Diana Kurniawan

I always managed to find help, because I cared about my life. As I wrote these blogs, I found help although there was a realization of how many people might read it and judge me. It was daunting at first, and it took all of me to be courageous. Perhaps people might label me deranged or mentally inept, but my triumphs came in the actions of writing, the expression of the depth of my heart and I believed that through it, there was hope. For each time I found conflict, I found help, and I shared them through this blog, to let those labels diminished and let others empathized through me.

 

As I wrote each blog, I also breathed in calm and peace, as I surrendered my journey in writing, giving power to change the mindset of those who disliked the issues I wrote about. It was to trade my sorrow, for the sake of enlightenment and compassion. It wasn't a contract, with services rendered each time, but hopefully the healing and grounded feelings came with each blog. 

A woman might be gratified by it or a man might found identity through survivorhood. Whatever the form, I was grateful through writing it. It gave me rest for at least 15 minutes through creative writing, as I lend a helping hand to the world.

 

One day, a person might stumble upon these blogs and found it interesting and helpful, giving him/her thorough fuel for life and literature. One day, it might be someone who was broken just like I was or just as you were before you became a rockstar. In essence, it was a choice worthwhile the effort, not only for the sake of writing, but also for the sake of love and humanity.

 

Just write.

The roaring fires of the West covered the hills with ashes as clouds during the deadly global pandemic. Hurricane and thunders swept the East as death took more than a million lives. She came after a defeated run and a grim outlook on the majority.

 

Poised and calm, she took her chance with the legendary underdog from the incumbent. With her, hopes of an era for dignity for women worldwide was brought home. Her life as a working woman who married later in her age, showed a walk imperfect yet perfectly compassionate for me. Women were the backbone of the world, and she proved the right to be a part of the whole.

As I worked my shift as the working class and survivor, for once I felt at ease with her in office, because I knew my human right was represented. Memories of my struggles as an object of racism, sexualization of my rights through assaults and trauma from violence, lingered inside my mind but I knew ignorance towards the cause won't be normalized with a female in the Oval Office. 

Through centuries of the United States of America, now a woman was second in command with the world's power. Her presence gave little girls and women in this world the drive for more and the justice for equality and representation. 

As I wept when my Dad cried from missing his family as he was recovering from the stroke, I told him of the progress this country made during his lifetime. He looked to me and smiled, because he was happy there was a positive change in the world.

 

The courage she gave during a tumultuous time, deserved our respect as she willingly served her country. Her leadership of empathy as she fought for democracy proved America had an open mindset with integrity and decency. 

As the world will heal from loss of lives and community, she will be loved. As second in command, and a step forward to a global change. 

Just write.

I thought of the protestations of my dreams, and how to go about them. Faith was the start from it, but there were setbacks accrued from wrong friendships and bad choices. Sometimes I lacked confidence, and the drive for those goals dwindled down because of the negative words of a few monsters in my past.

 

However the distraught, I seemed to return to my love of language. Turning catacombs inside my nightmares into honeycombs inside my mind. Transforming doleful prose into sparks of enlightenment and clever opinions that were fun to read and critique. My morning meditations came with outlines and donuts of scenes eatable to my empty pages.

 

My love for languages began with Bahasa Indonesia and English as my second language. The promethean spirit inside me awoke with stories and journeys of fantasy, folktales, dramatics and thrillers, and I never stopped.

 

I knew that with the setbacks, years must develop and I needed patience for the waiting game. But, the love kept transforming and evolving, then growing and revolutionizing. It was difficult for me to contain, thus this blog. Perhaps too personal, but what writer skipped characterization and conflict? I had to ignore the criticisms, for the sake of my mental health, but I won't stop writing.

 

Just write.

Sometimes I fear the dark. The constant blackness and void of contour for my opened eyes while needing aid for my sight. Reminded me of the blurry vision from the suffocation and the forceful push to my jaw that silenced me. At night I hid under the soft cotton sheets and blankets suffused in fear as it shook my legs and torso. When I cried, I placed my arms in front of my face afraid of any sounds I would make that would awaken my Mom and might cause her anxiety. Sometimes I fear the dark.

 

I projected my life over and over, hoping for a different vision. Afraid that by 50 or 60, I would see another month or two in the hospital, waiting in the pill line for medication only to find myself indolent for the rest of my life. Living institutionalized because I was my enemy's greatest threat for my mere existence and my love for language. I cycled back to the start of the visionary board and sketched another scene in complete opposite of my fears. I projected my life over and over, this time truly with a different vision. I was happily married with a loving husband and a boy or a girl with us, having breakfast of waffles with strawberries jam spread. Again, I projected my life over and over, hoping for a different vision, and this time with a different concept. Nothing expected or hoped manifested, but I surrendered to the unknown, in stability and peace, living with constant prayers. 

 

Prayers kept me alive during all of those times aforementioned. Not because everything I prayed happened, but for every prayer, I exhaled a breath of fresh air to begin again with more acceptance. Although some prayers felt the same and the struggles felt the same, I kept doing so for the spirit of endurance and stamina for life. Dear God letters written out and Psalms out of the heart in millions of pages I could attest to, because I saw life as a faithful journey. Prayers kept me alive during all those times aforementioned.  

 

Who was I to foretell the future? The greatest plan ever might unfold, and I might own a puppy too. What adventures would I prevent by fearing the future? The professing of my faith would benefit more without tears. Wonderful and blissful romance might grace my life in the future, but it won't be fully beautiful if I still feared the dark. Moon and stars harmonized in the dark would serve me better as a reminder than the fears of clenched jaw. I will keep trying to be, to live, to stay, because...who was I to foretell the future?

 

Just write.

"What do you mean you want to record him? He's coming in 30 minute," said Rambo. There were less than a hundred people there as was expected since Giuseppe Baptiste and Pearsons Rickfield weren't the icons the Denverites admired. They were sorted as tyrannical despots people disliked and the countrymen and women abide by the rules because they didn't want to be taxed higher than the current rate. Everyone was afraid of The New Order Regime, and with the Black Mollies who took over the shops and transformed half of Colfax into fish stores, the guerilla warfare, and Choi Militia, their political group became too savaged to admire.

 

"He's going to play the violin in the center lawn, so we can use the violin time to record but don't stop the camera and get him to talk to us afterwards," I said. "It's the only we can do it, and if we can get close enough to him, introduce him to Karina."

 

"I just want to meet them, and ask them why they used violence to take over the world," said Karina.

 

We stood in front of the lawn at Capitol Hill, and it was 7 in the morning. Rambo hardly slept, and I didn't sleep at all. Karina slept but the babies woke her up in the middle of the night, and they were with my Father now.  He will come closer to the start of the recital, hoping we would be close enough to have a face to face conversation with Pearsons Rickfield and Giuseppe Baptiste.

 

Karina was scared as she kept biting her nails and kept looking around the lawn. She suddenly said, "I miss my twins," as she began to tear apart. "I'm worried I would be killed by their men who recognized me."

 

"Don't worry, we're here, and we won't let you face them alone," I told Karina.

 

"We're unarmed and we just wanted to meet him and we can say that we were huge fans," said Rambo. "Then we can begin to ask questions about their past, and why they decided to use violence to enforce a worldwide militia."

 

"It won't be friendly," said Karina. "I will be shot."

 

"You won't," said Rambo. "We will bring Boris and Betina with us. They will be our helper."

 

"Using my twins as bait?" asked Karina. "They were illegitimate children, but they deserved more than that."

 

My Father arrived after a long walk with a stroller for the twins to be comfortable. "Did the performance start?" my Father asked.

 

"Not yet, they will arrive soon. There aren't many people around," said Rambo.

 

"But it looks like there are about fifty people here, some sitting on the greens. Not too bad. It's not like other countries where they are really crazy about Giuseppe Baptiste," said my Father.

 

The clouds covered the sun and the crowd on the greens stood up as the limo for Baptiste arrived close to the sidewalk.

 

"Here they are," said Rambo.

 

Just write.

 

There is reward in my graveyard shift, a constant beacon during the early morning dawn, pushing me to grit and drive.

Nothing is without work, and the desire for stability doesn't always come with the benefit of a Mercedez. Sometimes, it comes during the global pandemic in a job that sustains me during the tough times, but pays the bills and is surrounded with acceptance and love from my humble peers. 

 

The phantom always wants to destroy the means to the end, corrupting it with drugs and addiction, pursuing my failure and tempts me with marijuana. Luring me to entertainment with men as scouts asking me to show my curves for show to feed the neanderthals in Denver. They lack conscience and ignorant of my intelligence, because my sacred being is worthy to be praised. 

 

Those who taunts me and degrades me in comparison of a higher life, mocking my sufferings and prays for my suicide are salacious hypocrites. Always destroying talented and dignified women through personal relationships, giving their chosen friends and families with a corrupt trophy and rich bank accounts through sexual assaults. Their political reasons, ethical reasons, religious gimmicks, or social ethics causes casualties of war, leaving behind traces of survivors who deserves justice and honor. 

 

There is truth in my walk and in working my days with my graveyard shift, although my mind reminds me of the education I have and the potential I possess. I will work it with pride because my peers are kind people who deserve my company and friendship. Working my morning and days feels hopeful, stable, strong, and healing. If I didn't see its value, I would feel terrible, instead, I feel loved and their generosity means a lot to me.  

 

There is peace in my work at the graveyard shift, because of the trust I build and the good work I show. Its returns on investments are peace of mind and a supportive environment, prone to progress for my mental health and well being. Sometimes there are pathways I am forced to take, as if God pushes me to enforce a learning experience. I don't mind this one, because I feel dignified working it, and happy with my results. If this is the long valley God wants me to take, I will keep going, keep praying, working in diligence, and not complain on this journey, because I know I will serve a greater purpose in the end.

 

Just write. 

O blessed soul, how grateful you are of the sight to see the blue sky. Thine eyes full of mercy for the lesser creatures of the forest and nature wild wanders inside your soul.

 

O blessed soul, how joyful you are of the laughter on a sunny day, although alone yet never short of companionship from loved ones and friends, beckoning good times and less sorrowful memories. They are the wholesome family you are yearning for since youth until old in age, perhaps never fulfilled but always beside you, forever.

 

O blessed soul, how lovely you are, with flowers around you with blooming petals easy to the eyes, reminders of God's beautiful plans for every life. For in due time, our own blossoming journey will fruit its labor from anything you never once expect.

 

O blessed soul, how glorious your life, although with a past scornful and bitter, your journey lends wisdom and brilliance in vernacular and truth. The trough proves its own grace with prayers and supplication uttering its hopes and faith.

 

O blessed soul, you are forgiven through love because the price paid for your life is of the cross, labor in divine intervention. Live forever more and be of courage light saber, for your soul is valuable to God and to this world.

 

Just write.

Dana called my father late after the evening at the Post building, and he sounded worried.

 

"So Rockfield married twenty times and became alone and cynical. When he met Giuseppe Baptiste, he just received his ordination to become a priest of the Catholic faith," said Dana, looking behind him towards the door as if he was expecting someone to break through it.

 

"Was that the same time Giuseppe Baptiste also became an ordained priest?" asked my father.

 

"Yes, and that's when they made a pact to rule the world and the way people shop and meet their social circles," said Dana.

 

"Oh my God, because they wanted to have the power to control people's lives?" Rambo asked.

 

"Exactly, and the way social connections are shaped in this world so their regime would be in power forever," said Dana, looking behind him.

 

"Oh my God," said my father. "This was because they never got to have the lives they desired? But, why a priest?" 

"So people will trust them more, just as the way they always dreamed of. Giuseppe was a noble background and Rockfield was too, but no one loved them," said Dana. "I guess it's a revenge for the sufferings they felt from rejections and ostracism."

 

"Oh my God," Rambo said. "They felt jilted by the world."

 

"Why didn't anyone help them back then? So they didn't have to end so many families and changed the course of history so terribly?" Asked Karina. "I am now an orphan, and it's an injustice and the Ting Dynasty deserves better."

 

"Oh my God," said Dana. "I just realized that Giuseppe Baptiste and Pearsons Rockfield are both without progenies, and their roles, if found guilty of corruptions, will have to be replaced by a completely different human being. Which means..."

 

"Betina and Boris deserve it, but Karina doesn't want the throne," said my father.

 

"I wish to remain in peace and help them, Pearsons and Giuseppe, but I wished I knew how," said Karina.

 

"Help them? Even though they were behind your parents's murders?" asked my father. "They deserve punishment."

 

"We will have to get their statement that they won't hurt Karina," said Rambo.

 

"We have to meet him and show him who Karina is," I said. "Just face him and ask him why is it not okay for Katina to exist in peaceful harmony. We already know The New Order men hurt Karina."

 

"We will record a video of Karina and me, introducing to the world who we are and what Giuseppe Baptiste and Pearsons Rockfield have been doing to the world. We have to abandon the Tier system and have transportation system the way a normal society would function," my father said. "The way the world runs now feels backwards and archaic, even with the advancement of our technologies."

 

"We can negotiate with them, and we can play it after Giuseppe finishes with his violin performance," said Dana. He looked to the door behind him, but there was no one there.

 

"Okay, get on with our work," said Rambo.

 

Just write.

 

The dense fog enveloped the front windows of my car this early morning, but I drove through it slowly at 30 miles per hour hoping a fox won't cross the highway 287. Permutations of what could happen to my life spiraled to the fears of an unknown destiny. Those fears chased my peace like a hungry bee for a spoonful of honey, just eating my mind as I kept on driving.

 

Suddenly, there were two blinking lights, blurry but visible, orange and bright. Those fog blinker lights gave me a sign of the right path, as I drove in between them on a stable road although slushy of snow. It gave me a strange sensation inside my mind, as if it was a guide I never asked for that showed during my dark times. I forgot how I kept acknowledging the dark, but didn't appreciate the light that came in the multitudes of forms like those who loved me throughout all these times in my life.

 

My happy co-workers who said hello to me this morning, and my own Mom, my brothers and sisters, my beautiful friends and God, the glittery donut pillow. The dense fog inside my life were those who hurt me in my past, and they appeared like my shadows under the sun that brought fears in the dark. But, when the struggles became so rough and I could hardly cope, those fog blinker lights appeared and although blurry, it took my attention for a moment. Those God winks reminded me to be grateful and to not fear the dark, or the fog, but to slowly approach the road with patience, faith, hope and persistence. 

 

I still won't know what the future holds until I lived it, and although there would be times when I fear further attacks from those who assaulted me sadistically, I promised my Father to never let go. The drive to work was slow, but I was on the right path, because I knew my drive was for good intent to provide for my family. I may have fears that suffocated me because I almost lost my life in the past, but I won't lose hope because those blinker lights were more visible now. I became so good at spotting them, that one day, no fears would beset me.

 

Just write.

Barely standing, I cried over the folded clothes and retail merchandise at work. My world felt broken and my heart felt so destroyed from the sufferings in my life. When someone asked, "how are you?" I remained calm and insouciance about myself, to wait for the moment to pass and back to the tears. PTSD and Depression was never something anyone could speak openly without judgment and I let these blogs speak for me to get rid of the awkward silences.

 

The only thing that kept me alive was God, my North Star, along with my siblings and parents, best friends and church group friends, whom without I would have died long ago. They have been my North Stars with miracles in their back pockets, whipping out wise words and verses of comfort. 

 

The first snow was yesterday, and as I drove to my workplace for my graveyard shift, the tears poured and it took several breaths to not break down.  Thoughts of how I would see someone I love marry someone else and to lose him forever, and thoughts of lost loved and broken relationships couldn't escape my mind.  I didn't even drink coffee, but I had to drink something to help me cope, tea.

 

I believed in journeys and I knew mine would be tough, but I didn't know how much it would take all of me. 

Just write.