening after relapse you start questioning the whole of your sanity, the poor worn out stitches keeping the fabrics of your soul from falling apart. Where did the hours go? It felt like yesterday when you seemed born again, ready to take on the rest of the world. Where is that girl, the one that had promised not to be Gomer? The one that was loyal, brave and true like Mulan – she probably would’ve ended up a true Gryffindor, and you might as well be one of those traitor-like death eaters for all you know. There are dozens of rules to uphold and they only told you one thing: be good. Well, what is good and what is bad? What is dark magic, where does one stop and the other begin? How are you supposed to understand so many things? You are, after all, only twenty-two. What a lame excuse for a sinner, you object.
I finally bought my Hogwarts Moments – Potions Classroom from the Lego Harry Potter/Wizarding World Series. It’s one of the best purchases I’ve made so far. I really love the size, the details, the design. I took some time to set it up as a Severus/Hermione playroom, and I really love how the results turned out.
I can see that Severus and Hermione are enjoying Potions Class a lot; maybe a little too much in the last photo, too.
Anyway, kindly check out my tumblr to find more Severus and Hermione content, here.
Before bed, we wash our faces. Slap a generous amount of aloe vera on our skin. Take selfies with no context or makeup or filters just to remember how we looked like that day. Before bed, we think about the things we’ve achieved—or at least—the things we’ve done today. We proceed then by thinking about how to maneuver tomorrow’s challenges.
Before bed, we consider how peculiar and strange this year and the last have been and we thank the Creator of the universe for having carried us thus far. for having taken care of us in the midst of uncertainties.
Before bed, we make a list of the so many things we are most grateful for in life.
Before bed we breathe. We pause. We think about the best friend who’s still trying to secure a job overseas. or the other best friend who’s focusing on her bakery business and teaching piano classes. Or the other best friend who’s leaving an internship at your place by the end of next month. or say, the one guy best friend who’s probably still busy working at this time of day. We think about the cousins we haven’t met in a year. About the friends that’ve grown distant in space and time, about the ones that suddenly reappeared as if by magic.
Before bed, we wonder whether anything would go back to normal, if it ever was, and the answer was most likely no, it won’t, so we sigh. We wonder whether the restaurants that closed in our favorite shopping mall would ever reopen again, since there were memories in that exact place. We think about how much we have to save up to buy a specific thing we’ve been wanting for months, but find out that our brains don’t work as well when sleepy, so we drop the topic.
Before bed, we sincerely hope that better days are coming for the ones we love and care about—there are probably more than thirty people on the list but we felt that it wasn’t enough—
Another dream log. One that was vivid and beautiful.
There were a lot of colors. A big advert in the middle of the highway promoting Toy Story Happy Meals and whatnot. A strange feeling of calm as my father and I took the white-colored bus and had a pleasant ride striding through bright roads as sunshine poured out through the windows.
A good dream to soothe the nerves. A good dream to ignite more hope, in this otherwise bittersweet year – a good kind of longing for something better. A safe kind of travel, without the ban.
Another 3 PM entry, but it rained today. Poured. As if the rain needed to wash off all kinds of worries and anxieties we both had. As if to remind that at the end of every sunny, hot, scorching day, everything will again be okay. Will again be beautiful like the one you read in books. Will again have its fairytale ending, the closure of a beautiful, melancholic, serendipitous movie…
Seperti kecewa yang merasuki lidah
dan sumpah serapah yang keluar dari tulang-belulang Seperti kecewa yang merasuki tulang-belulang
dan sumpah serapah yang keluar dari lidah
Seperti amarah yang terpendam hebat
dan sedih yang meluap dalam sunyi Seperti amarah yang meluap hebat
dan sedih yang terpendam dalam sunyi
Seperti harapan yang terlupakan
dan kenangan yang jadi angan-angan Seperti harapan yang jadi angan-angan
dan kenangan yang terlupakan
Seperti samudra yang tenggelam dalam debu
dan hatiku yang memenjarakanmu Seperti samudra yang memenjarakanmu
dan hatiku yang tenggelam dalam debu
Today I am overwhelmed with the purest kind of joy, it has not yet made any sense to me. Maybe happiness has left for too long that I felt ecstatic, embracing her again for the first time in ages.
Not trying to be melancholic or poetic. Just being real.
The car ride to Baywalk; Danu’s playlist blasting through the car’s speakers. Telenovia by Reality Club playing in the background. Yellow tops and mustard checkered shirts.
Sushi on a round plate as a so-called birthday cake, beef curry katsu donburi, and some miso soup. Warm ocha as the preferred drink. The twin a.k.a. birthday person coming late—who ended up choosing the same meal as yours truly.
Promises made. Expectations high. Let us wait and see.
A friend coming over to enable us playing at Pandora X. The more, the merrier, right?
The escape room. The house that—at the very end—finally belonged to Edward Dantes, the (finally) Count of Monte Cristo. Something he very much deserved. Rooms that made me feel like I was in a Tintin comic, or an espionage movie. Paintings and codes and locks here and there, gathering all the information we needed to find to solve the riddle. Climbing on and off vertical stairs, getting foot cramps and trying not to show it. Him catching my arm before I fell on the second floor where more clues were supposed to be found. Finding more and more clues. Asking the gamemaster for help. And realizing that some things were too obvious to be seen in broad daylight (or this time, low UV lighting). Going back to the first room to find hidden clues. And back again. A good one-and-a-half hours well spent with good -NTJ people. Something I would do over. And over. And over. Again.
Drinks at KOI. A hazelnut milk tea with no ice and no sugar. Danu got the lemon Yakult and Sof got the brown sugar thing. Incidents with the lipstick and wet tissue. Timed photos. Smiles. Laughs. It was the small moments that mattered; and these moments mattered more than enough. These moments were the ones that you’d keep for a million lifetimes. The ones you would not discard, even if your brain’s memory had to throw shit away to the back of your head.
We continued by walking outside, to the balcony, staring at the lights from cruises, boats, and nearby buildings. Talked about the future. Danu wanted to get a cruise ship later on when he’s got some cash; sounds like a good idea. We could always party there. Fun. A party of good friends. And as usual, we’ll go home with a good feeling, a good kind of joy. More timed photos. Laughs.
“Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying.”
‘Thank you’s and ‘Goodbye’s.
Slow drive home. Telling Danu I looked like Fathia Izzati from Reality Club. Good laughs. High for the next few hours. Got the best sleep of 2019.
And always… always thankful.
“Emang segala sesuatu butuh proses… dan asal disabarin pasti ada jalannya.”
I spent yesterday night watching We Bare Bears Origins, Apple promo videos on YouTube, doing some research on sizing… It was a lot to do in one night, and it was freeing.
I currently feel like I’ve found my thirteen-year-old self, packed safely in the body of the soon-to-be 21-year-old female wearing mascara every single day. The one who believed in mermaids and glitter and dresses and pretty little things. The one who believed in the magic of her dreams. The one who had so many plans in her head, who would doodle or sketch little things in any of her notebooks. (more…)
Kamu menatapnya dalam-dalam; menelan semua garis wajahnya dalam satu teguk, menyimpan warna iris matanya dalam sekedip.
Ia menatapmu.
Kamu tersenyum.
Kamu selalu bilang padanya kalau kamu ingin sekali hari ini datang. Namun, batinmu selalu menolak untuk menghidupinya—tak perlu malu-malu, bulan pun tahu. Kamu tidak mau kehilangan dirinya.
“Hari itu ia menggunakan parfum baru, entah dari mana didapatkannya itu.”
Yesterday. This was the one plan. One that was executed perfectly, clean cut, a murder mystery with no evidence left. It left me with a peace better than any ocean’s calm.
The excitement in everyone’s hushed voices, the dark green shirt. The confusion. The long walk that felt like forever couldn’t end. The smiles. The touch. I should have savored more of the moment.
seasalt memoirs 