On Learning How to Love My Body.

“Have you lost some weight?” 

Recently, this was the first thing people said to me–especially if they haven’t seen me for quite a while. Then the follow-up questions soon ensue: Are you on a diet? What have you been doing, are you exercising a lot? Are you a vegetarian now? The fact is, I did lose some weight these past 2 years, about 10 kilograms all in all. Which, when you look at it that way, is not that impressive, really, as this means losing only around 0.5 kilograms per month. That’s quite slow–at least compared to the promises of various dieting programs out there. But, this is not the point. The point is this: I started losing weight when I had given up on losing weight.

Grocery shopping in Firenze, Italy. Summer 2015.


For those of you who have been following this blog for quite some time, you know that I used to have issues with my body image. There were times in my life when I hated the way I look; and up to this day I could still recall that memory of feeling ugly, worthless, unloved, and unwanted.

When I looked into the mirror, I only saw a girl who was overweight, with oily face and bad acne, straight oily hair, with excess fat here and there and I hated what I saw. I thought I wouldn’t be able to wear a certain dress or carry on a certain hairstyle or following a certain fashion trend because it would only make me look even more ridiculous, as if I was trying too hard. There were times when my diary was full of harsh comments I uttered to myself–again and again, repeating the self-pity rants about how ugly I looked, about how ugly I felt.

I tried various diet pills and herbs to no avail. I used various acne creams and capsules and went on painful facials but the pimples kept coming. Until a few days before New Year’s Eve 2013; when I took an impulsive decision to travel with a guy I liked to Penang. I thought it would be fun, to actually celebrate New Year’s Eve with someone, some place new.


We arrived in Penang quite close to midnight. On the ferry, we met a couple who was about to head in the same direction as we were, and so we decided to share a cab. The cab driver brought his wife along with him, so the front seats were occupied. Thus, the four of us squeezed ourselves at the back seat, but the space was quite small, so the guy I liked decided to have me sat on his lap, to give more space for the couple–as they brought some huge bags with them. After a while, he laughed and said, “Wow, you are heavy like a fat whale!”

Maybe he was joking. Maybe he didn’t. But at that very moment, I hated him for what he said; and on the following days, I hated myself because I realised that I had said those kind of things to myself too, quite frequently. Why did I hate him for saying the same thing I had been saying to myself, when I had called myself names worse than “a fat whale” and had become my own worst bullies?

That was when I started looking at myself (the bullied self) with a wave of compassion like never before. For the first time, I had this strong urge to stop being mean and harsh to my body, and committed to stop trying to change it. If this was the body I needed to live in for the rest of my life, so be it. I better started to accept it as it was. Because it was too tiring, depressing, and sad, to call yourself names worse than ‘a fat whale’ and play victim all the time. This was the time when I couldn’t care less about my body. I decided to shift my attention somewhere else: my work, my personal projects, my writings, my arts, my love of books, cultures, and languages. I left my body alone. I accepted it, but did not befriend it.


At the end of 2013, my father got a lab report presenting his high blood-sugar and cholesterol level. Good food has always been the heart of our family. And I have always believed (still am) that the kitchen should occupy he largest space in a house. But having that lab report changed something: we needed to alter our lifestyle. Yes, our. It didn’t seem so supportive to have me eating all those food we used to love while his options were limited. I looked at the long list of food my father was not allowed to consume (basically everything we usually savoured), and the short list of what he should consume. This should be a team effort.

“Let’s do it,” I said to him. “From tomorrow, let’s start by replacing white rice with brown rice.” We did not reduce the amount of food we consume, we just made a healthier choice. More fruits and vegetables in the form of smoothies, soup, green juice, salad, or stir-fry (with olive, canola, or coconut oil). Less red meat and more fish. Less coffee and more lemon water. Less sugar (now almost to the point of no sugar), less salt, and more healthy spices and herbs. Eat dinner before 6:30 pm.

I browsed through dozens of healthy recipes, along with some vegetarian options.

Green Mango Salad with Sour and Spicy Asian Dressing.Spinach and mushroom oatmeal.

Mango yogurt with coconut water and nuts & dried fruits.Brown fried rice with organic egg and chilli.

Since I went to Bali quite frequently those days, I started getting myself familiar with the world of raw desserts, and when I got back, I started making those healthy treats for my father’s love of sweet things. The only difference is that we’re using dates instead of sugar, butter, and egg, as well as unsalted nuts and shredded coconut instead of flour.

We have our weekends when we sometimes eat meat (but cooked it in a healthier way) or pig out on that delicious chicken noodle we love, but 5 out of 7 days, we were pretty comfortable with our new habit. My father started swimming again, and I did, too. Plus I did a bit of yoga (home practice by using YouTube videos–thank you Adrienne and Tara Stiles–apart from one or two Kundalini yoga retreat per year) and introduced my father to Lee Holden’s qigong.

Getting in touch with yoga made me feel more comfortable with my own body, especially because my yoga mentors were always highlighting the fact that yoga is not a competitive sport. Just because a friend can do a headstand it doesn’t mean that you need to do it, too. You just need to follow your own pace and listen to your own body, and it will evolve with you. You don’t have to compare yourself with others or parade what you have achieved. I love how yoga has become such a serene and personal practice for me, a time and space I can dedicate to myself every now and then.

Morning yoga.

I started learning to befriend my body and thanking each parts of it everyday. When I am in the shower, I talk to various body parts of mine as I cleanse, rinse, and wash them. I say my gratitude and telling them the reason why I am grateful for having them, then sending my wishes and blessing them accordingly.

This can be something like brushing my teeth and saying: “Thank you, my mouth, my teeth, my tongue. Because of you I can speak and eat and taste good food. Because of you I can smile and laugh and sing. May you only speak good words, kind words, may you only speak things that people need to hear, kindly. May you bring out good things and bring in good things–in the form of words, food, drinks, or voices. Be strong and healthy, my teeth, and bless you all.” And then I move on to the next body part: face, hair, arms, legs, stomach, shoulders, back… everything. I walk out of the shower feeling grateful, relaxed, and refreshed. How can I NOT be thankful? How can I not look at my body in a different way, with loads of respect and admiration?

I couldn’t remember when it was exactly, but there was this one day when I looked at myself in the mirror and I started liking what I saw. I could really see that I am beautiful–not based on society’s or industry’s standard, but simply beautiful as a human being who survives her ups and downs and keeps marching along, happily. I hadn’t been weighing myself for quite some time–and when I weighed myself that day, I was surprised knowing that I had lost 10 kilograms. I didn’t expect that at all.

On the other hand, my father’s recent lab report has also shown a great progress. All the alarming numbers has gone down, returned back to normal, and even turned out really good for the blood-sugar level.


These days, I do not weigh myself. I don’t really care. I have enough comfort, confidence, and positive body image now to say that I just want to live healthier and to love my body more–for whatever it is. I do not want to be measured by numbers on a scale. Do I lose weight? Yes, I do. How much do I weigh now? I don’t know for sure.

Today, I am measuring my body’s performance through the way I feel: do I feel happy and energised or tired and sleepy? Do I wake up in the morning feeling calm and inspired, or greasy and in doubt? Do I move a lot and create many things, thinking and reading, or lazying around a lot and wasting my time scrolling my Facebook’s newsfeed?

I am also getting better and better not to let other people’s compliments or critics determines the way I feel; because what’s really important is not what other people think or feel about us–but what we think and feel about ourselves. It’s about looking at the mirror when we’re all alone and pose that defining question: “How can I love You more?”

Because at the end of the day, that’s the only question there is.

How To Love.

Love by knowing that everything is temporary. Love by knowing that it will not last forever. Love by knowing that it could be the first and the last, the best and the worst, the only one or another one. Love by knowing that nothing is permanent. Love by knowing that this moment can make and break the rest.


Love by giving it all out. Love by seeing it whole instead of seeing it partially. Love by loving it all in. Love by knowing that the person in front of you are made of mistakes and tears and wounds and past regrets, as well as wonder and wisdom, hopes and promises, present dreams and future longings. Love by seeing the other person as who they were, who they are, and who they could turn out to be.

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Love by being fully present during the best and the worst of times, by bringing your highest self to the table first and foremost, by knowing that everything that is pouring out of you would be none other than love and respect, understanding and compassion, happiness and acceptance.

Love by knowing that people get hurt sometimes, that people has to go through their darkest days and alleyways, that some are trying hard to keep their heads above the water every now and then–and though wherever they are and whatever they are going through may not be able to keep the two of you together, you would still love them nonetheless, since being separated from each other does not make you love them any less.

Love by storing the best memories until they are ripe with meanings, by blowing away the worsts to the winds until they slowly disappear. Love by being honest about how you feel and how you want to feel, about what makes you sad and what makes you happy. Love by knowing that you can’t share something you do not have, by understanding that no matter how much someone loves you, they can never make you feel full if you feel empty when you’re alone. Love by asking yourself every single day, what would I do if love and respect myself; and what would I do if I love and respect the one I love?

Love by listening to the unspoken, by speaking without words, by seeing without judging, by being emphatic of the oblivious. Love by being aware that each words spoken, each gestures presented, and each moments shared could bloom or wilt a soul; that it takes only a second of carelessness to leave a scar that would faint but won’t completely disappear, that it takes only a second of mindfulness to leave a loving memory that would spark someone’s inner light brighter than ever.


Love by knowing that everything is temporary. Love by knowing that it will not last forever. Love by knowing that it could be the first and the last, the best and the worst, the only one or another one. Love by knowing that nothing is permanent. Love by knowing that this moment can make or break the rest.

Love kindly. Love courageously. Love thoroughly.

“We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.”

— Ernest Hemingway.

A Gift of Being.


Even if our only prayer is gratitude, maybe it’s enough.
Even if our only ablution is acceptance, maybe it’s enough.
Even if our only service is being compassionate, maybe it’s enough.
Even if our only invocation is words of blessings, maybe it’s enough.
Even if our only offering is non-judgement, maybe it’s enough.
Even if our only ritual is forgiveness, maybe it’s enough.
Even if our only pilgrimage is being fully present, maybe it’s enough.
Even if our only scripture is love, maybe it’s enough.
Even if our only way is peace, maybe it’s enough.
Maybe it’s enough.

It’s Okay To Not Be Okay.

: : dedicated to t. a. n.

You don’t need to offer anyone an apology for not being okay. You don’t need anyone’s permission for showing, owning, and honouring your feelings, no matter how far-from-okay those feelings actually are.


Don’t ever feel guilty for not being able to fake a smile when everyone’s dancing and laughing some evenings; and don’t ever feel ashamed for not being able to lift the veil of sadness from some of your heavy mornings. It’s okay to not be okay.

You don’t have to repress your feelings to please others, nor push away your sadness to comfort others. You have the right to feel whatever it is that you feel; to talk about it and to try to understand it in all honesty, unapologetically. You have the right to not be okay.

Release the tension from not being able to bounce back so easily and drop the pressure from not being able to snap yourself ‘out-of-it‘ so quickly–you know you would if you could. You are allowed to be sad; to cry your eyes out when you feel like it. You are allowed to be vulnerable; to reach out when you feel like it. You are not a failure just because you allow yourself to feel what you feel.

You are just being human.
And it is okay to not be okay all the time.

Ian Curley: A Message on Mindfulness from the Kitchen.

Maybe it’s true: that an end is merely a start for a new beginning. Or maybe, whether something is ‘an end’ or ‘a beginning’ largely depends on our perspective and the choices we make along the way.

When Ian Curley ran into trouble with the police in London back in the 80s; he could have think of it as The End. But Ian decided to see it as a chance to start a new beginning: he flew to Australia and started over. Today, Ian is considered one of Australia’s first class chefs–appearing in the ever-popular Masterchef’s program, having his own reality TV show Conviction Kitchen, and preparing meals for Hollywood celebrities; from Beyoncé to the Kardashians.



It was a sunny afternoon. I had just finished savouring Ian’s delicious steak tartare–after watching him preparing this classic dish in the kitchen. But the leek salad, that came before the tartare, enabled me to see Ian in a different light.

“Leek is a very humble vegetable,” Ian said, as he put the leeks on the grill. “It’s easy for people to overlook this vegetable. It’s just a leek! What can you do with a leek? So they say. They know they can do much with meat, for instance. But leek? But leek is special, too. You just need to see it closer. If you really ‘see’ the vegetable–even if it’s ‘just’ a leek, you can always cook delicious meals with it.”

I watched Ian as he gracefully moved around the kitchen, laying out some plates on the kitchen counter and peeling the outer layer of a grilled leek that had turned dark brown. “Nothing should go to waste,” he smiled as he put the brownish peels on an empty bowl. “You can even use these peels to make leek powder. Just put them in the oven for a little while, and when they’re dry enough, you can crush them into a powder. It’s crunchy and tasty, and adds colour and texture to your salad.”

This was when I realised the fact that I had just witnessing mindfulness taking place in the kitchen. Ian’s message is a message that translates not only to cooking, but also to living. How often do we overlook the small things in our lives, taking things for granted, or wasting the things we already have? How often do we wish to have ‘some meat’ instead of ‘just a leek’–believing that we’d be happier that way?

“See. The ingredients do not compete on the plate. They just complement each other,” Ian smiled, as he prepared the leek salad on the plate–and sprinkled it with leek powder. “Here. Now, try this!”

Leek salad


When I meet people I admire, I don’t ask them much about their success. I ask them about their failures, their hardships, their darkest days. I ask them about what happens when the lights go out and the curtains are closed. I guess it helps me to see people as human beings–with their ups and downs, plus and minuses. No matter who we are, we are all fighting our own struggles. It’s easy for us to be envious (or jealous) when it comes to seeing other people’s success. But will we be that easily envious (or jealous) if we only knew what they’ve had to go through to get there?

“I chose my career over my marriage,” Ian said as he tapped his glass with his fingers lightly. “I guess… it’s something that just happens. There will come a day when we have to face difficult choices in our lives, and we have to make a decision about it, and then live with it.”

I could see where this was coming from; especially after Ian mentioned that he couldn’t remember the last time he went traveling not for work. Even when we met in Jakarta, he was on a work tour together with Victorian Government Business Office.

“It’s hard, you know. It’s hard to really know people–or a country, when you arrive at the airport and someone with a fancy car is already there, waiting for you. And you are taken into a nice hotel, people treat you nicely,  you meet the press, and then you go to a really nice kitchen to cook, and then go back to the hotel. You don’t get to see the real things,” Ian shrugged his shoulders. “That’s why I like to connect with real people. When I’m back from my work tour, I go to my restaurant’s kitchen. And I feel sane again. There are my staff, they just want to work and make money and go home to their families. To them, I am not a celebrity chef. And I think this real interaction is what keeps me sane, what keeps me real, what keeps me grounded.”


“You know, when you are blessed with so many things in your life, you just have to give back,” said Ian.

steak tartare

I smiled, knowing by heart that he was right. Before, Ian told me about his TV show, Conviction Kitchen, where he teach life skills to recent inmates. I wondered if this choice of working with inmates had something to do with his past in London–when he ran into trouble with the police.

This reminded me of a friend who ran away from his port-city life by the sea in Vladivostok; only to find himself being pulled in by other port cities and sea-related works in different parts of the world. Some of us are running away from an event (or a place) in our past, only to find out that we’re being reconnected again with it in different ways, at certain times in our lives. It’s like a calling–a missing link that helps us to understand the reason why we need to go through certain things in our lives; no matter how unpleasant they may be.


Ian runs his restaurant, European, in 161 Spring Street, Melbourne, and still travels all around the world–from time to time, from one kitchen to another.

Why I Write.

I write because sometimes it’s just too complicated to tell everything to anyone. I write because in my darkest days, I do not even feel like seeing anyone–let alone talking to them. I write because I think people won’t understand. I write because I don’t think I can fully trust anyone. I write because I think people won’t be so nice or approving. I write because I think people would try too hard to be nice and approving.



I write because in my teenage years, I learned that my knuckles would hurt if I punch the wall. That instead of getting sympathy, my parents would simply scold me for breaking things or throwing my stuff away. That to swear and curse from the top of my lungs, I needed to go to a jungle or a mountain so nobody would hear me, but I couldn’t travel that far. That cutting myself sounded like an intriguing idea to play with, but I could never get myself to do it. I write because at the time, I didn’t have whatever it takes to run away–both mentally and physically.

There were times in my early 20s when I envied my friends who could run away to other cities/countries, drowned themselves in sexual adventures, went to wild parties and got wasted, tried out drugs of different kind, or showed everyone the scars they inflicted on themselves in an attempt to ‘feel’ again. There were times when I looked at them and wished I could do that, too.

But I didn’t.
Instead, I wrote.


I write because the pages are simply being there. They are not talking back, they are not giving any advice, they are not offering words of comfort, they are not judging. They are simply being there in their blankness, waiting for my pen to vomit the chaos of my thoughts and feelings. They never flinched no matter how dark, mean, or depressing those thoughts and feelings turned out to be. Sometimes, my handwriting is tiny and neat and round, other times thin and messy and sharp, other times huge and bold and wet with tears. But the pages are still there–even when they get damp, torn, crumpled, thinned, or worn out; they stay.

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I write because at the time, it was the only thing I can do. I write because it was the cheapest and safest way to express myself: my sadness, my anger, my hatred, as well as my secret wishes, my dreams… my love. I write because when things get hard, writing gives me an outlet to empty my mind (and my heart) for a while. I write because only by doing so, I can transfer the revolving and revolting thoughts in my mind into the pages of my journal, name it, recognize it, pinpoint it, then lock it in a drawer and give it a safe ‘distance’. I write because I can reread those words a few hours later, nine days later, nine weeks later, nine months later, or nine years later, and feel differently each time; noticing how much I have grown and how much I have learned. I write because that’s the one thing I know to see the many sides of me and finally understand who I really am–and who I really want to be (even when nobody is looking).


Different people in all walks of life choose different outlets to cope with different kind of things. It just happens that I choose writing. And I’m thankful for writing, too, has chosen me.

A Parisian Note: A Reminder “To Feel”

It was not Louvre. It was Musee d’Orsay I fell deeply in love with.

From one floor to another, from one alley to the next, those enchanting paintings and sculptures never ceased to amaze me.


At times, silently, I hovered around some visitors who were accompanied by a guide–most probably an art student–and eavesdropped as the guide explained the symbolism behind “the color orange” or “the appearance of a tiger” used in a certain painting.

I do not ‘understand’ art–though I wish I do. Eavesdropping the guide’s detailed explanations suddenly threw me away to another miraculous realm–where all shades, shapes, lines, tints, colors, brush strokes, hues, shadows… hide deeper meanings then what the eyes can see.

But the deeper meanings behind the paintings in Musee d’Orsay struck me on the 5th floor–where they exhibit the works of the ‘impressionists’, like Monet and Renoir. It might not be a coincidence that one of my most impressive moments in Paris happened exactly there.

I was sitting on a bench overlooking walls of paintings, resting my feet while looking at the museum’s guidebook. In front of me, a father and his son stood side by side. I guessed they were African-American. Both were dressed stylishly–very Parisian in a way.

“I don’t understand this!” the son, most probably a 9 or 10-year-old, let out a sigh of desperation. “We keep looking at these paintings and I just don’t understand what to make of them!”

The father turned his face towards the boy and smiled.  He casually lowered himself so that the two of them were on the same height, and then he said, “Hey, man. It’s okay if you don’t understand. You don’t have to understand it. You just need to feel it.”

There was a pause in the air, and I realized that I was actually holding my breath.

“Now here, look at this painting here,” finally the father pointed out at a painting and looked at his son once again. “Do you feel anything by looking at it? Just recognize how you feel about it. That’s it. Just note the feeling.”

“What if I feel nothing?” the boy asked.

“If you feel nothing–nothing at all, then just move on to the next painting,” the father smiled calmly.

That conversation was the first thing I wrote in my notebook that day. Later that evening, the conversation was still playing ever-so-vividly in my mind.

It struck me how often we feel as if we need to understand things in life, and–just like the little boy–get frustrated when we couldn’t find an answer. We said things like, I-don’t-understand-him or I-just-don’t-know-what-to-do or I-just-don’t-get-it all the time, in a sigh of desperation–as if not understanding or not knowing or not getting ‘it’ was something wrong; as if it was our fault; as if we were not trying hard enough.

But how often do we stop trying to understand ‘it’, and start feeling ‘it’ instead? To simply see things as it is and just recognize the feelings that are welling up slowly from the inside? How often do we give a chance for our hearts to just completely feel, without having our minds interfering?

When the feeling has surfaced, actually we will only have two rhetorical questions left: is this the kind of feeling we want in our life, or is this the kind of feeling we do not want in our life? When we have come to these two questions, an answer is no longer needed. We just intuitively know.

And on those particular moments when we “feel nothing”…
are we ready to move on to the ‘next painting’?

6 Ways To Live The Life You’ll Love.

This is an unbranded sponsored content; but the content is written solely by me,
and brought to you with love, as always :)


When we let other people write our life story, we are signing ourselves up for disappointment. When we let our parents, our friends, our boss, our colleagues, or some celebrities shape the way we view the world, decide what we are supposed to like or dislike, or define how success looks like; we are actually living their life instead of ours.

What life would be like if you can write your own life story—and be really honest about what is it that you really want? About what is it that really matters to you? If no one can give you any pressure, if you don’t have to answer to anyone, if you don’t have to find excuses, what kind of life do you want for yourself? Write your own story.


Once you have envisioned the life you really want for yourself, start taking small steps to actually live your dream life. Whenever you’re about to make a decision—no matter how small, look at your own life story–the one you have written on your own; and ask yourself: “Is this decision going to take me closer to my dream life?”

You need a strong will. You can always dream of an ideal life, but you can only get there with a commitment on your side to get closer to it every single day. Follow your dreams.


If there are things you’re really good at, if there are things you really love with all your heart, if there are things you’re truly interested in, pursue it with perseverance. It is not a coincidence that the word passion was derived from a Latin word that means: to suffer.

Passion is overrated. The real question is: what do you want to do with the thing you’re so passionate about? Do you want to keep working on it? Do you want to be better in it? Do you want to master it? Do you want to do something good with it? Do you want to share it with those who need it? How much you’d willing to suffer for your passion is what separates movers from dreamers. Pursue your passion.


Make sure that you do your very best in every single thing that you do, no matter what it is. Brewing a cup of coffee, preparing a simple lunch, getting caught in a terrible traffic jam, mopping the floor, hugging a friend, holding your lover’s hands… whatever you do, always strive to give your best at that very moment.

Always ask yourself, how can I give more? How can I make people happier or feeling better after they interact with me? How can I offer more of myself, my skills, my talents—or anything else that I have to the people around me?

Deliver the unexpected. When someone is asking you for a cup of coffee, give him a cup of coffee and a slice of banana cake on the side, with a personalized thank-you note. Give them more. Give them more of you, and give more to yourself, too. Try doing this in every aspect of your life, and you’ll see how it will change you from the inside.


As a struggling perfectionist when it comes to my passion-driven projects, I find solace in the book SHOW YOUR WORK by Austin Kleon. He told us to simply show our passion project and share it to the whole wide world—even if it’s just a tiny bit of it, every single day.

If you want to write a novel, write 1 page a day and in a year you will have a 365-page novel. If you want to have a food photography exhibition, take a picture of a person’s breakfast every single day, and in a year you’ll have a collection of 365 breakfast meals of 365 people. But just do something, now.

Don’t wait for something to be perfect, because it will never be. Don’t wait until you get better at something, because you will always want to be better than better. Don’t wait until something happens, because you won’t have any guarantee that it will happen. Stop making excuses. Just go ahead.


Step out of your comfort zone. Do the things you won’t normally do. Change the ordinary. Face your fear. Do not settle for less.

The more it feels challenging or frightening; the more reason you need to do it: because it means that you’re about to cross a junction in your life that will take you further in life. The idea here is not to be successful in it. If you’re afraid of riding a roller coaster, you are allowed to ride on it while closing your eyes and screaming your heart out and crying excessively afterwards.

It is okay.

What’s important is to know that you have tried. It’s just like those times when you dare yourself to fall in love again and find your heart broken again, but you end up smiling after a while, knowing that it only makes you stronger. Because you know that you have the capacity to love someone so much and that you will always have the courage to try again.

You just need to remind yourself again and again, about how strong you are. To know that no matter what life throws out at you, you’ll be ready to face it, because you know everything will be okay; that you will always survive.


SPICES: A Valentine’s Writing Boudoir


If you are:

  • A woman, 22 years old or above and
  • A single woman looking for something exciting to do this Valentine’s Day, or
  • A woman in a relationship but having no plan to spend Valentine with your partner-in-love, or
  • A married woman, but somehow crave a private women-only connections over the weekend

If you answered ‘yes’ to those questions:

Maybe SPICES is something for you. Because aren’t we all–publicly or secretly–wanting to spice up our lives, in one way or another?

Which is why I’ve decided to hold SPICES: a one-of-a-kind Valentine’s writing boudoir at a secret loft somewhere in Central Jakarta (this Saturday, February 14, 2015). There will be heart-warming girls’ talk, writing sessions, luscious sweets and savories, caffeinated giggles, seductive music, intuitive dialogues… and many more.

Click here for details. And let’s spice up our Saturday’s Valentine.

photo credit: Journal BW via photopin (license)
photo credit: IMG_1792 via photopin (license)
photo credit: CHOCOLATE CAKE!!! via photopin (license)
photo credit: Flickering flames of the Diwali diya via photopin (license)
photo credit: via photopin (license)
photo credit: IMG_1792 via photopin (license)