It is beautiful, but not every single thing is. Many mornings when my husband is sleeping, I frequently feel the deep-suffocating longing, in which I really expect that Doraemon’s door does exist. Looking at parents’ pictures just make it worst, like someone just poked my eyes. The fact that they’re getting old each day while I cannot be there just makes it worst of the worst.
Hi. Just stop by and put a new thing here that I consider uploading it on Instagram is not a good idea. Feel too much I guess, while to me personally, much efforts and tears were best friends to complete this that I need to perpetuate it somewhere. Yes, thesis.
Today I officially an M.Pd, master of Edu. Hhh thinking years back then, when parents needed to work hard for me, hit me hard getting me teary eyes, speechless. Wanted to hug them really tight for this.
Let's say it's my graduation day. Well thanks to COVID-19, no parents, no family, no flowers, but here is my husband with endless supports and super positivity; and ofc Nasi Padang after that.
Completing this thesis taught me to really appreciate every page written, every progress made, every hour sleeping, every minute the advisors given. And yes, what worked for my friends somehow did not work for me. I felt like I was the only lazy one who did not work on my thesis and did not make any progress every time I saw groups of friends updated Whatsapp or Instagram stories, showing they were together in the library, uploading a pile of paper photos. I suddenly became very nervous when I saw friends uploading stories about their meetings with advisors.
In fact, without having to go to the library that often, without making updates on social media, I could finish my thesis. I went to the library but I preferred to do it alone to check some references and back to the boarding house immediately, closed the door with snacks prepared, and worked. Those suited me best.
What friends did not know was that I also experienced bitter advisors' comments which made me cry all night, advisors' complaints about how ugly and unreasonable my writing was, advisors who were too busy to meet, fierce librarians, running out of money to print out materials before the consultation. Once I ate instant noodles for almost a week since I need much money for printing them out. I cried, a lot like "Dear God, just give me billions!" then I would travel around the world, and became an influencer. To hell with this thesis. No, kidding. I need to graduate :")
The difference was that I did not upload them. Period.
I then understood that the "how is your thesis going" question was indeed annoying and gave me more pressure. But being annoyed without doing anything would make me super uneasy, so...no other ways out unless I worked on it. Progress is progress.
The point is, "fuck what your friends are doing. It's just an illusion, made worse by your preconceptions.", I said. Most importantly, based on my experience, focusing on my own work was the only thing that I should do from the very first time.
I think that's it for now. Feel soo good after a little bit swearing tho wkwk. See you!
- Malang, 16 September 2020.
May 9th,
2020
Three weeks after the
wedding day. We’ve moved to our own house, somewhat on the outskirts of the
city. Like other newly couples, we’re happy and enjoying the adaptation, which I so far appreciate it, and which I don’t expect to change too.
It’s Ramadhan now. Bit
different from last Ramadhan(s). Besides what-so-called covid19, fasting in a
new family is admittedly dissimilar.
I used to wake up at 3
or more with some food already prepared on the table. My mom’s favourite menu for
sahur (since it’s easy) would be endog goreng, and mine was blendrang
terong lol, I could not get it now tho since my husband doesn’t like even
the eggplant itself.
Our sahur would
finish right before adzan subuh. The moment of fasting was very special
in which we gathered so much, more intense. Before my father got the kidney
disease, he used to be the imam at the mushola. We prayed isya and tarawih
together, and recited qur’an with some kids and teenage neighbours till like 10
p.m. The mothers took turns sending food: pecel, bakso, watermelon, or
gorengan. Some kids usually would only wait for the food and then went home;
leaving the teenagers. All those memories are worth remembering.
Speaking of which, different
from our family in Magetan, here we don't have such practices. Especially at
the time of corona, physical-distancing-things.
Well, we’ve spent a
week at my parents-in-law’s house before moving here. Since my husband’s family
is wonderfully multicultural, I found bounteous new points. Not everyone is
fasting, praying is so much personal, eating at the moment of other members of
family’s fasting would still be respected-also the one who is fasting gets no
probs. They’re super chill wkwk.
Being a new wife gets me
bountiful theories to real practices. I’ve prepared myself, learned a lot in
terms of domestic life, made sure that I have been legitimately ready for
having my own family. Then here it is! With some captivating surprises of
course 💕
 |
| found flowers on the first day moving in! |
The thing I just
realize is that being a woman in a family, I would specifically say being a
wife in my condition-yours is probably different, is the key. I cook,
clean up, make the bed, and all the stuff. No cooking means no food for the
family. No cleaning up means letting the house dirty and uncomfortable. Still,
my husband complained when I forgot to throw the bread wrap or fold the blanket
hahah. Women are absolutely amazing. Mothers are unquestionably incredible.
Sometimes we’re less
appreciated since all those activities have become daily routines-always and
usually done. Our presence and what we’ve done are just like breathing.
Crucially needed but not everyone realizes. That is why housewives are usually
underestimated, while in fact, they have never ending works.
Telling you guys these
stories doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy my very new life. I love my role, I really
do. But at some points, some details bring me a deep longing. The noise of children
at the mushola, mothers who gathered after the tarawih prayer, mother’s
cooking, the quiet atmosphere before sahur…
The absolute
unchangeable thing I just also realize is the decision of getting married
itself. I’ve told you. I’ve been prepared for all the consequences before
deciding to get married, but now I really experience them. Once you decide to
tie the knot, you cannot undo it and have to accept that any possibilities
could happen; even at the moment when you kind of want to give up or annoyed,
you can’t. Therefore, don’t ever get married when you’re not ready yet, even
when everybody asks you to. It’s you who gets married, not anyone else. Don’t
mind your age, you’ve the whole life in your own hand.
BUT, I gets a new happiness
for an empty dirty plate while he says ‘enaak’, I gets a new exhilaration for an
every-day-friend of watching movies, I gets a new elation for morning hugs and
night kisses. And I’m thankful for that.
It’s 10.49 p.m. My mom
must have slept already. Too shy to tell her that I want to see her so bad now.
She should not worry.
We’re fine. We’ll adjust and get into a rhythm and flow.
Good night, Ibuk…
It was Saturday night
When the first snowflake falling
on your bangs
Seeing around no one around
Only an old beagle stood at the
dark crossroad
Giving a cold look, like the old
lady on the Aberdeen train this evening
It was such a long way
You heard a jingle bells song
from a far, as the house in front of you
You did not move anywhere
Freezing cold outside, freaking
awkward inside
Hesitation needed to manage
You could see mother stirring up
a warm hairst bree
failing finding it in any other
places tho, possible no longer
Father wore an army sweater you
bought the last winter
He’s busy with the phone, made
the fifth call
still no answers returned
He then made a crisp joke as he
always did
about the dog who became a
national symbol for grief
They laughed.
As you managed to lift the leg, something
pulled your hand
Your body felt lighter
mother and father you could see no
longer
the house was farther, smaller
Sunday morning
the beagle was still there
the train would never come.
You come again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and never
again.
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and again
and never
again.
Two days before the play by Dayani
Sasana Aksara entitled Siap, Kapitan!
I received a call from Yuniar Resti, the theater director.
“I’ve
had a terrible argument with the actors, all of them but don't tell anyone,”
with her pessimistic-was-about-to-cry voice.
What do you think that means, except I
then came to the assumption that this show would never be succeeded or the worst possibility,
it would never be happening.
Two days later, minutes before it began, Resti – who was also the make-up artist, set designer, costume, sound and
lighting designer, sat at the corner of Ezo’s performance space eating snacks
showing as if nothing happened.
 |
| Here she was after snacking 👀 |
She once told me that the idea of Siap, Kapitan! was
adapted from the work of Rahman Arge, Sang
Mandor. I’ve read the original story in which I got the dominant
emotion of sadness and madness without clearly presenting the sense of humor. At
the beginning of the story, it was dominated by the role of the Mandor and his wife, followed by
the three of their sons (Juki, Poke, Uduk) as well as Rimba – the right-hand
man of the family. There was all of the characters gathered where the three of
sons had a fight towards which one of them made their father fainted and created
his disappointment most.
At Dayani’s performance, the title of Kapitan replaced Mandor for which, still, they represented similar character of a forlorn-stubborn-emotional-pathetic
man. However, while there was no clear distinction of how many wives the Mandor or Kapitan had in the original work, Siap, Kapitan! displayed the presence of young delightful charming fourth
wife who fonded of shopping after and along with the appearance of twelve port workers. You can imagine how crowded and ‘festive’ the stage was. Some of those twelve
workers then played roles as Rimba and the sons: Koni for Juki, Jali for Poke,
Nuke for Uduk with the great change of the characters from the workers to each son’s
character which was presented individually and one at a time. Therefore, there
was no direct conversation between the sons as well as the sons and Kapitan’s wife. In addition, surprisingly,
there was an appearance of Jali’s wife who sued for divorce.
By the aforementioned description and comparison, you may already be able to distinguish the differences between the two that there had to be significant plot changes. The original story presented the chronological plot, while Siap, Kapitan! offered neatly displayed reverse chronology.
In terms of the actors, an extra point
was that I could not find any sense of nervousness or hesitation. It was
presumably because they had done the same performance many times, not forget to
mention the theater competition at the university. This point was then probably
the basis for them to no longer put much effort and seriousness, so that there were
several overlapping turns; two characters who talked at the same time. However,
despite the fact that it was raining, their voice could still reach the entire
room and kept the emotions stable which was additionally supported by the narrow space of the venue.
In addition, although there were some changes of the actress, Siap, Kapitan! has indicated
a considerable improvement from the first performance, which I also watched.
Taking the narrow space into account, it was
actually enough for the whole audiences but not big enough to provide the comfort.
It created the bad smell room along with the hot air. Some of the audiences unconsciously
fanned themselves and closed their nose. Yes, I said unconsciously since they were still hypnotized by the actors' unpredictable grumble,
burst out laughing.
The image of Kapitan was presented by a high school boy who transformed into the figure of a cranky retired captain who managed to show that he was once stout and strong. He physically reminded me of Carl Fredrickson in Up movie. The loneliness, anger, and hopelessness were consistently brought out on the stage. He showed no care to the people and their jokes, affirming that he was extremely in pain. Like a typical lonely sickly old man, he tended to be sensitive and irritable. Something in reality that somehow got me questioning and failed understanding.
Siap, Kapitan! was indeed a story of a forlorn-stubborn-emotional-pathetic man, but here, Resti successfully combined the feeling of sadness with the humor completed with closely life-related jokes and typical expressions of East Javanese which created enchanting circumstance even more.
Siap, Kapitan! was indeed a story of a forlorn-stubborn-emotional-pathetic man, but here, Resti successfully combined the feeling of sadness with the humor completed with closely life-related jokes and typical expressions of East Javanese which created enchanting circumstance even more.
Last but not least, I did not have much comments for the music since it has been already perfectly mingled with the performance making it more entertaining.
 |
The Yellow Lady - Jali's wife
|
Over all, I enjoyed the show and
considered the hard-earned money was worth-spending for the ticket. At last, as the 'debut' and reflecting on my own expectation knowing some preparation drama inside the drama itself, this performance was beyond. Well done!
For the upcoming performances, by considering more comfortable space as well as more practices along with the scripts originally made wholeheartedly, this newly initiative should give us confidence to create greater masterpieces.
For the upcoming performances, by considering more comfortable space as well as more practices along with the scripts originally made wholeheartedly, this newly initiative should give us confidence to create greater masterpieces.
 |
| Break a leg, Dayani! |
PS. Due to the emergence of having the best resolution documentation, I purpose the procurement of additional materials such as iphone11 or sony RX100 camera. Tq
It
was right after the talk
I
walked down to the coffee shop
friend
of mine came to me
Girl you see, cause he’ll lead them
and sometimes he’ll forget that there is you walking right behind keeping up
the pace
he
asked
either
questioning, doubting, or challenging
been there, many times
I
replied.
Hahaha your eye(s) never lie(s)
No, they won't
neither lie nor dismay
but daunted by the thought of being parasite and pointless
among those who offer thee appealing rainbow without appalling tornado
cap-a-pie I'm the queen.
It is your mind that makes everything more complicated even before the girl’s arriving
It
is your heart that worries towards the sun that already disappeared an hour after
your misgiving
It
is you who answer your own uncertainties before the fall hands over the
orangish blessings
Cause
sometimes you are afraid of seeking the ripe red strawberries in a pile of
dried rotted leaves, instead, too brave to take your soul to forge your own
dark cloud after the appalling
overwintering
Your absence is a missing lantern a night before the festival
Your
silence is a stormy sea nobody wants to see
to
all the insecure parts of you,
those
who want to stay will stay
and
you are worth before and after.
Hari ini lelah sekali
lalu sebenarnya apa yang dicari
kakiku kram jemariku karam
sejak dini hari sampai
dini hari berjibaku
dengan layar.
Doakan
ada kabar baik akhir
bulan ini.
Doakan
ada kabar baik untuk
ibu.
Being
in a starvation was the best friend of mine since I was six
do
not expect it due to a religion-thing or fasting
cause
I didn’t know what it was like to have a faith like
you.
It
was 1962 when my father passed away without telling me that
there was a grief among those delightful feelings, leaving the
housewife-mother with 4 children I was number 2.
I
went to school at the morning wearing black plastic bags
to cover the toes while friends already had their shoes
to cover the toes while friends already had their shoes
it
didn’t matter cause it’s only five kilometers.
And
worked at the noon
for
wasted rice as a return
sometimes
nothing at all that made my mother mad and sad.
It
was fanciest dinner when she could buy an egg for five of us once a month.
Other days without works,
water was enough.
I
remembered the day
when
my mother screamed and extremely exasperated
it
was an exhausting day
after
school, peeling the coconuts, lifting dozens of kilos of rice, cleaning up the cowshed
I
could not stand the hunger. I ate three spoonfuls of eggplant soup supposed to
be for dinner.
She
pinched me three times and three bailers of cold water from the well
over
my head, not allowing me to come in before the three freaking hours.
Promised
myself would not do that to mine.
Now
life is much better. Four children of mine
three
have married one told me to wait.
No
one is failing making me proud and pleased
Only
sometimes too busy to make a phone call.
Only
sometimes too distant for the appointment.
Only
sometimes I feel that no one stays
leaving
our spacious house frightening even more with the heavy rain
the
desolation haunts the longing hurts
Even
more than more when my husband starts to grumble, the chest pain, the heavy
breath, the itch...to whom should I rumble when they know me as the bravest, the
strongest, and the vigorous.
It
is the hardest thing to live as others’ imagination.
But
somehow they should’ve known
a
mother is a human too.
- - Inspired
by a mother of four
Being a teacher and religion activists got me respects and honor for the longest time of my life. I am a father of four expecting at least one of them would stay at our spacious house. In fact, no one did.
In 2016, I was retired. My wife told me to raise a
cow, or goat, or another group of chicken (which we already had) to keep me
busy like I used to. But I suffered partial vision loss even before the cow-,
the goat-, or the chicken-thing, not long after the retirement ceremony. I no
longer walked without the atom stick; used to be a mop stick, till one day, a
package of Jepara wooden stick came to the house.
My little girl, o dear my little girl, bought me
this. The sweetest of her, very sweetest of her.
I didn’t talk much with her since she entered
schools. I was a type of father who didn't know how to make a conversation with
my own sons and daughters. I thought buying things and giving them money were
enough to make them stay. I thought picking them up from schools was enough to
make them love me like I did. I thought love was giving, turns out love was presence.
Now a lonely father with the old radio waiting for his faithful wife brings him
brown sugar warm tea and feeds him, is me.
My wife, my miserably pathetic wife. I know I hurts
her much with the harsh words. Cause sometimes I just feel angry towards
everything. You know when God suddenly took your capacity to notice the blue
birds chirping in the branches, sometimes orange, sometimes red. Started to
forget those colors tho. What else could you express those feelings of loss?
It was Thursday evening when my little girl brought
home this young man. I touched his face I would like to see him I could not see
him. My wife told me that he was not that handsome but he seemed nice. My wife
told me that he had wide ears o my lord what did I just hear my silly wife. I
could hear his heavy voice like mine. Is he stubborn, my dear? Is he quiet and
not able to express his love by words? Does he want to see you more than I do? Seems
like you wanted a man like your father, didnt you?
If I should pray for the last, let me hold the hand
of my little girl on that day. Very last day when I see another hand holding
hers tighter warmer and longer.
It was like a bandage binding the horrible gunshot
wound
It was like a beautiful bandanna encircling the head
of the widow whining at the window
Your connection was no more than the bandits’ pleas
to win the please at the winze crisis
In need of each others’
presence yet prohibiting the troubled weak to speak
The idealist young man was the magnate, the popular
old man was the magnet
The combination of two were a match, the powerless
presences were the mock
The young man wanted a maize, the old man loved the
maze
The first one needed manners, the other one craved
for manors
banana, bandwagon
babel, babble
be, bee
then it failed.
-
At
the moment of welcoming the two
Is there a word for the moment you spilled
a coffee on a stranger’s white skirt knitted,
when you said ‘sorry’ and she said,
‘alright’.
When you were leaving she was there
staring at the dirty gift from her late,
mother.
Sometimes one does not realize
carving a wound on someone else.
I’ve seen them leaving yesterday after
spilling sewage of a thousand liter
and I,
am still here taking a glance at him after
a very long argument
‘I know you hurt’.
Why you men so shy showing no shell?
Does it mean you prick kicked by a drake?
O my man, I understanding,
being left behind is an offending.
But do not you dare to leave me blind
with my own mind.
Malang, 7 October 2019 - Fourteen A Kopi
Realizing today everything becomes emotional. Looking at
photograph
got me teary eyes.
Been a long time since the last we met, so does
my parents. Remembering
things that shouldve been done
got me broken.
I’ve been living in the family’s expectation,
and these messy responsibilities must
disappoint them.
Told me Ive grown up
little did they know Ive been enough.
when the only choice was giving up
since everything seemed nought.
Yesterday the rain was just trying to imitate my
mind,
trumble rumble mumble stumble
told me either to put it down on a paper or wait
till December.
I ain’t I am faint.
Yesterday the sun was just trying to confess my
brain,
concealed buried dimmed
by the rain didn’t make her less or last.
I ain’t I am exhausted.
I am neither the rain nor the sun,
I.
I was at the hospital.
My father was hospitalized due to heart attack and chronic kidney disease. He
was at HCU room where nobody except my mother could enter. I sat on the
floor in front of the door waiting. It
was 2 a.m. It was so damn quiet since nobody’s around. They were waiting
in a more comfortable place, a glass room with no door 20 meters from this
room. It was very cold we did not prepare anything coming here.
I looked around when
they were coming. Two nurses in white uniforms pushed a wheeled stretcher with a
patient wearing breathing aid followed by 70-year-old husband and wife holding
hands crying. Hhh...it happened again. The reason I never liked being in the
hospital, no one did. The smell, the screaming, the feeling full of fear, and anyone
should always be ready with any kind of news. Like two people passed away these
two days. Many have entered this room and ICU as well. It’s really tiring.
I was no longer alone
here. The 70-year-old husband and wife leaning against the wall beside me,
teary eyes. The husband wore a shabby old man's dark green coat, dark brown
pants, flip flops, and black kopyah
whose the edges already turned into brown. The wife wore kebaya like my grandmother used to wear, so beautiful yet the color
was already dull.
They got married in
1994, had a baby boy in 1996, the only child they had. The boy got married in
2017. He was 20 and his wife 21. Just last year, due to the family economic
issue, his wife went for Hongkong to work. The typical story from the city I
was born. Early marriages, economic issues, migrant workers, and (unfortunately)
divorces.
A nurse opened the
door. We spontaneously stood up, my chest pounding. She called the boy’s name,
not my father's. They both walked in a hurry and stopped in front of the door,
taking off their sandals when the nurse immediately prohibited it. They put them back and stepped in giving the entire room salam.
I was alone again. I then could no longer hold back the rain.
- RSUD Dr. Soedono Madiun, 18 September 2019
It was Saturday night
when you told me Sparacino’s trick
“Your body is
more than just a graveyard for those who could not love it.
Your
heart is more than just a cemetery for those who disappeared.”
It was 30th of May
when you told me you
could not stay.
Disclaimer: to anyone who reads this blog (no one knows tho), this one is not offering you positive vibes and use countless 'too much'es, so you better read other posts of mine cause after reading this you’re not gonna like me
The feeling of jealousy comes in any way that I've never understood. Many articles, hundreds love poem I've read to at least minimize the feeling of welling up. I've been trawling google looking for answers. I want to be a tough ignorant strong woman like you. I wonder whether there is someone suffers things like me. I wonder how they are not like me or how they overcome this unpleasant and depressing feeling.
I do aware of the notion that jealousy is only experienced by those who have less self-confidence. To me, it’s not totally right or wrong.
It is not totally right cause to me my self is enough and I can feel that my bf likes me. But again, jealousy just comes in any way that I couldn’t understand. I've never told him that I’m THAT jealous cause I realize that sometimes I become too much, yet the feeling is just there, like a nightmare.
And sure I won't tell him cause with repeated demands for more reassurance whether he still finds me attractive, he could possibly begin to wonder why I feel so insecure and think that I am not the right one.
And sure I won't tell him cause with repeated demands for more reassurance whether he still finds me attractive, he could possibly begin to wonder why I feel so insecure and think that I am not the right one.
The notion is not totally wrong cause there are questions which mostly come on my mind indicating that I am telling the truth. Like am i too much if everyday there are calls from his ex? Am i too much if his top whatsapp contact is his ex? Am i too much if he is blushing and smiling whenever he gets a message from his ex? Am i too much if he never told me why he became that intense with her? Aren't those questions specifically mentioning the 'party' and being specific is telling the truth and telling the truth is not too much and being not too much means normal? Somehow he was super generous, till I cant see any differences between me and his ex. Am i still being too much? Yes, you are.
'We believe that it is important to normalize jealousy as an emotion. Telling people "you must have low self-esteem" will not work. In fact, jealousy-in some cases-may reflect high self-esteem: "I won't allow myself to be treated this way."
Makes sense, doesn't it?
'We believe that it is important to normalize jealousy as an emotion. Telling people "you must have low self-esteem" will not work. In fact, jealousy-in some cases-may reflect high self-esteem: "I won't allow myself to be treated this way."
Makes sense, doesn't it?
Still, deep down inside there keeps telling me that it’s all about me who is always too much. Now I’m trying to have a self-reflection, looking for various possibilities why I am experiencing this, probably :
I have a mental health disorder I should see a psychiatrist.
I’m the last child who used to be a priority.
I had been cheated on, that there’s part of my heart that probably isn’t fully recovered yet.
I am not settling down, so I haven't had anything to offer or proud of yet.
What so ever other possibilities you name it cause I am just being too much.
I wish my bf knew that sometimes I just need to take times at the moment I found something that makes my stomach full of butterflies. Since he’s not a type of man who utters ‘i love you’, I need to feel it and look for the answer whether he’s faithful by myself, then I wish he just gave me time without judging or blaming. I wish he told me more about himself. I wish I was as ignorant as him. I wish he knew that I'm struggling very hard to get over this torturous feelings. I wish he someday reads this and told me that it's okay to feel this way, it's okay to cry. I wish I could tell him that sometimes I feel the anger and the anxiety rising inside me and I don't know what to do. I wish he knew that it hurts a lot that I can't understand my own self. Hhhh I am such a total loser wkwk.
The thing that I should've realized is that he’s forever not mine, so I cannot keep him. Then why I become that bitchy and selfish I know that. I should've found more best boy friends so I can understand his feeling better. I will.
The last question, if I am jealous, does it mean that there's something terribly wrong with me? I don't know. The fact is that I can take my jealousy and do something about it cause I can fully decide if it'll consume me or let it make me into a better person. It's important to ask myself again and again what I hope to gain by my jealousy. I'm trying!
The truth is, jealousy leads me to always focus only on the negatives. I then interpret my partner's behavior as reflecting a loss of interest in me or a growing interest in someone else. It's not healthy and dangerous. I know I know I know.
Well, anyway it's not a rocket science, I need to pull myself together.
See? Do you hate me now? Hehe
