I love to see the honesty of people’s heart.
To understand the mystery of their bizarre mind; to dive in history of their twisted thought. To apprehend the truth within their told-lies, and moreover, the reason of why was so. To know the driven dreams that kept them going; to encounter their worries and insecurities that kept them at night, awaking.

I love to admire the stars shine within their eyes.
To skin off the layer after layers of their hidden side that being kept in the bottom cave; to compile the lesson learnt in between heartbreaks. To feel their flaws and fears beyond the shield; to touch the story of the scars and feel how it heals.

I love to fall within the deepness of someone’s soul.
To appreciate the good within their bad; to hold the perfection of their imperfections. To grasp their lust and desires; to sense the reason beyond their smile.
I love to stare right into their eyes and see the beauty of their sparks.
To meet that kind of experience, it’s always been a privilege I’m thankful about.



Beauty Path of #colorfulSara


Is there any woman out there who doesn’t want to be prettier?

That’s the basic instinct inside, which happen to be a default part on every woman’s mind. Though, it might be buried and pressed down underneath, due to many reasons around. Just like in my case.

No, I never been a make up person before, simply because I had no interest on. Pointless, I thought, as my previous works required me to stay and move around under the sun most of times, which definitely caused my face oily and sweating all day long. So I couldn’t care less to put any, let alone about how to do it properly. Denial, I told myself I was quite attractive enough with my smile only. Didn’t they say that smile was the best make up any woman could possibly wear?


And so, years after years, my make-up kit has been consisted of the same short list of beauty items. It never changed. The same compact powder, black liquid eyeliner, natural blush on, lip gloss, and bright red lipstick, that I rarely wore.

I was once being made fun at, when one old friend of mine found out that I still used the exact same stuffs I had some years ago. She pitied me, yet I thought there were nothing wrong with it.
I didn’t care.
For I knew for sure, if I truly into it one day, no need anybody to tell me what to do and what to get.

Which I proved was true.

After the big storm at the early of 2014, due to the urgency of starting a new chapter of my life, I’ve been trying to step outside my comfort zone and searching for any sides of me I never knew existed. There, I was quite surprised by many discoveries I found, as the hidden part was revealed one by one. The joy that make-up brings was one of them, as I fall in love instantly with its colorful magic.

At the very beginning, I’ve been learning autodidact from many beauty advisor in every make up store I visited. Absorbing the function of many items I never cared to know before. Slowly, I put one after another on my list and causing the sudden growth of my make up kit.IMG_0355
The picture on the left was the point where I started, while the right was a month after. Below was six months later, and the rest was history.


Didn’t stop there. Not yet.

A private make up course with @lady_pon, a make up artist, was the beginning of everything. I met her accidentally on instagram and universe arranged our path to meet by our matching schedule. She introduced me to completely wonderful world of colors and magic I never knew existed. Followed by several make up class with Make Over brand, where I tried to get used with the basic skill one by one. Not to mention, the countless night I spent in front of my make up table after Bum was sleeping; just to practice with the colors on and wipe it afterwards.

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History repeated itself, once the curiosity inside me was evoked, I’d eagerly learn. And once I wanted it, I took what I wanted seriously. So there I was with the point of no return.

This is just a beginning, of a long long winding road of my beauty path. Well, at least, it will be such a colourful journey 😉


And if I look back, I think it’s not about make up itself. It’s about self-satisfaction. About being pretty and feeling good about myself. About deciding to self that I’m beautiful and then I can carry out my life as if I am a beautiful girl with any pretty colours that makes me happy. About believing, that it doesn’t have anything to do with how the world perceives me, but how I see myself.


I still have nothing against my bare-face and still strongly believe that smile is the best make up women possibly wear. The true beauty shines from the inside, but the right make up will enhance it beautifully.

After all, nothing makes woman more beautiful than the belief that she is beautiful.
So let’s be pretty, shall we?

Two Years With You


Time flies in the blink of the eyes.


I could still remember it crystal clear, the dawn when you were out and dived down bravely to the water on your birth. So tiny and fragilely small. Helplessly weak, you sought for the only warmth you knew. Me.


I became the one you depended on. The only comfort you understood. The life you were created from.

The figure you reached your hands unto, as you grow day by day.


Little did you know, it is quite an opposite of.

I’m the one, who actually depending myself on you. The tiny little hands I would reach during the most tribulation and suffering. You are the only reason I’m still standing here, to love and to protect you, That’s more than enough to keep me stronger than I could ever imagine. No matter how hard life’s been trying to bring me down, your laughters are the greatest cure above all.


The ultimate source of my blessed happiness, you bring out the best in me and saved me million times already.

I’m forever grateful that you come to my life. Forever blessed that you are a part of me.


Happy birthday, kesayangan!

Two years and still counting to many wonderful years ahead.


I must have done something really good for deserving you here 🙂

Decluttering; The Art of Letting Go


Being awfully sentimental, I am. I found difficulties in term of letting go. Of anything.

It could be people, things, belongings, and memories. But as I lately learn to detach myself from people who contributes nothing but bad vibes in my life, then things and belongings should be served identically.

Simplifying life project. That was the concept my partner brought couple days ago that ignite the idea within me. He once had the mission to cut down his belongings, starting from his own drawer first. Removing clothes he had, by only keeping some basic pieces he actually needs. Like three sheets of T-shirt, one formal shirt, and sort kind of stuffs. I remember stood in awe, as I really couldn’t picture myself surviving with only some pieces of basic things.

Yes, there were tons of things had stayed hidden underneath the pile of dusty clothes I never wore again. But throwing it out? Seriously. What if I suddenly need it? What if there are events require me wearing those? What if I become a bit slimmer so it would fit me better? Too many ‘what-if’ I’d used to justify myself on keeping it still, as I found no urgency to reason me why I had to do so.


But, well. Confucius once highlighted the point how life was really simply, yet it’s us who insist on making it complicated. We expand choices more than we actually should, broaden options more than we supposedly need. So many things are being kept for the sake of keeping it, not by the function it genuinely served. Being hardly hesitant to let go is one reason of, in which contributes much of complicating life itself.

So at one point of thinking, out of nowhere, I suddenly felt that was the time to let go. To master the art of letting go and to get rid anything that binding me on some irrational reasons. Second that I realized, I already stood in front of my drawer, while throwing out one piece after another. There were some moment of reluctant, but surprisingly, it was much more easier than I thought. It didn’t take too much time to finally cause one huge pile of clothes on the floor, leaving a recognisable empty space behind.


The hardest part was throwing the emotional knot away. It was the essence of memories that left within the clothes, which froze me several times. A given piece from dearest person, a souvenir from memorable faraway trip, a specific one that being worn on special moments. It wasn’t about functions it served, yet memories it revoked. Once it tied closely with some meaningful time in my life I hardly let go. Blitz of memories flashed by, an awareness of how it once matter but it doesn’t anymore. For finally I threw it down, I detached the knot. One by one.

Proud, I should say. Though I still have quite plenty left, I’ve decluttered about 2/3 from all clothes I had. It doesn’t only simplify my life by freeing me from unnecessary knots of the past, but also limiting outfit choices I should make on daily basis. No more spending hours by standing in front of drawer while thinking ‘I have nothing to wear’ anymore. Leaving only some functional pieces, any of it will work perfectly fit. Even if I had to choose with eyes closed, I would still look good every single time. Double benefits, it is.


People said, once you simplify your life, the law of your universe will be simpler. This is only the beginning, but yes, I’m glad for being brave enough on doing so.

Now, shall you try?



“I know I leave a life behind, but I’m too relieve to grief.”          -Let it Go (Frozen)

Early of this year, it was a time of my life, where I drown deeper and lost further each day, to the point I didn’t even remember who I was. My whole universe was crumbled and left me broken into worthless pieces. Full of insecurities and negativity, I walked day by day with nothing to be awaited for. An empty shell, a dying soul. Until one point, I looked at the mirror with a lifeless reflection staring back at me. Hated seeing who I saw, so I began to ask myself the million dollar question.

“Are you happy?”



No, I knew I didn’t.

A big change in my life, I realised that I had to make it. Tired of being lost and worthless, I decided to strive my way of regaining my self-worth back all over again. A happier soul and cleaner mind; a completely better me. That was what I aimed to achieve.

People said, a good exercise contributes much to make us feel good about ourselves. It helps you to ignite the endorphin inside and make you happier instantly. So there it was, the starting point of everything. With full awareness, for the first time in my life, I signed myself unto a trap called fitness centre. I remember of not wishing anything, but only a great burst of endorphin hormones rushing over and pushing the worry out of me. In a progress to be a better happier Sara with more positively on her side, I whispered.


Discreetly, I made my own hashtag to remind me of my goal and encourage myself to keep persisting to be better. No matter how hard it was; no matter how pitch black the road ahead looked like.


As cheesy as it might, but yes.

To be an awesome me, an awesome Sara by the end of 2014.



Day by day, it wasn’t like the anxiety was automatically being shed out. Yet, indeed it gradually got better as the devastating state decreased. I kept asking myself every day, what would make me happy today and I went to pursue it. Slowly but sure, a better me would come soon. I told myself to wait patiently.


In every ups and downs on the pursuit of happiness, I insisted to keep walking bravely, while trying not to care about the sign of time. Every day was a new discovery to reveal many hidden sides of me I never knew existed. From working out at gym to clean up my mind, which later led me to a much healthier life-style, to the spontaneous adventures to enrich my soul and rediscover the me-I-once-knew, then later to the growth of my make up kit to enhance my physical appearance.

Body combat and zumba classes, running sessions, fruit detox, mayo diet journey, beauty classes. Little did I knew, every little things had been added up slowly to transform myself magically.

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Time goes by. Slowly but sure, things change. As I’ve been focussing myself on building a better universe of me, every other things started falling into the right places. One after another. Without I realised, 2014 is almost reaching its end in about a month and so.

Then I look back to see, have I been an awesome person I wished to be?

Well, have I? 🙂


I don’t know about ‘awesome’, but I know for sure, this is what I wanna be. A secret wish that finally came true.

Physically, I transformed a lot. I lost 10kg within this year and never felt so much better than this. Not in my younger days, not even on the teenage years . Also, with the make-up techniques that been sharpened up from many beauty classes I attended, it does magic to my days. Regaining my self-worth and confidence back, as well as opening new windows of chances.


Mentally, I grow stronger and wiser, yet even more gentle. I learn to appreciate people more, to embrace, and to let go. Also, I learn to detach myself from complicated people and negative emotions. Believing that I have the right to choose my happiness and take care of my feeling, above what others might think or feel about me. The point is, I would never be good enough for someone who doesn’t appreciate me the way I am. Thus, I better appreciate myself more. Life becomes much more simpler and lighter that way. And as for things I cannot change, then acceptance is a life-time process of learning. To a person that matter most, it’s all worth it.


Seeing who I am and comparing her to who I was, sometimes it feels surreal. It seems like seeing a totally different life of different person. To leave it behind, so much relieving I am. God is good, God is always good. He knows I’m trying my best to be a better person each day, and His blessings are beyond anything I could wish for. A happier soul and cleaner mind, I prayed. A new me, He granted it as bonuses.


Striving to be a better me is a life-time process as well. It’s still a month left to complete the resolution #menujuawesomeSara2014, then I’ll find another hashtag to encourage me getting much much more better in the following years. But as for now, if I have to ask the one million dollar question again, I love the way I could answer confidently.

“Are you happy, Sara?”

Yes, absolutely.


Because I’ve fought to be so.

Scars and Ghost from the Past


Throughout our path on these long windy road of life, we’ve made so many choices in different level of urgency and significancy. Some are goods, some might bad; an over-think one, a spontaneous too. There were moments when we put so much consideration in mind, yet being mindlessly daring in some other times. At the end, it is the pile of choices we have; a stacking combination of a black and white things we have chosen on. Unto them, our small universe has been staggery built.

The black one, of course, is the black sheep of the family. Made by a foolish dear old friend, our old-self. The immature us. The careless one, who was following the sparks, taking a risk, pushing boundaries while blinding the inner self-consciousness. By then, consequences was far beyond mind, as we tested how far the acceptable area could be compromised into. It was the one point of life, where stupid choices were made recklessly and bad things were done easily. Arrogantly speaking, we permitted ourselves to be. Little did we know, how bad our past could unveil its true self and haunt us in the following future.

Once done, then it’s done. Time goes by, moment glides by. As we grow ourselves to the present us, we learnt to see in different perspective glasses. Time has enlighten our mind with every struggles in different kind of circumstances. Gradually, it changed our point of view. Connecting the dots, we finally grasped the whole understanding of its bigger frame clearly and it stroked us to realise what a mess we’ve been done. In the front of our very eyes, we saw our universe crumbled as the following consequences of our choices. And there, from the deepness of our heart, something was cracked and bleed. Stupid we were, we hardly admitted it so. Embarrassed of, we bury them into the deepness of thought while refusing to remember its existences. Deleting the certain part of memory and leaving it abandoned in the dustily corner of our heart; hoping the wound would heal over time.

It would.

We know that.

But still, the scars forever remained. 

It stays there. A lasting mark of our pain and grief, a memento of what once was done and done. Though we refused to remember, others did not, and the memories forcefully being recalled. Haunting, as every glimpse unto it brings out the ghost from the past to torment the present us with the disturbing facts that’s been buried underneath. A failure, that’s how a scar means to us. An awful sign of a downfall moment. It stays as a reminder of our misstep and idiocy: every single mistake we did, every stupidity we acted unto. Stabbing the pain, bleeding the wound all over again. It points its finger and screams “LOSER” right in front of our face, every time. We, ourselves, are our biggest blamers. Hurts and painful as the ghost of our past glorifies above the suffering us.

But in the one brief moment of enlightenment, shall I back and differ? 

As ugly as it may, scars are, indeed, not a very pleasant thing to see. It’s jarring and shows what’s supposed not being there. Yet, it’s still one inseparable part of our journey of life; the path that finally made us, us. Focussing on the shaming side of stories, we forget to see how the scars were made in the first place. It was coming from a choice, might be a reckless one, that tore a wound within and pulled us from a comfort zone to a terrible battle of our own. Breaking us into pieces then forcing us to grow revolving ourself into a better us. We stumbled ourselves upon on, but we had no choice but surviving trouble and reassembling our world from the scratch. As time goes by, we finished up the battle and the wound closed itself. Regenerating the tissue, closing on, and leaving its mark there. 

Not as a sign of failure, but an evidence of life. Evident of choice we once made; evident of lesson we learnt in advance. Scars are a sign of growing, from the stupid-reckless us into the wiser one. It’s a milestone from the battle and struggle we once had; a personal experience that’s been shaping a better version of us. Though it might linked to unpleasant memories, there’s nothing we should ashamed of. Yet proud, instead. The scars remind us that we’ve been through a living hell persistently and back up again strongly. Wounded and injured, but yeah, survived.

Therefore, there’s should be no ghost haunting from the past. Nobody would understand it better than us, what a reason behind every wrong turn and mistaken choice. The battle would always be our own and only, as the acceptance should come ourselves solely. That’s our duty, not others, to shake hand with our past and embrace the scars. Forgiving self, that what we should do in the very first place. Having another person, who are willingly embracing the you you embrace, is just a jackpot bonus of life.

The immaturity and foolishness, we’ve all been through those stage after all. No one ever learn to fly without falling down stupidly and try again bravely. A great future doesn’t require a great past anyway, but a will of endurance and survival.

And that’s what our scars have been trying to tell us the whole time.

As ugly as it may, but it’s okay.

It’s a sign of bravery, our life’s medals of adventure.

Eid Al-Fitr 2014


Marking the end of Ramadan month, starting the brand new beginning

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Renewing the spirit, filling heart with abundant joy and happiness

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Forgiving mistakes, making peace with self and others

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May the love and forgiveness fill our heart in this blessed day.

Happy Eid Al-Fitr, everyone!

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Stiches of Love


Always been a nomad I am; from here to there, crossing land and seas. As I grow up, I always live some hundreds to thousand miles away from home, -a place where I was grown-, pursuing dreams while leaving memories of comfortable living behind. Home, the place, where I always feel safe and loved, with those dearly hands ready to embrace me with heart widely opened. Therefore, a trip back for visiting home is one thing I’m eagerly looking forward unto. Not only about meeting family, but also reminiscing the innocence of life I once had.

A journey to the past, that’s what it offers me. There is some kind of time machine in every single corner of everything; bookshelves, closets, drawers, piles of random sheets, old diaries, photograph albums, and many more to be found. Hidden treasure, it is. Containing stories, summarising affections.As for today, the treasure was revealed itself as I was digging on the deepest on my closet: an old vintage home-sewn floral dress. It brought me on a ride to many many years backwards, visiting back a little girl of me with so much memories of warm loving family.


Back in the days, I remember vividly, I rarely bought any clothes outside. Every once in a while, my grandma would come with some new fabric and made us new dresses. All of it had nicely beautiful patterns, which she magically turned those into sweet home-sewn pieces. one after another. I remember how excited and happy I was, while pretending to be a fairly princess by wearing it all. Yet, also I remember being grown up into a teenager and simply bored with all home-made stuff. Bored to the bone, stupidly I was. Complained, I told my parents how I wished I could just buy a trendy ready piece from the store, just like all of my friends did. Wearing home-sewn dress had embarrassing me at one point of life. And so, not too far from then, no more home-sewn dress was made. My loss.

Fast forward to the present time, just at the moment I found the only piece that last through years. Surprised, I didn’t see this coming that I would come across one again. As I ran my fingers to feel it gently, a shiver ran down my spines. How blinded I was to deny such a love like these? A very beautiful pattern that being selected thoughtfully and sewn carefully, so it would fit her granddaughter perfectly. Just by imagining it, there was a warmth filling all the empty space inside. I remember being loved so badly.

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Unpredictably, it still fits me well. As I added an additional modern pink belt from my collection, it turned out nicely as a beautiful short floral dress that I proudly wear everywhere right now.

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Every stitch contains a huge amount of affections; every detail proclaims tenderness. Being wrapped up with so much love like these, I feel so much blessed as I’m wearing this. Grateful to be born, grateful to be loved. Such a treasure, indeed.

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Thank you, my Nana. i love you too, beyond any words could say.

The Last Repetition – A Short Story


Pesan ini akan tersampai, dia tahu itu.

Entah bagaimana caranya, itulah yang tidak ia tahu.

Perempuan itu membeku, lidahnya kelu. Tangannya sibuk mempermainkan sendok dan garpu di hadapannya. Mendenting-dentingkan pada piring dengan ketukan irama beraturan seolah ia sedang menciptakan irama sebuah orkesta di dalam benak. Makanan di hadapannya sudah lama tandas tidak bersisa, isi gelas tinggi hanya tersisa separuhnya. Orang bilang cairan bening merah itu melepaskan ketakutan untuk menyampaikan pesan, tapi tidak, ia masih juga meragu.

Malam ini bisa saja berawal berakhir seperti biasa. Apa adanya. Dia sudah hafal semua urutannya; lelaki di hadapannya adalah pengingat ulung dan ini adalah rutinitas mereka bertahun terakhir. Sebuah ritual nostalgia kencan pertama dengan segala sesuatu yang diulang-ulang semirip mungkin. Baginya, pengulangan adalah jaminan keamanan, bahwa dunianya bergulir sebagaimana mustinya. Sebagaimana mustinya, sebagaimana seharusnya. Dia tidak suka gejolak; pembenci drama. Hidup dan hati selayaknya berjalan sempurna terencana, berdasar agenda dan skenario yang tersusun rapih.

Adalah nomor meja yang sama dengan pengaturan bangku yang sesuai, dilanjutkan dengan pesanan menu makan minum yang tidak pernah berubah. Penyanyi di sudut sana akan menyanyikan pilihan lagu cinta sebagaimana tahun-tahun lalu, dengan sensitivitas rasa yang juga serupa. Mereka berdua akan makan dalam hening, persis sebagaimana kecanggungan saat pertama. Kecupan di kening akan menutup acara, bersama gandengan tangan yang seiring berjalan pergi menuju pulang. Mulut diam seribu bahasa, sementara hati ribut berbagi cerita.

Pada awalnya, semua adalah perayaan peringatan. Momentum kenangan yang diagungkan, lalu menjelma menjadi sebuah prosesi yang disakralkan dalam tata cara urutan baku. Mereka berdua adalah umat sekaligus pemimpin upacara; menyajikan dengan khidmat sembari mengamini makna yang tersirat. Repetisi selama delapan tahun, ilusi pernyataan bahwa semua baik-baik saja, yang masih akan mungkin terus berulang pada tahun demi tahun mendatang.


Jika saja malam ini berawal berakhir seperti biasa.
Jika saja perempuan itu kerap menunda berkata.
Jika saja lelaki itu gagal menangkap pesan yang hendak disampai.

Hati mereka sudah lama tidak bercerita.
Prosesi hanya pengulangan aturan; kehilangan makna.
Pada jemari lentiknya, tidak ada lagi kilauan cincin di sana.

“May I talk?

Perempuan itu menengadah penuh kejut. Suara bariton itu memecahkan irama ketukan orkestra di pikirannya. Di luar dugaan, sang lelakilah yang membuka percakapan. Matanya menatap lekat, entah sejak kapan. Menggelisahkan, bak polisi yang memergoki seorang pencuri tengah menyelinap mengamati rumah korbannya, lalu menyergapnya dengan ketenangan yang tidak biasa.

Okay, that was definitely rare. She sensed something strange was going on. Pernyataan ingin bicara yang datang dari mulutnya adalah pelanggaran ritualnya yang pertama. Pernahkah seorang pastur memotong keheningan dengan pembicaraan pribadi di tengah konsekrasi komuni suci? Seaneh itulah semuanya diterima. Bidaah aturannya yang pertama.

“Terima kasih sudah bertahan bersamaku selama ini,” demikian ia berkata tanpa menunggu persetujuan. Ada segurat senyum di wajahnya, membuatnya terlihat jauh berbeda.

“Semua ritual non-sense ini…,” dia membuka kedua tangannya sambil menatap sekitarnya. Piring kosong di hadapan, suasana cafe dan penyanyinya, remang lampu di sekitar.

“Semua repetisi pengulangan ini, dan ketaatanmu mengikuti semua prosesi tanpa mengeluh.” Kata demi kata ditekankan perlahan penuh penghayatan. Seolah ritual baru tengah dilahirkan.

Matanya lalu jatuh tepat di bola mata sang perempuan. Mengikat lembut. Diraihnya kedua tangannya yang masih berisi sendok garpu, melepaskannya dari genggaman, dan menggantinya dengan jemarinya sendiri. Hangat dan erat. Tangan mereka melekat sempurna. Sela di antara jemari mendapatkan pemenuhan. Seperti doa yang terjawab akan sebuah riak di air yang terlalu tenang; bara yang tiba-tiba menyala di pagi yang dingin.

Perempuan itu kebingungan. Kegelisahan menyerang. Aneh, dialah seorang yang muak dengan rutinitas dan pengulangan yang terbaca. Dialah seorang yang ingin menciptakan perubahan. Menulis ulang cerita, kali ini dengan dia yang memegang pena. Sebuah cerita butuh drama, dibutuhkan konflik untuk merekatkan pembaca. Dia ingin riak, dobrakan dari kebiasaan. Cerita yang baru, letupan baru. Namun ketika aliran itu terusik, mengapa dia menjadi jengah? Kembalikan ritual yang dulu, di mana Anak Domba Allah menjadi sepasti setelah Doa Damai. Tanpa pembicaraan meresahkan ini. Saat kecup kening adalah yang menanti setelah santapan usai.

“Terima kasih, sudah bertahan selama ini.” Lelaki itu mengulangi, membawa si perempuan kembali pada kenyataan.

“Ya.” Jawabnya lirih. Tidak tahu lagi, harus mengatakan apa.

Lalu hening menyusul dan tangan mereka saling melepas. Perempuan itu menghembuskan nafas lega. Keheningan adalah bagian dari ritual; mereka sudah kembali pada jalur yang semestinya. Repetisi dan pengulangan, tidak pernah semelegakan itu. Dia tidak lagi ingin berkata apa-apa, tidak lagi ingin memegang pena cerita. Tidak perlu romansa dan drama. Perubahan terlalu menakutkan. Bersembunyi sajalah dalam damainya tata cara tanpa makna, dan biarkan semua ini berakhir membosankan seperti biasa. Untuk kembali berulang pada tahun demi tahun mendatang.

Setelah ini adalah lelakinya akan menandatangi lembaran tagihan, mengecup kening, lalu bergandengan tangan pulang. Demikian ia mengabsen runutan prosesi selanjutnya. Untuk pertama kalinya, pengulangan membuatnya tenang. Esensi pengulangan, sebuah keteraturan. Mereka akan pulang, lalu kali ini dia akan mengambil cincin yang telah dilepaskan untuk kembali dikenakan.

Tidak lagi ada pesan yang ingin disampaikan.

Tapi ternyata riak telah menjadi gelombang yang menyebar ke seluruh danau. Satu bidaah aturan pun akan diikuti bidaah berikutnya. Seaneh seorang pastur turun dari mimbar dan keluar sebelum membagikan komuni, laki-laki itu mengeluarkan sebuah kotak kecil dari saku bajunya dan menimangnya perlahan. Sedetik dua, dunia seperti terhenti lalu meledak akibat sumbatan pertanyaan bercampur kekhawatiran.

Perempuan itu tinggal sedetik jauhnya dari erupsi histeria keresahan. Keheningan tidak pernah menjelma semengerikan ini. Layaknya sahabat dekat yang tetiba menikamkan belati tanpa disangka, membunuh tanpa diduga. Adalah keheningan sahabatnya dan repetisi penjaga dunianya; keduanya berkhianat dalam satu kejap. Dia tidak terima, tapi bukankah ia sendiri yang pertama-tama hendak merubah cerita? Jika semesta kemudian mengabulkan pinta, apa haknya untuk kemudian mempertanyakan?

Hangat tangan si lelaki yang meraih kembali jemarinya menarik rohnya lagi ke dunia. Hal kedua yang ia sadari, kotak kecil itu telah berpindah tangan. Kotak itu terbuka. Isinya, cincin yang telah ia lepaskan; cincin yang hendak kembali dikenakan begitu ia kembali pulang. Entah bagaimana caranya berhasil ditemukan.

Her heart slid away in one glance, then.

It skipped its beats, as she saw her world crumbled in front of her very eyes.

“Terima kasih sudah bertahan selama ini.” Untuk ketiga kalinya lelaki itu mengulangi. Sungguh, menjelaskan betapa dia menyukai pengulangan. Betapa pengulangan adalah jaminan keamanan, bahwa semuanya akan berjalan dalam kedamaian, walau genggaman itu gemetar perlahan.

But this time, she knew she wouldn’t be any part of it, since.
No longer repetition. Not for her; not for them.

Pesan itu pada akhirnya tersampai. Semua sudah selesai. Kecupan kening terakhir, diiringi sebuah bisikan lirih.

“Selamat ulang tahun…”

Lalu keduanya kembali hening dalam diam. Mulut mengunci seribu bahasa. Rasa mungkin masih ada, namun hati memilih untuk tidak lagi berbicara. Dan lelaki itu berbalik pulang, kali ini tanpa gandengan tangan. Bidaah ritualnya yang terakhir. Momentum di mana pengulangan pun akhirnya berhenti berulang.

Dan ritual baru diciptakan.

This is just another birth.


“The Last Repetition”, a short story for a birthday man, whom half of him and mine merged together and created a miracle.
Happy birthday. I wrote this one for you, specially.
No matter what might happen in between, I love you, to the moon and back.

Kuta – Bali, June 24th 2014

9th Worldwide Instameet – Semarang!


I’ve been using Instagram apps for some years, yet never really took it seriously, as in tools to get connected with new people all around places. Followed only friends and acquaintance’s account, posted only for the sake of posting itself; I never really knew the greatest fun that lays beneath it. Until the day I saw these picture posted by a friend on my feed.


9th Worldwide Instameet, the ninth gathering of Instagramers coming together to connect, explore, and celebrate their creativity; which would be happened all together in many cities all over the world. Apparently, Semarang was one city, which the event would be hosted on.

By the coincidence, I was around Semarang within those dates with no specific agenda to do. Joining the crowd and getting to know new people, surely sounded like a very interesting idea. Mostly, because I knew there would be many aspiring inspiring photographers around, and I was beyond excited to get inspired by them! I’ve missed the feeling of being somewhere with someone new and crossing the bridge of strangers to new-found friends with our interactions.

So yeah, Kota Lama-Semarang on May 17th 2014 and I officially joined the hype happening there. Almost 120 people gathered together, while I didn’t know any of them. It was just me and little Bumi together at first, alienate from the crowd. But I had no worry; I knew the fun was awaiting there until the moment of revelation.





Indeed, it was fun and beyond. As the event was begun, we were divided to groups and assigned to complete some task and challenges, we hunted and collaborated together creating greatest pictures possible.

Below was the result from those days. Some are random shots I found interesting, and some are results from challenges of the day. Yes, challenges! We were given several themes to be posted with specific hashtag on our IG account, such as #strideby, #findingvintage, #fromwhattheysee, #makeportraits, #fromwhereistand, #whatisinmyhand, and the most interesting one, JUMP! with #jumpstagram.

The line between two. Why it has to be you?

Crossing by. As fast as memories dry. #strideby

Red on the wall; the boldest of all.

Conceal. Don’t let them in. #findingvintage

Hang it there, it will dry. Your tears too, it shall. #findingvintage

It’s been ages. Please come back home. #findingvintage

What’s left from the past. Who know how long it might still last? #findingvintage

See the world from children’s eyes. You shall find peace.

Unsync the synchrony. #jumpstagram

You jump. I jump. #jumpstagram

Yes, I hunted plenty good pictures that made me feel good with myself. This meet up has definitely fired up my photography sense that been getting dull since I have Bum around. Yes, I remembered the fun of hunting and creating composition all over again.

And the fun wasn’t ended there, apparently me and Bumi were happened to be captured by other fellows in many great moments of us. Two of us and our togetherness, openly captured behind the eyes of many talented photographers on the very beautiful photogenic spot. It never failed to put smile on my face whenever I saw the pictures again.
Thank you so much, dearest all, for these lovely frame!





And this one is surely my favorite!
Told you, my little Bumi, I’ll take you fly with me. :’)


Seriously, meeting this bunch of new talented people at Semarang Instameet is one thing I would always be grateful about. As I looked around that day, we were all busy with our mobile phone, —taking pictures, editing, and posting—, yet nobody saw us as a freak like people used to judge. We were all just same, we were on the equal wavelength, we were on the right place.

Strangers at first, but then, we chatted. We shared. We connected. We laughed. We followed each other’s IG account. We inspired and got inspired by each other.
Couldn’t ask for a better meet up like this #instameetsemarang.
Thank you instagram for making this happen!
Thank you guys for being awesome!





What a pleasant happy day. I almost forgot how wonderful a freedom tasted like :’)