faz

It probably would’ve been a more digestible, socially acceptable, politically correct pill had coming to America been because of a job or a man or any other quantitative denomination. That it ended up entailing those things as I go on does not negate the fact that it was not at all my main impetus. If anything, this has been a journey into myself: coming back to me, deconstructing me, decolonizing me, tending to my broken parts, putting them back together, healing, loving, decompressing, deprogramming, figuring out who and what I am truly about without ingrained societal preset and conditioning. I’ve been pondering over what it means to me, in my current incarnation, to be in present-day America what with all the widespread reckoning that has taken place in recent years regarding racism, sexism, military-industrial complex, police brutality, land sovereignty, climate justice, animal agriculture, and myriad other pressing, hot-button issues flooding our timelines and consciousness. I remain undecided with the answer. I’m embarking on a queer, unorthodox quest, attracting queer, unorthodox experiences in the process, having really only myself as the steady force that trudges through it all, the proverbial mud, the familiar bouts with isolation. At times it’s sickeningly, deafeningly lonely and alienating; other times it’s deeply, life-affirmingly exhilarating and invigorating. I’ve been shedding a lot of tears lately not out of sadness; rather, it’s because I’ve been constantly reminded of how far — literally and figuratively — I’ve come, beating so, so many odds, mustering up a semblance of courage despite my feeble will, opening up my heart in spite of past pains... It’s funny when you’ve romanticized something for so long, only ever living it vicariously, thinking that if ever you had your hands on it, it would save you or change you anew, and then you do have your hands on it and realize that just because the romanticizing is long gone, it doesn’t make it any less beautiful. It just means you’re finally seeing it for what it is, knowing full well you’ve been the romance and the poetry all along. It was never about the place. It was always about you.

scenes from a rainy, chilly DC evening. #thisisourexodus24

an american spring. #thisisourexodus24

I bawled my eyes out on this flight. What did it for me was seeing the air traffic controllers wave the plane goodbye as it was taking off. Something about how pure and genuine the gesture felt really touched me, as if they were all the people I ever loved — or tried to love, but wouldn’t let me — waving me goodbye, wishing me well on my journey. That they thought fondly of me and were proud of me. Thankfully, the middle seat was empty and I had my hoodie on, so it almost entirely covered my face while tears furiously streamed down it for a solid hour, probably. It was the first flight in my life that I took because I wanted to take it - not because of a job, or a boy, or an obligation. That realization hit me in the guts; its significance not lost on me after a lengthy period of loss, tumult and confusion. It felt EARNED. I had spent my entire life living for other people — family, friends, peers, colleagues, lovers, almost-lovers, jobs, communities, movements — and letting myself, my wants and needs take the backseat all along. But there I was, by the window seat, doing something for myself, out of my own volition, without feeling like I had to be sneaky or guilty about it. It felt so freeing. Hence the crying. It’s funny how nonchalant or even abrasive my attitude used to be when it came to traveling. Now it’s all I want to do. Part of it was being raised with a lack mentality and then just a lack of money. Part of it was taking pride in sticking around and making things shine where I was. But I suppose I’ve always longed to be elsewhere fundamentally, to drop all my past baggage and leave it the fuck behind. I don’t need it anymore. I want to be light from here on out. It’s not about showing off that I can afford to go to country X, city Y or island Z. If anything, traveling has made me realize that I can always come home to myself. That I am the home I was always looking for. That there’s nothing as exhilarating as being suspended in the air, vicariously swimming in the clouds, high up there, where I, the air-sign-heavy creature, belong. I almost never wanted to come down. Except when I did, it felt light and it felt right. I can’t wait to go up again.

I guess things really are cyclical, huh? It’s so funny sometimes how the old version of you articulates it better than your current version is able to. I was saying so much for so long that I don’t have much left to say anymore—or at least that’s what it feels like. And now that I’ve changed, I’m still figuring out what new things to say. But I’m taking my time. I’m in no rush. These days I’m more about letting things happen and unfold and caress themselves over me instead of analyzing or intellectualizing them. What if I’m more present? What it I’m less reactive? What if I just enjoy the moment? What if I just live? And so it is. #sundaysaudade

A relic from my Carrie Bradshaw era, still in the spirit of #valentinesday . Very recently, my mother relayed an amusing anecdote: she met my gay uncle for the first time in ages and apparently he asked her, “Who’s Fajar’s boyfriend now?”. I was too stunned to respond. Not only because that question was actually asked in the first place but also considering that I haven’t been with anyone since 2019 and my last couple of attempts at a grand, sweeping romance went absolutely nowhere, to put it nicely—in reality, they backfired big time on me. Whatever. Their loss. 💁🏻‍♂️ I definitely used to think that I’d hit it off with some white guy and relocate to his home country and shit like that, until I realized that the majority of these proverbial white saviors in Jakarta are not only far removed from the homoseggsha discourse but also usually corny as fuck - more often than not, they really have nothing else to offer other than their buléness. And if by chance they are about that homoseggsha life, they’ll go for skinny, dark-skinned, “exotic” local guys (shout out to those guys, though) anyway to fulfill their colonialist fantasies and whatnot. Maybe that dick does throb harder when dripping with colonialist cum. But it is what it jizz. As I went deep into my shadow work, I also realized that what I want in a relationship is something that’s fun, flirty, sexy, light-hearted, intellectually stimulating, emotionally nourishing, and substantial, all at the same time. A tall order, probably, but why the fuck not - I know that to attract that type of person and relationship, I’ll have to be in that energy first. And I am. I so am. I don’t chase, I attract, etc. How does that Rupi Kaur poem go? “I want to be full on my own / I want to feel so complete / I could light a whole city and then / I want to have you / ‘cause the two of us combined / Could set it on fire...” That’s where I’m at now. I’m always curious, but I don’t live and die by it anymore. I am my own savior, standing on my own two feet. Link in bio! #tbt #valentine #valentines

In observance of #BlackHistoryMonth . Wrote this around this time last year for @acrosstheculture_com . This was an ambitious piece by my standards, but a labor of love nonetheless. Just wanted to give flowers to some of my favorite rockers: @bigjoanieband , @kele / @thisisblocparty , @shamir326 , @shungudzo , @willowsmith , @yvestumor , @arlo.parks , @novatwinsmusic , @kennyhoopla , @mormor.mormor.mormor , et al. So many faces and voices in modern-day rock music other than pale, frail, quirky girlies with solemn singing (although I def love them too!). But I just wanted to shine a light on these oft-overlooked acts and perhaps have you readers get into their stuff too. Link in bio!

Link in bio! The most recent and sobering reality check for me was realizing how far I’ve come since my teenage years, seeing the people I went to school with and whatnot “settle down”, making being (heterosexually) married/having children/being a part of a big extended family their personality trait and really, the most interesting and relevant thing about their existence. Seeing that made me go, “Wow, that’s actually really fucking boring.” Maybe that’s why nostalgia has such a chokehold on these people - their adolescence and early adulthood really were the only times they got to get loose and wild out. When I look back at those times in my life - constantly being bullied for being girly and gay (didn’t help either that I came out in high school 🤪), constantly being broke (one time I had literally no money to take the train back home that I ended up borrowing 50K from a close friend... which I didn’t pay back until over a year later 💀), constantly being rejected or ending up in frustrating situationships (like when I was seeing this older French guy and constantly hating myself for being very much unable to keep up with his lifestyle since he was always bar-hopping and traveling and shit), just constantly feeling very small and inadequate - and see where I am now, far from ideal but with my sanity, integrity, and mental acuity intact, it makes me go, “Fajar, you’ve actually done really well for yourself. You really should give yourself some credit. Existence is suffering but you still manage to make magic every now and then. Not everybody does that, or even thinks about doing that.” That’s the thing, when you’re born and raised in a society like Indonesia, you’re not taught to dream big or even to think for yourself. You do as you’re told, and you must conform at all costs - and if you don’t, you’re weird and you will be outcast and always unlucky in life. And so you make moves ever so cautiously, lest you break the status quo. From a very young age, I already sensed that bullshit. It took me a while to articulate it. Took me even longer to go against it. And I’m inching ever closer to leave it all behind altogether. No longer dying for the knife now.

I was always torn between the urge to let my freak flag fly and the desire to be taken seriously. It always seemed to me like it had to be one or the other; heaven forbid you get to have both at the same time. I grew up feeling, or being made to feel, ugly and undesirable. While most people (gay guys, especially) would respond to that by making themselves as pretty and desirable as possible, ironing out their kinks to conform to the mould, my thing was to amp up the ugliness and the undesirability, exaggerate it even, basically saying, “Oh, you think that’s ugly? I can do even UGLIER. Actually, I’ll smear it up your face and shove it down your throat...” That was my 20s. But that kind of agitation also left me feeling even more alienated. Somewhere along the way, I became this thing that people admired but wouldn’t touch, like a statue, or an artifact. I was not relatable—definitely still not desirable. I became a performance rather than a person. It was cute for a minute, but after all the social merriness, I still ended up at that small rented house with a deadbeat family whom I was forced to support financially, no lover, no romance, nowhere near where I wanted my life, personal and professional, to be. When the pandemic happened, it felt like being given a carte blanche to redefine myself outside of all my entanglements. That’s where the animal activism came in. And I’m well aware the pivot may have seemed abrupt and uneasy. But it was also so necessary. It felt liberating and humbling to care for a cause that didn’t center around me or my identity. Suddenly, my own self and existence felt infinitesimal and inconsequential. There’s this other thing whose sheer monstrosity goes unchecked and is even normalized. I’d go ahead and devote my life to it! Or so I thought. Not many know, or are supposed to know, the hell that the past year or so alone has been for me. And that’s on top of all the other hells that I’ve been enduring all along. No point in rehashing the details, so all I will say is this: I look forward to being heavenbound from here on out. Those who get it and aim for the same can come along. The rest... well, they can kindly fuck off. 🌈

On @troyesivan ’s Something to Give Each Other and, most importantly, “Got Me Started” aka my SONG OF THE FUCKING YEAR. For @acrosstheculture_com , as always. Sometimes a song comes along and truly fucks you up in the best ways possible. Sometimes, it also comes with a music video that truly takes the song to another level. “Got Me Started” is both—and then some. I forlornly smiled to myself at first listen as it conjured up memories from a night almost exactly a year prior. Picture this: Cool, breezy late-night air. Apartment balcony. Free-flowing beer. Non-stop good music. Feeling high on life for the first time in a long time, laying side by side with a guy who, indeed, had the personality not even gravity could hold down and whose sexuality did take the room and drown it out—someone who got me started. But alas, it didn’t go anywhere. Fast forward to last Saturday night, I was sauntering around the bustling streets of Surabaya’s famous Tunjungan Street with the song blasting in my ears… I swear everything lit up. That natural high again, for a fleeting few seconds. How I needed it so badly after the absolute hell that 2023 has been. I had hooked up with a handful of guys since the previous night, all of whom were genuinely pleasant people who made the experience more than just dumping body fluids on each other. There was actual connection being made: chit-chats, pleasantries, jokes, even astrology talks, as there tends to be. It was incredibly freeing to be removed physically from the life-long emotional baggage of living in Jakarta. To be somewhere people meet me as who I am today, without any historical ties, any preconceived notions, any expectations. To get me started again, but this time in a state of total surrender. To just use my body and feel the vibe. I had tears in my eyes screencapping the video for this post. But they were happy tears. It was me realizing that 1) how happy the song makes me feel, how transcendental the whole thing remains to be, and 2) how, without even expecting it, I got what I wanted, that “Got Me Started” feeling, just when I thought that ship had long sailed and gone. How I’ve still got a lot to give—and I will.

The oppressed and the colonized have my unequiVOCAL support and solidarity in their efforts towards liberation, always. May we all continue to strive for consistent anti-oppression for all living, sentient beings, without exception. #freepalestine #freepalestine🇵🇸

As featured on The World: /stories/2019-03-20/these-vegans-palestinian-territories-food-form-protest Please follow and support the survival and vital work of the angels at @palestiniananimalleague - and really, all Palestinians who just want to be free and all animals in Palestine whose lives matter even less. #freepalestine #freepalestine🇵🇸 #globalactionforpalestine