Stories I Probably Do(n’t) Want to Write or Tell

I am one of those stories you probably aren’t interested.

I am one of those stories which probably never rise.

I am one of those stories which doesn’t satisfy people’s eyes or ears.

I am one of those people who got more lessons to learn and more failure experiences to sort our way out.

A five-year old me was a big fan of Maissy, Indonesian kid-singer who got her fame from wearing colorful-knee-boots. I’ve always wanted to have only a pair of it, but I didn’t. My parents couldn’t afford it. A ten-year old me imagined my tiny fingers danced over the white and black piano’s keys and it stayed only as a dream. A teenager me always talked if I could decorate my own room, I would paint a rainbow all over my wall but I couldn’t. My family never own a house.

There’s not much I could do when I was a kid. I spent most of my time with my mama and an older brother. We woke up at 3 a.m every single day, prepared ourselves, took our trip with angkutan kota which spent an hour, made a stop to grandma’s house to change our clothes to uniform, had breakfast, and went to school. My mama owned a ladies salon, also worked there as a cashier. She’d stayed busy until evening, around 4–5p.m while me and my brother had a rest after school. Mama’s gonna took us home after closing her salon, took another trip with angkutan kota, and finally got home at 7. We had the exact same routines for the next day for years, at least until grandpa bought us a motorcycle. That’s a huge relieve, to be honest.

There’s one thing I always do — I’m a dreamer. I dream big.

After watching the mighty Maissy singing on TV, I was kind of happened to watch a TV show. As a kid, I was dazzled by the visual that I saw. Everything was beautiful and vibrant. I love the clothes, the bright-colored hair, and everything. I watched them talking in a language I couldn’t understand even a word, which my brother then told me it was English. I wanted to be there. I wanted to see another part of this world, I wanted to go to AMERICA! It was the only country I knew other than my own country. I asked my mom if I could and she told me to always worked hard on my dreams. I’ve always believed in this ‘value’ ever since. If I work harder than anyone else could, I’m gonna win the league. I wanted to go overseas, and this time, it’s on my own hand. I told myself if I could, I got to make this happen, so please be it.

I grew up as a young woman with a five-year-old girl’Sdream inside of me. I am an incredible bathroom singer, also a pro-piano-player in my only thought, with my fingers dancing on the wash basin tabletop. I was 20 year-old and a firm believer on a value that my mama has taught me. I set my timeline — at the age of 24 I have to win a scholarship and get my Master’s program overseas. I bear it in mind — got myself study hard days and nights. All the hard work has paid off — I made good scores, got student exchange program for ten days, I was brilliant and people did acknowledge my competence. Everything was okay in my life even though I wasn’t a famous singer nor a piano player, and haven’t got any scholarship yet.

Something bigger was coming in my way. I was soon becoming the real adult, which I thought was something exciting at first. I graduated in the end of 2016. I knew that I had to earn money by myself so I decided to start my own life in Yogyakarta. I worked as a hotel’s receptionist and spent 1.8 year there. The good news is, I received a good pay. I could buy anything that I want, I made friends with the people there. I fell in love, probably to person(s), plural, and finally realized that it wasn’t love at all. I just felt lonely and clueless that’s why I started to seek for attention and became addicted to it. I felt broke whenever I’m alone. I wasn’t sure if this is what I want to build in my life, and if I want to be here after all. So, I asked to myself one more time what do I want to achieve and who do I want to be. That was the turning point when I realized that I didn’t belong to this place and I gotta go home.

I was 24 when I decided to quit from my first job and looked for another one. I knew things didn’t go as plan and I had put myself together to go back to the timeline and run with the programs. I didn’t want to be involved in any kind of procrastination anymore. “I have to get a scholarship soon”, I said that repeatedly in my head and heart. Long story short, I am 27 now, married to my best-friend, my papa is diagnosed with a mental illness, he and mama are getting divorced after 30 years of marriage, haven’t got a single scholarship (re: I’ve been rejected by dozen of them). There are lots of issues to handle with. I am overwhelmed.

Recent updates, I’ve been working as a part-time English teacher with a cr*p pay for almost 2 years. I have to work for more than one institutions, so that way I could really earn a living. Think that I might’ve already late to be a person I wanted to be? Believe me, I have it in mind every single second. The thing is, I don’t have time to cry out why does this or that happened to me. While wishing for a miraculous work for my scholarship, my husband and I run our small business. Again, it is not as easy as it may seem. We grind away on this business for a year and half and we lose. We had no money left.

Our resistance is extraordinary.

This story is not something that I would happily write or tell on my social media and anyway – I am not sure if people are interested to read or listen to it. This is so ordinary, unappealing, and fragile. Like the five-year-old me, people will always like the bright sides. Happy stories, success people, romantic couples, expensive lifestyle, and delicious food, you name it. I am none of them.

The question is — How do you decide which story is interesting and which story isn’t?

A five-year-old kid would pick anything that looks pretty, probably colorful, Would adult do that too?

I was told by one of my favorite lecturers that if I failed to pursue master’s degree at the age of 25, I am no longer attractive. I was asked to take my own wedding gift by my friend, which unfortunately she forgot to bring. I was offered a job by my friend which never come. I was told by my uncle that I don’t have a cool job, and often go invisible in a family gathering. I am this and that you told me I am.

Do I deserve to be narrated in such an uninteresting way even with the struggles and efforts I’ve made along the way? I was so desperately building my own pillars. Just like others, I want it big, and strong, made of good materials. I want it all. But things just don’t come easy. Do I perceived less if I fail to fulfill this standard of interesting story?

I got to say, I’ve had enough people who try to define who I am and if I can fit only in certain standard. I will narrate my own story with all of its unbeauty and the beauty within. I will not look down to myself nor to pat myself for something I haven’t earn. This is the story that I want people to think who I really am.