24/7: 23

The state of aloneness.

The idea that I glorify maybe a little too much in my life. I am surrounded by people whom, I think, concern about my life the way I don't want them to be. Most of the times it feels too much. Some of the times it feels like you are owned, and your opinions and decisions don't matter. Hence I really value the time I get to spend alone. It's really hard to explain, especially when there are also times I feel like I need company and attention—though I never so desperately asked for it. But do I have the choice to control the way people act towards me? Of course not.

A lot has happened in a year. I continued my remaining classes in uni, all by myself, because all of my friends had graduated by then. But long and winding roads later, I made it. It happened not without a struggle, I would say, especially when you're alone and not feeling like yourself most of the time. So I congratulated myself, not only for graduating, but to had gone through them all. I also found a job not long after. Not something I had expected, so there is that. Life has been so so much better in a way.

This year, I started to live alone again since I have to work outside the city. So that means I have a monthly salary now, and live in a semi-apartment near my office area, afar from my family. But these facts alone apparently haven't made me feel like an adult enough, and independent human being, so I had to book a ticket to Vietnam alone to celebrate this year's twenty four seven. Alone, alone. And without a letter of consent to anybody either, including my parents. Because what screams adulthood more than not telling anybody about your travel abroad plans right?

But why?

I'd say, why not? I'm 22, and I have prepared the money, and well, I did survive in some foreign country before, so why can't I make it just fine this time? Until I realized that convincing my parents wasn't really the thing I was trying to achieve, proofing them that I'm capable of my own being was.

Sometimes I think this was the case of my relationship (of any kind) towards everyone. The idea of being dependent on anyone or anything terrifies me. I try to convince everyone that hey I'm fine, I can do it without your help, so thanks for the offer! Which I can. But even if that's the case then does that necessarily mean that one should be alone just because they can do things independently? I don't ask for attention, so when I'm exposed to it, and especially when it happens so naturally, I become so reluctant that it's such an impossible thing.

I imagine being on the other side of the boat, where I want to give my feelings to somebody but couldn't. Where I want to help, or at the very least, make sure things are going okay for my loved ones, but doesn't have the power to. How it would kill me when I don't have enough knowledge over that. I think it over and it really doesn't feel so fair...

Sometimes people loved the wrong way. My mom and her worries, and early morning texts, and sudden afternoon phone calls. My dad with his (also) worries, and corny jokes. And past flames maybe with their hate speeches or unintended feelings, well, who knows?

During my solo trip last week I felt the most of myself. And it's really the weirdest thing because the feeling always, and only happens when I'm not around anyone who knows me, and moreover in somewhere really, really foreign. No one knows my name. At one point I told some dude my name was Jude. And though he didn't get the reference, it still felt really nice.

I didn't go to so many touristy places since it really wasn't the whole point. I hopped on one cafe place to another and just sit there writing and drawing, and sometimes maybe having a dead-end conversation with strangers who speaks sufficient English whom I'd never meet again. Things I wouldn't have done if I were to travel with a company. I'm calling it a self-made retreat, this time with the background of Ho Chi Minh city and the smell of warm egg coffee.

I don't want to feel restrained, ever, so I don't want to make people feel restrained either. Hence I should exist between my own space and the people who cares for me. There should be a place where you could be happy for yourself without having to drive people away. Though having to understand that people do things their very way is still a lot to consume, I believe it's a good start.

Here's to year 23, and the love that surrounds.

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24/7: 22

Months have gone by since my birthday this year. But the idea to skip it and just move on with my life without writing a story about how my twenty one went, is just nonsense. If you want to assume this whole thing as a total bullcrap then why not. So much has happened for the past year, which adds to the most memorable so far.

July 24th 2017. I remember it was a sleepless night in Bali. Good music, and oh, how people are so much fun when they're wasted. I slept, though it was more of lack of rather than enough. But I woke up to the most refreshing air. The sun felt a lot warmer and the day couldn't get any better.

A couple of months later I got a text to leave for Tokyo, less than two-week notice. Up to this day I couldn't remember what had driven me to deliver those papers to my university office and apply for an exchange semester abroad. After my trip in 2016, Japan has always been something, but to actually fill in those forms, and write an essay about how I, and not somebody else, is the most suitable candidate for the opportunity, wasn't exactly the kind of thing I would do. But I did, despite the occasional eye-rolls of people around. 

I told the news. My friends were all tears and blues, not to mention my parents and families. At that very moment I realised, how lucky I am to be surrounded by people who actually think my absence matters, and how I was very unaware of that. And that's what it was all about. It hit me: why am I not in doubts? At all?

Living in a city for so long, surrounded by the same people, doing the same thing, going to the same place to buy lunch or simply taking the exact same route to reach home. Jakarta has always been a home where I was born and raised. You have that special bond with the city you live in your whole entire life. It's your home. Until you long for somewhere else.

And it's like the universe play tricks on me that I had to get my visa and house fixed just a couple of days before my departure. Not to mention I had no basic language skill to even ask for a simple help, or directions. But over time I was thinking, I was lucky enough because turns out the Japanese—though they look like they don't give a single care about your being—are the nicest people you can be stuck in translation with. I lost my way to school my first month in Tokyo and found myself contemplating too much at the platform while waiting for the next train.

I started to open up and get to know more people. I was one of those people who have this intense anxiety getting to know someone new, which was why I tend to avoid people and unnecessary conversations. But the thing about being somewhere foreign is the freedom to be someone else. One day someone greeted with me over lunch, we talked and to our surprises we shared the same interests. We became good friends afterwards. Then it occurred to me as for why hadn't I started getting to know more people while in here? So I did. I met a lot of new people from all over the world. I made friends in a month more than I could ever have in a year of being in my hometown. Diversity only make our friendship even more dense, and our talks even more broad. Conversation grows like branches in a tree.

I got asked a lot about my name and my hometown, which makes me repeat the answers for just about a million times. I love it. Even when they pronounced it wrong. Even when they made me repeat every two second because God-knows-how-many new people they have encountered in this city. Even when they laughed at me because apparently they have my name in their own language—Alita is for 'little wing' in Spanish. Then they started to ask me about my hobbies and interests, the kind of music I like, the kind of whatever I like. I didn't know what to respond, initially. 'Do I like pop music? Have I always been into sweet or savory food? Photography or fashion? Is it writing? Or do I just love to chatter about my life in order to make myself feel better?'

I live alone in a house in Tokyo. The thought of living by yourself in a foreign city which language you don't speak, with very minimal preliminaries beforehand might sound like a nightmare to you. Can't say it was hard at first, but saying it was easy was an overstatement, either. Of course I needed time to adjust with the environment. Without having anybody around telling you what to do, you got to know yourself better. You start choosing for yourselves, and accept all the consequences of your own decisions. You stopped needing that one person to consult everything with. Therefore living alone is like constantly having a conversation with yourself. And it's up to you whether to agree or not with your own statement like, 'Oh, what do I want for breakfast today? Do I have enough time to make a toast? Nah, I should rush for the train. Gotta stop at the groceries before going home since eating out is expensive. Also I think I should cut off coffee for the week because it has been breaking into my bank account'. That kind of thing.

One of my favorite thing was the poetry class I took in my exchange semester. It has been showering my autumn and winter days with the most beautiful words. I sat on my train reading poems, walked through parks with my poems, drank my coffee at kissaten (Japanese for coffee shops) also with my poems. People might have thought about how much art I have in me for having TS Eliot or Walt Whitman copies in my hands, and on my notes, the whole time. Truth is their language is next-level English and my vocabularies don't compare to anything, really. So every time the class finally discussed the poem, it came like a huge revelation to me—not even exaggerating. I'm in love with words, and so the their writings have inspired me to write even more.

The opportunity for me to visit places also adds to my photography obsession. Going to different cities you start noticing how differently people walk, or talk, or dress. Capturing it through my lens has been one of my favorite thing to do. Most of the time I was with my Agnija, of course. But in early Tokyo days I also bought a vintage polaroid camera, impulsively, when walking around Loft Shibuya. I have never had an instant camera before so I thought why not buy something unlike the ones people have. I sticked the results inside a book, along with photobooths pictures, and tickets etc. I started making...a scrapbook. Because why not. Also since polaroid films are hella expensive, I started to capture things that really matters. Or really cute. Hahah!

When I come to think about it, the year of 21 was also very special because I visited a lot of cities this year; some I have been, some I have never been, even some I have never even heard before my whole life. Starting from Bali. Then Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka, Miyagi, Yamagata, back to Tokyo for farewell, then off to hometown Jakarta, then Bandung for short, Melbourne, Sydney, Jogja for short, Kyoto and Osaka once again, Nara and Kanazawa (the two parts of Japan I've been dreaming to visit!), then end the trip in my beloved hustle bustle Tokyo (where I celebrated 24/7 this year!) before going back home and finish my last semester of study.

Oh yes, I have just one more semester to end my study before being a free bird then continue to see places and write stories.

So I guess... 頑張って?

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24/7: 21

Eyes are closed and hands are linked together in clenches. A little girl's scream is her utter candidness towards flying. The wheels starts moving and there's a very loud silence heard from the engine machine until the plane takes off. Buildings and houses gets smaller as we fly higher. The ground rushes so fast in the air as if we're motionless, and I think, I am never so close to floating clouds, to the purple evening sky, something I always gaze at on my way home everyday. Everything is just as beautiful as any other day yesterday, only today I'm only a glass window away from it.

From my window seat I see the sky gets older by night. Then I started to question whether stars really exist because all I can see are plane lights. Are we at the highest point of stratosphere yet? Half-buried in my own thoughts I confide to sad songs on my playlist. Jason Mraz -  Plane. About how I can't see any house from here. Or how to hand a square of the airport. How I think human sadness are somewhat self-taught because all babies cry when they were born. How in a few hours I will yet again commemorate another anniversary of blankness and prodigy; getting older.

24/7 to me is July twenty fourth, 1996. I was born on a Wednesday, and I picture it to be a quiet summer day  with a chance of wonderment. My parents decided to name me after their names, featuring the blonde supermodel Schiffer, and the bountiful Mrs. Gorbachev. I am only a day old and a fist small but they have put such a glorious devotion to me. But who I am now is not who I am a thousand years from now. Bodies will be decayed and names will be forgotten. Like footsteps on the sand, all will be vanished in a wave roll. Even these words I have been trying to pull for the past hours will somehow be eaten up by time. And unless I'm someone's Bella Luna, no one will ever sing an ode of me or reread my writings every night just to put themselves to sleep. Even if someone did write my name in calligraphies, it will only be a placeholder between oblivions. C'est la vie.

Throughout the years I experience the things that have brought such a turning point on the way I see life. Being left alone in an empty street, somewhere between running away and coming back home. Sadness is time-consuming. Mourned, I look over the choices I unconsciously made. How things would have ended differently if I had used little less logic. Heart was broken into shatters but no apologies were ever offered. Those morning yawns and evening glees, where did they go? People carved paths only to go separate ways and I wish friendship lasted but sometimes bonds are only flukes. Life happens 24 hours a day, 7 days a week but it never promised to be exactly like yesterday. All I'm trying to do is keep up.

24/7 to me is a matter of perspective; all those time I've lost or all the time I have to start over. I choose to see it as a chance to start again, making peace with fate. I reassure myself that things happen for a reason. Replacing beliefs with scenarios, preparing for consequences. The sun is warmer today and my heart is lured away by the scent of late summer days. Dancing to new tunes never felt so good. Old flame flung and I'm getting to know love even better from a distant way. Life blossoms and blooms again.

24/7 to me is chasing dreams. To do the impossible. To complete all the checks on my bucketlist. To travel India for months and dance in the streets of Rio like the scene in Twilight. To be a friend to someone over their 5-minute-long crying sound through voice note, or through silly videos we recorded when we were drunk. We will laugh at every weird shape of avocado until our faces hurt. I'll love. Every little insect, and every giant tree. Both myself and the people around me, including actors and singers and writers that don't have any idea that I exist. I'll meet the one and we'll fall hopelessly in love. We'll buy Balinese hippie buddha statues in every color to put on our living room tables. Our children will be named after our muses and we'll grow old together riding bikes and chasing sunsets.

24/7 is... what goes without saying...
I just hope your heart is as calm and serene as the skies above me as I'm writing this...


July 23rd,
somewhere between Jakarta and Bali,
A

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24/7: 20

I'm a pretty perfectionist person and I crave for perfection in mostly everything I am passionate about. I will know the tiniest details and be steps ahead of everyone else. On the other hand, when things got a little messy, I was always the first one who said nothing is perfect. Which make me question myself, was I saying that because I think it's true, or just so I won't blame myself for the things I've done?

Two days ago (24/7) was the day I turn 20. And not only it is a big number, but turning 20 also means I'm out of my teen years. I'm the youngest child in the family and everyone always see and treat me like I'm a baby. After all these years... I'm finally not a teenager anymore. That sounds to me both exciting and frightening at the same time. Exciting, because I can't wait to start experience things on my twenties. Frightening, because it's where I want to see myself as an adult. I want to see myself be the bigger person. To be able to give way to arguments and not easily start a fight with someone. To not rant about every little problem that came along the way. Because honestly, I'm tired of seeing adult who doesn't even try to act like one.

I want to wake up in the morning feeling grateful, despite of having only few hours of sleep. I want to be grateful for every stained white shirt I own and the way my hair looks after a windy evening. I want to be grateful for every breakfast, lunch, and dinner, even when there's no food at all. I want to be grateful for everything I have, from the most complicated to the simplest things, tiniest details I don't always pay attention to. I want to see myself being grateful for flaws instead of looking for perfection in every corner of the room. Nothing is really perfect. Perfection is only there when you choose to see it. Perfection is loving someone unconditionally. Perfection is accepting flaws. Perfection is being grateful about your life, even the silliest thing that happened to you when you were 10. All of it was and is p e r f e c t.

A day before my birthday, a friend of mine called saying she was going to stay up late to wish me a happy birthday. And she was outside the town with slightly different timezone. Then there are friends of mine who got me balloons, party hats, a fake crown (!!!) and a birthday cake. Thanks to them now I am sleeping with tons of balloons on my bed—that I refuse to throw just yet. And then there are other friends of mine who surprised me at night with a birthday pizza and silver party hats—my ultimate favorite color. Turned out they were planning to come in the afternoon but I wasn't home. And then there are my parents—whom I had convinced NOT to buy me a birthday cake, but bought it anyway—who pay for the birthday lunch for the whole family. How some people waiting for my birthday, arranging surprises, just to make sure I'm having the best one. You don't know how much I fall in love with that idea.

I love it when people don't just say happy birthday to you. I love it when people don't just say wish you all the best. These days it's hard to know whether they're really saying it, or it's just some kind of form someone said to one another on their birthdays. Regardless, to all of the people who wished me a happy birthday, thankyou for your kind words—you know how much I'm in love with words. Thank you for spending your time just to say happy birthday to me in person and watch me blow my candles. You have made my day very special.

:)

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24/7: 19

"Everytime I blow birthday candles, or when I hold my breath inside a tunnel, I do ask for a wish. I never ask for anything specific because I'm afraid it's not going to happen. I just do something strange, if I have a feeling I repeat to myself, "Please, please, be happy, be happy". And I do feel happy and free." - KS

Every night on July 23rd, I just don't sleep. It's hard to tell whether I don't wanna sleep or that I can't sleep. At least not until the next day. I want to spend the first seconds of my new age to myself, to be grateful just to live. Because birthday always makes me think of death. And death makes me think of death. Birthdays somehow remind me that one day I will get old —if I ever make it there— and what's older than old is death. So the seconds towards make me question, will I ever make it to the next day? What if I don't? Every millisecond counts. We are living in this world where we don't know when we're going to leave. It's not like an instant jolly time popcorn that will finish popping after 7 minutes of 300w heat in the microwave. It's nothing like that. Even I —sometimes— still find some raw corn after that 7 minutes. I guess we'll never know the science of it. Just like we'll never know the science of when we're gonna leave. Of how or why. Because not everything is science. Not everything in this effin world can be explained. 

I hope I get that right into your mind.

On my birthdays I'm always surrounded by the people I love. Not that I ask them to come —I hope I'm not putting any pressure ever to anyone. Not that I ask for gifts. Not a birthday cake. Not even candles. I'm just grateful for the time they waste just to be with me on my birthday. Not every other day would they want to do the things they do on my birthday. So for that —if you ever read this, you know who you are— thank you all for coming —and even the ones that want to, but can't make it. For the pointless chats. For turning my room into a shipwreck. For the balloons, candles, and flowers. For the cheesy galore pizza. For the red polkadot party hat that makes me look like a 5-year-old. For the wishes you sent me over  long (and short) sweet voice notes. For the beautiful drawings of me. For your time, your presence, and the smile you have put on my face —and my heart. 

Thank you.