Let's Talk About Imposter Syndrome!

Lately, I've noticed a lot of people talk about impostor syndrome—like Anna Akana, Wong Fu and Ali Abdal—and I can't deny that I've been through it too. I thought I'd talk about it here, as I'm sure we've all been there. First of all, if you didn't know, impostor—or imposter—syndrome is, basically, the belief that you have in your mind that you are not good enough, whatever that may mean to you. In other words, it makes you feel like a fraud, because you think everyone else thinks you are better than you really are. Here's a little bit of fact for you: more often than not, it's not true. This feeling can be very alienating and make us develop self-doubt, but the truth is most people go through the same things—if not at the same time, probably at some point in their lives. And this is my story with impostor syndrome.

5 Newly Discovered Podcasts that I Love

Lately, I've been finding it so much more fulfilling to listen to podcasts, especially during work. Sometimes watching a film or YouTube video, as well as listening to music, can be counterproductive, since they can be a distraction to the work at hand. With podcasts, that is not the case. In fact, it can be a form of multitasking, as you will take in the information shared within the conversation, as your hand and parts of your brain are occupied with finishing your task. When it comes to podcasts, I think it's very important to be able to create a certain atmosphere for the listeners. Personally, I prefer it if a podcast has more than one host, with somewhat vibrant personalities. Ultimately, however, it is most crucial to find a genuine connection among the hosts, to make us feel like we're listening in on a natural conversation—even better if such a connection is extended to the alternating guests. Well, I hope that gives you an idea of the kind of podcasts included on this list. While I've already shared some of my favourite podcasts before, I'd like to introduce some more that I've recently found and would listen to on end. 

My View on Friendship at 28

Happy International Friendship Day, everyone! Did you know it was today? I thought today I would talk a little bit about my thoughts and feelings around friendship. Recently, I realised that my view on friendship has shifted dramatically. I used to be so pragmatic on friendship, which has stressed me out on more than one occasions. It wasn't until a couple of years ago that I was exposed to several views on this topic like I had never known before—and it opened my mind. You see, friendship has always eluded me—I never really quite know what to do about it. Friends often make me feel greatly insecure and doubt myself in more ways than one—whether they realise it or not. I daresay I feel much more secure in romantic relationships than I do in friendships. Lately, though, I feel immensely different about it. No, I'm not cured of my insecurities or suddenly flooded with thousands of friends. I just feel a little more relaxed about being friends with people. Well, here are ten of my top thoughts on friendship. Enjoy!

10 Books + Films with Diverse Muslim Representations

Wow, time sure does fly, huh? I swear Ramadan just started yesterday, yet now Eid is already upon us. How are you this past month? For me, Ramadan is always a good time for reflecting and learning more about being a Muslim. The world has been changing a lot lately, and people are more aware of the diversity all around us—whether in terms of gender, race or faith. It has opened up so many doors for people of varying backgrounds to speak up and tell their stories, including Muslim women. Recently, I just realised that Muslim representation in literature and media has been pretty narrow—usually almost always Middle Eastern, either rejecting the religion or adopting extremist views—but real Muslims have found platforms for them to voice their own perspectives. The other day I found this video by a Muslim American content creator and it pulled down a rabbit hole of Muslim content creators from around the world, especially Black ones. It inspired me to really dig deep into the media I consume and how they portray Muslims—especially Muslim women—and I'd like to share some good ones with you all.

Low-Impact Living in Times of Crisis

As you know, if you've been here a while, I've been advocating for zero-waste or low-impact lifestyle for a few years now. From the start, I know it wouldn't be easy. Often I stumble and find myself creating waste time and time again, but I persevere and am determined to do better next time. For the most part, I would say I'm doing rather well to keep with my determination—I choose reusable more, I sort my waste accordingly and I cut down on my plastic usage as much as I can. Not going to lie, it can sometimes feel like hard work, which is probably why most people are hesitant to try it. However, for me, it all pays off when I realise just how much waste I help reduce in the world.

Of course, here's what I never realised—and I think this is a pretty common mindset among people in general: this is all pretty fine and dandy when I'm healthy and safe. But what happens when crisis hits?

Learning to Truly Eat Local

A few months ago, I stumbled upon this book online—on sale; it's about sorghum. Having seen sorghum in a local bulk store in the past, I was instantly intrigued. At the time, I didn't know what sorghum was and what role it plays in the food distribution in this country. Needless to say, I purchased the book. Thus began my journey down the rabbit hole that is food crisis. Did you know that we have a global food crisis and it is not caused by the shortage of food being produced? Yes, major food wastage also plays a role, but that's not the only one. The number one cause is, actually, food uniformity. We humans used to rely on 30,000 species of plants for food and medicine—now we only largely rely on 30. Sixty percent of our diet, in fact, is made up of only 3 annual crops—rice, wheat and corn (Source: Green Dreamer). It may not seem like much, but before you know it, children are suffering from malnutritions and farmers are planting the wrong kind of crops. This is something that I'm starting to learn recently—and what that looks like in Indonesia. Feel free to read more if you're as intrigued as I am.

#StayatHome: 10 Names to Listen to on Spotify

Hi, there! How are you holding up during these physical distancing efforts? Are you deadly bored yet? I'm back with more entertainment recommendations to accompany you for as long as you need. If last time we talked about movies and series on Netflix, this time please allow me to introduce you to 10 artists and podcasts I've been digging for a while. Just like last time, all these names are all available for you on Spotify, as it seems to be the most popular music streaming service in the world—and, again, one I actually have full access to. Before we go on with the recommendations, though, let me just applaud you in appreciation for staying home during these hard times—thank you for that, it may not seem like a lot, but it makes a difference. Now, hope you find new names to listen to here and enjoy!

We Had Our Feet in the Sand, with an Ocean Waiting

I'm a huge believer that all relationships are different, even if they have gone on for the same amount of time or are structurally similar. Which why I also believe that every relationship is unique, especially those long-term, healthy ones. At the start of Firu's and mine, we got to know a few couples who had dated for years. Some became a role model for a relationship that we wanted to cultivate, some became an example of what we should be wary of. Either way, it was hard to imagine what we would be like years afterwards—we were so young, the world was our oyster, anything could happen. And 9 years later, here we are. To say that our relationship has become so different from how we thought it would evolve is a complete understatement.

Every year, as you might have noticed, I write a little something about my relationship with Firu on our anniversary. Depending on my overall mood that year, I could go from being melancholically grateful to just a downright mess. This year I feel a more optimistic gratitude towards our relationship. It has never felt stronger and more certain than now, in a strange way. Firu has always been my number one guy. He's always been the one to know me best—the good, the bad and the ugly—and chosen to be with me nonetheless over and over again. Now, more than ever, am I absolutely sure that there will never come anyone else who could love me the way he does. In that unique way of his that has pushed me to be stronger and made me feel incredibly cherished all the same.

On the other hand, I know I haven't always been the best girlfriend. I often think about myself way too much, not giving him a chance to pour his heart out. There are times when I burden him terribly with my woes and problems—both real and imaginary. Worst of all, there have definitely been times when I do not respect his wishes or mind his feelings towards my actions. Mostly, these actions aren't too damaging, but I cannot say they won't have repercussions in the future. Recently, I've been trying to be more considerate of this by changing the way I behave in regards to him. It's been nine years, but I'm still learning how to become a better person for us both.

All in all, these past nine years definitely didn't just come from nothing. There's a reason we've been together for so long. If for nothing else, at least because I believe Firu is the best person for me and, hopefully, he thinks the same of me. People often ask how we can be together for so long—with years of LDR in between too—and I wish I could tell them there's real magic there. There isn't. We both work and fight hard to stay together, to show each other how much we love them. We don't always succeed at it, but we never give up—and I think that's the most important bit.

How Come We Never Talk About Money

A week ago, as you may know, was my birthday. Aside from the exhibitions I visited with my sister, something interesting happened later that night. While my friend Maya wished me a happy birthday, she expressed her desire to see my 30 Before 30 list. That got us talking about long-term goals and personal finances. Maya is probably the most organised friend I've ever had; she almost always plans ahead and knows what she wants. Her finances are no different. It was really eye-opening and liberating to be discussing such substantial topics with someone. And I realised that I've never really talked about these things with most of my friends. In fact, it seems to be a really heavy and difficult topic to bring up. But why? Why don't we talk about money with each other more often?

Okay, this is my personal reason why: I feel financially inept among my peers. As a 26-year-old who still goes to uni, barely working as a freelancer and never having had any experience with tax, it's hard not to feel inferior amidst most of my friends. People my age usually already graduate with a Bachelor's degree—or even Master's—and work a steady 9-to-5 job, which allows them to have a certain standard of living. They usually don't have to think twice before eating out, maybe even have some extra cash for luxuries, such as clothes or movies. What to them is chump change may actually make a difference in my life. They may never have to weigh whether to pay off their credit card or buy toiletries.

However, whenever I do talk about personal finances with other people, I am almost always exposed to new information and knowledge on the topic. It shows me an entirely different perspective on how to manage our wealth—how little it may be—and what monetary obligations we may have as a law-abiding citizen.

For some reason, though, most of us really just keep to ourselves when it comes to money. Whenever we are low on cash, we dismiss our friends' invitation to go out—even though they may have a zero-expense solution to our quality time together. Whenever we are desperate for money, we work like crazy—not believing that someone else would be able to help us manage it better instead. When we are blessed with excessive wealth, we often stay silent about our savings—without realising that our friends may need tips on how to start theirs. Why is it, when it comes to money, we don't realise that there is strength in number? Why do we think that money is something so utterly unsuitable for discussion that we just refrain from touching the subject altogether? Doesn't it help us a lot more if we make a habit of discussing our finances?

Case in point, a few days ago, I was suddenly faced with the single most painful part of adulthood: taxes. This whole time, I didn't know that, even though my income isn't quite enough to require me to pay taxes, I'd still have to apply for a tax ID. In fact, it's a requirement that we do it when we hit 19 years of age. If it wasn't for a client's inquiries, I would've lived my life completely oblivious to this fact—possibly kicking me in the rear later in debt and fines. The thing is, most of my friends are already part of the workforce. They're already paying taxes and, obviously, own a tax ID.  Now, imagine if we regularly discuss finances, imagine if it's such a natural topic among our peers, don't you think the tax ID conundrum would have been casually brought up at some point? Wouldn't that save us from the painful consequence of having to pay fines—or, worse, owe millions to the government?

Of course, we could argue that we don't know what we're doing with our finances—let alone taxes—that we're embarrassed to share or feel that we've got nothing to share anyway. Sure, that makes sense. But none of us knows what we're doing. We're all slowly turning into adults, but our environment forces us to grow at lightning speed. Who knows? What you know and what your friends know may vary greatly. You may learn something different, something you've never thought of before—and your friends may too. By sharing, we actually have a fighting chance.

Do you talk about money with your friends? If not, why not?

Think Happy Thoughts

Recently, I've been reading quite a few books on Happiness. Well, not all of them deal specifically with happiness, but all of them, at the very least, brushes up on it. That's got me thinking about the concept of happiness: What is happy? Why do people think of happiness so much? Is it overrated—or underrated? Is there a definite happiness formula that works for everyone? These books make me want to explore that topic and really hash it out in a blog post. If you're expecting a review of the books, though, you came to the wrong place—those you can find on my Goodreads. Today I want to really talk about what happiness means to me and other happy thoughts that's been running through my mind.

For centuries, humanity has been trying to find ways to achieve happiness. Various experts and pop-culture figures have had their say, giving a tumultuous of advice and quotes on the topic. These books are no exception. There are the Scandinavian ways of living: Lagom from Sweden and Hygge from Denmark. While balanced living and well-being may not be terrible concepts, it is delusional to think that they are the major contributors to the happiness of the Scandi people—the small population, wealthy national funds and relatively stable nature may play a bigger role. Try thinking of minimalism living when you can't get access to clean water and a hearty meal. It's not even your choice anymore. On the other hand, Gretchen Rubin's book is a broader look on happiness—on an individual level. I can't say it's not the least bit self-indulgent—and, again, comes from a privileged point-of-view of the financially stable—but it is very applicable to our own lives. 

These days I no longer question my own state of happiness; I did that over four years ago. It was the main reason that I left Germany. When I was growing up, I had a pretty concrete idea of what I would be like as an adult. I was determined to draw for a living, probably by learning about it in university, which will lead me to my inevitable career. Unfortunately, in the process of slowly becoming an adult, I realise that life will never be that simple again—if it ever was. Just because you like to draw and some people say you're good at it, doesn't necessarily mean that everyone will like what you make. It takes more than just skills and passion to reach your dreams—apparently target market matters a great deal. Somewhere along the way, I decided to start over. I've said this before and I'll say it again: leaving Germany was the hardest decision I've ever had to make.

Gretchen Rubin says in her book, "Happiness doesn't always make you feel happy." This move, to me, is one of those things. It is a very tough and heartbreaking decision that I hoped I didn't have to make, but I know, for the sake of growth and long-term happiness, it was necessary. While, in hindsight, I can say it was most likely the right decision, I can't say for sure that I couldn't have become happy any other way. I would be lying if I said I never fixated on the countless possibilities. This leads me to believe that happiness is not that simple. It's not a linear journey to get somewhere, but a many-branched road, that you only get to pick one. You'll have to be okay, not knowing how your life would have been otherwise. And that, to me, is often very unsettling—no matter how happy I am.

People often point out that I'm very quick to look at the bright side, to think positively and to be cheerful—okay, maybe one or two people. What they don't know is that I revel in the thoughts of heartbreak, emotional pain and misery. Listening to sad songs gives me life. Reminiscing in the distant past is my favourite pastime. And thinking about disastrous possibilities lights up my imagination. I don't think that the opposite of joy is sadness or anger, the opposite of love is hate, or the opposite of content is disruption. In fact, the more you remember the sad/frustrating/terrifying things in life, the more grateful you become of all the good that you already have. For me, remembering the good old days, the happy memories and the beautiful moments often brings me to tears more than anything else. It is only in weakness do we find strength, and in fear do we find courage. Happiness, to me, is about embracing these polar opposites. By relieving them in moderation, you'll be able to air out all the good and bad thoughts out of your system. But overdo it, and you'll be stuck in them forever. 

The older I get, I'm surprised to see how many more people would really rather not deal with the unpleasant things in life. They don't even have to necessarily discuss it with someone else, but even just thinking about it seems to be the last thing they'd want to do. I seem to notice a lot more people holding in their tears or frustration, even when they're by themselves. This I don't understand. I always postpone my tears to before I go to sleep—only when I feel the need to, of course. For whom are you putting up a front when you're by yourself? You already know the kind of person that you are. You already know that you are miserable. If you won't even talk to yourself, who can you trust to share this heartache with?

I believe, that if we can sort our thoughts and feelings accordingly, everything else will fall into place. We'll be able to manage a more organised space. We'll be more inclined to eat a healthy diet. We'll want to exercise more and strive for our goals. We'll even find the need to help others—and, hopefully, the environment too. Before long, we will stop asking ourselves if we're happy—or when we do, we can answer with a resounding "Huh, I guess I am."

What is your key to happiness?

You, Me and Infinity

Eight. It's my favourite number...and a number of years I failed to picture. Five was my benchmark, seven was my 'finish line.' But eight was completely uncharted. It's almost ten, but not quite. It shows us that we have truly grown up together, both evolving at our own pace. We were so very different when we started out, that if we were to come face-to-face with our younger selves, they wouldn't be able to recognise us. But, without realising it, without meaning to, we have become the kind of couple we aspired to become. This past eight years have delivered me to this state: content, peaceful and confident.

It wasn't always like this, of course. When it was one, I remember having irrational bouts of jealousy—which are just laughable. I was insecure and possessive. Well, needless to say, it was a nightmare. We fought constantly, but with such an art, that people tend to think we had no problems as a couple. I wish! Two was better, I suppose, although much harder because of the new distance. We spent most of our time apart, adjusting to our separate lives. Still with the previous problems, obviously. People don't change that easily. Three and four were easier because the distance closed in, so we became once again a part of each other's lives. The fights became less and less each year, even after I threw myself halfway around the world for five, six and seven—though most nights I found myself in tears.

But this past year was different. You performed a miracle. You came home to me. You were willing to talk about all these things digging at the back of my head. You opened up to me like never before, and I began to understand, to feel relieved and to assure you in return. You held my hand in a way that I forget you could, like you're holding on to my soul too. Your eyes looked at me like a canopy, shading me from the harsh, harsh reality. Your laughter put a magic spell on me, setting everything to right in my world. It's nice to know some things never change, and that some others will never stay the same. You are the common denominator, and that is all I need.

This is how I know I've evolved in the one month you were here—more than I have in the three years you weren't: I stopped crying for you the third night after you left. You gave me strength when you let me know we are working towards the same goal. I began to see light at the end of the tunnel. It is the best feeling to know, that while everything else has changed, this alone hasn't. That we still care for one another and we are moving forward together. That you still want me now, the way you did eight years ago. That this isn't a limbo and we'll make sure of that. So hold my hand, honey, because I'm never letting go. Here's to eight years and counting, infinity and beyond.

Current Favourites: Online Finds

If you've been following my blog since at least last year, you would probably remember that I used to have this—shall we say—segment every month, where I compile my favourite reads, watch and listen of said month. But, since I've decided to stop being too structured, serious and planned about this whole blogging thing, I have stopped posting this segment anymore. As much as I love having the free time to do whatever else I prefer, I'm also sometimes close to bursting out with all the stuff I'm dying to share with people. It always feels kind of sloppy and/or out of place to post about them on my social media. Hence this post. These are just a few bits and bobs that I've been really digging on the interweb and I feel like everyone would benefit from having a taste of them.

The Off Camera Show

I love listening to people talk about things they are passionate about, especially public figures. Unfortunately, when it comes to celebrities, interviews with them often become one of those opportunities used by the media to really dig up dirt on their personal life. Sam Jones's conversations with various actors and actresses—be them big award-winning names or ones with subtle fame—offer a different approach and always end up making me feel closer to each and every one of these figures. You can really learn about their back story, their mindset and how they work their craft, without a stint of judgment. It's brilliantly shot in black and white and have seemingly no audience, really completing that sense of intimacy.

Yatzer

It was through an assignment, I think, that I stumbled upon this art blog. Yatzer offers news in the artistic world and introducing numerous creative and unique projects from across the globe. It often dives into the large-scale artwork, including architecture, installations and exhibitions. There are so many incredible, mind-blowing ideas that almost never make it to mainstream media, and here is a place where you can find them. These are some of the best ideas I've ever seen and it's quite unbelievable to know that someone out there has done it. Some of my favourite articles include The Spring Whispers Book Club, Gestural Sculptures of Paint and Algorithmic Portraits.

The Discoverer

Around a year ago, I got a little treat on my inbox when Nicholas, an editor of The Discoverer, emailed to tell me about this idea they were developing. That was how I started subscribing to their amazing newsletter—which I love! A little back story, The Discoverer is a community-based guide for travellers of the world. Every week they send out emails, containing all the information you'd ever need, want or ask for when visiting the week's destination—starting from the best time to go, recommended places to visit, to an experience from one of the community members. They cover a great variety of places around the world, from the most-hyped places to the less well-known ones. Honestly, I've never seen better travel guides.

The Sustainability Project

As someone who has been trying—very lazily—to transition to the zero-waste lifestyle, I've been looking for items I can switch to. So far, I've ever seemed to only find such items in the west—the US or Europe—until I stumbled upon The Sustainability Project. It is a Singapore-based zero-waste shop, filled with amazing, gorgeous products that are plastic-free and aesthetically pleasing. They have items, like bamboo toothbrush, beeswax wrapper and stainless steel bento box. My favourite, to be honest, is the rose gold boba-sized stainless steel straw. Unfortunately, they don't really ship overseas. They tried to give me an exception once, but the shipping turns out to be way too expensive for me. In the end, I managed to find a similar store in Indonesia, but that boba-sized straw can't seem to be found anywhere else. Wish I could go to Singapore just to collect it!

Conception

A web series by New York Times, looking at motherhood through the eyes of 7 women with various backgrounds, various experiences and various feelings about it. I think motherhood is something that is still taboo to talk about, unless you have nothing but joy and elation about the experience. However, in truth, there is definitely so much more to it than that. I mean, sure, we could be happy with the arrival of a little baby, but it can't be the only thing we're feeling—especially if we have to be on its beck and call 24/7. Also, how we see motherhood in general is greatly influenced by our childhood and the people around us. These stories are truly fascinating, unpredictable and greatly touching.

What have you been loving from the internet lately? I'd love to know!

The Irony of Capsule Wardrobes

First coined by Sussie Faux in the 1970s, the term 'capsule wardrobe' refers to a collection of a few essential items of clothing that don't go out of fashion, such as skirts, trousers, and coats, which can then be augmented with seasonal pieces. The aim was to update this collection with seasonal pieces to provide something to wear for any occasion without buying many new items of clothing—according to Faux, for women, this typically consists of 2 pairs of trousers, a dress or a skirt, a jacket, a coat, a knit, two pairs of shoes and two bags. It was later on popularised by Donna Karan, an American designer who, in 1985, launched a capsule collection of seven interchangeable work-wear pieces. Nowadays, the term 'capsule wardrobe' has been used to mean a collection of clothing that is composed of interchangeable items only, to maximise the number of outfits that can be created, often rotated according to the seasons. It is essentially a great way to look good on a small budget.

Today, a lot of people have implemented the capsule wardrobe method to their daily dressing—often having only 30 pieces to wear in a season and rotating it every 3 months. By that definition, this would most likely be a great way to advocate for slow fashion and the minimalist lifestyle. Having a capsule wardrobe should lead you to a life, in which you don't feel the need to shop for a long period of time, until such time that your clothing has worn out or gone beyond repair. Unfortunately, in the process, it doesn't seem to be that simple anymore. Capsule wardrobe today has, in fact, seemed to become an excuse for people to shop and 'update' their clothing collection before the next season starts, whether or not they physically need to have new items injected to their wardrobe.

It is inevitable, for me, to start questioning the purpose of a capsule wardrobe, in relation to a minimalist lifestyle. If capsule wardrobes were meant to create a system, in which we live with a limited number of clothing items, wearing them on rotation and leaving nothing hanging eternally inside our wardrobes, shouldn't it also teach us that we don't need to frequently go out and add new items to what we already own? What good does it do, if a person goes out to buy the clothes before creating their capsule wardrobe and doing so every season? Wouldn't it go against the minimalist lifestyle and implement the wear-and-toss mentality?

Okay, I admit: this is coming from a person who's never tried the whole capsule wardrobe method. And let me throw in two excuses for why: one, I live in the tropics, where the weather is as predictable as the stock market—it could be sunny one minute and thunderstorm the next—so any kind of clothing needs to be available to me at all times; two, I don't have much storage space, which is probably due to my non-minimalistic lifestyle, but it really hinders me from storing my stuff away for a period of time. However, without having joined the bandwagon on capsule wardrobes, I feel like I have been rather good in wearing most of my clothes and refraining from indulging in retail therapy or such things. To be fair, I was basically forced to this change of lifestyle, due to my deteriorating finances. It's got me thinking about priorities—financial and ecological. Instead of blowing off my money on cheap, easily damaged clothes, I'd rather save up for travels or mortgage or new equipment for my career.

Personally, I find this method more helpful and effective, because I get to look all the things that I own and assess which ones I haven't worn in a while and which ones I keep on taking out of the rack. This is also another reason why I don't really put my clothes in storage. We humans seem to stick by the 'out of sight, out of mind' principles, in which we tend to overlook or neglect things we cannot see—on a superficial level: our clothes, our trash and our credit card bills; on a deeper level: wars in other countries, oil spills and landfills. But, if we have them right there in front of our eyes and we continue to neglect them, we will feel bothered by their existence. We will feel the need to trim our lives in such a way that will create as little nuisance and noise in our minds as possible. In short, it gets shit done.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not against capsule wardrobes. By all means, go ahead and do it! But I do feel that most people who practice the capsule wardrobe method these days tend to inject their collections with new items every season, defeating the whole purpose of it in the first place. It, to me, seems rather pointless to a degree, because, even though you have only a limited number of clothes to wear this season, there are most likely still plenty more hidden in your storage—threatened to be forgotten. Not to mention the new items that you 'must' acquire for the season—adding to the heaps in your basement. It would have been better to cut down your clothing pieces altogether and create a permanent capsule wardrobe, in which there are no more collecting dust in storage. What do you guys think? Have you ever tried capsule wardrobes? Do share your experience!

Too Much Is Never Enough

Towards the end of January, Firu came back home to Indonesia and stayed for the entirety of February. As something for which I've been waiting for the last 3 years or so, this instilled all sorts of reactions on my part. I expected the happiness so intense, my mouth would rip in two from all the grinning and beaming I wouldn't be able to help. Yet I didn't expect all the tears and emotional turmoil from not being able to see him every second of every hour of every day. Insane, I know, but the life I left with him was one where we could literally wake next to each other. I guess I expected everything to revert back to how it used to be, if we just see each other again. Maybe we could go back to being young and carefree, completely oblivious to adulthood and all the anxiety that comes with it. But nothing ever happens the same way twice and I am left disappointed by reality.

Don't get me wrong, I am still extremely ecstatic that he's come home, even for just a brief moment. We got to experience all the new and old things together again. This felt both like a déjà vu and something completely unfamiliar. Those eyes still warm my heart, those hands still guide me through and those shoulders still offer protection and comfort. But this is uncharted territory, we've never been here before—him coming to visit me in a place we were both born and raised, from a place we slowly morphed into adults a thousand years ago. It felt both nostalgic and uncomfortable, as if we don't really know if we fit right in anymore.

Here's the thing: he didn't tell me he was coming until he was already there. He caught me completely unawares. I'd already given up on the idea of seeing him again for maybe the next five years—but now here he was, ready to take me in with all the cellulites and hairy limbs and flaws invisible to the internet. And what if I never recover? It took me three years to make peace with the thought of touching him, breathing the same air as his and feeling the heat of his body next to mine again. It felt surreal and exhilarating, but also scary, because it's as if he reset the clock all over again. Will it take me three more years to be okay to be without him again?

While we are still a loving couple, I can't help but to notice that our relationship has grown a whole lot more complicated than it used to be when we were much younger. Adulthood brought with it new flavours of anxiety and burdens that we weren't entirely prepared for: finances, societal pressure and career. Whatever happened to the people who believed that love conquers all? Was it naïve to think that we could overcome hell and high water, if we only have love for one another? Mind you, ours is still a perfectly functional and happy relationship—one that I'd fight tooth and nail to preserve—but I guess I just miss the simple inner workings of my mind from way back when. The mind that hasn't yet learnt that distance is the tower of babel made of steel and concrete, that some worlds are not for you to save and that feelings are individual languages often lost in translation. 

The past 30 days have been a bonding experience like never before. I felt like I kept saying the wrong words, driving him further away from me in a way that geography alone can't do. But, somehow, he kept coming back to me, like a wave at the beach. He opened up to me the way a morning glory does right before dawn. For what felt like the first time throughout the whole of our relationship, I saw him vulnerable with some of his cracks and craters exposed to me. All these concerns and pressures I've never seen before. How could that possibly be when all this time I thought he was perfectly smooth and beautifully untouched? Wasn't I supposed to be the one with all the scorch marks and carved out parts? I lay my hands on his wounds, hoping that my touch would heal them, if only a little bit. Then, just on the second-to-last day, he showed me the best day of the past few years. Without realising, he's reminded me of all the ways he could cherish me, of all his gestures I always see when my eyes are closed tight, and of why we believe we fit like two puzzle pieces. It'll take me years to live it down, I'm sure.

Now we are once again oceans apart. My tears still flow down the stream, but I'm forced to get up to another day of pretending I know what I'm doing. It may seem like everything goes back down to earth, after spending so much time in the clouds, but I already know that it's not going to be the same again. I guess I thought if I could touch him, I'd be able to capture him forever. But it's not time yet. Someone once asked me whether I wanted to keep this going until then, but it's not a question I can answer. If I'd had the choice, do you think I would choose this constant pain in my chest, this endless stream of tears, these days of feeling like a zombie? Of course not. Who'd choose the in-between, if they can have everything? But we can't, and so we endure. That is the best we can do right now. Let's face it—it'll never be enough, but it'd have to do for now.

'Til we meet again!

How to Move On with Your Life

This year 'moving on' seems to be the theme of my life. A few months ago I shared a post on that. While I feel like in the past 365 days I could finally start to make peace with my life-changing decision, compared to the previous years, I can't say that my doubt and pain have completely gone away. There are days when I can totally focus on the present and be optimistic, but there are also days when everything seems pointless and I've got my head in the clouds. In December, particularly, do I feel down right off the bat, because this is the time of year, when I would usually look forward to spending Christmas and New Year's break with Firu. Now there is this void in my heart and I don't know how to fill it.

You know, I have this habit, where at the dead of night, right before falling asleep, I would imagine surprising Firu at his apartment. I would stand at the door of his building or sit on the bed in his room, waiting for him to come home from uni. A smile would be pasted on my face, because I know I wouldn't be able to help it. His face, hopefully, would be full of surprise and delight as he collects me into his embrace. His environment feels so familiar, I could almost see so vividly how he would walk out of the tram station opposite his building, approaching his door. Or the teal-coloured walls that we painted together, the contrasting white bed against it and the mix of orange and red carpet on the floor. Even when I'm not imagining myself in the scenario, just trying to picture what his life looks like at the moment, these details come into view.

However, three months ago, something drastic happened that indirectly affects my life: Firu moved out of his home. It threw me for a bittersweet loop, where I'm not sure whether to feel happy or sad about it. I know, it's probably irrelevant to my actual life, but I can't help but to feel sentimental about the whole thing anyway. I mean, it was the last home of his that I've ever been to. We've created so many precious memories together there. Leaving that place means letting go of them. The walls of his room had to be repainted. His roommates can no longer include me in their lives. And the place is no longer relevant in both of our present—like so many other homes we created before it. Now he lives in a place I've never even known about beforehand, so I can no longer imagine what his life looks like. I can no longer imagine a surprise visit for a faraway future. Everything is completely new and strange.

On the other hand, I'm also relieved. I feel freed from my doubt and haunting regret. If I had stayed in Germany—and, most likely, mainly because of Firu—I would have been miserable, because he would move away anyway. I would be pursuing an education in something I'm not passionate about. I would be living in a shitty apartment that I barely liked. I would only have a few friends to keep me company, granted they'd never left. Who knows what my health and financial condition would be by then. The only light I probably would have had was seeing Firu again soon, which wouldn't happen all that often in his current location. I would be living life as if I'm a ghost, just gliding through each day. It's as if Firu's decision to move away confirmed the vague feeling I have, that the choice I made three years ago was the right one.

Still, I can't help but to feel somewhat guilty, because—let's face it!—whatever the reason, my homecoming was a selfish choice. I constantly feel like I abandoned him, to tough it out alone in a foreign country. Whenever I feel lonely because I miss him so much, Firu constantly reminds me of how lucky I am, to live in a familiar environment, surrounded by my friends and family. And it got me thinking of how alone he actually is, especially now in a different location. While I dream about golden leaves, baroque castles and trams, Firu wishes for rendang, beaches and warmer weather. I would give anything to trade places with him. However, even when he's mad pissed at me, he always says that he doesn't blame me for returning home without him. Why not? I was the reason we couldn't spend time physically together anymore. But, I guess, he doesn't see it that way. He knew I thought it's what was best for me.

Memory is a funny thing; it only lets you see the past the way you want to see it. It emphasises the good and amplifies the bad, depending on where you lean towards. It makes you forget that, even back then, you were just living life. There is a reason the past is in the past and we should trust that we made the right choice leaving it there. People tend to say, "The past can't hurt you," but, at the same time, it also can't make you happy. We're just afraid that change will only bring unfamiliar things—ones that we may or may not like—but if we give it a chance, it may be the best decision of our lives. Every year I say I'm afraid of change—and it may be more glaring and prominent this time—but the next year it proves me wrong. Change is scary, but change is good. Move on.

Goodbye, lovely room, you've been great!