Tag Archives: mrfixit

Is Life A Race?

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Seems like I couldn’t shake it off my mind since I came back from Indonesia last month.

Like usual, big events in our family means hundreds of friends and relatives gathered to give you their free opinion — yes free, you don’t even need to ask for it. Aunties are the worst of the kinds, because they do have blood relations with you, and they are in a higher position than you are in the family tree. A lethal combo in our culture.

It was much better that I had my husband with me last time I went back to Indonesia. It means that whenever I started to grit my teeth listening to these unwanted opinions, I have my husband to give me a reason not to blow up. Still a Mr. Fix-It, he will fix the situation — unknowingly, since he doesn’t understand a word my aunts said.

Anyway, on their last day in Solo (it was a beautiful sunny day, and much better with seeing them leaving), they made a comment about my sister’s pregnancy.

Great Comic from The Oatmeal: http://theoatmeal.com/comics/kids

If you think that when your sister is pregnant, your extended family will leave you alone being child-free, then you are totally and utterly mistaken. In fact, they were even more savage and fierce in telling you that you need to have kids as soon as possible.

One sentence that I couldn’t get rid of my brain is:

“Kamu kapan? Tuh kebalap sama adek…”

Which I could freely translate that to:

“When will you [have a baby]? Your younger sister has overtaken you…”

Overtaken?

Is this a race?

Haven’t they ever play “The Game of Life“? Everybody knows that anyone who finish first lived the most boring life!

But seriously? Is life a race though?

Is it about who graduate the fastest? Or who gets married first? Or get a job first? Be a mum first? It is an idea that I couldn’t get around to. I mean is it okay to ask someone who said that my sister overtook me because she got pregnant first by asking:

“When will you be dead though? You don’t want your younger siblings to overtake you, do you?”

Prost!

 

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I Am Sorry…

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One of the thing of being English is that you say sorry a lot. You say sorry for almost everything — it is a part of the culture. You apologise when you make the lady in the till wait for two seconds longer while you are rummaging your bag to find that elusive pound coin. You apologise when someone thought you are queuing while you’re actually just standing there minding your own thing. I think it is a part of making thing less awkward. But what do I know. I am not English.

But my husband is English — and he does apologise a lot, just to make sure people would recognise his English-ness — as if that fair skin, blonde hair, and British accent is not enough. And yes he’s born and bred British, and he’s proud of it. I mean, like normal people feeling proud of their nationalities.

But today, he looked mournful, and told me after a long sad sigh:

“Darling I am sorry. I am sorry for being English.”

My heart broke.

I mean it is true that yesterday, for the first time I don’t want to support England team on Euro2016. For the first time I didn’t cheer for them nor Wales the day before. I put away my union jack mug which I normally use for my daily caffeine. And, I am selling my “St George cross” steel boned waist reducing corset.

I mean… who am I kidding? I might get an elocution course to adopt a perfect sound of BBC English accent, or made a long and elaborate speech about how the weather has been while drinking a nice cup of tea — but with this straight black hair, yellow complexion, and slightly slanted eyes I would never be English, would I? Why even bother to try? These people wouldn’t ever see me as one of them, would they?

But when my husband said those two sentences. I feel… ambivalent.

Not once I could put my husband in the same category with these racist idiots who took a childish decision to storm out from EU just because they’re angry. Not once I could see my husband as the same creature who attacks and make hateful remarks to people from different nationalities, ethnicities, nor religions. I could never be able to see her in the same picture with those who use the same word “PROUD”, going on the street telling people to go back to their own country.

But I can understand why he feel bad for being English — as this particular post-Brexit time is just the worst time to be a foreigner in this proud country.

It is the same when I feel slightly offended when these racist bastards make hateful comments to immigrants, or to ethnic minorities. It is the same when I feel incredibly upset when homophobic bastards make ignorant comments about LGBT in Indonesia. It is the sense of belonging that is tainted with negative emotion. Mine with upset and anger. His with shame and guilt.

And I am so sad that he feels that way.

He has done everything that is right. And I know if things go south, he will stand by me. But this is sadly something even he — My Mr.Fix-It– cannot fix.

And it is terrible terrible feeling.

This EU result is not only affecting the country as a whole, but also us as an individual. It might hit some people faster than the other — some might be in denial, or still hoping that things are going to settle down and get better.

I really hope all the scary things would never happen. I really wish for the best for everybody that once the dust has settled, it is not going to be ruins that we see. But for now I would stop talking about EU referendum and the shit that it has brought to us. I would go to my dearest husband, give him a little hug, and console him — while consoling myself.

Good night…

EU Referendum

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We are going to have a referendum soon. Less than two weeks and then…

I don’t know.

I have to say that I am a bit anxious about the result of the referendum. I know that I am not a British citizen, so I don’t have the right to vote. But living in the UK, I feel that whatever the result would affect my life too.

image from telegraph.co.uk

*sigh*

Anyway…

Okay.

I try to give my husband (who’s going to vote) a more objective point of view. But it is so difficult not to have a slightly skewed opinion about this. It is difficult not think about what is going to happen to me and my visa application in the end of this year whether we are staying in or leaving the European Union.

There are two main concerns: Economy and Immigration.

It is hard not to take things personally when my husband’s friends were talking about the immigration control. I can understand totally their point of view, and I can understand the importance of immigration control. The thing is, they kind of forget that I am one of these people. I am one of the foreigner in this country.

I remember the first few months after we got married. People kept asking about why can’t I be British citizen — being married to a born and bred British man. Even until today, they would look at me puzzled when I told them that I am an immigrant.

“But you are married to Mr. Fix-It. You are not an immigrant. You are different!”

How can I be different? Because I came here legally? Because I didn’t overstay my expired visa? Millions of people like me doing the same thing I do, and still having to endure the kind of hostility just because of our residency status in this country. I am different because they know me — and they don’t know the other immigrants.

It is hard not to take offence when they talk about “The Other Immigrants” like they’re talking about plague taking over their big cities — although I know for sure they’re not talking about me. But it is a harsh reminder that somewhere out there, someone who is as ignorant as they are — is talking about me with the same manner as these people talking about “the other immigrants”.

Right.

Back to EU referendum.

I just want to wish everybody in the UK the best of luck. Please use your vote wisely. Just remember, when you are already out, you might not be able to get in again — at least not with the same kind of benefit we are having right now.

 

Fat Fashion

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Disclaimer: There is nothing PC about this entry. It is rather harsh, and most probably will make some people feel incredibly offended. However, it is a piece of thought, and it is not directed to a particular person. It is just an observation, and maybe… all of us need to get a life. 

It was a lazy weekend, and I was lying there feeling happy drinking my coffee, while playing TsumTsum on my phone. Out of nowhere (possibly out of the kitchen), my husband decided to weigh himself. If I haven’t told you yet, we just bought a weightwatcher’s bathroom scale, because we are thinking of getting ourselves in shape. (The first step to tackle a problem is to know how big the problem is — or the number is)

He looked a bit gloomy when he read the number, like I would too. I told my husband that I feel fat.

This is what he always does. He would dismiss me saying that I am fat, probably thinking that if he is agreeing with me it will make me feel bad. But I am not that kind of person, I don’t fish compliment to feed my self confident. However, lately, I have developed a new theory about why he dismisses my concern about bodily fat. Maybe he simply can’t see it.

I am not saying that he can’t see it because he’s blind. I am saying that he is biased. It is not because he loves me and accept me the way I am — of course he does, he married me. But that’s not the reason why he is biased. He is biased because in this country we are surrounded by a lot of overweight people. He started making comparison and unconsciously normalise what is considered as fat and what is not.

There are hundreds of articles or news (you could just google it), where people are protesting that one clothes manufacturer didn’t have more plus size dresses. Or that a certain brand doesn’t have “normal” size women to model their frocks. But what is not normal about being size UK 10? That’s S/M or size 8 in the US, or 38 EU size. That’s 36 inches bust circumference.

The reason why size 10 is not normal is because size 16 is the new normal. Based on a research, size 16 is the average size of women in the UK. No wonder when I have ballooned from size 10 to size 12, my husband is still saying that I am not fat.

Because, that’s the culture.

That’s the culture when people making all these “chubby is cute”, “curve is sexy” kind of thing as an excuse for giving up losing weight. Sometimes I wonder when these women said “I love myself, I love my body”, was it self appreciation, or just an excuse to make themselves feel better? Not that I see nothing wrong with it… I understand that for some people, denial is a form of self defence mechanism.

Before you said anything, I will tell you… in all honesty. I have gained more than 10 kilograms since the first time I arrived in the UK in 2011, and 8 kg of them was after I started the contraception pills. In the beginning of this year I has stopped consuming these pills because I managed to find a doctor to fit in the coil in my womb. Since then, I have lost 4kg.

4 kg in two bloody months.

And, before you said anything more, I will tell you that my sister has PCOS. It is Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome. Her metabolism system is slow. Her insulin level is low. Not only that she is prone to diabetes, she also has problem losing weight because of that. But she lost 7 kg in four months, just with going tennis once or twice a week, and not snacking after dinner.

7 kg in four months.

So, I know how hormonal changing, or any illnesses, or disease could affect how your body reacts to… food. But I also know that it is not entirely impossible to do.

I am not saying that being thin is always the healthier way to do it. Some people are so obsessed with having thigh gap, or collarbone… well… I dont  mind having those. But I probably wouldn’t go the extra way that might harm myself. But going to the other extreme and finding it okay to be obese… Really?

Normalising being fat, and probably at the same time condemning people from taking care of themselves is not what you call “loving your body” is it? You said YOLO, and then scoff yourself silly with whatever your eyes see. If you know you only live once, would you want to live it dying on your bed not being able to move because you are too heavy to enjoy moving about?

Oh well…

Ranting does make you hungry doesn’t it? Time for cake…

Prost!

Home

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I know… I know it is a late post, but as I always say… better late than never. You could disagree with that, but let’s agree to disagree. Agree?

Yes. I am home. In this case I am now back in Norwich after a whole month holiday in Indonesia. You might ask me, what I have achieved during my whole month of doing nothing in my parents’ house. Of course you might. And I might answer: WISDOM.

I think “wisdom” sounds much better than “nothing… really”.

Alright… I did not really achieve nothing. Okay? I got something done. I had my hair cut, and dyed it purple (yay me!!), I met my family and some of my friends, and caught up with the latest news, I also had a coil contraception placed inside my tummy (stories about it — coming soon). I also did a little research and looked around the city and contemplating the “what if”.

The very what if we rarely mentioned before.

“What if Mr.Fix-It and I move to Indonesia?”

Of course it is silly considering today’s social and political situation in Indonesia. I really can’t see me living in a country where LGBT is still considered as illegal. I have been living here where people could be themselves without any kind of social punishment — for being themselves. I can’t see how can I live among people who condemn LGBT — even among them are some of my closest relatives (stories about it — coming soon).

But most of all, a month in Indonesia teaches me what it means to be home, or even… what home means for me.

People said that home is where the heart is. I believe so too. But what if you don’t know where your heart should be? My family is still in Indonesia. My parents, my sisters, my brother… my dogs. Life is much easier there as I could get stuff done without lifting my middle finger.  But… at the same time, my one and only beloved husband is here in Norwich. I am the queen of my own kitchen. I am the lady of my own house. My knitting projects are here… My heart is utterly confused.

How do I decide where home is?

Well… apparently it was quite simple. On the day I arrived in Norwich, after 10 minutes taxi ride, I found this:

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It is stuck in my front door by my husband. When I saw it, I knew I was… HOME.

Being Spoiled

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Yes… Me. I am being incredibly spoiled lately.

Ever since I came back from Indonesia, I haven’t done so many household work. It seems like Mr. Fix-It feels the need of keeping me as idle as possible :p~ or… I am just lazy. I am not complaining at all. I still cook though, because we sincerely believe that my cooking is somewhat better than his, and it is important to keep us eating a well balanced meal (almost) everyday.

However, now he is in the kitchen cooking dinner for us. It is going to be Macaroni Cheese. I cannot put up any photos now because it is still cooking, but probably a bit later it will pop on Instagram.

And that’s not the only thing he’s been doing for me. Yesterday we had a dinner date, and went for a proper fine dining. I loved that so much. I loved the fact that he is trying to book us a table at one of the most notable restaurant in Norwich — The Assembly House. I love the fact that we could dress up, doll up, and look good for a nice dinner out.

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Look how cool he is in suit? Yeah? When we were in the cafe in the forum — as we arrived in the city too early for our booking, the ladies there were looking at him. Can’t help feeling completely smug that I was with this incredibly smart looking guy, whose awesomeness can only be equalled by my own dad (and sometimes my brother), and Noel Gallagher.

It was a three course meal dinner we had at The Assembly House. I chose “Pressed Ham Hock — with deep fried gerkhins, mustard mayo and croutons (with salad)” as the starter.

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And “Crispy Confit Duck Leg — with braised Red Cabbage, Lyonesse potato frisee, and bacon salad” as the main course. Yes, it was a struggle to finish both meals, but… img_0134

I was incredibly greedy, I have to admit, but I couldn’t miss the dessert as it was Creme Brulee, with lavender shortbread. How could I say no?

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They were utterly tasty, and it was such a beautiful night, and a great night out. I hope Mr. Fix-It knows that I do really appreciate this effort, and that I do really enjoy the dinner (although in the end he had to help me out by eating the food I could not finish). And… oh…

My dinner is almost ready. Better put this up and get ready to eat…

Prost!

This Is My Rainbow…

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I am so sorry that I haven’t written much lately. There was not enough time or things to say, but today, I feel compelled to write this.

The reason why I changed my facebook profile photo with rainbow.

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After the USA legalised gay marriage, Facebook celebrates and supports this event by featuring an app that can change your profile photo to a rainbow. Yeah, that one. You know what I am talking about.

Initially, I did not want to change my photo. I do not like to be carried out in a wave or mainstream trends, and I think the rainbow looks a bit tacky. After all, I believed that I have purged and filtered through my friendlist and was quite sure that I only have gay friendly people in my list. So, I thought I did not have to make an open statement any more.

I thought I have passed that.

No I haven’t.

Three days after the celebrations, the bigots started to fire back. Some of my friends started to post anti-gay articles. From the subtle “do you really know what facebook ‘rainbow’ means?” to the more open “you exist because your parents were straight”. Then, the wave of people posting status with hashtag straightpride (I don’t want to hashtag it properly because I don’t want to help make it bloody popular) started flooding my feed.

I was gob smacked.

Ten years ago when the first time I dropped the bombshell to my friends, I could understand that it was a bit too soon for them to accept the concept of equality. It was 2005 Indonesia, you could not expect much. But this is 2015. You idolised Neil Patrick Harris, you adored Sir Ian McKellen, you cheered Ellen and thought that she and Portia makes a cute couple. BUT YOU OPPOSE GAY MARRIAGE?

.:Taken from BBC America:. Squeal, X-Neto shippers! Squeal!!

Then I thought about my own marriage. My own wedding, and people’s reaction when I told them that I was getting married to someone who was happened to be Mr. Fix-it — the wonderful male person. The reaction varied from “you’re settling down??!!” or “woohoo… so happy for you”, to “found a man that cured your lesbianity, haven’t you?”

When I remembered that, I realised that my so called open minded friends, were not really the most well informed ones. I appreciated they efforts to try. Even so, when they spouted out remarks such as “it’s just a phase”, “you haven’t tried enough”, “find the right man to straighten up the lesbian in you”, or even “we’re glad you found the right path”, it still stings a bit.

It is offensive, it is uneducated, it is ignorant, and rude. It is not only an insult to me and my sexuality, but also to my husband as a human being. It degraded Mr. Fix-It, from a wonderful intelligent funny and kind human being that I love, respect and want to be with into… an XY chromosome. It insulted our marriage.

 

So I looked up at the facebook rainbow thingy again, and made up my mind. I changed my profile photo, not because it was a trend, but to make a personal statement. Loud and clear.

Every Pot Has Its Cover

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One great thing about learning a new culture is that as if you are given a box of new toys, and it is up to you to start playing with which one first. For me, it’s definitely the wisdom in words, the old sayings, the idioms, and the expressions that has attracted me the most. “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything” was one of them. And another one is this…

Every pot has its cover.

I was reminded of this when one of blogger friends posted about how different she is from her girlfriend (if you want to read it, you can find the article here). I tried to find out its origin, but it seems that there are various version of pot-cover analogy. Some said it like that, some said “every pot has a lid” or “there’s a lid for every pot”. It does not really matter, does it? It still means the same thing.

Basically it means that for everybody, there is a match. I do not know if it is strictly about romantic relationship, or if it is also applicable for other things such as friendships, or work environment, or even to a broader spectrum of hobbies, or jobs… I would love to think that it is more than just romantic relationship.

But, today I do not want to talk about anything deeper. I just want to do what Kopi has done — contemplating the relationship, to see how far Mr. Fix-It and I has gone by resolving our differences.

1. He piles up dirty dishes and washes them later at once, I like doing them right away after meal. This is probably one of the biggest and might be also the earliest difference we found in the beginning of our relationship.

2. He lets the washed laundry stays in the washing machine, and not hang them in the drying rack right away; I like smelling the fresh laundry hung in the drying rack so I put them up right after the washing cycle is done. It is still one of the regular yappy-grumbly thing in our household.

3. Growing up in different cultural backgrounds makes us think differently about “future security”. In Indonesia we grew up believing that “pensions” is how much we could save for the future, not that someone (government) takes care of it for us when we are old. But, I managed to make him see the importance of the financial security, and we are working on it.

4. We have different view about starting a business. I am optimistic that in this country where everything is already well established (no corruption, no sly unfair competition), it is much easier to start a business than in Indonesia. Mr. Fix-it believes that there are more opportunities in Indonesia. This one, we agreed that both of us are correct… no business without risk.

5. We have different political view, but again I think this is also because we were raised with different value and understanding about class system. We also have different idea of NHS, benefits system, and UK – EU relationships. We agreed to just keep it that way,

6. He believes in tact. I believe in tactics. Not a big deal in this one, it’s interchangeable.

7. I think I am getting fatter, he does not. Then again, the standard of how fat is fat is not the same here in the UK and where I came from in Indonesia.

8. I like a good discussion, he likes intricate debates. But then again, culturally there are lots of British gentlemen that love to make arguments just for the sake of it. Sometimes, I went for it and give a nice counter arguments, but when I am not in the mood, I just left it hanging until next time I have the mood for a debate.

Uhm…

I was meant to write ten differences but I could not find anything more. I could push it with saying that we have different taste for girls, books, and musics. I could also add our different attitude towards travelling. But I think those I just mentioned were too trivial.

The thing is — in my kitchen, some of my pots do not have lids, and some of my lids fits for different pots. It does not mean I do not believe in monogamous relationship, but I think some people has different attitude about pots and lids. Some would rather settle for the slightly too big or too small lids than not having any lids at all. Some don’t mind sharing its lid with other pots. Some do not need lids.

Some pots cracked first, and the lids have to find other pots with food to protect. Some lids are not so lucky, and got thrown away once their pots were no longer usable.

I think somehow in life, that’s what happened.

Some pots REALLY wants to have lids, they pretended that they cannot see how unfit the lids are, until things inside them spilling out because the lid could not cover them any more. But that is how some pots ended up with the wrong lids. Some pots and lids were just good together although they were not manufactured together, somehow they just found their way together — looks odd an sometimes a but quirky in the surface, but they are compatible for each other.

I will leave it here… I think it is just nice not to have to draw any conclusion once in a while and let the conversation just go.

Have a nice day.

Cheers

Mr. Fix-It and The Boiler…

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Last few days were tough…

Mr. Fix-It and I came down with a bug (and PMS for me), which has made both of us feel like crap. It was a constant lethargic feeling, with a headache which was persistently coming and going, and sometimes also followed with muscle pain and sudden blocked nose. It was horrible. The week was draggy for Mr. Fix-It at work. Even for me, a short 10 minute walk to the supermarket felt were agonising.

Of course the changing of the weather did not help. Spring is coming, but –hell, the winter has not yet over with its torturing session. It was cold and dry windy sunny day one day, and wet and slightly warmer the following day. Oh, curse the weather…

But, what makes it worse is that our boiler just went bust last night and it drove my husband bonkers.

I have heard the anecdotes about the Brits and their boiler (try to google it, I could not be bothered to do it today). However I have never imagined that I would be in the position of witnessing it myself.

Sunday morning, I was expecting a nice relaxing weekend with my husband — after a week and an extra day work. Good morning kiss? Nope. Breakfast in bed? You only wish. Warm worry-less snuggle? Not quite.

Once I opened my eyes and ears, I could hear his voice in the background talking on the phone to someone from the council. He said something about the boiler has been dripping, and the pressure is down. I understood that it meant a day without the boiler heating and hot water from the tap. But bear in mind that we do have a separate water heater for shower, so as far as I know I could just walk in to the shower and get wet happily. Electricity was on too, so we could always put the kettle on for if we need hot water for washing up purpose.

I was not worried until I saw his gloomy face.

I prepared lunch (obviously I was hungry as there was no breakfast in bed), and we ate. But he, of course had no appetite and soon after he finished half his lunch, he rushed back to the boiler room to find out how much it has leaked.

It went on and on and on and on again for a day. Well, at least until dinner time. That’s when he decided that there was nothing he could do except to wait for the next day (which is today) for the boiler guy to repair our heating system.

Yet he still made a few return to the boiler room just to give me elaborated reports about how bad the boiler has broken.

No I was not upset or impatient. Of course I was upset that my husband was under a lot of stress, because it was supposed to be his day to relax and wind down. The fact that he was so preoccupied and unable to enjoy his day off was worrying because it means he could not rest to ward off his bug. But I understood that he was concerned with the condition of our boiler, although I could not understand why.

This morning, he texted from work. Seemed lighter and less worried, telling me that the boiler repairman would be here. And he is here now, working on it, while I am typing this.

Well, he said there was NO problem whatsoever. Happily took my offer for tea — which suggested that he is a very well mannered and civilised person, and also competent –obviously.

So, hope for the best 🙂

Cheers

This Is How Marriage Changes You… (Allegedly)

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It always bugged me when people use generalisation to help themselves explain what I do. It was annoying when it came from a random stranger, it was more annoying when it came from someone I considered as a friend. Really, I don’t have to tell you that I don’t have patience with people.

Anyway, it happened some times ago, but I just read it again, and got enraged again. My fault I know — I blamed it on hormone.

I have this particular satisfaction posting photos of my cooking attempts, and my crafty projects on my facebook and instagram. I genuinely believe that it was much much more acceptable than posting photos about your children all the time. At least with cooking and crafty projects, people could get inspired to be creative, and also some people would be relieved to see different things everyday.

Can you imagine I take photos of a roasted chicken. Same roasted chicken everyday, since it came out from the oven, until it becomes a pile of bones in the plate, and still taking the same photos everyday from different angle. Even, to add to the disgusting factor, take a photo of the bones and the flies that started gathering around it while attempting to say something cute like: Oh look, my chicken bones with its new friends. How sweet…

Yes, I do not mind you post photos of your children, because I like posting about my puppies too. But it does not mean I have to flood my friends’ feed with babies – toddlers photos. Argh…

Anyway, just for the background, I started the cooking project photos when I moved to the UK for the first time. I was a student, I had budget, and british food doesn’t really entertain my palate at all. So I learned how to cook, and as I learned I got better. I started knitting and crocheting way earlier, my mum taught me how to do it, and I actually took a few classes at Hobbycraft in Jakarta to get to knitting better.

So when people started to make ignorant comments about me cooking and knitting BECAUSE I was married, I was officially offended. But knowing our culture, they would not care, would they? They said what they needed to say, and that’s that. Saying that I cook and knit because I was married, was as stupid as saying that some people having a poo because they’re reading a magazine.

Yes. That stupid.

I don’t need to explain, because if I do then you probably don’t deserve the explanation anyway.

Some people believe that marriage change your life. And even if it doesn’t they believe it should. I have been asked many times by many people what has changed after we signed that piece of paper that tells us that now our relationship is now acknowledged by the government. I said nothing has changed. We were still our-silly-selves. We still enjoy our me-time, as much as we enjoy cuddling up in the sofa watching Star Trek. We still make each other’s life miserable, but we haven’t killed each other yet– or planned to do it.

The difference is that I like my kitchen in this house more than my kitchen in Indonesia. This is MY own kitchen, and I do not have to share it with my servants. I am the only one touching the pan, and only my foods are made in those pots. So, yes, I cook more here than I do in Indonesia. After all, I don’t need to cook in Indonesia. I am a princess…

And being unemployed (AAARGH), I have more time in hands. If I have all the money in the world to splurge, I will travel like Haris, but I don’t. So I stuck with my hobby, something that I like that prevent me from going mad for not doing anything: writing, cooking, and crafting.

Tell me how my hobby could have anything to do with marriage?

Let me tell you how.

Demographically, people who have been stereotyping my cooking and crafting hobby as being a married woman / housewife, could be put in these categorisation: female, indonesian, having a relationship or had a relationship with a white male partner.

Surprised? I do.

Like it or not, there is an “asian wife” stereotype still attached to us. And apparently, the fact that they have/had a white partner did not undermine their beliefs; it has strengthen them. It seems that having a non-Asian partner has highlighted the “Asian-ness” in them.

Oh well…

I understand that being grumpy is rather useless, but I did feel really irritated when people stereotype me. I don’t care if they think or feel they they fit that particular stereotype. I believe if anyone else start stereotyping them with “bule hunter” (Indonesian girls who “hunt” white expatriates to marry, usually have a severe inferiority issue and thought that getting married to white expatriates will elevate their social standings).

See, you don’t like it when you are objected to a stereotype that doesn’t fit your personality. Don’t do it to other person. Isn’t that what you tell your little children/nieces/nephews when they were not being nice to other kids?