Those Two Kinds Of Love

When my second born was put onto my chest right after she was pulled out, I felt relieved. For my pain was eased. For the baby had finally arrived - safely and with loud cries. I first noticed her reddish dark skin and thick hair along her upper shoulders and back of her neck. She was just amazing! Somehow she was calm in my embrace despite her first loud cries. I held her on my chest while she was trying to nurse. For the next hour, it’s just the both of us: me holding her and her nursing calmly - in one of the ICU rooms, under the blinding light of lamps on the ceiling and in the buzzing cold of the AC breeze. Within that first hour, something came to mind. I wasn’t sure that it was something worth thinking about. I might be just exhausted so I couldn’t think straight, or the fact that everything went well simply calmed me down so I just didn’t bother thinking about anything bad at all. Only when a nurse came taking my baby for further observations then I thought about my first born - my son. At that time, he was away with his dad at our relatives’s house and it was only a little while ago that he was with me before I delivered, and how I missed him! How could I miss my first baby when it was my second baby I was holding in my embrace?! 

Honestly, when I first knew that I was pregnant with my daughter, I felt surprised in some sort of annoyance. I know, I know - why did I even feel that way toward her? But the truth was: I wasn’t ready for my second baby - because I know it’s going to be very hard to go through another pregnancy while raising a one-year old kid. To make it worse, it has always been only my husband and I teaming up - no other family members to help us out. I still clearly remember how I actually felt about my first pregnancy - I also freaked out mostly for not feeling ready. But since it was my first, I simply loved it soon after finding it out.

I think I treasured my first pregnancy the most - like, you know, I finally got to know how it feels to be pregnant and to have baby.

And the second one freaked me out much more - for I hadn’t had the experience of raising a baby and a toddler altogether while also living my own life! With my baby boy, it was quite hard - many new things to learn, many mistakes, all sorts of feelings and emotions, and most notably: the exhaustion. Then how was I gonna be when having two little kids?! 

At that first hour of my second baby and I were bonding, I knew just what I were thinking of: I loved my daughter in an instant from the second that she was held in my arms, yet I wished that my son were the only baby. 

On Being A Mother: The Feels & The Thoughts

    

    Before I was pregnant with my baby boy (who is 4 months old as I am writing this), I always knew that I wanted to have children, at least one. I always see myself as a family woman - I enjoy home life. I simply wanted to have my own family - a husband and kid/s - to tend to, to take care of, to love, for the goods and the bads, absolutely to live with my entire life.

        

     Pretty basic. Everyone’s dream. Any woman's desire.

        

    Yet, when two sticks showed two red lines each (I did home pregnancy test twice, just to make myself believe), I was wrecked into two pieces - really in awe of having a little human alive and grow inside of me. A part of me was overjoyed: how amazing it would be to carry my baby weeks by weeks in my womb, to deliver, raise and love him my whole life. The other part was extremely terrified: how frightening it would be to bear a baby at my 35, how I was not mentally ready for a baby despite my age (not even ready with anything yet!), and suddenly all fears concerning my baby’s life just came up: What if my baby is sick? What if my baby gets hurt? What if he inherits my bad health traits? (I’ve got issues with bad immune system, plus being pregnant at such an old age concerns me with risks causing birth defects which I strongly fear my baby may have. Why risking my life by having an unhealthy baby? I really wished that I had had him at 25!) What if I could not nurture him the best I could? What if I am a bad mother? - and so forth. The suspense was killing me!

        

Personal Novelty: Going Plant-based & Raw

As much as I love eating: the idea of occasionally eating much of yummy food, I realize that I come to that moment when some things are gonna change forever - for good, for better. I have expressed my love for food and cooking in my previous posts, which are very different things from what I have got recently. The part of loving food and cooking stays the same, while kinds of food I prefer differ significantly.

Being a visual admirer, I am impressed about how a meal looks beautiful, regardless how it tastes. That is how meal concept of mine changes in the first place: from what my eyes capture and enjoy.

Then, it is my growing desire that what makes me feel more alive and definitely happier does matter. My circle of social networks-based friends seems getting bigger and wider, and through those wonderful personas I know that I will let myself try some things which are out of my daily basis. A meal, by one of the vegans whose feeds I follow, consists of white rice, wedges of roasted potatoes (both regular and sweet), mango salsa, and handful of herbs (coriander and parsley) is among my first visual experiences which got me so excited.

To me, the meal was not only beautifully prepared, but also mouth-wateringly looking, though the ingredients are very simple.

Its humble appearance even “disguises” the fully-packed nutrients it carries - I mean, most people wouldn’t agree that such humble meal is nutritious. As usual, just like someone who always places last in a race, I got that spirit to claim my first place ever, or someone who has been hibernating all winter, I was wide awake for spring betterment.

"PLUCK THE DAY [AS IT IS RIPE]!"

✎

I find glory in writing.

There is a sense of bitterness to write my ugly truths.

There is a sense of great beauty to write my fantasies. Magnificence.

There is always peculiar sensation in my systematic series of composing a piece or two of writing.

Writing is something I am grateful for - for being able to do what I love, in hope that it is also something which allows me to pursue in the future.

Writing fuels my own chase - just like great people interest me, just like great stuffs fill me with astonishment.

LOG OF THE DUSK

❄

She is there alone - like she was before.

She thought she was that weak, but almost at dusk of the day, as she glanced thru her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of silvery grey across the sky, with gray branches of tree swayed in the dancing wind: particle of the universe is always her companion. 

The velvety desire within her told her that she was strong - she is.

Musical notes crept thru the white wires - sending another jolt of pure, electric anodes of power to her soul, pumping it joyfully yet subtly - then, she curved a crescent moon smile: believing in getting by and letting the magic happen.

❄

picture: private document

CULINARY MUSE

Starting my Sunday in any other way than usual, there is one thing for sure: skipping my morning shower to enjoy what I call "freedom of Sunday" - whatever it means! After taking a very short trip to grocery shopping, I fixed myself a simple breakfast of egg, and a mug of coffee, then into the very thing I have anticipated since Saturday afternoon: reading thru a cookbook - because I urge myself to be inspired!

It is FRESH: Simple, Delicious Recipes To Make You Feel Energised!, by Donal Skehan - a Food Blogger, Cookbook Author, Food Photographer & TV Presenter - from Dublin, Ireland.

Upon receiving the package which made me wait for weeks (and, there's nothing I could do about it), I felt excited! How could not I? From the moment I saw the book for the first time on someone's feed, I got hooked - right away! (So, thanks to her!) I realized I need some serious guidance on cooking which are both simple and delicious for my culinary interest is getting intensified.

MY AMERICAN DREAMS: THRU' HIS EYES OF MINE

Central Park, New York - May 2015

First day of August 2014, he departed to The United States of America.

Yep! Leaving me all behind.

Like I really, really couldn't help it!

He left me for a great deal : education.

By any means and in any ways, I just simply could never ruin his dream - even if it means parting millions miles away!

I always told myself that I was gonna be okay once he left, but of course I failed. I felt empty - exactly like what I felt when my mom passed away years ago.

Cold. Grey. Completely lonesome. Absolutely on my own.

For he is not only the man I married. A family. But also, the one I want to spend my days and nights, goods and bads with - the cherry to my pie, the straw to my berry, the cream to my Oreo! Once he leaves, what am I gonna do?

INDONESIAN MEAL: MADE AT HOME

I feel like a lone wolf - though I am not, necessarily, lonely. 

Seriously!

Another thing is that I have always been a homey person, which likely limiting my time for social life for staying in alone instead of social outing - for staying myself. I love staying at home, doing house chores (despite a messy kinda personality of me!), being 'lazy' all the time, indulging myself in endless me-time (along with good music, great books, homemade delicacies, and, probably, daydreaming). There is no stopping me from spending my time in everywhere I call home.

I always feel secured being at home. Whenever I go out following my wanderlust sentiments, I always feel happy at the most to come home, at last! It is quite an oxymoron thingy as I love lingering indoor at home, yet keen on travelling outdoor to the (almost) unknown world full of breathtaking adventures, like, yeah, YOLO, you really really only live once! So, there is no time and nothing to waste!

Being a loner is sometimes a lonely state of mind. I find it quite miserable to realize that I am literally alone. Not that I badly need to be surrounded by my few friends, but I want to get myself involved in a crowd. Not necessarily nor actively getting along - just being there to soak up the bright of cheered up social atmosphere. Or else, simply following my outdoor mood. Sometimes. Only sometimes.

Most of the time? Feeling like a lone star, and being like one, is never too much that I live for in my life. It is one of the best things happening to me!

MOMENTARILY GOT ME DOWN!

There are moments when I feel like ... choked up.

Moments when I feel that my baby-whining is not worth even a single approval.

Moments when I feel that my being weakness does not at all matter.

Moments when all my resentments are definitely unnecessary.

Moments when I feel like being slapped on the cheek.

Moments when I feel like being stabbed, right in the heart.

Moments ... when I whisper to God, "Please, let me - just let me do it. Let me."

Exceptionally Exceptional

Living a new role as a life partner of someone is something beyond my expectations.

I feel selfless (happen-to-be, or unaware).

Magnanimous.

Desirous.

And, I feel like I have betrayed myself, at the beginning, in a way that I would never do in the past - the great and positive way.

Though I was typical little girl growing up with Disney's distinctive idealism of finding the Prince Charming and having a happy-ending life in marriage, I always seem to go with my true-self, being rebellious, out of mainstream way - for I never thought that getting married was a dream I badly wanted to make it come true. I mean, wait up, just let me settle another things other than getting married. I know that at certain point of my age, I just have to take it into my consideration - that eventually I have to settle down, no longer running around. But the feeling like I want to live alone is bigger than the fact of taking norms of life naturally and normally like everybody does.

I have dreams - another bigger dreams.

GASTRONOMINSPIRED: EDIBLES & IDEAS

Among many great and wonderful things happening to me in my 30 years of life, preparing meal and dealing with edible stuffs are the loveliest.

I love eating, and actually, cooking.

Somehow, it's an interrelated principles: eating and cooking. I will prepare my meal and cook it when I'm in need of food but I simply can't go out buying the ready-to-eat or dine out. And, of course, I will eat everything that I prepare and cook myself.

I'll do both happily. With love. With gusto.

THE PLUVIOPHILE(Y) ME!

Dating back to five months ago, it was a rainy afternoon in February the 25th.
As I was sitting by the large wooden window, i was staring at the drops of drizzling rain.

Beautiful and peaceful.

Again, the way that my dearest author inspires me is awesome!

I mean, hey, we are more or less the same ages, but how can't I just be as inspirative as she is? I know, I know; ages don't have anything to do with great deeds and creativity which ones do. Sure, she and I are completely two different people, and each other is destined to have different kind of ... intelligence. Errr, now I feel hurt by merely the quality that I lack of. It may be because I am not smart enough to open up my mind, get the great things around me, and share them in such an outstanding way that I can simply inspire other people - just like she always does - so that I seem to play another role as the one who is badly inspired - by so many great figures in the world; such as Sitta Karina Rachmidiharja, those people in my Google+ circle, social medias, musicians, actors, family and people in my nearest side of life; as well as by a great number of simple things around me; such as the sun, cats, paper flower, cute yellowish dry leafs, and even drops of rain. I mean, though I never am an inspirator, at least I do my job very well as an inspired one. Okay, I sound desperate just now -_-

PROJECT WANDERLUST: Traveling Home and Indulging Olden Days

to start it off, i would like to refer my thought to one of my fave quotes ever, from one of my fave films, ever as well, LIKE CRAZY, when Anna said:

"... but it's nice being away, i think it's important to get away from where you've grown up for some of your life ..."

despite loving it, i just have to go home. i mean, i have stayed far away from home due to job thingy, for - like - 2 and a-half years, and it makes going home is not a casual thing for me.

i like that - being away from home, and the idea of traveling home.

I AM ... THE ECHELON!

It started just simple: a lazy midday back in 2008 when I didn't have anything really interesting as I listened to a song on the radio. I was laying on my bed, while both ears of mine were capturing the most significant tune of the day: "The Kill". The thing which attracted me the most was the high pitch of Jared Leto's screaming in the song. Amazing! A clear and finely-tuned screaming; high and long enough to match the whole song just nicely.

Totally, I was stunned.

FINALLY BERRY!

The almost long-forgotten dream of mine has finally come true.

It does sound pretty silly to have ever forgotten something like dream - whether it's an "ordinary" dream or biggest one. But hey, is there even an "ordinary" dream?  Sure dream is extraordinary - whoever dreams it, whatever it is, how "simple" it is. Well, here i go again - having a difficult time of arguing with my very own self/alter ego.

Seriously, what i meant by almost long-forgotten is simply something which i casually put aside for a while - but, it lives - still burning in the back of my mind. It's just about the right time that my subconscious awakes and claims it.

Since i have always been pretty nostalgic and defensively stubborn, i can tell that i seem to manage my memories (and dreams) well. I can both simply endure hardships to get them memorized and come into reality, and persistently get them forgotten and, eerrr, changed into much more come-to-my-sense, logical and reachable dreams. Just like a meaningful quote which i ever read, that  we may dream anything, but wisely start it with a real simple dream within our reach, and make it even bigger time after time; or else, change our dream, dream another thing. I guess it's more to it, as everyone has their own destiny, power, and endurance. For me, I always have that feeling of "oh, here comes the end. just stop", or "well, it's not yet over. keep it up." Guess it has been the rhythm of my life - so far.

LOS VAZQUEZ SOUNDS: THEIR COVERS, MY WONDERS

"We are a family and music lovers"

knowing that this musical trio originates from the city of Mexicali, Baja California, Mexico, i feel the more i got enchanted. not only by their superb covers. when i first noticed them back in 2011, it never flashed in mind that the way that i was captured by merely the Baja California could somehow reoccur. amable!

i first knew the word "Baja" while reading American Pie, a novel by Michael Lee West; and i just misspelled the word "Baja" - just like that, with full "J" in English or even in Bahasa. later i knew that it's Spanish, and the "J" is spelled "H" - makes it spelled "ˈbaxa". pheww! Spanish does sound good. exactly as exotic as spelling Mexico with the "X" spelled "H". in fact, as good as the things i remember the most when hearing the word "Baja" : a deep blue ocean, some whales, a female marine biologist whose name sounds unusual - well, it's Freddie, who was injured while exploring the ocean and how she just couldn't drop any blood which might attract sharks; some vocabularies such as "myopic" and "meticulous", and how the whole story amazed me with family issues, most of all: the three sisters. one of those great books among many in the library of American Corner at UGM. i can also still remember how i casually settled on the cold floor between the shelves; digging into the story. since then, as many  details of the story seemed to stay in my head, those are what i have in mind about Baja. and now, every time i hear Baja, the musical trio adds to them. Los Vazquez Sounds. 

NOTIONS OF MINE

⚫ about being a visual admirer

Everything which is vividly visible in my eyes means so much. It's not about judging; but what if the outer look of something and the first sight we land onto it really matter? What if the way that something impresses us is beautifully undeniable? For almost all of amazing visions my eyes capture, judging-the-book-from-its-cover is an attitude. It's not until I took myself into a typical sad-ending romance of a teen-aged love story with English-France fascination that the paper flower is pretty much lovely in my eyes. The way the boy handed the flower to the girl and the way the girl instinctively slipped it on the backside of her ear were a chemistry enough for two people who were unable to be together. I read the book when I was in my third year of my Senior High, and years after, still I feel it : I, in much younger version, was holding the book like it was the last thing i could hold, in my white-grey classic uniform and was realizing that the destined fate was inevitably God's.

LUCIDLY NEBULOUS

Being me, in this skin of mine, is sometimes something of a curse!

I am not cursing or resenting - not even disregarding God. Nope! I am just metaphoring one part of my life, the part which I have never ever wished for, but it happens to me - making me feel - errr, was it something I didn't notice, or give a damn about?

The thing is: every damn morning waking up and looking at my reflection in the mirror, I see definitely the same damn thing: my so-called ordinary-looking face, just like the way it is. Nothing special. Traditionally, I don't meet general standard of beauty, though there is nothing too wrong about my outer look. Yeah, yeah, of course, there is ALWAYS something about me which I want to change, although it's not as extreme as plastic surgery. The truth is, I do nothing significant to alter the way I look - just the way I have always been.

CHRONICALLY COCKROACH

I saw a cockroach this morning: a shiny, tiny insect with its disgusting reputation - and I had a hard time whether or not to step on it.

Best decision of today: letting it slip into a sink on its own; letting it go.

Then, I wondered what if I really had stepped on it, flattened it dead under the sole of my lovely brown-beaded shoes? It would be, undoubtedly, drop-dead DEAD! That's all. End of the story.

But, what if I had done something else than killing it? Like just what I did today! Guess I would never know: what would happen to the survived cockroach. Really, never know.

But, at least, I know what happened to me who saved it: I felt at ease, more human.

A BEAUTIFUL LETDOWN

I was amazed - of how things just got me jaw-dropped. It almost felt like squeezing a handful of sand on my palm : how it would drop helplessly away for being held too tight; much alike casting my second chances away. Letting it be stranded unwillingly.

Unbeliaveable!

The best jaw-dropping moment I can definitely recall is when the seagull of The Little Mermaid, Scuttle, dropped its jaw just all of a sudden and widely - like it just couldn't drop its jaw any wider! Guess it must have been shocked much, as if there had been nothing make it much more surprising.

And it's because Ariel told him that she had fallen for a ... man. With feet - instead of fins.

I wish that life of mine were that complicated!