Acceptance

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I’ve wanted to do an MBA since forever. I knew it since I was still studying in college, and that was a full 10 years ago. I experimented with different alternative pathways, but there was always this burning desire to actually do an MBA instead of learning from other sources. I bought a set of GMAT books in 2017, but year by year, this dream kept on getting delayed. By the time I turned 30 last year, I thought I’d never make it. I simply thought I was too old, too poor, too sick and too set on my career to do this.

So I want you to know that a few days ago, I received my equivalent of a Hogwarts letter:

Boston-bound for the 3rd time!

I thought I’d cry when I first read that big “YES”, but what happened was I calmly went to the bathroom, took a wudu’, put my head on the floor and thanked Allah. There was this peace inside of me when I let my prayer out. The first sentence was a wish that this success does not make me an arrogant person. The second sentence was a wish that I could be of use to more people. The third sentence was not an ask, rather, an acknowledgment… of all the acceptances prior to this that led me to it.

Enter:

Act I: The One

I have a disease that requires a frequent trip to doctors, and every single one of them said that I should have kids ASAP to cure it – unless I didn’t want children, in that case I could do a hysterectomy to get rid of it once and for all. My confused, too-successful-for-the-average-Indonesian-Muslim-men-or-too-Islami-for-someone-from-other-countries-27 year-old-self #IYKYK was always a failure in the dating space. With all the advances that women make in terms of equality, it was sad to see the reality that few men embraced it (at least in this country). I avoided home at all cost; it was safer to stay away from the hurtful remarks of families and lived in my own bubble where I—unfortunately— spiraled into a depression that prompted me to search for ways to kill myself.

I truly let go of any marriage prospect when COVID-19 came. Like truly, truly let go. I overdosed on painkillers whenever the menstruation was too unbearable, but I mostly just accepted the fact that I might never marry anyone in my whole life.

I somehow met my husband afterwards. This person turned to be my biggest supporter to go for an MBA. Had he not convinced me to take a shot at this on the eve of my 30th birthday, I might have never been at this point in my life. I will forever be thankful for his reassurance, his moral support, and his belief in me- even when I didn’t believe in myself.

Our Weekend GRE/Essay Sessions, 10 AM to 6 PM

Act II: Money

I spend the majority of my monthly income for my family. I tell you, being a sandwich generation kid is an inflicted pain. There are always things that I need to be responsible for: countless doctor’s visits, labs, inpatients, medicines, my brother’s 6-year-long residency, food, restaurants, THRs, even extended family’s needs. There are too many things on my shoulder that, at one point, I stopped counting things out and cried.

Why can’t I be like other people? Why do I need to bear this cross? Why can’t I JUST THINK ABOUT MYSELF and ENJOY MY OWN HARD-EARNED MONEY?

There was a moment, close to the time when I met my husband, that I finally let go. Look at the bright side, I thought. I could go abroad so many times without even breaking the bank, because it was always paid by the company/conferences. I got Awards and Bonuses of monetary value. I kept getting raises when others didn’t. I was always self-sufficient somehow, never needed to pay minimum for credit card bills, never had to use PayLaters/loans, never starved myself. I didn’t have to pretend to have lifestyles I couldn’t afford. I had great co-workers who went to humble canteen for lunch, although I knew their incomes were $$$. The past 3 years, I could work in Bandung while having Jakarta’s salary. My wedding expenses were much less than the usual budget thanks to COVID-19 restrictions. I could still live a good life.

I accepted that my income was Allah’s kindness to my family that He trusted through me, so it was never mine in the first place. It made the regular expenses more bearable. Oh and I also got a full scholarship for my MBA, so that helps 🙂

Act III: The Disease

The disease haunted my life. At least 10-15% of my life is robbed by excruciating pain. I tried many things: anti-hormone injections, surgery, food restrictions, acupuncture. Until now I haven’t got rid of it. Doctors told me that I had a “very slim” chance of conceiving naturally. I hesitated to go for an MBA because I thought that I should have kids now before I became biologically worse year by year, but somehow that plan didn’t materialize.

There was a time when I prayed to be shown the right way. I explored many alternatives while had this disease on the back of my mind when weighing the possibilities. It turned into a promotion that didn’t happen, three attempts of moving to Dubai, a bubble assignment that didn’t continue into a lateral move, and lastly, the attempt to conceive that didn’t show any results. I was too afraid to delay yet another 2 years to have an offspring.

But now I’ve accepted that an MBA will not deter me from having kids at the right time. Going for an MBA makes me happy, living abroad with limited budget motivates me to cook more healthy food, so this will hopefully contribute to whatever plan that Allah has for my (future offspring, dare I say?).

***

I once learned in a meditation camp that the key to happiness is to accept whatever comes into your life. Accepting the duality of things: light and dark, life and death, happiness and sadness. Accepting the fleeting moments of being a Being, that we are impermanent, that nothing stays forever. I always thought that all these things were bullshit, but I’ve made some acceptances, and it led me to a better place in my life. Mentally, physically, financially. I really don’t know what the future holds, but what I do know is that I get this opportunity at the right time for me, and I will try to make the best out of it.

Life accepted me when I accepted it, wholeheartedly.

On Marriage

Author's comments: This was done fairly quickly, in 31 mins during a work break. I've thought multiple times about capturing my early marital experience, but I never found the right avenue to express. It eventually finds its way through this stanza. Enjoy the reading.

Shall not a last love be of fireworks?
Thumping sounds
Blinding sights
Vivid colors

Well I found a comfort, triumphs over covers
Stable ground, holds more than rivers
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”
Truth be told, does one find her grass to be greener?

Am I relieved that I’ve reached the shore?
Just enough to lay down, rest my furore
Or would I long to set my sail once more
Finding what I lost to the core?

The bling on our ring finger
He who loses no temper
A place I could call home
My finite epitome

I speak through poems and riddles
He speaks through frank and actions
I got my nerves up and alert, but
If he was a gas? He would be an inert

Fear creeps into my innermost
At times, life looks like ghost
And my mind would wander through the woods
Questions that shall not ever brood

This was more than a promise
Also more than a premise
Would anything united by skies
Be broken by lies?

Trust was the question I asked
How could I not, when fool lived through the masked?
But no words that he ever hatched
Was ever be a letter of wretched

The union I dreamed of was of fairytale
Mine is not, that I forever have to dwell
Wishers told me, “I wish you well”
Nine months in and I’m glad I fell

30

I stopped for a while after writing this number. 30 seems distant. 30 seems strange. 30 seems like a lot of unpleasant feelings – old, dull, phased out. But most people in my life are now past 30, and they are fine. They have their own scars, but they are fine.

Maybe 30 should be met with nothing other than nonchalance.

A new beginning?

I remember that feeling I had when I started this blog, 10 years ago. This was a present for my 20th birthday, a space where I could “post more mature and thoughtful contents”. Yet here I am, on the eve of my 30th birthday, listening to the same songs that accompanied me in 2012, ranting over life like I was still in 2012, refusing to believe that I’ve entered another decade around the sun.

What is it about 30 that is so dreadful for many of us? It feels totally different from 20. I started 20 with possibilities, because there were many possibilities associated with the defining decade. But 30 feels like possibilities have passed, and the remnants are a laundry list of unticked milestones sung by nosy elders. Married? Kids? Jobs? Cars? Houses? Wealth?

As if life, and the right to explore it, stops at 30. As if all fun and games are over at 20. As if life cannot get any better than it already had.

I have to admit, it’s more comforting to know that I’ve had a good run. Sometimes I look at the pictures of myself having the things I was wishing for, and I look back at those memories fondly. I was on top of the world, so descending into a windy slope doesn’t seem like a bad follow up – it almost feels like a logical consequence. It’s comforting to know that many of my friends meet 30 with open arms, embracing the new experiences of being at the incline (or even the decline – aptly addressed as “a pivot”) of their career, or of being new parents, or of continuing to be the same person they were in their 20s and actually be content with it, K-dramas and sandy beaches and all.

I want to believe that the feeling of being irrelevant at 30 is a grave misconduct by the society, and we should change that one step at a time. Every planet and every star has a different trajectory anyway, lest they collide with each other mercilessly. On the flip side, I’ve heard enough argument about “why bother fitting in when you’re born to stand out”, but I’d like to think that people cannot be polarized and boxed into binary options of yes or no. There are spectrums of comfort that each person aligns with, and whether that is to follow a pre-defined path or be different than others, that choice should always be respected.

Maybe that’s what 30 is about – respect. Respecting the fact that at 20s, many things have happened, many times exponentially, and those events likely shape the way we are now in our 30 and onwards. Respecting the fact that life choices will vary greatly at 30, and no one should be blamed or being made like they are less. If there is anything I learned in my 20s, it is the fact that blaming myself (or blaming anything, really) is a lost cause, and what matters is how we march ahead with the lessons we learned from the things that we blamed for.

There, there, some (self-proclaimed) wise words.

I think I’m ready for 30. Happy 30th birthday, me.

All Too Well, 6 Years Later

And you call me up again just to break me like a promise

So casually cruel in the name of being honest

Taylor Swift, in “All Too Well”

2015.

I had a dream, and that dream was crushed.

I remember it all too well. I was a crumpled up piece of paper lying on my bed like there was no tomorrow. I really thought there was no tomorrow. I didn’t want to eat. I didn’t want to go out and experience anything that life had to offer. Most of all, I didn’t want to love again. Something so beautiful should not be something that had the power to hurt like hell.

I remember his words, “… but somehow our future may not be good enough”. I kept blaming myself for being myself. For being too bright, too smart, too perfect. I spent days and nights crying over the love that I thought was real, the love that I thought was to be my last love, the love I thought I deserved. I told him that I couldn’t stand losing another person I loved. I told him that I didn’t want to trust him, that I was scared, that we’d better not be a couple if we were going to end. I told him that I didn’t want any other relationship that would fail, because breakups consumed me.

“I don’t have the heart to hurt you”, he said.

Apparently people could throw words that were never meant to be fulfilled.

I remember that I refused to think that my story was over. I remember how I missed the way he loved me: “Hey workover lady. Don’t over work yourself, okay?”. How I’d ‘see’ him everyday at work – in all the logging charts, drill bits, rig up, and lay-downs. I was in every stage of ‎Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’ Five Stages of Grief (that was somehow introduced to me by my first ex-boyfriend in high school). I remember how badly I wanted to contact him using any form of communication — but I knew it was stupid, and I’d be more miserable than ever if I dared to contact him again. When the phone clicked, when the texts stopped, that was when I’d start crying and missing him even more.

My first November 12 without him was hard. But I think it was also the day when I slowly tried to introduce myself to a groundbreaking new concept: that if he truly loved me, he would’ve fought for me.

He wouldn’t have let me go.

2021.

Every 12th of November, I silently sing requiem for a broken heart. There were many people who filled my November after 2015. In 2019, one of them left me hanging before meeting in a coffee shop where we were supposed to let our truths out. He did not have to – I understood when someone did not want to be with me.

2021 is the November 12 when I, for the first time in 6 years, felt happy. This is also the day when Taylor Swift decided to release her All Too Well 10-minute version. To say that I am okay would be a complete lie because I’m not fine at all.

But he’s fine with me.

One thing, I am not your ex-es, and I am unlike them. You know, I always keep it short and less when I talk to someone. I prefer to act more and treat someone the way I want to feel and appreciate them. I hate making promises that I can’t keep. I will stay. I’m not going anywhere. When I said: I will stay, it is something that I will definitely prove, and you will see it.

My husband, February 18th, 2021.

I must have done something good because he sat down with me. I asked him if he wanted to eat outside at the porch and he was, “Aren’t we going to watch Taylor Swift’s videos?”. He listened to my rant about being constantly hurt by other guys in the past and watched me sing the full 10 minute version full of emotions. He watched my eyes glistened with tears remembering the hurt that felt like yesteryear but also felt like yesterday, then asked what I wanted to eat afterwards. He is this one stoic guy who doesn’t get hurt but validates my need to heal. A person who put a ring on my finger. A person who makes me feel safe for being myself. I will forever be grateful for his presence.

I’m so emotionally affected by All Too Well cause it was my theme song for arguably my worst break up in life. The phase that made me feel like I wasn’t even allowed to dream of having a love worth fighting for. To look back at those moments while having someone good beside me – who holds my hand, professes his love and shows that he cares, is extremely cathartic. He’s not perfect, but he’s real. And watching my previous pain unfolds in this song makes me grateful but also afraid of losing him, imagining the same chapter being repeated and magnified.

I hope I never lose you. Hope it never ends.

Taylor Swift, in “Cornelia Street”

The Death of Expected Magic

I used to be a romantic.

Maybe “used to” is too inaccurate. I still am a romantic. In some degrees, I believe in magical feelings. I expect love stories to sweep me off my feet, and I expect men to be knights in shining armor. I expect flowers. Grand declaration of love (I always dream of a marriage proposal by-the-sunset). Sweet words written on parchment paper with handwriting that resembles old English fonts. Maybe someone who is always available and never says no. Maybe someone who is more attuned to my family, like Taylor Swift’s song, “He’s close to my mother, talks business with my father, he’s charming and endearing and I’m comfortable”.

I was a firm believer in the 5 Love Myths, without even knowing I was a firm believer:

1. True Love Conquers All; no relationship problems exist
2. When It’s Really True Love, You Will Know It The Moment You Meet the Other Person; aka love at first sight
3. There is Only One True Love in The World Who is Right for You; you only really fall in love once
4. The Perfect Partner will Fulfill You Completely in Every Way; he is the epitome of perfection
5. When You Experience Powerful Sexual Chemistry with Someone, It Must Be Love; I believe in chastity, but need I say more?

and according to that book, my Love IQ was dangerously low. I wasn’t surprised.

***

It’s been fun seeing the younger version of me and my friends being reflected on Instagram today. What with the pink balloons, exuberant bridesmaid dresses, creative bridal showers, outrageous marriage proposals, and fancy engagement photoshoots with I-dare-you-to-guess-how-much-this-ring-costs attitude. They have all the rights to do that. I thought I wanted to do the same.

But the current version of me (and most of my friends) don’t believe in the same ideals anymore. Most of us have tasted the bittersweet part of marriage. Most of us are not as innocent to the promise of living happily ever after. Most of us are not as oblivious to the fact that marriage is literally a lifetime commitment. And so the excitement gets toned down as realities overshadow fantasies.

The type of reaction I had when I shared the news of a relationship with my current partner, which was months ago by now, was of sisterly fine warnings. I expect no less of excellence from the people I’ve chosen to be my friends. After all, they are all smart women like me whom I’m immensely proud of. Even so, I can’t help to think that nowadays, eagerness are replaced by conversations that get real.

Is he kind? Does he have a real job? How is his financial habits? Are you compatible with his family? Is he accepted by your family?

***

There are certain situations that affect someone deeply. I guess, the day that I decided that I didn’t need someone else to hand over love to me, was the day I decided to kill my Love Myths. That was the death of my expected magic; and all projections associated with it.

That was one of the best decision of my life.

That was also one of the most ruthless.

Such is the heart who has known what it feels to be torn, the heart that has witnessed how other hearts beat to death, or how they have completely turned to stone after being ruined. You never really want to let go of your defenses, because you realize, that people are temporary — including anyone whom you deemed as a “soulmate”. Because soulmate may or may not exist. You only really have yourself to depend on in this world. And maybe God.

***

The last significant love I had, before my years were filled with endless highs and lows of situationships, was with the love I thought I deserved. And I still remember that version of me. So hopeful, so optimistic, so pure. The me today has a very different attitude on love. I’ve said before that I’m still a romantic, but my degree of romantic expectation has been really, really, lowered. The me today is more of a stoic, more of a realist, more of an architect when it comes to love and being loved by someone. I designed and planned and communicated what I want out of a relationship, clearly from the start. I even defined my own relationship values, which are:

1. Equality; I believe both my partner and I need to treat and respect each other as equally qualified individuals who have no bigger say over the other;
2. Transparency; I believe that trust is the foundation of all healthy, functional relationships;
3. Continuous Improvement; I believe that my partner and I are not born perfect, but we can strive to be perfect together. [credits to “I” for these words]

This was all no fun and games. My 24-year-old self would protest at the sight of difficult conversations. But now I’d rather not have movie nights rather than having errors of judgement.

***

“Stoicism teaches the development of self-control and fortitude as a means of overcoming destructive emotions”

Definition of Stoicism in Wikipedia

I guess the reason why I created this post in the first place is because some parts of me feel like it’s nearing its end. This is the part of me who is accustomed to drama, the fun side of relationships, and the part that deems to be understood without giving anyone any explanation. My own mother is fazed by the lack of fear that I currently had when it comes to this particular matter. As the days get numbered, as the pressures mount, I don’t burst into my usual frantic girl. But it is a part of growth. You shed some skin to reveal new ones. It may not always be for the best, but I trust that it is for the best in this particular time frame.

And so, this is my formal goodbye to my dreamy, youthful fantasies about love. I let you go. You have served your purpose of teaching me what’s good from what’s bad, and I’m forever thankful that you gave me tools to distinguish between what’s right and what’s wrong. That have helped me to develop, as that Stoicism definition explains, some form of dependable self-control; and I’m glad I chose to go down this path where you and I only make peace with what’s left behind.

P.S. All of this does not mean that I am not happy in my current relationship. On the contrary, the reason why I realized this now is because I got into the healthiest relationship I’ve ever had. And before someone accuses me of being cheesy, the fact is that this is the most imperfect relationship I’ve ever had. Those are quite some contradictions, aren’t they?

P.S.S. Today is also one day before my parents’ 30th Wedding Anniversary!

***

Twenty Eight

I have been asking myself why I didn’t post my annual year-end reflection. I did create something on New Year’s Eve, but as much as it felt good, it never felt right, so I never hit “Publish”. It suddenly makes sense now on my birthday eve: 2020 was never about the year itself. 2020 was always about the dichotomy between Twenty Seven and Twenty Eight – the most depressing and the most enlightening years of my twenties.

Today marks my last day of being Twenty Eight.

---

I used to think I’m a little lost Sputnik.

---

Growing up, my birthdays were always made to be special. It is a celebration of two kids. Twins take pride in the fact that they are never gonna celebrate a birthday alone. And celebrations they have been. Always full of warmth, food, hugs, and sincere prayers. Always a happy day.

More so, I really looked forward to be Twenty Eight.

Twenty Seven was tiring. It made me want to kill myself – the main reason why I frantically searched for therapy. Surviving Twenty Seven and reaching Twenty Eight felt like an oasis in the middle of the desert. I needed not to identify myself with being Twenty Seven. I knew Twenty Eight wouldn’t solve all my problems, but at least it was a validation of being officially a failure; it was a definition. I could at least live with being defined.

Twenty Eight started as a normal day at the office. Surprises from colleagues. Messages from friends and family. A week after, my birthday gift (from myself, of course) was materialized: a 2-days meditation retreat. Boy, was it a good start to something most unprecedented: a global pandemic.

Lockdowns were scary, because it could only mean one thing. I had to be back home, to the place I avoided as much as I could in Twenty Seven. The source of my happiness and sadness, juxtaposed in the angry conversations with the person I loved and hated the most. She is always a contradiction. And I, too, inherit those contradictions in the best/worst way possible (see the constant contradictions of my words here?).

I didn’t know that Twenty Eight would inspire.

I didn’t know that Twenty Eight would be wise.

I didn’t know that Twenty Eight would stop running away.

Because Twenty Four until Twenty Seven never stayed still. They ran away from their problems: self, parents, brother, friends, lovers, colleagues. The panaceas always came at the right time: business trips, holidays, conferences, long-term assignments, movements. But why, why then, did the same salt water always ran down my cheek, be it in a Doha prayer room or a Saint Petersburg apartment? Why did the same tugs at my heartstrings were persistent? They booked a flight from Boston to Melbourne. They followed me to the streets of Paris. They went with me to the lonely malls of Jakarta – always wondered whether my place in the world would ever exist.

Twenty Eight made me sit still. She made me listen to the inner-most voices. She had plenty of time not to rush.

---

Life is made of little things instead of grand gestures. At least that’s what Twenty Eight told me. She was the one who urged me to have heart-to-heart conversations, and I cherished that. I learned, that hatred was easier to dissipate once I sat down with the sources of my misery. Twenty Eight connected me to more people than I could have been connected with before. Maybe because she was genuinely interested in hearing people’s story. She was determined to help others: to mentor, to consult, to listen. Because the world might not have understood me, but I could try to understand people.

Twenty Eight re-affirmed one of the hardest pill to swallow for someone who yearns for certainty.

The journey into this complex enigma of mine is a never ending one. Twenty Eight knew that too well, and that’s why she never resisted. It was always an open-minded dialogue between souls, between different time frames, between different channels of emotions. Feelings were always valid. Because who was I to judge? Modifying Taylor Swift’s song a bit: There was happiness because of my past, and there is happiness because of my present. My Twenty Eight mantra was always let it be. It wasn’t let it go. Maybe things will never go. Some things are meant to be eternal, but it doesn’t mean they always need to be at the surface.

Twenty Eight reached out to my core.

I thought I had a brittle heart – well, I wore my battle scars proudly. These shards of broken pieces still beat to life. This chunk of missing puzzles never fully assemble themselves, yet they are functioning. And maybe that’s all there is to this mystery. That meanings are not found in perfection, because cracks really let the lights in. That I am as good as I can be, in this moment of time… without any pretension, or hidden motives. Am I at peace now? I don’t know, but what I do know is that peace is attained by just accepting things that come into my life.

---

There was a question of what I would eventually find at the end of the tunnel. And that was scary. I’ve so got used to having a conclusion, because my “all or nothing” mentality is too deeply ingrained and hardwired into my brain. But Twenty Eight taught me that, by now, I should be comfortable with the unknowns. There are always going to be grey areas everywhere I go, and they don’t always have to be expounded. Maybe sometimes, even nothingness can still be read.

What I didn’t anticipate, though, was that Twenty Eight saved her secrets indeed.

There really was something hidden at the end of the tunnel.

---

Every now and then, I take myself for a walk in the Haruki Murakami park. Sputnik Sweetheart was the first novel of him that I read (11 years ago?), and there was this passage that I remember:

“And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they’re nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we’d be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.”

Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

---

Twenty Eight assured me that satellites could cross paths for longer than the briefest moment. Maybe they even build up components of a space station together – they don’t always have to burn up and become nothing.

They could concurrently exist.

---

Thank you, Twenty Eight. I shall bid farewell to thee. Erstwhile, thou wilt return to me.

For nú, wit welcometh Twenty Nine!

2019: The Year I Broke My Own Heart

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How was your 2019? Let me know in the comments below! xo Lang | LOVE LOOKS PRETTY ON YOU is a Goodreads Choice Awards Finalist! Please vote for me by following the link in my profile. So much love to you all xx

A post shared by Lang Leav (@langleav) on Nov 20, 2019 at 3:17pm PST

Perfectly sums up twenty nineteen.

2019 is the year when I question everything: my current life, my past, my hopes and dreams, my choices, my circumstances, my friends, my lovers, my parents, my brother, society in general, and perhaps most of all: myself.

This is the year that really found new ways to break my heart.

***

Before delving deep into the layers of this year, let me start with a confession:

I had a strong intention of getting married by the time I’m 27 years old.

This was set way back when I was 10. I had these life goals etched into my childhood diary:

1. To never be out of top 3 in class every semester
2. To get into the best SMP and SMA in Bandung
3. To spend college life in ITB
4. To work in an oil & gas company
5. To get married by the time I turn 27 (I had my own reasons why this number was chosen)

and that’s it. It stopped at number 5. Because my 10 y.o. self was intoxicated by the promise of living happily ever after, so she didn’t know what would happen once a girl gets married to her prince charming.

I have to say, she was either a genius or a seriously flawed human being. In one fateful afternoon in Bandung, she made a self-fulfilling prophecy. Only 1 life goal remains, only 1 life goal misses its mark.

It’s one thing to adhere to society’s standard, which I never really cared for anyway, but it is also one thing to see myself failing on my own big picture. The thought of missing the execution of this life-long plan haunted me the entire year. This year, not only society or my family sees me as a failure, but I also see myself as a failure.

This year, I broke my own heart.

That never happened before.

***

I have a beef with number 7 and its multiples.

My first fight with other kids was when I was 7 (I’ve always been a good kid). My worst teenage year was in 2007. My worst year career-wise was in 2014 (2×7 = 14). Now that I think of it, 27 is also arguably the worst year of my 20s.

Whatever is happening between me and number 7, the symptoms have always been similar.

Five out of seven days, I feel worthless. I cry almost everyday, sometimes without any particular trigger. I tend to avoid going back home, this time it’s made easier by the fact that I don’t live under the same roof with my parents anymore. My sleep is not peaceful – I very often dream, whether it’s a good or bad dream. I have a hard time waking up because every day feels like another battle I want to avoid. My faith in religion takes deep downturns. I eat junk food. Things also escalated into an alarming state, something I’ve never seen or felt before, to the point where I decided to seek professional help.

I was a mess this year. I really was.

***

On the contrary, work has been going exceptionally well in 2019. It’s always happened this way: when one aspect of my life fails miserably, another one compensates. 2007 introduced me to the world of English debating, the most cherished part of my teenage years. In 2014, I had a very good boyfriend who helped me go through major twists and turns of my early career. In 2019, I have a great boss, a great job, surrounded by great colleagues, and keep getting compliments and some awards.

• 

• 

It didn’t happen without losses. 2019 is, after all, a “reset year” for my company. Looking back, I lost many of my colleagues this year… 16 people in total. I also couldn’t stop working – there were times when I took calls in between bathroom breaks; had night meetings 3-4 days a week; and covered up for colleagues who left. This exhaustion and constantly high stress level led to 7 days of being hospitalized, of which I commented on my first night in, “Wow… I really can sleep at 9 PM now?”.

I applaud my country team for going through this tough year. Maybe we are not the best team out there, but I can say for certain that I’ve witnessed an amazing teamwork right here in Jakarta, this impression that I will always carry with me wherever I go professionally. Against all odds, through literally sweat and tears and countless martabaks, we made this year possible. Maybe I am just a small part of it, but I have an unwavering sense of pride for my country team.

***

My passport got less stamps throughout the year. After spending more than half of 2018 up in the air, this year I was “grounded” (pun intended :P). It wasn’t without a couple of flights, tho! I spent New Year’s Eve in Brisbane’s Southbank with my aunt’s lovely family. The first days of 2019, we went around Queensland’s beaches then flew to Sydney. I made a mental note to come back to Sydney… not because it was super interesting — I prefer Melbourne 🙂 , but because traveling with a family with kids meant less time spent outside, and I needed to be a bit more adventurous next time.

Sydney, January 2019

Right back home, I switched suitcases and flew to Kuala Lumpur for a week-long meeting, after only <10 hours on the ground. That was one large internal meeting – I got the chance to meet so many functions from Engineering to Vertical teams. Truly a networking chance not to waste.

Mid-year, I went back and forth to Surabaya to close a contract. That was one hell of a difficult negotiation. We didn’t always get what we wanted and now I know which skills I need to upgrade myself on.

Thankfully, being hospitalized didn’t deter my flights to Singapore in August. Extra care was taken on what I could and could not eat, but it was refreshing to to let myself be brainwashed by Crotonville once again, after that last ALJ in New York. My key takeaway from the training is this: Conflict is not always bad – sometimes healthy conflicts are needed to move teams forward. I was also grateful that mom could tag along by the weekend!

Towards the end of the year, there were more trips: Bali for Alexey’s wedding, UK for Sasfia’s graduation (also a much needed personal trip), and meetings in Kuala Lumpur again… this time plus Pekanbaru!!

I will let pictures do the talk 🙂

From Atlanta to Moscow to Bali!

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London, Edinburgh, Loch Ness, Stonehenge, Bath, and Oxford

A quick detour from KL meetings that became one cathartic trip.

***

This year, I met new people… or met new “people” (you know, those you thought you knew but turns out you didn’t). Divorce has been a major theme being discussed throughout the year. I would rather not have any of my friends go through it, yet some of them are fighting this battle right this very second. I feel honored to have been trusted with the deepest secrets and thoughts of my good friends, albeit in the most heartbreaking moment of their lives. If my presence can mean something to them, even just a tiny reassurance that they are loved, I am forever grateful.

From friends who are going through divorce, I learned three things:

1. The importance of self love, and equally, the importance to know yourself (and I mean really know yourself and what you are able or want to sacrifice by entering a shared life) before settling down;
2. Hurt people hurt people, so at one point, someone (hopefully yourself) needs to step in and stop the circle;
3. There are traumas and emotional baggages that just don’t heal. The ones you carry with you since you were a kid, and they often involve how parents treated you. If you are not ready to be a parent, don’t – because kids remember, and they should not be a projection of your unfulfilled dreams.

It’s humbling to see how everyone really is fighting, for better or worse, or sometimes for an outcome that nobody can foresee. A divorce is a whole new level of heartbreak, because, as my friend put it,

“I have built my home around this man for 10 years, and he is suddenly out of the picture. So I am now homeless, and leaning to myself is scary. Because if something goes wrong, I am the only one accountable”

A dear friend

If anyone is reading this now, may I kindly ask you for a prayer for my friends who are going through this difficult time. I pray that God gives them strength, resilience, and most of all, a pure heart that can let go.

***

In 2019, dating, funny enough, took quite some space of my already overwhelming year. Dating was another mess I would rather not deal with. And sure, I’ve cried on multiple occasions because of bad dates, ghosting, or an algorithm failed me. Despite all this, I really have to give credits to myself. I chose to be brave. I chose to open my heart. And equally important, I chose when to close it.

I could’ve compromised my belief for an amazing man – except one bit. I could’ve continued chasing the ones who didn’t want to be chased. I could’ve messed up someone’s marriage. I could’ve been with guys whose values didn’t match mine, and surrender to the idea of settling down, without ever really wanted to be with them.

I could’ve chosen to end my singleness this year. But I didn’t.

Because my soul would not let me settle for less. Because my friends’ divorce have been a painful reminder that one should not ignore what the heart is saying, that red flags are there for us to see if we choose to see it.

Sometimes a prayer for someone is answered by letting that someone glides away. 

And I don’t want anyone to feel like I don’t love them 100% because I experienced it myself – a loveless marriage is not the way to go, for any party involved, future kids included.

I learn to tune out the “Kamu terlalu pilih-pilih…” noise because, look, when I look deeper and examine what I want out of a relationship, 3 things are apparent: 1) My criterias, if I have any, are not rocket science. If anything, they are attainable; 2) There are legitimate reasons why I cannot fall in love with some guys, no matter how great they are on paper, which I tried to make sense by drawing a mind map; 3) I realize that I may not have any criteria at all. Guys I’ve liked so far are different. There are patterns, but so far my heart instinctively knows whether someone has a shot.

And for this, I trust my heart to make decisions for me.

***

Looking back, 2019 might have been a year full of struggles, but not without any valuable lessons. I broke my own heart, yet slowly found ways to mend it. Sure enough, the darkest moments of 2019 are omitted from this post because this is, after all, a public space, so I get that one may not have the complete picture of the magnitude of sadness, hopelessness, and disappointments I’ve felt this year.

In 2020, I will continue to dig deeper into myself to really know her. Because whatever and whomever is waiting for me ahead, it requires a different kind of attitude, understanding, and wisdom. This is the year where I have minimum expectation, but I do wish 2020 will be kinder in delivering its lessons. I doubt that I could endure another painful ways to learn. Sometimes, I just want to say that I can be tired too, and I hope the universe listens to my plea this time.

Thank you 2019. On to the next.

299. Concrete

I was bitten by a writer bug so I looked for prompts on what to write. Thank you to thinkwritten.com — the prompt for Day 299 of the Year 2019 is “Concrete: Write about walking down a sidewalk and what you see and experience”.

I was a wannabe liar, I was proud, and I was a little giddy. People waved from their open-air spaces, some were more reserved. I thought, by then, I’d be drenched in rain, but that greyish-blue sky didn’t want to spill the tea.

They say, from that magnificent building I was looking into, a tragic love story emerged. I thought it was only a myth. Why was it tragic, anyway? Maybe it was for the best? My judgment had long been clouded by the silver, golden, and bronze linings I wouldn’t even believe that there could only be one option of looking at things. I thought to myself, love is never real.

No. Love is always conditional.

Some young people sat there, unbothered. The way they look at things were different in many senses. Coolers, picnic baskets, books on hand. My adventurous self wanted to say, “Hi, can I sit with you?”. But no, no. Remember the meme?

“You can’t sit with us”

Of course. My world and your world are divided by the thin line between expectation and reality. I wouldn’t want to be friends with too many people anyway. This, this heart of mine, is a heart well-fortified.

Really.

I didn’t intend to keep it that way. I really don’t. Especially to the ones that I secretly wanted them to break into.

Was being too good a bad thing?

Apparently he thought so. Everything that was too much was a bad thing.

My feet had reached the bateau. I climbed upstairs, despite mother’s voice on my ear telling me I should avoid getting too much wind. She wasn’t there, and I was a full-fledged adult.

The wind was indeed strong, and I stubbornly stayed.

Now I was looking at the cobblestone pavement, thinking I wouldn’t be back at this point again, when I saw the old couple sitting across me with a relaxed expression. They looked like they had all the time in the world.

And I smiled.

Maybe I shouldn’t have rushed. The river bank was not the worst place to walk, albeit a bit scary under the bridge. It wasn’t what I expected from the most talked-about river throughout the continent, but I should’ve appreciated its charm more. I wasn’t born to be an optimist, it seemed. But that steady gaze, that steady gaze of eyes who had seen more than what I had, the longing of passed days and not so distant ending, the realization of living in the now….

I breathed out a “Je ne sais quoi”.

Lifting The Clouds: A Note on Self-Love

Whether you realize it or not, 2019 has come to its second half.

And for a twentysomething like me, every second counts towards getting myself into the full-fledged world of adulthood. Someday that’s not too far from now, I wouldn’t be able to join the crowd of people taking advices on how to maximize the defining decade. Heck, even now I’m already starting to see smoothies bowl as something that’s just too edgy – things that I take as signs of beginning to separate myself from some types of crowds out there.

Even in my own crowds, I’ve started feeling more and more separated.

These days are really the days where people make life-changing decisions, like swearing to God that they would only stay with one person for the rest of their lives. Going to weddings are COSTLY, and mentally draining. Instagram stories are now filled with someone’s babies crawling in 10 frames that I have zero care about. But what saddens me the most – my biggest sadness about people getting married and having kids – is that family life is becoming an inseparable part of them, and I just have to accept that. Nowadays, when you meet Mrs. A for 30 mins, that means you have to spend 20 minutes watching her kid eats something and 10 minutes to actually talk about both of you, which should have been the sole purpose of that meeting. And a getaway to Bali or a group trip to Prague is starting to fade out of the picture, replaced with mini trips with little ones or saving for their dream homes. And while I am utterly happy for my married folks, I also absolutely cannot relate.

Babies, babies everywhere…
Image taken from: http://inn.spb.ru/images/000/DSC100038533.jpg

Career-wise, most of us are already on the 5-year mark. You’re not treated as a fresh graduate anymore. You’re definitely getting more expertise on whatever it is you’re focusing. Some of us have built companies from scratch or led their first team or moved from an analyst to associates. We have gone through more parts of the world than what we initially imagined when we were 10. We are out there making strides — grad schools, groundbreaking research, polished papers, fancy conferences and high profile meetings. But there are also some other people who got their careers stalled. Some couldn’t even graduate from universities, and others resort to low-paying jobs, because not everyone has the ability to get >30M IDR salary per month. Some are left out and, again, cannot relate.

No one ever told me adulting is hard, and I’m (not pleasantly) surprised that it is this hard.

It seems there are always these dark clouds with a stark message: that you are never gonna be enough.

***

So, have we solved the secret of happiness?
“I believe so,” he said.
Are you going to tell me?
“Yes. Ready?”
Ready.
“Be satisfied.”
That’s it?
“Be grateful.”
That’s it?
“For what you have. For the love you receive. And for what God has given you.”
That’s it?

He looked me in the eye. Then he sighed deeply.

“That’s it.”

Mitch Albom, Have a Little Faith

I read this book back in college days, when I failed to go to Paris and failed on many selections to start a career in oil & gas companies. Data was not the new oil back then. O&G was the symbol of prestige, and my mother’s daughter just had to get her hands on the best things she could have. I cried at Masjid Salman thinking my life was not gonna get any better.

Had I ever thought I’d find another free-of-charge way to go to Paris? By pushing a good idea for a cross-region business exchange, yeah that’s how it’s done 😉

Alas, fast forward to 2019 and I still saw me taking the same steam off my chest in episodes of breaking down.

People like me are prone to reacting negatively in the face of adversity. It’s as if everything and everyone expects someone like me to have a flawless life, that when I encounter pitfalls, I wasn’t even allowed to fall. I know many of my friends who do the same way. I’m just so used to navigate into the realm of the known, that when I get into the realm of the unknown, things start to spin out of control. And in the end, I always blame myself for not mastering the matters on hand.

And then one day, some two months after my 27th birthday, I said to myself that I’ve had enough.

I’ve had enough of blaming myself for everything that I am not and
everything that I cannot be, in whatever and whichever state my life is
currently in. I’ve had enough of seeing the good in people and the bad in
myself. And I’ve had enough of feeling trapped in this body, mind, and soul
that I have lived with for 27 years, knowing full well that I can be as amazing
as whatever standard I put into that seemingly unattainable pedestal, as long I
visualize myself sitting there.

And I think the universe listens to what you say you are.

I started to talk to people who reminded me on the importance of self-love, without even intending to. These people came in many forms: someone who broke off a relationship that, in hindsight, clearly wouldn’t work; someone who is going through a divorce; someone who ditched his own dream job; someone whom I thought is a real workaholic but, instead, said “Work is a part of your life, but should not be your only life”; someone who urged me to get out there more; someone who nominated me for an award; seminars that preached about financial independence; and medical check-up report.

In one of those conversations I’ve had, there are three things I remember the most:

1. If you see yourself as a 20%, someone who loves you for 30% will look like like the best person you can get;
2. Here’s a prompt: describe your perfect day. You will be amazed by how much it reveals about yourself and what you want in life. This prompt is not hard to answer, because you’ve known it all along;
3. Begin with the end goal (or goals) in mind, but remember to take things one step at a time

“If you see yourself as a 20%, someone who loves you for 30% will look like the best person you can get”

Almost everyone in my circle know that I’ve been searching for my man in my entire life, and that’s why my last break up felt so overwhelming because I thought I have found the one. That is also why being single feels like a painful itch that I cannot scratch. But now, looking back, I realize that my inability to get the man of my dreams is because – hold on tight, it’s super cheesy – I haven’t loved myself as a whole. I haven’t been unapologetically in love with myself, flaws and all. At one point, I was so amazed that historically, the boyfriends I’ve had have always come by themselves when I felt like I was on top of the world: after being a high school national best speaker, after getting into my dream campus and possibly the hardest major, and after getting Ganesha Prize and left university with a blaze of glory.

They were not there to complete me; because I was complete. I refused to settle for less because I knew my self worth, even after my heart was being repeatedly banished and bruised.

“Describe your perfect day”

Let me know if, right after you read that sentence, splash of images flashed into your mind right this very second.

My perfect day has many things to do with family activities, like cooking pancakes with strawberries and going to some museums with smart kids. I describe my partner as a “husband” instead of a “lover”. That’s how I know that being a wife, and being a mom, is very important to me, despite my exterior that so loudly screams a high-achieving businesswoman. What matters more is the underlying message that it sends, such as:

• That complete kitchen with a marble top does not come for free – save more so you can get the best appliances, tidy up your personal balance sheet, and have some real investments with results that you can reap;
• Even if, in the end, they come by themselves, husbands are worth the search. Sign up for dating channels, try to go on dates just for the sake of practice, and get out there and find the communities which activities you enjoy and causes you care about. It is important not to settle for less, but also equally important to draw a line between what is fundamental and what is decorative;
• Two smart kids are hard to raise by a sick mom. Good sleeping patterns, adequate water intake, and gym habits all need to be built into your everyday routine.

“Begin with the end goal (or goals) in mind, but remember to take things one step at a time”

You can have many goals. Many, many goals. You want to publish a groundbreaking research on dementia and be a billionaire and live your life plucking spinach in a farm for tranquility. And that’s okay. It’s okay not to have your life figured out and have branches of possibilities that extends into one, two, three different goals. But if you set it as a goal, you need to: a) Define the steps to reach that goal; and b) Prepare an exit strategy, in case your plans fall out.

My current goals have to do with three things: job, school, and family.

And I am painfully reminded that I can only take one step at a time. Maybe a marriage is right for now, maybe it’s not. Maybe applying to grad school is the way to go, or maybe jumping into the next job offer is a better move. Just like the message from many business books I’ve read especially for women: you can have it all, but you can’t have it all at the same time.

***

I made this writing during a particularly sunny weekend, after 1 hour of self-paced exercises and a bowl of delicious bibimbap. Earlier this week, I was not in the mood for being happy because I was so exhausted by all the mundane conversations in dating apps. And last week I was utterly hurt by the remarks of my brother who made me feel worthless. I look at those apps and breathe a deep sigh, “If only I could have a boyfriend so I can delete all these self-deprecating algorithms”. But the next day, I pushed myself to get a life. I talked to some people. I made plans. I took notes. And I honestly have no idea where this is going to lead me, and there are always gonna be voices that say I’m not pretty enough, or I’m not successful enough, or I’m not thin enough, or I’m not good enough, but I am rest assured that I will deliberately try to consciously choose myself, over and over again.

And maybe that will invite good things to come into my life, in whatever form there is.

This post is inspired by Wini Rizkiningayu, thanks for trusting me with some of your deepest thoughts. 

Melbourne

“Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.” -Jack Kerouac

Melbourne was unplanned from the beginning. It was supposed to be some days in Sydney but then nobody was even sure that any plan would materialize. How happy I was to have had the chance to visit a new continent I’ve never been to — had to be approved by Asia Pacific General Manager, no less — and once again I didn’t visit its major city. Just like what I did with USA and Boston. Or Europe and Budapest. My travels were meant to be non-traditional, spontaneous and sweet, memorable and exciting. And the die-hard planner inside me happily obliged.

Warm welcome is, it seems, a signature of Aussies. Staying at AirBnB felt like staying at a relatives’ house. It helped that for some reasons, my first night was spent in a lovely two-story English style house of Melbourne’s most affluent suburb. What with the abundance of Asian influences that reminded me of home — or my roots, for that matter. A start of my working week with professionally made coffee by my colleague that honestly looked a lot like Steven Seagal. And the subsequent lively chats over — guess what — coffee, with the funniest people I’ve ever worked with.

***

Paris was cocky. New York didn’t care. Dubai was artificial. But Melbourne grew on me. It wasn’t a description you’d read in a travel magazine – because, I found, that it’s not meant to be described. It’s not a theory, but rather, something you put into practice without too many thoughts processed. It’s laid back, welcoming, full of smile, and will feed you various food that doesn’t disappoint.

Funny thing about my adventure in Melbourne is that, it was full of surprises – in such ways that turned to be good. There have been numerous occasions when I set my Google Maps to go to a famous eatery, only to find that I didn’t like it. In fact, in the end I’ve never tried the ones that are most recommended. I went around searching for alternatives and found what I needed. Maybe not exactly the best pasta joint in Lygon Street, but the ambiance was perfect. I could see the tagliatelle being made in front of me, and the gnocchi literally melted in my mouth. Or that hip brunch place that I turned down because there were too many people inside, only to find myself brunch-ing at the café next door with roughly the same amount of people but being presented the prettiest pancake I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

Walking through Chinatown, seeing more Caucasian-looking people eating happily with dresses and smart pants nonetheless more than Chinese-looking people on a merry Saturday night (which felt weird, but somehow good), I thought to myself …

Melbourne must have tried to send me an important message.

 

 

What I did, and how I did it in this city, is exactly what life should be. Twists and turns on every corner. An imperfect execution of well-made plans. Bunch of alternatives to the straight path. I might not have found what I was looking for, but I certainly found what I needed the most for that particular time frame.

I was gulping portions after portions of Dim Sum when my colleague asked about my plans for the future. I told him I’d be happy to continue school, but mother hesitated to let me do that before I get married to someone. I’d be “too bright” and he literally rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I know. There are things in life that I can’t control, right? Planning for career advancement or pursuing master’s is controllable. But meeting someone? I’m just gonna do what I am capable of influencing, then it might somehow alter the equation”

“I was just gonna say, I love my wife, and that’s because she’s smart. Now let me tell you something obvious. You’re definitely a catch. Guys in Indonesia are so dumb they are missing out on someone like you”

Full of dim sum goody in my belly, I pat myself on the back if, back home, I could really believe what we’ve just said.

Twists and turns.

Alternatives.

Exception to the rule.

It happens. Everyday. All of my lucky cards scattered somewhere in this universe waiting for me to pick it up when I didn’t miss the bus.

 

And when that happens, I’ll remember the nights I spent in the most livable city in the world, with some handsomely made Cappuccino, mouth-watering pasta, authentic ha kau, or a delicious steak night on the bank of Yarra River.

Thank you, Melbourne, for reminding me that life is mysterious for a reason.

 

Melbourne CBD, 4 November 2018