12-24: leave a light on for yourself

to everyone who held me together when all I wanted to do was fall apart.

At the beginning of the month, I packed a carry-on suitcase for an impromptu weekend trip to Kuala Lumpur with my dad.

I strolled the streets solo during the daytime; combing through stalls at an art book fair for risograph printed zines, seeking out snacks to munch on, and taking random turns to see where the streets would take me.

I found this canopy of colourful bottles just by turning left where I should’ve gone straight ahead. I saw flashes of colours out of the corner of my eye, and I’m too curious not to investigate. I was mesmerized by how the light filtered through each pool of coloured liquid, some more sun-faded than others. It was an installation called awan botol, or bottle cloud, and I loved how you can see peeks of real, fluffy clouds intermingled with blue sky in the pockets between the bottles.

It was a breath of fresh air to be in KL — literally, because the air quality was somehow so much better than Jakarta, but also because it was a much-needed cuci mata after weeks and months of endless waiting. Finally, I got novelty, adventure!

The city felt vibrant, with colours catching my eye wherever I stepped and whenever I looked up — because things are looking up!

The zigzagging lights lining that colourful alleyway led me to a mazelike bookstore that was a really old converted movie theatre, which led me out to the streets where I found the big yellow polkadots, which led me to the rainbow bunting (I can’t resist colourful bunting) on my way back to the MRT.

I was reminded of how fucking-around-and-finding-out has always rewarded me; whether it be tiny flickers of beauty or a large breadth of clarity, it’s always worth it to take the scenic route.

Life started moving really fast when I got back to Jakarta.

It felt like an entire lifetime, filled with the entire gamut of emotions, crammed into a few short weeks. It felt like one big blur.

What I remember clearly: crying in bed and celebrating being the most alive I’ve ever felt.

My last few moments (for the time being) were spent finding beauty atop rooftops, in bed snuggled with puppies, while singing karaoke and eating hotpot (yes, at the same time), and also, inexplicably, in the rhythm of machinery at a can factory.

And after many, many, many agonizing hours packing and repacking and weighing and reweighing two suitcases, I was off.

Each light on the runway looked haloed with rainbows, and then, everything was ultramarine blue.

I took flight to Carly Rae Jepsen’s Run Away With Me (ooh baby, take me to the feeling), Sammy Rae & The Friends’ Coming Home Song (feeling it all for the first time), and Natasha Bedingfield’s Unwritten (no one else can feel it for you).

Many people have asked me what it feels like to be back home, and the only thing I can say is that it just feels right.

Apart from the jetlag, the transition felt seamless, almost like I’d never left. But once in awhile, I’d be waiting for the crosswalk to change, or walking underneath a particularly tall tree, or catch the gaze of someone I love, and it would hit me, all at once — I’m home.

It feels right to breathe in the fresh, crisp air, and be steps away from thickets of trees and clear waters. It feels right to be able to touch grass (literally) again. I saw this patch of moss and couldn’t help but touch its plushness. It felt like life teeming and growing around my palm. On that same walk, I saw a William Burger candy wrapper (iykyk). Serendipitous!

It was a big surprise to see pink flowers still in bloom this time of year — maybe they were waiting for my return?

It feels right to be reunited with my friends and loved ones, to hold them in my arms, to hear their laughter without the tinny echo of a phone speaker, to experience our shared world in real time, again. It feels right to have my (five-year-old) baby cousin Liora sit on my lap and play with the charms on my necklace — heart for I love you! she says, heart for I love you too! I reply.

I was at dinner with my family (a whopping 18 of us, and still probably only a third of all of us) when my cousin Inigo came up to me and showed me a meme on his phone. I told him I missed him. We were close, but rarely shared outward displays of affection with each other. He met my gaze and said, me too, and shared a small smile with me.

I’m home.