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The Year of 2017

The year of 2017 was a very long journey of discovery. It took me three thousand miles away from the home where I grew. I moved down south to the other part of the world where the sun rises from the sea and sets behind the mountains. The familiar high rise building is no longer in my eyesights. My vision is now spoiled with the clear-water ocean that changes its colour depending on the weather. My bed is now nestled in the pale blue room, in the house that I share with four friendly stranger.s Despite all of the unfamiliar scenes and differences, I am making it home and am loving it here.

The year of 2017 taught me the true meaning of sacrifice. Most of all that I earned from sweats and tears, I gave it to my family who really needs my support. It left me with just enough to survive the dollar bills. I did more than before to provide but somehow their needs were escalating as the time pass by. There were times when I felt I wanted to be selfish for once, to enjoy everything for myself and not to worry about anyone else, but only to be reminded of the things that my parents had done for me ever since I came to the earth. There were also times of desperation. It was when I thought I would not be able to cover everything but the new opportunity arrived on my door step every time I needed it. It feels like the God (or universe or whatever you want to call it) takes care of me, always. It never left me stranded in desperation. It was the moment when I realised about the karma of giving, the more you give the richer you become, in so many ways.

The year of 2017 showed me the real meaning of family. I learned that family is not always related by blood. It is those people who will always be there for you no matter what your circumstances are; they will never leave you alone. They are the people who would offer their shoulder for you to cry and later wipe your tears away; they will always be there to help. They are the people who make you laugh over a stupid little thing; they will make you  be in a truly happy state. The most important thing that I have learned about family is there should be no betrayal in a true family; they will never lie and betray you.

The year of 2017 was the year when I rebelled against my old self. It was the year when I could finally speak my mind out loud and releasing all of the hurt I kept inside. I still remember how my hands were trembling, my lungs were desperate for air to breathe out the words I could not make before. I cried my self to sleep that night. Later on I learned to make peace with the things that hurts me and to forgive the people that did me wrong. The next day onwards, I felt the serenity like never before and never looked back.

The year of 2017 showered me with the selfless love that I have never received before. I met this wonderful man on December 2014 in a very unlikely situation. On December 2017, he kneeled down and whispered me those four words. He put the small purple box with a brown bow on top of the table which was timidly-sweet to look at. We were enjoying the chocolate dessert on our made-up candle light dinner and I knew it was coming but it still felt unreal. With the gleaming Brisbane’s night lights outside the window, I looked at the shadow on his face. His light brown eyes looked tender with love, devotion, sacrifice and serenity. I said ‘Yes!!’ with a shaky voice while hugging him when the tears escaped my eyes. Despite all of the ugly things that happens to me, the man with the biggest heart that I have ever met, is still and will always love me selflessly and unconditionally. For that, I am forever grateful.

All in all, the year of 2017 showed me the world that was beyond what I have ever conceived before. It took me on a roller coaster ride without a break. It took the lid off of the things I thought as admirable before. It dragged me by my feet and made me jump off the cliff—head first! In the middle of the swirl of this radical change that’s happening in and around me, the good and the bad are always side by side shaping the diamond of me.

Written on a Monday afternoon in early Summer 2018 by Olivia Ersa

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It’s nothing personal but the mood just kicked in while listening to Landslide by Fleetwood Mac in my head over and over

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I am a Good Girl, So Let Me Be Me

by Olivia Ersa Originally published on http://magdalene.co/news-978-i’m-a-good-girl-so-let-me-be-me.html

Growing up in a household in which “mother knows everything” taught me how to listen, obey and seek approval on everything.  A simple illustration is the very first time I had my period, which happened on my very first day of school at an Islamic private junior high school. Both the school and the feminine pads were her choice, of course.

Attending an Islamic school meant I had to abide by certain standards: What should a good Muslim girl wear? Hijab. Whom should a good Muslim girl be friends with? Other girls who are, preferably, Muslims, too. Who could a good Muslim teenage girl date? No one.

In my three years at the school, all my teachers knew me as an obedient, dutiful student who always had good grades, projecting an image that my mother was very proud of, that of a good girl. It made me want to hold on to the feeling of being approved and making her proud for living up to her standards.

High school was another story, however. I began to feel resentful towards my mother because she did not let me do the things I really wanted to do,  like going on a hike to the mountain with the adventure club, although I had already prepared for the trip for six months. Up to my third year in University, I never once went out partying with friends and I never came home any later than 9 PM because she would not allow me to do such things. But in the last year in college, I started to meet more guys, particularly foreign guys, thanks to  a dating app that my friend installed for me. It became a stepping stone to my discovery of myself. My perspective changed; I no longer saw the world from under the shadow of my mother’s.

I learned about self-concept, how it is created, and how it shows in the way we think of ourselves and in the way we communicate with other people. It was like standing under a single light in a dark room. I looked around and saw hundreds of my mother’s face talking at the same time, telling me what to choose, what to do, how to behave in the 20 years of my life. As the clock ticked, all her faces grew bigger and bigger, before the swallowed me whole and I was  gone.

Was I the real version of myself or the version of what my mother wanted me to be?

To my mother, beautiful is fair skin – as well as long black hair and zit-less face. The thing is, though, she only makes up half of my genes; the other half of my genes, from my Javanese father, makes me tan easily.  When I  returned from two weeks at the beach with sun kissed skin, she looked at me disapprovingly and vowed to never let me go on vacation to the beach ever again. When I cut my long hair short, she remarked: “You looked more beautiful with long hair.”

It is my body but I did not have any authority to do anything I like with it. When I did it anyway, my mother’s first reaction would be disapproval.

For sometimes it hurt me to know that I couldn’t be a beautiful daughter to her. But I found that to others I looked beautiful (my boyfriend told me that and gradually I began to believe it). I then realized that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. People will have different thoughts when they see me, but it is not my obligation to change myself to meet their expectation to please them.

I only have a responsibility for myself to be me. I have to set my own standard, to draw the lines between right and wrong, good and bad. I have to live my life to the fullest and be happy with who I am. When someone disagrees with me, I can listen to their opinions and reasons first, before making them understand mine.

Some people may not think I’m a good girl anymore because I do not cover my hair and skin. Or they may think I am not a good girl because I occasionally let my hair down, enjoying my time in the good company of a smart foreign guy and a glass of Long Island iced tea.  Some people may not  think I am a beautiful because I do not have fair skin, and because my hair is short and my face is not free of pimples. Or maybe they think I am not a good daughter because I do not always do what my parents tell me to do.

But, you know what? I have been “good” all my life. Let them live their lives with their opinions and let me peacefully live mine. Being true to myself, being who I really am, is not a crime, though some people may not be happy about it. This is my body, my mind and soul, and I am happy being me. So thanks, but no, thanks, for your opinions.

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The Moment of Strikhedonia

Old Office Building, JKT 18 October 2016

Strikhedonia Origin: Greek —The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”

It was one bright morning when I found out that I was only entitled to maximum 7 days of UNPAID leaves. After almost a year of planning and saving, and thinking that I was entitled to live 3 months in Australia with the people I love, of course, I found the news as very disappointing. Seconds after that, I felt the fresh breeze rushing towards me with the thrill of excitement then saying “to hell with it” underneath my breath.

That was it, the moment when I decided to quit my job to travel. Oh, actually not only to travel but also to undergo with my own adventure of a lifetime. I texted my boyfriend right away about the news, but he brightened up in instant after hearing that I was coming over any other way. He was the one who hesitated about my plan of giving up job to go to Aussie, but after I told him about the Pros&Cons, he rescheduled my flight ticket to the land down south on the very next day. Yay!counting days to 10 more days until I was on board.

But oh well, the thing was I had not told my parents or anyone (except my boyfriend) about my plan. During the last 10 days of me living in my parents’ home and commuting to work, I was firm with the decision that I was going to share the news on the last day before I was on board. But, the next day I accidentally told my sister about my plan and she was like “Are you going to run away? Better tell Mam and Pap (about the plan) now”.

I was pessimistic about the possibility of the green light given by my parents about my plan. If you know about Indonesian Culture, you will understand how ‘hard’ it is for you to fight for the way of life that you desire, to decide your own decision because one; parents know best and two; you are pretty much such a perfidious child who’s going to spend forever in the eternal flame of hell, if you do not obey your parent’s saying.

After almost an hour that I spent rationalising and convincing my mother, she finally gave me her blessing (under several conditions, of course). She finally understood that agreeing to her daughter’s wish to live by herself in the country full of strangers did not always mean danger. My mother finally understood my point of view; yes, by quitting my job it meant that I would not be getting anymore salary on every single month I was away but living abroad for 3 months would open soooooo many doors of chances, possibilities and life lessons (and also certificate from the short course that I was going to attend later on)  that I would not be able to experience it if I stay at home, living my life in the same old pattern.

So yes, probably I would not be any richer in pennywise, but by traveling; I am absolutely enriching myself in a whole new level.

I feel so blessed.

[livlygalaxy]

I’d like to thank my friend Avistew Teague for translating this!

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I Have Been Good All My Life

Growing up with a typical ‘Mama-Knows-Best’ mother teaches me how to listen and obey, to get approval on basically everything. I remembered the very first day of me having period was the very first day of me stepping my foot in an Islamic private junior high school. Of course, it was the school of her choice and the feminine pads of her choice.

Attending the so called Islamic private school also made me lived up to its standards which never bothered me (and my mother) before:

What dress to wear as a good Moslem girl? Hijab.

Whom I could be friends with if I was a good Moslem? Girls and Moslem too, preferably.

Who I could date in the blossoming year of being a good Moslem teenager? No one.

For three years of attending the Islamic private school, all the teachers knew me as an obedient, dutiful student who always got good grades, an image of what my mother would be very proud of; a good girl. It made me wanted to hold on to that feeling, the feeling of being approved, being able to do and make things that made her proud because I could live up to her standard.

But senior high school was another story; I started to feel upset towards my mother because she did not let me do something (joining nature-adventure club and hiking mountains) that I really wanted, even though I already spent 6 months in sweat together with the kids of nature-adventure club to prepare for the hiking.

From high school until year three of University, never once I gone out partying with friends, never once I came home later than 9 PM, just because she did not allow me to do such things. And on the last year of University, I met more guys, especially the foreign speaking guys from the hottest dating app in town (God forbid my mother find out about this and I’m thanking my best friend for installing this app in my phone). And just like a stepping stone, I discovered more of myself. I saw the world from more perspectives other than under the shadow of my mother’s perspective.

Then, I learned more about self-concept, how it was created, which factors had impacts and also the outcome which showed in how one thinks of themselves and how one communicates with the other.

One day, I found myself in a dark room, under the limelight. I looked around and I saw hundreds of my mother’s face talking at the same time, telling me what to choose, what to do, how to behave all this time for the 20 years of my life. As the clock ticking, her faces became bigger and bigger and finally swallow me whole and I were gone.

Was I the real version of myself or the version of what my mother wanted me to be?

White skin, long black hair and no pimple is my mother’s definition of beautiful. But the thing is, I only have half of her genes so having completely white skin without any sign of tan is kind of impossible since I have half of father’s Javanese genes which having dark tanned skin is normal.

I remembered how she reacted after saw me with sun kissed skin after spending two weeks living on the beach, disapproving and swear she wouldn’t let me go on vocation to the beach ever again. Her reaction after I cut my long hair? ‘You looked more beautiful with long hair’. It is my body but somehow I do not have any authority to do anything I like with it. And, when I do it anyway, my mother’s first reaction would be disapproval. For sometimes, it hurts me to not even be able to be a beautiful daughter for her.

But for other eyes, I look beautiful (my boyfriend always tells me that and I start to believe it). Then I realized that beauty is on the eyes of the beholder. People will have different thoughts when they see me because they have different point of view and it is not my responsibility to change myself to match up each of the point of view just to please them.

Indeed, I have responsible for myself to be me, I have to set my own standard drawing a line between wrong and right, bad and good and live my life to the fullest and be happy with who I am. And when someone disagrees, listen to their opinions and reasons first before making them understand mine.

Maybe they think I am not a good girl anymore because I do not cover my hair and skin with hijab.

Maybe they think I am not a good girl anymore because I am occasionally having fun, enjoying my time in the good company of a smart foreign guy and Long Island Iced Tea.

Maybe they think I am not a beautiful girl because I do not have white skin, long hair and no pimple.

Maybe they think I am not a good daughter because I do not always do whatever my parents (read: Mother) tell me to do because I have the opposite opinions.

But, you know what?

I have been ‘good’ all my life.

I have been ‘good’ all my life and maybe now they think I am not such a ‘good girl’ anymore.

Well, let them live their lives with their opinions and let me peacefully live mine.

I realize that being true to myself, being who I really am, is not a crime even though there will be some people who might not really happy about it.

The thing is, this is my body, my mind and soul and I am happy being me, so thank you so much for your opinions.

[livlygalaxy]

And some people just not that lucky enough to have the chance. And some people choose to ignore/avoid/refuse/ it.Mmm probably because it has just little too much trouble?

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I've read it all <3 #gossipgirl

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Being weird

Here i am in the late afternoon nursing my cup of honey green tea, thinking about Charlie.

and i think about Logan lerman, about being infinite, about being weird in the supposed to be the most outrageous time of your life. High School. Now, i think about my high school memories. Oh, is it just one and half year ago the last time i wear that uniform? Gosh, it feels like forever. No, i don't think about soft wrinkles around my eyes or that huge blink solitaire wraps around my finger. No. No.

Well, it just it's been a long time since the last time me being weird. I used to be weird in high school, i suppose. Well, name a girl who spent the the first week of high school, hiding behind those pillars, afraid of bumping into her senior that exactly looks like her ex? *Me. Name a girl who never participate in class prank and just sit there, in the back of the room, thinking that those classmates of her are just a bunch of utterly complete stooges! *Me. Name a girl who never rush home because she prefer to hide in the chick lit section of high school library, reading every book insight and never leave unless the Mrs. M makes her! *Me. Name a girl who never accomplish her list-of-crush-to-hit because she's just chicken out to even say hi every time one of the guy in the list walk pass her in corridor? *Me. Me.ME

Gosh. it feels good to be weird again. Woo.

i think i never feel infinite in my whole life. maybe it's because i never drove in the back of truck before? or maybe i never had any friends like Charlie's? And i envy him for that.

And to be weird. Being weird is not weird. Every one ever feels weird. so, in that case, i think weird is normal. Right my weirdo fellas?

spread your weirdness.

Love, Liv

[livlygalaxy]

Here, let me tell you. The first time I saw this picture I was so smitten out, ha sort of, by the cute-ness of the three of them. Well, the fact is I happen to be reading too much Hollywood romance crap when I suppose to be finishing my review of those communication theories that Griffin wrote in his book, but when I looked at that picture , I was like “here’s what I like to review about”.

The idea is simple. Our shining superstar, T,  goes out with the new guy in town, H.

Simple cliché. Too mainstream.

Okay, I know, I know, there is no official statement that they are, in fact, together (yet). But, hey, couldn’t a girl enjoy a friends outing with his guy friend who happens to be one guy of that Britain’s biggest boy band?

Couldn’t you see how cute they are together? Aww.

So, I think there’s no such a big deal of it. Every girl deserves a nice walk in central park accompanied with her guy friends. Just like every girl deserves to wear that lovely dress they adore no matter what their size are. Or, as in, every girl deserves a cup of cookies cream ice cream with two cherries on top  at Sunday after put up much struggle for diet the whole week. It’s so simple to understand, isn’t?

Oh, and the fact that the guy friend happens to be the hottest rising star (I personally cann't believe I typed that) is just a bonus.

No, big deal.

Everyone is free to choose their friends, it’s clearly one of the essence of human rights.

So for you, bullies out there, if you feel irritated by the picture, just remember about human rights. I’m sure, you will be upset too if someone tell you, or worse force you, about who you should be friend with. And if you don’t want the happiness you feel when you’re with your friends is taken from you, then, let them be friends, be friends with whoever they want. And go make some of your own :)

Or else.  Well, may god show you the lights and peace may be upon you.

Have a lovely day!

Liv

photo found on:http://weheartit.com/entry/45075006/via/edwardwilliam

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How To Terminate the Term 'Him' in Your Dictionary

The rational part of my brain or, as what the  genius people call it, cerebellar cortex knows it is not healthy to, hmm how should I put this, you know, keep having "feeling" to someone who recognize the sparks but prefer to keep the straight face?

Gosh. It feels worse than having feeling for someone who doesn't even know your existence in this modern planet earth. I mean when you have feeling for logan lerman of even prince william you know that until the big bang boom this universe for the second time they will never return your feeling. You know it yet you accept it because the fact is you don't even know each other for real, right?

  But it feels worse when the one you devoted your heart in the very second you stare at his figure, the one you have the urge to capture that cute macho face in your hands, the one who starts the fireworks party in your tiny heart every time he walks pass you in corridor (which practically almost everyday) knows that you have this huge crush on him and at some moment he was like sending you this crazy mixed signals with almost four seconds stares but still do nothing more than stare at your direction or excuse him self to take a seat in front of you (with his face fully facing you in less than thirty centimeters radius) when you try to make resume of that frigging chapter 4 of communication theory in library or talk to you (for real!) when you ask his friend what the meaning of rhetorical validity is but he answer it himself  right then and there.

See, how could you define what feeling he has for you based on that near-zero interaction? Ohh, Let alone tell you he has the same feeling like you have toward him. Because it would be just like pretty insane illusion.

The things is, it's not good at all. I understand it. But, he's like the black room with half-opened door. So inviting, yet, is so guarded like unwanted to be discovered. But I'm curious about him, people always curious of something they don't know, yet, don't they?

After it felt like an eternity of having this feeling, I came to the realization that this would going no where since I already ashamed to talk to him in the first place (many thanks to R, D and their pseudo-sick-of-romance friend, A) and he seems like in the gap between wanting-and-not-wanting to make the first move or let's suffocate the fact which very obvious yet I was so oblivious to see before: he has no interest in me.

That's it. Done. I've said it. The tiniest bitter fact of my almost sweet little world.

The day after that very historical moment of my almost twenty years of live I was standing in front of full body mirror, in my campus ladies room and said to my self that I gotta do something new.

Three hours forty minutes nine seconds later I saw a girl with short wavy hair in the mirror staring back at me. Yup, I cut my lovely miley-cyrus-look-a-like-long-wavy hair short. I felt this new sparks oozing out of my pores. It was like becoming someone new. And at the moment I knew, the girl with that short hair who's staring back at me is the "new girl in town".

I felt the new spirits. It was like all the feeling I had back there were all gone with the half of my cut hair.

Maybe it was how it feels like to be reborn.

Then, at monday when I went to campus and saw him, it was almost feeling like nothing. No butterfly, no typical-sparks-of-fireworks what so ever. And tell you what, when he saw me with my new hair cut, I kinda hoped that he got the hint which sounds "I'm all new" (translation: That un-mutual feeling I have towards you is all gone. Please, pull down your ego and enjoy the ride)

And guess what? It felt seriously like nothing. I just could feel nothing except this new concept of spirits that formed approximately on saturday night when I cut my long wavy hair. And it seems like all the crazy-butterfly-in-tummy, all the weary, hurt, excitement, giddy and disapointment are all gone.

I am the new me now.

So, Hasta La Vista, past.

Mwah!

Moral of the Message:

In terminating the term ‘him’ in your dictionary, all you gotta do is doing something really different which used to make you think twice (or more than twice) before you actually doing it. It helps you to feel reborn. And in my case: I cut my signature long wavy hair short to get the real feeling of being the new girl (or reborn, or whatever term you prefer)

In fact, it successfully takes my mind off the things that makes me miserable and I feel more confidence.

With my new hair, my new feeling, my new self-concept.

Additional tips: write it down, write down whatever you feel. Cry when you feel like crying. Just let it flow. Let it go. It will help to make you feel lighter. You know, sometimes you just wanna be heard (without followed by judgments) and sharing with paper and pen (or in this case tumblr and follower) will really help.

You wanna try this too?

Best of luck!

Kisses,

Liv

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Accessories backstage at Oscar de la Renta

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the beautiful thing about this photo are those smiles.  knowing that when these kids grow up, they’ll be telling their grandchildren about that one amazing day when Oscar de la Renta dressed them and sent them down a runway in the most beautiful dresses they ever dreamed of.

photo via james nord

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Minal Aidin wal faidzin. Please Forgive all my mistakes ;) let's we start from zero

Welcome Ramadhan! I would to thank Allah because of his mercy I can still feel the atmosphere of Ramadhan, fasting around my neighborhood and family :)

Hope all muslims in the world can feel the joy of fasting. :)

Happy fasting all!!

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