thoughts // lagi-lagi tentang keberanian

(Saya lupa tepatnya apakah obituari naif di bawah ini dibuat saat erupsi Merapi tahun 2006 atau 2010; namun tulisan pendek ini merupakan salah satu tulisan yang bergulir membentuk bola saljunya sendiri. Saya ingat kesedihan komunal yang kami, warga Kaliurang, rasakan saat itu. Kesedihan itu memicu saya untuk memimpikan sebuah platform yang puitis-- apa saja!; untuk memastikan kisah-kisah tetangga ini tidak hilang atau terlupakan. Bagaimanapun juga, kami semua hidup di area bahaya. 

Beberapa tahun kemudian, di tahun 2011 saya membawa obituari ini dan membacakannya dalam kelas menulis di LIR bersama alm.mas Cindhil. Saat itu, dia bilang "Kamu harus menulis buku itu: kisah-kisah tentang tetanggamu!" "Ya kamu editornya yooo", jawab saya saat itu. Janji itu pudar bersama waktu dan menemukan jalannya sendiri. Kumpulan kisah itu, mewujud pameran seni rupa dua tahunan alih-alih sebuah buku. 

Hingga beberapa hari yang lalu, saat D mendapatkan dua orang komplotan baru yang setengah mati berusaha meyakinkan saya untuk membukukan kumpulan esai lawas saya-- harapannya, dalam bahasa Indonesia! Tapi tahu sendiri, kan, terkadang betapa insecure-nya saya menulis dalam bahasa ibu sendiri. Baik perkara keintimannya maupun perkara tidak adanya alasan untuk melakukan terlalu banyak kesalahan gramatikal (kalau ditulis dalam bahasa Inggris, kesalahan adalah keniscayaan dan kelas-kelas dekolonial selama ini membuat saya tidak lagi meminta maaf atas kesalahan berbahasa Inggris.. kalau salah berbahasa Indonesia, apa coba alasan saya?!)-- meskipun jika dipikir-pikir, toh, selalu ada editor yang akan memperbaiki dan sekali lagi pupus satu alasan untuk ketakutan? (baca tulisan lama di link ini untuk memahami ketakutan atas menulis dalam bahasa Indonesia) 

Meskipun perasaan hangat saya masih sama atas subjek tulisan di bawah ini; perasaan saya atas tulisan ini sendiri sudah berubah: "Polos dan sedikit memalukan ya?", pikir saya. Di saat yang sama, saya mengunggah kembali tulisan lama itu di sini sebagai pengingat atas titik awal bola salju yang dibuat dengan begitu cepat, begitu mudah, dan tanpa rasa takut. Siapa tahu, buku yang pernah saya impikan itu akhirnya bisa terbit juga... syaratnya: ada penerbit yang mau, tentu saja!)  

__________

Kaliurang, 2006/2010 

[Obituari: Namanya Ngadiran] 

 

Namanya Ngadiran. Ngadiran saja, tanpa embel-embel 'mbah' atau 'pak' meskipun dia selalu terlihat tua setiap kali bertemu. Bahkan sejak paman dan mama saya masih kanak-kanak, konon Ngadiran sudah 'tua'. Orang bilang dia gila. Namun anak-anak merasa dia cukup menyenangkan. Ketika saya masih kecil, saya selalu merasa Ngadiran adalah seorang tokoh ajaib dari negeri jauh. Rupanya terlihat seperti perpaduan goblin dengan janggut kurcaci berwarna hitam. Terkadang saya merasa Ngadiran sangat mirip dengan raksasa hijau yang duduk di taman rekreasi kanak-kanak dalam versi diperkecil dan kulitnya coklat tua terbakar matahari alih-alih hijau. Rambutnya hitam tebal sedikit panjang dengan uban di sana sini. Dia selalu terlihat kotor penuh coreng moreng namun tanpa bau yang mengganggu. Yang paling khas darinya adalah caranya berjalan. Setiap hari dia akan berjalan memutari Kaliurang dengan langkahnya yang khas itu. Ngadiran biasa berjalan cukup cepat dengan langkah yang sedikit terpincang-pincang karena panjang kakinya tidak sama, tangan di belakang, dan sedikit bungkuk. Bagi kami para anak-anak, hal itu membuatnya makin ajaib.

Ngadiran akan menyapa orang-orang yang ditemuinya dengan dua sapaan: "Bithu-bithu" atau "Alus-alus". Kata "Bithu-bithu" yang artinya memar-memar akan digunakannya untuk menyapa orang yang menurutnya kurang tampan/ kurang cantik. Sedangkan sapaan "Alus-alus" yang artinya halus-halus akan digunakannya bagi mereka yang dianggapnya cantik/ tampan. Pada umumnya, dia akan menyapa setiap wanita yang ditemuinya dengan sapaan "Alus-alus". Bagi kami para anak-anak, sapaan-sapaan itu tidak menjadi ukuran, namun lebih sebagai salah satu bahasa ajaibnya yang berasal dari negeri jauh. Walaupun demikian, beberapa anak wanita tetap bisa merona bila disapa sebagai "alus-alus". Tentu saja ada anak-anak nakal yang kerap mengganggunya atau berlari ketakutan ketika melihatnya, namun dia selalu tertawa lebar dan memanggil mereka sebagai "bithu-bithu".

Pada saat-saat tertentu, ketika dia lelah berjalan, dia akan berhenti dan pada hari-hari terbaiknya, bisa diajak bercakap-cakap dengan logikanya yang terkadang normal terkadang absurb. Pada saat-saat lain, orang hanya suka melihatnya dan tersenyum-senyum simpul ketika Ngadiran lewat. Kehadirannya yang aneh dan berbeda membuatnya semacam hiburan ringan seperti ketika orang melihat sirkus menampilkan orang-orang yang 'berbeda'. Terlihat sedikit tidak sopan, mungkin.. namun Ngadiran tidak sedikitpun peduli. Dia hidup dalam dimensi yang berbeda dengan orang-orang di sekitarnya, dan hanya keluar dari dunia kecilnya saat dia mau.

Saya terakhir kali benar-benar bertemu dengannya di tahun 1994, sekitar 14 tahun yang lalu. Saat itu orang-orang dewasa di sekitar saya mempertanyakan keselamatannya. Saat itu, merapi erupsi dengan cukup hebat dan daerah rumah Ngadiran tersapu habis. Untung pada saat Merapi mulai tenang, Ngadiran ditemukan selamat dan tertawa-tawa bahagia di Taman Rekreasi Anak-Anak. Berikutnya, saya tidak pernah bertemu dengannya. Namun ada saat-saat ketika adik saya yang kemudian beberapa tahun kemudian masuk SD, masih sering bertemu Ngadiran. Mungkin, Ngadiran hanya mengakrabkan diri pada anak-anak, sebagai bagian dari ingatan masa kecilnya.

Kemudian pagi ini seorang tetangga datang mengabarkan kematian Ngadiran. Ternyata dia menolak dievakuasi saat Kaliurang dikosongkan minggu lalu. Dia berteriak-teriak histeris ketika dipaksa masuk ke dalam truk evakuasi. Tidak ada seorang pun mampu memaksanya. Rumah-rumah di sekitar tempat tinggal Ngadiran mulai terbakar karena cipratan lahar panas, begitu juga hutan-hutan kecil di sekitarnya.

Namun, bukan karena itu Ngadiran meninggal. Ngadiran meninggal karena dia sudah tua, fisiknya sudah lemah, dan dia kelaparan. Sontak sekeluarga berduka karena kabar ini. Ngadiran adalah semacam kewajiban bersama bagi para orang-orang dewasa; sekaligus sebagai memorabilia dalam ingatan masa kecil orang-orang dewasa itu. Dengan seluruh keanehannya, orang-orang Kaliurang memiliki kedekatan dan ikatan halus yang unik dengannya. Bagi sebagian orang dia gila, bagi yang lainnya dia aneh, namun bagi jiwa anak-anak di dalam diri kami, dia tetaplah makhluk ajaib dari negeri jauh yang kini mungkin sedang dalam perjalanannya pulang ke rumah asalnya.

 

thoughts// in praise of mundane daily conversations

(Do you know the kind of couple who could talk for hours and never run out of things to say to each other it almost feels like they are living in their own bubble? D and I are like that. Even before we were an item, D would pick me up from school and spend the two hours gap between school and my French/piano class or his Japanese/drum class together; sharing a pack of vanilla ice cream at a radio station’s rooftop, eating cheap steak with fries at a diner called BigBoy’s, walking around Sagan/ Kotabaru/ Baciro area, or just riding around the city while talking. Sometimes the conversation would get so enjoyable that I would decide to skip the class just to be able to spend a little more time with him. Sometime, we would resume the conversation at night. One of those midnight-to-3am call was to accompany me during my first breakup (in which he said, ‘I can treat you better than your ex will ever be’—and he did). When he first watch the movie ‘Before Sunset’, he told me to go get the film at our favorite dvd rental shop. Later when we were an item, he said that the movie made him think of us. The intimacy of a conversation, hours of ‘remaking the world’, and the walk. Later in life--or more like 20 years later, we still walk around a city—in New York, in Brussel, in the Netherland, in Germany, in Senegal, in Darwin, in Jakarta, and just talk and talk and talk. That is probably why Woody Allen’s movie is so relatable. And just like Celine nicely put it “If there’s any kind of magic in this world…it must be in the attempt of understanding someone.”  

These past two weeks, we have been once again working on different pace, different time, and even different place after five months of practically spending 24/7 together in the comfort and safety of our little house. So, conversations were scattered between works, before bed, or in the morning. These are some vignettes of those little moments)

__________

1/

“Listening to this song, I feel happily sad”, D said as we are getting ready to bed. He played the song on repeat as I applied layers and layers of essence, serum, night cream, face oil—in that order. There is a good reason to call it a ‘beauty regimes’: coordinated, systematic, almost authoritarian, but hopefully not pointless. “You know, it feels like a time when one reach a maximum sad point of a song and you start feeling weirdly happy”, D continued his thesis. The song he was referring to is not particularly a sad one. But I understand what he meant by ‘happily sad’. A feeling that is well familiar yet sometimes difficult to put into words. ‘Happily sad’ is an oversimplified version of the word. I recognize the feeling all too well too, a melancholia or longing that somehow weirdly feels like a warm fuzzy blanket. In D’s premise, the song made him nostalgic of a simpler time—when there is nothing else to worry about but to pass the exam with agreeable grade. For me, it reminds me of that moment at the end of Max’s adventure in Where the Wild Things Are when he finally sail back home and find the food is still warm, waiting on the table. D has a more complex example of the feeling. When he was younger, it made him sad to watch a TV show when it is daytime inside the movie and it is night out there in real life. Knowing that someone somewhere might only start his/her day at the same time when we are finishing ours. Or that feeling of temporality on a Sunday afternoon—exactly at 12 midday he would hear the imaginary bell ringing: the holiday is almost over and it is time to go back to reality. The song reminded him of the moment before the bell rings. Before leaving a house and start anew. Before leaving a part of life that is no longer relevant. Before realizing that now, nothing but the phantom of it waiting for us there. We went to bed holding hand that night. 

2/ 

I was reading and walking on the treadmill (a dangerous habit, I know) when I read a curious term ‘lavishly economic’. I couldn’t really understand the term—but at that time, the clashing of the two words, the contrasting meaning of the two words interest me more. D was washing the dishes at the kitchen sink just the opposite to where the treadmill is so I yelled at him, “I found the word for our lifestyle!” Once he finished washing the dishes, he came closer so I won’t have to yell/ exercise/ read at the same time. “You know,” I said.. “lavish in a way that the daily things in our life might seem a little more elaborate than mundane.. but it is all actually very economical when you calculate the cost”. “You mean, like the urban poor of the broke-but-on-trend millennials?”, D asked. “No,” I said “the slightly older version who care less about the trend but enjoy the finer things in life—economically”. At the end of the conversation, we still didn’t fully grasped the correct meaning of that term.

3/

I was already inside the blanket when he started discussing whether we want to use the term ‘local belief’, or ‘local wisdom’, or ‘local genius’, or ‘indigenous knowledge’ (we both agree how we like this term the least). After almost an hour of word-by-word breakdown of the term, we decided to stick to ‘local embodied knowledge’, one we can all agreed upon. I remember once upon a time, someone asked us how does it feel to work with one’s spouse. I kid you not.. the work is never done, not even in bed. 

4/    

The moment when the cold spell cast through the Southern part of Java is my favorite time of the year. The sun is warm but the wind is chilled. The sky is clear blue and the air dry. It feels like an endless spring. In times like these, we would take the chairs out, eat al fresco, and just spend the day lounging under the sun. At the end of the day, D would sigh in delight—remembering similar days happened somewhere away, “Wasn’t that nice?”

5/ 

D was watering his vegetable patch when I stepped down the treadmill with Peter Mayle’s book that I read whenever I want to feel like walking down the street in Provence. I still haven’t took the walk in Provence but I imagine it to be slightly similar to walking down the Italian countryside. I sat on the grass and told him about Marathon du Medoc—a marathon filled with wine and amazing food, hopping from one castle to another, one winery to another, with amazing panorama, and everyone wearing fancy outfits. The night before, they would dance and eat carbo-loaded comfort food with as much wine and cheese they could possibly swallow—all done in yet another castle’s garden, on a white table and under a white huge tent. In my mind, it is an ideal dreamlike scene—a literary description that made my heart tingles with excitement. A midsummer night's dream kind of scene. So I look it up, and it surprise me to see how banal it actually looks. How very crowded and ordinary looking.. how the white tent for the dinner is just another big normal white tent, with generic looking table and cheap white plastic chairs where people eat in their t-shirt and short. This is not the first time I regret looking scenes I read up on the internet. It ruined the magic a little.

6/

“Does it worth the risk? That is the question for doing even the simplest thing these days”, I said when we decided to get out and meet more people during this pandemic. “Of course nothing worth the risk.. but there are things that worth a little more than the other”, D said, "for example, going to a KFC or a mall surely won't worth any risk, but going to KKF as a mean of support worth a little more". So we start calculating risk, managing anxiety, trying to live without worrying too much, dodging the virus but carry on living with precaution and even smaller circle. Like people living under the volcano, only without the proper warning system. “What I’m worried about is how fast people forget.. how the ‘new normal’ is almost feels like surrendering to the virus", D continued as there are two possibilities of the future that he sees: one, new normal as an excuse for people to hurry back to the old normal because people are stubborn like that and going out of comfort zone is scary (and also: capitalistic system is way too powerful to shake); or two, like Arundhati Roy poetically wrote about the pandemic as a portal. It is time to reassess new possibilities and how unsustainable the old way of life is before completely change and consciously calculate the way we consume, move, work, live. Zero km products. Zero km mobility. Local practice and knowledge production. Once again, being rooted instead of radicant.  

7/

“Sometimes I find Jogja boring—it feels one-layered. Like there is a uniformed perception imposed on it: slow city, hospitable, comfortable. Is it really like that or people who lives there are just trying to live up the expectation? Jakarta, on the contrary, is built upon a thousand different perceptions that makes it interesting and multi-layered”, D said. No wonder we can’t find any song about Jogja that is good enough. Most are clouded with blinding fanatics and nostalgia of the city’s past life that is probably no longer relevant today. “Your statement will upset a lot of people’, I replied.   

8/ 

As we lay down the bed after a whole day of work, I noticed how D is unplucking his eyebrows, leaving a small silly patchy area. I never ask but this time, I demand for explanation. Just out of curiosity. So he leads my finger through his eyebrow and he said, “You see, sometime I can find a hard piercing piece of an eyebrow and another one that is coarse to touch. To get the hard and the coarse ones, I sometime need to sacrifice the ordinary eyebrows.. thus the patchy areas”. Honestly, I find nothing sort of coarse nor hard. “You need a trained finger to find them”, he said—very seriously. It is so ridiculous I started to laugh.. and soon grasping for air, coughing while still laughing while he run to get me warm water and medicine. Laughing to D’s weird habit is still my favorite way to get an asthma attack.  

  

9/ 

“Have you ever imagined an alternate universe where you live a different life for making different choices in the past?”, D asked. “Sure,” I said “with a different house, probably fancier.. a simpler life that might sometime bores me, and maybe kids.. surely not the kind of life I would choose over mine now.” D told me he might be working an office job at the city in that narrative. “Actually, it was you who showed me things I didn’t know I wanted before. But now, I am exactly where I want to be”, I said. “I, too”, he replied, gently stroking my hair.    

thoughts // personal life in time of covid-19

Stage 1/ The Worried Shoes

It came in stages. First the panic-buying— figuring out the balance between having enough but not getting into the hoarding line: hand sanitizer, dry food, supplies of supplements, and immune boosters.  Then comes the strategic planning. Distributing the eggs in different baskets, making escape plans and standard operating procedures for every scenarios of the mundane daily life and of the worst. Then comes the anxiety. The what ifs. The overthinking. The moment I realize I ran out of wine, and dark chocolate, and anything else that can keep me off edges. Except for hugs. I’m lucky I have ample of that and the morning sun on a leisurely morning. Still, there are days of waking up in despair. And oh, the voids. Giving up to its lure is easy. To spiral down deep and stay in the dark for few days. The void is composed of miles and miles of thoughts where I can dive deep; and of dark corners where fear is the quicksand; or choose to stop and listen one by one, thoughts after thoughts—while crawling all the way back up. Dito was always there. Gently stroking my hair, scratching my back, keeping me sane. That was the moment when, for the first time in my life, I wanted to watch whatever horror movies I can find. Anything can’t be more terrifying than real life. I remember someone said at the beginning of it all, few days before they call it a pandemic: “It’s a curious time. We live in a science fiction movie”. At this stage, I dream of the most ordinary day when I can take a break from being concerned, to live the daily life without fear, and take off my worried shoes. 

Stage 2/ The Collective Grief

One day I learn its name and call it correctly. It was grief. It has always been grief all along in many different forms. A wave of collective grief. The magnitude and intensity of the crisis pulled me down like a gravity, yet, what gave it a face was more personal than that. I remember few months before, feeling helpless and hapless being sick in New York with a new-found knowledge that all those platinum membership of all insurances that we have won’t do any good in a country of such a bizarre system. I remember how my heart sank when I found Dito was having the same fever that I had the day before and how relieved I was when we both recovered a week before heading back home. I remember feeling that pang of grief again knowing my uncle was ill half the world away in one of the epicenter of the crisis, unable to see the doctor because the health system there is already overwhelmed. Although in Madrid, the city where he lives, the healthcare system is so much more humane and a doctor is checking up on him every day during his quarantine. I don’t dare to think of the country where I am now with a healthcare system slowly collapsing even before it reaches the peak. The potentiality of any type of grief left me petrified—a deer in the headlights. I don’t know yet whether or not to be scared of dying—but I know I am scared of the possibilities of losing people I care about. When my uncle recovered from the virus, he told us how his worst nightmare was the probability of disappearing—having an ambulance picking him up and off he go to the unknown with 50:50 chance of coming back home or disappear, never to be seen again. That feeling-- having my heart sinking to my stomach when I think of it, is grief. 

Stage 3/ The Nostalgia

And then comes the next stage: the nostalgia. Triggered by a bleak realization that the last trip I did in February, could be the last one before a long pause ahead. Also: an even bleaker thought, I feel like my days are numbered. If the crisis remain unsolved, any attempt to lock ourselves down from everybody is an active attempt to buy some time. So I start making promises. Promises are the thread of hopes to hold on to: visit friends’ newborns, eat crustaceans with uncle in Spain, take him to that super spicy fish place in Borobudur in return, finally go to King’s day with Go Eun, and one day—I will finally start a perfume collection. It has always been my obsession to create a library of memories of all the places I went to through smell. How orange blossom and bubble bath reminds me of Torino, how Amsterdam is the first Magnolia bloom, how Napoli is the smell of fresh linen and laundries, how Budapest is the smell of roasted chestnut and peppermint wind, and how New York is made of candied almond and dried leaves. Dito and I finally made that photobook of the places we went together that his father has been asking for. It made me happy but at times when I am not at my best shape, I feel like the places where I went on my own was not part of my life. As if it was swept under the rugs and never happen. Will I be able to remember things beyond the picture? Will I remember it better when I finally put it all into words? Finally write about that time when I sabotaged one of my dream because the circumstances was not ideal, that other time when two police woman who do not speak English at all caught us accidentally riding a tram without validating the ticket, and a panic moment in the airport caused by a bomb threat soothed by a big portion of KFC. 

Stage 4/ Sculptural Immobility 

The virus triggered this idea about sculptural immobility. It was as if you are cursed: wherever you last standing and with whom you chose to spend your time with—those are the life that you will live until an unforeseeable future. Your decision is set in stone. Those who are apart can no longer touch again. The far is far again. The world is round again. And time is long again. It feels as if we are collectively took an early retirement. The feeling is very much present at home (despite all the projects we are working on right now). If this home is going to be our universe for the next few months or few years to come—we need to fully commit to it and make the most of it. Usually, there is a feeling of temporality in the house—as if it is just a transit in-between trips. It is now finally time to clean the messy backyard, deep clean our windows, fix the broken kitchen shelf and change the lightbulb. It is now finally time to reevaluate our relationship with the home. We realized how our home changed the way we do. In 2015, we took down most of the artworks on the wall because we want to rest from visual stimulation at home. We don’t decorate it so much and focusing on keeping things practical and functional. The house now accommodate new social functions, unnecessary clutters are regularly thrown away, and it evolves the way we do. It can be messy at times but that's ok. We keep most books from Lir, from my childhood, from trips we went; but we let it scattered around different rooms (except bedroom). Since we don’t have the Space at the city anymore, our home that used to be the escape plan from work now turn into a workspace, making us constantly draw the psychological line between life and work. It is not as hard as it sounds and the workspace is not as empty as we want it to be but as long as we have blank spaces on the table, on the floor, or in my case: on the bed—we’re good. When it is time for 900mdpl, the life at home would suddenly being put on a higher speed. The house would be lively, people would take over my workspace and the fire in the kitchen would never stop burning. I would cook so much for everybody and I would reach my limit of social interaction every now and then; the people I work with would then helping me to protect my personal space that would feel so precious. Now that the house is empty, it became a universe of two. I sometime miss having people around no matter how drained I would feel afterward. We have 9 pet rabbits, but they live in the backyard and they are relatively quiet. Now the silence is so thick we could almost hear them! Every texture of the rain drops, every birds, every footsteps approaching, the wind, the tree, the neighbors fixing their roof, the roosters, the other ‘pet’ living at our ceiling (a Javanese ferret-badger). 

Stage 5/ The Search for Meaning

It’s ironic when I finally come to realize that the things I used to wish for are actually coming true. I used to wish I could have more quality time to be with my mom and Dito, and now I have plenty. I wanted to go to a place where time is irrelevant and I yearned for slowness—a moment to just search for meaning, to have unlimited time to just read, and write, and fully love, and to just be. To be fully present without an endless to-do list, grounded and not having to go to the next destination, without having to prepare for the next audition. Suddenly, time is all we have. Now it feels like time dissolves and days bleed into one another. Suddenly, I am in a place where time is irrelevant. Once I crawled back up from the deep dark cold void, I learn to embrace the abundance of time. I demand for the love that I deserve—plenty of it. In exchange, I love with all my heart. There are days when I feel warm inside and motivated enough to put on a pretty dress. It is easy to feel lightness and warmth on a sun-drenched house with mild microclimate that always feel like spring. As I continuously examine the quality of my life, everything went down to the essential. I realize I enjoy the home cooking so much and that the only thing I miss about eating at a restaurant is the anonymity and the idea of eating out. I realize I don’t need too much of anything to lead a wholesome life. (Although I  really miss the spa and having face acupressure done professionally). I learn to travel in place, cooking food that reminds me of places far away, and finally reconnect with my surrounding. At times, I ask myself: have I lived enough? Have I tasted enough? If this is the end, will I crave for more? Under what conditions and in which way would life be worth living? Everyday I would crave for a beautiful mind telling me things I don’t know. I want to feel alive. I want solidarity and riot and strike on how the world works. I want to be sure that nobody in my neighborhood is hungry. I want sovereignty for the people. Free from the control of capitalism, starting from the small circle of a family, neighbors, community. The crisis has got us questioning the system in general and it is reassuring to be part of a closely-knitted community and re-learn how to be together as neighbors and citizen of the world: a collective movement even without proximity. Hopefully, when we get to the other side of it, the world after the great mutation would require us to live more sustainably. While the virus is still learning about itself and continuously morphing—so is the world. 

Stage 6/ Embracing Slowness

We are now taking it slow. We are following the rhythm of the day, observing the lyrical environment, and embrace the weird moment when the world is being put into collective pause. Instead of a to-do list, I try to remember things that I enjoy doing when I am away: the walk, the newness of everyday life, the consciousness of things around me. I read. I write. I eat better, sleep better, exercise better. I evaluate the quality of life I am living, of all the friendships I have, and of the system of the world. Dito and I learn how to be self-sufficient, mindful, and dig down those forgotten skills we learned in school: how to start a medicinal herb garden, building things from scratch, and foraging among others. When I was younger, I used to dream of having a potager—an aromatic French kitchen garden and medicinal herb at the backyard with rabbits running around. The later are there, the potager is still just a dream. But I used to dream of a small white house with lots of windows to let the sun shine in. I dreamt of comfortable reading nooks and books everywhere I move through the house. Only now have I realized it is the childhood dreams that I am living in right now. When we get out of this, it is time to reevaluate the dreams and create new ones as an adult (and to finally live somewhere far away, maybe?) We still follow the movement of the sun through the house and soak the morning sun at our kitchen table over breakfast—but instead of work, we are catching up with whatever weird vivid dream we had the night before. Last night, I dreamt about a zombie attack, targeting on people with low ph. level. I was the only one in the neighborhood with a low ph level so they put me in a glass house. It was raining when the zombie attacked—it rained acid and people are safe outside under the rain. The rain won’t help me no matter how acid it was because my blood is anyhow non-acidic and the zombie can smell it. So I look outside at the people guarding the glass house and I catch my friend’s eyes, inaudibly saying ‘I got your back’ and my friend start talking to the zombie to distract it from me and then my friend turned into a box of square cheese ransacked by the zombie before it went away. I was spared. 

postcard from italy

1/ 

"Memory's images, once they are fixed in words, are erased", wrote Calvino. I am erasing an image by writing this postcard for you. I was on the train from Turin to Milan when I saw a big truck carrying stacks of red mini Fiat. On the horizon: the Alps. Looking almost diluted to the blue sky. The highway was busy, but my gaze stuck at the truck full of small red Fiats moving and the soft silvery blue Alps in the background. I tried to take my camera but I wasn't fast enough for the speed of my train. The train, the speed, the uncanny sight, breathtaking view, the uncaptured moments.. I'm afraid those are the nature of this trip around Italy that I am doing right now. Speed is inevitable. Anyhow, can we add the unphotographed photo I just described in that notebook of unphotographed photos that we talked about for years and remain a plan? Just as many other things that needs to wait because life happens. And when it does, speed is inevitable.

2/ 

I just watched a movie: "Goodbye, Christopher Robin". A sad one. I cried almost the whole second part of it. (I would blame the hormones, of course). It was the first movie I watched in Italy. The first thing I do to ground myself after the continuous movement. I need a book, but I left the one I was reading halfway at home. Worst decision I can make. Having a book around can be handy: it can be my hideaway, my escapist move, my personal space, and it can be the time I steal to let the dust settle. In the movie, Christopher Robin is Billy Moon. Billy Moon is his ‘real name’ and Christopher Robin is the name that was given to him. Few weeks earlier, I went to a talk about an exhibition with one of the most beautiful title: 'What Plants Were Called Before They Had a Name'. It is about how colonialism is not only an occupation of land but also of knowledge. Intriguing idea. But in its simplest form, I love the idea of calling things by its real name. Like how Turin is Torino, how Florence is Firenze, and Venice is Venezia. The last one is a trick. Venice has become a brand. There was one time when we tried to call every other Italian cities by its name but slipped and called Venezia by Venice. Like Paris, Venice is a concept for some people. But today I will not write about Venice. My old friend Calvino, whose quote I abused during my stay in his country, knows it better. He once wrote, "Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it, or perhaps, speaking of other cities, I have already lost it, little by little.”  

3/ 

Friendship has an expiration date. That is what I think each time I see her. That is what I will think whenever I see her walking next to me for the next couple of month. She has been reckless with my heart, as I was with hers (and probably yours). Friends are like two stray thoughts momentarily colliding. When the moment is up, thoughts drifted away. You became an idea-- or worse, a term. Taken for granted. People forgot how to be friend, how to be present, the time spent on friendship, the joy, the expectation. Expectation is just as nasty as politics in friendship. If I could ever do it all over again, it will all start with lightness. It will float. It doesn't need to collide. At times, it will float side by side and at times, drifted away-- and that's okay. Lightness, is all we need, I'd say. You might disagree, as we do sometime. Good old times. But I am sorry to say that old times is nowhere to be seen anymore. Did I say I'm sorry for being reckless with your heart just yet?

4/

Images are like a time capsule. Sometimes we can not see the real meaning of it. Instead, we need to wait for the moment when we can really see the real meaning instead of our projections of it. I wonder what I will think in a year from now, looking at the array of images I took in order to remember every place I visited. At the moment, I don't think I am doing it right. I am in a continuous state of flux. Always on the move, always exhausted, always in between, never really let the dust settle in. I try to write down names, keywords, ideas and moments. I keep dried leaves and flowers in my notebooks. I took pictures of places, images, and sights I would like to remember. I know at least a dozen of people who would slap me back to my sanity if I ever say that I am not happy here. I am burden by guilt with every step away from home. To some, this might sound like a dream: work trip all around Italy with all the wines, the foods, the landscapes; train ride with service; arranged meeting with supposedly the most inspiring artists and institutions; 'home' is a room with a view (with private tub) at the nicest neighborhood, or room by a hidden alley in Venice, or an old farm house overlooking a vineyard in Rovereto-- a small Italian countryside I wouldn't even have aspired to visit merely because of my unawareness of its existence. But still, I complain a lot. I fall asleep on some of the meetings. I took too many shots of espresso and vitamins (often at the same time), slowly damaging myself, to hold myself up for the five daytime meetings with fifteen different people. I gulp my wine like there is no tomorrow to stay social because my energy is already drained by before the sun goes down (and another meeting is coming up during dinner). For more than 12 hours a day, I need to always be ready to perform. The rest is oblivion, scattered naps, sleep deprivation, immune booster, and a continuous effort to stay in touch with the loved ones back home whenever the time zone allow. I guess it is part of the contract with the devil (called the 'international contemporary art') that I signed carelessly few years ago. Still, I beat myself up for not being adventurous enough, or excited enough, or happy enough to visit new cities. I beat myself up when I wake up in my own bed, wishing to just stay there for the whole two days before going to another endless train ride. Time and space are something more of a luxury for me right now. Movement turns into a drug I am helplessly addicted to, just like all the wine and espresso. When I am writing this, I am grateful to say that I am healed, at least for now. I let myself stay the whole two days at home, eating as much greens as I could, drinking enough water, listen to what my body needs and provide. For the first time since I arrived, I feel something that resembles happiness and excitement. I will write you again when happiness can be fully confirmed, just like the Spring. For now, would you please tell me it is okay not to be happy once in awhile? Or, better yet, will you be happy for me? 

thoughts // eid

(My love-hate relationship with Eid has been flourishing since I was younger. Overtime, it's more on the love part and less on the hate part. My dad was a very traditional person and Eid used to mean endless visit to older relatives-- and there are lots of them. I remember enjoying the visits and eating all the cookies when I was younger, hating it and being a sulky teenager who put up an attitude when I got lost at small talks, and start playing a team work of cancelling Eid visits with my two little sisters. I don't know when exactly the number of those visits start decreasing and Eid start becoming a beautiful ritual of big family dinner the night before, sitting by the window waiting for the glorious light from hundreds of torches carried by children while praising God and walking together around the village, the morning prayer at one of the most beautiful prairie soaked in warm morning sun amidst the cold mountain air, and the family gathering right after that.

Eid holiday makes me falls in love with the idea of staycation and food as the most effective tool to foster a relationship. Oh, the food! I remember that one time when my aunt went out of town on the first day of Eid and suddenly there was a big empty space in the holiday spirit that year without the chicken curry and spicy beef-liver curry she makes every year. Eid would also mean homemade calories-loaded dish served mercilessly, uber-delicious bread-and-butter pudding from a neighbor that my other aunt would bring, lots and lots of chocolate to brawl about with my little sisters (the friendly-brawling always become the best part of it), those perfect cakes my uncle brings, and the Javanese-style rendang my mom's cook will make before he went back home for his holiday. If there is one thing that never changes, it is the feast and endless shopping sessions for food, fresh flowers, and gifts. It is the time of the year when heavy consumption is collectively tolerated. 

But Eid, so I realized when I grow up, is never exactly the same every year. That is why the presence of those rituals are very comforting and reassuring. Other than that, Eid is keep on changing along with the family's movements. When I was still in the university and my sisters are still around, we would binge-watch Disney's movies or gather around in silence reading fantasy while nibbling on bottomless cookies. When I moved to the city, going back home was an act of vain success symbol and irrational splurging. Thank God it was only that one time before I move back to my senses. When my sisters and I start learning to bake; we would spend a day making strange mixture of milk and cheese cookies, brownies, and weird-shaped food that mom would brag about. There always a time when my uncle would impulsively ask me to help him throw big barbecue parties at the garden in the afternoon and the children can taste a drop of Bailey's during one of the family dinner a night before. That was when I taste my very first alcohol in a Kahlua mix that was way too sweet even for my young taste bud. 

When I got married, Dito took me to my very first Eid mobility across region which I loved at first and despise two years later. Apparently, I am more of a stay-in Eid lover than the roadtrip-goer person. We then would start our annual house cleaning session, buying a bunch of fresh flower to put around the house, and stocking up food like we are about to face a zombie apocalypse. There are lots of baking-session happening in the house, afternoon spent reading together, an annual day-out with my friend Anna, gathering invitations for different groups of friends, and some exhausting yet satisfying days of endless friend and family visits. This year, we decided to do Eid night a bit differently. Instead of staying in, we stayed at Dito's parents’ house and went for a night ride around the city, had gelato for two instead of having big family dinner that night, and came across some youth on the back of some truck chanting praise to God on highroad instead of seeing them walking around their neighborhood holding torches gracefully. At that moment (and in the case of NYE too) I bragged, "Apparently, we do things better in Kaliurang, don’t we?” Maybe it was the weather. 

The ritual keeps on changing but the togetherness always warms the heart—when served in the right portion. I still loathe the big big-family gathering with hundreds of people I don’t recognize shaking hand and forgive each other for wrongdoing they didn’t even have the chance to do as some of them are only meeting each other once a year. I still have mixed feeling when meeting my old friends from school and see them change so much; like yesterday when I met the cute senior I had a crush on when I was 9 and see that the bad boy who used to steal my hat and put it up on the tree turned into the sweetest gentleman who teaches toddlers for a living-- and suspected gay, naturally.. And on top of it, I still hate the fact that my uncle is not coming and my sister went back to the city before Eid ends, leaving a part of the holiday incomplete and gave a twinge of melancholy when she left.. Like today.)

thought // in every kind of relationship, you make time

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"Why can't we get all people together in the world that we really like and just stay together? I guess it wouldn't work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. Then we would have to say goodbye. I hate goodbyes! I know what I need: I need more hellos!" | Charles M.Schulz |

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("What are essentials in one's life?” that is what I keep asking myself lately. In time like this, my mind often get so occupied. As a result, I become cold and distant, sparing no time for melancholy and other feelings. But then, now that I realize I might be leaving soon.. time flows in a strange way. The morning when I receive the email for the interview of my life, I was on a bedrest. Life was put on hold before, suddenly, life spins uncontrollably. 

"It's about time", I thought. But time, is a funny thing. J.D.Salinger once said: "Time, or the lack of it, like everything else, depends entirely upon who's using it." I forgot that in friendship and in every kind of relationship, we (have to) make time. It's never about having not enough time but weather the time is made available or not. 

To my defense, my world was going on a full speed, I got so self-absorbed, I was losing track, I failed to noticed the other planet's rotation around me; and worse, I even forget to mention the reason of my absence. Sometime, it is those who are very dear to you who got taken for granted. In my case this moment, there were two of them. Just a week before I leave for the interview, two of my best friends are moving out of the city. One of them is even moving out of the country. Two goodbyes in one day feel just too much. I hate goodbyes, especially to those whom I love so dearly. Even more painful was the fact that I did not give them enough time or attention, and I did not give myself enough preparation. During the whole time when I was away, it didn't ache. But when I'm back and realizing that they are not around anymore, suddenly, I got obsessed and it stings badly. 

Now, each time the loved ones ask for a piece of my time; I will rush to their side, giving them a piece of me, even if I barely had enough for myself. For me, those who I love so dearly-- the gardener of my heart, they are the essentials..)

thoughts // expectation-loaded dish

(My father was a man who cooks. When I was 9 years old, my dad gave me a fancy knife set as a birthday gift. When we are not climbing the hill on Sunday, he would teach me how to cook a simple dish he learned recently or cook me comfort food when I was on obligatory bedrest-- which is pretty often. As time goes by, I grew up a tomboy and a feminist. The teenage version of me rebelled against my dad and be more like my mom who is fiercely ambitious in her job. I refuse to wear dress, give myself a pixie cut, lost the whole knife set I used to keep upon my cupboard, excel in class and losing the interest to cook whatsoever. When I'm in my 20s, my dad had a heart attack from climbing the hill with my environmentalist ngo friends-- and I didn't join him on that event. I was devastated. Then I start taking a good care of myself as a girl, start wearing dresses, keep my hair long for awhile until it start to fall and settle for short to medium bob from then on, and most importantly, I start learning how to cook once again. Two years after he was gone, I was still cooking compulsively. I bake more cake in a year than I did for a lifetime. Years after that, I was still obsessed with good food, but I have made peace with both side of me-- the cooking type and the non-cooking type. I cook only when I want to and treat it as a hobby. When I had a bad day, midnight baking therapy will make me feel great afterward-- with a bonus: a treat for everyone in the house. But every once in a bluemoon when I dine out, I sometime found a taste of my dad's cooking and that is how this story started.

There are days when I miss him so much that I start to take notes of the places where I can find these scattered memories of taste-- from that chicken Maryland in an old Chinese restaurant with amazing tiles, that fried rice in an organic restaurant, and.. well, that was it! Yet, those two places brought a piece of his presence back to my life for a short wistful moment. Ten years now since he was gone and the list stuck at those two places that is no longer even there. On the desperate time of adding more places to that list that is now down to zero, I was obsessed. Apparently, they have a name for those things: Gustatory Nostalgia-- taste that brings back memory. These past two years I am all about the phenomenology issue of how our body and senses remembers and triggers memory.  Every now and then, I desperately seek for a slight comfort of his cooking. I shamelessly start revisiting places he used to take me. 

That photograph above was a disappointment that manifested in the form of 'tahu guling' and a story of father-daughter lunch date. Once upon a time, my dad used to take me to a very humble eatery selling this simple dish of tofu, vegetable, and tempe in sweet garlic sauce. I didn't remember if I like it or not, but, I do remember the place. So, one day, Dito and I went to that eatery and ordered the dish. After two of three bites, I didn't find even a glimpse of my dad's presence there.. I was more than disappointed. I was looking at the food with expectation that is too big; wondering how, in theory, that dish is supposed to remind me of him. It feels like I was betrayed by the only dish where I can possibly find him waiting for me. The obsession makes me forgot how these involuntary memories are triggered, not constructed. Proust said, involuntary memory is a subcomponent of memory that occurs when cues encountered in everyday life evoke recollections of the past without conscious effort. For Proust, it was a taste of petite Madeline cake soaked in a cup of tea that triggers his childhood memory that was lost to him. The taste triggers more vivid memory of how the childhood home looks like and how happy he was. For me, it was that one time when I ordered fried rice in an organic restaurant right in front of my dad's cemetery area, and the taste brings me back to those Sunday’s family breakfast and simpler things in life. At this point, I might just let go of that obsession, stop putting up such big pressure to a poor little dish in front of me, and just wait for a surprise visit in a bite-- one day.. one lucky day..)

thoughts// few minutes random thoughts

(Funny how when you start thinking 'random thought', you start making a list of all these not-so-random thoughts, trying to make sense of it all. I guess capturing thoughts, in a way, is just like capturing those photographs under a decisive moment. Ah, decisive moments-- there is this photography discussion I need to attend on Tuesday, I guess.. and there is this movie date plan at the same day, or was it on different week? I forgot. I need to check on my schedule. But why does life get so scheduled recently? Maybe that is how I lose myself. Maybe that is how life starts to be a continuous series of to-do-lists and ....there, again! I lost the word. It just flew by and I didn't capture it at the right time. I want to write a note to capture passed moment, but I have too many things I want to write and end up not writing it. Ah. At least the writing jobs are done and sent tho.. now I have time to leisure-write and read for pleasure. The best! At the moment I am re-reading Hemingway's Movable Feast. It gets better anytime I re-read it. It also feels more alive. Like I can see the scene and walk down these Paris street meeting all these famous friends. How could most of his friend seem to be so famous, I wonder. Maybe that's the thing with the lost generation-- they are all famous in a way. But what happen to the less famous ones in the group then? It took me awhile to read now. I used to read really fast, like, finishing one book in few hours. Now it took me few days or even weeks to finish a book. I guess I am more of a slow reader now, digesting each phrases in a more contemplative way. Sometime I re-read a beautiful passage and write it down in my diary. It breaks my heart to finish a good book-- like saying goodbye to a friend, knowing it will take a few years before we will reunite. Take this Moveable Feast for example. I bought it in 2011 on my first trip abroad with Dito before we get married, I guess. It was 4 years ago and I only got the privilege to reread the book now. It has also been awhile since the last time I reread Little Prince. It was almost like an annual ritual for me to read Little Prince. Every year, I find a new meaning of it. It's almost like a prophecy. Like telling me a lesson of life I failed to see and reminding me to embrace that side that is drifting away from me now. I feel like I am growing up-- maturing faster than I want. Yet, in a way or another, I am a late bloomer. I should've matured years ago and that book reminded me to slow down. I guess I've been moving pretty fast these past few years, missing several moments I might need to capture, and just like that-- I'm drifting away and realize it was still not fast enough. I have been spending the past two months losing control over myself, making a weekly trip to the hospital, taking more blood test in a month than I have ever been in years, and was lost in the uncertainty of things I don't understand. It might also be a reminder to actually slow down, tho. But I took my chance. Two months is more than enough. Taking a break can actually be exhausting-- my mind will start questioning the purpose of it and compulsively play the comparison game. That game is evil-- it's consuming you from the inside. In that case, I might need a mind detox too. Yesterday we went to see a theater show and at the end of it, my heart was broken into tiny little pieces and my mind was heavy with all these things-- the minimalist setting that somehow give me a haunting cinematic vision of the show, dark humors that makes me cried a little for laughing so much, the sublime dance of one of my favorite actress, and most of all, the beautiful phrases that gives me a pinch right into that part of my heart that I almost forgot it existed. Dito and I were both heartbroken after the show and our mind busy, our conversation ongoing-- so we decided to take a long almost-midnight drive around the city just to ease our mind from that pain and just talk. You know, that kind of pain that is cultivated for artistic reasons-- it's like getting high on a strange beautiful drug. I feel like I need the most banal of all junkfood afterward-- that overrated minions ice cream and classic fries, to take me back on the ground. 

Last week, we went back to the doctor and for the very first time, we saw him getting very happy and excited to see the latest result of my test. Like a proud father responding to an achievement his daughter showed him. I miss my father so much, btw. It’s been 10 years since we lost him and yesterday was father’s day. The internet was full of videos and feeds that make me weep. Anyway, the doctor, at one moment, I thought he was going to give me high-five and dance in the room. He used to always be so strict and serious and frustrated to see my previous results; making me feel like a bad student in front of the school principal.. ashamed, but not knowing what to do-- I did my best tho. Eat better, work hard and then take a once in awhile bedrest, exercise, take supplements. But still, it was like a student who studies really hard and still get bad grades on the final exam. But that is only until that day, I finally feel much better with that strange excited smile from the doctor. Everyone in the room was very relieved. I can now get a grip and start taking control over my life once again. I still get those pills that's giving me strange vivid dreams but less frequently now. I need to get a grip, and start living free once again. Freedom, was also a funny thing. When I first decided to stop being a 9to5 working person, I thought I opt for freedom. I didn't get the memo that I was actually jumping into a circle of not-so-free utopic freedom. Yes, I am not bounded by a strict working hour in some lousy office but I am bounded by my own targets, and to do lists, and it also means working almost non-stop. You have the freedom to choose when to stop and when to keep on working but at times, there is no privilege to do that—not yet. And when grown up things happen-- like, having to pay car taxes, services, weekly visit to the lab, employee's salary, birthday gifts, and the household bills that all at the same time sum up at a total that could hypothetically buy me a return ticket to Japan-- I question my freedom. Was this the freedom that I aimed few years ago when I took the leap out of the office life? It gives me more and more questions about life and the choices I made. It made me frustrated and I wish I could just take a leap and go somewhere to forget about it for awhile, get some space, and rearrange my life. I am now in a process of doing just that. Which reminds me, this year is probably the only year in the past 4 years when I am not leaving town during Ramadan. I have been not fasting for almost 4 years now because I was always somewhere far on a trip.. but not this year. It makes me sad in a way knowing that I am not going anywhere-- and I just find out that I am this kind of person who get a bit stressed out to stay in one place and not going anywhere. But, at the same time, I'm glad I have time to fix things up, concentrate on Lir, take a well-deserved rest, maybe I get to impulsively go to some place with a view every once in awhile, and I can do fasting too, which is a bonus point. I don't use to eat alone, and especially not during sahur but my husband doesn't do sahur so I got to drag myself  to actually take a bite of something nutritious in the cold wee hours of the morning. Usually I need to arrange my food in a way that it looks neat and tidy and delicious and photographable so I have a liiitle bit of motivation to eat it. It's worse when I'm at Lir but once I'm home, I can always go to my mom’s and eat together. I need to conquer my fear of eating alone tho. Taking myself on a date, maybe? It might actually give me a new sense of confidence-- which I guess I am lack of now. When do my mind start being like this? I used to be all dreamy and stuff. Culture, I guess, in one way or another-- does make you sour. Like yoghurt. If I was writing this random text few years ago, I'm pretty sure there will be thoughts of the deep blue sky, open road, bright sunlight and long shade of the trees, the smell of the ocean, an impulsive trip to the mountain side with the 'salem' trees, and all that without thinking about the gasoline. I guess that is what a grown up mind like-- they call it responsibility. I don’t mind for as long as I don’t turn into an angry grown up—I know some of them in the society and read their angry thoughts online here and there. They scared me. 

Could it possibly true that there is a cost for freedom or is there such thing as absolute freedom? Now I want to read more books. I want to read more beautiful book, and walk down the forest too. I haven't tried using the electricity plug in the middle of the garden in Joglo. I need to try it one day. It must be pretty strange to plug the electricity to what seem to be a tree, having picnic while actually writing an article. That might be fun, and still responsible-- if, I can actually write and not getting too distracted with the birds and the trees and the blue sky: this is a more possible scenario. Or I can do those paper works-- I am a pretty analog person when it comes to thoughts and ideas. I need to create a 'blueprint' of it and scribble it down the paper before actually making sense of it. I have one long essay to finish, but for now, I just want to read and read and read. I don't read enough anymore-- my words doesn't have the quality of a storyteller like I hope it should be. I start missing my day as the picnic girl-- self-assured, carefree, impulsive, dreamy, and all that. I need to start taking care of myself too-- that will make me feel better. I don’t even have new portrait and it makes me feel a bit dull. Confidence is a big issue now, since I'm drifted away from my self control. Both need to be regained, fight for. Knowledge, I guess, at the same time, can lessen your freedom and confidence. I keep on questioning myself all over again, having a self-doubt that needs to be solved and consulted to a good conversation, or a book. I feel hungrier. It's like a vicious never-ending cycle. I enjoy it tho, being hungry and clueless—it almost like starting an adventure or a quest to learn and find out about one thing or another; and then you dig deep down, searching for some answers that lead only to more questions, like playing a big endless puzzle. Sometime it can also gets too tiring. I wish I was still like a brave young Alice jumping into the rabbit hole without thinking twice. Sometime, I wish I am more of this simple lady leading a normal simple life, not thinking too much about this and that, not bothered easily by what I observe. I guess there can be a balance between a carefree attitude, curiosity, and responsibility. But, how? Let's now do something for pleasure without thinking twice and thinking what for. Let's now take a leap and go on an impulsive trip without questioning where to go. Let's do things we used to do and just enjoy the moment. Let’s take a long drive and get lost in a never-ending conversation. Let's now enjoy the crisp peppermint wind, the deep blue sky, and that glorious sunsets and just daydream-- thinking of some random thoughts and cultivating the artistic pain. Shall we? It's that time of the year. But first, I guess I need to take a nap.)

thought // these questions

(how much space you need when you say that you needed a space? where will you go to distance yourself from the world? if there is only one person you can choose to drink tea and talk right now, who will it be? does continuous social encounter drain you too? how do you survive and balance yourself.. or, are you barely surviving? have you asked yourself lately, 'am I being objective in judging that'? what frighten you? what is stopping you from doing things you are supposed to be doing right now.. or, are you too busy doing what you are supposed to do and forget the essentials? is there any such thing as 'thing you are supposed to do' and 'the essentials'? are you living your dream or have you given it up long long time ago? if it was your dream you are living, do you enjoy it? do you work hard enough? is there any place you'd rather be right now? are you contented with your life? do you reward yourself enough before asking 'what's next'? 

when this all passed, can we take a long walk down a beautiful old neighborhood and get lost in these questions only to rediscover ourselves? do you think it will worth the trip and the time? is it possible that life, is actually much more simpler than all those thoughts?)

thought // the girls were our twins

 (self-portrait by Anna)

“We felt the imprisonment of being a girl, the way it made your mind active and dreamy, and how you ended up knowing which colors went together. We knew that the girls were our twins, that we all existed in space like animals with identical skins, and that they knew everything about us though we couldn’t fathom them at all. We knew, finally, that the girls were really women in disguise, that they understood love and even death, and that our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them.” || Jeffrey Eugenides ||

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(at the moment, I am preparing two solo exhibitions of two talented ladies. I don't curate 'woman artist' as much as I wanted to but I personally don't believe in that term: 'woman artist'. An artist is an artist; just like a good work is a good work, no matter what or who make them. Just like a feminist isn't always supposed to be manly, there are girly modern girl living a life in equality. Maybe, let's rephrase that sentence once again: I didn't work with enough woman as much as I wanted to. 

these first three months of 2015 has been pretty intense for me. As the Exhibition Laboratory project started, it means four solo exhibitions to prepare in one project; followed by this two upcoming solos I'm working on at the moment sums up into six consecutive solo exhibitions in three months. And again, for me, a solo exhibition is a solo exhibition-- no matter how big or small it is. The intensity, the intimacy shared between the artist and me, and the energy spent for each artist is pretty much the same. This first three months is a test to my limit, while I am preparing another test for the last three months of this year-- more consecutive series of solo exhibitions, big ones, out of my comfort zone. The rest of the year, I'll just be very hungry. Be hungry enough to consume things in sight, digests the thoughts, explore, read, learn, and dance through life. 

as for this upcoming exhibitions, there are two girls, both living in their world upon the cloud, willing to share a glimpse of the mystery of it. Not my usual kind of conceptually-driven projects but more of a feel-good projects which is very fun and refreshing to do. Boy's mind can be a fun reading, but a girl's mind has a certain complexity that even other girls find it intriguing to read-- yet, we understand them; we feel them. And it is somehow liberating to think alike and squeal at the same delights, sigh for the same quirkiness, and share each other's mind through literature written by woman. The girls were our twins.)

thought // the question

"One is always tempted to be unfaithful to one’s own country. To have imagination is inevitably to be dissatisfied with where you live…in our wanderlust, we are lovers looking for consummation." || Elisabeth Eaves ||

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(Have you ever get out of your comfort zone for a while, taking a step back, and start having these questions about life? Things start to seem a bit more clear and yet, we can't help but somehow get drifted farther away. 

Those questions and the process of questioning life as we know it.. is what I look for whenever I get out of my comfort zone and shake things up. It's not always about travelling to a place far away but that particular thing usually does the trick. There will be the first one week when everything I see and do start to feel new and interesting. Then, there comes the gloom, the loneliness, and the questions. The more I learn something new.. the more I feel like I don't know enough. To me, it feels like drinking salt-water: the more I drink, the more I get thirsty.  

The distance allows me to think about life: how I want to live it and imagine it to be. I feel like I need more time to just read and digest all the books and ideas, rethink about what I have learned, and even reconsider my long-buried urge to go back to school. There is a need to learn something new~ to share exciting thoughts and ideas with friends. To think about love and the longing feeling to go home when we are away. It makes me question about loneliness and independence; and how to grow up without growing apart from your friends.  At the end, it leaves me with a wish to travel more often and shake things up in my comfort zone. Then again, don't you have to keep on moving to stay alive?)

let me think only about the sky!

(At this moment, I am desperately need a holiday from being concerned. Work has gotten to me lately. I just surprised myself by finishing nine articles for three magazines, two curatorial notes, one catalog essay, and six short online articles. All was done in one and a half months plus two weeks trips. Being back home only to find myself hosting ten dining parties in one week lead me to this point. 

This annual holiday open house ritual has made my house belong to many others: friends, families, and the loved ones. I actually enjoy the baking, the tidying up, and the daily get-together with different groups of closest people. It's heartwarming! It's just.. somehow my June and July has turned into numbers, words, trips, and to-do's. I need that kind of pause when you're so deep in a story that everything else is forgotten.. the world is gone and you are living a moment that is yours and yours alone. 

I am now in a holiday mode. Longing for more privacy; freedom to do whatever my heart tells, a pause to get lost in a good book for hours and hours, to go under the sun, sit on a park bench holding hand with him, transforming small poetic thoughts into something real, to be on the seaside and think only about the sky.. and for just one moment in life: stop making list in my head. For that, I have one more day before Lir start. 

Wish me luck and the fullest day to do nothing..)

until we meet again!

(when I was much younger, I always imagine myself as a solo traveler. Flying around the world, experiencing life to its fullest. Travelling solo was listed in my dream-list in my junior high school's notebook, high-school group journal, and diaries. It was until when I first travelling solo to Manila in 2004; it start giving me a chill. Then, after finding the perfect travel companion for life, travelling solo start to sound less fun compared to travelling with him. It excites me more to be able to share that beautiful curve of a quaint house, that bluest sky, that thrilling moment of trying strange stuff, a hug when it's too cold, and sharing the excitement of new found little shops or cafe.

Today, I am going to travel solo. It brings me back to my old dreams, combined with all the excitements and unusual thrills. Sure, there will be many firsts: first winter, first walk around the unknown territory, and the sensation of being alone. A good friend will be there guiding me, so, there is nothing to worry about. Plus, I will be pretty busy with the tight class schedule, studio visits, and gallery hopping. Still, I wish I could share it with you. 

I wish you well, until we meet again..)

under the limelight of the camera's eyes

(you see.. under the limelight of the camera's eyes; the world is a little bit more colorful. Life is a little bit more exciting. The world is seen once again in detail and people develop a new way in looking. A split second of beautiful moment is captured and collected. Experiences are shared, personal gaze are opened to wider audience. We know how people arrange their table, eat their beautiful healthy breakfast, interact with their pets, spend their dreamy afternoon, gaze upon the cloud above them. We know what they read, what they see, and how it reflects on their aesthetic. Sometime it was as if people take us into their adventure. It amaze me to see how people could find beauty in the mundane, turning trash into treasure, painting life in a softer light, and get connected to new ideas. 

After all, lives are the sum of  memories. Wouldn't it be nice, in moderation, to capture a split seconds in life while living it? One day, it might be needed to help us remember.)

//my jar of memories: here// 

thought // on doing your best

(four years ago I took a leap into the unknown. Back then, I asked for 'permission' from my mom and my uncle to try and live my dream for two years and if I failed.. I'll rush back to the path I was supposed to take. Then, I remember my uncle said I should never try and find a job that will satisfy him or make my mom proud. He said that I should not living up to anyone's expectation but mine and pleasing everyone else is never a good idea. He said that it is better to try and meet one's very own personal goals. That day, instead of two years trial, I was given a blank slate and unconditional encouragement from my loved ones. Since then, life has been an adventure.

About my uncle.. oh, the cleverness of him! 

What he did not warn me back then was how satisfying myself if far more difficult than satisfying everyone else. You see, people's judgement will be based on their narrow inaccurate point of view of you.. and people might have completely different value than you do. That makes their judgement can be considered irrelevant in some cases. It is a whole different case with yourself: you are *you*. You~ and only yourself will know when are you working your best and when are you just playing around with stuff. That limit is very personal. In my case, I always hope to surprise myself every now and then. When I feel like I wasn't doing my best, I failed myself. 

I remember asking a senior artist about his best artwork or one that loves the most. He said, "It is the one I have yet to create". Apparently, he doesn't like most of what he just made. He thinks that his artwork needs more time to show its hidden potential. Of course, there are moment when the time is right and he would actually like the work he made.

Don't get me wrong.. I'm happy with my life. But when it comes to job-related satisfaction and that particular feeling of achievement, I can be very difficult to myself. But.. is it always like that: to grow, you shouldn't be satisfied and settled~ go beyond your comfort zone, do your best, and never settle for what it is today. That, or be grateful? Stop for awhile and enjoy the moment or quickly asking for 'what's next'? Do I need time and space to judge things better and to breathe? 

How about you, dear reader?*) 

(*) of course.. only if there is anyone at all who actually read this blog.. lol! 

thought // good distance

(lately, life feels like a feast with too many treats on the table. It is amazing~ yet, a careful consideration is needed to decide what will actually end up on the plate. In time like this, a good distance is what I need to see things clearly; to hold the pause button for a little while and reconnect to all that matters.) 

thought // the breakfast club

All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast. 

// John Gunther //

(Breakfast time is one of my most favorite time  of the day. I love to wake up earlier and steal a bit of me-time before starting the day with my beloved one.. cooking something healthy that should also be pampering to be enjoyed in a quality leisure time.  I, wholeheartedly, believe that a leisurely breakfast is the beginning of a happy day ahead. No wonder that the white queen of Alice's Wonderland believe in as many as six impossible thing before breakfast. Morning is the time for light, hope, and pure joy.

When I'm eating out, breakfast is still one of my most favorite meal time. Have you ever try going to a chain restaurant that serve breakfast? Chances are, you will meet all types of people with their masks off. It is the time of the day when the nice-scented office worker mingle with sleepy-faced family or a group of friends still in their jogging pants or pajamas. It is socially acceptable not to dress up during the breakfast time: the day is still very exciting and too early for judgement.

That is how The Breakfast Club at Lir begin.  

The Breakfast Club, as some of you might be well aware of, is the title of a celebrated 80's movie about five students from different cliques gather in a Saturday morning detention and develop friendship despite the different stereotypes each of them carries. At Lir, I want that hopeful time of the day to be celebrated in a way that strangers and friends gather; letting the warm morning sunshine, indulging menu, and conversation to bring happiness for the rest of the day. 

Instead of handling the club myself, I invite other people to host The Breakfast Club. They call themselves: The Aunties. The Aunties are three bright young ladies who become the think-tank and hostess of The Breakfast Club. The Aunties prepares not only beautiful sight and various types of indulging breakfast for everyone; but also honest hospitality and warmth. Their motto is to serve 'a bowl of joy'. Their first day of hosting ~before the heavy volcanic ash rain hit the city, left me smiling ear to ear. People were actually gather in one long table and become friends with those who was once a stranger. Even when the milk is to be served cold, the breakfast time should always be heartwarming, right?) 

// care to join the club? //

ig: @auntiesbreakfastclub

t : @theaunties 

or just come to 

Jl.Anggrek 1/33 Baciro - Yogyakarta 

Every morning 6.30 am to 11.30 am (except Wednesday)