Dear 2016: An Open Letter

Dear 2016,

I have gone through a lot of things with you. A lot more than I've been through before. That's why I feel the need to write you this letter. I want to recount and relive the highlights of our times together.

People say that you're a disaster for all the loss you've given them. You took the entertainers whom we all loved deeply, like Alan Rickman and George Michael. You let Brexit happened and a racist became the president of such a powerful country. And you seem to stop peace from existing with the countless terrorist attack and wars.

But hey, you're not at all a disaster to me. In fact, you're the opposite.

I completely lost myself somewhere along the way. I was hopeless. I stopped believing. I really did. But then I found me again, after the hardships and my all time low. You showed me the people who actually care about me, the people who are worth wasting time with. You taught me that it was time to forgive and let go of all the people who were once those I knew best, but now I barely talk to. You taught me that it's alright to be underestimated as long as I can prove them wrong.

You are a gate of opportunities. Opportunities I thought I didn't deserve. Opportunities I don't dare to miss and opportunities I don't dare to try. I wish you could have hit me harder with the positivity rather than the negativity. You've made me feel utterly anxious and pessimistic that I didn't think I was able to dream again. But now I'd say that I'm glad you did that to me, because you've challenged the fighter in me. And I've won. I've won, haven't I?

You're the one who arranged my meetings with such lovely and amazing people from around the world. The one who reunites me with my loyal friends and family. The one who constantly gave me new adventures to experience. The one who made me put a little more faith in myself in the most far-fetched ways possible.

You're a roller coaster of hopelessness and wishful thinking. A road sign that says 'Paradise' yet instead led me to an emotional wreck. A labyrinth with tricky mischief and unbelievable surprises. You're the best friend and arch enemy blended together.

Through a series of tragedies, you've made me stronger than I've ever been. Being with you might just be the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Thank you. For the countless joy and regret. For the opportunities and misfortunes. And for the highest high and the lowest low you've given me. I feel blessed.

Thank you, once again. And good bye.

Love,
A wishful wanderer.

pay it forward

i guess
that's what happens.

for
being unable
to save
the ones you love,

does not mean
being unable
to help
those in the same boat

Singapore, 23/9/2016

Could you see me from up there?
Did you see me today?

I wish I could have done that for you

Thoughts on Nationalism

This is the first time I'm writing something (sort of) serious in this blog. To begin, I would like to ask. What is nationalism? I'm pretty sure that each of us has different definitions. Well, to me, nationalism is a form of love to a nation. It gives a sense of pride to be a part of that nation without feeling as if it is the most superior nation.

So, moving on to another paragraph, to write about something like this you might want to question how proud am I exactly of Indonesia? How strong is my nationalism? Frankly, I don't really know, but what I do know is that it gets stronger. 

There are a lot of things I hate about my country. Like how ignorant many people are about the environment. You can find trash all over the place, even in beaches and mountains, terrible traffic jams because almost everyone uses their private vehicles, and low concern about plastic usage. This one time I gave my reusable bag to a cashier in a well-known convenience store, but instead she refused and told me, "It's okay. It's free." Or how the government invalidates some groups' religions by setting such ridiculous standards of defining a religion, like it must have only one God and a divine text. Truth is, a lot of indigenous tribes have their own 'religion' which is polytheistic and only has oral traditions. The government requires the citizens to belong in one of the official religions, so you cannot be an atheist or adherent of other religions. Ironically, it is stated in the 1945 Constitution article 29 paragraph 2 that each citizen has their RIGHT to choose their religion (more on that later). 

It used to be so bad that I wanted to get out of there and not come back. I'm not like that anymore. Especially now that I am no longer living in my country (at least for about five months).

I'm writing this in my dorm room in National University of Singapore (more on that, also, later). I've met a lot of people from a lot of different countries, and I've learnt a lot in less than a month. 

I have an English friend who is visiting Bali, Indonesia next month. She's been asking me many times about which places she should go to. I, of course, was happy to promote my own country. I told her the best places I've gone to and even showed her pictures of them. I remembered saying, "Honestly, Indonesia has the best beaches, mountains, and nature." Then, she asked me something that made me think deep along the night, "You basically have everything, so why are you even here?"

I couldn't answer it seriously because I didn't know how to say it. The thing is, I always want to travel. My motivation has always been my immense curiosity. I couldn't just stay in one place for the rest of my life. All I wanted to do was and always has been traveling and finding out how it is in different countries. 

But back then I just wanted to get away. Then I realized that even the most developed countries have their flaws. I realized that Indonesia has all the potentials, all the resources. It's just that we don't make the best of it. I feel as if many of my generation just don't care anymore and have the same thoughts I had years ago. Praising other countries and dissing their own. That, I admit, I still sometimes do. 

I guess for now I'm doing things for my own and hoping that whatever I do and will do can benefit Indonesia whether directly or not.

I've planned to go around the world, yet still give back to my homeland. I have my list written down. Why leave? Indonesia is a very big country and it has hundreds of tribes, hundreds of local cultures, but aren't they the same? We may have different locals but there's only one national culture. We are the same people, the same nation. We have the same history, norms, and values. I prefer to experience things that differ greatly and would make me realize how we could have done things better. How we could do things better if we look at different perspectives. I feel like it would help so much more than just staying where we are.

Another thing is, I feel like my sense of nationalism gets even stronger the longer I spend time abroad. I had the chance to celebrate Indonesia's independence day on the 17th of August in the Indonesian Embassy for Singapore. I think it was the time I was most excited for a flag ceremony. I've never felt anything like it before. It's like if your country's a person, you just want to do whatever it is to make it happy. It makes me want to do better in everything, or at least do my best to get rid of the negative stereotypes of Indonesians.

Now you may question (again) if I do love my country, why do I write this in English? First, I want my blog to be read not only by Indonesians, but also by people from other countries. I've been looking at my blog views' statistics, and I found out that there are people from the US and different parts of Europe who opened it. I'd say why not write in English? Second, if nationalism counts on how often we speak in Bahasa, how would we compete globally then? Third, need I remind you that there are also Indonesians who were born foreigners. They had to do a naturalization in order to achieve the nationality, and who knows maybe some of them can't even speak Bahasa. If they didn't love the country in the first place, then why would they go through a complicated process to be an Indonesian? Language won't matter. It's what you do for your country that matters. I hope I can do much for it, and I hope so can you.

Castle

Let's make a castle
Built of not bricks
But memories
If things go wrong
We'll find some rights
If it stands still
We'll age with it

Late Night Thoughts: Hopes, Dreams, and Reality

It is now 01:24 in the morning and has been over than a month since I got back for college. Things have been busier than ever now, though I only have classes from Monday to Thursday. I remember my second semester, I also had three days off back then which gave me the reason to go home every month. It's different now. I cannot possibly return without abandoning my assignments. 

I have always been one who have high hopes on pretty much everything. I have a lot of dreams that I don't even know how to reach. And in reality I am no more than a perfectionist with absolute imperfections trying to make diamonds out of simple carbon compounds. 

I am used to being doubted, but the pathetic thing is that I doubt myself even more. The whole idea of proving-people-wrong has no effect on me, since I am the one more often intimidating myself. At some point I get horribly pessimistic that I thought of why I keep on trying if I have no sign that I will reach it. Then I get to the phase of telling myself don't-kill-your-own-dreams repeatedly. 

This past month is enough for me to feel anxious about my future in the most terrible way. I have too much in my plate. All these works get me overwhelmed. I have trouble completing required documents for this one admission. I screwed up some of my tests already. I couldn't help thinking that I might flunk many of my subjects. 

I keep thinking what if. 

What if I failed classes?

What if I don't get the opportunity (again)?

What if I do get it?

What if I cannot bear it?

Will I graduate in time?

When will I make my own money?

Where will I work?

Would I even make my parents proud?

Can I?

What if I can't?

I could write down a thousand more, but those up there are enough to make my throat choked and tremor worsened. 

I feel like hopes and dreams are paradoxical. One minute they give you reasons to live and to be passionate and enthusiastic about something, and another they make you expect so much that once you can't reach them, you fall into the deep ocean of disappointment. As what Shakespeare said, expectations are root of heartache. 

If you're still reading this, congratulations! You've read a whole bunch of nonsense. I am on my phone writing about my anxiety over my future and I don't even think that this writing has a point. But anyway, don't lose hope. I know I won't. 

"...all my hopes, they are high. 

I must keep them small."

- Troye Sivan, Fools

The Last Bouquet of Lilies

“We really should go now if we don’t want to be late,” she heard the hoarse voice that had come from the older woman behind her.

            “Give me one more minute,” she said as she glanced back towards the woman and a man in a white shirt and black suit. The man did nothing but stared at her in reluctance. Her wife didn’t reply. Instead, she was looking at him, waiting for his answer, so the young woman continued, “Please?”

          With a sigh, the man replied, “Very well. We’ll wait in the car.” She nodded and turned her back against him, not watching them as they made their way to the SUV. With the couple leaving, there was only one person on the corner of the field.

The woman standing there was wearing a long sleeved black midi dress that made her fair skin look paler. Her mid-length brunette hair hung loosely and somehow reflected the summer sunlight. She had hazel eyes which were framed perfectly by a pair of brown-rimmed glasses that made her eye color stood out even more. Normally, they were sparkling with joy and pleasure, but that day they were blank. They were as blank as her expressionless face.

She stood with her head facing the ground below. As if not wanting anyone to recognize her, even though the neighborhood was empty. As if not wanting anyone to know what her face is like. She was not beautiful, but so strikingly attractive that everyone who saw her would stop whatever they were doing only to see her face for one more second. Everyone, including a boy from her childhood.

The field was the place where she first met the boy. She had just moved in to the neighborhood. While her parents had been busy unloading their boxes of belongings from the truck, she had walked around and finally found the field. There was nothing special about it, except that it was wide and had a large sycamore tree. She had always liked that kind of trees, so she was caught in awe when she saw it. Without waiting any longer, she’d climbed the dense sycamore. She couldn’t remember how long she had spent time on the tree that day, but she remembered a boy walking toward the tree, toward her. He’d walked from the house beside the field. “That’s my favorite place to hide. Please don’t steal it,” was the line that started it. Soon enough, they’d spend a lot of time together until they eventually got separated. She had gone to college in another state, and he had decided to serve the country. She must have seen the leaves falling to the ground because she now looked up to the tree just across her. Not much has changed, it only looked older than it had been when they used to climb it. She even could still see their name they’d carved into its trunk, though vaguely.

            She bit her lower lip as she clenched her fist and tightened her face muscle. She wanted to cry and let her emotions out, but she could not. Water filled her blank eyes, but no tears came. She wanted to cry but she knew that he wouldn’t want her to. She almost never cried since the boy helped her to recover. Whenever he’d seen her crying or panicking, he would have soothed her, told her to breathe deep, and asked her to speak the words he wanted her to say.

         The black-dressed woman had been standing there for almost twenty minutes now and wondered if her parents would just leave her alone, like what she wanted them to do. She wanted to stay there for as long as she could, but she knew her mother was right. Her mother was always right. They shouldn’t be late. After all, it was her party, so she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “My name is Karen. I may not be okay now, but I will be,” she said the words she had never spoken in the past four years. Those words she used to repeat when the boy in her mind whispered in her ears, trying to stop her from drowning in her own thoughts just as waves of anxiety come at her. The boy who had now grown up. The boy who had become a charming gentleman. The man whose body laid motionless, six feet beneath the ground.

            Her clenched fist was now loosened, leaving her slowly opened hand trembling. In another, a bouquet of lilies was gripped. She brought it up so she could smell the flowers that the man had loved. As she opened her eyes, drops of tears streamed down her face. She held the bouquet tight in her grip as if it was the last piece of him that she could touch.

            The next moment, Karen bent down to put the lilies in front of the gravestone. She stayed a little bit longer, her hand on the stone. Her mind traveled through the past for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, back to when she last met him. It was five years ago in an airport before his leaving to Afghanistan. For one year, he’d write her every fortnight, checking up on her. In his last letter he’d said, “Happy birthday! When I come back next month, we’ll have dinner to celebrate with the family.” She had never received his letter anymore, let alone phone calls, until she finally did the following month, but it was not from him. It was about him. She held her breath as she looked at the stone one last time. Her left hand was over his carved name. Underneath the bright summer sky, the ring on her fourth finger gleamed. Only then did she get up, making her way back to the car where her father would drive her to the life beyond him.

Things I Wish You Knew

for some reason I always am aware
that I'm growing up,
that I'm putting distance and invisible walls around me,
that my kind of comfort draws me away from everyone else,
and that includes you.

but I have always wanted to tell you this
in a way that I could never have said in person
because words fail me.

I look at you and I see that one person;
the one most precious of all,
the one who'd been here
since the dawn of day,
the one I hope would still be
until the sunset of my life.

I look at you and I see the wrongs I've done;
the wrongs I never know how to make right
the wrongs I truly am sorry for committing
and yet words fail me.

I look at you and I swallow the very thing I have always
wanted to tell you
so instead, I write it down.

tongue tied and throat burnt, I write it down;
how thankful I am for having you
and that I love you, always.

and happy birthday..

28 February 2016

Late Night Thoughts: Judgement

I haven't been posting in the past six months, but honestly I have been writing for another thing and it was quite a lot, I shall say. This post, however, is going to be very different to the rest of this blog's posts.

Dawn

I'm letting you know how dawn looks like

Not in Rio, Lisbon, or Monte Carlo, but here

Partly because you've never been in Surabaya

Partly because it's been a while since our last camping

Partly because there's dawn in your name

But mostly because of the promise held by every sunrise,

Making sure that each one of us

Has something new to experience

Like how dawn is like

In Prague

Or bringing glory

Back home

for Aul,

 who was competing in Prague

October 19th, 2015