Walking in the Rain

I love walking alone under the rain.
The smell of raindrops combined with the smell of grass.
The droplets dripping from the edges of my umbrella.
The nice fresh air that I can breathe in.

I love the solitude.

None of the depression,
none of the sadness.

Just pure solitude.

I love how I can appreciate melodies of the songs playing through my earphones differently.
I love how I can look at people’s faces, half-covered by the umbrella.

Like a classic painting.
Like a beautiful photograph.

So many things can happen when it rains.
I wish, maybe someday, I can stop walking in the rain, just to see your face beneath your umbrella.
I wish, maybe another day, we can share an umbrella, and walk in the rain,

Walking in the Rain

My Random Stupidities #1: Cleaning a Pan

So earlier today I had a dinner with my dear best friend, Inez, and we somehow ended up talking about my random stupidities and how she said I should write it down or record it somehow. It’s quite hard (and embarrassing) to re-do these stupidities, I’ll just write down of the things that had happened. 

This one was probably the starter of it all. So Inez was hanging around in my house one afternoon, and after I made lunch for both of us (I remember it was chicken karaage), I started washing the dishes. Since I used oil to fry the karaage in the pan, I put some water in the pan and boil it so the leftover oil could be easily cleaned afterwards rather than just washing the pan directly.

I knew it would take some time, so I left the pan on the stove and went to my room to watch a video with Inez. We were both so into watching the video that we both completely forgot about the pan. After about 15 minutes, we could hear this noise that sounded like it was raining outside. We both looked outside the window, but it was so bright outside. I felt weird that it could rain in this kind of weather, but I didn’t think about it much and kept watching the video.

Around 10 minutes later, Inez asked me, “Is it really raining outside??” and I just said I don’t know. Then I could see the stove from my room (because I left my bedroom door open) and realised that I still had the stove on. I panicked and ran to check the pan.

The water was gone. 


It was boiling for so long…that the water evaporated completely and made those “rain noises”. 

Never in my life before that I boiled some water until it was all gone. I remember going back to my room and told Inez that the water evaporated completely and she literally fell from my bed and laughed until she cried. 

This is only a start to the series of My Random Stupidities, so stay tuned and watch this space!

My Random Stupidities #1: Cleaning a Pan

The Dreams Saga #1: Dangerous Boyfriend

With this post, I’m announcing a new section to this blog, which is called “The Dreams Saga” because, well it’s pretty self-explanatory, but my dreams are truly too epic beyond proportions most of the time. Unlike people who mostly forget their dreams, I can remember my most epic dreams for quite a long time. Long enough to let me sit down and write it down in this blog.

This dream I just had last night involved some of my high school friends, let’s call them Y and T (does NOT stand for YouTube). So I was attending this jazz festival in Jakarta (which I would totally never attend…like ever…just because I’m not into those jazz festivals). Another weird thing was that I went there by myself. The festival was an outdoor one, and there were those tents to cover you from the sun and rain with lines of elevating seats (?). Since I was going alone, I didn’t bother getting a fantastic seating spot and just settled for the less crowded spot at the back.

I climbed up the stairs to get to the seats and I just sat there, looking at the swarming crowd trying to get the nice spot closer to the stage. Then I looked to the seat on the far left in the line, there was a baby. A freaking crying baby. The baby was roughly 6 months old? I don’t know, but the baby was lying on the seat, alone. I was surprised because I saw no adults near the baby. I felt pretty disturbed (and scared) with the baby crying, so I went over to the seat and tried to calm down the baby.

If anyone of you really know me, I’m terrible with kids and babies. Apparently even in my dreams, I was still terrible with babies, and the baby just couldn’t calm down at all. I held the baby in my arms and kept trying to calm her/him down. Then this guy, who was probably a few years older than me, came to me and said that it was his baby. For the record, he looked way too young to have a baby.

As terrible as I was with a baby, I knew enough not to trust him and handle the baby because he looked kind of out of place. He was wearing a thick black trench coat over his shirt, I mean come on, if this was Jakarta, you would be dead from the heat already. I refused to give the baby to him and stood up to walk away. As I was walking away, I looked back and noticed he didn’t try to chase after me, which was great. I walked down the stairs and I met my friend, Y, who looked really surprised as I was holding a baby. She thought the baby was mine, and I told her it wasn’t, I just happened to find the baby alone. Even she thought that was really weird.

Somehow we ended up sitting next to each other and talking about random things because we haven’t seen each other in a long time. After quite sometime, the previous man came to us again and asked me for the baby, who had finally calmed down and stopped crying. Y thought he was the real father of the baby, so she looked at me and was about to grab the baby from my arm to give to him. I held the baby back and told her that I won’t give him the baby. All of a sudden, this guy took A FREAKING SWORD from behind his coat and we just ran that instant.

Y and I were running together trying to find a safe place (completely forgetting about the jazz festival lol) to hide from him. We were running around the arena, but we lost him so we thought we were safe. Then we met our other friend, T. Just like Y, T teased me because she thought that the baby I was holding was mine. After explaining the whole situation to her, she finally grasped the situation Y and I were in and we agreed to stick together.

While walking around, we were talking about things and T mentioned that she actually went with her boyfriend to the festival but he was going somewhere else for the time being. Then a guy called her name and T excitedly said, “That’s my boyfriend, guys!” and when Y and I turned around, we were horrified to see that her boyfriend was the guy who was chasing us previously. Y and I immediately ran away and sometime in the middle of our escape mission where we were trying to fit in the crowd to get away, THE BABY DISAPPEARED FROM MY HANDS.

The insane guy stood there in front of us with the baby magically in his hands, and he took off his face mask and suddenly he turned into an old grandpa with white, messy beard, and he raised his sword while Y and I were panicking and screaming and trying to get away, only to find out that our dear friend T was caught in this guy’s hypnosis and strangled us and I woke up.




Freud’s Possible Interpretation (FPI): the baby represents something that is not mine but is precious to me and the guy. I wonder what it is…

The Dreams Saga #1: Dangerous Boyfriend

Clash of the Ideologies

Some people say, “chase your dreams and passion in life,”
Some people say, “be realistic about your dreams,”
And I’m just here, somewhere in between.

I’m an idealist.
I want to change the world.
I want to revolutionise the way people think.
I want to create a better world. An utopia.

I’m also a realist.
I know I’m just a drop of water in the sea.
I know the world will not rotate the other way when I wish for it.
I know I can’t change all minds.

I don’t know which to bow down to.
The power of persistence, or the power of logic.
If I choose one, I may be a fool, thinking that I could change human being.
If I choose the other, I may be like the wind, flowing free without any directions.

Everything needs to be done in moderation, so they say.
I have been doing everything in moderation my whole life.
I lost my identity somewhere in between.
Never truly a part of something.

Then I realised, I’m an opportunist as well.
I take the smallest chances I can get.
Maybe, just maybe,
This path will take me to my utopia.

Clash of the Ideologies

Rants of the Day (Warning: Possible Swearing)

So I just want to dedicate this post to sum up my day today. It’s a Friday night when everyone is supposed to be out and having fun, but I choose to stay home and write down this rant because I need to get it out of my head.

I did a traditional Indonesian dance performance with my friends in the city today because there was a new flight launching by Indonesia’s national airline. As it was a traditional performance, we were all wearing our costumes while waiting for our turn to perform. I was talking to my friend, Janis, who came after work to see our performance (thank you, Janis! I love you! :D). We were talking and having a nice conversation, and then this Indian guy cut our conversation and asked if we were having a performance. 

I felt like I had to represent my team, so even though I was slightly annoyed to the fact that he cut our conversation, I answered yes, we were going to perform. All of a sudden, he asked me if I was a moslem (because I was wearing my veil/hijab…because I have short red hair and it doesn’t look as nice if I don’t tie my hair up in a neat bun), so of course I said yes (because I am…really). The conversation changed into him asking me about Indonesia’s president. Here’s how the conversation went, roughly:

Him: “Is the current Indonesian president a moslem?”

Me: “Yes, of course. All of the presidents have been moslems.”

Him: “But he doesn’t have a moslem name”

Me: “Yes, he has an Indonesian name”

Him: “It’s Bambang, right? What does that mean?”


“I don’t know, it’s a traditional Indonesian name”

Him: “Yes, but he doesn’t have a moslem name”


Him: But that’s not good, you see, my name is *insert a totally moslem name here I don’t even give a damn shit about his freaking name*. It’s taken from the 99 names of Allah, the asma ul husna, you know? That is a good moslem name, it shows that I’m a moslem.



Him: “Aren’t you guys a moslem country?”

Me: “No.”

Him: “It’s not a moslem country anymore??”

Me: “No. Indonesia has never been a moslem country, it’s a republic dominated by moslems, and we acknowledge other religious beliefs.”

Him: “Okay. I lived with 3 Indonesian families, they told me about the previous president, the lady, do you know her name?”

Me: “You mean, Megawati?”

Him: “Yes, do you know what her name means?”

Me: “No?”

Him: “It means ‘cloud’ in Indian. It’s not a nice name”

Me: *WHY THE FUCK DOES ANY OF THIS MATTER TO YOU!?!??!?!?!!* “I don’t know, it’s an Indonesian name”



Him: “Just like Indonesia, it’s derived from the word ‘India’ and ‘Asia'”


Him: *holding a brochure that said ‘Win free return flights to Bali’* “Do you know what Bali means?”

Me: “No.”

Him: “It’s an Indian for…”

Then my team called me for briefing before our performance. I was so pissed off like I’ve never been before. Honestly, how can you come up to a stranger, talk shit about their country, and ask the stupidest things such as WHY OUR PRESIDENT IS NAMED BAMBANG. HOW THE FUCK WOULD I KNOW. THE NAME HAS BEEN THERE AMONGST JAVANESE PEOPLE FOR CENTURIES, LEAVE IT ALONE.

Look, before anyone assumes I’m racist or prejudiced towards Indians…I’M NOT. 

What will you do if a stranger of another race comes up to you, and talk shit about your president’s names and act as if he’s better than all of us JUST BECAUSE HE HAS A MOSLEM NAME??? 

I’m not the most knowledgeable moslem in the world nor the most knowledgeable Indonesian about our history, but I know what he did was a terrible thing, even according to the religion. You don’t just come up to stranger and diss their culture. IT’S ALREADY THERE, LEAVE IT ALONE. If you want to be SKEPTICAL or CRITICAL make sure you’re doing it the right way. That was just way disrespectful, man. 

Putting aside your terrible accent and head-bobbing, the content of your “speech” was a complete BULLSHIT. I have never been so angry to anyone in particular, up to the point where if I ever see you again, I will return all your stupid questions to ask you about your country just so you know how it feels. Weirdo.

Sorry for bashing with all of my swearing, I just need to get it out of my head because I’m so angry right now. I’ve felt much better just by writing this down.

On a brighter note, I’ll try to write something for tonight. 🙂 

Rants of the Day (Warning: Possible Swearing)


Who are you exactly to tell me how to live my life?
Or anyone’s life, at that.
“Girls have to be feminine and gentle, and boys have to be strong and manly,”
What if I tell you, straight in your face, “NO.”


Everyone deserves to live their life how they want it to be.
Anyone can choose to stand out or to fit in.
No one can tell anyone to follow the society.

Anyone deserves to stand out without having to worry about criticism.
Anyone deserves to fit in without having to lie to themselves.

Everyone has different ones.
Mine is honesty.

I would rather be true to myself and stand out rather than to fit in.
Not even my mind can fit in to the society.
I would rather have less friends rather than having to have another face.
A visage of vanity.

I would choose solitude rather than having to hear your trash talk.

Do us all the favour, and stop pretending like you “care” about our image.
It’s our image, not yours.


My Hairevolution

Since I have nothing much to do today (and I actually woke up at 2.30 pm…awesome!) I just want to share a story about my hair. Yes, my hairevolution.

So as you can obviously see, I have red hair. It’s actually short at the moment, in some of photos I was wearing my extensions. Obviously, this is not my natural hair colour, sorry to break it down for you. I wish it was. I’ve only had red hair since mid 2011 when I just moved to Brisbane, but it feels like I’ve had it forever.

Like any normal Indonesians, or even Asians in general, I had black hair. A hair colour that I felt just was not for me somehow. I couldn’t dye my hair at all, because all Indonesians have black hair, if you dye it brown, the teachers in school would notice immediately and suspend you for colouring your hair. Especially since I went to a Catholic, all-girl school for 6 years from middle school to high school. It was a very strict school, but I had my best memories from those years.

Anyways, everyone knew me as “the girl with the extremely long hair” because my hair reached up my thighs. I had never cut it short because I felt safe with it. I love it when people come to me and say “you have such beautiful long hair, how do you take care of it?”. The most extreme thing that I did was cutting my fringe (or bangs) when I was 16, and straighten my hair because my hair is naturally wavy. 

It reached up to a point where my hair has not been cut for 18 years. It actually looked like this:




These were old photos, by the way. They were taken in 2009 for my yearbook, and as you can see on the first picture I was basically sitting on my hair. It was quite a hassle, I would tie up my hair in a bun almost every time. All of my friends would easily recognise me from the hair, it was pretty fun actually.

One day in around October or November 2010, I woke up and thought, “hey, let’s chop off this hair!!” and called my favourite hairdresser who had known me since I was 8 years old. I told her to come to my house because I want to get a haircut, but she thought it would be my usual hair trim, she didn’t see it coming. When she got to my house, I told her that I want to cut it real short. I swear to God she almost cried. She kept asking me if I was serious about it, or if I want to cut it to waist-length only, but I insisted that I want it cut short. 

It took her a while to let the situation sink in, probably around half an hour. When she finally collected herself, she braced herself and cut my hair. This is the last photo of my long hair (may you rest in peace, lol)



…and she chopped it off! The end result kind of looked like this after a while:



and that was the time when I was experiencing with hair colours. As soon as I chopped off my hair, I just dyed it different colours, this was one of my successful ones, I actually had my hair orange for a while…sad I don’t have the decent photos to show how orange it was in real life. Anyways, I discovered my obsession with red hair, and my journey began…

I tried some failed red dyes that made my hair look dark red instead of the bright red I was looking for…



I switched brands and voila! It got to the red that I have right now, without any bleach 🙂 I love my red hair and I’m not going back to black for a while, probably in a few years. If anyone is interested in knowing the name of the brand, just contact me or comment below.

My hair is still short, but I kind of want to grow it out a little, maybe. I don’t know, we’ll see. Thanks for reading this massive post, by the way. It’s not important, nor it will change anyone’s lives, I just want to share my story. 




My Hairevolution