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Letter to my daughter

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Letter to my daughter

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Did you know that when I was still in your Uti’s womb, I was already carrying the egg that would one day become you? Isn’t that crazy? You’ve been a part of me since before I was even born. I’ve carried a piece of you everywhere I’ve ever been.

Cah Ayu.

I think about you often. Even though I don’t know if we’ll meet in this lifetime, I keep you in mind when making many of my life decisions. I want to be as ready for you as I can be.  

Every mother I’ve met tells me the same thing—you can never truly be ready for a child. You’ll never know what to expect. It changes everything. But still, I want to give you everything you need—the right education, the chance to see the world, the opportunity to try anything that sparks your curiosity. A pretty dress for a special occasion. More than anything, I want you to feel seen, heard, and cherished. I want you to know you can always come to me, that you will always have a home in our family. I want you to be happy and healthy.  You would be my whole world, nduk. And that terrifies me. I fear that the love I would have for you would be so vast, so consuming, that it would change me. I fear the lengths I would go to out of love for you.  

Your Uti has always told me that I was a great blessing to her and that, in her eyes, a child is the greatest gift one can receive. Even though your Akung left us very early, Uti made sure I had everything I needed to be happy and to grow into a good person.  You would love your Uti so much—she is full of life, young at heart, and has a warmth that lights up everyone around her. She is the embodiment of the sun, radiating kindness and joy. With the purest heart and unwavering values, she raised me in a home where love was at the centre and trust meant everything. She always believed that I knew what was best for myself, giving me a strong sense of independence from a very young age.  And I have no doubt that she would love you even more than she has ever loved me—and I would be perfectly okay with that. Just the thought of her meeting you for the first time brings me to tears. I can see it so clearly—the way she would hold you, the love in her eyes, the pure adoration in her embrace. I almost feel like I might need to bring you into this world so that she could experience that. 

She had me at twenty seven years old, only two years older than I am now, which is crazy to me because I still feel like a little girl most of the time. I enjoyed the fact that she was still young raising me, we did plenty of fun activities together: She’d make my barbie’s clothes from scratch, we’d bake cookies (your Akung would finish them in one sitting while watching a boxing match on TV). We spent every single morning on the beach and I had three sausage dogs that followed me everywhere I went. She supported my obsession with taxis and sometimes would surprise me with a ride to school in one because I loved the smell of them so much. We were very close and many thought she was my big sister. We still are and you may see us fight and scream a lot but she truly is my hero and my example. 

From a very young age your grandma worked so hard to support her family. She moved out of her small Javanese village to Bali to find work and made it her main goal to be independent and help her siblings have opportunities she couldn’t have. Her work ethic and her drive truly paid off because she was able to not only give herself experiences she wouldn’t even dream of as a little girl but also give me the most incredible life and made me the first person in our family to study abroad despite coming from true poverty.

I’ll let her tell you more about her life as I believe this is something she should do instead of me. You’d be amazed about all the things she has been through and how she is able to stay the most positive person you’ll ever meet. Your grandma is a force majeur. 

Your Akung passed when I was just a little girl, I had just turned 4 years old. You know even though I was so little, I still remember the amount of love I felt for that man. He was everything to me, words cannot describe how much I loved him. He brought me so much comfort and he made me feel so safe. When he was suddenly taken away from me, I didn’t really understand what was happening and I felt a void, a void that I was not able to replace with anything else. As much as death is the only inevitable thing and it would happen anytime, I always fear that you have the slight chance to lose one of your parents, either me or your dad. I fear that you’d feel the same pain I have had to carry from the loss of my father, that you would have to navigate this very scary and complicated world without us. The thought that even one of us could possibly leave you alone scares me. 

Your grandpa was an orphan and swore that he would never have children in his life. When he had me, it was such a shock and he really took the role of a father very seriously, your grandma would even say too seriously. He was over-protective of me and had to make sure I was okay at all times. He didn’t like me getting on the bike so always made sure I was in a car and if I had to go on a bike he’d wrap me to your grandmother incredibly tight, she would struggle to breathe. He worried that the air was too dirty for me even though this was Bali 25 years ago where I’m sure the air quality was far better than now. I wonder if would’ve been this overprotective over you too, I’m sure he would be. It makes me a little sad that he would never get to meet you, but I know he’s always watching. Your Akung also had the most fantastic life, his best friend says that we could write a book about it. Described him as “un épicurien de la vie”. As soon as he was able to live on his own and out of the system, he worked on a barge and went village to village through the rivers in France. He hosted apéros on them every night with saucissons and wine, inviting all types of people. He would race horses and fought in boxing matches to get some money. He was homeless in Paris and described it as the most happy times of his life because he was truly free. He opened thrift shops in the Marais and took care of prostitutes in Pigalle. He wrote erotic comics with a vocabulary deemed as “spectacular”. It was said that your grandpa had a way with words and was so incredibly well-spoken. He then moved to the Caribbeans where he helped open clothing stores and sold vintage Chanel on boats. Before eventually meeting your Grandma in Bali on a business trip. And you know, despite being a black man in Europe post war, he always said that everybody treated him kindly and he never had a bad or racist encounter because your grandpa had the type of energy that always brought out the good in people. 

I need you to know that you come from a line of extremely special people with big hearts who’ve lived full lives and have the most positive outlook on everything. I will make sure you carry that with you. 

I do not know who your father may be just yet. I have met two gentlemen that I thought could have possibly been the one but I was wrong both times. I may have been too young to be asking myself those questions, too young to even consider motherhood but as I said I always keep you in mind. I can not consider anything long term with anybody that would not be good enough for you, I pay close attention to the things they say or do and most of the time when they don’t meet my expectation, I usually toss them away. And then there was the other ones, the ones I didn’t even know for very long or very well yet, that tick all the boxes for being a good father but unfortunately, did things that hurt me. So I’ve had to walk away even though it was hard to. Because at the end of the day you deserve to be in a household where your parents respect each other and have a healthy way of communicating. You also deserve a happy mama who can focus on your happiness because she already is content with herself and feels secure. At the end of the day though, the reason why I am so adamant to find a good father for you is because I’ve understood that romantic love comes and it goes and it may not be forever so if any chance your father and I have to split up, I need to make sure that he is a man that will be able to take care of you properly even when I am not around. 

But in the possibility that your father is not the greatest, I have made such incredibly friends in this life, friends that I know will always be around me and maybe one day, us, forever. You should know that your mother has the most amazing support system and have nurtured such wonderful friendships with the most amazing girls. Some of these girls I have known for years and some came into my life a little later but I know will stick around. One thing I will always tell you to do is to make friends and to value them as much as you value your other relationships. This is something that I guarantee will make you happy and make you grow in so many wonderful ways, ma fille. Your friends are so important and I hope that you will make girlfriends for life, just like I did. I hope you will have people, who’ll love you very much and you’ll be able to experience things together that you could not experience with me or any of your romantic partners. That you will share funny stories that you will recount often at girl dinners, that you will keep secrets that you will take the grave, that you will have hardships that you will overcome together to make your bonds even stronger. So we’ll never really be alone, we have your aunties who I know would go to hell and back for you, treat you as if you are their own. Your closest friends might even be their kids too and I hope that is the case because that would mean I get to hang out with them more. 

I’m going to be honest—I have a lot of fears about bringing you into this world. Your mother is an anxious person, at least for now, but I’m working on it. There’s so much I can’t control, and that terrifies me. You should see the state of the world right now. The planet is overheating, biodiversity is vanishing, clean water is harder to find, and landfills overflow with waste. Species are going extinct. World leaders grow more corrupt and power-hungry, the ultra-wealthy hoard resources, and women’s rights are being stripped away in an instant, undoing decades of progress. Health systems are collapsing, wars still rage on. I don’t know what kind of world I’ll be bringing you into.  

What if, by the time you arrive, food has become scarce? What if the air is too toxic to breathe, if wild animals exist only in photographs, if the freedoms I once had are just stories to you—memories of a life you’ll never get to live? What if your father isn’t the man I thought I married, and he hurts you? What if, despite everything I do to keep you healthy, you are born with an illness that makes life harder, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it? What if I pass down my own unresolved issues without even realising it, leaving you with burdens you never asked for?  

I think my anxiety and fears are a clear sign that I’m not ready for you yet. Not until I learn to let go, to accept that I can’t control everything. I don’t want you to feel suffocated by my fears, held too tightly until you feel the need to break free—recklessly, dangerously. I’ve seen what happens to children raised by helicopter parents. They become the wildest, most rebellious people I’ve ever met. And ever since then, I’ve known that I have to raise you with trust.  

No matter how much I try to protect you, I have to accept that you will have struggles of your own, just like everyone else. And that’s okay. It’s inevitable.

Some of my other fears are a little more personal. I worry that in giving so much of myself to you, I might lose who I am—that my identity will be swallowed by motherhood. That I’ll exist only as your mother and nothing more. That when people think of me, they won’t see the person I was before, only the role I’ve taken on.  

I know it might sound vain, but I also hope that when I have you, I don’t lose my sense of self. That I’ll still find time to care for myself, to feel beautiful. That I’ll hold onto the personality I’ve grown to love and appreciate. I hope your father and I will still feel like best friends, that we’ll keep our little quirks, still flirt, still laugh. That we won’t slip into a routine so rigid that we have to schedule moments just to hold our marriage together. I hope spontaneity still has a place in our lives. But this is nothing for you to worry about and I will make sure to keep you away from these issues. 

You visit me in my dreams sometimes. You’re always around three or four years old, always by my side. The love I feel for you in these dreams is indescribable—so intense, so pure. I’ve never felt a connection like this with anyone in this lifetime.  

I never really remember your face, but I can feel you—your warmth, the softness of your curly hair. We don’t do much, just spend time outside, going on walks or having picnics. Your father is rarely around, and when he is, we usually don’t like him very much for some reason. I hope that’s not a glimpse into the future because, honestly, that would be a bummer.  

I’ve had dreams where I get pregnant by someone I don’t necessarily want to be your father or at a time when I know I can’t give you the life you deserve. In those dreams, I have to make the impossible choice to let you go. Every time, it feels like the hardest decision I’ve ever made—something I desperately don’t want to do but know is right. And I sob, I scream, I break apart with a pain so gut-wrenching that I wake up hyperventilating, silently crying.  

You aren’t even here yet, and I love you more than anything I could ever love.  

Some Sundays, half-asleep, I reach for the spot beside me, searching for your little sleepy body to pull you close. I imagine slow mornings with you. Staying in bed, watching TV, sharing breakfast, playing games. I picture you asking endless questions, your curious little face lighting up as I do my best to answer. And then, reality sinks in—you’re not here yet. But somehow, I miss you so much already.

Bali, January 2025

“Do you have guest list?”

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“Do you have guest list?”

Home » self esteem

It was 2019 and my first year as a fashion marketing student. I had waited 40 minutes in front of Le Rouge with my friends in the cold. A club in the red-light district of Pigalle. They eventually all gave up and went home. I still don’t know why I stayed. The crowd around the entrance was huge and growing, with people shoving each other and waving their hands to get the attention of someone they barely knew, who was already inside, pleading for help to get in. Girls stood at the front, their almost naked bodies pressed against the cold metal bars that separated them from the rigid, stern bouncers, who didn’t even look at them when they tried to speak. It all made me uncomfortable. I hated looking at the anxious eyes, so eager, ready to leave anyone behind just to get in. I didn’t like how it felt like their lives depended on these nights. Yet, they were all so well-dressed, in elaborate outfits. Something I had always deeply appreciated about the youth in Paris. They looked beautiful and desperate, like those Renaissance paintings of women staring into the divine light.  

But what did I expect? It was the Casablanca party, after all, the coolest brand at the time. And not just that, every fashion girl could attest that they also had the most beautiful casting. Gorgeous boys draped in silky fabrics with a tasteful touch of femininity that made them look like wealthy angel boys on a summer vacation. As a newcomer in Paris, experiencing sexual freedom for the first time, I had already had flings with at least four of them, (unintentionally, I promise). I even ended up dating one and quickly learned they were all just beautiful stoners and drug addicts with a weird fixation on new-age spirituality. They loooved that I came from a place like Bali. It was as if I were a deity to them, just because I was born on the Island of Gods. But that didn’t mean I was treated like one all the time, I was still just one of the many girls they seduced and used. They eagerly spoke to me about the meaning of life, sharing thoughts I’d had since I was eleven and then proceed to give me the most mediocre sex of my life. I’ve noticed that male models despite having one of the most superficial jobs are often the ones searching for deeper truths. Maybe it’s because they have more time to look for answers.   

I wasn’t feeling good about myself. Then again, I rarely do at fashion events. Surrounded by influencers dressed in designer, flawlessly glammed by professionals, not a hair out of place, I couldn’t help but compare. They looked so polished, almost plastic, like if I ran a finger across their skin, it would squeak. As if they weren’t real at all—just computer-generated, 3D-printed straight from some high-tech machine. 

And why is everyone so fucking skinny?  

Suddenly, the hairstyle I had worked so hard on felt off, making my forehead look even bigger. No setting spray was strong enough. My eyeliner had already started melting. My outfit? Mediocre at best. Meanwhile, they stepped out of their sleek black vans, parting the crowd like Moses, and vanished in seconds behind the doors.

What was waiting on the other side?

I waited for London Man—a friend and one of those people who effortlessly got in anywhere, no matter where or what the event was. A true socialite who always looked put together in intricate layers, Rick Owens shoes, and a distinct scent that filled my nostrils to the brim when he embraced me. He has soft voice that constantly made me have to ask him to speak up. A posh accent with an elevated vocabulary, sprinkled with just the right amount of London slang, making it a pleasant balance. And, of course, very successful with women—I, too, had once been a victim of his charm. I usually do not keep past lovers around but we really get along, so we’ve remained good friends. 

My anxiety was eating me alive. He was taking what felt like hours to meet me. I was used to feeling uneasy in big crowds, especially at fashion events, but this time felt different. I was physically shaking, like my body knew this wasn’t for me. I stepped back from the crowd and waited impatiently. The “me” now would have left, but I guess, at the time, this was something I needed to do—to experience.  

My heart skipped a beat when I spotted my crush, the one who would eventually become my first-ever boyfriend. But of course, I didn’t know that yet. He had just returned from four months in Tokyo, where he had been working as a model. We had started seeing each other a month or so before he found out he had to leave. I had taken a liking to him maybe a little faster than usual. We were sitting by the canal in the 19th arrondissement on a very sunny afternoon, after picking me up from class when he broke the news. I faked a smile and told him I was happy for him.

We had kept in contact until he ghosted me for a while, which hurt my feelings. He had left me in the dark after I had opened up to him. I was freshly 19 and far more sensitive back then, so it felt like my world was crumbling. But, of course, he came back—like they all do—and apologised for his lack of communication. Me, being young and naive, took him back. We got together almost a year later when he finally wanted to commit. We proceeded to start a relationship filled with grudges, resentment, and deep passion.

London Man finally arrived, accompanied by a posse of beautiful women. He took me by the hand—he, too, held the same power as the influencers and effortlessly made his way through the crowd. He spoke to the bouncers briefly, and as planned, they let us in. The club was soaked in a deep, blood-red hue. The floors shook from the heavy bass of trap music blaring from massive speakers, as if thousands of lost souls trapped underground were desperately trying to claw their way to the surface. Sweaty bodies bumped and ground against each other in every direction. A true depiction of Hell.

London Man ran off to greet everyone he knew, which was half the club. While I stood there, not knowing what to do with myself. I saw a few familiar faces and tried to avoid them at all costs — people I recognised from Instagram, where we follow each other but somehow never acknowledge each other in real life. Yet, we know exactly where the other vacationed that summer from our stories. Or the boys who’ve been talking to a wall in my DMs for months, endlessly sliding up to my stories, only to avoid eye contact the moment we’re in the same room. My anxiety was getting worse, especially in the heat, and small talk with people I barely knew was the last thing I wanted to engage in. Although, for once, everyone looked like they were having a good time. Except for a few pouty girls sitting on the couch, scrolling through their phones. Maybe it was because, this time, people were already intoxicated and had let loose. Because most fashion events are just people looking at each other, yet collectively trying to hide the fact that they are. A look I would come to recognise at every fashion week event. It was evasive yet subtly charged, as if they didn’t want to be caught looking but fully expected to be watched. Their expressions were unnatural, like the practiced poses models hold during a shoot. Calculated yet effortlessly detached. It forever unsettles me that we collectively choose to look cold and standoffish instead of warm and welcoming. Why is that?

I pushed through the crowd toward the bathrooms. I don’t know why I thought I could be alone and catch a breath there, because once again, I found myself waiting in line.  

The timing couldn’t have been worse—my crush was leaving the bathroom at that exact moment. We locked eyes. I gave him a small smile, and he gave me a big one.  “Hey! It’s so nice seeing you here!” He was clearly intoxicated. Normally quiet and a little timid, he was nothing like that now. “Come near the speakers later!” he shouted before running off.  I felt uneasy about how he spoke to me, like we were just casual friends. Like we hadn’t shared something special. Like he hadn’t already made me cry. But I was happy to see him nonetheless, so I went and found him near the speakers. We tried to talk over the music, but it was nearly impossible to hear. I was nervous, I always was around him. Someone once told me that the intense butterflies in your stomach eventually fade after your teenage years. I believe he was probably the last person I ever felt them with.  

The conversation was awkward—stupid questions like, “How was Japan?” and “What have you been up to in Paris?” We were constantly interrupted by people congratulating him on the show. I felt like a burden. I thought he felt like he had to stay with me out of guilt because of how he treated me, and nothing made me feel more embarrassed than knowing that someone felt bad for me. We sat next to each other without saying anything. A massive elephant was in the room, but this was not the place and time to address it. Having nothing to say made me nervous, but he made me so anxious that I had nothing to say. Looking back, I didn’t know why I stayed around, why I thought the night was going to get better. I didn’t know what could’ve changed my state of mind, maybe my friends would miraculously show up and make it through the gates of hell, but those chances were so slim. And I had hoped he would suggest leaving the party together, going for a walk, catching up to talk about what had changed in Japan. Maybe we would kiss somewhere under the yellow streetlights. But he was enjoying his time and was too drunk to care. I told myself that perhaps I should get an overpriced drink at the bar to loosen up. It took me another 20 minutes to get a vodka cran. Not only was it packed, but I was also met with passive-aggressive bartenders, which didn’t help with the way I was already feeling. Of course, that one drink didn’t do much, and I was a student with a budget. I was miserable and finally admitted to myself that the night wasn’t going to get any better. So, I swiftly said goodbye to London Man while he was getting a lap dance from a drunk model, grabbed my coat, and went outside. The fresh air hit my face, and I felt like I could breathe again.

The more I attended parties, the more I yearned to be one of the effortlessly cool fashion kids. The ones you’re never quite sure what they do, yet they’re always there. They seem to know everyone in the industry, traveling to all the fashion capitals every season, staying in luxurious hotels, and rubbing shoulders with celebrities and important figures. They carry an air of belonging, exuding confidence in every space they step into.  

I was too fixated on the wrong aspects of fashion—the superficial rather than the art. I kept telling myself that in time, once I started working and made more friends in the industry, I’d feel more at ease in those spaces. That I’d master the art of dressing, of walking into any event with grace and confidence. But that wasn’t necessarily the case.  

I did eventually start working, and I did meet some of the most inspiring creatives. I traveled the world for work, interned, and wrote for brands I once admired from afar. My personal style evolved (thank God). I no longer had to sneak into parties, pretending to be a fashion buyer or someone I wasn’t. Yet, despite all of this, the feeling of being out of place never fully disappeared. There are still moments when I feel incredibly uncomfortable, battling major imposter syndrome. No matter how prominently my name appears on invitations or how much I’ve earned my place at the table, I rarely feel good enough. And doing my best to work on it. 

But with time and growth, I’ve come to realise that, in the grand scheme of things, none of it really matters. Don’t get me wrong, the heart of the industry is beautiful, built by creative geniuses who pour their souls into their craft, bringing breathtaking designs and visuals to life. But everything surrounding it? Mostly fluff, designed to create an illusion of importance. And understanding this has been liberating. I’ve slowly taken a step back from that world. I still work in it, but I’m not as deeply involved as I once was. As I transition toward new pursuits, I find myself looking back on those days—days that now feel like a lifetime ago. And I can’t help but feel for my younger self, who just wanted to belong.  

I wish I could tell her that she would find her people in fashion. The ones who would never make her feel out of place.

Bali, January 2025