First week home...

...is nice. As it always is everytime I am home, it always feels like I never left. But I did, for a year. The roads are the same, the traffic, the temperature, even my room smells the same. I like it, it feels like home. My flight was OK, although my feet were happily relieved when it can finally touch the ground once more. Above Jakarta the weather was extremely cloudy. I looked outside and all I can see was white - like being wrapped in this immensely fluffy cottoncandy. Fun for some but not for others as the pilot tried to navigate the way out. It can be rather scary I admit, the pilot had to decrease the altitude up and down rather swiftly. The baby on board was crying. I was just looking outside, seeing the rain hitting the body of the plane but was immediately blown dry by the heavy wind. I sat there thinking to myself damn this is cool.

Adrift in the midst of this fluffy whiteness.

Slowly but surely it subsided, and I can see the ocean. Rice fields. Messy-ly organized houses with red-bricks-roof. The highway. Cars. Lots of cars the size of ants. Slowly magnifying itself with every second, until we felt a thump as our plane safely arrived in Jakarta.

But nothing really indicates the fact that you're back until you take your first inhalation. The hot, humid, almost sticky air filling your lungs.

Or the first time you step out of immigration, when you see your parents standing there by the door waiting for you. They look up, tired from waiting, and their smiles made the long hours fly by.

I went home, went in my room and immediately looked in my drawers. Closets. Bathroom. Jumped on my bed. I went downstairs to see my piano, the keys unplayed. To my sister's room, to my little brother's room, to my parents' room, to the kitchen, to the garden. Everything is the way I remembered it to be. This sense of little consistency despite the constant change is reassuring.

This morning something weird happened that made me smile. I asked my maid to make me some fresh coffee, and she asked if I want it black or mixed with milk and sugar. I said black. She looked at me, and her eyes were filled strangely with this little sense of secrecy.

"Oh you want black coffee? Well I have this stuff I brought from my village... Really nice stuff."

I felt like talking to a dealer, and couldn't help but to laugh.

Peonies

I have always been secretly and sometimes explicitly in love with flowers. Always the beauty of it delights me, but perhaps the more intriguing part is the gripping realization of temporariness. The beauty intrigues you, the colors captivates, the texture calms you down. You stand before this beautiful item and is taken aback by it all. Yet in a couple of days it wilts, leaving nothing but traces of memories in your mind and heart.

This horribly resonates with what I feel at the moment.

We just wrote our final exam yesterday, marking the end of our second year. Summer break has officially started and I am checking myself in online for my flight tomorrow. My suitcase if halfpacked, my flat half cleaned. My heart half-hearted. I am incredibly excited and partially relieved to fly home - it's been a year too long. I miss the feeling of being home, of waking up in my own bed and having my family in the other room. I am looking forward to spending time with them, going for lunches and dinners in places I have tasted and adores, in places they have tasted and adore when I was away.

Yet again I am increasingly being aware of how attatched I have become to this place. To the memories, to the people, to the connections I formed as I navigated my way through in living by myself. It feels so natural to have them within biking distance, to call them and dine and chat and enjoy their companies as they navigate their way through the days.

I know it's just one and a half months, and I will see some of them again before I leave for my exchange to France. But yesterday it dawns upon me the realization that we are almost done. When I'm back, we'll be taking our respective majors and consumed in writing our thesis, until we graduate and scatter once more. How fast time pushes us is striking, inevitable. Yet again as I am looking - just looking - at these beautiful peonies makes me feel incredibly grateful.

To be surrounded by those you love, to love and be loved in return is indeed one of the greatest things I will forever cherish.

Old letters

I stumbled upon a folder of mine yesterday, a folder filled with cards, notes and letters I received since I've lived here in the NL. I had some time to kill while waiting for my hair to dry, so I took the folder with me and sat next to my bedroom window. I began reading them. One by one. I've always loved letters, I am indeed a girl of words, and reading them makes me remember. I was filled with affection, love, sorrow, all the emotions formed by the words. The words opened a door, they guided me through reminiscents. Slowly but surely I was filled with a feeling of nostalgic. These people used to be the people whom I cannot spend a day not talking to. Now days pass unknowingly, without so much of an exchange of news.

It's not that we stopped becoming friends, we just got caught up in our lives. C'est la vie, Claudia said. Nonetheless I felt heartbroken for no apparent reason, I felt as if I've lost them in the process of becoming who I am today. Abandoned them. Exchanged them.

A friend told me later that it's only natural. People change, you change, and the people you are close to today are those who suits the person that you are today. People grow. Relationships fade. But is that always the rule, I asked myself. I hope not. So I sent them each an email, telling them thank you for being a part of my life. Because thanks to them I am who I am today, and I will never forget that. I will always be here.

This simple, yet beautifully mesmerizing poem made me realize that:

E de novo acredito que nada do que é importante se perde verdadeiramente. Apenas nos iludimos, julgando ser donos das coisas, dos instantes e dos outros.
Comigo caminham todos os mortos que amei, todos os amigos que se afastaram, todos os dias felizes que se apagaram.... Nao perdi nada, apenas a ilusão de que tudo podia ser meu para sempre.

De Miguel Sousa Tavares

And again I believe that nothing that is important can be really lost. Despite that we delude ourselves, that we are the owners of things, of moments and of others.
With me live all the deads that I have loved, all the friends that turned away, all the beautiful days that faded... I did not lose anything, just the illusion that everything could be mine forever.

From Miguel Sosusa Tavares


--

I went to this little record store last weekend to find vinyl albums for my sister. I was skeptical at first, but when I was there, sorting and browsing through these cases of old records, I felt at home. It feels like being in a bookstore for me, quietly pondering through the shelves as if time sat still. My little bubble.

To my utter delight, I found this record of Coltrane and Davis:



It's absolute heaven.

Thank you.

So long, HC

Yesterday marks the end of our HC days. 2 years of blood, sweat and tears while running around from one class to another, one paper to another, one presentation to another. That's it, it's done. A part of me is relieved, finally some moment to breathe. The other part is slightly sad. That class has taught me alot. We discussed numerous issues from different angles, but most importantly tt taught me to question. That is something that I will forever cherish. To question others, but especially myself. For it is much easier to be critical and find the fault of others but less so on ourselves.

When I was writing my speech, I realized that what's in it is merely fragments from conversations I had with people this past year. It's amazing, little did I know how profound of an impact they had on me. Especially taking into account my goldfish memory.

I was extremely nervous right before my speech. I entered the room and was taken aback by its size. I was drinking like a camel while sitting on the front row, waiting for the dean to finish his speech. As I went to the podium, my brain stopped thinking. I couldnt think, all I'm hearing was my heartbeat. I started talking. As I was standing there, the sudden realization of it all hit me. It feels like yesterday when I was sitting on the other side of the room, listening to the valedictorian delivering his speech on what it means to be honorable. And here I am today, on the other side talking.

It made me realize how far I've gone. And I like it here.

We started when we were just innocent first years. Back then, I had no clue what to expect, I was merely curious. Looking back, I realize how grateful I am for the invitation they extended to me, and for taking it. It has been fast paced, damn it was one hell of a race. A race filled with post-marks that I took in regardless of my complaints at the time. It's funny, how we complain during the time but looking back the only feeling remaining is that of gratitude. And somberness, to realize the fleeting-ness of it all. This class has never cease to make me feel challenged, to rise beyond and leap outside. To achieve things I have never imagined to achieve. Not me, I used to think. Not me.

Well, not anymore.

To me, the most memorable lectures are the ones that when they end makes you start thinking. I started curious, I end intrigued. So thank you, thank you for your whys and your hows, for questioning us and making us question in return. It has been a great ride.

I woke up too early today, heart thumping like a little schoolgirl just before a school outing. Am trembling like a leaf, from head to toe. Adrenaline is running around in excitement, anxiety, coldfeet, nervousness. I am loving it. Am putting on my heels and leaving the house.

HOLEY COLDFEET!

They asked me to be the valedictorian for my graduation from the HC this Wednesday.

Am frantically flipping through Speech Writing for Dummies.

!