vanilla latte

VANILLA LATTE [12]

18.06

November 13, 2025


THE FOURTH CUP. 
The one that didn’t taste like coffee anymore.
The one that tasted like beginning to care too much.

There are things that never start loudly.
They grow, quietly—like warmth from the first sip of coffee,
like how you don’t notice when the rain stops, 
or when someone begins to matter

The first cup was coincidence.
Rain, book, silence, and a man with an Americano.

The second was comfort.
A shared table, the sound of two cups clinking, 
and that simple, habitual smile he gave whenever I spoke too fast.

The third was attachment.
The seat by the window was no longer just mine.
It was ours, by default —no texts, no plans, yet we both somehow knew.
The barista stopped asking. She would simply look at us and nod, 
“Vanilla Latte and Americano?”

But the fourth— 
the fourth was something else.

He came later than usual that day.
I was already on my second sip when the door chimed.
Brown coat, hands tucked into his pocket, 
his eyes catching mine before anything else.

“You waited?” He asked, half teasing, half unsure.

“Maybe.” I smiled, stirring the melting ice.
“It’s your fault for being predictable.”

“Predictable?” He chuckled, placing his Americano down.
“I thought consistency was attractive.”

“It is,” I admitted.
“Until it starts feeling like a habit you can’t break.”

He raised his cup slightly, as if to toast.
“Then let me be your bad habit.”

And there it was— 
that uninvited flutter beneath my ribs. 
The kind that didn’t ask permission to stay.

We talked about the usual: 
book, the weather, the songs we didn’t finish listening to.
But that day, something shifted.
Between the pauses, between the quiet stirs of coffee and breath,
I realized—- 
we no longer needed the rain to make us stay.

I thought, for a brief second, 
how strange it was that some people arrive unannounced— 
and before you realize it, 
they’ve become part of your routine, 
as essential as breath, as caffeine, as waiting.


vanilla latte

VANILLA LATTE [11]

21.57

November 3, 2025


VANILLA AND MR. AMERICANO

The scent of roasted beans was heavier that day.
The afternoon air was calm, unusually windless, as if the whole world paused to listen to the whispers between coffee steam and heartbeats.

He came earlier.
Or maybe I was too late.

There was a quiet surprise that stirred when I saw him already sitting by the window, the same spot we both unconsciously claimed as ours. The sunlight filtered through the glass, kissing his brown coat, making him look almost cinematic. His eyes were distant, tracing something invisible outside.

He turned just in time, catching me in the middle of my hesitation.
“Vanilla?” He said, as if my name was that drink.
I smiled. “Always.”
He nodded, faintly, “I guesses.”

He looked tired, maybe from work, maybe from life. But his tiredness was strangely comforting— it matched mine. Like two unfinished sentences left hanging in the same paragraph.

I placed my book on the table. Not Le Petit Prince this time. The Great Gatsby again — he teased me once that I never finished it, that I was stuck somewhere between “old sport” and heartbreak.

“Did you ever finish it?” He asked.
I shook my head. “Maybe I don’t want to. I like it better unfinished.”
He chuckled softly.
“That’s just like you.”
“Like me?”
“You like to stay in the middle of stories. Not ending them, not beginning again. Just… staying.”
I didn’t answer. He wasn’t wrong.

The drinks came —mine, pale, and sweet, floating in glass and ice; his, dark, and restless, in porcelain and heat. The contrast looked almost symbolic.

“Do you ever think,” i began quietly, “why people have favorite drinks?”
He looked at me, tilting his head slightly. “Hmm?”
“I think it says something about us.
Vanilla latte —it’s the comfort I never got to have.
Warmth with sweetness, but still cold enough to hurt a little.”

He smirked, lifting his Americano.
“And me?”

“Bitter. But pure.” I said it without hesitation.
He raised his eyebrows, amused. “That’s harsh.”

“It’s honest.”

He stared at his cup, then at me. “Then maybe you’re right. Maybe I like bitter things because I want them to stay real.”

There was silence again.

But this time, it wasn’t awkward —it was mutual, soft, like the foam fading on coffee, like words unsaid that didn’t need to be.
Outside, the street was still wet from last night’s rain. The glass reflected two figures —one dark, one light, both framed by the faint golf of afternoon.

He broke the quiet first.
“Next time,” he said, “I’ll have vanilla latte.”
“Why?” I smiled. “You don’t even like sweet things.”
“I don’t,” he said. “But maybe I just want to know what you taste like.”

My pulse tripped over itself.
My vanilla latte almost slipped from my hand.

He looked down, hiding a grin. “I mean— what your favorite drink tastes like.”

Sure. 
Of course.

And just like that, Mr. Americano melted the ice in my vanilla latte faster than the sun outside could.
That afternoon didn’t need rain to be remembered. 

It was enough to have coffee, sunlight, and his unguarded smile—
And the sudden awareness that maybe, just maybe,
He wasn’t just a chapter anymore.

Dari Hati

dalam rindu yang tak pernah pulang

22.31

 June 19, 2025

Sudah lama aku berhasil pura-pura berdamai— seolah lupa, seolah sembuh, padahal aku simpan rindu yang amat sangat. Bahkan sekarang— rindunya menetap dan diam-diam tumbuh— menyesap pelan dan berdetak dengan lirih.

Aku masih berharap aku punya pelukmu, menggenggamku erat— menjadi jangkar di sisa-sisa hariku yang kian berat dan penuh keluh, dalam senja yang kian pucat, dalam waktu aku sering bingung harus berlabuh di mana. 

Akhir-akhir ini, aku seperti hampir remuk—- atau malah sudah— perlahan repas, retak.

Bagaimana rupaku dari atas sana? Sudahkah aku tampak lebur, seperti abu yang segan terbawa pergi? 

Aku bahkan rasanya tak kuasa untuk terisak.

Ternyata sulit, tidak semakin mudah, bahwa kehilanganmu tetap akan sulit. Aku masih saja terjatuh, dalam kenang yang tak tahu diri pulang.

Malam ini, langit redup. Maukah kau datang, semai sedikit asa di pelataran dadaku yang lengang. Panggil namaku—- dengan lembut, dengan irama indah yang ku suka seperti biasanya, seperti doa yang diam-diam kau pernah panjatkan. Ucap sedikit pujian— bahwa aku hebat walaupun hidup tanpamu berat.

Sebelum sunup datang, kalau peluk terasa berlebihan, temui saja aku dari kejauhan, biar aku bisa memandangmu walau jauh, biar aku tak semakin jatuh— semakin dalam.

Andai semesta berbelas kasih, aku titip rinduku sehelai saja, agar terbawa sayap angin— agar Tuhan sampaikan pesanku padamu…

“Aku masih terhempas dalam dinginnya rindu, masih sama seperti bertahun-tahun lalu.”

Movie

Inside Out 2: Journey Through Anxieties

22.46

 

July 24, 2024

Life has felt so restless lately. Sleepness nights and groggy days make it hard to focus on work. Watching the newly released “Inside Out 2” yesterday made me realize the “anxiety guy” inside my head is the culprit.

I remember when dreaming big was easy, without fears or worries holding me back. Now, doubts creep in — am I good enough? Is this the right path? Can I achieve my dreams?

These worries and anxieties are real. They constantly tell me I’m not doing well enough, that others can succeed but I can’t. I keep searching for something I’m good at, but never find it.

I’ve been standing still, watching friends chase their dreams with excitement while I wonder when, or if, I’ll ever pursue mine. Riley Anderson from the movie faces a similar struggle, feeling lost and unsure, affecting her hockey game and her sense of self.

Inside Out 2 hit close to home, showing that anxiety is raging and messing with my life. I’ve lost most of the joy I could have felt, and sadness feels lame.

Riley is actually a gentle reminder for me, that these inner voices, these relentless doubts, are okay — to some extend. It portrays anxiety not necessarily as a villain but as a part of us that needs understanding and compassion. Through Riley’s journey, I see the importance of acknowledging our emotions, even the uncomfortable ones, and finding a way to live harmoniously with them. But how? How do I cope with these anxiety?

Though, I think Inside Out 2 is a beautiful, a poignant reminder that despite the chaos inside, we can still find our way, still chase our dreams, and still feel joy. It’s an exploration of the mind and a comforting message that we’re not alone in our struggles.

Riley and her emotions’ crew leaves me with a hopeful message, that I will be able to navigate through my inner turmoil, embrace my anxieties, and find strength to pursue my dreams. And finally joy can always be discovered.

Diary

00.34

 July 18, 2024

Have you ever been in the lowest possible place you could be? That’s where I find myself now. It’s so frustrating that I can’t even muster the strength to peek at what lies outside. Everything around me is in disarray, a chaotic mess that mirrors the turmoil within me. I keep questioning if I will be able to rise above these setbacks. I feel so lost, almost hopeless.


I am scared. I am haunted, by all the dreams I once held so dear, dreams that now seem like so distant, taunting whispers. The confidence I used to carry with me has vanished, leaving a hollow shell in its place. Where can I find it again? How can I dream again, find the courage to start anew?


It feels like the beginning is out of reach. 

To dream ever again, to start a new beginning… It seems impossible, but I have to believe that somewhere within me lies the strength to try.

Review

R.F. Kuang's Yellowface: An Unsettling Reflection on Identity and Ambition

21.48

June 25, 2024


Through Yellowface, R.F. Kuang presents a compelling and provocative narrative that delves into the murky waters of identity, ambition, and the often uncomfortable truths of the literary world. At the heart of this story is Juniper Hayward, a character who defies easy categorization and challenges our moral compass.


From the outset, it feels inherently wrong to empathize with June. She is not the typical protagonist; she is flawed, opportunistic, and morally ambiguous. Her journey begins on a dark note as she witnesses the sudden death of her not-quite-best-friend, Athena Liu, and seizes the opportunity to claim Athena's unfinished manuscript as her own. What follows is a whirlwind of success, accusations, and a relentless pursuit of recognition.

June’s lack of guilt and her pride in transforming Athena’s manuscript into a national bestseller is deeply unsettling. Despite numerous accusations of plagiarism, she remains unrepentant, justifying her actions with a twisted sense of entitlement. Athena herself had admitted to drawing from her own traumatic experiences for her writing, suggesting that she, too, was not without flaws. This revelation muddies the moral waters even further, making it difficult to see Athena as a paragon of virtue.

Kuang skillfully portrays June as a product of a society that has conditioned her to be greedy and self-serving. It’s a society that often values fame and wealth over genuine talent and integrity. June's relentless pursuit of the spotlight, her desire to be heard, and her story to be read, reflect a deep-seated need for validation and recognition in a world that constantly undermines those who do not fit the traditional mold.

While it is challenging to admire June as a character, her story serves as a powerful critique of societal and systemic biases. Yellowface forces readers to confront the uncomfortable reality of how minorities are often stigmatized and judged not for their talents or contributions but for their differences. The novel exposes the inherent prejudices that exist within the literary world and beyond, shedding light on the myriad ways in which marginalized voices are silenced or appropriated.

R.F. Kuang's Yellowface is a thought-provoking and disturbing exploration of identity, ambition, and the cost of success. It compels readers to reflect on their own complicity in a system that rewards deceit and punishes difference. Through June's controversial journey, Kuang challenges us to reconsider our perceptions of right and wrong, talent and theft, and ultimately, what it means to truly own a story.


Diary

01.09

May 8, 2024


Rangka embun yang kokoh-pun tak mampu bersanding dengan sunup. Pasti lekang, hilang, dan meregang pada akhirnya. Apalagi hati yang berasal dari remah-remah hampa dan air mata, sudah pasti pecah.

Hampir tiba musim panas tahun ini, tapi canda-mu di musim gugur bertahun-tahun lalu masih erat bersemi di memori-ku, aku hampir merasa bahwa kau tak pernah benar-benar pergi dan jauh.

Kau yang telah jauh, jika sempat bertandang di sela-sela asterik akhir-akhir ini, lihatkan? Aku baik-baik saja, tapi hanya rindu. Hati ku sedikit repas tapi aku akan tetap keras. Bilamana sesekali ada yang serupa dengan air mata, itu hanya embun, karena akhir-akhir ini malam terasa lebih dingin dari seharusnya. 

Apabila kau benar-benar bisa singgah, walau tak lama, bolehkah aku minta dekap-mu yang hangat? Atau genggam saja tanganku lagi seperti dulu? Jika itu berlebihan, biarkan aku lihat wajahmu saja dari kejauhan. Boleh? Aku rindu menggebu-gebu…

Aku sedang berjibaku dengan hidupku, kini aku sibuk, terkadang masih sulit terpejam saat malam. Bolehkah aku berandai? Jika mungkin kau masih di sini, akankah aku merasa selelah ini? Setidaknya mungkin aku masih punya teman kencan untuk secangkir kopi di hari liburku?

Kalau kau bisa mendengarku, datanglah sesekali ke mimpiku. Ajak aku bercerita, dengarkan keluh kesahku, dan jika tidak terlalu sulit, aku mau pelukan-mu satu kali saja…

“…Peluk aku, sebentar saja

Tak perlu berkata-kata, lari dan raup aku yang hampir lebur…”



Book

After Reading Kim Ji-young, Born 1982

19.10

January 10, 2024 

“She was never trying to be extraordinary — she just wanted to live without being questioned.”

Sometimes I wonder why, after all these years, being a woman still feels like walking on a road that keeps asking for permission.

Reading Kim Ji-young, Born 1982 felt like looking into a mirror I never asked to stand in front of.
Ji-young is ordinary — painfully so — yet in her quiet unraveling, I found pieces of every woman I have ever known.
The exhaustion.
The politeness.
The constant need to endure.

The book doesn’t shout — it whispers.
It doesn’t dramatize her suffering, it simply list what she has endured.
And that simplicity hits harder than any tragedy.
It’s not the one big heartbreak, but thousands of small ones — 
written like medical notes, symptoms of deeper disease we’ve normalized for generations: 
that women must be kind but not too assertive, capable but not too ambitious, strong but never tired.

This book didn’t comfort me — it reminded me.
That anger can be quiet.
That pain can be polite.
And that survival itself can be a form of rebellion.

Maybe that’s what Ji-young —and many women out there — wanted all along — 
not sympathy, not praise — just the freedom to exist without explanation.

And maybe that’s what I want too.
To forgive myself for not being perfect, for being angry, for being exhausted— 
for never feeling the urgency to explain why.

 


Diary

16.49

October 19, 2023

The night remained silent, muted echoes of how and where you walked away, leaving me in tormenting riddles of why? 

“Never been I felt loved as how I always feel when you are around.” His voice sounds very collected, now sounds like shards of a broken promise. Then why did you leave? If only I knew it was your parting words.

We parted ways, as how on how every date we did. He walked me to the last intersection, I turned around because I knew I would miss his smiling eyes. He stood still until I took the last turn before reaching home, and that was the last time.

God took him too fast, before I could even learn to love him wholly, leaving me drowning in longing for too much now. 
Roses were blooming on your resting place, dear.
While my heart shatters into irreparable pieces

“Don’t walk away, I am falling down.”

If only I could beg for god to let me, only one day more to hold you, for the last time. 
If only I could love you enough, then.
If only… 



Science

Little Girl, What Made You Blue?

17.08

October 15, 2023

All of us have, at one moment, felt “heart-broken”, the emotional roller coaster that can make even the toughest among us curl up with a tub of ice cream and a tear-jerker movie. When it feels as if your heart shattered into pieces, sometimes it’s even hard to quantify how hurt it feels, the other times, you feel like your chest been stomped on by an elephant and it’s impossible to breath and continue living. That’s right, heartbreak, has a story to tell.

As its core, heartbreak manifest as social pain — the profound distress experienced when social ties are absent, threatened, damaged, or lost — which shares neural and neurochemical similarities with physical pain. And it’s proven by MRI Scans that the intensity and duration of the emotional and physical pain of heartbreak are akin to the agony felt after severe physical trauma. Apparently, the same neural circuits that fire up when you got burn or bone fractured are the ones that go haywire when your crush becomes your ex.

Studies have demonstrated that the caudate nucleus, typically involved in reward detection, and the ventral tegmental area, associated with pleasure and motivation, are implicated in the experience of heartbreak. A study performed by Lucy Brown, Xiomeng Xu, and Dr. Fisher revealed that there’s heightened activity in the ventral tegmental area, ventral striatum, and nucleus accumbens among individuals undergoing various stages of a breakup. These regions are integral components of the brain’s reward and motivation circuitry, where the release of dopamine plays a pivotal role. 

Additionally, the prefrontal cortex part of the brain, the wise-guy behind all rational decision, responsible for decision-making and processing information objectively, tends to deactivate during heartbreak, hindering one’s ability to perceive the situation clearly. This deactivation, coupled with hyperactivity in the limbic system, disrupts the balance of hormones such as oxytocin and dopamine, making it challenging to maintain a balanced perspective. Consequently, the body responds by releasing stress hormones like cortisol and epinephrine, leading to a cascade of physical symptoms including cramps, tension, headaches, chest pain, dizziness, and fatigue.

So there you have it, little girl. Heartbreak isn’t just about tears and tissues; it’s about a multifaceted interplay a various neurotransmitters and brain regions in the epic saga of love gone wrong, underscoring the profound impact of social pain on an individual’s overall well-being. From the decline of oxytocin and serotonin to the surges in cortisol and depletion of dopamine, heartbreak is not solely an emotional experience but a physiological one as well, highlighting the interconnectedness of the mind and body in the face of emotional distress. Your brain is playing a wild symphony of emotions, and you, are the conductor!