#axw

Title: BIcon Year: 2025 Medium: Digital illustration, fine art archival print on textured paper Dimensions: 25 × 25 cm (artwork), 50 × 50 cm (framed)

Description:

BIcon is part of Ayunita Xiao Wei’s ongoing exploration of the body as a site of memory, resilience, and symbolic power. The composition interweaves intuitive hand-drawn lines with forms suggestive of organs, flames, and organic growth, creating a visual language that balances intensity and vulnerability.

The luminous red ground functions as both emotional field and political statement—evoking vitality, desire, and defiance. Central forms resembling the heart and intimate anatomy position the body as a locus of emotional and spiritual dialogue, while flame and vine motifs articulate themes of endurance and transformation.

Produced as a fine art archival print on textured paper, the work maintains an organic tactile quality despite its digital origin. The material choice enhances depth and longevity, positioning BIcon as a collectible piece that bridges contemporary digital practice with the sensibility of traditional mark-making.

Unveiling Horizons

Animated Short Story Video | 33’20”

"Melela(ng) Buana" or Unveiling Horizon is a collection of stories that depict various experiences of women's sexuality, some of which have been considered and some that have never been imagined in every effort or prayer. Each story has a nuance that often brings surprises, unexpectedly providing winding and steep emotions with every step taken. It contains pure confessions about the reality that the essence of women's sexuality lies on the lap of the earth, under the blessing of the universe, intertwined with all loved ones through threads of romance. These stories aim to lead readers to see broadly and openly from every angle of relationships and struggles. This written work was published in 2022. It includes meaningful and powerful illustrations that represent each short story in "Melela(ng) Buana." The author and illustrator have agreed to always disseminate the written work and its illustrations as a form of self-healing and to help readers feel they are not alone.

Where had it begun?

I

April in a Minor Key

The year 2025 had come to me like a roller coaster built without a map, without safety belts, without any warning of when to brace myself. It had risen, plunged, thrown me forward, then stopped without mercy. Pleasant and unpleasant feelings had arrived in turns, sometimes at the same time, then disappeared without farewell—as though I had been left to decipher their meaning on my own.

Amid all of this, my mental health had been tested once again. Bipolar disorder had not been merely a diagnosis; it had been an inner climate, capable of shifting within hours. Some days had felt bright, full of plans and courage. Other days had felt dark and heavy, as though each breath had needed to be counted carefully, one by one. Yet what had exhausted me most had not been the rise and fall of emotion, but the losses that had arrived without pause—like waves that had never allowed me time to stand upright again.

The greatest loss had come suddenly: my father had gone. My father—the man who had raised me, whose blood and pulse had truly flowed through my body. His departure had happened while I had been away from my hometown. There had been no final hand to hold as he faced his last breath, no closing conversation. Only distant news—cold, final, and beyond negotiation.

Painful, wasn’t it?

Yes. Painful in a way language had never been able to explain.

That pain had soon turned into regret. While my father had still been alive, I had often resisted his wishes. After he had retired—perhaps weary of solitude—he had always wanted to live with me in the place where I had built my life away from home. He had wanted to be close. To care. To feel that he had still been needed. I had always refused.

I had not felt brave enough.

I had not wanted the responsibility.

I had not wanted the complication.

At the time, those reasons had sounded reasonable—perhaps even necessary for survival. But after my father had gone, they had transformed into voices that had returned endlessly in my head: If only I hadn’t refused. If only I had been braver. If only I had chosen the inconvenience of living with my father. If only… If only… If only…

“Had I been unbearably unfilial?”

The question had haunted me—not in search of an answer, but as a means of punishment.

What I had forgotten was one thing: I, too, had been surviving. I had been struggling with my own mind, my own body, with a world that had often felt unbearably harsh. My refusal had not come from a lack of love, but from fear—fear of not being capable, fear of failing as a good child, fear of disappointing my father if living together had only made everything fall apart.

But death had never listened to context.

It had left only emptiness.

In what remained of 2025, I had learned how to live with that hollow space. I had not tried to close it, nor had I forced myself to heal. I had learned that loss had not always been something to resolve—sometimes it had only been something to carry. I had also come to understand that my love for my father had not disappeared simply because of my refusals in the past.

That love had still existed.

In regret.

In memory.

In my effort to keep living, even while limping forward.

Perhaps I had not been a perfect child. But I had been real. I had been human. And in that unplanned year, survival itself had already been a form of courage—one that was rarely recognized.

II

September arrived without a sound, lengthening loss.

After having broken my own heart—by continually resisting my father’s wish to live with me—midyear had arrived without warning, and my romantic relationship had begun to lose its flavor. The word had come from my partner at the time, who had since become my ex. Xe had ended our relationship without a complete conversation, without reasons I could truly understand, and without a final meeting. Everything had concluded in silence.

It had been painful, of course.

In the days that followed, I had spent my time searching myself, looking for the fault I might have committed. Where had I gone wrong? Or perhaps—what had never been enough in me? Those questions had not demanded answers; they had merely repeated themselves, cold and persistent.

Later, I had learned that he had confided in my close friend that Xe interest had faded. Xe had felt no longer capable of sustaining the relationship with me. Yet I had not truly listened. Our days had still been filled with intense closeness, with routines that appeared tender and whole. I had trusted what was visible, unaware that weariness could hide itself so neatly.

Xe had been skilled at carrying that exhaustion alone. Until, at one point, Xe had chosen the simplest and sharpest honesty: my mental health—bipolar disorder—had made Xem feel unable to remain within the days we shared.

That reason had opened another wound, one that had felt deeper.

For a while, I had pushed aside the reality that we were no longer together. I had treated it as a nightmare—something that would eventually end when I awoke drenched in cold sweat, reached for Xem body, kissed Xem forehead, and apologized for my unawareness of Xem feelings.

But reality had never waited for readiness.

What remained had been the knowledge that we had truly parted. There had been no more messages saying: Good morning, love—don’t forget to eat and take your medicine. No more gentle reminders, delivered in the simplest way, to stay alive and attentive.

And the absence had gone both ways. There had been no one left as the first name I searched for in my WhatsApp contacts, to whom I could type the same messages: Good morning, be careful on your way to the office, sweetheart. Let me know when you arrive. Don’t forget to eat your breaksfat. What does your schedule look like today?

Those small things had never seemed important while they still existed. They had only revealed their weight once they were completely gone—leaving behind a hollow space that was not loud, but enduring.

I had begun to understand that loss did not always arrive as a major event. Sometimes it appeared as habits that could no longer be repeated. As sentences no longer typed. As a name that no longer surfaced on a screen, yet remained lodged in memory.

As I sit down to write to you on this special day, I find myself flooded with emotions, memories, and an overwhelming sense of love that I never knew was possible until you came into my life. It's hard to believe that it has already been one month since our journey together began, yet in that short span of time, you have become the most important person in my world.

From the moment we met, I knew there was something extraordinary about you. Your smile, your laughter, the sparkle in your eyes – they captivated me in ways I never thought possible. Little did I know that in just one month, you would become the center of my universe, the one I turn to in both moments of joy and moments of despair.

Our journey together so far has been nothing short of magical. From the first time we held hands to the countless late-night conversations that stretched until dawn, every moment spent with you has been a treasure I hold close to my heart. You've shown me sides of myself I never knew existed, and you've helped me become a better version of who I am.

Since six months ago, and in just one month, you've become my confidant, my partner-in-crime, and my best friend. You've seen me at my highest highs and my lowest lows, and yet you've never wavered in your support and your unwavering belief in me. Your love has been a guiding light in my darkest moments, reminding me that there is always hope and that together, we can weather any storm.

You see, my mental health is not just a fleeting thought or a passing phase – it's an integral part of who I am. It shapes the way I perceive the world, the way I interact with others, and the way I navigate the ups and downs of life. And yet, all too often, you treat it as an afterthought, sweeping it under the rug in favor of more tangible concerns.

Today, I want to extend a hand of compassion and understanding to you, my dear. I want you to acknowledge the struggles I've faced together and the triumphs I've celebrated along the way. I want to honor the tears I've shed and the laughter I've shared, knowing that each moment has shaped me in ways I may never fully understand.

I find myself falling deeper in love with you with each passing day, discovering new depths to the love that binds us together. It's a love that defies words, a love that transcends time and space, a love that feels like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. With you, I've found a kind of peace and contentment I never thought possible, and for that, I will be forever grateful.

As we celebrate this milestone in our journey together, I find myself filled with hope and excitement for the adventures that lie ahead. I look forward to sharing countless more sunsets, holding your hand through life's twists and turns, and building a future together filled with love, laughter, and endless possibilities.

Thank you for being the most amazing partner anyone could ask for. Thank you for your patience, your kindness, and your unwavering belief in us. Thank you for choosing me, for loving me, and for being my constant source of joy and inspiration.

Hello Queerblings!

This story contains a trigger warning. So, be aware. Even as I inscribed this story, my heart was beating fast, my fingers were shaking. I wrote this not to seek attention, but as a coping mechanism and want to prove myself that I am very valuable.

Yesterday I managed to spend some time on the road riding Cancer for the first time. On the way, I reflected again on my desire to commit suicide by hanging my neck right in front of the room. Today, exactly D+3, I was set free from a health hospital specifically for people with mental disorders. That was the first experience for me who consciously wanted to be hospitalized in East Jakarta. I will write a story about that experience on a different page.

A week before I decided to go to the healthy house, I had mixed feelings. There was an anger, disappointment, feeling unloved, feeling useless, and afraid of tomorrow. After I researched it, it turned out that those feeling arose because I was rejected from someone who, from the first time I saw xe, I immediately fell in love. That rejection was the first thing I got. That sounds really silly, but that's my feeling and I think it's valid.

Stupidly, after being rejected I was even more persistent in getting it even though it resulted in pain. As the days went on, xe and I continued to communicate without a clear direction. I realized that rejection made me feel that I shouldn't have felt, because rejection should be a normal thing. However, this time I couldn't accept it. These mixed feelings kept passing around my body, piercing my mind, and continuing to whisper in my ear. Whispers to hang myself in front of the room I've been sleeping in for the past 2 years. I feel unworthy of love.

On my trip while driving my Cancer, that feeling appeared again. I wanted to ram Cancer into the big truck in front of me. However, my foot that was stepping on the Cancer gas suddenly felt numb. That strong desire failed. I diverted my desire by still planning to hang myself in front of the room where I had been sleeping for the past 2 years. When I got home, that intention became even stronger. I hurriedly put all my belongings away and went to take a shower, because I wanted to disappear into this world clean. It's kind of funny, but that's the truth.

When I started to wet my body with shower water, I reflected again that rejection is an inevitable part of the human experience. Whether it's in personal relationships, professional endeavors, or creative pursuits, we all encounter rejection at some point in our lives. While rejection can be painful and heartbreaking, it is also a valuable teacher, guiding us toward personal growth, resilience, and self-discovery.

The shower water made me realize that rejection takes many forms, from a romantic breakup and a job application rejection to a manuscript rejection or exclusion from a social group. What these experiences have in common is the feeling of not being chosen or accepted, which can elicit a wide range of emotions, including sadness, disappointment, anger, and self-doubt. It should be a normal thing because it is part of life. Again, I wish I could to think that is a normal.

I heard over and over again that the act of taking my own life voluntarily is something painful for the people who love me. It's crucial to recognize that rejection is not the end of the road but a detour on the journey to success and fulfillment. Many accomplished individuals have faced rejection numerous times before achieving the goals.

After washing myself with fresh shower water, I wrapped my body in the pajamas I had prepared. I took a breath and covered my ears while chasing away the whispers that asked me to end my life. That's what the nurses at the health hospital taught me while I asked for permission to go home. I also whispered to myself that I had to accept the situation, accept myself sincerely.