on being single

I was never the kind of girl who constantly has a boyfriend. I had my first boyfriend when I was 12, but I didn't know what it was all about, so long story short he broke up with me after a month. Then my love life was pretty much non-existent for a decade or so. When people asked why, I really didn't know how to answer. Maybe it was because I was shy, awkward and quiet, so I assume I was unapproachable? I feel like I wasn't good looking, or stylish enough either, to catch anyone's attention. So, yeah, that's probably it. And I didn't want to say it out loud because that would be like admitting your weakness, in a way. No?

Then I had another boyfriend at 24. A wrong one. With all the red flags. But I stayed in the relationship for five years, at the time because I thought that was it? If it was filled with obstacles and you had to work hard for it, must be true love, I thought. Maybe. Or maybe I was just afraid to be alone, and if I had let go sooner, I didn't know if I could get another boyfriend again or not. Spoiler alert: I didn't. Between then and now there have been one "almost", one complicated false alarm, a few meaningless  shags, and that's it. 

See, there were times when having a boyfriend is on the top of my priority list, but I didn't know how to get one. Being the hopeless romantic I was, I thought it would mean the world to have a meet-cute, fall sickeningly in love and being one half of a pair. Of course, when tumbleweeds rolled through the romantic scene of my life, I couldn't help feeling self-conscious and asking myself if I was that ugly that I couldn't snag anyone – because I'd like to believe that I have fantastic personality and a clever wit. Of course my closest friends or advice columns in women's magazines would say that I had to love myself first before I could let others love me, or something like that.

I did learn to love myself, and I've succeeded to an extent. I'm more outgoing now, I have more confidence and I like to think I've found my look these days. I still don't have a boyfriend. Why, you ask. I still don't know how to answer that. Maybe I'm not as attractive – physically or personality-wise – as I think I am? Maybe I'm not looking hard enough? Maybe.

Thing is, I think I'm okay with that. I can drive myself to places, I can buy myself things, I even – pardon my French – get myself off, expertly, if I may add. I have friends for intellectual or mindless stimulations, I have a guy for mutual physical needs, I have another to be my truest confidant and I have my dog for unconditional love. I'm all set. At least for now, I am.

I just wish people I care about can feel all set too, for me. Before I continue, I just want to say that I know they mean well, that they want the best for me, that they want me to find love and be in love and loved, and all that. I know that.

That being said, sometimes I just can't help but flinch at comments like, "Let's go out tonight, you might meet the one!", "How can you meet someone if you're not going to dance?", "You're not gonna get a boyfriend if you don't get into shape", "The hotel you're staying in looks nice, if only you have someone to accompany you", "If you think you've been single for too long, you should take a look at Runi!", and so on.

My favourite might be when I do something stupid (in a comedic way) or say something dumb (again, for comedic purposes), and people feel the need to comment, "No wonder you're single".

I want to say that I'm the kind of girl who doesn't really care what anybody else says about her, but the truth is, those comments are the exact thing that makes me question if I should love myself in the first place. The comments make me feel like I should feel not enough just because I'm single. I'm not less, but I feel like I'm less than I should be, because people around me keep asking about this ~void~ that I apparently need to fill.

In this day and age when more and more people understand that commenting on other people's physical insecurities is obsolete ("Are you getting fat?", "What's with the pimples?", etc), apparently many still think it's okay to poke fun at someone's relationship status (or lack thereof) without associating it with any potential insecurity at all.

I really don't know how to conclude the post, just like I don't know how to respond when someone says that I should get married soon, that I'm getting older, and that I shouldn't be too lost in my work.

dear the coolest people of the world,

I'm writing you this letter to applaud you on job well done. Being cool is one of the most difficult job in the world, a notion that is definitely debatable, but rings truest to yours truly.

I don't know how you can be strong and optimistic knowing that the world has gone awry, while at the same time actually doing something to help make things better. How you can wake up every morning without immediately regretting the fact that you're still alive and well is something that I marvel at. To be honest, I envy how you can go grocery shopping at your local supermarket without any surprise, unsolicited meltdown right then and there.

It's just so amazing to see how life's little nags are there too, in your life, but they don't seem to bother you -- in fact you guys seem to hit it off well. I know, I know, it shouldn't be a surprise that everyone and everything loves you -- including nags, apparently.

Please know that I constantly watch with starry eyes -- yes, I'm in awe, you're my idols -- of how your hair remains intact and how effortlessly good you look. Even your tousled 'do looks like a work of art, yes, in a good way. And I'm not just talking about the physical aspects of it all, you beam this radiant glow that any passerby can instantly tell, "That person right there, he/she has his/her shit together".

I always wonder what it's like to have everyone's attention so easily, that you never find yourself wondering like what I just did. You're never in short supply of attention, that when one or two decide to disregard you, you barely notice. And when people are paying attention, you're not overwhelmed by it. You know what to do. You don't dread about it. You don't try to be cool and stumble over the charades, because you are cool. What is it like to be like that?

And the way you immediately click with other cool people on first meeting, no awkward interaction, no overthinking on what to say and how to respond and no cringe-worthy embarrassing moment that will haunt your bedtime lull for a lifetime.

What. Is. It. Like?

on suicide missions

I always wonder how I would go.

The cliché of a slit wrist in the bath tub. Oh, but I don’t have a bath tub, and I’m scared of blood or the thought of anything sharp going through my skin. The quick bullet to head. How am I going to get access to guns? Pills. I can’t bear the idea of having to go through all the nausea and mess.

It’s a good thing I’m lazy and I have low tolerance in dealing with pains. Or is it?

Now I’m stuck here, dealing with pains that no one can see and no one can explain, including myself. And there’s always that thought, I must be alright, right? It’s not like I actually attempt suicide. And I’d like to give you some sob stories of hardships that can make up as an excuse for feeling this way, but I don’t have it. My life is far from perfect but it’s pretty great. I have loving family and friends, a pretty great job and a pretty great life, I’m so prepared for some of you deeming me a whiny, spoiled brat.

In my teen years, I thought it was a phase. Everyone is supposed to have the rollercoaster emotions when they’re teenagers. In my 20s, I still thought it was a phase. Emo music was on the rise, and it was the time to figure out things, so I rode the wave. I thought by the time I’m in my 30s, I would finally figure out the tricks.

I haven’t.

Maybe it was just a monthly PMS, I thought. But surely it can’t be this bad. If every woman has PMS and feels this way, surely I’m not alone in this? So how do I feel like I am, in everything? Another question I can’t answer. I shrug it off. Another problem to deal with another time.

I just had one of the most difficult deadlines of my life, and I was so exhausted, and I thought that was it. I didn’t sleep enough, my time management was all over the place, and I just got stressed out. I met the deadlines, I survived that, but I don’t think I survived that draining dread that washed all over me. My financial organisation was as okay as it could get, I was flat broke just when my loved ones needed money for medication. Have you ever felt like a useless piece of shit? That was it. By payday, I sorted things out, with more to spare, all was good. It's just that I still can’t afford feeling okay.

I don’t have any excuse to feel this way. I don’t have any excuse to be an erratic pain in the ass to all my loved ones. I don’t have any excuse to break down and cry at any given moment. And I’m just so tired.

I can live from distractions to distractions, I think that’s how I’ve been all this time anyway. Looking for something to look forward to, time and time again. Currently? It’s a trip that I’ve been planning for a while, and the final season of Game Of Thrones next year. So I’ll be around for a while.

I just can’t stop some unresolved (or even resolved) things from coming back to me, haunting and nagging to the point where I wonder how can those people with “no regrets” as their life motto do it? Back in the Nintendo or Sega days, I had the habit of restarting my games if I thought I could do it better, even though my character wasn’t dead yet. A redo to improve. These days, I continuously have the urge to push the restart button, but I don’t know where, and I know I can’t go back to the start of the level like Mario did or to the checkpoint like Sonic did.

I wish I have a punchline to wrap this up, but I don't. Unresolved. You can be sure this will come and haunt me months from now.

But I'll find a way. I always do.


ps: When you hear the news, please check on my dog first above anything else and make sure he goes to Tressabel Hutasoit (she'll know what to do).

on moving out, moving in and the love lost in between

I'm moving. I think I am. I've put down the down payment, and am scheduled to move in to the new place this Saturday.

Before I continue, maybe I can elaborate the history of my living situation so far. I lived in my family's home in Jakarta since the day I was born until sometime in April 2012. No, I never went abroad or to another city for school or any long-term arrangement. I finally moved to Bali in 2012 because I got a job, and it was not easy. It was a big change, it was huge. It was the first time I lived alone. I lived in this dodgy place for a month, before moving in to my current place.

Five years and five months later, I'm still a resident in Tamarind. My room is definitely not big, but it's enough. I don't have a kitchen, but I manage. The noise from the airport practically damaged my hearing, parking situation is always tricky, my bathroom is deteriorating and I have the dodgiest next-door neighbour who's been living there forever. BUT, I found myself finding it hard to just move out without any unnecessary sentimental frills.

If my life was a TV series, then my room would be one of the characters. It's like Central Perk in F.R.I.E.N.D.S., or New York City in Sex and the City. It's a friend in which I take comfort, it's a sanctuary where my introvert side hides, it's a snuggly nest, darn it, it's a home. It's not much -- not even a house -- but it's my home.

It's where I played house with my ex-boyfriend (who, seriously, was the dodgiest part of my life) for a month to see what it was like to be together 24/7. It's where I found out that that didn't work out. It's where I cried, cried and cried -- from the break up, deadline stress, being broke, or simply the monthly PMS catastrophe. It's where I came home after a long, bad day to crumble and balled up on the floor, bawling and wanting to die.

It's where I had my first midnight birthday surprise, when a bunch of my bestest friends in Bali knocked on my door 12am on the dot to bring me cake and basically be the sole reason of one of my happiest moments. I don't really have people over that much, but it's where I had quite a few sleepovers -- innocent ones!

That said, it's where I learned about the ease (or complication?) of modern dating/hoe lyfe world. "Welcome [to the world of casual sex]," I remember my first study partner saying, as he sat on the edge of the bed and lit his cigarette. Such a cliche, but it's still an endearing memory. It's where I opened my doors to another charming guy, who first screwed me when I was drunk (it's consensual though) and never texted unless he wanted to get into my pants -- several times.

It's where I let my guard down and thought I could experiment with feelings and rom-com cliches without any real consequences (obviously I was wrong). It's where I had the most crippling, the most dragging heartbreak I've ever experienced. It's where I learned to speak out my feelings, no more Miss Bottling Things Up. It's also where I learned that speaking out doesn't necessarily mean getting what you want. It's where I learned that loving sometimes means putting someone else's happiness first, even though it's killing you.

It's where I had plethora of zsazsazsu butterflies -- the obvious douche, the most exciting sex of my life, the doomed crush and the one Tinder situation that actually works out (we had the cutest meet-cute ever). It's where I fell in love over and over again, and got my heart broken over and over again (not necessarily in that order).

So, B8, you've been a big part of my life, you've been around longer than any of the visitors I hated to love. And while I thought that by the time I got to the end of this post, I would figure out how to feel and come up with a wisdom-laden punchline, I don't. It's a goodbye, and here's to a new chapter to have new ups and downs in.





Wish me luck.

on oleh-oleh

It's just one of those things. Things that have been going on for so long, they have become common social courtesy.

Asking travelling friends/family to bring oleh-oleh or souvenirs.

Don't get me wrong, I might have been guilty of this cringe-worthy behavior too in the past to some extent. Like I said, it's common, it's normal (really?). However, after racking my brain for a clearer look on the matter, yes, it's cool when someone who has been travelling to cool places comes back and brings us stuff, but maybe, we should not ask for it?

Me? I love bringing loved ones or just people around me stuff. That's my sickness actually. I don't do the merlion key chains or refrigerator magnets (well, not anymore, at least), because it's so much more exciting to get someone something that has a personal meaning for them. Yes, I drive myself crazy with this habit, but can't kill this one just yet.

When someone asks me to bring them stuff, -- sometimes specific stuff (this brand, this colour, this flavour) -- I will take some factors into consideration: Do I have the money to get it? Am I close enough with -- or do I care enough about -- this person to go out of my way and get them stuff? If it's "yes" on both, I will definitely try my best to get it.

People I care about have been nice enough to not hassle me with the "Oleh-olehnya mana?" (Where's my souvenir?) question -- which by the way, is a normal, acceptable question here. My VIPs are more If you can get it, great, if not, that's totally okay. But then once in a while, I got that question from people I'm not even close with. To ask that question once is okay -- acceptable, but more often than not, they questioned it quite persistently to the point of it was slightly awkward.

This is an actual conversation, some parts are translated to English

Jane Doe: Oh that's right, you just got back from Japan. How was it? Oleh-olehnya mana?
Me: It was so fun! I really needed that vacation! I didn't feel like going home just yet!
Jane Doe: (nodding and smiling) So, mana oleh-olehnya?
Me: ...
Jane Doe: Nothing? (a weird mix of anticipation and baffled expression on her face)

To which, I answered: "I think my coming home safely is enough souvenir for everyone."

Excuse me, first of all, it's not like I crap money. Second of all, were you there when I gathered the latest cents from under the sofa to get the plane tickets? Did you help when I applied for the passport, the visa waiver, or when I had some misunderstanding with the Airbnb? Did you come up with any tip or advice on what kind of Internet/cellular package or transportation pass card that I should use during my trip? Because I have friends who helped me with all of those, and they didn't ask for a single thing.

It's one thing to ask "Oleh-olehnya mana?", but don't hold your breath for it, don't make it awkward.

Au revoir, Awkward!

on what meets the eye

At 32 I have a lot of grey hair (my natural colour is black). It's been around for quite a while, and it used to bug me a lot. I used to dye my hair back to black regularly. These days I don't anymore, though; probably because I'm currently enjoying it.

Yes, people asked about it a lot. "Don't you want to get your hair dyed?" is the most popular question. When I did answer with "Probably in a few days, I miss my black hair", sometimes they would subtly retaliate with, "Why black though? Isn't it kinda shabby? Why not highlight it?". Sigh. You can't please everyone.

Since I'm loving my hair now, that kind of questions doesn't really bother me anymore. After all, I do understand that the grey hair's branding team isn't as popular as, say, the blonde one. It must take a while for most people to get there.

One day, at a hospitality event filled with fellow media professionals, a lady I know made a big fuss about how she liked my hair and how she wished she had the salt-and-pepper streaks like mine. Thing is, she does have grey streaks, and when I mentioned it to her, she continued to say things like "But it doesn't look as cool as yours" while touching my hair. Needless to say I was uncomfortable. But no big deal.

Two night ago, however, my best friend who attended the same event, told me that just before I stopped by to talk to this lady, when I was still out of earshot, the lady was talking about my hair to a second lady I also know, saying, "Ih, Runi kok rambutnya gitu sih?" -- of course, with a condescending tone. The second lady agreed with her.

I stand by my words. I don't mind people asking about and disagreeing with the way I look, but just be upfront about it. I didn't ask to be awkwardly complimented in public only to find out that the culprit felt the opposite and actually pointed that out in front of people but me.

Yes, I work in the industry where words can be as genuine as the eyebrows on most people's faces these days. So I should've seen it coming. It just still amuses me how some people would go out of their way to be spiteful.

Grey hair don't care, out.