My Trigger Warning: The First Time

The first times are always the most difficult times for me.

I am sick of the first times.

I am sick of how the first times have always made me feel.

I am sick of the first times.

I am sick of helplessly whispering to myself that I and everything will be okay when I know for sure that it’s not.

I am sick of the first times.

I am sick of how I desperately look for other people to be my anchor because I know for sure that I will sink.

At the first times, I always sink.

It’s just a matter of time.

I am sick of the first times.

I am sick of my decision to go to the first times then go home feeling that I’m not enough, and that I can never be.

I am sick of my decision to not go to the first times and stay at home feeling that I’m not enough, and that I can never be.

I am sick of the first times.

I am sick of rarely being brave enough to take risks and ended up hugging what’s left of me.

I am sick of finally being brave enough to take risks and ended up losing what’s left of me.

I am sick of the first times.

I am sick of how no matter I have survived the first times, I am still left with negative emotions I couldn’t completely grasp, tears I couldn’t completely shed, and moments I couldn’t completely enjoy.

I am sick of the first times.

I am sick of hearing my heart pounding. I am sick of feeling sweat making traces on my forehead, my back, my knees, my mind, my consciousness—but do I still have any? Do I ever have any?

I am sick of being lightheaded when the rest of me—the rest of the world is heavy.

I am sick of not having control of myself.

I am sick of not fully being myself.

I am sick of fully being myself.

There are times when I could survive the first times.

The fact that I experienced the first time makes my next encounter with similar things would be the second time.

Just the thought of the second time makes everything somehow easier—just like how the thought of the first time makes everything somehow harder.

There are times when I could survive the first times.

But today is not that time.

Today is when I’ve been convincing myself that this time would be a successful first time.

But it is not.

Today is when I’ve been picturing myself show up and have fun with friends at my first time.

But it is not.

Today is when I’ve been telling myself that I will overcome this first time and no longer being paranoid with any other first times.

But, of course, it is not.

There are times when I could survive the first times.

But today is not that time.

Today is when I nervously changed outfits three times while being distracted by all the voices inside me that keep on echoing hundreds different versions of what-if-s and no matter how hard I tried to fight it I just knew since the very beginning that this time I couldn’t win.

Today is when I ended up curl up in bed screaming with no voices, crying with no tears, hating myself more than anything I’ve ever hated.

There are times when I could survive the first times.
But today is not that time.

Today is when I fail and dark parts of me win.

Today I let them dominate me—justifying that they still have power over me.

Today I am powerless.

Today I am not the master of my own self.

I hate the first times.

I hate how it has made me feel.

But I hate myself more.

I hate myself the most.

Do Men Really Dislike Colors, or Are They Just Afraid of the Society’s Judgments?

“This yellow t-shirt is really good and I really like the pink-ish artwork, but there’s no way I’m gonna wear it.”

“Why not?"
“Well, because it’s yellow and pink, of course. I don’t wear those colors."
“Why don’t?”
“Because… uh, it’s yellow and pink??? I just don’t wear those colors. Now stop asking and let’s check out other shirts.”

This conversation happened not too long ago between my friend—who’s a boy—and I. Since then I’ve been always closely watching the men all around me, and realizing that there are very few of them who wear various colors in public. It seems like men tend to feel discouraged to be existing in public along with the appearance of the color yellow, purple, pink, and other bright colors on their bodies—they feel that it is ‘safer’ to wear ‘neutral’ labeled-colors, such as white, black, and brown.

Personally, I think that it is okay not to buy pink t-shirt if you really don’t like pink because it is pink by nature, but not to buy pink t-shirt because you don’t like pink and the dislike starts from thinking that the majority of the society will not favor your pink t-shirt while deep down you yourself like it or are okay with it… I don’t think that’s a sufficient reason. It doesn’t even suffice as an explanation. And yes, for me it is a problem. in fact, this should be a problem for us all.

The sad thing is, some colors are labeled feminine and therefore they are made for women, but instead of being labeled as masculine colors, some other colors are labeled neutral and therefore they are safe to be worn by men, but pretty much also safe to be worn my women as well. When it comes to colors, women are ‘given’ more options than men. This whole gender bias thing and how its hegemony has rooted too deep within the society is very disheartening.

Fun fact #1, ladies and gentlemen, COLORS DON’T HAVE GENDER.

Some people dislike the idea of feminism and unsupportive of its movements because they misunderstood the whole concept as an attempt to place women in higher position than men, while what we strive for, is equality. Some people fail to see that the current status quo is not only harmful and disadvantaging for women, but for men as well.

Let’s see. Most of the times women are the victim yet the blame is on us, women are wrong for wearing hijab because it’s a sign that they are oppressed yet women are also wrong for wearing short skirts because that way they are ‘asking for it’, women are wrong for putting red lipstick on because that bright lips make them look like a prostitute yet women are also wrong for having a bare face on public because instead of looking natural they will look pale and it’s ugly. These are some real life examples that happen on daily basis that it has been considered normal that way. Luckily, some people—that’s us!—happen to realize that it’s not normal; that it’s wrong and it needs to stop.

But gender bias is also harmful and disadvantaging for men as well. Since they were just little boys, most of them were yelled at for crying, because crying is a sign of weakness and one most important thing that men shouldn’t be is weak. Boys were not allowed to play Barbie dolls—some even went further to not letting their sons to play any dolls at all, because dolls are just too ‘girly’. Baby boys can only wear blue, yet baby girls can wear both blue and pink. This bias has been internalized so deep within us that we began to think that it’s normal. Men indeed should not cry. You’re sad? Chin up, you’re a man. Men indeed should not wear pink or yellow. Black shirt and khaki trousers and white sneakers and a hint of red watch, a dark kind of red of course, I don’t want to be seen too colorful. I want to look cool. I’m a man.

It’s disadvantaging because men, as a human being, cannot be just who they want to be. It’s disadvantaging because men, as a human being, cannot be completely happy. Most of them are not wearing colors not because they personally hate colors since the very beginning, but because the society and the gender bias has gotten so deep into their consciousness and make them hate it for no apparent reason. Men’s choices and options in life are limited, and that’s simply because they were born with a biological reproduction organ named penis when they were never asking for it since the very beginning. It’s harmful because in fact there’s a higher suicide rate among teen boys because they are ‘trained’ to feel as if they don’t need to reach out and get help when they have issues because it’s not manly. Yep, it all started from color choices and ended up in human beings’ lives.

You think I’m exaggerating? You think that the entire phenomenon I listed above is normal and there’s nothing to worry about? Hegemony could begin and became imperishable because it is being normalized and seen as normal or even ideal in our ways of life. It is not.

There’s no such thing as an ideal men or women. There’s only an ideal you, and you yourself are the one who have the full control over it. Despite of being a woman or a man, an ideal you is a happy you, and that should be enough.

Istirahatlah Kata-Kata

“It was good. I guess the movie’s great for people like us—undergraduate students coming from faculty of social and political sciences. For people who understand what democracy is and what does it cost. It’s a festival-class movie. It’s an activist-kind-of-movie. The meanings were scattered around and embedded on symbols. Very symbolic, like simulacra. Even the soundtrack wasn’t served by lyrics but by whistles. I’m sure you will understand and like the movie, as I do, but I guess the rest will not fancy it that much. It was just too difficult to understand if you don’t have prior knowledge about the subject and the context. I watched it with my friend who took Accountancy degree and he didn’t understand even a tiny bit part of it.”

It was my friend’s answer when earlier today I asked for his opinion regarding to Istirahatlah Kata-Kata (Solo, Solitude) movie. It was first premiered at cinema on Januari 19th 2017 but I couldn’t found the right time to watch it up until today. Last night I silently prayed for the movie to last longer on cinemas because I can’t bear any guilt for not watching this award-grabbing movie and thank God the movie was actually expanding cities and playing on more cinemas. The cinema was half-full (note the positivity) and the good news is that almost everyone was youth, approximately on their early or late 20s!

Istirahatlah Kata-Kata is a movie directed by Yosep Anggi Noen. The movie tells stories of Wiji Thukul, a poet who is highly critical and unafraid of Suharto tyranny regime whose words are often yelled proudly by the crowd during political protests—thus, he is declared a fugitive by the regime. The movie covers those difficult times when Wiji Thukul has to escapes from the island of Java and forced to changes his identity several times, leaving his wife, Sipon along with his two children under constant surveillance in Solo.

It was a very slow pace movie, but not the kind of dragging that made you feel bored. It was a very slow pace movie that gave you a sense of intimacy. There’s not much dialogues and backsounds whatsoever. In several parts of the movie you can even intensely hear the sound of Wiji Thukul gulped down his water or when he brushed his pencil against the yellowing paper, you can intensely hear the sound Thomas made when he inhaled and exhaled his cigarette and turned it into ash, you can intensely hear the sound of Sipon weakly sweeping the tiles in a helpless attempt to sweep her insecurities. It was a very slow pace movie that made you feel sorry for almost everything. It was a very slow pace movie and it’s depressing. It’s depressing yet beautiful.

Moreover, I found myself a bit disagree with my friend who said that Istirahatlah Kata-Kata was an activist-kind-of-movie. Here you will not watch Wiji Thukul or anyone else being involved in any demonstration, nor will you watch any scene in which people were screaming at the top of their lungs in the name of democracy. It was not a fiery and raging movie. This movie was intense, but it was as calm as still water. Even when Wiji Thukul’s daughter was being investigated and his books were being plundered, there was no apparent rage being shown. Sipon just held her daughter’s little hand so firmly. Even when an apparatus didn’t bother to queue at a barbershop, bragged about his power and the regime’s authority, there was no apparent rage shown. Wiji Thukul just buried his face behind his hat with chattered teeth. Even when Wiji Thukul couldn’t risk going to the public toilet and having to shit on his home instead, there was no apparent rage being shown. Wiji and Sipon just made fun of the smell, being grateful that they were still alive to smell any. There was no apparent rage being shown, but it left an inexplicable pang in my heart.

Istirahatlah Kata-Kata didn’t depict Wiji Thukul as a mere activist; but most of all, as a human, a husband, a father, a friend. Not merely as a person with principle and dedication, but also a person who got a heart and feelings. The depiction of Wiji Thukul is as flawed as any human can be—missing sleeps, skipping family dinners, losing words and inspirations, being suspicious to noises, having unwritten thoughts putting on ties of colors he dislikes on his exhausted neck, and other emotions any under-pressured man may experiences.

Istirahatlah Kata-Kata was not a movie about loud literal voices being spoken. It was not a movie with bustling soundtracks on every scene. It was not a movie with engaging dialogues that let audiences understand everything without even have to think. Istirahatlah Kata-Kata was a movie about people being silenced. It was a movie about a regime so dictator they could actually shut people down by taking their lives, and they meant it. It was a movie about a regime so full of bastards, but they were afraid of words. It was a movie about words...much more powerful than any swords. Istirahatlah Kata-Kata was a retrospective solemnity that doesn’t try too hard to show its importance. We already knew it by heart.

Istirahatlah Kata-Kata was beyond brave and brilliant. I cried two times during the movie (precisely during the scenes I posted above). Everything about it was so emotional. Watching this movie made me wonder about how it feels like to live in that time. When your government was so sensitive even towards the slightest notion or movement of yours. When nowhere is safe. When government who ideally should be there to protect and uphold all sort of your human rights turned into a wolf that intimidated and silenced you down.

Watching this movie made me realize that all the so-called conflicts and problems we got in our country right now is insignificant compared to what our country experienced in the past. It’s shameful how we now fight each other over having perspective that vary. How we accuse each other for being wrong and condemn them for having different opinions. We worry too much, we fight too much that we forget to focus on what’s important. Our country experienced all kind of nightmares that this generation couldn’t even come close to imagine. Our country had dark, cruel, terrible secrets—and it’s unfair to keep it buried down. It’s a violation to continue being innocent for years to come. It’s time to bring the awareness back. It’s time to talk about it in public. It’s time to stop taking our easy life for granted.

It doesn’t matter whatever degree you took, it doesn’t matter whether you’re a multinational corporate manager or if you’re a labor. Wiji Thukul wrote to fought for all of us. His spirit should reverberate in all of us. Doesn’t know about him and his struggle is one thing, but knowing his name and a glimpse of what he has done yet refuse to know him further as a human is another. He fought for all of us. To watch this movie and to have his name on our mind and heart—even for just a moment, is a way of saying our gratitude. That wherever he might be at right now, he matters. And he lives. He still lives—he always lives all along in our mind and heart. His body might be missing and his whereabouts are unknown, but his voices will always be heard and his being will always be not just respected, but loved as well.

For those who have watched the movie and shared similar perspective with me, thank you for understanding his stories and being fully aware that his unknown whereabouts up until now is something we should not ignore, and please know that it matters. For those who have watched the movie and didn’t quite understand it, thank you for watching—for choosing to watch this movie when you have plenty choices and buying the tickets and helping it to get trending, it’s probably about time for you to read more about Wiji Thukul to understand him more, and please know that it matters. For those who haven’t watched the movie but having the intention to watch it, thank you for keeping this movie in your mind and for resonating his name over and over again, it is because of you that the movie get played on more and more cinemas, and please know that it matters. For those who haven’t watched the movie and didn’t have the intention to watch it, but read this blog entry anyway, thank you for being ignorant with a slight of curiosity—it can kill the cat (or topple down a regime!) if being put on the right place at the right time, and please know that it matters.

I’ve spent hours contemplating the words to say but no combination of twenty six different letters could ever accurately describe how brilliant the movie is or how it has made me feel. Last but not least, writing a movie review is totally not my cup of tea, but Istirahatlah Kata-Kata should definitely be everyone’s glass of water, so I wrote anyway.

Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan: Things that Happen when the Kampung Itself is the Tourism Object.

Last weekend I went to Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan, one of the most anticipated tourism objects in Malang. No, I wasn’t there for any selfies or fun—though I have to admit that I took some and I had some—but the main reason I was there was to conduct a field observation for Health Communication subject.

Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan is a relatively small neighborhood located exactly side to side with Brantas river. The area is so narrow that you have to turn off your motorcycle engine and walk with it. No house has any fence, let alone a front porch or a yard. To completely explore Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan you have to have be as fit and as careful as you can, because you have go up and down through several precipitous brick-stairs. I was so worn-out on the first day, thanks to my nonexistent preparation. Have done situational analysis for my field observation proposal, several medias labeled it as ‘slums’ before it has been perfectly transformed into Rio-De-Janeiro-inspired tourism object. Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan was the result of collaboration between the brilliant minds of GuysPro from UMM with decofresh, a wall paint brand. The project leader is a friend of mine, Nabila, a cheerful, bright and easygoing young lady whom I met at a public relations competition we joined earlier last year.

The class agreed to conduct a field observation at Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan because it was a tourism object that is located exactly in a kampung—a residence, a neighborhood. To be exact, the kampung itself is the tourism object. Thus, things are a little bit problematic there. How would you like it if strangers direct poses and take pictures in front of your front door? How would you like it if you can’t take a nap because of those never ending footsteps and giggles? How would you like it if you have to let people walk slowly all around you on an alley that was already narrow enough even for you and your neighbors?

Things were not easy for Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan’s residents. Some are happy while some are not. Some are proud while some are not. But most of all, some are getting the benefits while some are not. When we talk about health, it is not always about the physical matters. It is about the mental and social matters as well. I’m a communication student and I study about health communication, which is the study of how health information is generated and disseminated and promoted and how that information affect individuals, community groups, institutions and public policy.

A friction is undeniable in a tourism object which is also a residence. Most people think that by paying a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah, they are free to do whatever they want. That by having a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah means Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan is all theirs to take. People visit and have fun at Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan for hours and then get home, while on the other side Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan has been other people’s home for all these years. Tourists walk by the old man sitting on his front door, as if a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah can substitute for their manners. Tourists gather around the only open space on Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan, taking photos with several beautiful paintings and murals as backgrounds, as if a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah can buy the local kids’ only facility to outdoor activities. Tourists yell at their kids and at their friends—tourists basically yell at each other, as if a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah is there to pay for the local toddlers and local elderly people’s right of tranquility. Tourists trespass the train railway and the edge of the river, as if a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah is a warrant of their safety. The hoarse voice come from a very noisy megaphone endlessly reminding tourists to step back and stop doing so, as if the locals deserve that burden from a ticket worth of 2000 rupiah. Tourists throw away trash and neglect the “do not litter” signs placed here and there, because on their tickets, it is written that their 2000 rupiah will go for the green and clean maintenance at Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan.

They do indeed have the ticket, but what do they actually pay for?  On a tourism object that is located exactly in a kampung, which one is more important; a happy tourist or a healthy resident? We don’t have to pick just one if we can and commit to make both happen.

The class was divided into 6 groups based on our focal targets: toddlers and kids, teenagers, productive aged people, elderly, formal health staffs, and informal health ones. We then conducted a field observation for two days; analyzing the latent problems and doing our best to find the solution and its alternatives by interviewing our focal targets and gathering related information from the chief of hamlet and cadres. We are fully aware that our researches are deeply flawed because it was done in quite a short period of time, thus the input was not as rich as it is supposed to be. But at least we have got several glimpses which we are now currently working on (yes, my field observation report is not done yet). These reports later on will serve as academic suggestions for the stakeholders in their decision making processes. Last but not least, we hope for nothing but for Kampung Warna-Warni Jodipan to be better.

(Oh and here's a quite decent self-potrait of me! Didn't take much of it, of course. I'm a ~researcher~ not a ~tourist~, remember?)