Tacenda

Leia was traveling alone.

That afternoon, she sat on a bench by a fairly busy street. Nothing special about the place—just people coming and going, a small café on the corner, and the usual city noise in the background. She had her sketchbook with her, so she started drawing whatever she saw.

A man walked past while fixing his tie, clearly in a rush. A kid pulled on her mother’s arm, asking for something again and again. Two people stood near the café, laughing like they had all the time in the world. Leia sketched them one by one. She didn’t think too much about it at first. just drawing, just observing. Until, in the middle of it, a thought came up.

She realized she had been paying close attention to strangers—how they moved, how they reacted, what they might be feeling—but she couldn’t remember the last time she looked at herself that way. She paused for a bit. For most of her life, Leia thought she knew who she was. She had a certain way of living, a certain pattern she followed. Everything felt normal, familiar. She never really questioned it. But sitting there, watching people she didn’t know, something didn’t feel as certain anymore.

Across the street, she noticed a woman smiling as she talked to someone. It looked polite, but not genuine. Leia caught the small details—the stiff posture, the eyes that didn’t match the smile. And somehow, that made her question herself.

Did I actually choose the life I’m living right now? Do I even like it?

She looked down at her sketchbook again, but her mind wasn’t as quiet as before. Because when she tried to answer those questions honestly, the answer wasn’t clear—and that bothered her. She started to realize that a lot of what she had been doing for years might not have come from her. It came from what she was taught, what was expected, what felt “right” because she had been doing it for so long, and she just followed it. Not because she wanted to ignore herself, but because she didn’t even realize she was doing that.

After a while, she noticed an older man nearby feeding birds. He looked calm, like he wasn’t in a hurry to be anywhere else. People passed him, but he didn’t seem affected by it. Leia watched him longer than she planned to. She wondered what it would feel like to live like that—to just be okay with yourself, without constantly adjusting to everything around you. That was probably the first time she seriously thought about changing how she lived. Not in a big, dramatic way. Just small things. Paying attention to what she actually liked, what she actually wanted, instead of just continuing what she had always done.

She also started thinking about the future—like, if she looked back at her life when she was much younger, what kind of story would she want to see?

And slowly, things started to shift. Mostly inside her at first. The way she thought, the way she made decisions, the things she said yes or no to.

Over time, it showed on the outside too—how she spent her time, who she stayed close to, what she chose to keep in her life.

And of course, people noticed. Some of them didn’t say anything directly, but she could feel the difference. Some became distant. Some seemed uncomfortable. And some said it clearly:

“You’ve changed.” “You’re not like you used to be.”

At first, that used to bother her. But then she thought about it again. How could they say she’s “not herself anymore” when she was only just starting to figure out who she actually is? That didn’t really make sense, so she stopped trying to explain herself to everyone.

She realized that some people were only comfortable with the version of her they were used to. When that version changed, they didn’t know how to respond. But some people stayed the same—not because Leia stayed the same, but because they didn’t need her to. They were okay with her changing, growing, and figuring things out. And that was enough for her.

Leia closed her sketchbook for a moment and looked at the street again. Nothing had really changed out there. But something had definitely changed in her. She didn’t feel the need to prove anything anymore. She just wanted to keep understanding herself, step by step. even if that meant changing direction. Even if that meant losing some people along the way.

She realized something simple:

losing people is hard, but losing yourself is worse.

Leia had begun to question people in a way she never used to.

It wasn’t sudden. It came quietly, built from moments she could no longer ignore. Maybe trust was never meant to be placed in people, she thought. Maybe that was the mistake all along.

She used to believe in something simpler—that friendship, at its core, was genuine. That if she showed up with sincerity, it would be met with the same. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Leia had always been the kind of person who gave without calculating. She liked seeing others grow, liked being there when things fell apart for them. Not because she thought she was better, but because it felt natural—almost instinctive.

I just wanted to be there, she would tell herself.

But patterns have a way of revealing truths that feelings try to hide.

People came to her when they needed something. They trusted her in their hardest moments, leaned on her without hesitation. Some even said it out loud—that they would always remember her when life got difficult, because she would always help.

And maybe that was true.

But why does it feel like that’s the only time they remember me?

The realization didn’t break her all at once. It wore her down. Slowly. Repeatedly. Boundaries blurred, then crossed, then ignored. And somewhere along the way, she stopped reacting.

Numbness replaced disappointment.

What hurt the most wasn’t the distant ones. It was the ones who were supposed to know her—the ones she once called her closest. There was one, especially. Someone who had known her since childhood.

Leia knew, with certainty, that if she ever saw her friend walking into something harmful, she would have stopped them. Without question.

I would never let them fall like that.

But that same person had once put her in a position that hurt her deeply—just to save themselves.

She didn’t argue about it anymore. She didn’t try to understand it. That’s not what a best friend does, she concluded quietly.

And so, without drama, without confrontation, she let the word “best friend” lose its meaning.

There were other moments too. Words she was never meant to hear.

"Just ask Leia. She’ll help. She’s too sincere—that’s why she’s easy to use."

She remembered how still she felt when she first heard that. Not angry. Not even surprised.

Just… still.

So that’s how they see me.

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to regret who she was. I don’t do good things for them, she reminded herself. I do it because that’s who I am.

Still, there was a quiet ache she couldn’t deny. Because when the roles were reversed—when she needed someone—the same people often stepped back. Or worse, they judged.

That’s when doubt crept in.

Am I too sensitive? Or am I finally seeing things clearly?

She didn’t have the answer yet.

But she knew this—understanding herself mattered more now than understanding anyone else. Her limits. Her boundaries. The parts of her that she had given away too easily.

Her world had grown smaller. The circle around her, quieter.

It’s small, she admitted. But maybe… it’s enough.

Still, the trust issue remained. Not gone. Not resolved. Just there, sitting at its peak.

And Leia, for the first time, wasn’t trying to rush past it.

Hae‑sung comes to New York, not to reclaim what was lost, but to finally see Nora again after all those years. Nora isn’t in love with him anymore; she just wants to live the life she never had. When she cries, it’s not about losing him—it’s the grief she’s carried all this time, finally allowed to surface.

Arthur is still there, waiting, holding space for her. Nora’s past with Hae‑sung doesn’t vanish, but it’s enough to show that love alone can’t build a life. She stays with Arthur, heart heavier and lighter at once, finally letting herself move forward.

And in the quiet that follows, it’s not fireworks or passion—it’s a steady, patient kind of love, the kind that grows in the calm of adulthood.

Yea, I am not talking about Past Lives.

high school sweethearts 🤍

Adulting has been challenging for everyone, mostly because I’m learning there’s no perfect formula. Something that works beautifully in someone else’s life can fall apart in mine — and the opposite is also true. And honestly, things can change so quickly that whatever felt solid yesterday can shift overnight.

I’ve had moments where I was so sure about something, and then — out of nowhere — God showed me a path that was bigger and gentler than what I expected. It really humbled me. It reminded me that what feels “right” today might hold a completely different meaning later.

calm yet so loud.

a year has passed, and we’re meeting again in the quiet folds of chance.

you whispered of a next time — of stories yet to be told.

It's been 5 years becoming a regular yogi and I have never thought it would be such a life changing experience. As I started in 2020 due to my health problems, but turned out it shaped me to the person I am today. Life happens and changes are inevitable, this Yoga journey is more than just physical movements, it brought so much shifts within my spiritual beliefs. I can also say that it feels like coming home.

It's a blessing that He has given me opportunities to explore studios across cities and countries. And when it comes to choosing a yoga studio, it’s not about the price. What matters more are the people I’ll share energy with, the ambience of each room, the scent, the movements we create together, the sweat, the support, the celebration, and the laughter during cooling down or even while drying our hair.

I may not be “fully zen” yet nor produce some fancy asanas, but maybe yoga isn’t about reaching a finish line—it’s about showing up, again and again, and letting the practice slowly reshape the way I live, breathe, and see myself. Who knows, it'll be my forever wake-up call.

hbd. happy batik day. see you soon in a year, or two?

Sore itu, akhirnya, buku tebal merah berjudul 'Namaku Alam' yang kubeli di Ubud Writer and Reader Festival (UWRF) 2023 tersentuh juga. Halaman demi halaman kubaca, ternyata banyak sesak dalam dada yang tak terduga. Diri ini menyimpan marah rupanya.

Photographic memory yang disebut-sebut sang tokoh utama, Segara Alam, adalah suatu anugerah sekaligus kutukan yang selama ini aku pun merasakan. Masih terpatri dalam memori segenap hal-hal menyakitkan yang belum sempat aku utarakan.

Entah itu sodoran sapu di ruang berdebu ketika usiaku belum genap empat yang bahkan tidak pernah diketahui orangtuaku, atau mungkin surat misterius berisi makian untukku bertuliskan "luluran dong" yang rasanya berat sekali diterima gadis dibawah sepuluh tahun itu. Segerombolan orang yang mengasah pisau dan bergiliran menancapkannya paksa dalam tubuhku, seolah mereka semua adalah raja dan ratu.

Belum lagi, sekumpulan ranjau yang nampak memukau; perlahan mengikisku. Di-luluh-lantakkan-nya tiang-tiang penyangga mahkotaku, hanya karena aku berteman baik dengan sahabatku yang katanya cantik itu. Bahkan rumput di sekeliling seolah berbisik setiap aku berlalu, "APAKAH KAMU INGIN MENAIKKAN DERAJATMU?". Hidup memang aneh dan lucu, gumamku.

Belum. Belum berhenti di situ.

Rumah itu. Yang para penghuninya gemar sekali menggores-goreskan kuku. Menggerogotiku dengan segala hawa nafsu dan pertanyaan palsu yang sejatinya adalah jelmaan toa masjid dengan teriakan "KAMILAH YANG LEBIH MAJU, KAMILAH NOMOR SATU". Dengan segala kesombongan dan keangkuhan, mereka menggunting bibir, lalu tergadaikan dengan rasa sakit yang kuhempas jauh ke alam bawah sadarku. Tubuhku, isi kepalaku, setiap helai kain yang melekat diatas kulitku, hingga label-label yang tertempel sepanjang usiaku seolah tazos pikachu. Betapa mereka dungu, mereka pikir selama ini aku tidak tahu. Sejatinya, mereka terlalu gemar membuka buku dan terhenti pada halaman satu. Pun mereka juga tak tahu bagaimana sebaiknya menggunakan harta paling berharga bernama waktu.

Bahkan hari itu. Di mana segenap tenaga kukerahkan agar tidak ada tampak sedikitpun menggerutu. Aku di rumah temanku, yang mana saudaranya adalah sahabat baik adikku. Dengan lancangnya, saudara perempuan itu diam-diam mengambil gambarku, dikirimkannya ke dalam sebuah perkumpulan yang aku pun tak tahu, mungkin dia pikir itu lucu. Andai dia tahu betapa aku berusaha menahan amarahku untuk tidak membuat dia dan temanku sedikitpun merasa malu. CAMKAN ITU!

Tidak. Tidak. Aku tidak menyimpan dendam kepada kamu, kamu, kamu, kamu, KAMU. Aku cukup paham bahwa aku pun kamu sama-sama pernah menjadi pelaku dalam berbagai macam bentuk pilu kelabu, dan diriku pun dirimu pada masa itu, tidak mendefinisikan manusia yang hari ini sama-sama kita tatap dalam cermin yang baru. Ibarat lagu, izinkan aku untuk memuntahkan segala bara api yang membakar panas arang memoriku.