Shame, in this time and age, free speech means the illiterate will orate.
They disguise blatant hate into chants of freedom, use taboo symbols to mark innocents, spit at whoever disagrees, kill whoever looks as white as oat milk (so much for free speech). And they will hate Sydney Sweeney for being a beautiful American girl with good jeans. And they will hate those who comment blue hearts on everything they see. And they will hate all things blue.
The man with the the Heart does not have the Legs. Or maybe he does but has chosen not to. The man with the Legs does not have the Brains. Or maybe he does but she could never allow herself to see it. The man with the Brains does not have the Heart. Or maybe he does and that’s only what he wants her to believe (she does not believe it).
All three men do not have the Spirit.
The woman with the Spirit has the Brains, the Heart, and the Legs; more of the Heart than the Brain or the Legs, but she has all of them nonetheless.
“What is my curse?” the woman asks the World.
“To love deeply where one cannot stay.”
“And my blessing?”
“To carry oceans of Grace in a world that thirsts.”
None of the three men will stay. And it will be much too late to wait for a man in Spirit who has everything. That’s what the World tells her. Her fingers tremble. She stares at the World blankly, her Heart ridiculously failing. They told her that if her Heart fails, she will survive on Brains and Legs alone. But the Brains and the Legs do not carry Grace. Only the Heart does. And her only blessing was Grace.
In grief, she falls to the ground. It seems that when the Heart fails, her Legs fail, too.
The woman with the Spirit lies on the ground, dead. The man with the Heart and the man with the Brains crouch around her. Both somber, both quiet and calculated. They whisper Prayers in a different Language. The man with the Legs is nowhere to be found.
The World looks at the scene. The World moves on.
I hop around with my Forclaz waist bag holding Lila, some water, and Pocari Sweat supplies. You carry a drawstring bag that apparently fits everything else. In Singapore’s urban jungle we had collectively decided to do a hike up a 7 km trail, which makes me giddy with joy. The path we are choosing is considered moderate/difficult. You’ve been here before, once with a friend. I ask you to navigate. I’m not allowing myself to exert any more energy than I have to.
You begin with the basic questions. How long am I on a business trip? What am I currently doing? How was Damai and the baby? Which part of Singapore does she live in? You laugh when I say Tampines. It’s too far away from everywhere else in the city except the airport. But I loved her HDB.
I jokingly ask why everyone was sweating profusely. The trail seems easy to conquer. Some paths were blocked for maintenance. Whilst others panic, we just laugh it off and try to find another trail.
After all these years we still have the exact same pace for everything. The way we think, the way we move. I don’t feel left behind or pressured to move faster, like how I feel in bigger groups. We just flow. Uncles run past us from every side, each of them impressing us at different paces. You tell me living here encourages you to do more exercise; all that home weights training and weekly run. The fit uncles being one of the reasons. You do look fit, I’ll give you that. The incline is mostly bearable but gravel-slippery at some points, but still bearable with normal walking shoes.
We talk about work. I ask about your siblings. Your little sister is going to be in middle school soon. Life seems to have moved faster when we aren’t noticing. It’s been five months since I last saw you and I wouldn’t have expected you to suddenly have silver in your hair. I must admit it makes you look a little bit wiser. We stop in the middle of our tracks and encounter the most well-mannered monkeys. We even found a family with a little one. And then, more inclines. I now know why everyone’s sweating like crazy. We laugh about it and keep pushing through.
We finally make it to the TreeTop Walk. It really is worth the hike. It is a one way bridge so we couldn’t spend too much time, but we take some photos and wonder about the bridge safety guy (did he have to trek to work every single day?).
There are hundreds of stairs to climb after. You give one look at me and we both giggle, not even having to say a word. We finish the trail in record-time of around two-and-a-half hours. Decide to stretch our legs for a bit. You ask me if I wanted to have that delicious curry rice in Bugis I once told you about. The one where the chef kept stealing glances at me because he was interested. I look at you blankly, thinking to myself how in the world do you remember that little detail in the story I told you five, six years ago?
We end up walking to Upper Thomson to take the brown line to Maxwell. You take me to your favorite ice cream place. My treat, you say. Most flavors were honey-based. I try the Manuka flavor; yours is the Cookies and Cream. We share a third cup, an Apiary special. The ice cream helps with the difficult conversation that follows. On life and priorities. On love and loss. On the question that if we were to meet again in five years, would I still be crying about the same thing?
It then dawns upon me why we’re best friends. And I know I said the right thing when a few years ago I told you that whomever I marry, you will be the best man, my best man. You remember every little thing I’d said (weeks, months, years ago) and kept them in your heart. And talking to you was always easy (a ridiculously great feat for two INTJs). We didn’t have to put on performative masks. We could just be.
Full of Apiary ice cream, we decided to visit a bookstore before grabbing dinner at the nearest food center. My heart was heavy knowing the day would eventually end, and that we would have to wait another few months to see each other again.
We took the brown line before parting ways: myself alighting first at Orchard, and you at Caldecott after to transit home. I take a few brief seconds to memorize your face before saying goodbye. Frame that smile. And see if it will change the next time we meet (I hope not). Too many people change too much under the wings of time.
I look at our photos later in the night and marvelled at how we smiled ear to ear. Crinkles and dimples and all. The one precious friendship that made it so easy to breathe, easy to take 24,000 steps. Easy like Sunday morning.
They asked her why she was so good at marathons they didn’t know she called it running away they asked her how she trained her endurance she only smiled and laughed a little how could she not be good at it if most of her life was spent with gritted teeth and clenched fists sleeping soundly through nightmares and waking up with tears they asked her why she loved the sport they didn’t know it was the only thing she ever did
(This isn’t about marathons)
Kayli King is my current comfort backpacking influencer. Gear Aid’s Heroclips are my best friend now. I am obsessed with Matador’s Flatpaks and saving up for the towels and blankets. I bought a Scrubba bag, in mini size, with my best friend. Sea-Band helps me avoid nausea on land and on travels. I’m brilliant at packing light now, at least compared to the previous year. I’m looking to purchase a Sea-to-Summit clothesline. These gears keep me afloat, keep me excited to live life easier. Keep me looking forward to the next trip. Keep me on my toes. Alive.
The deed is done: ammonium thioglycolate meets virgin hair. The reinvention of self is almost complete. And now we wait.
A text at 2AM sent to the lover: I wanted Dan’s Burgers. So that’s what we got for dinner after work. Simple old smash burgers, fries, and one vanilla milkshake. I wanted to check out a hiking backpack after, so we went to my favorite sports store (he was patient all in all). Bought some lemon water at a coffee shop; he grabbed a sticker for me because he knew I’d want something to do with it in my journal. In the end, I got a safari hat. / Luteal phase hormones were kicking in (I wanted the world to end). He held me as I went through the motions. We had Japanese curry rice for our next dinner and went shopping for some clothes for Islalila. I went to check out (but he promised to get them for me, so he did). We bought some oranges at the store right before they closed. I held his hand tight, not wanting to let go. / He always had matcha latte (no sugar, no ice) in the fridge waiting, to wake me up from my dreamless sleep. And was always gentle with my weekend oversleeping schedule. And a really long hug to start the day. / I never could understand what I did to deserve a love like that. But then I looked in the mirror and found the answer.
Bring two bags for performance day. Two costumes in. Props in. Two shoes in. Should I bring comfortable clothes to change to? Don’t forget the silicone pads. Extra band-aids for your feet, remember ballerinas also wrap their feet in strange things. Memorize your lines, say them out loud. Exude confidence. Makeup, makeup. Maybe I should bring a mirror of my own to the office. There is not enough time to order a large Clara-sized bow for my supposedly Nutcracker-themed attire. My heart is going to explode. Everything has to be very calculated. My partner must think I’m insane, visiting Decathlon many times in a month, two consecutive days in a week. But the possibilities are endless. My adventurous and sojourning heart is nourished. I cannot wait to purchase Blacky (Forclaz Travel 500 40L). Should I wear Forky or Blacky to Cambodia? Will the cabin crew be strict enough on cabin allowances? I need a box just for travel things – that small waist bag, compression socks, compression cubes, carabiners, hiking gears and the likes. What kind of shoes should I wear to Angkor Wat? Don’t forget to book buses and re-plan the hotels. I hope the eVisa for Georgia gets approved on Tuesday. I am turning 26 in a few days. I am not so excited about that. I haven’t finished the newsletter for work. People are counting on me. I need to take my meds before performance day. I cannot risk fainting on stage, that wouldn’t be funny. I had wanted both my parents and my partner to come see me. But sometimes I have to pick and I never choose. I tend to want everything I cannot have. It’s a little bit past midnight now. I have rehearsals at noon and the whole morning to prepare. I hunger for complex carbohydrates, the last of my luteal phase in full swing. I get distracted and inspect Decathlon websites to download their image assets, a small preparation on crafting the most comprehensive digital inventory I’m attempting. Do I need a clear case for my Macbook Air? Maybe what I need a case for is my fragile heart. The thought process is not processing. The connections aren’t blinking. The brain laughs at silly little me. I collapse at the thought.
I’ll get it for your birthday, he said.
An embodiment of lifelong dreams and vision boards, wrapped in turquoise and teal. Subtly calling to the mountains, but reminding her of the oceans. The most elegant form of running away—shut down all the noise and leave the world behind. My dearest, dearest Forky. To the summits we go.
“And not everyone will get it, not everyone will understand. That’s alright, no biggie. But the world really is so much bigger than the city you grew up in. The world really is so much more than your day job and numbers on a screen. And one day you’ll learn to believe it, too. Even if it means believing it at the ripe age of twenty-eight, or thirty-two, or fifty-five. Doesn’t matter. It’ll make sense someday and it will set your adventurous souls ablaze. On fire. Maybe you’ll still have time, maybe it won’t be too late. Or maybe you’ll be content in not ever seeing the world outside your box. I need to accept that life works differently for most people. Whatever works for you.”
His Belgian Shepherd was called Amy. And she’d only receive orders in English, like, “Amy, come!” The neighbors then thought her name was “Amyca”. They had a good laugh about it.
Jakarta, October 2024. Back at Brown Tree Paperie and adopted a second daughter.
There is a quiet hollow, a strange emptiness in the air. I know better than to expect your message on my phone; you would’ve been one to respect my decision. I sit up on the bed, shoulders slouching although they feel a little lighter. Didn’t you just tell me on this very same bed, that you loved me, last night? And didn’t I say them back, although I wanted you to disappear? I want you to be here but I want you gone. I want you to tell me nice nothings while I pack up my heart and leave. I realize I must have lost my mind. All of my plushies told me so. They told me I made a grave mistake. Deep down in my heart I knew the same. The Sunday routine happens like clockwork for a few hours, and then lunchtime hits. Everything I see reminds me of you. For the first time in many years, I made it to a wholesale grocery store I used to frequently visit when I was a teenager. That was the one thing I kept forgetting to tell you: I love doing grocery runs with you. It is to me the sweetest, most comforting thing to do with a partner, we could play house before the house presents itself. I had always wanted to take you here, and that other supermarket in North Jakarta. I don’t know why it never crossed my mind to do it in any other time than this. I saw a dispenser and thought of you. You never really got it at the end. I wonder if you still needed one. If I needed to get one for you. Would you have accepted my apology then? For not knowing better; that out of all of life’s annoyances, you were the constant, not the variable. Did you know minimarts had drive-thru lanes now? Such an odd and marvelous thing! I grab my phone to let you know—but stop myself. It hasn’t even been a day, and I have stories to tell you still. I want to know how your boring Sunday went. Did you watch Only Murders in the Building? What did you have for lunch? Are you working on a weekend? When are you going back to Jakarta? The Message app is still open on my MacBook, the last photo you sent me still downloading. I delete the last message I was about to send you a few days ago, but didn’t because you called first. The Deli Bakes released a nice lunchbox – one that I would’ve bought for myself because it looked so nostalgic yet so practical. I would’ve shared it to you on Instagram. I had enjoyed our last trip to Bandung and I didn’t tell you that enough. I wasn’t being myself and I hated it. And I hate myself for believing that you also hated me for it. I isolate myself, as usual, running and hiding and playing hide and seek. When all in all I just wanted to be found. Don’t you think it odd, the hopeless romantic spending time away from her lifelong lover? The most ridiculous logical fallacy ever told.
I didn’t know my partner of almost three years had a childhood dog with majestic black fur and a severe drooling habit. I didn’t know my parents, newly wed, had looked for a home near the neighborhood I live in. It catches me by surprise how little I know the people closest to me. And how most people would perceive me the same way: knowing little to nothing at all.
Acting like adults until I realized we’re no longer kids (you can’t call it acting). Browsing for the one-bedroom wonder to get me out of the cramped but cozy studio; this would be his first investment, his property. Tried some Korean comfort food in a small restaurant, which I loved. Went grocery shopping for materials to cook dinner with. Made some spuds with chili and cheddar. Watched Only Murders in the Building.
Freeze and fawn. Freeze and fawn. Freeze and fawn. Freeze and fawn.
The air conditioning unit keeps leaking.
The drops of water falling on the makeshift bucket would go tap-tap-tap and wake me up from my lucid dreams. I let go of the little brother I never had, his little hands hanging on the monkey bars, and slowly drift awake, thinking, I do not want to go through another new day, thank you very much.
Almost twenty-six years on earth and I am already sick of it.
The tongue is sore from licking newly scaled teeth. The heart is heavy like it was poisoned with lead. The only thing I think of doing is call upon the name of my God. One word. His name and nothing else. No other words come out. No praise or reverence, no prayers or complaints. I tug at the bed covers and pull myself in a curl; on my side, knees bent, like a baby in the womb. On the darkest days nothing feels comforting; on the darkest days, not even exhaustion has the upper hand—it would always be the sinking feeling. My parents keep texting their daily good mornings, sharing their devotionals and health-related videos. The ringing notification makes me numb. Their only daughter is dying out of sadness and they will never know. They will always think of her as the strong one, the resilient one. She will never become what they want her to be. I have an important meeting at nine. Thank God for the pandemic and working from home. I get up and call upon His name once more. No other words develop. I do not know what to say. I’d rather not check my messages. I cannot fathom the probability of loss, let alone face it headstrong.
The air conditioning unit keeps leaking in the wrong timing; my tear ducts are doing the same. Like the whole world is ending. And all I have to care about is making sure the water doesn’t flood through. But I’ve been here twenty-six years. And I know the girl who wishes not to be resilient, still has some little thing left in her to clean the mess.
The air conditioning unit.
Leaks.
Still.
Upon contemplation, she might finally be able to understand why love, indeed, has already celebrated her every single day.
In four months and a week I would have been another year older and I hope I would have changed for the better. You know it’s getting bad again when you fall back to old habits, the ones that drag you into that never-ending dark spiral. Nothing feels right. The work weighs down and the grief overwhelms. Triggers pile up and explode. BOOM! Hands go numb and head goes wild. Tears fall and heart stops. Am I dying? I can’t breathe, I’m suffocating. I want to be eating borsch in Moscow with no burden of the world. To be the freezing girl who spilled sparkling water on the way to Teriberka, bright and vibrant and alive and beautiful. I don’t want to be stuck in failed January sevens. I just want it to be easy. I just want it to be easy. I just want it to be easy. I just want to be held and to be loved. Unconditionally and constantly and securely. I just want to be loved in all of my undertones. And now I understand why all fragile men, at the very end, come running back to the Father’s arms. We all just want to be held, after all.
Jakarta’s humidity, and running in the pouring rain with a best friend: tried Busy Cheese Café and Em Gelato, loved the chocolate truffle cheesecake and strawberry cheesecake gelato a little bit too much. Conversations about life and love, reminiscing memories and nostalgia. MRT rides to Brightspot and a jewelry shopping sesh. Closed the day with a cozy, comforting traditional meal at Leko. She’s a real one, this girl. We’ve seen each other’s highs and lows throughout most of this life.
Friday mornings at your place takes me back to Sunday mornings at my childhood home. My parents’ bedroom door open. My father’s favorite perfume and the cold air slowly seeping out, bergamot and lavender particles filling the air, me being six years old in the shower, taking it all in. It was that specific moment and that specific sensory experience, nothing more and nothing less, that was etched in my brain until this very day. Your hug comforting like a father’s. My memory disoriented like a lover’s. My heart gentle and defeated. Like a daughter’s.
About the weekend everything evaporated into thin air—but kaya, butter, and your lips on mine.
And there we go again, all smiles and finally being able to see the beauty of the world.
Delicious, mouth-watering ramen gifted from a friend. Comes with a gentle but rich broth, allowing you to engage all your senses in enjoyment.
“If I lost all my memory, what is the first thing you would tell me about us?”
“You were born in Bandung. 1994. You had beautiful, loving parents who cherished your every being, and a sister, who is two years older than I am. Your parents left earth a little too early, your sister still misses them a lot even today. You picked Science in high school but pursued Management in university; you have best friends from uni you still hang out with every once in a while… Upon graduating you found a job in a wonderful company called Unilever. Your closest friendship circle, you found whilst working there. You don’t work there anymore.”
“I didn’t ask you to tell me about myself—”
“Your favorite color is green. You love older music, it calms you so. You like tofu and dark chocolate, and you always incorporate fruits in your diet. When choosing a meal, you need to order more than one variety of protein or veggies – or at least a supporting snack. Your favorite pastime is reading books, building Lego bricks, and assembling puzzle pieces. You appreciate music and you used to take piano classes. Your lover really wanted to see you play more, but you were always too shy. You love Harry Potter. You travel a lot with your friends and you document it on your Fujifilm camera. You never buy souvenirs for yourself because you only want to collect the moments and memories, preserved in photos and writings. You have a blog where you pour out all your travel thoughts—your girl, she loves it when you write, you were always so good with words.”
“But what does that have to do with—”
“You used to hate being vulnerable. You didn’t like feeling your emotions, you were always a thinker before anything else. That made you a little cruel sometimes. But then a worldwide pandemic happened four years ago and you stumbled upon a person shortly after, a mere colleague with bright eyes and big dreams. Just like you, she’s obsessed with Lego and Harry Potter too. She believed in magic so much, that, once, she told you that it was possible to build a whole-ass factory in a month. You thought she was either really reckless or hands-down crazy. She was just optimistic. Months passed and you left the company, but still remained friends with this silly little girl. Asked to meet her in person over coffee one day, and then everything started to make sense, but things were never easy. To make the love work both of you would have to defy all odds, and the odds were not in your favour. Against everything, you started falling in love with her after a year or more, even made sure to let her know. Over time, you were not afraid of stripping yourself bare in front of her; you allowed your heart to be vulnerable with the person you knew could hurt you the most. But little did you know, she was always so scared of losing you, you know? Life had always been a little weird to her. Sure, you made her cry sometimes but she still looks at you with the same bright eyes she had on her work profile photo, because she may believe in many things but she has always believed in you, she always believed in the idea of loving you until her very last breath, be it next to your grave or a million miles apart. To be loved is to be known. And you may have forgotten every single thing you have done, or experienced, in your thirty years of life. But the first thing that I will remind you of, is that she does know you, and she does love you, and if it takes her another three and a half years to make you fall in love with her, that she will do, a thousand times over, in every lifetime. Only then, will you remember how much you loved her, even if only for a fleeting second. It was truly love.”
“…”
“And I will always love you until my very last breath, be it next to your grave… or a million miles apart.”
Gelak tawanya lembut, katanya, “Sudah lama aku tidak berusia dua puluh lima.” Timpalku, “Sudah lama sekali aku tidak merasa secukup ini.” Bagaimana tidak? Seluruh duniaku, tersenyum di hadapanku. Seluruh duniaku, yang betul-betul mengenalku. Merayakanku.
As someone who does not own flat shoes, sneakers are a staple in my lookbook. Here are some of the sneakers that I own (and love very much). They are the ones that take me places, whatever the situation and wherever the location.
Le Coq Sportif
R1800
Gray/Gold
Le Coq Sportif
Le Rous
White
Le Coq Sportif
R807
White/Lavender
Clarks
Craft Run Lace Leather
Mint
Le Coq Sportif
Teluna Bound Court
Silver
I stared in disbelief at scattered shoe boxes and people rushing around with high adrenaline, trying to find a pair of sneakers that would fit them and their budget. Le Coq Sportif, my favorite sportswear store, was having its clearance sale. My heart sunk. They’re closing all of their stores in Indonesia, and the one near my apartment was their last one.
Scanning what was left of the store for shoe picks, I thought of all the memories I’ve had with this certain brand. It was the only French brand I wore religiously, especially for sneakers. It was, plainly, the only brand store I would walk boldly into to browse, knowing full well I’d walk out with at least one purchase.
I think it’s funny to think that all of the places where you made memories are slowly being taken away from you, one by one. Old and empty shopping malls that used to be crowded, the ones you used to visit as a kid. Bookstores (QB and Kinokuniya, I’m talking about you), even hardware stores (Home DIY!). Each of them divulge to myself a certain feeling, all the same but all different.
Because time flies and the world evolves, we lose these physical places and buildings at one point or another. And for someone who is especially sensitive with huge feelings on her sleeve, this could be an alien thing to understand, because the grief is extremely difficult to overcome. It feels like losing a memory, especially when your brain keeps implementing the ‘out-of-sight-out-of-mind’ principle.
Keeping a journal and a blog helps. Everything I experience, everything I have, I document; I collect things that people would otherwise treat as trash in digital inventories, notebooks, and organizers. It keeps the fear of forgetting at bay. But it doesn’t contain my bigger fear of missing them.
Distraught (and mostly sad), I chose to purchase a white shoe with lilac and turquoise accents on it, one that I had been wanting for a while now. My love got a similar one, but in another color meant for the male collection. We also decided to buy all-white sneakers, as they were on sale and the prices were very reasonable. I got a sweater that was a little too big for my size, thinking that I could wear them when I missed the brand, for comfort. I even bought several sizes of paper bags, so I could treat them as keepsake.
My grief is calmed down by the fact that in its lifetime, I had influenced at least three people in buying from the brand, including the people I love. That it was loved, that it was cherished. That in another life, I would have said with pride, I did my best in loving you until the very end, and I would not ever change a thing.
Haven’t seen you in ages
now you have a suffix to your name
Was trying to make you believe in love again
so I found you a match
Wanted your heart to find him
there really isn’t a catch
These days my energy is conserved for home decorating, loving, and surviving, and sometimes even the three tasks feel daunting. An era of absolute calm amidst the absolute chaos of a life, ridiculously bright with excitement and on some days dark like a black hole.
These are the days where I am understanding myself more, even if for just a little bit; I love bohemian, hippie styles, in fashion and aesthetics. I am in a cozy bubble where owning two Himalayan salt lamps is such a majestic pride, the orange glow radiating a calmness like I have never experienced. I am also entering my Scrub Daddy era: religiously collecting both Daddy and Mommy so they could be together, even if the Mommy would wear out sooner as I’m using it more.
I finally purchased the typewriter keyboard I’ve been wanting for some time, in the beautiful butter ivory colour, and yes, waiting makes having things much more sweeter.
I’ve been listening to the Onwards and Upwards podcast by Hope (Watson)—one that has been inspiring me a lot to get out of one of the hardest slumps in this season—and I’m loving it. Podcasts may be the next best thing that I’m enjoying.
After years of using the application, I am finally finding meaning in Pinterest; even to the extent of creating many magical boards and using them as widgets on my iPad home screen.
On another note, my love just bought his iPad Mini 6 after lots of consideration, and even got his Apple Pencil engraved in the Apple Store at Causeway Bay. His excitement triggers my joy, and the chain reaction is strong enough to keep me going through today without dozing off for a minute. I mean, for an avid iPad lover like myself, this is history! I am thrilled.
Thursday is a national holiday and I cannot wait to take the time for myself. I might even go to a salon to get my hair styled. We’ll see.
Truly, life becomes much easier when you are starting to understand yourself. And I hope it only gets kinder and kinder from here. A promise I am making to myself: in life, I will try to keep savouring these short and sweet chapters. The ones that feel like fall.
It is 11 PM on a working weekday. My sheets are brand new. I am listening to 1940s romantic music, tucked on the right side of the bed after hours of watching Gilmore Girls. My brand-new Hintuturo Bluhen Notebook arrived and my obsession with green and pink colorway has (only slightly) returned. More of the greens, just a touch of pink, a perfect combination.
This is the chapter of my life where taking care of plants bring me joy. This is the chapter of my life where I learn to stop thinking and live more instead. This is the chapter of my life where I am finally understanding what it feels like to romanticize the mundane. This is the chapter of my life where I start taking care of myself seriously (yes, hypochlorhydria, I’m talking about you) after dozens of sleepy spells in the last week.
The weeks are rolling by like a sped up version of a song, blatantly breaking sound barriers, making your ears bleed with little to no shame. How is it almost September? I thought I was forever frozen in January! I am taking each day at a time, slowly but surely; enjoying challenges in every working day, answering each question with poise, with ease. Saturdays are much kinder, as I find myself falling more deeply in love with my partner after each passing day. Sundays are still strange. Sometimes a bit too much. But a little bit more bearable.
On another note, I am proud to say that I have started my healing process. I can see now with clear eyesight how it is to differentiate between what is right and wrong in life and love. It is true that my parents have taught me a kind of love I aspire to have. But at the same time they have also taught me a kind of love I will forever avoid. Being able to understand that without clouded judgment, is to me, a brilliant achievement beyond any aspired perfection.
A head full of ideas and a heart full of passion; mix the two and you get a tinker. I am obsessed with this new setup – a touch of vibrancy to light up the studio hallway.
For the cork board on the left I am using IKEA FLÖNSA, a memo board with pins. I hung it on the wall using 3M Command Strips – one strip at the top center of the board would suffice, since the board itself weighs less than a kilogram. I decided not to pin anything to ensure the corkboard stays smooth, but to use washi tape for lovely verses and reminders, core memories, pictures of my love…
On the right side we have IKEA BEKVAM, their spice rack made of solid aspen – lovely, because when styled accordingly will elevate the look of any room. To apply it without drilling, I used IKEA ALFTA hooks as a replacement for “nails” on the walls, they fit perfectly on the screw slots. They are similar to 3M Command Sawtooth Picture Hangers – originally made to hang frames and paintings (I got this idea from this blog post). Just be mindful of the items you are displaying so that it doesn’t exceed both hooks’ weight limit.
I really can’t wait to decorate more and make this space feel more like mine. Here’s to saving up for a house, too, with more walls for memories to display, more floors for my love and I to dance with.
If he were a room, it would be the living room with all of the cozy couches and cushions, in shades of mauve and moss, accents of rubies here and there—devil’s ivy in jars of water on the tables, unfinished puzzles on the rugs; monsteras lurking in every corner, a mirror ball in the center, bookcases lining up the walls with thousands of pages waiting to be devoured. cozy. comfortable.
If he were a routine, it would be the long, scalding hot shower, something to look forward to after an exhausting, ridiculous day job, a small window of time where dreams come alive and hope resurrects itself. If he were a scent, it would smell of fresh shave and leather, fougère, something between lavender and heaven.
If he were a house, it would be the house on a hook, grand and white, Italian and lovely.
If he were a home, he would be my home.
On the car ride home from Jakarta we talked about Mia and Sebastian from La La Land, and how he used to play Mia and Sebastian’s Theme on the piano back when he was still working in Sumatra. We enjoyed the original soundtrack and time flew by so fast that the whole album wrapped up. We continued with lovely songs that summed up my feelings into one listening session; carefully curated by his algorithm like he knew me my whole life.
seasalt memoirs 