Instagram Linkedin Youtube

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 savoring 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 color and texture to your salad.”

This was when I realized 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 is 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 taught 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.

hanny
WANT TO SHARE WITH SOMEONE WHO NEED THIS?

Why I Write.

I write because sometimes it’s just too complicated to tell anything 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 a 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.

Screen shot 2015-04-08 at 7.27.56 PM

PHOTO BY CLARADEVI HANDRIATMADJA.

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 different 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 kinds of things. It just happens that I choose writing. And I’m thankful for writing, too, has chosen me.

hanny
WANT TO SHARE WITH SOMEONE WHO NEED THIS?

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.

hanny
WANT TO SHARE WITH SOMEONE WHO NEED THIS?

Elia Bintang: On Beliefs, Beach, and Butterflies.

Elia Bintang had just launched his first novel, Pantai Kupu-kupu (Butterfly Beach), published by Plot Point. He is also an avid blogger who writes at Jurnal Elia and a singer/musician. Albert Camus, Haruki Murakami, and Jean-Paul Sartre are some of his major influencers. He is now living in Bali, Indonesia. You can read more interviews with Indonesian writers here.

 

Why beach? And why butterflies?

 

Elia: It’s a very simple story. A girl meets a guy in a strange, faraway, almost mythical place called Butterfly Beach (Pantai Kupu-kupu). She is in search of the purpose of her life. He is in search of the love of his life. In Butterfly Beach, every morning, the sun rises with millions of butterflies flying out of it. That’s the general idea.

Why beach?

Because it’s a perfect setting for the characters. Imagine that you’re sick of the way you’ve lived so far, and decide to think about what it is that you really want, why do you exist, and stuff like that. Imagine that you are into the alternative way of living (and thinking) because the accepted way sucks. If you stay in the city, you’ll feel very much alienated. If you go to the mountains, you must be full of hatred.

This is not a story about alienation nor hatred.

There might be a subtle feeling of alienation throughout the book—I can’t put that out of the picture—but it has a certain quality of warmth, as well. A certain quality of fun–and a relaxed attitude. You’re serious, but not so serious at the same time. So, the beach is a necessity.

As for the butterflies, no particular reason. Maybe because they’re beautiful (just think about millions of them coming out of the sun). The main character has a rainbow-colored butterfly tattoo, too. She, as well as the guy, is a part of the Rainbow Community. It’s inspired by the Rainbow Family of Living Light in real life, a community that embraces the alternative way of living.

I choose butterflies more for artistic reasons, I guess.

 

How and where do you write?

 

Elia: When I’m working on a novel, I write for eight hours every day. I write anything that comes to mind for the first draft. After that, I review it, analyze it, make an outline, and begin the second draft. I review and analyze it again, decide on which parts that are inefficient and should be left out; and what I should do to improve the story and the writing. Then I begin the third draft.

If everything goes well, it’s all that it takes. But sometimes, it takes more.

I write anywhere. I’ve written in Jakarta, Yogyakarta, and Bali. All I need is a quiet, peaceful room with a closed door. And cigarettes. And cups of coffee. A beer, occasionally. Whisky. Songs that take me somewhere else. Magic mushroom would be nice, as well, for fresh new ideas and perspectives.

 

You’re a musician, as well. What is it that music can’t do, that writing can do, or vice versa? How do these two influence each other?

 

Elia: A song is a sword. A novel is a slow knife. If you want to die, get the first one. If you want to understand pain, get the second one. You will die, too, in the end, but as a deeper, wiser, more complete person.

My music doesn’t influence my writing. My taste of music does.

I like Radiohead, Sigur Ros, Massive Attack, Isaac Delusion, stuff like that. Their songs set my mood right when I’m writing surrealistic things, which is an important aspect of my work besides freedom and counterculture. They stimulate my senses and imagination.

 

I believe that our writings or stories reflect our fears, dreams, wishes, concerns, beliefs—or a combination of all those. How do you see Pantai Kupu-kupu reflects yours?

 

Elia: It reflects my concerns and belief quite a lot. I believe that we should live this life as subjects, not objects to labels, stereotypes, norms, values, and anything created by society.

We have responsibilities towards other people, of course, but we are individuals at the same time. We are free.

It’s up to us–how to live and define ourselves. All the characters in Pantai Kupu-kupu define themselves; or in the process of defining themselves.

I support equality between men and women. I’m not talking about the difference in salaries they make at work or the numbers of men and women in the parliament or stuff like that. I’m talking about the mindset.

Women shouldn’t be afraid of anything. Women are free individuals and shouldn’t give a shit about the pressure society puts on them; it’s how society sees them that has to change. Women shouldn’t live their lives expecting to rely on men financially and emotionally; because they are better than that, and are capable human beings—besides, men don’t owe women anything, we are all equal.

All female characters in Pantai Kupu-kupu are free individuals with good self-image and self-esteem.

Today’s culture was shaped by the generations before us. What kind of culture will we pass on to the next generations? It’s not the time to write about weak, fragile women and the superiority of men.

 

I sense several issues related to interconnectedness, finding oneself, and spirituality in this novel. How do you—yourself, as Elia—see these issues?

 

Elia: You pray to the ‘higher’ being every night and day. Then things work out as you asked. You say, my prayer is answered. Then things don’t work out. You say, my prayer is not answered. How do you see that?

I’d say, it’s just the nature of life.

Even if you pray to a tree, the outcome would be the same: sometimes you get good things, other times you get bad things.

Based on this argument alone, I see no point in being too spiritual. I believe in the existence of spirits, but that’s it. I never discuss anything beyond that in my writing because my purpose is to emphasize the absurdity of life and the surrealistic things you can experience, not the spirituality itself.

I’m a non-believer and I think life is absurd.

You can live all your life as a good person and die in a traffic accident or in a bombing. You can be a bad person, kill millions of people, live a long life, and some people suggest to make you a national hero after you die. One phenomenon could occur just because it ‘felt’ like occurring.

I don’t believe in interconnectedness.

About finding oneself, I always think that self-knowledge is important; and that in life, it’s much more important to be than to have. Do everything your way. Succeed your way, fail your way, and in that, you will find yourself. The logic is very simple. When you’re being you in every decision you make, self-discovery is inevitable.

 

What’s the most difficult writing days in your life look like? 

 

Elia: Writing is not difficult. Thinking of what to write is.

I always have a big picture in my head before I work on a story. I know how it’s going to be like, how the main characters look like, what are their strengths and weaknesses, their clothing style, how they move, how they become who they are, what they want, and so on. If you know all these before you write, it’s easy.

Writer’s block is a myth.

I don’t remember anything so unbearable about my writing process.

hanny
WANT TO SHARE WITH SOMEONE WHO NEED THIS?

6 Things You Might Lose On Your Traveling Journeys & What They Taught You About.

It happens. There are things we might lose during our traveling journeys–no matter how carefully we guard them all the time, no matter how cautious we are. There will always be something that slips through the cracks, they say. And just like everything else in life, when you lose something so dear to you, there’s this certain feeling of sadness and helplessness that envelopes you for quite some time. However, losing things (especially on your traveling journeys) could also provide a series of valuable life-lessons that may (surprisingly) release us from having to carry too many things in our lives. These are 6 things you might lose on your traveling journeys and what they taught you about living life.

1. Lose Yourself.

When you’re traveling alone to faraway places, where nobody knows you–suddenly, you feel that euphoric feeling of freedom hits you, really hard. At last, you are free from other people’s preconceived judgments about you! You are free to simply be you–you are free to do whatever you like.

You are free to lock yourself in your fancy hotel room and enjoying their clean and sparkly pool until your skin smells of chlorine, instead of walking under the vicious sun to the public beach. You are free to roam around the city until 3 a.m. with a bunch of guys from faraway countries you met at the hostel’s common room, bar-hopping in a country where people don’t really speak that much English. You are free to sneak your way into a wooden house by the paddy field–where people wear loose robes, beads, and crystals on their forehead, chanting mantras and swaying their bodies with their eyes closed, laughing and crying and screaming–and you’re watching them, asking yourself whether you’re supposed to laugh, cry, and scream as well. You are free to end up in a couch with a guy you have only known for 2 days, watching movies on his laptop before ending up kissing each other passionately.

Nobody knows. It’s your secret. As you’re losing yourself during your traveling journeys, you get a chance to know who you really are–no parents to tell you what not to do, no colleagues darting uncomfortable look your way, no friends asking you to do something you are not really into. You’re free to simply being you.

This will be your chance to see both your brightest side, as well as your darkest side. You will truly know how far you can–or want to go. You will know and set your own values, and rules. You will find out about your true boundaries–things you wouldn’t do even when nobody’s watching. You’ll know what you really expect from yourself, as a person; what truly makes you proud, and what disappoints you. You’ll have that opportunity to make the greatest mistake or write the greatest story of your life–and you’ll understand how important it is to live your life for yourself. Because in the end, it is your life. And it’s so tiring to keep on living it based on other people’s expectations upon how you should live yours.

2. Lose Your Belongings.

No matter how good you are in guarding your belongings, this will happen one day–that’s just the way it is. The airline somehow misplaces your luggage and it is on its way to Africa instead of Europe. Someone steals your wallet–and you do not have that much money left on your savings account. You forget about how you put your handphone on the grass next to your picnic towel when you leave the park empty-handed. The key to your hostel room is missing. Your laptop bag is–(or maybe now it isn’t) stranded inside a toilet booth somewhere downtown.

After being swept by a sickening wave of panic, unleashing your anger to the whole world, cursing yourself (and your stupidity), wailing uncontrollably, and pulling your hair out to try to get your belongings back–to no avail, you start to feel your frustration dissipates. And then, there’s this empty feeling in your heart–somewhat scary and somewhat promising, a certain feeling of knowing that you just have to accept the fact that you have lost your belongings, and that you need to continue living without them.

And then you start counting your blessings. You’re looking at what you have, and being grateful for that. You’re thinking about how you can use these things you have to survive–and moreover, to be able to still enjoy the remaining days of your journey. You need to be flexible. You need to change plans, be okay with that, and be okay with less. And suddenly, you realize that who you are is not defined by what you have; or do not have. That you can actually get by with what you have–or you will find a way to, as long as you’re willing to.

You start reaching out to people, swallowing your pride, admitting that you need help. You talk to a stranger, some locals, your hostel owner, your friends, your parents–telling them about your misfortunes and asking them if they would be kind enough to help you. That’s the moment when you know how grateful you are to have these wonderful people in your life.

3. Lose Your Way.

Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”
“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat.
“I don’t much care where –” said Alice.
“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is a novel by Lewis Carroll

Probably you’re too excited wandering around the city. Or you’re taking the wrong turns, hopping on to the wrong bus, or getting off at the wrong station. Probably you lose your map. Or you’re simply bad with directions, just like me. There will be times when you find yourselves lost (what an irony!) in a strange country. You are trying to trace your way back to where you were, but it seems like you keep on going around in circles–the cobblestone path and the colorful walls transform into a confusing maze with dead-ends here and there.

You can keep going around and around and try again, and again, and again, or you can head over to someone and ask for directions. That’s how it goes in life, too. Sometimes, you need someone else’s help to show you how to get somewhere. And when you’re about to ask for directions, the best is to know where you’re heading or where you want to go back to. Only then, the person can help to point you out to your desired direction. There are times in life when you’re kind of floating in the middle, not sure where you want to be, but not wanting to go back to where you were before, either. Rather than trying to go around and around in circles, seek help, and ask yourself: where do you really want to be in this life? And it’s always a relief to have a place you can always go back to, as well. A familiar place that you can always call: home.

large_4693695756
photo credit: DC Ross via photopin cc

4. Lose Your Sense of Time.

You know those moments. When you lose your sense of time.

When you’re staying in a small town by the beach or a small hut in the mountains–those days when you have no plan whatsoever, no train to catch, no flight schedule to check, no boat waiting for you by the pier. You’re free to spend a day with yourself, doing nothing and everything at the same time. These are the days when you grab your favorite book, go to the beach and read all day long under the sun, dipping yourself in the sparkling sea when the heat becomes unbearable, having a nap with the sea breeze caressing your face. It’s one of those spontaneous days you spend with your local crush. A bunch of people with different nationalities you have just met at a local club. Your lover.

You have no idea about the time of the day. You wake up when you feel recharged. You eat when you feel hungry. You drink when you’re thirsty. You move your body when it feels stiff. You sip a beer when you feel like it. You let your senses tell you what you’re about to do instead of looking at your watch to follow a set of routines.

It’s one of those days when you go to a cooking class, learning how to make batik, taking a silversmith course… and you’re so immersed in absorbing these new lessons, enjoying each and every moment as you try to follow the instructions, giving 100% of your heart and mind into what you’re doing… and the next time you realize it, the time is up! Or it’s already sundown! You wonder, where does your time go? How come it goes away so fast?

These are the days when you’re enjoying life as it is. You’re enjoying what you do–or what you do not do. You’re enjoying the things you learn, the people you meet, the feeling you feel. Even when it seems like you’re ‘doing nothing’, you’re simply enjoying it. You’re not forcing things, you’re flowing genuinely and gracefully through it. They say the time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time. How wonderful it is if we can live our lives this way, every single day, appreciating and enjoying each moment that passes us by–knowing that no matter what we do (or do not do), we are living a life without regret.

5. Lose Your Prized Possession.

Maybe it’s a lucky charm. A favorite photograph of your late parents. A special scarf given to you by a lover. An old teddy bear. A memento from your most memorable trip. These are the things you bring with you wherever you go, like a security blanket. They may not be something precious for others–but they are things that are so precious and dear to your heart. They are your prized possessions. They carry memories from times you can’t go back to; faces from people that pull you in like gravity, nostalgia from a somewhat familiar smell and scent, and a sense of security.

But there are days when somehow, you lose it. Usually, you do not know how you lose it–because it’s something you have always guarded ever-so-cautiously, more than the rest of your belongings. It may take hours or days before panic creeps in, and you start looking for your prized possession–your heart thumping–only to realize that it’s gone. It’s nowhere to be found.

Losing your prized possession taught you about releasing your dependency on various things or circumstances outside of yourself. To know that no matter how careful you are, there are moments when things will fall apart. When you’re attaching yourself to something, you’re being dependent on it. You feel as if it makes you ‘complete’. Thus, subconsciously, you’re preparing yourself to be ‘incomplete’ when that something is taken away from you.

You can’t rely on things outside of yourself to make you feel better or happier. You can’t keep replaying old memories to make you feel loved or worthy. One day, there will be times when you just have to stand your ground on your own and face the reality; no matter how cold it is. Releasing yourself from dependency is knowing that you’re the only one who can transform that cold reality into a warm fuzzy place of your own.

6. Lose Someone.

It’s indeed the most painful. You can “lose” someone that doesn’t come with you on your journey in the first place, like a parent, a best friend, or a boyfriend: the people who stay where they are when you hop on yet another plane. They may not understand, why you need to keep going and moving around, and why you still have somewhere else to go to after all those traveling journeys you have done. They may feel like they can’t keep up with you; or that they need someone who stays–instead of someone who is constantly leaving.

You can lose someone on your journey, too. Saying goodbye to a local host that has become like a sister to you after a month. Waving to a fellow traveler you have grown to fall in love with–not knowing whether the two of you could ever see each other again. Or deciding to part ways with a boyfriend you’re traveling with–as the journey you’re embarking on uncovers various sides of your personalities that simply doesn’t serve both of you well anymore.

And you will lose someone. It’s bound to happen, and it’s inevitable. The people you’re closest with right now, yes, you will lose them as well eventually. It’s just a matter of how, when, and where. The people we meet are delivered into our paths to impart their wisdom and help us grow. There will be times when their ‘task’ is done and both of you need to move on.

As sad and depressing as it may sounds, the silver lining is that by knowing this, you will stop taking them for granted. You will stop waiting for the “right time” to say something to them, or to do something for them. You will be asking yourself why they are sent into your lives–and why you are sent into theirs, and as a result, being even more present and mindful when you’re interacting with them.

You will realize that whatever it is you have with them today, it is only temporary. Seize every moment and be real with your closest ones. Life is too short to be spent playing games–to postpone expressing your feelings and affections until you feel more secure or deserving; or to be spent competing for power and dominance. Whatever comes out of you, let it comes from a place called Love.

photo credit: geishaboy500 via photopin cc
hanny
WANT TO SHARE WITH SOMEONE WHO NEED THIS?

On Connections, the Web, and Random Strangers.

When I stumbled upon Secret app–which enables people to share their secrets anonymously, or PostSecret years ago–where people posted their most private thoughts and confessions on a piece of a postcard or those sites or apps where you get to post or pin your missed connections stories, I could not help to feel the surge of jealousy inside of me because I always wished that I was the one who invented such things.

I guess I have soft spots for making connections with strangers; listening to them pouring out their thoughts and feelings on the web, and wanting to text them right away to say that they are not alone, or that I feel that, too, or that they speak right through me and touch me deep inside and… can I just know you? Like those people, I befriended from a tawdry pen-pal site because they write the most interesting introduction, or the people behind those blogs–with posts that never failed to stir my mind, or those people who type something deep on Twitter, or the writers of my favorite books who write some of my most favorite lines…

And sometimes, I reach out. I give likes and leave comments. I add-friend or follow. And I do send emails. I tell them how much I love their thoughts, or the things they write–and sometimes they reply back and we talk to each other back and forth and become friends and send each other emails every now and then or decide to meet up if we happen to live in the same continent, and I am still constantly amazed on the fact that we connect from strangers to friends (or strangers to semi-strangers) via a random website.

But of course, sometimes, I get nothing but silence. It feels a little like being rejected, but I am trying to think that they must be busy or my email gets into their spam folder or they get 10,000 mails or comments a day or something like that, to make me feel better. It feels like smiling at someone next to you on a train ride somewhere, saying “Hello, good morning!” and that person looks at you as if you’re crazy and immediately looks away. But I guess we just need to be okay with that.

I feel a certain attachment to people I have never met in person, just because we have shared our deepest thoughts and feelings through the words we typed to each other or simply because we exchanged a simple moment once, where it seemed like we actually “see” each other through our outer shells and that one time was enough.

I sometimes wonder how Cissy is doing in Texas–and whether one day I can meet her and talk to her in front of her house, drinking iced tea, because she feels like a distant aunt to me. I am still torn with Ned Vizzini’s death, remembering the day when I finished reading It’s Kind of A Funny Story and the day when he posted my Brainmap picture on his Flickr account. I still find it amazing when I get to see Veny somewhere around Jakarta for our full Saturday together: just eating, talking, and reading books–knowing that I simply knew her from Twitter. I am surprised to find myself corresponding with Ty (one of the friends from the tawdry pen-pal site I have never met) again after more than 10 years and naturally catching up where we left off.

Sometimes, as I sit in the backseat of a cab during a hellish traffic jam–surrounded by the skyscrapers and office buildings with thousands of their tiny windows–just like M, I imagine people in their cubicles, in the bathroom, in the elevator, desperately trying to reach out and connect and talk to someone without the fear of being judged, and sometimes I feel so helpless because I don’t know who they are and what they are struggling with and how I can reach out to them; and even if I can reach out to them, there’s really nothing much that I can do.

I am not a psychotherapist or something. I cannot give them good advice or make their pain disappear or help them to face their fears or forget the things that drag them down. And I have no idea what I can do. I just feel like letting them know that I am here and that I “see” them, and I won’t say that I understand or feel what they’re going through because most probably, I don’t, and I won’t pretend I do. I cannot say that I understand, but I can simply listen. And I don’t even know if that’s good enough; or even if people actually try to reach out–because maybe they don’t, but I always want to believe that we are all trying to reach out, wanting to make that connection that’s way deeper than sipping coffee talking about world news, watching movies, going to parties, or traveling to faraway beaches…

Sometimes I feel like bringing cardboard with me that says YOU CAN TALK TO ME and just set it on the table when I am lazying in a coffee shop somewhere. Sometimes I feel like sitting in a bar, ordering drinks, and having the courage to ask the old guy sitting next to me, “How’s life?”. Sometimes I feel like waving to a stranger and asking them sincerely, “Hey, how are you? Like, really, how are you?”.

There were times years ago when I glued my face to my computer screen from 11 AM to 5 AM the next day, talking to strangers with my English dictionary by my side, pouring out my thoughts, my dreams, my fears, and translating their replies before replying back. There were times years ago when I checked my inbox and found some new messages from friends I had never met (I didn’t even know if some of them are real) and felt like I wasn’t alone.

There were times years ago when I didn’t feel good enough to be myself in the real world and could only feel safe to be myself behind my desktop, inside chat rooms and pen pal sites: having a name, but remaining somewhat anonymous. There were times years ago when I came out of my shell, just a little bit every single day, trying to be more of my screen name in the actual world I live in, and try to feel comfortable with myself–unplugged.

There were times when the web (and the random strangers inside it) became my safety net; and until today, to some extent, I guess it still is.

hanny
WANT TO SHARE WITH SOMEONE WHO NEED THIS?

You Don’t Live Until You Have Scars.

“Hey, we don’t get our blessings today,” he said jokingly; as we walked out from our rented house–perched in one of the many small alleys in Penestanan, Ubud.

I locked the front gate while holding on to my helmet, and he started the motorbike. We didn’t think too much about the odd fact that we didn’t see canang sari (Balinese offerings) on the step outside our front gate that morning; although it was indeed, unusual.

“Probably they forget about it,” I shrugged. “It’s a bit unlikely, though…”

It was Sunday. We started that day early in the morning, and soon found ourselves getting lost in the middle of a paddy field. We fell down and slipped and tripped and climbed up and down and walked back and forth to find our way to the streets for more than 2.5 hours. We laughed it all off when we got back to our rented house, and then we thought about how wonderful it was to head out to a spa for massages and scrubs after such a tiring and unlucky day.

We left in the afternoon, and when we got right in front of the spa’s parking lot, we got hit by a motorbike.

***

Under the hot scorching sun, I gritted my teeth and tried to chase away my tears although my right foot was hurting badly. I needed to make sure that the matter could be settled quickly. And then I needed to call a cab to take me home; because I couldn’t walk properly–and our motorbike refused to start for a while.

“Let’s go to the hospital and get you cleaned up,” he kneeled down beside me, looking all worried.

I shook my head and tears fell down on my cheek.

I got into the cab not long after, heading home, while he jumped into the motorbike again after it was being fixed, and rushed into the nearest drug store to buy a bunch of first-aid stuff.

When the shock subsided, the pain kicked in. I walked slowly and painfully from the mouth of the alley to the house, opened the lock of the front gate and I started crying my eyes out. As I stepped into the house and shut the gate behind me, all I could think of was his voice, saying, “Hey, we don’t get our blessings today.”

I guessed he was right. We obviously didn’t.

***

I have scars.

From the motorbike accident, I got a significant skin-tear on my right thigh that funnily, looked like the islands Bali and Lombok in pale pink color. The incident happened in February, and the scar is still very much visible today. I still have swells and random bruises on my right leg, and my toes are still stiff–unable to be bent properly.

I have more scars. Like those skin bumps from the day I got chickenpox. And some dark spots on my legs: thanks to the terrible bug-bite episodes I had in Flores, where the itch and the heat of the bites kept me up for 2 nights in a row.

I got rashes near my armpits after I swam with my life-vest on from the ocean’s lagoon to the boat in El Nido–the edge of the life-vest scratched my skin every time I moved my hand and the saltwater made it more painful that it was. I have sunspots and freckles on my face. And I have invisible scars deep down inside of me; from the time when I was being told that I was stupid by my Math teacher, when my loved ones told me that my dream was unrealistic, when my relatives reminded me every now and then that I didn’t belong, when I went through the depressing experience of being verbally attacked online, when the guy I went out with years ago called me a fat whale, when the friend with whom I share things stole from me, when my heart got broken many times…

Yes, I do have scars. And still, here I am.

***

I still wore shorts the last time I was in Bali, got into my swimsuit, and swam around in the pool, didn’t really care if people could see the pink pale skin shaped like Bali and Lombok on my thigh or the dark bruises that were still clearly visible. “Bike accident,” I would answer when someone asked, and would gladly offer more gross details when they chased me further. I could not hide a smile as I got reminded of the days after the accident, limping around everywhere and couldn’t really sleep well or roll in bed because of my scars and bruises–but I have never felt that loved, well taken care of, and protected after a really long time; to the point that I was still able to clench my teeth and climb the rock stairs in Amed or walk around Seminyak. Someone was looking after me very attentively.

I got bug bites in Flores after spending the whole evening talking to my friend, Alex. We were sitting on the sand by the beach; at random times I asked him what’s the Russian for the beach, stars, sky, sand. As the night crept in, we laid down with our backs on the sand, our hands supporting our heads, looking at the night sky that was full of stars. I got more bug bites when I hang out until early morning at Labuan Bajo’s Paradise Bar, singing, laughing, dancing, and making new friends. I definitely didn’t miss those bug bites, but I won’t trade the things I experienced along with the bites either. It was then when I learned that the bugs in Flores were resistant to bug repellent cream or spray. And so the best thing was to wear long pants and bring a scarf to cover my arms and shoulders–something I did when I went further east to the island of Alor.

I got rashes from the life-vest as I snorkeled for the first time in El Nido–feeding the fish while being carried away by the beautiful corals swaying lazily from a sunken ship. I got sunspots and freckles from spending too much time under the sun, walking in the botanical garden, sitting by the waterfalls on a mountain somewhere, running by the beach, and feeling the sand underneath my feet.

I was being told that I was stupid in Math because I was too interested in learning other subjects. I was being told that my dreams were unrealistic because I dreamed (too) big. I was being told that I did not belong because I did not conform to the way my relatives were living their lives and decided to find my own way to live my life. I got verbally attacked online because I decided to stand up for what I believe in and cut ties with people who dragged me down and insulted me and the things I did. I was being told that I was a fat whale because I ate when I was hungry. I got a friend stole from me because I trusted them and didn’t feel like I have to watch my wallet when they were in the same room with me. I got my heart broken many times because I had the courage to love again–knowing full well about what I got myself into: that it was risky and that I had no warranty.

Yes, I do have scars.

I have scars because I try new things, because I take chances, because I live my life with my own rules, because I travel to places because I walk under the sun. Because I will continue to have big dreams, and stand up for what I believe in, and lay on the sand. Because I will continue to savor delicious meals everywhere I go and I will continue to believe that people are kind. I will fall, get more bruises, or sprain my ankles again as I go hiking; learn how to ride a bike, or jump on a trampoline, and I will still pour my hearts out when I am in love.

I know that I will have my future scars.

“Because you don’t live until you have scars,” I remembered Angel, an acquaintance of mine, sang a country song with that lyric as he strummed his guitar in his lovely wooden house in Ubud.

And I am wearing my scars with pride.

***

The day after the motorbike accident, I noticed a canang sari on the step in front of the gate of our rented house.

“Hey, look! We are blessed today!” I poked him, smiling.

“Of course we are!” he laughed. “We are blessed! The accident could have been worse, but thank God, we’re good. And we’re here! And you’re here!” His eyes sparkled behind his glasses as he brushed his fingers against the side of my arms. “We are blessed, Sweetie.”

I felt his words on my skin and looked up to meet his smiling eyes, and I thought, indeed, we are.

hanny
WANT TO SHARE WITH SOMEONE WHO NEED THIS?

6 Things to Experience Before Even Deciding to Quit Your Job

I quit my job end of February this year. After 8.7 years working at a communications consultancy (which, more or less, equals to 26 corporate years), I decided to retire.

May last year, I turned thirty. Some said it was actually the appropriate age to start settling down, have a good career, and secure more money for the future. Sometimes, I think so, too. But most of the time, I don’t think I should.

Leaving the Comfort Zone

I have spent my 20s working–climbing the ladder from a junior PR associate to senior communications consultant, from Digital Division Head to Creative Director. And I loved those days I spent with bosses I respect, colleagues I admire, and clients I like; learning everything I had always wanted to know about and working on projects and campaigns I was proud of. But after 8.7 years (which, again, equals to 26 corporate years), it started to feel like a comfort zone.

Which was nice–actually, and I had nothing to complain about. But there was something about being inside my comfort zone that made me feel restless.

I knew that I just needed to step out to the uncharted territory and challenge myself once again: so that I could gain new perspectives, reap new experiences, and learn new sets of lessons. I know I have always wanted to create beautiful things and make meanings in the world–either in the form of prose, an article, a photograph, a movie, a speech, a workshop, or even simple 12-line poetry. By dedicating my thirties to do this instead, I’m stepping out of my comfort zone. To live a life I have always dreamed of since I was a little girl.

Choose the Life You Want

But I can’t quit my job, a friend told me when she heard about my ‘retirement’.

Please don’t get me wrong. I don’t ask people to leave their jobs. And you don’t need to feel like you should leave your job. Do what’s best for you at a certain time in your life. We all have our own journeys; our own ways to live our lives, and it’s more than okay to live the life you want. Different things fulfill us in a different way, so feel free to choose the most fulfilling life for you.

However, if you find yourself in an intersection at the moment, thinking about whether you should quit your job and start over (or not), I have a little something to share with you: something that helped me to make up my mind and show me a clearer path in making my decision to live the life I want. Oh, well, 6 things, to be exact. I think it’s good to experience these things first, before even deciding (or without having) to quit one’s job.

  1. Surround yourself with people you respect and admire. Either you respect and admire them for their wit, wisdom, fun and uplifting personalities, loving relationships, or sharp business sense, connect with these people. Talk to them–even if it’s only for 20 minutes, over coffee. Ask them questions. Listen to what they have to say, examine how they live their lives. Read their books or watch their talks on YouTube. Just try spending more time with these people, and you’ll start to see how fast you ‘grow’.
  2. Work for yourself, always. Yes, even when you’re working 9 to 5 in someone else’s company, you don’t work for your boss. You’re working for yourself. Learn as much as you can. Use your company’s learning facilities or training opportunities. Seek advice from your boss, your seniors, or your peers. Give the best that you can to the work that you do. Always remember that when you’re submitting something, you’re saying: “This is my best!”–so, make sure that it is. Know your current drive and why it becomes your drive. For me, it’s the 3Cs. Is it Cash, Career, or Cause? I have to admit that there are times when people really need Cash among others, for example when you have to care for sick family members. Sometimes, your drive is Career. You want to climb up the corporate ladder or move to London branch or head a division because you have dreamed that kind of achievement in life. Other times, your drive is Cause. You have a great motivation to do something for a greater good, for instance saving dolphins or teaching students in remote areas. Examine your current drive to work and ask yourself, why am I chasing this? Knowing why you’re chasing the things you’re chasing or why you’re driven by certain things will give you more clarity in making professional (or even personal) decisions. In the end, make sure that wherever you are and whatever you do, always try to improve and develop yourself. These are the things that people can’t take away from you.
  3. Involve in things/projects you love and be a part of something you’d be proud of. I always find it mentally-healthy and refreshing to work on something I love that has nothing to do with my professional work. Nowadays, it’s getting easier to get involved in such projects, because you can just go on Google and search for established groups or communities in your areas you can spend your time with. If you don’t like something communal and are into something solitary like writing poems, work on your personal poem project–and publish it via self-publishing site like NulisBuku or in a Tumblr blog. Personally, I believe that doing these things keep yourself sane in the midst of a fast-paced corporate world and a ton of work pressures. It keeps you balance; and give you a sense of personal achievement: an achievement that is fully yours. Spare at least 2-3 hours of your time in a week to do this. You’ll never know where it may lead you.
  4. Reconnect with your own bliss and define your own success. What are the things you enjoy the most, no matter how silly or useless it may seem? Other people may look down on you because you don’t travel much, but what if you just love staying at home, baking cookies, making jams, and cross-stitching? Find your own bliss, and be confident with it. Then ask yourself, how much of these things have you injected into your daily life lately? Next, how do you define your own success? I mean, something that will make you feel light, happy, and fulfilled–like you have achieved your own greatness. We tend to measure our success based on society’s standard: a house, a car, a savings account, a spouse, children, and so on, and so forth. Other times, we compare our success with our siblings, our colleagues, or high school friends. However, if you can define your own success, what would it be? What is success to you if your loved ones won’t judge you? What is success to you if you are not afraid?
  5. Step a little bit further out of your comfort zone and do one or two thing(s) you have always wanted to do–no matter how small. They said magic begins at the end of your comfort zone. Are there things you’ve always wanted to do but you haven’t done it because it feels scary, risky, humiliating, or uncomfortable? A friend of mine said that she has always wanted to dine out alone, in a restaurant. But she hasn’t done it, because it feels terrifying. What would people think? Won’t it be awkward to sit in a nice restaurant, reading the menu, alone? Won’t people pity her; thinking that she has no friends to share the meal with? “What do you think will change inside of you if you actually do this?” I asked her. She smiled, “Maybe I’ll be more comfortable with myself, more confident being in my own skin, and not having to care that much about what other people might think of me; or about other people’s judgment. I guess I’ll feel… lighter.”
  6. Plan the life you want, and live at least a little bit of it every single day. Take some time to think about the life you want. What’s your ideal life would be like? (in different aspects, like health, career, financial, personal, relationship, spiritual, etc.) List down all the things you would like to experience in your version of an ideal life. Then list down all the things you need to learn/acquire to be able to experience your ideal life. Then list down what are things you can give back to your loved ones, communities, and societies when you’ve lived your ideal life. Now look at your list and see how you can inject a little bit of your ideal life into your life today and start living it. Have you always wanted to travel around the world? What about traveling around your hometown on weekends and experience the joy of it? Thinking about connecting with people from different countries while you’re traveling abroad? Start now by becoming a host at CouchSurfing and meet people from all around the globe who are visiting your town. When you’re clear about the kind of life you want, you can start living it every single day, one step at a time.

And to sum it all up: LIVE–as much as you can, with the best of your ability.

love,

hanny
WANT TO SHARE WITH SOMEONE WHO NEED THIS?

Missed Connections.

Buenos Aires, Argentina.
Woman on Subte D, 11.30 am on Friday 7/12, got off on Facultad Medicina
Location: Capital

We shared a couple of stops together this afternoon on the tube. The subway was crowded and you were crammed next to the door and I was standing (awkwardly) in front of you. You have blondish/brownish hair and had a blue knapsack on. I have short brown hair and was holding a green umbrella, not that you should have noticed. Anyway, I had about four stops to say something–anything–but didn’t. If by some random act of God Almighty you find this, hello. I would love to hear from you.

***

Some people asked me where do I get the ideas for my stories or writings. Usually, I replied with, “Everywhere.” And it’s entirely true. Everything I have experienced in life and everyone I have crossed paths with will become a story, a poem, a novel, or a blog post. However, lately, I was drawn into Craigslist‘s Personals section to find story ideas.

The reason why I ended up on Craigslist is a different story altogether and it may appear somewhere in my next book (wink), but all in all, I am amazed by the sparks of inspiration I could get from the site!

These past few days, I got high just by reading Craigslist’s Missed Connections ads from different parts of the world. This section inside Personals carries ads from people who had the chance to connect with someone but did not act on it or did not act on it bold enough. Reading the ads reminded me of a Saturday when I spent 10 hours in Casa with Ollie, writing 50 poems each, around a similar theme: missed.

Craigslist’s Missed Connections has been my guilty pleasure, successfully keeping me up several nights in a row, curling in my bed with a cup of hot chocolate, clicking random cities, reading random ads, and being mellow. I have selected some of the most interesting ones in this post. Hopefully, they could spark some inspiration in you–not only to write a story, a poem, or whatever, but also to seize the moment, and to take that one chance in life: to live a life without what-ifs.

***

Singapore.
Malay Lady with Pink Lipstick Color on MRT towards Marina Bay
Location: MRT Bukit Batok – Yew Tee

Today afternoon around 4 pm, you were wearing a hijab and pink lipstick color and I was wearing blue. You boarded the MRT at Bukit Batok with your friend and I was sitting beside you. I fell asleep for a while but during the ride we looked at each other several times and I looked away because it was awkward. We both looked at each other when I finally alighted at Yew Tee. So if you happen to see this and want to make friends, just get back to me from here. Yeah?

Indian Lady on Bus 851 This Morning
Location: Bus 851

Our eyes met as I boarded Bus 851 this morning. I think we had a connection when we were glancing at each other repeatedly as you were waiting to alight at the bus stop at Little India station. I wish I had alighted with you just so I could introduce myself. Hope to see you again, or hear from you via email.

Barcelona, Spain.
Nice Conversation on L3 Line on Friday Night
Location: Diagonal station – L3 Line

It happened on the 26th of July, Friday evening around 10 pm. When I was at Diagonal metro station, I asked you if the L3 train stops at Liceu. You were very kind and helped me with a nice smile. We had a nice conversation on the train and you got off at Catalunya. While you speak very good English, you told me that you speak Italian and French better. I wanted to ask you for a drink but couldn’t since you were off to meet a friend. I regret that because that was my last day in Barcelona. You seem like a very cool person and I want to talk more. I never tried this, but I’m just hoping you will read this. I’m that Asian guy traveling from New York.

Beautiful American Girl I Should Have Spoken To
Location: The metro

You were one of three American (or maybe Canadian) girls I stepped onto the metro with at Ciutadella – Vila Olimpica. We all got off at Passeig de Gracia. The entire ride I could not stop looking at you, and I noticed that your eyes, similarly, kept finding me. I was hoping we would both end up on the next train together, but you and your friends left the station and I was left on the other side of the crowd walking towards L3. I doubt you will ever read this, but, if so, I just wanted to tell you here (because I was too slow to tell you there) that you are genuinely the most beautiful human being I’ve ever laid eyes upon, and that, if it would be at all possible, I would not hesitate to fly to whatever American city you live in just to buy you dinner one night.

Santorini, Greece.
California Girls on the Bus to Oia
Location: Santorini

We talked briefly on the way to Oia yesterday. I’m the German guy with the T.C. Boyle book. Get in touch in case you read this, would be nice.

Rome, Italy.
We met on Omegle.
Location: Rome

Tell me what game we played: we had gone through three songs, the first one I showed you was blurred lines. You were 23, I was 19. Theory, dude, I hope you find me.

Paris, France.
Antoine Virolleau
Location: Joinville-le-Pont

I asked you for help at a metro station in Paris on July 13th. We both got off the train at Joinville-le-Pont and chatted a bit. You said I was the first person from Texas you had ever met. We said we would try to go together to the Eiffel Tower to see the Bastille Day fireworks the following day. I wasn’t able to get in touch with you because I could not find you on Facebook!

Asked You About Iced Tea
Location: St-Ouen Flea Market

You were working at a cafe in the back section part of the flea market. You gave me the recipe for the delicious homemade iced tea. You were so nice and had such a sweet smile. I saw you while you went on break and we both smiled and waved. I’d love to stay in contact. Long shot. Worth the try?

You Were 60 Something and You Were So Pretty!
Location: Paris

I was in the rain on my way back to Paris when I saw you get into the wagon, I think at Veneux-les-Sablons. You were 60-ish, so gorgeous, a perfect figure that could put the 20 something to shame. Your face was simply a sublime image of a Greek statue. The jeans you wore fit you just so perfectly. You kept looking out the window and I kept looking at you. I have your face imprinted in my mind. Your eyes, your lips, your body, your style… will I ever be able to see you? Meet you? Who knows… I am trying and will surely meet you. You had something in you, something so magnetic that kept pulling me towards you. Well, a lot of women could do that, but you were so special. Really, I would like to cycle with you somewhere around Fontainableu or around Paris. Sit with you, look at you, maybe share a cigarette and some conversation. Contact me, please!

Melbourne, Australia.
I Couldn’t Believe It. There You Were.
Location: Airport

K,

There I was sitting in the wrong gate at the wrong terminal at 7 am chowing down on McDonalds, when you walked past wearing your school sweater. It took me 30 seconds of being frozen to jump up and try to catch you up, but you had disappeared into the crowd. Long way from London… but it’s a small world. I hope your adventure is everything you hoped it would be!

G.

Blackburn Train 3.45 pm Today
Location: Spencer Street

You are around 50. You got on at Spencer Street, two handbags and you were wearing a brown coat which you seductively unbuttoned. Short brown hair. The sexiest legs I’ve ever seen. You were reading some stuff on employment contracts, which you were organizing in a folder. I was the young guy sitting opposite. Love to meet you.

SriLankan Stripper
Location: The Men’s Gallery, Melbourne

I met you at The Men’s Gallery. Every girl that approached me, I told them I wasn’t interested. Then, I saw you. I sat down in front of you straight away. I got a lap dance and we started talking about meditation and spiritual things. I fell in love. You told me you lived in Melbourne, close to me. I said, “I don’t usually do this, but would you like to grab a coffee?” You told me you had a boyfriend. I wore a clam shell around my neck. I am tall and wear glasses. For some reason, I think I met you for a reason. I am not sure why. I still would love to have a coffee with you.

Cairo, Egypt
June 24 Flight
Location: Cairo

We started chatting on the flight to Cairo, but I guess you couldn’t continue as you had your family with you. I couldn’t help being attracted to you, though. So please contact me if you ever read this.

Johannesburg, South Africa.
Der Salem KLM Flight
Location: Johannesburg

To the nice man who let me read his newspaper and carried my luggage into the terminal: you are a real gentleman. Thank you so very much even if it is somewhat after the fact.

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
US Airways Flight 800 on Friday, July 12
Location: Rio de Janeiro

We met on our flight from Charlotte, NC, to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil–on US Airways Flight 800 on Friday, July 12, 2013. I was traveling for work, you were going back to Brazil for a month vacation. We both live in NYC. I gave you my number but I never got yours. I really want to get in touch with you. Please write back or call/message me.

Beijing, China.
Your Name is Shane
Location: SFO Airport

Hey.

We talked at the airport on July 7th, when Asiana crushed at SFO airport and our plan got cancelled and delayed. I wore a Cal shirt and you thought I was from Berkeley. You worked in an IT company at San Jose. I don’t know if you can see this… but I had really good time talking to you. But I guess you didn’t feel the same way, otherwise you would’ve asked my number. You were going to Beijing as I was, and I guess you would have been back to the States now.

Istanbul, Turkey.
Flight From Hong Kong to Istanbul
Location: Istanbul

We spoke briefly, and I was hoping to see you at baggage claim but never did. I know there is no chance of you reading this, but I thought what the hell. I’m here for a few days and would love to hang out. Anyway, if you read this, tell me the color of the jacket you were wearing, and let’s chat!

Montreal, Canada.
You Passed Me on Bannentyne Street in Verdun
Location: Verdun

Tonight at 9:50 pm, you passed me. Then you turned into Ave Desmachais. You were a white mature man. You were so sexy! I was walking behind you 🙂

Cute Guy at McDonalds, Late Breakfast
Location: Masson and Iberville

Cute guy, this morning at McDonalds you came back to the counter for a missing McMuffin. You winked at me when I smiled at you. By the time I got my food and sat near you, you were done and getting up. You were wearing black shorts and a black top. Wish I could have figured out how to say hi 🙂 Maybe a coffee or drink later?

The Shortest Train Ride
Location: Train from Vendome

The moment you spoke to me, I melted. Your soft English accent. You asked me if I knew how the ticket machine worked. Unfortunately, I was there with my mother and felt awkward, but lent you $6 for the ticket since you only had American money. We rode the train and you sat next to me. We talked about a lot of things. I learned that you were originally from London, now living in New York, working for a magazine. You were on your way to visit your grandfather at a hospital in St. Anne de Bellevue on Saturday and then you were off to a wedding on Sunday. I was in awe of your beauty and would steal glances whenever I could so as not to be a complete creep and stare at you. I wanted to talk to you more but was to shy to ask for your number. I regret that. I keep wishing that train ride was just a little longer, Mia 🙁

San Fransisco, US.
Bag Didn’t Blow Up
Location: Gate 80

It was just a bag of dirty socks and laundry apparently. I thought you were super cute and I wish(ed) you luck on your law career before you walked off to Gate 89 to Dulles. I regretted not being able to talk to you longer, it seemed we had a natural flow there for a moment. If you want any contacts in the bay, feel free to email me back here, and we can meet up in the future. Thanks, Stephanie.

Griffin.

I Got A Parking Ticket
Location: Oakland Lake Merritt/Grand

I was standing outside my car, frustrated at my parking ticket which happened to be WRONG. I noticed a few people standing outside their cars as well, looked over at you and we made EYE CONTACT. I don’t think I held in my excited smirk to well.

You shouted over the noisy traffic. “Did you get a ticket?”
Me, “What?”
“Did you get a ticket?”
Me, “Yeah!”
You told me you once got one that you didn’t deserve either.

I went back to my business of taking pictures of the ‘scene’ and you walked north down 19th St. with what looked like a bag of laundry and said, “Well, have a good day!”

You were parked with a small red SUV, you have curly hair, khaki pants, dirtied white shoes, a backpack, and I mentioned bag of laundry.

Rooftop Metropolitan Mus. of Art on 8-3-13, Around 7-8 PM
Location: Upper East Side, 5th Avenue at E82nd St.

I was sitting on a wooden bench on the right, alone, rimless spectacles, blue shirt. You have been standing 3-4 meters away, together with your mother (?), blond hair, wearing a white-gray/black-stripped top and gray Adidas sneakers. We had eye contact for 2-3 times, lasting multiple seconds. We smiled at each other, and I loved your smile! You two went away. Later, we met again near the bar when I was strolling around. Wanted to say hello to you, but then you were gone and I could not find you again. This was between 7-8 pm on 8-3-13 (Metropolitan Museum of Art, rooftop). Still thinking of you. Please get in touch with me. Hope you will read this.

New York, US.
I Rejected You, You Rejected Me Back
Location: New York

We met last week. I had too much to drink, which is unlike me. I enjoyed kissing you and from the bit of talking we did, we seemed to have some things in common and I liked your personality. I left abruptly–I was a bit embarrassed and thought it best to go home. I didn’t mean to tease you or reject you, I just had too much to drink. After a few days, I found you online and sent a friend request. I was hoping to see you again, kiss you again, and let you meet the real me. I should have said this in a message then, but I felt awkward. If you rejected my request because you’re not interested, I understand. But if hearing any of this changes your mind, send me a friend request. That night we met, I stupidly said, “If we’re meant to meet again, we’ll meet again.” I’d like to meet you again, if you’d like to.

Clark Street 2/3 Violinist 6 pm Yesterday
Location: Brooklyn Heights

You were playing the most beautiful reel as I passed you on my way to catch the 2/3. We made eye contact, I grinned like a teenager, and went on my way, and kept listening to you play as I walked down the stairs. I’m a musician, too. The playing was so beautiful that I made my way back up the stairs and put a dollar into your violin case. I wanted to leave my phone number, too, but there was something sacrosanct about the beauty of what you were playing that I didn’t want to ruin it.

So I just left the dollar, which was definitely not enough. I’m a poor musician, though. You MUST have a girlfriend or wife, as handsome as you are. But even if you are married, well… real recognizes real. You’re a beautiful musician. And if this somehow finds you and you happen to be single, which is not likely, my name is Abby. And I was wearing a strapless long leopard print dress. I’m an opera singer who now has a massive crush on a violinist whose name I will probably never know.

Dublin, Ireland.
Missed Connection on Flight from Dublin to JFK
Location: Dublin

This is completely out of the ordinary for me, but I thought ‘why not’. This is a long shot, but just in case, I am throwing this out there, otherwise I would wonder ‘what if’. I was on Delta Flight 198 with you from Dublin to JFK on July 18th. I thought you were very attractive and tried to begin a conversation with you about the book you were reading, “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell”. As you were leaving you asked me if I was in Dublin often, and I replied ‘no’. The truth is I can go to Dublin whenever I wish. If you are interested and happen to come across this posting, please reply and include what I was wearing and how many little milks you had in your tea 😉 This way I know it is really you replying. I hope this finds you.

***

Distance is not so much
like walking a thousand miles
or being separated
by concrete blocks.
Distance is like
when we caught each other’s eyes
on a crowded train
and looked another way,
pretending to be interested
in electric poles.

(one of the poems I wrote with my friend, Ollie, in Casa)

hanny
WANT TO SHARE WITH SOMEONE WHO NEED THIS?
Hanny illustrator
Hi. I'm HANNY
I am an Indonesian writer/artist/illustrator and stationery web shop owner (Cafe Analog) based in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. I love facilitating writing/creative workshops and retreats, especially when they are tied to self-exploration and self-expression. In Indonesian, 'beradadisini' means being here. So, here I am, documenting life—one word at a time.

hanny
TAKE WHAT YOU NEED
CREATIVITY
COMFORT
CALM
CLARITY
CONFIDENCE
VISIT THE SHOP
cafe analog
BERADADISINI
Follow me on Instagram for behind-the-scenes!
copyright © 2008-2023 HANNY KUSUMAWATI FOR beradadisini.com. all rights reserved | SITE DESIGN BY beradadisini