This morning’s call included updates on our colleagues working in the Trump-Elon era. The absurdities we discussed, followed by conversations about the troubling events in our own country, left me feeling disheartened. It feels like I was tricked into being born into this world.
Yet somehow, I’m not hopeless. Not in myself, not in my closest circle. Just staying motivated at work feels like enough. I’m proud of my friends (especially the girls!) for their efforts in both their professional lives and in caring for their families. I love and take pride in my circle.
Reflecting on women’s resilience, I’m continually amazed by the amount of pain we can endure. Hormonal changes introduce various emotional and physical challenges, and the recurring discomfort of menstrual cycles adds to our load. Interestingly, I just happened to read about the physiological connection between the jaw and the pelvis. Turns out, tension in one area can mirror tension in the other due to the intricate network of muscles and fascia linking them. So if you tend to clench your jaw, your pelvic floor might be feeling the strain too.
Hmm.. Hi? Chronic jaw clenching is so me! I’m ridiculously expressive with my jaw, whether out of excitement, frustration, or pure affection, especially when talking to my cats. They don’t care, of course. But should I tone the gemes-gemes down for the sake of my pelvic floor?
I was about to pick a photo I uploaded but decided to just browse the media library instead, and look what I found, lol. What even is this? By the way, that’s Sheldon’s cat, circa 2010.
It’s a different kind of heartache, one that’s difficult to navigate. My circle of friends has never been big, and over time, it has only gotten smaller. In some ways, that makes things a little more awkward, a little quieter. But at the same time, it also feels more effortless, more low-maintenance. There’s a comfort in knowing that the friendships that remain don’t require constant upkeep.
They’re my way of showing up, something that still feels unfamiliar in social situations, where I’m used to my own space and no longer needing to prove anything. We simply are.
Notes on (WIP): I no longer use this blog just to showcase finished pieces like a typical blog. I don’t draft posts anymore—I just hit publish and work on them gradually, refining as I go. That means entries like the Unlived Lives series are constantly evolving.And somehow, it feels liberating. This process helps me grow without getting stuck in perfectionism. Besides, this blog has never truly felt public to me—it’s more like a private backyard.
A car tore through the street, its engine splitting the midday hush.
‘This time of day? Of course.’ she muttered from the porch, frowning at the intrusion.
A car tore through the street, its engine splitting the midday hush.
The house had been standing for nearly 40 years, its German-engineered windows boasting impressive sound insulation, reducing noise by up to 50 dB. Compared to when she first moved in, a time when she often worried about the effects of constantly using earplugs, she now felt a quiet sense of pride in finally being able to decide (and afford!) to replace the old windows.
They had gone back and forth on the windows, just as they had about selling the house. Even after the mortgage was paid, they never followed through—perhaps out of habit or out of something neither of them could quite name. Three decades in, nothing much had changed inside—no interior design theme was ever implemented. Their home remained untouched, with its built-in furniture still standing as it had since the day they moved in.
‘We don’t need it,’ her husband said. Yeah, she agreed when the idea of buying a sofa randomly came up.
They truly never felt the need. Guests were rare, almost nonexistent. The seating they had—a small dining set with two chairs and a long, multi-purpose bench that doubled as storage—always felt sufficient.
The heat that day was relentless, nudging her toward her usual routine—watering the plants, again. Now squinting against the harsh sunlight, she spotted Shiro, the stray cat that roamed their complex, making its way toward the house.
Before heading back in, she made a mental note: tomorrow, the same. Also, a little extra cat food needed to be left, just in case.
–
The name Chas had been her suggestion, borrowed from a favorite film character. It had started as a passing thought, nothing more, yet somehow, it had settled, unchallenged. She had initially resisted. It wasn’t her place. She wasn’t technically family. And yet, when she had spoken the name aloud, they had simply accepted it, as if it had always belonged.
Years ago, an accident had taken her dearest friend, and with it, the shape of everything she had known. She had taken in the young man—not in the legal sense, but in all the ways that mattered. A quiet tether had formed between them, invisible yet unshakable, linking their lives in ways neither of them had ever expected.
A soft creak echoed through the room as she shifted slightly, her eyes tracing the familiar lines of the ceiling. Afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting long, dappled patterns across the floor. Faintly, she could hear sounds from upstairs—probably her husband watching YouTube. Her gaze drifted, unfocused. The memory came gently, as if it had been waiting just beneath the surface. The weight of Chas in her arms—small, impossibly light. How surreal it had been. How surreal it still was.
‘God,’ she whispered, barely audible. A tightness pressed against her throat, familiar and unwelcome. Then, a soft chime.
The phone screen glowed in the dimming light. Chas had replied.
‘Don’t bring anything for Opa. You know how picky he is, and we’ll just end up being scolded for wasting money,’ she typed, her fingers hovering over the screen before adding an upside-down smiley at the end. (Updated 25/02/2025)
to be continued
The “Unlived Lives” series represent short fiction of the roles that might have been destined for me in an alternate dimension, purposes I believe were meant to be mine but remained unfulfilled in the present life.
I’m obsessed with Christmas decorations in malls. Yes. While some people reminisce about candlelit church masses or cozy family gatherings, my core holiday memories revolve around something far more glamorous (and artificial)—mall decor.
As a kid, it wasn’t the nativity scenes that stuck with me but the glittery ornaments hanging from ceilings, the relentless jingles blasting through the speakers, and cafes suddenly morphing into snow-filled wonderlands. Never mind that the “snow” was just cotton wool—it worked its magic anyway.
This year? The malls did not disappoint. Between the over-the-top displays, the infectious music, and the vibe that practically screamed “Baby Jesus is so famous” my inner holiday fanatic was more than satisfied.
Alex G
Seriously Matcha
Lately, I’ve had multiple encounters with ceremonial-grade matcha. The sellers had solid branding, the price made sense for the experience they were selling, and everything about it seemed promising. Turns out, my taste buds are basic, and they prefer their matcha mainstream.
As a non-coffee drinker and non-alcoholic, matcha is my go-to drink. So naturally, I thought leveling up to ceremonial grade would be the logical next step. Nope. My tongue, ever the peasant, wasn’t impressed.
Oden
My first Oden experience- loved it! Even though I had a slight brain glitch confusing oden with odeng (I blame Kania). Let me tell you, this is exactly what I mean when I say the perfect snack: variety, balance, and just the right portion. I’ve been romanticizing oden ever since indulging in Tokyo Midnight Diner, Izakaya Bottakuri, and Samurai Gourmet.
The Helper Lady: Mbak Umi
She isn’t technically responsible for my daily meals, but every now and then, she brings over food—either her own cooking or something from her neighbors or relatives. Pure Sundanese kampung-style magic. Simple, hearty, and hands-down the best.
Also, the daily gossip that comes with it. Her favorite topic was her kids’ school—everything from the teachers to the school’s administration. I have a suspicion that because she knows I used to teach at a university, she sees me as some kind of smarty-pants. She often asks for my insights, like, “Is this normal for schools to behave like this?” It’s oddly endearing.
There’s a less-talked-about reality that hides beneath the surface of being an adult—a bit like a graveyard of friendships chilling in the corners of our minds. This hidden space holds memories of past birthdays, couples’ trips, inside jokes, familiar food orders, and the tunes of our favorite songs.
One essential lesson often seems to be missing: the unwritten guide to dealing with the mysterious endings of friendships. It’s not about feeling mad or resentful, but more like encountering an unexpected gap, where the departures leave us with unspoken lessons. Sometimes, people exit our lives without much notice, relationships slowly fade, and some friendships are only meant for a certain season.
While we have rituals and formulas for processing the loss of a romantic breakup, when it comes to the end of friendships, we are left unmoored in our grief. Dr. Kenneth Doka calls this experience “disenfranchised grief,” which “cannot be openly acknowledged, socially mourned or publicly supported.” –an article on Forbes
In the quiet moments when we’re lost in thought, our minds revisit those who once played starring roles in our stories. They’re frozen, posing questions we might never answer: Do they still take their coffee the same way? Do they ever think of me when it’s my birthday, when they have exciting news, when my favorite songs come on the radio? Are they aware of the milestones I’ve reached, and do they wonder about the ones I’ve missed?
Marriage and parenthood often serve as profound turning points, reshaping the dynamics of our social circles. The connection forged with a life partner brings about shifting priorities that may lead to a reevaluation of friendships. Conversations may shift from spontaneous adventures to discussions about family commitments. And we learn to appreciate the transient nature of relationships, understanding that each chapter may bring both farewells and new beginnings.
The memories from way back when? They’re not creepy ghosts hovering around; more like these chill reminders of how human connections are all over the place—constantly changing, here one moment, gone the next, and sometimes hitting you right in the feels with their short-lived magic. 🌟
1. “Running Grave” by Robert Galbraith. October kicked off with a literary escape amidst the chaos of work event preparations. The book instantly became my favorite among the previous 6 books in the series, which I thought would be difficult to surpass Troubled Blood’s position.
2. Inpepsa. The dreaded acid reflux, a reminder to take a breath. I found myself laughing in the face of acidity, realizing that self-care can be as simple as a morning walking routine. D’oh.
3. Black Holes – The Edge of All We Know. Oh, watching those theoretical physicists decode the black holes was a real riot. Crunching numbers like it’s child’s play, naturally, it had me questioning my own IQ. Watching them work was almost as entertaining as imagining myself doing the same… in an alternate universe, of course.
4. Extensive Google Search on aluminium window frames. Picture this: me, frantically clicking away, attempting to decipher the secrets of window frames like my life depends on it. Yeah, maybe I dream of having a house, but the whole fuss about furnishings, decorating, or interior design? Noooooo…. (turns out I don’t really care anyway).
5. Niyom. A colleague’s visit to Jakarta introduced me to this Thai jeans brand. The cutting looked super nice on her, also leaving me wondering why such quality is not readily available in local Indonesian brands. Can’t wait for my package to arrive.
6. Jakarta Fashion Week. Thanks to Sare – Andam, it was my first time attending such event. Oh, I was so smitten by the Douche show. Given my old obsession with Madonna’s Ray of Light era (I have vivid memories of my elementary friend Claudia memorizing the Frozen’s lyric for our singing exam, lol), I was totally mesmerized when I heard Shanti/Ashtangi playing after ages. And I think I need a couple of pieces from the collection ASAP. *smile* That day also gave me a chance to have some real talk with my art school buddies, diving into deep topics like the quality of sleep among art grads. *eye-rolling*
7. Shori’s Beef Sukiyaki. Indulging the simple joys of savoring delicious food (and a hot date!).
8. Pilates Re Bar. Trying out a new pilates studio within walking distance from my home marked the beginning of appreciating local facilities. Still trying to make all of these feel homey though. It’s still a bit challenging.
9. A normal broom. After a detour into the world of marketing hype, I returned to the simplicity of a normal broom stick. Sweep away both dust and unnecessary complications yes please.
10. My Staccato ballet flats got a second life with a quick tweak. And I’ve been enjoying the abundance of adorable visuals of sweet bows on social– they’re all the rage now.
It’s been quite a gloomy month, to be honest, with all the madness happening in the world. But hey, I turned 38, and hey, when the right moment hits, I’m gonna write about my love for Chandler Muriel Bing, one of my all-time favorite friends.
