5 - my precious pearl

In the early chapters of my life, my first two girl best friends were Teteh and Mama. 

And the third spot was reserved for someone with no blood ties. 

Her name was Mutiara. 

It means Pearl in English. 

We first met during our kindergarten days. 

Our shared love for Sailormoon was what brought us closer. 

Our school days were inseparable. 

We had our favorite, secret spot in the backyard, away from the hustle and bustle of other kids.

We would play swings there and talked and laughed and talked again and laughed again. 

Once, at recess, there were twins who kicked me in the stomach just because they didn’t want to wait for their turn.

Mutiara came to my rescue, checking on me.

Then she ran to Bu Yani to report it while I still remained frozen in shock.

She then declared that she no longer wanted to play with the troublesome twins ever again. 

How could I not love her?

Our friendship extended beyond the school gates. 

Living just 500 meters apart, we’d visit each other’s house at least twice a week.

Our playdates were filled with showing off our collections of hologram Sailormoon cards.

Whenever I visited Mutiara’s house, we’d always turn her bak mandi into our make-believe bathtub.

We’d soak there and wouldn’t get out, not until our fingers got all wrinkly. 

Then with those temporary wrinkled skin, we’d talk as if we were toothless grandmas.

Our bathroom creativity also included the soap sledding on the bathroom floor.

We would spread the liquid soap all over the floor and add some splash of water. 

If the floor had been slippery, falling was a must.

We'd both laugh when one of us took a tumble.

Post-bath, it was Sailormoon time.

In the late '90s, Sailormoon aired on TV.

And our afternoons were always dedicated to watching it.

We couldn't miss an episode. 

Following the show, we’d engage in activities like coloring or reading magazines.

Mutiara subscribed to Ina, while I was a loyal reader of Bobo. 

Beyond playtime, Mutiara and I shared similar interests, including participating in traditional dance classes.

We practiced together in the school auditorium, gearing up for our first performance at Taman Mini Indonesia Indah.

On the big day, Mutiara looked so stunning with makeup.

I, too, had makeup on. But I had shed some tears earlier because I felt like a walking ondel-ondel with my red lipstick.

I remember Teteh laughing at my makeup as well.

Although Mama & Ayah insisted otherwise, I couldn't shake the feeling that they were just being kind.

Ayah had been reminding me since morning to look in his direction & to smile while dancing because he had his camera ready.

A directive I completely forgot in the middle of the crowd.

When the dance finally started,

Mama gestured for me to smile and pointed to her own lips, showing me how.

I didn't realize that I had a frown on my face throughout the dance.

Well, I was sweating bullets!

The heat and the uncomfortable traditional attire had caused rashes on my skin. 

My eczema had flared up on my neck, arms, hands, legs, and feet.

And to make matters worse, the eczema ointment was in Mama's bag.

She couldn't come backstage before the show. 

Another reason for my frown was the overwhelming number of audience. 

Maybe there were thousands of them. I’m not kidding. It was so crowded. 

During rehearsals at school, only a few boys in the class watched us, never more than ten.

After the dance, I took a photo with my group of dancers. 

I stood next to Mutiara, and we held each other’s hands, but it wasn't visible in the picture. 

Time flew. 

After graduating from kindergarten, Mutiara and I entered the same elementary school but found ourselves in different classes. 

Unfortunately, her time at the school was brief, not lasting more than one Caturwulan.

Mutiara’s family moved far away to Jogja, or some other places they called Jawa. 

We promised to keep in touch, and for a while, we did.

But, life took over.

Our calls slowly faded away. 

No more long phone calls. 

Not even quick stroll-by hellos.

Several years later, when I was 10 and armed with a new handphone, I attempted to reconnect.

I dialed her home phone number, only to find out Mutiara had moved again… leaving me with no way to reach her. 

Now, the idea of reconnecting with Mutiara via social media crossed my mind. 

Should I tweet, “Twitter, please do your magic”?

Is there really a chance for magic to bring us back together?

4 - the sour school

It turns out school was not as lovely as Teteh's stories made it sound.

When it was my turn to be a kindergarten student, I wasn't that thrilled.

The excitement was nowhere to be found. 

Too many strangers.

Too many unfamiliar faces.

The school building itself was different.

I didn't end up to the school my sister attended a year before.

We moved to a new house. Consequently, we enrolled in a school close to our new home.

My excitement about going to school quickly faded.

Sure, my sister was around as my senior, but everything was still new.

And being in a completely foreign place made me feel all jittery inside. 

The only thing I liked about this new school was my compassionate teacher, Bu Yani.

She was exceptionally pretty, with long black hair and always wearing dark red lipstick.

What I loved most was that she wore boots, just like me!

And this reminded me of the first time I experienced bullying.

I recall playing alone on the swings during recess when a classmate dropped a bomb in front of me:

"Ena, your shoes are weird.”

Spicing things up, my 2 other friends were laughing at her comment while pointing at my boots. 

I was stunned and hurt.

I didn't know it was a form of bullying.

Teteh had never shared stories about friends saying hurtful things.

No one had ever told me how painful it could be when something I loved was ridiculed in front of me.

I nearly burst into tears.

The boots actually belonged to Teteh. I borrowed them that morning.

Teteh and I shared a pair of dark purple suede boots since our feet were the same size, allowing us to exchange shoes.

Lost in thought about Teteh, I wondered how she would react if she knew this. 

And why having friends at school wasn't as fun as Teteh said it would be?

Had someone ever been this mean to her?

Had she ever kept some secret from me?

Had she ever been bullied?

Was this normal?

I wanted to scream my lungs out.

But silence won the battle inside me. 

--

When the bell rang, Mama picked us up at the front gate.

In front of the kindergarten, a vendor was selling Indonesian traditional snacks.

We made it a daily stop. No kidding. 

Every day after school, Mama would get me my all-time fave sponge cake, Bolu Pelangi!!!

It was the highlight of my day. 

That sweet treat made the bullying nonsense vanish into thin air. 

At least for a little while.

--

I never spoke to anyone about the incident with the boots.

Not until some weeks later when Mama asked why I never wore them again.

Well, I didn't say what happened to Mama because Teteh was there and I didn’t want to upset Teteh.

She wore the boots more frequently than I did. 

That morning, Mama convinced me that my outfit, if styled with the boots, would be fantastic. 

I agreed with her.

So... After a long time, I wore them again.

But seriously, going to school with something my friends hated??? It felt like torture. 

So the unspoken social rule was:

Your love for your favorite things doesn't matter one bit. 

No one cares about your preferences. 

If your friends (or even just a friend, --singular) find your stuff irritating, you need to pretend that you don't like it either... to please them.

To be liked.

To be accepted. 

To fit in. 

It was downright pathetic. 

Those bullies were not even my close friends.

But my tiny 4-year-old heart was still desperate for their nod of approval.

I was scared all the way to school.

I was on the verge of tears. 

School sucked. 

After arriving in front of the class, Mama left us.

Did I mention that Teteh was in the same school as me, but we didn't play together at school?

She preferred spending time with her classmates.

And that was one of the major reasons why school wasn’t fun for me. 

On that day, my teacher, the very kind Bu Yani, leaned toward me and said,

"Ena, I like your boots. I wear boots, too! Look at mine! The only difference is that mine is black, and yours is dark purple. But yours is cooler. Is that suede???"

Wow...

I loved her.

So much.

She had always been my absolute favorite.

And the fact that Bu Yani complimented my boots, the ones my friends had mocked, made me smile from ear to ear.

Cherry on top: she didn't just whisper it to me!!!

She said it loud and clear enough for the whole class to hear.

My friends couldn't miss it.

Neither could those 3 bullies.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

And just like that... I fell in love with school and with my boots... all over again. 

3 - wishing we were twins

I hated it when Teteh started going to school in 1996.

No Teteh at home meant No Fun.

Seriously, who knew my house could be so dull without her around?

I was totally not ready.

Every morning,

I'd get all emotional,

I'd shed a tear or two (……two rivers),

I'd get told for a thousand time that I gotta wait until I was 4,

I'd be hopelessly wishing that Teteh and I were twins, 

and

I'd beg Mama to let me wear clothes that matched Teteh's snazzy school uniform.

Once Teteh and I were all dressed in the “same” uniform, we would stroll to school with Mama.

Teteh's school was super close to our house. 

And I had a soft spot for Teteh’s school.

It was big with so many vibrant paintings on the walls.

At that time I wondered why people didn't paint their houses like that. It would be so cool.

And there were friendly teachers in Teteh's class. 

Sometimes, her teachers even let me sit in the classroom for a bit. 

Mama said that they allowed me in because they felt sorry seeing me show up at the school with a face still red from crying.

I enjoyed sitting in her class, even though my seat was far from Teteh.

I had to sit way at the back, close to the door. 

Teteh’s friends usually gave me those skeptical look. But, come on!!!

In my defense, my clothes looked pretty similar to their uniforms!

The days when I got to sit in Teteh's class were my lucky days.

On the not-so-lucky days, my role was limited to walk Teteh to her classroom before heading home with Mama.

On the way back, I always brushed away my tears because I wanted to go to school just like Teteh.

I really did. 

While waiting for Teteh to finish school, I would play with Mama.

Playing with Mama was fun, but it was even more exciting when the three of us played together as we usually did. 

Time felt like it was taking forever while I waited for Teteh to finish school. 

But you know what made it all worth it???

You know what was the best part of waiting???

Picking Teteh up after school!!!

That part was a blast because Teteh would spill the beans with loads of cool stories about her day. 

I got a sneak peak of the school world through Teteh's stories.

Teteh would tell me about her friends. I even knew the name of the prettiest friend in her class. And also the names of the troublemakers.

Teteh was making a bunch of cool new friends who were just as young as she was. It was a whole new world because our neighbors didn't have any kids my age or Teteh's age.

Listening to Teteh’s stories was my favorite thing. 

It made me look forward to my own school days. 

I couldn't wait for my turn to start school.

I couldn’t wait to be in the same school as Teteh!

---

P.S.:

Put in mind that I was just a 3-year-old kid when this all happened. 

But this bitter memory still hangs around like an unwelcome guest. 

That's why I think I needed to write this all down too. Maybe it'll be a little guide. 

And hopefully, no more kids would feel as clueless as I was. 

Fast forward to the time when I got all into Psychology...

I discovered that what I went through had a legit term:

Sibling Separation Anxiety. 

If you are a parent and have more than one kid, my advice is to explore some articles on the topic.

Just click that keyword.

Learn the tricks.

Apply what works best for your little ones. 

My mama did her best back then in the pre-Internet era.

But now that we've got the internet right at our fingertips, why don't we make the most of it?

3 - fluffy, feline friend

Her name was Si Putih.

Si Putih wasn’t my average feline friend. 

She was my first fluffy, feline friend. 

I was 3 years old when we crossed paths. 

Si Putih made her home in the attic of my old house. 

Now, don't picture a fancy attic;

it was more like a storage space tucked right above the laundry room.

One day, Ayah called out excitedly from the laundry room.

“Teteh! Ena! Come here!”

We rushed over to find him perched on a bamboo ladder.

“In this attic is a litter of kittens! And there is the cat mom, too!”

Ayah invited me to go upstairs.

Teteh immediately reclined his offer, leaving me alone under that intimidating ladder.

I stood still there.

“Ena! You will like them! Ayah yakin Ena pasti suka!”

Yes I know I like cats. But that rickety bamboo ladder?

Just by looking at it, I knew it was so unsafe it could kill people.

It was like a stairway to heaven a.k.a alam barzah. No kidding. 

But the super adorable meows from those newborn kittens made me so curious!

I couldn’t resist. 

With cautious steps & Ayah's help, I climbed that ladder. 

And there, at the top, I was greeted by a cluster of pure white kittens and their white mom.

It really was a stairway to heaven. No kidding!

Now the word heaven here referred to earthly paradise!

From that moment on, my family decided that Si Putih and her precious babies would call the attic their home (while I called them all MINE!!!)

Si Putih was a domestic cat.

Her fur was entirely snowy-white, except for her tail.

She had a black dot on her tail.

I can't quite recall the color of her eyes, but in my distant memory, they were blue.

I remember I used to invite Si Putih to come into my house.

She would often get stuck in the backyard, near the buckets in the laundry room.

Whenever Si Putih was already inside the house, I always begged Mama to feed her.

Back then, my knowledge about cats’ nutrition was limited...

I thought chicken bones were her food. 

Poor Si Putih.

---

One day, disaster struck.

Si Putih disappeared.

She didn’t return home for days.

I remember crying my eyes out like a river. 

Fast forward to my teenage years, my parents still remember this moment and they said,

“When Si Putih was missing, you refused to eat.

You said you would eat only if Si Putih came home and ate with you.”

My parents said that I rarely cried as a kid, so that moment remains etched in their memory. 

But alhamdulillah, a few days later, Si Putih came back home!!!

I was overjoyed!

I immediately told Ayah that we had to bring Si Putih to our new house. 

Ayah & Mama, mindful of my recent heartache, agreed right away.

On the moving day,

Ayah had to make several trips to transport our belongings.

Ayah's car was so small. It was an old Volkswagen Beetle, black in color. 

The distance between my old and new house was about 4 kilometers.

I remember the moment when our old house began to feel emptier as we packed our things.

It started to give me some uncomfortable feelings.

Ayah told me, "Na, I'll take Si Putih with me now. But let the kittens stay in the attic.

We'll bring one cat only."

I agreed. I had no special connection with those kittens anyway. 

That afternoon, Ayah packed some stuff and drove the car with Si Putih. 

But, he soon returned with everything still in the car, including Si Putih.

He sighed, "Na, Si Putih can't sit still in the car. What should we do? I guess we can't bring her.

How about if we let her stay here with her kittens?"

I was speechless...

Too sad to say anything. 

But then, Ayah changed his mind once more,

"Or how about if you come with me first? So that you’d know she can't sit still in the car..."

I smiled again and shouted, “IYA! ENA MAU!”

I got into the car, settling in the back seat.

Ayah placed Si Putih on my lap.

Off we went to the new house. 

And to my surprise, Si Putih remained calm throughout the ride.

As we made our way to the new house, Ayah couldn't help but keep looking at the rear-view mirror.

He kept laughing, "How is this possible??? Earlier when Si Putih was just with me, she couldn't sit still, she was jumping all around.

But now, with you???? She's very calm! Emang bener Si Putih cuma nurutnya sama Ena aja ya. Berarti dia tau siapa yang sering kasih dia makan."

I felt so happy knowing that Si Putih was truly meant to be my cat.

One core memory was unlocked. It was yellow.

Our new house was way smaller than the old rented house, but it sat right next to my grandma's house, making it more special.

On our first night in the new house, my big sister and I still slept with our parents.

But I couldn't fall asleep & was overwhelmed with stress.

It wasn't until 2 am that I was finally in tears…

I sobbed, "Ayah... Ena mau pulang. Ayo kita pulang, Yah."

Ayah woke up instantly & replied, "Na, this is our new home."

I persisted, "No, it's not. I wanna go home..."

Ayah gently explained, "This is our home, Na. The old house belonged to someone else.

We were just renting it. Now we're gonna live here forever."

Ayah's words didn't calm me down. They added to my worry instead. 

It turned out that my sadness arrived a little later than everyone else's.

While others wept earlier this morning during the farewell with the neighbors and the house itself,

my tears didn't flow until the quiet of the night. 

I kept thinking about my old house. 

But eventually, exhaustion took over. I fell asleep.

The next day, I introduced Si Putih to my cousins who lived in my grandma's house.

They fell in love with her instantly!

They introduced me to their cat, too. I forgot the cat’s name. 

But we always had a playdate together with our cats. 

Unfortunately, my uncle (my mom’s little brother) who lived in my grandma’s house didn’t like cats.

He scolded us every time we played with our cats in Rumah Nenek.

He said, "One day I will throw those cats away!"

I was so angry with him. I told Mama that he shouldn't have said that. 

That 'one day' came in one afternoon.

I just returned home from kindergarten, only to find Si Putih missing.

I cried and yelled and screamed, and convinced that she couldn't have vanished on her own. 

Someone must have thrown her away. 

And Mama said I was right:

my uncle threw Si Putih away. 

I threw a tantrum.

I wished I could throw something else upon him.

Something bigger.

Something more terrifying.

Something that could scare him and keep his hands off my cat.

But I could only throw a tantrum.

One core memory was unlocked. It was blue.

I knew for real that my anger was just a surface emotion.

My anger concealed a collection of deeper feelings: disappointment, sadness, betrayal, vulnerability, fear. 

Yes, fear.

Now that I’m already an adult, I know that some adults want some kids to fear them.

And I was indeed so afraid of my uncle because he was taller, older, and way more powerful than my 3-year-old self.

Since he threw away Si Putih (& my cousin's cat, too), I kept my distance from him.

His presence always reminded me of Si Putih’s absence.

But one day (July 7),

literally one day after my birthday (July 6),

I decided to forgive him................... on the day he passed away (July 7, 2021)

roughly 25 years after he threw my cat away.

Maybe it's safe now to call it closure. 

2 - first fragment of memory

Being an aunt,

I've had the privilege to witness the gentle love my parents shower upon my nephew, Aufaa.

Their devotion as grandparents knows no bounds.

They’ve been all in with Aufaa since he popped into this world. 

Every other day, my mom washes and dries his teeny tiny clothes under the sun, ensuring all his clothes are clean and crisp.

Meanwhile, my dad is always available to create homemade toys & mend the broken ones.

When Aufaa refuses to eat, they would act like silly circuses... doing whatever it takes to soothe Aufaa's cries.

Most importantly, they are willing to listen to my sister and me, as we share our fresh perspectives on raising children.

Last August, Aufaa just turned 2 years old. 

And my parents’ dedication to being grandparents continues up until today.

Whenever I see my parents taking care of Aufaa, I can't help but wonder,

"Was this how they used to care for me when I was little?"

If I were to dig deep into my memories and recall my very first moment in this world, I have one distinct memory.

My first memory of being alive dates back to when I was 2 years old, likely around 1995.

I can say this with confidence because:

- I remember at that moment my sister hadn't started kindergarten yet, making her just 3 years old.

- We were all still living in our old house. We moved to the new house when my sis was 4 & I was 3.

- So yeah, no shit Sherlock, it all leads to the fact that I was indeed 2 years old during that memory.

At that time, I was the same age as Aufaa today.

I can vividly recall this one scene.

It was, as mentioned earlier, likely around 1995. 

The setting took place in our old house. 

The TV was on. 

Mama, Teteh (my big sis), and I were seated around the TV but none of us was actually watching it. 

We were busy talking to each other. 

I was sipping Milo milk from my red glass, while Teteh was in tears because she wanted to drink the milk from her baby bottle. 

Mama didn't let her do so... Instead, she suggested that Teteh needed to learn from me,

“Look at Ena. She could drink it from a glass. You could, too.”

......which only resulted in her cries growing louder. 

And that was when my dad returned home from work. 

When my dad opened the door, I remember I stopped drinking, placed my glass on the floor, smiled, and rushed over to my dad,

while screaming, “AYAHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

My sister did the same, behind me (of course), as she needed extra time to wipe her tears away.

My sister and I would always eagerly greet Ayah at the doorstep every time he returned home.

It was our thing. 

It was our ritual.

It was our special routine.

Perhaps, the reason why this remains my earliest memory is because it had been my daily tradition.

We would envelop Ayah in hugs and our high-pitched voices would echo his name nonstop.  

Every single night.

We never missed it.

(Later, we stopped doing that only because Ayah had retired in 2013.)

Ayah's homecomings were always filled with surprises,

he always brought something home, like a token of affection.

Sometimes it was a handful of new toys purchased from some pedagang asongan on the trains.

Sometimes he just brought a pen with multiple colors that he stole from his office (which I loved so much!!!).

Other times, he bought some men’s tools for himself,

or a bag of pears/avocados for Mama,

or a box of martabak keju,

or a hand of bananas, 

or just his bare hands. 

His hands alone were, to me, precious.

It wasn't until my 20s that I realized Ayah's thoughtful gestures had shaped my Love Language. 

Yes. My love language is Gift. 

Whenever I recall this very first memory of mine, tears of joy are hanging in my eyes.  

I cannot believe that my oldest core memory was so ordinary. 

It was so simple. 

It was never about the fancy toys I dreamed of having as a child. No.

It was never about us having a staycation in a 5-star hotel near the beach. No.

My core memory lies when my family was just living in a small rented house in a suburban city. 

We were just at home that one evening in 1995;

Ayah was 37 years old.

Mama was 33 years old.

Teteh was 3 years old.

I was 2 years old.

Ayah, Mama, Teteh, and Ena.

Just the four of us. Just the right amount of love.

Perfectly ordinary. 

But we were over the moon with happiness.

It was right there.

Happiness was clearly right there… in our shared togetherness.

Nothing more, nothing less. 

“So which of the favors of your Lord would you deny?” 

1 - pocket-sized poem

One deafening cry as dawn broke the night sky,

she began to sail through life in early July

One couple of dark brown eyes,

like a pool of liquid chocolate: iced

streaming clear teardrops without disguise

One delicate heart loaded with wonder,

like rose petals in midsummer,

blooming with thunder

One beam of ivory skin in sight,

flashing fearlessly with all her might,

what a pure delight

One pair of lips soaring laughter beyond compare,

like a stormy symphony in the air

One little solo warrior in the making,

brutally breathtaking.

--

To my sweet one-year-old self:

Today I made a little present for you and about you: one pocket-sized poem.

Your first birthday might not have been celebrated the way it should've been. 

but that shouldn't stop you from believing that you are loved.

Loving you is like placing one chubby cherry on top of a black forest cake;

Loving you is easy.

Happy birthday, onederful me.

0 - soundless tsunami

My parents’ firstborn just turned 6 months old when my mom found out that she was pregnant again.

Well, I bet any woman would be stunned to learn that she'd be carrying one baby inside and another baby outside at the same time. 

I bet my mom must be so frightened while calculating the risk of having two closely spaced kids.

I bet my mom was not mentally nor physically nor financially ready to commit herself to an unintended pregnancy.

I bet my mom was in a flood of tears because of that.

Because of me.

Because of my presence in her belly.

My mom said she had done so many things just to perform a quote-unquote legal abortion.

“There was this old tale saying that if I eat a large number of pineapples, it can end up to a miscarriage.

And so, I did.

I couldn’t remember how many pineapples I chewed every day. 

I also tried some dangerous exercises that involved rapid movement, like racing up and down the stairs.

But still, nothing happened.

When I went back to the hospital, the doctor said the baby was incredibly strong.

You were just the size of a pea but you were too strong to be defeated, Ena.”

The first time I heard that story from my mom...

it feels like there is a sudden soundless tsunami shattering every atom of my being. 

I wish it were all a lie.

I wish she was just teasing me.

I wish she could just keep it to herself for the rest of her life because gosh I DID NOT want to hear any of that.

I wish I were deaf.

I wish I were dead.

My mom and dad said they decided to keep me after all, thinking,

“Our firstborn is a girl. Fingers crossed we'll have a boy this time.”

My mom gave birth to me at dawn on Tuesday, July 6, 1993.

And while my parents were favoring a son, I was born a girl.

They named me after a surah in Quran, "Anisa" which means "woman".

While writing this down,

I can't help but feel aching emptiness inside me.

Why on earth have I been so unwanted?

How could my very existence have been nothing but a burden to my own parents?

I’ve been carrying this emotional baggage since I was six.

Right after my parents told me that story, my world began to shrink.

Without rest, I always tried to keep the pain locked away, buried deep inside where no one could see.

But the truth was always there.

A hurtful history I could never erase. 

A soundless tsunami.

Growing up, I struggled with feelings of worthlessness.

I wondered if my parents could ever truly love me who was so unwanted from the start.

I wondered if my parents could treat me and my big sis equally.

I wondered if I was even worth the try.

Through the pain that still lingers, I'm determined to heal.

Writing this is a part of that process.

For I know that if I merely let this story rot in my head, it might dim my inner light.

I refused to let the darkness consume me.

I am more than the sum of my past.

I am more than the pain that I carry.

Tell you what.

That doctor was right.

I am strong.

The seed of strength has been sprouting in me...

since I was zero…

since I was just an embryo.

Having said that, I knew that there was one thing my mom failed to see.

All this time, my mom kept telling me that I could survive in her womb only because I was so strong.

Little did she realize that I got all that power from her.

It was she who nourished me with many chunks of courage through the umbilical cord.

There was a ghost of a chance I could be one strong baby in a mother’s weak body.

There was no way it could happen just like that. 

It had always been my mom who made me strong.

It had always been her who was so strong from the very beginning.

Looking back,

I could understand to some extent the sacrifices my mom made,

the fear she faced, 

the tears she both shed and held back all because of me.

I realized that I was not just an accidental pregnancy.

I realized that my existence in this world mattered.

I've chosen to see myself as a miracle.

A miracle that my mom fought for, even though she was not fully aware at the time.

----

To my dearest Mama... 

I want you to know that despite everything that happened in our past, I love you.

I love you for your willingness to do whatever it took to bring me into this world,

for giving me a chance to live inside you,

for trying your best to feed me while recovering between pregnancies,

and for telling me constantly that I am different because I am strong. 

If one day Allah blesses me with the opportunity to become a mother, 

I can only hope that I, at least, can be half as amazing as you are, Mama.

Mama...

I've always been able to sense your favoritism for my big sis. 

No matter how hard I tried to impress you, I would always be your least favorite child.

But I want you to know that I already forgave you for that pain you didn’t mean to cause throughout my childhood...

It's okay, Mama... I know you never did that on purpose. 

As a grown-up woman, I'm now grateful that you told me that story from an early age.

Your willingness to open up with me about your vulnerability while carrying me inside has allowed me to see how challenging motherhood can be. 

Your feelings are forever valid, Ma.

I shouldn't have thought that I had the right to reject how you feel about me. 

And so now I choose to embrace our story.

Thank you for being honest with me, Mama.

"In a world of lies, you are the truth."

Stronger Than Ever

ALOHA PEOPLE!!!
I'M BACK!!!
AND THIS TIME, I'M REALLY BACK!!!
I know I had said that last year that I was gonna write again.
But ughhh I got lotsa things to do because I procrastinated and missed my own to-do-list was a hard worker.
But now I'm really back!
I know, I know no one cares about this blog and about my writing.
But I really need to keep writing or else... I'll be dumber than I'm now.
And I know basically I just post to please my ego, as for me, the point of posting is to make myself happy.
You got it?
Ok, I know I just wrote mountains of crap in this paragraph (with no train of thought, too) so lemme just cut the opening off.

Last week (July 6, 2016) ON EID AL-FITR DAY, I TURNED TWENTY THREE YEARS OLD!
What a holy coincidence!

Nothing
---------------------------------------------------------


Ok, so that was the draft I stored in the draft 6 months ago. (I know I wrote the word draft 2 times and I. Do. Not. Care.)
I couldn't remember why I didn't finish writing that post. I can't even remember what I was going to write after the word "Nothing".
Maybe it really is nothing. Just maybe.

In the year of 2016, I feel like I was stronger than ever, both mentally and physically.
But since this is the first post in 2017, lemme start with something else.

For this past one week, I've been redecorating this blog.
I didn't change the header. It's been like that for almost 3 years, and I still love it.
But I started to make categories and I'll explain about that in a whole different post because that's the biggest change I've made so far.
Hahkwhkwhkahak gajelas anyink. Yauda segitu ajadaaaa gw gatauk mau nulis apaan lagi sumpeh susu tumpeh

Hari Ini

(My very first poem in Bahasa. I made this only in 10 minutes)

Infidelity

The issue that I’m about to bring up in this post is... infidelity. To be really honest, it always makes me wince every time I hear, see, talk about, or watch anything related to that (and I might be the only one person who cried really hard while watching The Intern).

I don’t know how many people have done that. What I know for sure is that it happens everywhere and to everyone. Some happen to ‘take part’ as the doers while the rest are just the doers’ preys.

According to the internet (sorry, these lazy pants of mine are just so comfy that I don’t feel like putting the APA citation in these brackets or in the other brackets you might find in this writing), here goes the history about infidelity:

"The word infidelity actually comes from the word infidel, which means someone who has betrayed or been unfaithful to their religion. It can also simply mean someone who generally lacks faith. Over time, infidelity began to take on a new meaning, and rather than meaning one who has lost his or her faith, it has become symbolic of one who is not faithful to their spouse or lost faith in their marriage.
Today, infidelity is one of the number one leading causes of divorce worldwide. Since the time of the Holy Bible, infidelity has been mentioned. Abraham and Jacob were both written in the Bible as being unfaithful husbands.
Infidelity has been written about in literature for many centuries. From the classic plays of William Shakespeare, to the modern works of Arthur Miller, cheating husbands and wives give creative artists much more ideas to develop drama and fodder for exciting plots. Movies have always used infidelity as a way to create an exciting film, and often murder or other devious deeds ensue.”

See. It’s everywhere. And I can bet that you have more than five relatives/friends who once were or still are cheaters.

(Or probably you yourself are/were also a cheater?)

K. Now let’s just go to the core problem.

WHY DID THAT HAPPEN? WHY DOES THAT HAPPEN? WHY IS IT HAPPENING?

The reasons always vary.

• Some of the cheaters will say that they are just bored with the relationships that they want to get out of but they can’t.
• Some say that their partners are too protective; they just want to feel free like Syahrini.
• Some people still think cheating is just one of their prerogatives as an unmarried person before finding and finally choosing the one.
• Some quotes say as if it's because the cheaters just don’t love the partners anymore: “If you really loved her, you wouldn’t have been able to cheat on her. Because she would’ve been in the back of your mind the whole time. It would kill you to hurt her like that. Because if you really loved her, you would know. You would know the nights she would curl up in a ball next to her pillow at night, wondering why the hell she wasn’t good enough.” (WEYYY INI QUOTES ATAU ANTRIAN CHATTIME, PANJANG AMAT).
• ETC (et cetera)
• EGP (emang gw pikirin, boam sama alesan orang-orang)

But, here’s one thing that I want to shout to the world: THOSE ARE JUST ARBITRARY REASONS. They are non-sense. They’ll just tell you the fibs because they don’t want to look/sound unreasonable. It’s also one of their self-defenses for justifying things they knew were wrong but they did it anyway. So please, just keep in mind that:

• Cheating does not have anything to do with the love itself. It is not the kind of an unrequited love. No. If your partner cheats on you, it’s not because they don’t love you anymore or they don’t love you as much as you love them.
• It’s not because of you. “Don’t let someone who did you wrong makes you think there’s something wrong with you. Don’t devalue yourself because they didn’t value you. Know your worth even if they don’t”.
• It is not because of the drabber relationship. It is not about the sparks that are no longer there.
• B.J. Habibie once wrote in his book to his wife who just passed away, “Mana mungkin aku setia padahal memang kecenderunganku adalah mendua, tapi kau ajarkan aku kesetiaan, sehingga aku setia”. This supports all of my arguments above in some ways. And I guess Pak Habibie and I are on the same page about cheating. I also believe that the temptations are always in and around us. Both the possibility and the opportunity for humans to cheat are so clear and present. To cut everything short, I see that the most reasonable root why someone cheats is:
• They just cannot fight back the temptations to cheat.

HOW DO I KNOW THAT I’VE BEEN CHEATED ON?

•  If you suspect your partner is cheating on you, you are probably right. I personally believe we all have a natural power that allows us to see the truth even when we have neither evidence nor a slight indication.
• So, at the time you see that your partner is slipping away from you and doesn’t act naturally, check. If it’s hard to check them in the offline world, it’ll be easier if you start checking their social media. If you’re lucky, you’ll get the proofs there. If you’re not lucky, still, DON’T TURN YOUR BACK ON THE RED SIGNALS GOD’S TRYING TO GIVE YOU. Keep your eyes on your partner but don't let them sense that you're watching them attentively. 
• But please highlight that you can suudzon to your partner only if you smell the smokes.

HOW IF I ALREADY KNEW I AM THE VICTIM?

So once you know you’ve been cheated on and you’ve got the proofs on your sides, think about these:

1.     If they did that unintentionally and you know CLEARLY that it happened ONE TIME ONLY, then just forgive them. Everyone has mistakes. But please, track your partner’s past. Make sure it is just a mistake, not a pattern.

2.     If that happened two times, ask yourself: is it actually what's in their baggage but you don’t know or you ignore that? If yes, understand that you're no God that could utter the mantra “kun fayakun” then you could get rid of that particular habit in your partner's life. You know, cheating is mostly, typically, normally not an impulse. It is a sheer habit. And that particular habit, tell you the bitter truth, is enduring. It occurs periodically.

Anything could trigger your partner to repeat what they ever did, even when they’ve been sorry about their own behavior at the moment they are sane. So, if they did it two times, then I’m pretty sure that the cheating habit already lives in a dormant state of their very soul and you will get hurt again in the future as the habit is still alive and is just sleeping for a period of time.

3.     If they did it more than 3,4, or 5 times or 10 times, and you already knew that it’s been in their baggage, leave them as soon as possible, not as soon as you’re ready, because you’ll most probably never be ready to bow out, especially when you already get used to their behavior and you are moved with their promises saying that they want to change.

“BUT I LOVE HIM/HER. I STILL WANT TO GIVE IT ANOTHER SHOT!”

To reconcile will always be your choice. But you’ve got to know the actualities about that problem.

• If after all those times, you still wanna stick with your partner, thinking that you can forgive him/her because that shows how much you love him/her, sorry but I guess it’s not love. It's just you being delusional. You probably still have hopes that their apologies and their promises could fix you, while they actually can’t. You’re just living in denial. You know they can never withdraw what they did. You know the pain will stay with you till the end of time. You know unloading cheating habit from its owner is impossible. You know “you cannot be fixed by the same person who broke you”. You know no matter how sweet they treat you when they apologize for what they’ve done to you, how serious they could be when they promise they will change, or even how often they go in purgatory... they will never change and that also means: you will fall to the same pool of pain of being cheated on in no time. Because NOTHING will quench cheaters' thirst of the pleasures they’ve got from cheating.

STOP TRYING TO FIX THE RELATIONSHIP AND YOUR PARTNER.

JUST LEAVE AND FIX YOURSELF.

• Settle down. It's okay to break down in tears. You've got plenty of time to accept the wound. Don't try to heal the wound for it cannot be healed with anything. The scars will stay in your life. Just accept, forgive, and let go of it. And you also need to forgive yourself for letting your own self feel the same pain over and over again.
• Sometimes, you’ll be depressed and will start to compare yourself to the ones that your partners cheated with, but trust me, you’re way better than those people. The fact that they were willing to be the “selingkuhan” somehow reveals that they are just as disgusting as the cheaters. “Honesty is a very expensive gift. Don’t expect it from cheap people.”

HOW TO AVOID THIS KIND OF S#IT IN THE FUTURE?

• Check the baggage BEFORE you make your commitment with a person. In the beginning of your relationship, you might think that cheating habit in the baggage doesn’t weigh you down; that you’re okay with that kind of baggage because it is just a baggage and everyone has it. But, believe me, it doesn't make you worry because you just haven't hit the ground yet, but you will. So, as you see that cheating is a revolving habit, I suggest you to just cut the special bond with the person who used to cheat.
• I wish you good luck and happiness in your love life! *lovestruck*