I have sunglasses in my bathroom.

Please ignore the mess.

They are there, sitting nicely on my wash basin not because my bathroom is too bright for my eyes to handle.

Also not for selfies.

Right after moving to my current place, I had issues on where I put my stuff in. The packing episodes were a bit of a rush, and I simply put everything, everywhere, in random boxes that my sister have prepared for me. That night, in my new place, I had to do my skincare routine, and I couldn’t find any hairbands or even a single rubber to tie my messy hair.

This is where my sunglasses came in. Like a fancy woman that I declared I am, I wore them to put away all these hair from my face, and I still wear them even now for the same purpose, and that’s how they are in my bathroom.

Washing my face but make it fashion.

Humans, after all, have a great skill called adaptation, where we can make things work out somehow within our limitations, exploring things and the possibilities. We change our ways for survival. This is how we managed to survive so far, and this is how we can survive the recent corona virus outbreak.

Not by wearing sunglasses, of course, but by changing our ways.

And it’s hard, I know. I’ve had my share of heartbreaks due to the cancelled plans, affected me mentally and economically. Others had it worse; Losing not only things that can be valued, like money, but also things that can’t be measured, like time, health, and the worst part: loved ones.

But it’s needed to be done for survival. We have to change.

There has been many articles and information spread all across the internet on how and what we need to change, so I am not going there. But if those things are the ones you are not used to do, like washing hands regularly and not touching your face, you have to learn to do it. You have to change. If working from home is not something you are used to, then you have to learn how to make it work. It’s easier to ignore those hoaxes I find in the whatsapp group, but it’s time to change and start spreading what matters. Change what you can change, and hope for the best.

I am currently self-quarantined myself at home and it’s not easy. As a person who enjoys hanging out with friends and going out to public places, staying at home for a long period is hard to bear. So I try how to make it more fun, and somehow becoming better at entertaining myself in small space. What was unbearable becomes doable.

Adapting, after all, is what we, humans, are good at.

It’s definitely not as easy as switching hair bands for sunglasses, but we need to adapt, and that’s the least thing we could do.

So we change, and hope for the best.

A work in progess

I remember telling my partner that I wish I was born with a different voice. I don’t even want the best voice in the world. Just one good enough to sing the songs that I would love to record.

I know that I don’t need to be really, like really awesome singers to sing. Some of the bands I like are not the best singers, but they sound right. Like they fit perfectly, like the song belongs to them. I feel like my voice don’t have a place anywhere.

Even worse, this feeling doesn’t stop there.

Whether it’s a song, or a writing, or even an opinion, I always find myself hesitating to share them, not even to my closest ones. It doesn’t feel right, like something’s missing, like it’s not good enough.

The feeling is so strong that even once I shared it, I deleted it after a while. So strong that I give up creating.

The discussion with my partner made me realize I have been seeing it wrong.

That I have been seeing my creations as an end product,

a final representation of myself,

but instead,

they are actually a work-in-progress,

and so am I.

Somehow, just by thinking that my songs and drawings and writings don’t have to be perfect to be seen by many, is liberating.

My creations grow as I grow, and I can keep coming back as a better me.

So one day, if you feel like your writing that took you sleepless nights, or the song you sing in your bedroom with your ukulele, or the drawings you create with warm thoughts in mind, are not good enough, don’t be afraid to share them, and don’t stop yourself to create.

Cause they are a work in progress, and so are we.

Old and new: Tags

During the period of me being away from the blog, which actually is quite a while, I got several new tags for myself, and also losing some that I hold on tightly to.

The thing is, I was once scared of losing tags. The tags were so close to my identity, I was scared of what would I be without them. I was scared of losing myself in the process, of people no longer seeing me as me.

Then i tried to embrace it.

One of the tags I lost was something I worked hard to earn for so long that losing it felt like such a big deal. “Head of Social”, is a tag I decided to drop with careful consideration and a heavy heart. I bid farewell to the advertising agency I worked for almost 3 years, surprisingly faster than I thought. This was the place where my I poured my heart into, for projects I fell in love with, with people that had become the best support system. It took me a while to realize that the tag might be lost, but the collective knowledge and wisdom from all the talented people there will always be there with me, and that was more important than the career path I climbed hard for more than 9 years.

Another tag was something I wasn’t prepared for. Marriage was something I thought I would do on my thirties, but what is life if not full of surprises. All the decisions were made during one month of preparation, which was doable since we already decided to do akad first and reception later sometime next year. Last October, under the blazingly hot afternoon, with sweat and tears and happy faces, the “fiance” tag I wore proudly got upgraded into “wife”. It’s a tag i am not familiar with, but still a tag I’m excited to wear, for I have my partner that will accompany me throughout the journey.

As I altered my point of view, losing tags become opportunities to gain more. This new phase in life gives me more freedom to discover various possibilities of tags that I want to try. “Blog Writer” tag is now a little worn, which needs some practices for me to be able to wear it proudly. I am wondering if “gardener” tag will sticking through with me. Trying my best to shake off the “lazy student” tag and start exercising my Korean study to keep on improving.

I’m currently working on the “Freelancer”, “Digital Consultant”, and “Remote worker” tags, which hopefully will become fruitful before 2020 comes. Had some interesting discussions with talented people around me with some interesting projects coming in, the projects I am looking forward to.

Losing tags are no longer scary for me.
Me, after all, is me, and will always be.

 

A love you can’t lose

Blinding light peeked through my window pane, a half-open book covered my face as I laid on my bed with my eyes closed trying to shut out the day. There I was on a Sunday afternoon, drowsy, not wanting to face the day because my heart was not on its place. It had gone missing like losing a cellphone in a drunken taxi ride – you know it’s with someone else and you miss most what you take for granted. It’s gone though and to get it back, you have to turn elsewhere.

I opened my eyes and lifted the book from my face to find a new heart in the pile of well-arranged words, shielding myself from the morning sun. Locked myself into this fictional book about a person — a Queen, to be precise, who discovered a love you can’t lose – a love for literature and becomes the Uncommon Reader.

What if Queen Elizabeth at the age of 70-something were suddenly to become a voracious reader? What would happen? This quirky and odd premise is what Allan Bennet lays as the foundation for the book “The Uncommon Reader”. This intriguing idea creates a fantastic and royal love letter, not just to the Queen’s journey of exploring the beauty of literature, but also reading and books. The novella is not only lovely, but filled with indulgent wits about people and the practice of habitual reading.

“The appeal of reading, she thought, lay in its indifference: there was something undeferring about literature. Books did not care who was reading them or whether one read them or not. All readers were equal, herself included.”

Books reveal their deepest secrets to you – all you have to do spend time with them. This type of understanding of reading is one of the reasons I found this book to resonate with my own love for literature in the early phases of my life. My mom, also an avid reader,  not only taught me how to read —  she created a game for me challenging me to read what’s written on the billboards whenever we passed the highway. This grew into a habit and perhaps now a compulsion for reading. Interestingly enough in the novel, this is not the way the Queen begins to read, rather she starts late; She even does it out of duty, feeling obliged to borrow a book from a mobile library parked near the palace. 

Though we — me and the fictional Queen — had a different start, I could see myself and other reader’s journey’s in the raging passion for reading that grows through its pages. She voraciously moves from one book to another, she finds pleasure in finding an author like discovering a favorite new song from a new band with only a few hundred views on youtube. Then she begins to enjoy reading so much one book isn’t enough and often she has two or three books she’s reading at the same time.  The book shows through this monarch’s journey the argument that literature itself is the ultimate form of democracy, that no matter how uncommon we are as a reader, books treat all readers equally.

“Books are not about passing time. They’re about other lives. Other worlds. Far from wanting time to pass, one just wishes one had more of it.”

The Queen has a way of reading that makes it so inspiring. Though she read with trepidation at first, and discovered words and reading carefully – for she know she can’t do it simply for pleasure. She never treated books as a tool to pass the time, or looked down on literature frivolous. In the book, she saw reading as “a vast country to the far borders of which I was journeying but will never reach.” She found other lives, other worlds; She found lessons she had never been in a position to learn due to her social obligations and the politics of royalty. Books become in a sense an escape from her as a monarch a freedom to be with the citizens she serves. 

The book made me wonder if Mr. Bennet portrayed his own literary sensibilities into the Queen – her character channeling his message to people. Maybe it was how he wanted to tell us that books, as devices to ignite the imagination, a way to new realities that welcome all people, Queens or commoners, and create a connection through a common experience of reading. 

Reading these days increasingly seems trivial with digital magazines, handphones, and the ever greater expansion of digital content. Information has become so abundant and it has affected my reading. I read more than I ever did before, but much of that reading is superficial. A tweet here, a status update there, an Instagram photo with a comment over there. What I read does not necessarily become knowledge, freedom, or a new country to discover.

Nowadays, with society demanding children read by 4 years of age, we read because we have to and we will have to for our whole lifetime. Some children think of reading as a punishment. Some teenagers think of reading as exhausting. Some adults think of reading as a waste of time. 

The Queen is a book and story that acts as a symbol of what reading can offer you beyond information. As the Queen discovers reading it reminds us that reading can be a way to spark imagination, find new worlds, heal wounds, and find your heart. She says: 

 “You don’t put your life into your books, you find it [life] there.”

Life is found in books – I found my heart again on Sunday hiding from the sun in The Uncommon Reader and I encourage you to do the same. 

Most of the time
the most painful ones in life aren’t
the ones that scars
your body

It’s the ones that stay
the ones that hide behind
all those memories
you try to forget

Maybe

Again, I went and left my blog untouched for months.

To me, writing a blog seems like an act of undressing myself to those who might not even care to understand where those marks on my body came from.

But maybe,

Just maybe, writing a blog is actually an act of wearing my own selection of words and stories to face the world.. and I am yet still not confident enough about mine.

 

xx

Love, words can cure wounds
like prayers for the glooms
yet none slipped from your lips,

nor warm kisses
or tender wishes,

and no thoughts slipped from your head,
thoughts of me
thoughts for me

But of course if I speak them out loud
you will miss the point
and I will be the one who doesn’t get it
as if things just do not fit

things just do not fit

Action speaks louder than words,
and here I hear nothing.

Woe is me, i am the cursed
I stacked my feelings that can never be cured
Yearning for love yet it come with a different taste
but do i like it bitter?
longing for coffee,
and some conversation,

or some proper attention.

My mother

My mother cannot hear well, but now I’m starting to believe that she is blessed to be instantly selective with what she hears.

All the bad things that came out from my mouth without thinking were not clear enough for my mother’s ears, so they simply went and never reached her heart.

My family members badmouthed my mother literally behind her back, and voices that are as low as the owners’ morals were not clear enough for my mother’s ears, so they simply went and rotten, back into those mouths

My mother cannot hear well, but I really believe she, actually, only listens to people selectively; She didn’t bother to listen to those who warned her about her own daughter whom they believe will have a disgraceful future for not going back home as early as they wanted her to, not acting as proper as they hoped her to.

My mother who cannot hear well, she took her time to pay attention for her daughter’s wishes and dreams, thoughts and actions, likes and dislikes, close and apart. My mother who cannot hear well — she listens to me.

***

As the first child and a daughter in a conservative chinese family, I could’ve had a rough, strict life where every step that I take belongs to the family. There is always a long, unwritten list of the do’s and don’ts that strictly needs to be followed. Yet, my mother gave me something I never thought I could have from such early age: A freedom to be me.

Because of that, my childhood was filled with things I loved dearly, things that have shaped me to be who I am today. She encouraged me to do what I wanted to do despite our limitations as a not-so-rich family. She supported me in every decisions I’ve made, every aspirations I had, every wishes that came out from a silly young me. “Mom, I want to go to Bogor alone by train, there is this community gathering that I want to attend”, said the 13 years old me, and she gave me instructions on how to go there safely.

She equipped me with a skill that helped me embrace the so called journey of life. My mother was an avid reader who not only taught me how to read — so much that she created a game, challenging me to read what’s written on the billboards whenever we passed the highway, but also infused me with a growing habit of reading. She believed that books will help me to find other lives, other worlds; to find lessons I had never been in a position to learn. I am forever thankful for this.

I fail often and I fail hard many times, and I am never afraid to fail because I know she will always be there to welcome me, my bruises and all, and tell me that I’ve fought hard and I can fight better next time. My life is full of imperfections and yet she fits in there perfectly, as a friend and as a mother, as a guide and a true listener.

***

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and this is my attempt to let the world know that there is this woman who might not realize how much she meant to me. My love for her, is for ever.

Image source: here.

Morning blues

It’s sad how I turned myself into a person who can never fully appreciate how great a morning can be. Mine is rushed and fuzzy. It is fast-paced. Never a fresh mind, always a constant battle with sleepiness. Never a relaxing shower, always a race with time. Residues of last night’s activities are all around my face, teeth to be brushed as my morning breakfasts.

Morning lights are delightful and delicate, but not for me. Morning is not for me.

I cannot see what people see on their blissful mornings. I cannot hear the beautiful songs, they are noises to my ears. I cannot taste their sweetness. I cannot feel their tender breeze sweeping my hair, why do they only play with the dancing leaves?

This morning my cat decided to hide inside his favorite cardboard box. I wish i could’ve joined him.

 

Sunny days are fuzzy days in the office. There were tasks to be done, and I could only finish some. It was hot and steamy. By it, I meant both my brain and my coffee.  

  

There was the heat that I could taste from the back of my neck. There was my second glass of iced coffee to satisfy the thirst, but only at first. There were palms that gets sweaty easily, and lucky enough there were clean socks for my sad, sweaty feet. There was fire on the tip of my tongue that I have to spit. And then there were recently crafted playlists that made the day a little brighter, differently from how the sun did it for me.