Whoa, I have a travel blog! (And a heavily romanticized poetry blog)

I'm usually lousy and mix everything I own in one place. Take, for example, my notes at college. Absurd at its best, unreadable at its worst. But I prefer practicality any day.

Until I hit the road and stumbled upon many, many stories I knew instantly I NEEDED to tell. And it can't be crammed into this blog since this one--I love you still, Blogger, I do--has contained enough rant about my misfortune already. So I made a new one, and you can read it on navigatia.wordpress.com (it's clickable, and yes, only the domain changed).

Oh, I also have a poetry blog! Beware, all of these came when I was at the most unstable, lovesick-mess self. But of course, maybe you can relate to these poems since you're in luv: selfmadehappyness.blogspot.com (also clickable, and maybe lovable!) <3

I received some inbox and realtime question that all went like, "Do you still write?" The answer is I do, and I'm so happy I can write across any media. I still write fiction and non-fiction, some of them I only rewrote from people whose voice were being silenced (I worked at a humanitarian NGO and an environmental NGO and wrote at their platform).

Thanks for reading! I will write here anytime soon! :)

Salah Kaprah Mencintai Tuhan

I know, I know. This title is rather controversial. I won't be surprised to see one or two people saying rude things in the comment. But one wise writer said, "Write in a way that scares you a little."

Selain dipicu naiknya isu radikalisme dan intoleransi di Indonesia, dan tren spektrum kanan di politik berbagai negara dunia, saya baru-baru ini mengalami perbincangan seperti ini:

R: Aku bikin teman-temanku telat naik kereta.

E: Lho, kenapa?

R: Mereka ngotot nunggu aku salat Jumat.

E: Bagus, dong. I've never witnessed quite a solid friendship for a long time.

R: Ada satu orang yang nggak suka. Dia bilang, "Kamu terlalu takut sama Tuhan."

Jleb. Pernyataan orang yang direferensikan teman saya membuat dada saya berdegup. Saya agak maklum, sebetulnya, dengan nosi seperti itu. Mengingat teman saya ini Muslim yang tinggal di Eropa, dan orang yang memprotesnya beribadah itu atheis. NOT that all atheists act that way. Tapi pernyataan itu menyisakan pertanyaan yang membuat saya gundah.

Apakah ada sesuatu yang dinamakan "terlalu takut sama Tuhan"? Atau, "terlalu cinta sama Tuhan"? Sampai-sampai kita melupakan pola komunitarianisme yang menekankan agar kita mementingkan greater goods?

Saya tinggal di keluarga yang cukup religius, dan orangtua saya menyarankan agar saya memilih pemimpin yang seagama dengan saya di pemilu Jakarta tempo hari. Sewaktu saya menunjukkan penolakan, dan berargumen pemimpin pilihan saya lebih capable membangun kota dan memberantas korupsi, adik saya (yang belum punya hak suara, btw) nyinyir bertanya, "Jadi lo nggak mau mematuhi perintah Tuhan? Lebih pilih kehidupan dunia daripada akhirat?"

Duh, retorik sekali pertanyaan itu. Orangtua saya yang moralis garis keras pasti mengekspektasikan saya menjawab, "Ya akhirat lah ya." Saat itu, saya hanya bungkam. Argumen saya, jika saya salah memilih pemimpin dan kota saya kembali ke titik minus dalam hal pembangunan, apakah saya tidak kena dosa juga? Jika pilihan saya salah, dan saya secara tidak langsung membuka peluang untuk korupsi yang kian merajalela dan kesenjangan sosial yang meluas, apakah Tuhan tidak menotifikasi bahwa itu juga kesalahan saya? Bukankah, pada akhirnya, semuanya kembali pada dosa apa yang kita pilih?

Saya tahu, posisi keluarga saya dalam isu tersebut didorong kecintaan mereka pada Tuhan, selain media yang parsial. Tapi bukankah cara untuk mencintai Tuhan tidak selalu saklek atau tunggal? Apakah mengutamakan kepentingan bersama, dengan peduli pada ciptaan-Nya, bukan cara untuk mencintai-Nya?

Pernah saya bertemu orang yang sekiranya lucu dan kontradiktif. Dia adalah orang yang sangat religius, tapi hobi melakukan pelecehan seksual. Beberapa orang yang saya kenal pernah menjadi korban. Suatu saat saya pernah mendengarnya berkata, "Yang penting kamu salat dan ngaji, biar Allah sayang kamu terus!" pada cucunya. Saya memandang itu lucu, bagaimana dia menghormati Tuhan tapi tidak menghormati ciptaan-Nya. (Masa iya sih, kalau kamu mengaku sayang pada ayahmu, kamu dengan sengaja, katakanlah, mengempeskan ban mobilnya?) Apakah dengan salat dan ngaji saja, tanpa berkelakuan baik pada orang lain, cukup membuatnya dicintai Tuhan?

Seorang senior pernah berkata bahwa Tuhan itu dualis, dan saya setuju. Di agama saya, Tuhan menurunkan ayat tentang hukuman, tapi ada juga ayat tentang pengampunan. Dia menyediakannya secara utuh, tetapi membiarkan kita, dengan akal sehat kita, memilih ayat mana untuk diimplementasikan pada situasi seperti apa. It varies and it's amazing, really, to think people can choose differently using the same holy source. Why don't we embrace the amazing-ness of it instead of endlessly fighting over it?

Menurut saya, orang-orang yang ngotot bahwa hanya ada satu cara mencintai Tuhan itu salah kaprah. Dan itu juga yang membuat pemikiran para radikal agama salah kaprah. Bila kita semua percaya bahwa Tuhan itu satu, kenapa harus terganggu dengan orang yang memiliki agama berbeda? Bukankah semua agama adalah jalan untuk menuju Dia, dan pada akhirnya, Dia yang menentukan jalan yang paling benar? Kenapa harus memaksakan bahwa jalan kita adalah jalan yang paling benar?

Maybe everyone loves differently. Maybe it's all that matters. You have your own choice, so do other people. Nobody's wrong in this matter, unless you're goody-two-shoes who compels the others to follow your choice.

On Writing: A Case of Being Inarticulate

I have written since I was 3. Yes, most people start with reading, but I started with writing. Of course, my handwriting was messy, the words didn't make sense. But when I got my first book published, my parents crooned, "Oh, your talent shows from a very young age!"

The question: why do I write? How did I come to find the pleasure in telling my stories in the platform? Many people don't believe my love for writing stemmed from the fact that I am inarticulate. If you don't know what it is, inarticulate is incapable of expressing thoughts and feelings into speech.

Investigating on this, I asked my parents what kind of kid I was. They said I had vivid imagination, I remembered things clearly to the details, and I loved stories (bed-time and real-life drama my cousins told, that's it). My parents provided me storybooks even before I started kindergarten. Additionally, they also said I had curiosity towards the unknown. This last disposition, I suppose, wasn't nurtured very well. Most of childhood I spent either going out with my relatives (my parents only let me go with people they really know), and watching from behind the fences as my same-age friends played together. My parents were really protective; they still are. But I couldn't really blame them, because in reality I was nearly kidnapped when I was a baby. (Anyway, I am who I am today because of the way they built me, so thank you, Mamma and Dadda.)

But you can imagine. This little girl, with her imagination and thirst for connection, easily attuned to new information like antennae picking up signals, being shut out from the outer world. I became friend with books and stories, and sucker when it came to traditional game (lompat karet, congklak, bekel, anyone?). I didn't understand how my same-age friends acted that way, talked that way, because from books that was not how I knew people in the world behave. Thus came the communication issue. I hardly expressed my thoughts very well, because I constantly tried to express it in the way people could understand. I spent so much time thinking on the way I could express my thoughts, when talking. It was a struggle, it was exhausting. When I didn't know my communicants very well, when I couldn't picture their reaction, I either mumbled or opted to say nothing at all. But to people I (think I) know and am comfortable with, well, they know how nosy I can be.

So when speech fails me, how am I supposed to make my words count? How can I make people understand? How can I untrap myself from the wall that makes me feel lonely? The solution is writing. I love writing because it gives me structure of my thoughts, and it makes me reflect more (if I didn't have the idea to write this "on writing" thingy, I wouldn't jump to my parents asking them how I behaved as child). Writing liberates me out of my confusion by giving me strict, clear-cut guidance to sound my voice.

Of course, people like me cannot stand rigid structure that much. I have low level of tolerance for that, I prefer flexibility. I usually don't write synopsis (unless my editors ask me HAHAHA) because I feel like they strangle me to commit to them. While in the process, I usually seek to explore more ways to resolve the conflict I present in my story, the twist in my essays. Usually, I only decide the ending of my story or the conclusion of my non-fiction, before gearing up to find a plot that streams toward that end. Every time I am faced to rewriting ideas for my tasks, I always start from the conclusion, make points of it, and note the parts that match the points.

Another part I love from writing: it makes me listen more. Good writers are good listeners, how can you come up with something interesting when you are not attuned to your surroundings? From listening, I can pick so many interesting puzzles to piece up in my writing. The process is just enjoyable. From being a good listener, I also learn to be a present-person. I live in the here and now, remembering the details of people and moments.

I know a lot of writers who use, "Writing makes you immortal," or, "Writing is a way you can be useful to the society," as their jargon. Me, I am not that charitable. I write to express, not to impress, so I purely write for personal satisfaction, which sounds kinda egoistical. But who cares.

Conclusion: that's my case of writing! I write because I am inarticulate and writing helps me to put my expression in a more concrete, understandable way. What about you? Why do you write? What benefit do you reap from it?

Kutu(k)an

(Demi perlindungan informan, semua identitas disamarkan.)

Sewaktu saya mencium tangan mama sebelum berangkat ke salah satu desa Baduy Luar, pesan beliau masih sama dengan default sebelumnya: "Jangan macam-macam, ikuti kata ketua suku, kalo jalan jangan lupa ikat tali sepatu." Saya membalas sekadarnya, "Doain aja."

Perjalanan ke desa tersebut membuat saya yakin mama memang mendoakan saya. Trekking di jalanan berbatu pada pukul satu dinihari dengan perut kosong membuat saya memperlambat gerak kelompok. Hampir jatuh, hampir menyerah. Keadaan yang gelap tanpa lampu dan kesadaran bahwa di kiri-kanan saya jurang tidak banyak membantu. Begitu saya sampai di rumah Kang Rosyid di Dusun Cicakal, tempat Baduy Luar bermukim di Desa Kanekes, saya langsung tepar. Ambyar.

Saya berplesir ke Dusun Cicakal dalam rangka mengambil gambar untuk film dokumenter. Buat ukuran saya sih, itu tergolong nekat, karena saya pergi ke tempat tanpa sinyal saat pekan UTS. (Sebenernya pengin menjelaskan betapa susahnya kuliah di jurusan saya... tapi ... ah sudahlah.) Proses pengambilan gambar saya lakukan bersama seorang kolega, Intan.

Dusun Cicakal dan perempuan jagoan yang membangunnya.

Syuting di tempat yang tidak saya mengerti bahasanya dan tidak saya kenal medannya adalah tantangan sendiri. Saya dan Intan baru memulai kegiatan kami pukul sembilan, sementara tim yang lain pergi ke dusun Baduy Dalam yang berjarak lima jam perjalanan. (Yep, nope I'm good thankyou.) Karena saya berusaha mempertahankan idealisme akan consent subjek bidikan saya, maka saya tidak menyembunyikan kamera.

Looking at it now, I wonder if I had made the right decision.

Susah banget, men. Mencari informan untuk diwawancarai. Target saya waktu itu adalah perempuan penenun, anak-anak, dan bapak-bapak yang meladang. Singkat cerita, para Baduy Luar begitu pemalu. Setiap kali mendekat, pandangan mereka langsung terpusat ke kamera saya dan menghindar. Jadi nggak enak sendiri, kan, sewaktu saya baru mau say hi tapi perempuan yang sedang mencari nafkah dengan menenun langsung masuk ke rumah tanpa melanjutkan pekerjaannya. Belum lagi kami sempat berpapasan dengan senior yang mewanti-wanti, "Tadi gue deketin penenun yang hampir nimpuk gue kalo gue nggak buru-buru pergi!" Hadeuh, jadi makin sungkan.

Mereka yang lebih ramah dan terbuka, menurut saya, justru nenek-nenek. Saya sempat duduk di dipan rumah sepasang nenek dan kakek yang mempunyai warung. Si nenek begitu ekspresif dan bergairah menjelaskan aktivitasnya... dalam bahasa Sunda! Atas nama kesopanan, saya dan Intan cuma bisa manggut-manggut. Nggak apa ya, Nek?

Beberapa orang lain yang juga terbuka berusaha lebih keras untuk berkomunikasi dengan kami. Seorang penenun muda (sebut saja Mawar) contohnya. Menurut perkiraan saya, umurnya kurang dari 15 tahun. Tapi waktu saya tanya, dia jawab, "Dua puluh." Lah, lebih tua dari saya dong?

Saat itu saya mencoba maklum. Orang Baduy memang begitu awet muda. Saya pun lanjut bertanya berapa lama biasanya dia menuntaskan kain tenunannya. Apa jawabannya? "Dua puluh."

Dua puluh hari? saya menegaskan. Dia menganggukan konfirmasi.

Obrolan kami mulai lancar setelahnya. Sampai saya bertanya lagi, "Kalau dijual di kota, harganya berapa?" Si Mawar menjawab, "Dua puluh."

Intan, yang nggak selemot saya, langsung berbisik, "Cha, anu... kayaknya dia cuma tahu angka 20. Mending kita jangan tanyain hal-hal numerik."

Tratakdungcess.

Saya menghargai usaha Mawar. Dia adalah informan paling kooperatif yang saya temui. Sedangkan informan paling asyik tentu saja Ronald dan Messi, dua anak yang berhasil memancing saya sampai ke seberang sungai. Mereka juga yang mempertemukan saya dengan orang yang "mengutuk" saya.

Gara-gara hari sudah sore dan saya belum juga mendapatkan stok video yang memadai, saya berniat mewawancarai Kang Amir. Pekerjaan beliau, menurut saya, begitu menarik. Tapi, belum saya membuka mulut, Kang Amir berkata, "Saya nggak mau direkam."

Saya pun berusaha melobi beliau. Tapi beliau tetap bersikeras. "Kalau nanti direkam diam-diam, hati-hati saja kameranya rusak!"

Dan, jegerrr! Kutukan dijatuhkan! Saya seharusnya ingat kata mama, tapi rasa letih membuat saya diam-diam memfoto beliau. Saya kembali ke Jakarta dengan perasaan waswas. Untungnya, kamera saya maupun memorinya baik-baik saja.

Tapi entah sengaja atau tidak... barang elektronik saya memang rusak setelah pulang dari Cicakal! Pertama adalah ponsel saya yang jatuh ke kloset (it's a long story) empat hari setelah kembali ke Jakarta. Untuk mereparasinya, saya harus mengorek 1,3 juta dan kehilangan data di memori internal.

Karena saya harus pergi ke luar kota lagi untuk membuat output perjalanan lainnya, jadilah saya menggunakan ponsel lama saya. Tak dinyana, ponsel saya itu juga hilang di perjalanan. Tapi rasa lelah lagi-lagi membuat saya tidak peduli. Yang lebih bikin gemas justru ini: di hari pertama, cuma satu dari tiga kamera yang bisa dioperasikan! Lho, kenapa? Karena satu kamera ketinggalan SD card-nya, dan satu lagi ketinggalan baterai cadangannya. Saya cuma bisa pasrah. Satu hari jelas waktu yang berharga.

Rupanya rentetan kesialan itu belum selesai. Sampai di Jakarta, beberapa hari setelah perjalanan tersebut, kamera saya tidak bisa dibuka penutup lensanya! Saya sempat panik, but luckily my cousin came to the rescue. Saya pun membawa kamera itu ke tempat jalan-jalan saya berikutnya. Sampai saya ingat... saya tidak bawa baterai!

Minggu depannya, saya sudah memastikan membeli empat pak baterai ABC (yes, my camera is THAT old) untuk keperluan memotret lain. Di mobil, saya menyetel kamera. Saat itulah saya baru sadar bahwa screen kamera saya retak! Walau EVF-nya alhamdulillah berfungsi dengan baik sehingga masih bisa memotret, tapi saya nggak bisa me-review hasilnya. Sial!

Sambil menangis pun saya menceritakan hal ini pada seorang teman. Katanya, "Cha, kayaknya ini lo dikutuk!"

Saya cuma bisa sesenggukan. Teman saya terdiam dan berpikir. "Nggak apa, Cha. Gue waktu ke Baduy dan naik gunung pernah kutuan. Lebih parah dari kutukan kan?"

Tentu saja, semua kesialan yang terjadi memiliki penjelasan logis: memang saya saja yang ceroboh menjurus goblok. Tapi saya jadi berandai-andai sendiri, kalau saja waktu itu saya tidak memfoto bapak itu, apakah kamera dan dua ponsel saya masih utuh?

Pesan moral:

1. Ingat kata pepatah: di mana Bumi berpijak, di situ langit dijunjung!

2. Selalu minta bantuan gatekeeper selama mencari bahan output perjalanan.

3. Jangan ceroboh.

4. Ingat selalu kata Mama.

Environmental Degradation in Pop Culture, Represented

"When the last tree has been cut down, the last fish caught, the last river poisoned, only then will we realize that one cannot eat money."

The proverb is a common saying from Native American. Sadly, just like most flowery, wise sayings, it only ends in Instagram and twitter and facebook timeline, gets responded by retweets and likes before being swiped and forgotten. Bottom line: people hardly take it seriously.

I always believe one must show their commitment by tangible action. (Avoid the word "concrete" cause it's a political word.) If you say you're not ignorant to environmental problems, show your commitment by reducing plastic bottle and use of electricity. Earth doesn't need words, you know. It never asks, "Thank me for the vegetables, the meats, the water," everytime we get our consumerism gets in the way.

Since Earth is a silent figure, I love how these creative people try to express what Earth is feeling to our millennials. They portray the chaos when Earth starts being infertile, when Earth is hurting.

BOOK

Not A Drop to Drink by Mindy McGinnis

Open this book and you will be transferred to a world where water is a scarce resource. Survivability is at stake. Humans hunt and kill each other for unpolluted ponds and streams. 

Our heroine, Lynn, takes turn to sleep with her mother every night, with riffle by their side. They must watch for greedy intruders who wish to steal water from their pond, the only thing that keeps them alive. Over days, many people die from thirst. Lynn and her mother stay in the edge of civilization, far away from other polluted communities. They risk being frozen and starving at winter, because collecting appropriate winter meals will mean traveling to other side of the region, which means nobody guards their precious pond. 

This book is not an easy read for me, because of the explicit depiction of killings and violence. But it's real. It's hella real. What Lynn experiences can be a prophecy for humanity, if we continue our unsustainable lifestyle. Now watch the tag of your clothes. Can you imagine how many waste your goods produce until they arrive in your hand? How many detox, with the same color as your favorite bomber jacket, is dumped to our river each day? 

Rethink. Reflect.

MOVIE

Moana directed by Ron Clements

I will surely dump Frozen and Tangled for this! I'm betting you and your cousins have already watched it too, and frankly, I can't blame you. Aside from its feminist heroine and sick soundtracks, Disney finally portrays one rare thing: environmental degradation caused by human's greed. Maui, motivated by his ego, stole the heart of Te Fiti (which, for me, is the portrayal of Mother Earth). Te Fiti turned infertile and cranky since then: it stops providing Moana's people food and spreads plague to the land. Maui lost it all, his fame as hero, his power, and only when he restores the heart of Te Fiti, he could repair everything. 

What I don't like from this movie: the "repairing" part is kinda surreal. If we don't take action now, it will be too late for either repair or regret.

VIDEOS

She's Alive... Beautiful... Finite... Hurting... Worth Dying For by Bittu Sahgal

This video is so good. I love how Sahgal portrayed Earth as the absolute mother figure. She nurtures, feeds, shelters, grows. Equally. She has a place for everybody, every creatures. We take so much from her without giving her some payoff. Sounds familiar, right? 

We continue to take her for granted. She's hurting, the way Malin Kundang's mother hurts. So before one day, her anger is boiling and she curses us to our doomsday, you'd better rethink; reflect. 

Loved Clothes Last by Fashion Revolution

I discovered this video lately, and was enchanted by the relatability of this video. As hard as I try not to splurge on clothes (books and travel still top my spending), I still occassionally buy fashion stuffs I don't need just because it's cute or trending or simply because I need one with particular color to match my other fashion items. Now I know the hobby is not healthy, for my wallet and for my environment.

Fashion shows identity for most our kekinian millennials. But darling, thousands of labors in developed countries are paid poorly to make your favorite croptop, your elegant cullote, items you'll get bored with when the season ends. And after you dump your clothes, they end up in landfill. So the next time, before you buy... please rethink. Reflect.

PHOTO STORIES

 A Daughter's Freedom Weighed Against Her Siblings' Lives by Zohra Bensemra 

Drought has hit Africa again, and the impact left a mark on Zeinab. The 14 girl was forced into marriage in exchange for dowry from her wealthier husband. The dowry, her family wished, could help them survive the drought and buy their basic needs, which came scarcer and pricier.

 

I don't know about you, but this photostory disturbed me a lot. The prospect that I enjoy air-conditioned rooms, opening my laptop and playing YouTube, while a girl's freedom could save her family from starvation is just unacceptable. In the end I try to rethink and reflect, and reduce the use of my electricity (our electricity, my friends, is sourced from PLTU, which uses coal to generate our electricity; the generation process produces bucks of of carbondioxide which contribute A LOT to global warming). I also learn to not dump my meals. 

This photostory transformed me, and I hope it does its magic on you too.

This Is What the World Looks Like Without Water by Kate Bubacz 

The theme is the same: drought. The country is different: Bolivia. The effect is different: many people lose their jobs due to drying lakes. 

As a citizen whose city is flooding everytime it rains, I was left in shock. But then my shock turned into misery, knowing the drought was partly caused by global warming, and how our continuous actions support the phenomenon.

Hello, passengers! Sorry for the delay!

I did not expect I would hibernate for almost three months. But, hey, buddies. Life happen and if you inhale it with full force--being a present-person like me--you can lose sense of place and time. Then life just goes in blur.

I've been getting more reflective lately. From the start of 2017, I've been carrying a journal, genuinely for medical reason. My doctor told me it would do me good, to keep track of my mental stance: what emotion dominates the rest for one day, my bucket list (a.k.a. things that will keep me alive, in case something bad happens), what mechanism proven efficient to put me to sleep (I use this application named Calm to meditate and it's kinda helpful), etc.-etc. I forget that I am a natural storyteller, and as I flip my journal back and forth, I find it hollow, to feel those things alone, to think alone, to see one point of view alone.

Loneliness, my doctor agrees, won't do me good. Although independence is.

So... here I am, writing for you again. And I will update and spill my thoughts more often, will try my best not to make some petty excuses. Cause, you know, excuses are made to ensnare oneself.

Thank you for being so kind, passengers.

... and the adventure goes on

I've always been a crybaby when it comes to farewell.

Ask anybody who has the "honor" of being my company in watching movies. They will tell you how hysterical I sobbed whenever a character said goodbye. In our reality, which, perhaps more painful than movies since we encounter it firsthand, though not as dramatic, I don't seldom cry. But I shriek. Inwardly. Innately.

Back to when we were children, "goodbye" only meant "until tomorrow". The same rule applied to feud, to "mom-I-hate-her" or "I-don't-like-the-subs-teacher". As we grow up, we learn that some goodbyes are meant to be forever. In my account, I watched my cat buried beneath the earth when I was in fourth grade, and my grandpa--who was also my BFF!--in fifth grade. I watched my friends who moved to a new neighborhood because their house couldn't load their ever-enlarging family. Or those who moved to another school, another school, another country. I knew I wouldn't see them again, and it was me who always got left behind.

Middle school ended, and then and only then I realized, for the first time in forever, people didn't leave me. I drifted apart, too. Everything started to become more practical and less personal since then. Because when things reached their expiring date, I simply found somewhere else to be. It goes on in circle. It never stops. Even until now.

I've grown more accustomed to farewell. It doesn't stop me from choking my heart out whenever I see something gets closer to their due date, nevertheless. In my despair, I usually try to cling to the last moment. The last day as a member of a team, the last day at school, the last day before my beloved gets onto airplane and flies, flies away. But God doesn't let me play Him, doesn't allow me to freeze the time or set it in slow motion. Who is me anyway.

So things end, and my routine clears, my schedule empties. In first days, I would feel... hollow. Like a phantom. I take few breaths before settling into anything else.

But against my own judgment, I'm kinda fast on continuing to row my boat. I knew it some days ago, when my friend, somebody who always brings out the best in me, casually flipped her hair and shrugged,

"You know, I think it's funny, how you try to cling onto things as they end, but has the fastest beat in finding another thing to enjoy and fill the hole."

I was aghast, because I never thought I was somebody who moved on first. I am melancholic that way.

"I'm not with you everyday, but look at your Instagram feeds and stories. How you laughed in those pictures, how you're laughing with me, right here, right now, after telling me you just broke up, your cat went missing, and your mom's sick. You're a present person, Cha."

Her explanation just made everything crazier. And I realized it was inappropriate for me to laugh because my mom was sick. She still is, in fact. (Please, send her your best prayer.)

Yet, those words remain true to some degree. Recently, I lost my favorite kitten, Bola. Somebody gave up on me after seven bleeding years. My mom got sick. And... one I didn't tell her because it made me feel like a coward: I was crippled by fear of continuing my journey as a core committee team. Because the people are different and I loved my old team so very dearly. I held on to our last togetherness together: one trip to Pulau Seribu, one trip to Puncak.

But as much as God loves making me miserable by taking things from me, He also loves surprises. Bola's mother gave birth to four kittens. And even though they won't ever replace the love I have for Bola, they are mindblowingly, otherworldly cute. And I love them.

I didn't get instant replacement for my man. Instead, I was offered an internship as bilingual news editor/journalist in a humanitarian agency. Me, doing what I love (re: writing) for something that's always been my purpose (re: human rights and social justice). It was beyond my wildest dream. I was scared at first, but just like my friend said.... I made friends, I made my words count, I made it. I had my frantic times but I had fun. After my internship ended, I was offered another job as editor in environmental-based website, and teacher in my old place.

My mom is still fighting, and I am ready to wear my armor. She gets better everytime, and if that's not something to be thankful for, I don't know what it is.

As for being that team... yesterday we conducted actual farewell to the old team. And it was far from sadness; it was all cheer and merry. Nobody held grudges, nobody got angry, nobody got emotional. Everybody laughed, hugged each other, exchanged hellos, asked what they would do next. I had fun, too. And that farewell was actually well. Suited the name. (Spoiler: I usually think farewell should be fare[un]well.)

Last week, we conducted another event, and I had fun too. I always have fun! And I guess it doesn't matter where I go, people who I am with, things I do. For as long as I carry an open heart and open mind, things will always be alright and bring me joy.

And I realized my friend was right. I'm pretty much a present person. When things come to an end, I feel heavy to let it go because I think I will go back to my mundane life. But my life never goes mundane. I always have something exciting to do, friends to have good and long conversation with, family to welcome me home, passion to do. It constantly goes up and down and never static. And when I hit the moment when everything is laughter and dance and jokes, I soak through it: I exhale the high and live my feelings to the fullest, I forget to compare it with others.

And I always have that moment, somewhere, sometime. My adventure goes on.

This writing has gotten longer than I intended it to, HAHA, but here is it.

Here's to Bola, Refal, and Core Team 2016.

I love you and I had great adventure! We were on the same ship, but it's time we harbor at different transits. To head to our own destination.

Here's to my past, with gratitude.

My present, with openness.

And my future, with hope.

I will keep cruisin'.