Blame It to the L Word

Last weekend, one of my friends asked me to join her in this lesbian get-together in this on-and-off hangout place in one of Jakarta CBD area. I dropped by for only a short while since I had to go somewhere else later that night. And actually that short while was really all I need. See, I don’t really hang out with lesbian communities. My friends are close-knitted. Not out of the arrogant misdemeanor, it’s just that since I’m very in the closet, meeting tons of new people at once, that tons of new people suddenly know that I’m gay, really makes me giddy.

Back to the party. Long story short, the girls were swarming the place. I was amazed, this party was really successful, quantitywise. Then of course, naturally, my friends and I were scanning each of the participants. Then we got disappointed. All the blame to the L Word, since it poisoned us with the unlikely idea that lesbian parties should be packed with all this pretty, hip, fashionable gay women.

This saying “manage your expectation” is applicable every time, much to my dismay. Reality bites.

House of Cards

I admire Lillian. A true genuine person who lives by choice. She’s one of the bravest people I know, a person who dare to let everything go for something that she loves best.

Many people might not understand. She gave up a designer office chair, a prominent job which brings a prominent status, an all-round comfortable life. She prefers to live near the beach, dedicates most of her time for the beaches she loves, hugs the life in one breath as the beach breathes.

I was drawn to her spirit, her persona. And I can say we were going the way there, to build a house for both our souls to be together. But then one little thing happened. That little thing was an intense conversation on our beliefs. Then what do you know, our house was a house of cards, and that card on belief was the one in the very base. When it was pulled out, there it went.

We’ve said goodbye to our house. But I will always admire Lillian. For her bravery, for daring to let go of everything for something that she knows she loves best.

A Tribute

Nell is a great girl. She’s compassionate, soft spoken, merciful. Very generous, sometimes until the level of bleeding herself. She can love you more than you love yourself.

We spent some time together. Along the way, I only got all the best of her. She’s the right person, yet too bad, it was the wrong time. We didn’t share the same world. It’s like we spoke in two different languages.

I realize I haven’t thanked her properly for our time together, for her time, her love, and every tidbit sparkle of happiness we shared. Therefore this is a tribute to her.

Dear Nell, I wish you love, I wish you happiness. You deserve it.

The Bearable Lightness of Being

In this very moment, I’m single. I mean really really single. No girlfriend, no unfinished business with an ex, no friend with benefit, no serious heartthrob.

In my earlier years, this would be the period of agony. Oh this emptiness, oh this hollow in my heart, oh this oh that. But then from that point, I experienced many things. Went a long way to hell and back. Crossed path with all these girls. Pretty girls, check. Not so pretty girls, check. Rich girl, check. Poor girl, check. Perfect-bodied girl, check. Curvaceous girl, check. High achiever girl, check. Sit-on-her-ass-everyday girl, check. Girl with attitude, check. Girl with attitude of a wild hyena, check. All in-betweens, check.

Maybe that’s why now I can sit back, relaxed, peering lazily to things passing by. Not that I’m stating that being single is better than committed, but I guess whatever relationship status you’re in now, make sure it’s something of your choice. As in my case now, I’m currently enjoying each and every minute of being not needed to please anyone beyond my level of comfort. It feels… airy. It feels light. My bearable lightness of being.

I realize I will not be in this state of life for good. I might be in a relationship tomorrow. I might be out of a relationship the day after. But no matter, I know I will be as grateful.

Along the way, sometimes all we need is a moment to have breaks. To kiss the flowers, to say hello to sunshine. Then we can set off again, all refreshed, prettier, and shinier.

Root

Last night I watched this comedy show in Trans TV, an Indonesian local station. This show is called Extravaganza, and it mostly is funny. There was this segment, a parody on Indonesian traditional singers called Sinden. One of the guest stars was this Caucasian girl, dressing in a traditional clothing called Kebaya from one of Indonesian ethnic groups, Javanese. And amazingly, this Caucasian girl behaved exactly like a Javanese girl, talked like a Javanese girl, and even sang Javanese song in just perfect Javanese accent. People were amazed and cheered.

I was too amazed and cheered. But then my cheers stopped in mid air. Then I walked rather unconsciously to a mirror. Then staring at my own reflection. I looked at, unmistakably, a Javanese girl. The black mid-size eyes, the mid-size nose, the cheekbone, the eyebrows, the brownish skin. And then why there are not any Javanese word in my mind? Why when people talk to me in Javanese, although I generally understand, I just smile weakly then speak in Bahasa, telling them that I don’t speak Javanese?

Many conveyed that tradition, including the traditional language, is so last century. If you want to keep up with the today’s world, then popular culture it is. Which in my case, it is Western. I adopt the language, food, lifestyle, even to some extent, way of thinking. Which is not completely wrong, because many are indeed good. I was raised in a multicultural surroundings and indeed was prepared to be the citizen of the world. But I feel like nudged by that Caucasian girl in the comedy show. That wherever edge of this world I had gone to, whatever gazillion things I had done, whoever all kind of people I had met, I am, every drop of my blood, every tidbit of my bones, every breath, is an Indonesian girl, from the ethnic group of Javanese.

Speaking of my ethnicity, if you’re familiar with Indonesian people ethnicity, you can’t mistake me that I, by large, by far, is Javanese. And it is this very typical Javanese look, so if you say I look like someone, you will be the 17,821st person who said it to me, hahaha. But then, there this funny thing about it. It is that whenever I travel abroad, people who make a pass on me is, almost every time, Blacks or Indians. Well can’t blame me for looking like Aishwarya Rai or Beyonce… or Rihanna… hahaha…

But I digress. The thing is, there’s this calling inside me to start digging and getting in touch with my root. Of the long line of people descended their blood to me. To understand the language, the tradition, the culture, the music, the way of life, the way of thinking. I believe there are many ingenious acumen, old but wise way to do stuff, which will be still applicable even for today. It will be like I seek advice from this great people, my predecessor, whose wisdom endures time.

It will be an exciting journey.