2020, in Photographs
I had a lot of hesitations writing this. Everyone is posting their 2020 kaleidoscope — what went wrong, what went good, what kept them intact throughout the absolute shitshow that is 2020, and how they plan to protect their joy and dreams in the uncertainty of 2021. This year has been such a blur, and I honestly don’t mind it staying that way. The loss, the grief, the exorbitant and vexatious shift on how we were made to continue our lives has left me in a state of complete voluntary detachment. It’s the classic avoidant behavior.
Yet, this morning I woke up and had a mini road trip to the mountain with my family, literally for fresh air and some coffee. And we went back home before the sunset, and I spent the entire evening watching BigHit Labels New Years’ Eve Concert with my sisters, jamming and dancing and fangirling and laughing, a lot of it. And right now, I’m typing this, and the wifi gave up hours ago, and the fireworks are cracking the last barrier to my PTSD. But I’m alive and breathing — hands shaking, chugging the water excessively, fidgeting nonstop — but I’m here. At least I’m here.
And I thought, yeah, 2020 might be a medley of nightmares, but good thing I have this bad habit of nitpicking parts of life that I want to let roam in my memories; the rest can go to hell.
January
Adopting a cat was the least possibility that could’ve ever happened in our household. We are dog-people. We just lost our dog, Cassie, to a terminal illness a few months prior. Bakpao started coming around and slept on the car hood or in mom’s precious flowerpot this time around. My parents hated cats, and it’s crazy to see how things have changed this whole year. Bakpao is a chunk boy now, sleeps in my bed, rests on mom’s feet while she prays every morning, sits on the sofa arm so dad can scratch his chin. Our family group chat is just an archive for Bakpao’s photos. But most importantly, I’ve never expected he would’ve brought so much warmth into our house. With each of the family member’s nature, we would’ve been fighting day and night, being locked up inside most of the time. These days we share good laughs about dumb, mundane things Bakpao does.
I mean it wholeheartedly when I say without Bakpao, we all would not survive through the pandemic not hating each other.
February
I’d tell the February-me to cherish my tribe harder. February gifted me many chances to be in the presence of my loved ones, not knowing it would’ve been the last until the year changed. Big dreams for Undisputed Poetry turned out to be our last open mic. But poetry also brought me to the hands of Jakarta and I learned to hate it less along the way. Led me to my camp friends, who have been my lighthouse for the past five years. We only have the chance to meet annually every midyear, and thank goodness I got to soak in their company before the isolation. At least I had Nisya’s handwritten postcard and brought Sania & Roan to Wing Heng, ice cream for dinner with Bagus & Seetha, cheered for Carissa before she went away to pursue her dreams, built a room for Ayaana in the corner of my heart before she flew back to her homeland.
And Oma.
My hard-headed, but hands so gentle Oma. Peeling apples for her as she did for me when I was 12, kissing her wrinkled face, watching cheap soap opera with her even if it was only for one afternoon before she fell very ill last month.
March
The start of isolation and life as we know it now. Work from home still felt fun. Quarantine with two sisters looks like watching heaps of musicals, complaining about the internet, and ordering too many es kopi susu.
April
A break-up & rejected scholarship. April was hazy, for sure. I’d say it was when everything really dawned on me. Piles and piles and piles of loneliness and frustration with nowhere to go. The day I found out my main plan of 2020 (getting my master’s degree) fell through, I told my parents and went silent. With the pandemic, my plan B, C, and D were robbed from me too. That night I spent hours building two stories cardboard house for Bakpao, swallowing my tears. The next day I put pretty dress for online Sunday service, then deleted all of my social media apps.
May
May was for dealing with grief in the quiet. I went to therapy once in two weeks instead of monthly. My sister introduced me to the world of K-Pop and I ended up liking it very much. Evenings spent watching crack videos, concert clips, Run BTS, and TXT To Do were the best hours, it was pure happiness without any bit of guilt. I painted pretty things and sent them away to my friends. I got a bunch of plants, my favorite one is the one in the photo which I solely bought because it shares the same name as my mom. The flowers only bloom in the early morning—small fun that made me genuinely looking forward to waking up every day instead of sinking in my misery. I embraced the vegan life and learned to bake, and made peanut butter, and cooked my meals. May was for building back my ground, a piece at a time.
June
I don’t remember June. And the only Google Photos archive from June is this picture of Bakpao getting too comfortable on my sister’s desk.
July
I turned 24. I deleted all of my social media accounts. I got my first ink. The three events were not correlated. But I remember the feeling of comfortable recklessness. I remember feeling okay, like I’m finally standing on both of my feet.
August
The first time in months we finally went out of the house (with mask and an outrageous amount of hand-washing + sanitizer). We drove to this outdoor coffee shop in the mountainside. My sisters and I found a little hiking trek nearby. There is something about being in nature that just mends you. I truly need more of that. We spent some time smelling the leaf, observing flowers and weeds, and just.. be.
The next week, I had to visit this restaurant for work and they had a giant bucket of herbs. I remember feeling an overwhelming joy from seeing that. I’ve always had a dream of growing my own herbs which haven’t met its success to this day. So seeing the lush little garden of it just made me feel so happy — which I assume was visible because the owner offered to take my photo with it.
September
Music is the ultimate personal affair for me. I’ve been writing music since I was in 8th grade, and it feels like a mental bin & therapy most of the time. I can paint happy stuff and write funny poems, but there’s a reason why all of the songs I’ve written are sappy. And perhaps it’s the pandemic frustration, perhaps it’s the full moon, perhaps it’s a dream I didn’t dare to imagine—but on September I decided to let it go and wander to find its own place out there.
Seetha was in town, we had pho and banh mi then went to the empty bar to have a beer, talking nonsense. She went back home to Malaysia in the following couple of weeks, taking away my love of Jogja & night strolls through Prawirotaman in her pocket. But it was one of those little moments of gratitude, that she decided to stop by Surabaya for a dinner before leaving.
October
I was in Bali for a work trip. Around the time when I supposed to be on my annual two weeks Ubud getaway where I usually spend day and night writing and performing poetry, and having midnight beer with new friends, and reading with crossed legs at zest, & dancing & swirling & just.. healing.
Of course, it didn’t happen this year. So I kid you not I got teary when we stopped by Ubud for lunch because my boss knew how much I’m emotionally attached to the little town. It was startlingly quiet, the air was light, the street was empty, I didn’t have to look left and right to walk over the pasar crossroads because no digital nomad on yamaha mio would run me over.
But there is something about the place that mends you, still. I breathe easier in Ubud.
We also finally ran a virtual open mic for Undisputed Poetry. It was different without the hugs, and finger snaps, and sounds of laughter and sometimes slow sobs. But Undisputed remains my utmost pride and to see folks from different places, finding their space & courage in poetry…. it’s worth it. Always.
November
I finished my first solo track which was due to release in early December. The process was such a wind whirl of emotions. Technically, since it was self-produced, I had to learn everything from scratch and while the final product hasn’t met the standard I have in mind yet, I’m very proud of this craft.
Titled “55”, it is an open letter for many things at once. I wrote it with my feet standing on two different spots. One in the desperate attempt to tell the unexplainable state of a troubled mind — a plea to be granted the space to grief & permission to feel rather than having to put up a façade. A friend told me it sounds sad, and it is at some point. But I genuinely find so much comfort in this track. Because at the same time, this song took the longest to write, and every single time I sit to weave the words, I was overflown with gratitude for people whose love I am carrying everywhere. who always hold space for me, and cherish all sides of me. Whose tender presence makes me a believer of better days.
I found the courage to go online again, this time with an extreme dose of mindfulness and being intentional with everything I share and consume. The Internet can be such a shitty place, but it allows me to connect with people who carry a piece of my heart.
December
If the rest of 2020 feels like lost in translation, December feels like.. discovering and being found. It feels like finally letting out an exhale after holding your breath for 11 months straight. One thing for sure, it’s for encounters. Pipin moving to Surabaya would be one of the highlights. I also found out that Alvin has moved back to the city and we have been hanging out almost every weekend, complaining about life and laughing it off over beers. I got to know Bageur’s heart better, which was a privilege I will always cherish. A couple of hours with Andre and Obel whom I haven’t met since forever just relished the stolen times. Closing the year right with the backbone of Undisputed: Yosua, Maul, Hayu, Yuri, Rissa. And if you’re lucky, you will have Vania in your life who will get a tattoo with you on Monday and go to therapy the next day.
I started writing this 20 minutes before midnight. Typing while thinking about what my 2021 resolution should be. Before today, I aimed pretty low and would probably okay with the bare minimum like surviving.
But it’s 3 AM now and I’m swimming in memories, the blurred days that don’t look faded anymore. The faces of people that hold space for me to root & grow, who nurture my tree of gratitude. My favorite poet and friend, Sanam Sheriff, once said love and fear cannot live in the same room, one must choose.
And I think I have found my calling for the new year:
as much as I possibly can, both in doubt & in utter certainty, may I always have the courage to give in to love.