The Short History of Instant Noodles.

WHENEVER it was raining outside, my mind always went to instant noodles. A bowl of steaming comfort topped with egg and fried shallots, drenched in my favourite savoury soup. When I was a little girl, this meant Chicken Curry or Special Chicken flavour.

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Of course, later on, instant noodle brands came up with all kinds of flavours you could ever imagined. But, as always, nothing beats the classics.

It’s all about the signature taste that brings you back to reminisce the old days from the very first sip: to feast on memories, to slurp on nostalgia, to savour a feeling of going back in time.

***

THERE was a certain period in my life when my mother and I moved in to stay with my mother’s parents. Every evening, after the call for Maghrib prayer, my grandmother would prepare a bowl of instant noodles for my grandfather.

For Grandfather, it was always the Chicken Curry flavour—and he wanted the noodles to be extra soft. His should be topped with egg, fried shallots, boiled mustard greens, and sweet soy sauce, served inside a white Chinese bowl with a red chicken painted on it.

Grandfather always had his bowls of instant noodles exactly like that, every single evening, at the same time. He would be having it in front of the TV set in the living room—while watching the evening news or a soccer match.

Before bringing the spoon to his mouth, he always asked me the exact same question: “You want this? This is delicious. You want this?”

I would shook my head and looked at him as he savoured his instant noodles with gusto, slurping the savoury soup noisily. Sometimes, a splinter of boiled egg yolk were still stuck on his long white beard even long after he finished.

When in very rare occasions Grandmother made me a bowl of instant noodles, she would prepare it the way she prepared it for Grandfather. I didn’t like the mustard greens back then, but I liked the way the too-soft noodles made the soup seemed way thicker, the way they absorbed the full flavour from the seasonings.

No one could prepare the perfect instant noodles for Grandfather but Grandmother. My mother was a good cook, but even she couldn’t emulate Grandmother’s signature bowl of instant noodles. Grandmother also knew the way Grandfather liked his sweet hot tea; the precise thickness of tea and sugar, as well as the precise level of warmth when it should be served.

Grandmother prepared instant noodles for Grandfather every single evening, until one day she fell sick. She passed away a month later.

After Grandmother’s death, Grandfather still had his bowl of instant noodles every evening—the one prepared by my mother. He no longer asked me questions about whether I’d like to have the noodles or not, and I suddenly lost interest in watching him finishing his instant noodles. Maybe I was bored. Maybe I was simply growing up. Maybe the sight of Grandfather eating his instant noodles had stopped to excite me.

But I thought it was because something was missing:
the gusto.

A year after that, Grandfather passed away. As far as I could remember, I had never seen Grandfather served anything for Grandmother.

***

I AM always curious at the fact that a bowl of instant noodles can develop its own signature taste.

The noodles came in identical packagings, with identical seasonings, and identical instructions on how to prepare and serve them. Nonetheless, I have heard of people lining up in front of certain instant noodle street stalls because ‘the noodle here is so delicious‘.

I thought this would be something Grandfather would understand. Maybe he would line up in front of an instant noodle stall that served one with Grandmother’s style.

In Java, instant noodle stalls can be found almost in every corner of the street. Many stay open until the small hours. One should only look for street stalls carrying the word ‘INTERNET’.

A friend who visited from abroad pointed at those stalls one day, and asked me whether those were street-style internet cafes. I told him that it was a different kind of internet. This INTERNET stands for Indomie-Telur-Kornet (instant noodle, egg, and corned beef). It’s a bowl of comfort food for most Indonesians; as well as for clubbers who roamed the streets hungrily after partying hard, trying to prevent hangovers.

Another friend of mine would enthusiastically vouch for an instant noodle stall in another part of the town. It would take her 45 minutes to get there by car—an hour and a half if there was a traffic jam. But she would brave it all. She said this stall served the most delicious bowl of instant noodles she had ever tasted.

Probably it was the way they prepared the noodle.

About how long they boil it. About whether they stir it or not. About having it really soft or really chewy. About whether they put the seasonings into the pan or into the bowl. The kind of eggs they use. The amount of chilli they put in. On whether they sprinkle fried shallots or not. The brand of the corned beef. On whether they boil the corned beef or serve it right away from the can. On whether they put in green vegetables or not. On whether they grate the cheese before or after the noodle is ready. On whether they add some salt or chicken stocks.

Or maybe, ‘delicious’  has nothing much to do with the taste itself. Maybe it has more to do with memories.

***

WE moved out from my grandparent’s house into a rented one when I was 10. The house itself was really small. The kitchen was oddly located right in front of the bathroom. But it had a huge backyard.

Seeing it, as a little girl, I imagined a huge swimming pool; but my mother realistically decided to grow peanuts.

I didn’t know why she chose peanuts, but after spending a few hours under the sun in the backyard for a few months, she managed to grow 10-12 rows of peanuts there. I didn’t get my swimming pool, but my mother bought me a huge plastic bucket. On sunny days, she would fill it with cold water. I would soak myself happily; wearing my swimsuit and playing with a yellow rubber duck, while my mother worked on her peanuts.

During harvest time, we always had more than we could consume, and my swimming bucket would be filled with peanuts. My mother would boil several batches of peanuts for hours; I could smell them from the street. We would eat some of them, but ended up giving away most of them to our neighbours. My mother also made peanut cookies and peanut butter, but we kept those for ourselves.

When there were simply too much peanuts to handle, my mother would leave the peanut-filled swimming bucket outside our fence, so anyone could grab some.

However, peanuts were meant for sunny days. For rainy days, we had instant noodles.

My mother always scolded me for forgetting my umbrella—or for losing it. On some wet afternoons, when it rained heavily and I came home with a soaked uniform, my mother would scold me for not having my umbrella, while—at the same time—preparing a bucket of warm water for a bath. Then she would send me to the bathroom and reminded me to wash my hair so I wouldn’t catch a cold.

When I finished, my mother would have prepared my ‘rainy day’ meal on the dining table: a plate of warm rice with a bowl of steaming hot instant noodles; and some eggs—fried with margarin and sweet soy sauce. A glass of sweet hot tea would have been ready on the side. At this stage, my mother would have stopped scolding me about the umbrella. She would tell me the stories of her days; or ask me to tell some stories of my days.

My mother could cook anything from rendang to gulai, from gudeg to siomay, and they were always delicious. But nothing reminded me more of the comfort of coming home than the signature smell of her simple rainy day meal.

A warm plate of rice, a steaming hot instant noodle, egg fried with margarin and sweet soy sauce, and sweet hot tea. That was the best set of meal one could ever have after a long, tiring, and challenging day away from home. It was the smell I came home to—the taste of warmth I came to long for.

For the sake of living a healthier lifestyle, in the past few years, I had drastically reduced my frequency of consuming instant noodles.

However, every time I came home from a long traveling journey, I still treated myself to a bowl of Chicken Curry or Special Chicken, and fried myself an egg in margarin—drizzled with sweet soy sauce.

Because if coming home had a taste, to me, it would taste just like that.

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5 Ways to Find Story Ideas for Your (Travel) Write-ups.

How do you find story ideas for your travel write-ups? How to write about a place from another angle instead of reporting about what you do on a day-to-day basis? I’ve been asked this question quite often in various occasions, so I thought I could share about it through this post:

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1. Follow your curiosity

You are not a cat, so hopefully, you won’t get killed (and even cats have 9 lives!). Have you ever looked at something, heard something, or read about something, and felt curious about a certain thing afterwards? Curiosity is human. We like to ‘sniff around’. We want to know what is happening, we want to know more, we want to know what will happen next. Our mind is full of chatters and questions–even about the most trivial things. The next time you are curious about something, follow it like a detective.

There was this one time around 3 years ago when I watched a TV series, Miss Advised. One of the characters used Craigslist–a listing site, to find herself a date. I was curious whether there were also people posting dating profiles on Craigslist in Indonesia. So I went in. And there were loads of people looking for ‘dates’ on Craigslist, in Jakarta–even just reading their ‘creative’ ads had given me a few hours of uninterrupted fun. Then I asked myself, do people really answer these ads? Does it really work? And so I replied to one of the ads and set myself up for a blind date. The story of the blind date–I’ll keep that for another time!

Stories that may come up: stories about exploration, about your effort in following ‘clues’, about uncovering something, about the challenges in getting the information you need, etc.

2. Keep asking ‘why’ and talk to people

When we travel, there may be many occasions when we realised that we know nothing about something: the way people dress, how they treat each other, their eating habit, the way they treat guests, their local beliefs, about why it seemed like every students in Kazakhstan were always asking me about how many languages do I speak, or about why we would see some old people in Paris walking down the street or sitting in front of a restaurant–talking to themselves.

Of course, we can always shrug our shoulders and let these things pass; or we can always try to understand these ‘unfamiliar’ things by asking people. I talked to a guy working in a villa in Bali, and it turns into this.

Stories that may come up: a feature story about someone you meet/talk to, a conversation with this person, the way he/she left some memories or give valuable life-lessons that are relevant to you, a story about that person and his/her life experience, etc.

3. Observe keenly

Did you still remember the things you see, hear, smell, taste, feel, and think from one of your traveling journeys? Maybe we remember what we saw–more or less, because we took pictures, but most of the times, we forgot the rest. But these small details are like seeds. When we plant, water, and nurture them, when they are ripe, they can burst into stories. To keep a journal on the things you see, hear, smell, taste, feel, and think on your journeys is a great way to keep these seeds. For instance, what is the headline of the local newspaper at the day of your visit?

I overheard a conversation at Musee d’Orsay one time, between a father and his son, and it made its way into this post. I played around with a memory of a city in this post. I wrote down the things I felt as I walked around the small alleys of Santorini, and it became this. I’m not saying they are good stories–but they are short drafts and snippets of what can actually come up from keen observations.

Stories that may come up: a reflection on life based on an overhead dialogue, how a dialogue you overheard reminds you of something–or enlightened you about something, about capturing a spirit of a city or an environment through the local’s conversations, etc.

4. Break your habit

If you’re always staying at a hostel, try a nice hotel when you have enough money. If you’re always staying in a hotel, try an Airbnb space. If you are always following a map, try ditching it. If you are always traveling with friends, try traveling alone. If you’ve never bought souvenirs, buy one. If you’ve always bought souvenirs, buy none. Try to do new things when you travel and break your usual habit. It will feel odd and uncomfortable–two sure signs that you’re about to experience something new. And when we experience something new, we are being introduced to a new story.

From trying out Tinder, having a picnic date with a stranger, dancing with a bunch of policemen, staying with a transgender host, hopping on into a stranger’s car at 4 am in the morning, eating horse meat, to hanging out with a bunch of high school students, each one is a story in itself!

Stories that may come up: challenges you need to face when you’re dealing with unfamiliar territories, the internal conflict of doing things you are unsure about, the way you see a place differently because you change your habit, etc.

5. Try to see things from a neutral ‘place’

Are you opposing arranged marriage? Do you think couples should get married because they love each other–not because of their compatibility towards one another? Do you think it’s shallow for a girl to not want to go to college–and opt for an arranged marriage instead? When we travel, we may see, hear, or experience things that are not in-line with our beliefs or our views of the world. It is easy for us to pass judgement instantly; but things are not always what it seems.

I always thought bitterly about India and its arranged marriage tradition; until I tried to be more open about this and started chatting with an Indian woman–who happily chose an arranged marriage rather than a college life; and with a car-rental driver–who said confidently, that of course–he would choose a compatible husband for her daughter through an arranged marriage! I may still disagree to some extent, but opening up myself to see things from a neutral ‘place’ made me able to understand the underlying reasons behind; and to accept the fact that there are couples who really fall in love after their arranged marriage!

Stories that may come up: unveiling the reasons behind why people act or think a certain way, background about a city/country’s cultural or political history that affects the way they interact or behave with each other, busting myths or breaking the stereotypes about a certain place, etc.

So, are you ready to find your (story) ideas?

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If you’re interested in narrative travel writing, maybe you want to check this class to be held in May by my friend (a travel writer and a senior editor, too), Windy Ariestanty. Have fun! 🙂

What to Do in LodTunduh Village: The Hidden Gem Near Ubud, Bali.

prose-6“Jo! So, tell me what’s around!”

It was a cloudy morning in LodTunduh village. I was sipping my coffee at the breakfast table. The villa where I stayed, Villa Lestaru, belongs to the family of a friend. It consisted of 3 lovely bungalows with private pool, located in the middle of a rice field and a small forest. Amazingly, amidst being ‘off-the-beaten-path’, they have the fastest wi-fi connection I’ve ever found in and around Ubud so far.

After checking in the other night, I tried to Google the things I could see or do around LodTunduh, but it seemed useless. I couldn’t get anything. My search always led me to see or do something in Ubud, instead of LodTunduh. So, I decided to ditch Google and went to Jo instead.

Jo, who worked in the villa where I stayed, is a friendly guy with a big smile. During the times I stayed there, he seemed to be doing everything from driving guests around to taking orders for breakfast. Jo was born in LodTunduh and had been staying in this little village ever since.

Surely he knows the best spots around here?

Deciphering Lodtunduh Village.

Jo looked at me quizzically when I asked him about ‘interesting’ stuff in LodTunduh. “Well, there isn’t much but paddy fields,” he shrugged his shoulders. “However, there are many things in Ubud, the palace, the market…”

“But Jo,” I cut him midair. “What’s in Lodtunduh? I know what’s in Ubud, because I’ve been spending so much time there. But what’s around here? In this village? Is there anything interesting to visit, to see, to experience?”

Jo seemed perplexed. He bit his lower lip. And started thinking. Hard. “Here? Well, just the village,” he scratched his head. “Not much, really.”

I started to feel as if my enthusiasm level suddenly dropped to zero. But I was not ready to give up. Located only 10-15 minutes away from Ubud central by bike, LodTunduh is a charming little village that–I believe–hid its own gem.

Some people, including myself, choose to stay in this area when visiting Ubud. Not only because the area is quieter and less-packed with tourists, but also because a lot of villas, inns, bungalows, and homestays in LodTunduh are offering beautiful rooms with much lower price than the ones in Ubud Central. If you can ride a bike, the distance from Ubud won’t bother you at all.

Have you ever played ‘tourist’ in your hometown?

I had been visiting or passing LodTunduh village a few times before, and I remembered passing a huge sign for Luwak (Civet) Coffee Agrotourism site by the street. Coffee that comes from part-digested coffee cherries eaten and defecated by palm civet is what they called Luwak Coffee, or Kopi Luwak.

“What about that Luwak Coffee Agrotourism nearby?” I probed Jo.
Jo’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes! Yes, you can walk around that agrotourism site and drink coffee. And not far from there, there is this beautiful restaurant that serves crispy duck, it’s called Bebek Teba Sari!”

I smiled. My enthusiasm level went back up a notch. We’re getting there, Jo. We’re getting there.

“So, what else apart from the duck? Where can I get good food around here?”

“Well, I guess, that’s it. The duck. There aren’t so many restaurants here, because LodTunduh is only opening itself for tourism not long ago–so, we don’t have as many restaurants around. LodTunduh is more of a farming village. People are farmers. Now, some of them are becoming tour guides and drivers, or work in hotels, but most are still farmers. So, not so many options for food, but Ubud has many restaurants!” Jo smiled a winning smile.

And then I got it.

I believed that Jo actually knew so many ‘interesting’ things to see, eat, or experience around LodTunduh. But I guess, my interpretation of ‘interesting’ is simply different from his.

Jo was born in LodTunduh. He had been seeing the same views: places, fields, and temples around this village his whole life. Nothing is ‘interesting’ for him, because he grows up with them all. He has become so used to it–he couldn’t really see (yet) his village from the eyes of a curious traveler (or tourist, I don’t mind that word) like me.

Are we all partially-blind when it comes to our own hometown? Well, if we have never played tourist in our hometown, I think that could be the case.

I used to be partially-blind about my hometown in Bogor, too. I only started to see it as a town with more ‘hidden gems’ than the obvious Botanical Garden and the overpacked Puncak Pass mountain-side when I started giving free tours for Couchsurfers & travellers who were visiting. Suddenly, I was interested in everything: about the spotted deers in the Presidential Palace’s garden, the culinary street around Suryakencana and Air Mancur, the hidden Pulo Geulis temple…

I could see it clearly now. If I’d like to know more about LodTunduh, I just needed to ask Jo the right questions.

What to see, eat, and do around LodTunduh–according to Jo.

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“Jo, where is the best place for you to get some food around LodTunduh? Places that you think serve the best food?”

“Well, there are some small warungs (small shop/stalls) that serve delicious food,” Jo answered. “I like Warung Ibu Ida that serves nasi campur (mixed rice) and there is also a nice warung that serves babi guling (suckling pig). But I don’t remember the name,” Jo laughed. “I always eat there and I know the place, but I just don’t know the name, I never noticed.”

“Where are they located?”
“Near the market.”
“Which market?” I asked, a bit confused. I never noticed any market around LodTunduh before.

And then Jo enlightened me.

There was a junction in LodTunduh, and in one of its corner, you can find a mini-market called Puri Kawan. Each morning, from 4 am to 8 am, the streets in front and along Puri Kawan will turn into a local market. The locals go there to sell and buy groceries: vegetables, spices, meat, fish–and we can also find many local delicacies sold there for breakfast.

The warungs that serve nasi campur and babi guling with local taste can also be found along this street. If you came after 8 am, the ‘local market’ would have disappeared without trace–and all you could find is the junction and Puri Kawan mini market.

“Jo! This is awesome!” I clapped my hands enthusiastically while jotting down all the information he gave me. “This is exactly what I’m looking for! Now, tell me, if I go around LodTunduh from here, what are the things I can see? It doesn’t have to be a tourist attraction or a restaurant, just tell me, if you go around the village from here, what would you pass?”

Jo thought about this for a while. And then he started out with Pura Bija, or Bija Temple. It was located right at the mouth of the alley leading up the street from the villa where I stayed. Jo told me that Bija Temple and 2 other big temples around LodTunduh are not ‘touristic’ temples. You cannot just enter these temples without permission–they are still closely restricted only for prayers and ceremonies.

The temples are only open for public during odalan–or the ‘birthday’ of that temple,” said Jo. “Different temples have different birthdays. I can find out when is the odalan for the temples, but even if there’s no odalan, I can also help you to get permission should you like to enter the temples. Pura Bija, that is closest to this villa, is a temple for Aryan caste.”

“Then you can drive around and see the rice fields,” Jo continued. “Just go to the market and drive South. You’ll see loads of rice fields with the farmers working, sun-drying their grains… all activities are still conducted traditionally. Like I said before, most people here are farmers. But if you go around, you can also see little shops selling paintings.”

“Farming is still the villagers’ main occupation, but most of them know art by heart, and in their spare time, they create art you can see in many galleries around here,” Jo explained. “There is a place called Silungan, only around 150 meters away. You can learn how to paint there–abstract paintings or caricatures. If you want to learn carving, I can also take you to some little shops. They don’t put up signs for classes or anything, because they are just local people who knows how to paint or carve. But we can go to one of them and ask them if they can give you a private class.”

The more I listened to Jo talking, the more I was amazed by the hidden gems LodTunduh has to offer. And Jo himself had transformed from someone who said ‘there-isn’t-much-to-see-around-here’ to a guy with tons of valuable information, local insights, and precious contacts.

He also knew a pottery place nearby where you can buy pretty ceramics like mugs, bowls, and plates. If you’d like to have your own set of Balinese traditional costume (the colorful Balinese kebaya), you can tailor-made it at some small tailors along the junction. For one set (the top and the cloth you wear like sarong), you need only to pay around IDR100,000,- or USD 8! This one really blew my mind, as I personally love Balinese kebaya!

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From LodTunduh to the North, East, South, and West.

“Tell me, Jo, what can I see if I drive North, East, South, and West from here?”

“If you continue to drive West, you’ll see the Luwak Coffee Agrotourism, loads of local warungs and the morning market, you can drop by at Ibu Ida’s warung for nasi campur and the other warung for suckling pigs. There is the duck restaurant, and if you continue to drive West, you can see Taman Ayun Sangeh and end up in Canggu,” said Jo. “While to the East, you’ll pass stretches of inns, homestays, bungalows, and villas. Further East, you’ll pass the Tegenengan waterfalls, and the Elephant Cave.”

I drew this practical information in my mind, making a ‘compass’ of my own with LodTunduh at its center. It seemed easier now to navigate everywhere from LodTunduh. I was thinking that if I could spend 4 days here, I could just spend a day to drive West, a day to drive East, a day to drive South, and a day to drive North… and there would so many things I could see already!

To the South, you can see all the art galleries, the rice fields and the traditional mills, then more inns, villas, and bungalows. You can also end up in Canggu going this way,” said Jo. “To the North, is to the direction of Ubud. You can find more Coffee Agrotourism places, Kengetan bridge and the river below it where people threw away the ashes from the cremation ceremony, and there are also many temples along the way, oh, and you can go to a restaurant called Warung 9 at the border between LodTunduh and Ubud.”

Warung 9, later on, turned out to be the highlight of my culinary trip in and around Ubud. They have another branch now in Jalan Suweta–a street next to Ubud Palace, called 9 Angels. The concept is brilliant.

Decorated eclectically, the warung serves buffet of vegetarian food. You serve yourself from the buffet and grab your own plates and spoon and fork. There are baskets of tropical fruits and a blender, so if you’d like to make a smoothie, suit yourself.

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Afterwards, you pay what you eat by donation. Left your money inside a glass jar. There is no cashier whatsoever. The place operates based on trust and kindness. If you have more money, leave more money inside the jar–you may help feed those who do not have enough money who came to eat here! When you’re done, wash your own plates, and leave the place with your tummy and heart, full.

And on my last day in LodTunduh, lazying around by the pool under the drizzles, I realised that I am indeed, full: of delicious food, of Jo’s ‘local traveler’s map‘, and of another amazing experience of discovering a new place–seeing the way it opens itself up to me through the many kind souls I’ve met along the way.

For LodTunduh, I would say:
Thank you, Jo!

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Where to stay in LodTunduh to meet Jo:
Villa Lestaru
Jalan Lodtunduh, Gang Pura Bija, 80571
Ubud, Indonesia
*Guests can enjoy airport pick up service, free use of 2 bicycles for each room, and scheduled shuttle service to central Ubud.
Where to get crispy duck & betutu in LodTunduh:
Bebek Teba Sari
Jl. Raya Kengetan – Lodtunduh,
Ubud, Gianyar, Bali, Indonesia
Where to experience a full tummy and a full heart in LodTunduh:
Warung 9
Jl. Lodtunduh
Ubud, Bali, Indonesia
+62 817-776-768

On Why Our New Year’s Resolution Doesn’t (Really) Work, and How I Created Mine (in A Slightly Different Way)

I think it’s fair to say that this one is not going to be a quick read, so if you’re in a hurry, you may want to revisit this post later on. But if you’re ready, let’s roll!

Screen Shot 2016-01-14 at 8.34.03 PM“So, what’s your New Year’s resolution?”

You might have heard this–or being exposed to this question. Especially now that we’ve gone through our first few weeks in the new year. You may scoffed at that question. Or you may simply be reminded of your own New Year’s resolution. The one you made on New Year’s Eve.

I was one of those people who did both (scoffed at the question, but actually wrote down my New Year’s resolution). I no longer scoff at that question now, but I still–to some extent, write down my New Year’s resolution in a slightly different manner (after reading The Desire Map by Danielle LaPorte).

But we’ll get back to that later.

My point is, I have written down my New Year’s resolution probably since I was 12. And I didn’t really feel like it was (ever) ‘working’–whatever ‘working’ is supposed to mean in this context. I was simply scribbling mine ecstatically; and in the following year realised that, hey, I didn’t achieve those thingsbut who cares?

So I forgot about it and moved on with life.
But that was when I didn’t know any better.

Now, before we continue…

Let’s do this experiment just for the fun of it. I want you to write 5 things you’d like to do, achieve, or have this year. In other words, your New Year’s resolution. You can write down whatever you like. If you can think of 10 or 30 things, just pick 5. If you can only think of 1 thing, try to add more until you get 5, just to stretch your mind a bit.

Probably you’ve written down stuff like getting healthier. Losing weight. Getting married. Having a new car. Traveling to exotic places. Quitting your job. Being fluent in Italian. Spending more time volunteering. Learning how to become a professional chef. Whatever they might be, just write them down freely now.

Done? OK. Keep that note with you for a while (it will come in handy later!)

In the mean time, I think these could be the 3 most plausible reasons on why my (or your) New Year’s resolution doesn’t work.

1. We don’t really want those things. We only think that we should want them.

Probably we don’t really want a new job. We don’t really want to pay a down payment for a house. Maybe we are not really into traveling, and actually prefer to stay at home, doing our hobbies or spending time with our families.

But we sometimes write down the things we don’t really want, simply because our circle of friends or families (or societies) believe that we should want those things. Because our parents think of those things as the epitome of success. Or because our friends told us that quitting our job to travel is the coolest thing to do–ever! Or because society believes that it’s indeed very respectable to climb the corporate ladder.

2. The things we desire may be fun to have, experienced, or achieved, but actually they are not really important for our lives.

When we created our New Year’s resolution, we may wrote down so many things we wanted to have, experience, or achieve. Now, from all those things, how many of them are truly important?  Or let me rephrase: if we can’t have, experience, or achieve them, how would our lives be affected?

If our lives would still be (relatively) fine even when we couldn’t get those things we want to have, experience, or achieve, it means those things are not that important to us. And it is exactly because we don’t think of them as that important, we don’t have enough drive, inspiration, or motivation to go for it.

3. We don’t really know why we want certain things.

There were times when I looked back to my previous New Year’s resolutions, and felt like I needed to pat myself kindly. Have we ever looked at our New Year’s resolution and asked ourselves why we actually want those things?

Why do we want to have a girlfriend? Or why do we want to get married this year? Or why do we want to quit our job? Or why do we want that new phone? Or why do we want to lose weight? Or why do we want to make more money?

When we are asking these questions–and be honest with ourselves while answering them, we will be able to understand what it is that we truly want. Why we want the things we want. Keep asking why until you’re lost for words.

For instance, if we’d like to lose weight, keep asking ourselves about why we actually want to lose weight.

  • Maybe it’s because we think we would feel more confident being in our skin
  • Maybe it’s because we want to feel lighter when we’re exercising, thus we can feel more comfortable doing it
  • Maybe it’s because we’ll be in a dangerous medical condition if we’re not losing weight, thus we are afraid that we’ll get seriously ill
  • Maybe it’s because we think losing weight will make us look more attractive, hence, we’ll have better possibilities of finding a romantic partner, and in the end we can finally feel loved and enough

The underlying reasons behind why we want the things we want could actually give us more clarity on the things we really desire.

Having a boyfriend, for instance, had made its appearance numerous times (if not every year) in my New Year’s resolutions (not this year, though!).

But why do I want to have a boyfriend?
Because it will make me feel

OK. Stop right there!

Now I want you to just go back to those 5 things in your New Year’s resolution you’ve prepared a while ago.

After asking yourself why you want each of the things you want, look closely at each one of them, and ask yourself, how would it make me feel if I actually achieved, experienced, or get these things I want?

  • Probably by owning a house, you would feel proud, powerful, or accomplished.
  • Probably by losing weight, you would feel confident, attractive, or healthy.
  • Probably by traveling around the world, you would feel excited, adventurous, or liberated.
  • Probably by quitting your job, you would feel courageous or spontaneous.
  • Probably by elevating your career, you would feel energetic or productive.
  • Probably by getting married you would feel secure or loved.

Anything.

Just explore the range of feelings you’d feel if you get all the things in your New Year’s resolution. You may have the same feeling keeps popping-up and repeating itself. For instance, having a house, getting married, and elevating your career… all three makes you feel secure. It’s okay.

Now I want you to examine all those feelings and group the similar feelings together. Choose 5 (or less) frequent or recurring feelings that appear on your note. At this stage, you should have a list of 5 or less feelings instead of 5 things on your New Year’s resolution.

A year ago (and up to this day), that’s how my New Year’s resolution looked like.

A list of feelings.

What I do next, is simply asking myself, what can I possibly do (in my everyday life) to give myself all those feelings?

Let’s say I want to feel ‘loved‘. For me, (as we’re all experiencing love in different ways), I could evoke the feeling (that more or less resembles the feeling of) ‘being loved‘ by:

  • sending a sweet text message to myself (really!),
  • gifting myself small gifts (a new notebook, a flower, a short weekend-getaway),
  • treating myself for a nice meal or a nice cup of coffee,
  • meeting my friends and laugh with them,
  • standing in front of a mirror, smile at myself and say, I-love-you or You’re-beautiful
  • hugging my dog…

and many more.

Just some small, simple, (and maybe kind of silly) things that I can do for myself to feel (or at least get close to) the feeling I want to feel.

And after that?

I started doing these things to other people, too. I send sweet text messages to my friends, gift a colleague small things, treat someone for a nice cup of coffee, say yes to my friend’s invitation to meet up, tell a friend that I love & appreciate her… and anything that comes to mind.

How does it change me?

I have to say that now I have more clarity in understanding the reason behind why I want the things that I want. I no longer stressing myself out or wasting my time to chase the shadows, because now I know the underlying motives on why I desire something.

I also started to be more in-the-now. I feel like I don’t have to wait for something big to happen before I could feel or experience what I want to feel. I feel much lighter knowing that I can achieve my New Year’s resolution–now that I design it that way.

I only need to do these little things every now and then and feel the feeling I want to feel!

Furthermore, I am not solely concentrating on myself or being totally absorbed in what I want to feel, but I also start thinking about how other people can feel the good things I want to feel.

In a nutshell, creating my New Year’s resolution this way feels like a better fit for me these days. I don’t know if this resonates with you, too–but feel free to try, and let me know if it (somehow) changes you!

Love,
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*) on another note, I like this post Your Goals are Overrated (another take on New Year’s resolution issue) & 7 Strange Questions that Help You Find Your Life Purpose by Mark Manson. So maybe you want to read it next!

How We Say Goodbye When Summer Ends

Our retrouvailles marked the end of summer in your city. The city I came to love despite its constant windy chills and random rain showers: in summer.

We remembered the couch—with plush pillows and soft blankets thrown carelessly over its surface; something that reminded us of the chaotic beauty of a studio of an artist. We spent so many times snuggling there; our excuses were the cold, the wind, the rain, and the little time we had. We were surrounded by bookshelf, spice rack, Amy Winehouse, and the faint hum of the world outside: the trams, the bikes, the planes, the still sound of the canals, the rustles of the leaves at the park nearby.
how we say goodbye when summer ends

I came to love the park much more than I ever did when I was there—and I never thought that this was possible, since I had always loved parks with all my heart. When we were outdoors, we spent most of our times riding or walking through it on our way home or on our way to the museums; as it provided us with a lovely shortcut from the busy streets where bicycles whizzed by in incredible speed. We had a picnic when the sun was up: reading books, sharing a generous portion of French sausages and seaweed burgers, sitting leisurely overlooking the lake while talking about our future plans and the end of summer that would also mark the end of our time together.

Probably it was this: the realisation that the clock was ticking (or maybe it was the cold), that made us clutched to each other ever-so-tightly as we zigzagged on your bicycle under the city’s rainy evenings, humming some random songs that came to mind while the street lamps shone their damp lights on us like dim stars hanging low. Or kissed abruptly at the park; behind the supermarket alleys; at the coffee shop; in a bookstore; in front of a closed shop—its roof invested by spiders—as we sheltered ourselves from the hard rain;  or by the street-side of the museum complex—where a couple interrupted us to ask whether they were close to Louis Vuitton store.

***

We had cold mornings, cold afternoons, and cold evenings altogether—and I had no intention to go out on those days. I found solace on the couch, reading your 25th Hour, my feet stretched out on the coffee table, my upper body got buried underneath the soft blanket, while you were working all day and stopping every now and then only to make cappuccino, buy groceries for breakfast, prepare lunch, open a bottle of wine, cook dinner, or hug me in random intervals.

On the rare occasions when you managed to convince me to go out, we would savour food from exotic places with exotic smells of exotic spices before retreating to a beer place for some warmth and random conversations about everything we could think about. We would leave when it was late, and most of the times it had grown colder outside; and I would flinched as the chill hit my face when you opened the door.

When a girl told a guy that it-was-cold, she was simply asking to be hugged.

And you would give me a hug and rubbing my upper arms for a bit of extra heat as we ran to the bicycle, laughing and looking forward to the promises of warmth: that we needed only to brace ourselves against this cold for a little longer and home would welcome us in just a little while.

***

My initial memory of your place was the bookshelf.

I sinned from judging people based on the books they read, and as you prepared some drinks for me that afternoon, I stood in front of your bookshelf and browsed the titles lining up there only to find out that I had also read most of the books you had.

When you showed me the terrace—overlooking the artsy neighbourhood—I noticed a string of Tibetan prayer flags on the porch of one of your neighbours.

That evening we found ourselves enjoying a live Nepali classical music concert in a small cafe on a hipstery street. People had beers in their hands, nodding their heads to the beat of the tabla, and some were clapping their hands. Soon after, in the dark, we danced to the last song being played with a bunch of friendly Nepalis who had lived in your city for quite some time. We were all just a bunch of shadows moving in unison: people from faraway places with stories of romance and heartbreaks altogether. As the music wafted in the air, around us, the boundaries between friends and strangers disappear.

We jumped and clapped and swayed. And laughed—not because there was something particularly funny, but because we were simply happy. Probably that was the best kind of laughter after all.

***

There were things I didn’t tell you after we parted in front of the supermarket at the end of that cold summer, when we said goodbye as abruptly as we kissed the previous days:

About how I had prepared myself to forget—not because I wanted to, but because sometimes forgetting is better than remembering; the way sometimes the anticipation of disappointment is a much safer option than the anticipation of hope.

About how I dragged my suitcase across the park to be at the other side of the city, and it was raining, and cold, and I was clutching to my phone for directions—but the screen got wet every five seconds or so, after a while I gave it up and pocketed it, couldn’t care less about finding the shortest route to get to where I should be.

About how the park was full of life despite the weather and about how when I got too tired of circling around with my blue suitcase, I sat on a park bench—the raindrops were falling over the hood of my parka jacket—and cupped my hands on my cheeks; both felt oddly cold.

About how I just sat there and for quite a while I thought I could smell the wet soil, the lake, the leaves, the grass, and the grey clouds above. And about how the thought of a warm bed, a cup of Chocomel, and Chinese takeout finally got me going.

***

Distance was a funny thing. We might have thought about it silently as we had our banana smoothie in the morning or our rooibos tea in the evening—though we didn’t really want to go further into it.

I have always believed that distance is not measured in length. It is measured in faith.

And the farthest distance is one that is not crossed. But it was you; not me; that had decided to cross the distance that day, and I was thankful that you did, that you braved it out, that you tried. Because if I was not afraid, I, too, would.

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