Being back home in Jakarta means it’s time for the annual excavation of old photo albums. This year, the above vestiges of my childhood strike me most powerfully.
1. (Left) It’s hard to imagine that I was once that tiny. And that my mom once unabashedly sported magenta shorts.
2. (Right) This was pretty much every morning of our first 2 months in Singapore, fresh off the proverbial boat. With the help of 2 private tutors we crammed to know adequate amounts of English and Mandarin before starting grade 2/3 in a local school (i.e. joining the rat race). And the rest is history.. Cheesy adage that springs to mind: remember where you came from.
This is what’s going on: I wanted a fresh space to go with a fresh start to the rest of my life journey. This time, I’m not starting a new blog (just) because I am mortified at the realization that each of my pasts posts bleeds immaturity. Not that I claim to have attained Maturity with a capital M, though, because there’s still so, so much that I’m going to be wrong about, and potentially ashamed of all over again.
But I’ve been broken down to bones, completely dismantled, burned to ashes, and reached that point where I felt like the only way out was inexistence. And then something (actually, Someone) tells me, in a way I cannot doubt, that this is the beginning of a brand new chapter. A chapter that will conclude in a way I would have never imagined. And I need to document it all. Kind of what “Under Reconstruction” is referencing, but more details in future posts!
You’re welcome to journey with me. 🙂