The First Spring, The First Bloom

Wet or dry. Those are the only available seasons where I grew up. There is no such thing as the first rain. The rain comes without permission, and leaves without any goodbye. It blessed some and punished others. So does the dry season. It grows and it kills. The cycle continues like a circle in life with minimum nuance. It has no start, it has no end. Life did not give more than two options back then. It was either wet or dry. Third option hardly exist for most people.

The nuance of seasons grew in me when I traveled to four-season countries. Spring, summer, fall, and winter. As if the life cycle has four different checkpoints in each compass direction. There is still no start and the end of the cycle. Yet spring is always associated with the beginning, and ends in winter. 


People often say spring is the season of life, where the dormant start to come out from their habitat. I only knew what dormant is from a biology textbook. The example was about the bear or turtle, who came awake from the long sleeping period. However, I never saw myself in a dormant state back then. It was always about survival in the two seasons. They never had mercy regardless of how the storm hit the people so hard. 

The hills around Göreme

The first thing in life always leaves a mark in life. So did the first spring I had in Turkey, April 2019. I didn’t see turtles or bears coming out from their lairs. But the buds on each branch of the tree gave a signal. Spring forgives, spring nurtures, and spring helps the life back on its feet. The season must be a mother that loves without asking back. No wonder the living being named it spring, as everything comes out from what perceived as the end. 

Spring in Şirince, around early April 2019

I remember the joy in my first spring. I witnessed the first bloom of cherry blossoms in Istanbul. They were dressed in pink and stood firm around people. Or the wisterias growing on facades. God knows how old they were. Their beauty can be witnessed without seeing one. Their scents filled the joy in the air. Bees were buzzing and dancing around their colorful petals. I fell in love again like the first time, and my heart bloomed like flowers in their first spring.


If only I knew seasons never come in four, would I believe life offers options?

If only spring would never come to my life, would my heart ever bloomed like those flowers?

This year, 2025, the spring decided to come earlier. Half of the magnolias in my neighbourhood have fully bloomed, and the rest will wait for a few more days. They have beautifully risen, yet somehow my heart has not bloomed that huge like in the first spring. Even though my eyes hardly blink every time I pass by blooming trees. The joy of the first spring may never be fully remembered, but those flowers will.




Five Years Later

This February 2025 marks my 5 years in Belgium. I had it celebrated over a Chinese-themed dinner with the other two friends. I’ve been wanting to write this for more than a week, but the writer’s block just went away.


It was around thirty degrees celsius in January 2019. I was slouching on my bed, waiting for my insomnia to stop haunting me from after-work fatigue. An email sent to my inbox that flipped my life forever. I won a scholarship after three years of trying. Who knows how many nights had passed until this day happened. Maybe it was not a desire to be better. It was the curiosity on the embarking journey to the west. I wanted to speak a language that I rarely spoke. I wanted to understand why Italian tomatoes are hailed by Europeans. I wanted to touch the snow for the first time. I wanted to tell my friends that Europeans don’t speak the same language. Not a single word of Europeanese was heard. Also, they eat different foods.


I started my year in Salzburg, Austria, for 5 months until the middle of February. 21 students from 19 nationalities that had been together for months had to split their study tracks. The social science background had to move to Brussels, and the rest went to Copenhagen. More than half of us moved to Belgium, including me. It is a country that I never expected to live in. Nor settling here. Growing in a former Dutch colony country, I always thought the Netherlands was the destination. Or at least English-speaking neighboring countries like Malaysia or Singapore. The universe had another plan that was not on my bingo card.


Giulia, trying to cut her Italian heritage on our dinner celebration.

Some of us were too poor (or stingy) to take the train or airplane. Those options cost us at least more that 100 euros. There was a winter sale on Flixbus, and a 5 euro one-way ticket was only as expensive as less than 10 euros. It was less than a tenth of the other two options. If that was not a steal, I don’t have another word option to articulate it. Around seven of us took this option, a journey that took almost 20 hours to Brussels. We were sitting on the second level of a double-decker green bus. We arrived at Gare du Nord (the north station) around 5AM. Only the fool could overcome their fear. That’s how I picture that, considering we had no idea on the area.

Five years later, I am still here in Brussels. Some of us also are also still here, or choose their own path outside of the country. They are my blood and tears. My song to the joy. My wail to the cry. Having people growing in and out in my life made me a different person. Whether I be a better or worse person, it is up to you to judge. We celebrated our five years over a small dinner at my friend’s flat with a few boozes and Chinese-themed cooking. Five years is not a long period, but I never expected it to vanish in a few breaths. I don’t know where the next five years will bring me over. Maybe, I’ll move. Maybe I’ll stay. Whatever the way, hopefully life shapes me into a better person.


Sebuah Catatan Menuju Yogyakarta

Dan kali ini kereta yang kamu tunggu telah tiba. Jam menunjukkan pukul lima pagi lewat lima puluh menit, waktu Indonesia bagian barat. Kereta Taksaka Kencana siap melaju menuju Yogyakarta. Tidak ada yang kau tinggalkan di Jakarta. Sebab engkau lahir, tak empunya apa-apa.


Kini kereta sudah tiba, sebentar lagi akan melaju cepat. Selamat tinggal Jakarta, kelak kita akan berjumpa.



Stasiun Gambir, 2 Januari 2024.

Only Human

On the second of May, 11 years ago, my dad passed away from a stroke and a heart disease. He was almost 50 that year, and I was about to be 20 in the coming days.

There’s not so much I know about my dad. Somehow, Asian fathers in his generation were made to be a mystery. No story was shared to his kin, as if a key was never made to open the lock. I cannot count how heavy weights he had to carry to his final days. He let it go at last. The suffering was not worth carrying on. Four days after he left the earth, my brother and I found ourselves on the sea, riding on a fishing boat in the northern part of Jakarta to scatter his ashes. My mother was not on the ride since it was too emotional to handle.

I don’t have so much memory of him, let alone a good one, despite us living under the same roof. Maybe because the classic narratives of ‘Mom has to take care of the kids and dad does the work’ made me think both parents have different functions. The only thing I knew before was both of my parents were coming from the same island and met in Jakarta to find jobs. He was a cook, and my mom was a hairdresser. He was lucky to finish high school, whilst my mom only could stay until elementary school because of her economic situation. Having a higher education was, is, and will be a luxury in my home country. His love was a tough one, and often forced me to study accounting for my bachelor’s (Chinese roots need to be good with money). I took advertising instead, and he questioned my future. Yet, he supported my choice.

I could vividly remember when he was bedridden in the hospital and knew I got a chance for a student exchange experience in the Netherlands due to my score. The light that had dimmed in his eyes seemed to find its way out when he heard this story. He passed away six months after that. Only until I came back to Indonesia a few months ago, my mom told me a bit about my dad in a discussion over lunch time. Perhaps one day I can understand him not only as a father, but also as a person.


May 2, 2023
Brussels - Belgium


#30

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On the 29th of May 2022, the clock witnessed me on earth for approximately 946.100.000 seconds. Google told me so, I never keep track of the time. I also have lost count how many times I fell in love, had a broken heart, overjoyed, burned-out, cried, and other things I couldn’t even describe. These 10 fingers aren’t made for that.

Funnily enough, I, someone who used to quantify stuff, do not care less about my age now (except my fear of osteoporosis). Thirty is just a number, they say. Yet, this magical number is often capitalized by the so-called notorious magazine for their own goods. Open LinkedIn, and see how many times have you seen ’30 Under 30’ shown on your feed. More than my fingers, obviously.

Does it make you anxious, now? I don’t have any ill-feeling for those who are on the list, but life doesn’t end at 30. For those who read this, you don’t need to be at Mount Everest on/under your 30. Enjoy the walk, the trip, the companion, the pain, the weather, and everything under the cloud. It won’t come twice.

Porcelain

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I wish life can be like a trampoline


I could just jump, and life would bounce me back


but that's the never case of mine


like throwing a porcelain


that's the only chance to do it right


and life never offer the second chance once it is broke

Never Put Lemon Juice on Your Face

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To whoever knows me since I was in junior high school, I was a person who suffered from a major acne breakout until I didn’t even recognise my face. This was happening until the next 15 years, even when I wasn’t a teenager anymore. Becoming an adult-who-suffered-from-acne-breakout unconsciously made me less confident with myself. I rarely wanted to be in the photo, especially on a birthday occasion. I remembered there were moments when I woke up with blood stains in my pillow sheets. My desperation made me believe what’s written on the internet. From putting lemon juice on my face, as well as spreading coconut oil with DIY essential oils. The result? It wasn’t getting any better for years even until I stopped the practice. Here is a pic of mine during my trip in April last year (2019).

Real plot twist: it was on both sides of my cheek. This was the result of my acne-prone skin combined with DIY stuff from the internet. Never ever trust what you’ve read on the first sight. Always check other reputable sources to verify the fact.

Real plot twist: it was on both sides of my cheek. This was the result of my acne-prone skin combined with DIY stuff from the internet. Never ever trust what you’ve read on the first sight. Always check other reputable sources to verify the fact.

Misinformation can happen to everyone. As a communication practitioner, I was ashamed I didn’t screen thoroughly all written information on the internet, including social media. My blind faith put me in a difficult position and it did affect my well-being that much. Finding the professional in the respective field is the viable solution I have - which in this case is my dermatologist. She even lost words when she saw my face condition. I remembered how painful it was to be injected with Vitamin C directly to my acne in two different sessions. This (bitter) experience motivates me to always reminding people the importance of trusting legit professionals rather than following random micro-influencer advice. Long story short, I put all my experience and thoughts about how fake online information affects people’s well-being on an academic paper and it got published (click to read the article)! This makes me more than just happy, but also as my first step in campaigning the right information on social media. Feel free to read it and let me know what’s your thought!

A year after I went to a dermatologist and using legit products afterwards. It’s not at Asian-perfect level, but it’s waaaay better than my previous condition. Always follow professional’s advice!

A year after I went to a dermatologist and using legit products afterwards. It’s not at Asian-perfect level, but it’s waaaay better than my previous condition. Always follow professional’s advice!